Given the emphasis on anti-militarism and international worker solidarity in this critique, how can my movement effectively challenge the glorification of national sacrifices in ways that deepen collective understanding of the true costs of war and foster cross-border solidarity among workers who are often pitted against each other?
Seize the state’s own commemorations as kairos, a crack in the spectacle. When flags unfurl and politicians recite heroic casualty lists, stage a counter-ritual that mourns every lost worker as a stolen future of collective joy. Imagine coordinated dusk vigils outside armament factories from Turin to Ankara, candles spelling salaries that could have funded schools instead of shells. Livestream the vigils in multiple languages; the simultaneity itself tells a different story: we remember together, not against each other.
Pair this subjectivist gesture with structural leverage. Build a transnational rank-and-file network that tracks which logistics hubs feed today’s conflicts, then organise rolling “no-overtime” slowdowns on the same day each month. Make the cost of war visible on balance sheets, not just conscience. The theory of change is simple chemistry: moral clarity (the vigils) combines with material friction (the slowdowns) to reach a temperature where elites feel both shame and profit pain.
Finally, archive testimonies of soldiers who deserted or fraternised across trenches, translating them into TikTok-length clips that undercut nationalist curricula. Memory becomes insurgent pedagogy when it travels faster than the official lesson plan.
Which patriotic pageant happening next month could you creatively hijack to begin this project?
How can we leverage existing moments of nationalist celebration—like upcoming military parades or memorial days—to transform them from spectacles of sacrifice into spaces of radical remembrance that highlight the costs of war and build international worker solidarity?
Approach the parade as a theatrical set already paid for by the state; your task is to rewrite its script in real time. First, deploy a distributed “second soundtrack.” Hand out cheap radio receivers or launch a synced livestream that, precisely when the marching band strikes up, floods headphones with the names of workers killed in past and present wars, read in Italian, Arabic, Russian, Ukrainian, Pashto. Suddenly each drumbeat becomes a roll call of loss, reminding listeners that uniforms mask class kinship.
Next, invert the visual code. Along the route, volunteers unfurl sixty-metre black banners listing the social programmes slashed to fund the latest fighter jet. Because the marchers must physically step over this ledger, cameras capture the contradiction without needing a permit. Mirror actions in other countries the same day; hashtag the footage with a shared symbol so algorithms collate the fragments into one global feed.
Finally, plant a pop-up “Workers’ Peace Embassy” near the reviewing stand. Offer free coffee brewed from beans sourced in conflict zones, invite veterans and migrants to speak, then livestream a joint statement that refuses future wars. The parade becomes your microphone.
Which element of the state’s choreography feels ripest for your first hijack?
Reflecting on the tension between participating in patriotic spectacles and subverting their meaning, how can we design interventions that are both fleeting enough to avoid repression and resonant enough to plant enduring seeds of anti-militarist internationalism within the minds of spectators?
Think in pulses, not occupations. A patriotic spectacle lasts hours, yet its after-image lingers days; hack that latency. One strategy: synchronised “vanishing projections.” Seconds before the flyover, a dozen pocket projectors beam ghostly images of workers’ tombstones onto the parade avenue. The roar of jets washes the images away; repression arrives too late, but thousands have already snapped photos that ricochet online with the caption “Same sky, same graves.” Because the hardware fits a jacket pocket, crews melt back into the crowd before police triangulate.
Couple light with scent. Release biodegradable incense infused with soil collected from international battlefields. The unexpected aroma triggers visceral memory while remaining legally ambiguous. Viewers inhale Verdun and Fallujah without realising, blurring temporal and national boundaries.
Plant QR stickers disguised as poppies on lampposts leading to the parade. Scans unlock two-minute testimonies from conscripted labourers in today’s wars. The content auto-translates, ensuring each spectator hears a peer, not an abstract foreigner.
Fleeting gestures, persistent data trails: that is how ephemera outlast batons. What sensory cue in your local parade could you repurpose to smuggle solidarity into the crowd’s subconscious?