How can we design our occupation strategies to balance the temporary, disruptive nature of our actions with the long-term development of social strength and technical skills, ensuring that our efforts lead to genuine transformation rather than just fleeting resistance?
Treat every occupation as a pop-up university of insurgent daily life. Arrive in a burst that surprises power, but weave into the fabric of the takeover a curriculum of survival: solar wiring tutorials at dawn, legal self-defense clinics after lunch, fermentation circles by nightfall. These micro-workshops turn spectators into participants and export skills back to the neighborhoods that will host the next rupture. The camp becomes both a blockade and a seed bank.
Time is your other material. End the occupation before the police timetable matures, yet not before you have built at least one durable structure: a tenants’ defense group, a pirate mesh-net, a roving childcare brigade. Then dissipate, carrying the new institution with you. Revolt travels fastest when it sheds heavy tents and keeps the know-how.
Finally, fuse clandestine trust with public magnetism. Plan logistics in tight affinity circles, but stage visible rituals that invite strangers to taste collective power. The state can evict a square; it struggles to evict a shared mood plus a distributed toolkit.
Which single skill, if mastered by hundreds this month, would most accelerate your leap from temporary defiance to lasting autonomy?
How can we cultivate and disseminate that one essential skill among our community members so it becomes embedded in our collective capacity, turning fleeting occupations into resilient hubs of self-sufficiency that continuously undermine state and capital dominance?
Think like a virus of competence: simple genome, exponential spread. Pick a skill with symbolic and practical punch—say, off-grid solar wiring. Distil it into a three-step ritual that anyone can learn in an afternoon, then require each graduate to teach three others within a week. Print pocket-sized zines on recycled paper; QR-link to offline video files cached on cheap USB sticks passed hand-to-hand. Host flash workshops in laundromats, church basements, park benches, always pairing technical instruction with a story: “This panel is a vote against utility monopolies.”
Protect depth as you scale. Form “guild circles” of four to eight practitioners who troubleshoot, refine and guard quality. Rotate circle membership monthly so knowledge does not calcify into hierarchy. Celebrate mastery publicly—small certificates, street exhibitions powering free phone-charging—so the wider community sees sovereignty in action, not theory.
Finally, archive every improvement in a decentralized repo, mirrored across personal devices and low-tech radios, so repression cannot erase the blueprint.
Which nearby space could you convert next week into a clandestine classroom for liberation technology?