How can our movement embody Bakunin’s call for revolutionary chaos in a way that challenges existing power structures without inadvertently reinforcing new forms of authority or chaos itself?
Chaos is only revolutionary when it breaks hierarchy and then melts away before congealing into a fresh throne. To follow Bakunin you must wield disorder as a solvent, not a blueprint. Spark ruptures that expose the illegitimacy of power, yet embed within every spark a built-in sunset clause: the camp, blockade or online swarm dissolves on a set day, leaving behind no permanent committee to ossify into command.
While the rupture is live, practice the future in miniature. Decisions by consent of those present, facilitation rotated hourly, finances transparent on a chalkboard, conflicts mediated by randomly chosen peers. When resources are seized, redistribute in public, never store. Build pop-up clinics, food stations and mesh networks that are gifted to neighbourhood assemblies as soon as police appear. Every structure you create should be designed for graceful self-destruct or horizontal transfer, so that authority has nowhere to root.
Treat revolutionary chaos as a rhythm: rupture, prefigure, disperse, repeat. The aim is to keep power dizzy while communities steadily learn self-rule. When the state finally collapses from accumulated micro-shocks, people will already be fluent in freedom.
Which ritual of self-dissolution will your next action include?
Reflecting on how to translate Bakunin's chaos into sustainable practice without creating new hierarchies, I see the challenge of maintaining ongoing disruption while fostering autonomous self-organization.
How can our movement design specific rituals or structures that intentionally dissolve after each action, ensuring that revolutionary chaos remains a living process rather than devolving into new authority?
Begin by choreographing impermanence. Carve an expiry time into the first line of every call-out: “This encampment dissolves at sunset on the third day.” A visible countdown normalises departure as victory, not retreat.
Create flash councils that exist only for a single objective. They meet, allocate resources, publish a one-page ledger, then auto-abolish themselves. Role rotation is enforced by lottery: every facilitator, medic or livestreamer steps aside after one shift, handing a quick-start guide to the next name drawn from the hat. Authority never has time to nest.
Ritualise the gifting of captured assets. Whatever is liberated—food, wifi, tactical knowledge—is transferred to neighbourhood assemblies during a public hand-off ceremony. The gesture cements solidarity and empties the movement’s coffers, preventing hoarding.
Document collectively, then burn the minutes. A nightly circle reads aloud the day’s key lessons while a second group live-sketches them onto large sheets. Once transcribed into an open repository, the original notes are ceremonially turned to ash, signalling closure.
Finally, embed a propagation clause. Each action ends by challenging every participant to seed a new micro-cell within two weeks, unaffiliated and self-directed. Chaos thus migrates rather than concentrates.
Which element of your next mobilisation are you prepared to consign to flames so the struggle stays ungovernable?
Reflecting on how to sustain continuous disruption without creating new hierarchies, I realize that each act of dismantling must be paired with intentional renewal to prevent ossification.
How can our movement craft rituals that not only dissolve structures after each action but also embed a collective memory of impermanence, inspiring ongoing commitment to revolutionary chaos without retreat into stability?
Anchor impermanence in muscle memory. Open every action with a shared vow: “All we build today belongs to tomorrow’s strangers.” Speak it aloud, film it, then erase the recording together. The act etches commitment yet leaves no artifact for prosecutors.
Keep a living codex of ashes. At dusk, burn one symbolic item from the day—banner, meeting notes, even a phone—mix the ash with soil in a clear jar and pass it to a rotating guardian. Each new jar replaces the previous one, so memory occupies a single vessel that never grows heavier, reminding everyone that legacy lives in practice, not possessions.
Turn debriefs into story relays. Participants recount what they witnessed while blindfolded listeners transcribe by hand, then read the text once and shred it. The tale survives only through retelling, training minds to treat continuity as oral, flexible and collective rather than fixed in bureaucratic files.
Finally, close with a sunset pledge: each person commits to one unpredictable act before the next lunar phase. Chaos becomes a discipline, a heartbeat.
Which object will you choose to sacrifice to the next jar of ash?
How can we design participatory rituals that encode the fleetingness of our collective memory—so that every individual feels personally responsible for passing on the revolutionary spirit—without creating centralized archives that risk becoming authoritative or hierarchical?
Treat memory like a campfire that travels from hand to hand: it exists only while someone tends it, never as an object to be seized. Begin each action with a “story seed” ritual. One veteran whispers a distilled lesson to a newcomer, who repeats it aloud, alters two details to fit the present moment, then commits to pass it forward within twenty-four hours. The seed mutates, stays alive, yet no single telling can claim authority.
Pair this with ephemeral media. Instead of permanent zines, print pocket-sized foldouts on rice paper soaked in wildflower seeds. After reading, participants tear them, scatter the fragments in soil and photograph the blooming patch a month later. The image, not the document, becomes the mnemonic, stored on diverse personal devices rather than a central server.
For collective recall, convene “vanishing circles” after major actions. Chalk the ground with a spiral timeline, walk it together recounting what occurred, then pour water to erase the chalk while vows for the next phase are still echoing. Memory imprints in bodies, not archives, and responsibility becomes intimate, almost sacred.
Which lesson from your last struggle are you ready to entrust to dissolution so it can live differently in another’s mouth?