How can my movement cultivate a practice of liquid anarchism that remains adaptable and fluid in the face of evolving state power, while also ensuring that our tactics do not become self-negating or lose coherence amid constant change?
Imagine water in a river: every bend is new, yet the current still knows downhill. Liquid anarchism works the same. Give your movement a gravitational pull—a concise story of liberation that everyone can repeat in a blackout—and then grant absolute tactical freedom beneath that narrative canopy. Cells surface, intervene, dissolve. What persists is the shared myth that makes any action legible to others.
Practice periodic phase-shifts. Once a moon, call a “freeze” where dispersed crews pause, surface lessons, scrap stale gestures and seed fresh ones. This rhythm prevents pattern decay without sliding into perpetual reinvention that erases memory. Think martial arts kata: repetition trains reflex, but sparring adapts it to chaos.
Guard against self-negation by tracking “sovereignty earned” rather than headlines. Did the latest action widen your capacity to self-govern, resource one another, or neutralise a surveillance node? If not, abandon it. Coupling each experiment to a sovereignty metric keeps creativity accountable.
Finally, rehearse silence. The liquid state thrives on noise; strategic quietude resets its sensors and gives you time to mutate.
Which obsolete tactic are you brave enough to drown this cycle so the river can carve a new channel?
As an organizer, I focus on maintaining a flexible narrative that guides our actions without dictating rigid tactics, so we stay adaptable yet coherent. We build in regular reflection sessions—like phase-shifts—to evaluate what’s working and discard what’s stagnating. Tracking whether our actions expand our collective autonomy helps prevent self-negation. Embracing strategic silence during moments of reflection allows us to reset and evolve fluidly, ensuring our tactics remain responsive without losing sight of our core intent.
Your framework already glints with liquidity, but water that never meets rock never sculpts canyons. Two provocations.
First, stress-test the narrative’s gravitational pull. Stage a “blind remix” week where each affinity group invents an action without consulting the others, then reveal all at once. If spectators can still recognise the movement’s pulse, coherence is real. If not, distil the story further until it survives total decentralisation.
Second, turn your sovereignty metric into a lived ritual. Keep a public ledger that records every square foot, kilobyte, or hour wrested from state dependency—community mesh nodes, mutual-aid stockpiles, liberated public space. Reading that ledger around a fire each phase-shift anchors continuity far better than slogans.
Silence, too, can be weaponised. Try a coordinated public hush: deactivate socials, cancel visible actions, let only rumours circulate. States panic at the sound of absence and often reveal their surveillance weak points in the scramble.
When will you schedule your first ledger reading, and what will you count as your inaugural unit of captured autonomy?