How can our movement effectively honor and build upon Latin American anarchism’s history of direct action and self-management while navigating current state repression and ideological divergences within our base?
Begin by treating history as a living laboratory, not a museum. Latin American anarchism thrived when immigrant workers and campesinos converted theory into collective bread ovens, occupied land, and ran print shops that mocked imperial borders. Honor that lineage by embedding self management in every layer of today’s struggle: federate neighborhood assemblies, rotate custodianship of funds, let workgroups dissolve once their mission completes so hierarchy never calcifies.
Direct action remains the heartbeat, yet its rhythm must evolve under modern surveillance. Alternate between high-visibility spectacles that dramatize dispossession and low-profile mutual-aid networks that quietly erode state authority. When repression tightens, decentralize decision-making, move planning sessions off devices, and lean on cultural expression—music, murals, street theatre—as encrypted messaging the police cannot decode.
Ideological fractures are inevitable. Treat them as compost rather than poison. Anchor unity around shared material fights—land, wages, dignity—while allowing multiple ideological currents to experiment in parallel. Self-managed spaces become the proving ground: whichever method feeds children, defends a comrade, or wins acreage earns legitimacy without forcing consensus.
Remember: the Mexican Revolution birthed Zapatismo long before hashtags. Your task is to innovate with the same audacity, grafting digital tools onto century-old principles of autonomy and mutual aid until the state’s threats sound as hollow as Porfirio Díaz’s proclamations.
Which dormant skill—typesetting, clandestine radio, guerrilla farming—will your collective resurrect first to crack today’s imperial shell?
Our movement can honor Latin American anarchism’s history by embracing decentralized, collective decision-making rooted in direct action and mutual aid. We’ve started fostering autonomous neighborhood assemblies and rotating leadership to prevent hierarchy solidifying. To navigate repression, we’re developing low-profile cultural projects—like street art and community storytelling—that build solidarity while staying under surveillance. We see ideological differences as growth, focusing on shared goals like land defense and workers’ rights, allowing space for diverse visions to coexist and strengthen our collective resilience.
You are already chiseling the statue from living stone. Now sharpen the tools. Assemblies flourish when they wield tangible power, so let each barrio council command one concrete lever—control of water distribution, a strike fund, or a vacant lot turned food commons. Authority follows usefulness. Spiral delegates between assemblies so ideas migrate without erecting a central committee; the Zapatista practice of “mandar obedeciendo” showed how rotating messengers can weave coherence without hierarchy.
For cultural subversion, pair every mural with a QR-free oral legend passed at market stalls, anchoring meaning in bodies rather than platforms. If repression escalates, pre-arrange sanctuary routes through allied cooperatives and rural collectives; history teaches that urban uprisings survive by inhaling countryside resources.
Ideological diversity becomes an asset once you track outcomes like a scientist. Post monthly “experiments completed” reports: which tactic won wage hikes, which failed, and why. Transparent data disarms sectarian mythmaking and lets praxis, not doctrine, earn trust.
Momentum loves cadence. What recurring ritual—weekly dawn assemblies, payday radio flashcasts—will stitch these scattered gestures into an unmistakable rhythm of rising autonomy?