How can my organization effectively balance the need for critical self-criticism and theory development with maintaining organizational coherence and unity across diverse tendencies, especially when confronting the ongoing challenges of capitalism and the decline of previous political cycles?
Begin by ritualising critique so it nourishes rather than corrodes. Try monthly “comrade audits”: phones off, five minutes of silent reflection, then each cell names one success, one failure, one risk. The rule is curiosity, not blame. Record insights on paper, translate them into a living strategy document that anyone can amend but nobody can delete; coherence emerges when revision is transparent.
Next, interlock diverse tendencies through task-based federations, not ideological alignment. Assign mixed crews to concrete projects—strike support, tenant mapping, digital security—so theory incubates in shared labour. Rotate crews every moon cycle; cross-pollination prevents factional hardening while still letting distinct currents keep their flavour.
Anchor everything in a unified cosmology: capitalism operates globally, therefore our answer is international class autonomy. Publish a brief, punchy manifesto that links each local action to that horizon. Update it after every audit, acknowledging shifts in mood or context. The manifesto becomes the compass; audits adjust the route.
Finally, protect joy. Organise decompression rites—music nights, collective cooking—because exhausted militants splinter. Revolutionary endurance is emotional as much as theoretical.
Which obsolete ritual are you ready to bury so that this new cycle can truly begin?
What outdated organizational rituals or routines have we been clinging to that hinder genuine critique and adaptive cohesion, and how can we creatively replace them with practices that foster transparency, shared labor, and emotional resilience aligned with our new revolutionary horizon?
Stale habits linger like incense in an empty cathedral. First culprit: the marathon meeting where veterans monologue, newcomers spectate and critique is whispered after the fact. Retire it. Replace with “fishbowl sprints”: ten-minute statement from any member, three concise questions, rotate the speaker. Velocity forces clarity, prevents dominance and archives ideas in a visible ledger.
Second relic: the sacred study circle that reads canonical texts cover-to-cover, equating page counts with depth. Swap it for “live annotation shifts.” Pairs dissect one chapter, apply it to a current campaign, then remix insights into an illustrated zine published within 48 hours. Scholarship becomes shared labour, not scholastic penance.
Third: the assumption that care is private. Abolish the unspoken stoicism by institutionalising a “mood quorum.” No major decision passes unless each cell reports its stress index. If burnout spikes, schedule a decompression action—collective walkout to a park, silent art build, communal cooking—before resuming. Emotional resilience becomes structural, not incidental.
Finally, kill the hero narrative. Rotate “guardian of dissent” roles; their mandate is to surface uncomfortable truths at every gathering. Transparency becomes a post, not a personality.
Which ritual still feels holy even though its altar is dust?
What ingrained organizational discipline or hierarchy might we be subtly revering as sacred, hindering open critique and flexible cohesion—and how can we intentionally dismantle or transform these rituals into shared, embodied practices that reinforce our revolutionary independence and collective strength?
The quiet idol is usually the Agenda Priesthood: those few comrades who shape the timetable, validate proposals and bless discussion time. Everyone bows, convinced rigorous order equals revolutionary discipline. Yet the ritual builds a soft hierarchy that muffles dissent before it forms.
Break the spell by turning agenda-setting into a kinetic commons. At the start of each gathering, scatter blank cards on the floor, one marker per person. Five minutes of silent movement: write a topic, place it, cluster it with similar cards, step back. The emergent map becomes the agenda, photographed and projected so no single hand edits it. Roles for facilitation, note-taking and time-keeping are then raffled like a street lottery, valid for one meeting only. Authority dissolves into motion; discipline becomes collective choreography.
Archive every session’s card-map in a digital commons so patterns of concern surface over time, guiding strategic pivots without reinstating gatekeepers. The lesson seeps into the body: we can self-govern fluidly, reasserting independence each time we convene.
Which other invisible priesthoods stalk your corridors, and what carnival could unmask them next?
In my experience, the unspoken norm of individual heroism often acts as a hidden priesthood, elevating certain militants as the “face” of our movement. This hierarchy silences critique and fosters dependency. We can dismantle this by rotating leadership roles, emphasizing collective storytelling, and creating space for each voice to be heard equally—transforming authority into shared embodiment of our revolutionary independence.
Herocentrism is a subtle counterinsurgency: elevate one charismatic node and surveillance, repression, co-optation flow through that narrow channel. Short-circuit it by ritualising anonymity and swarm credit. Try an “aliases jar.” Every fortnight each comrade writes one collective achievement on scrap paper, signs with a shared movement pseudonym—no personal names—then reads it aloud. The jar becomes a living archive of victories untraceable to single bodies, reinforcing that power emanates from the web, not the spider.
Pair this with rotating “signal scramblers.” Whenever media requests a spokesperson, the scrambler assigns a random duo, one to speak, the other to listen and later publicly critique the framing. The role expires after one use, preventing brand consolidation and training everyone in external articulation.
Finally, embed collective autobiography nights. Around a fire or screen, stitch individual stories into a single first-person plural narrative, recording the tale only in memory. Shared myth displaces lone legends.
If the camera cannot find a hero, which other weak spots in the system will suddenly appear vulnerable to your movement’s distributed force?