Revoltutions of our Time is written by The Peoples Want, a global network of grassroots collectives, organizations, and activists working to build a new form of international solidarity “from below,” prioritizing popular movements over state interests. The network started in 2019 from gatherings initiated by The Syrian Canteen, a mutual aid space and kitchen in Paris run by Syrian political exiles. It grew out of international events supporting uprisings in Lebanon, Iraq, Chile, Algeria, Iran, and other regions. By 2022, after several international gatherings, participants formalized an autonomous network structure to connect global struggles. The group published Revolutions of Our Times: An Internationalist Manifesto, detailing their perspective on 21st-century revolutionary internationalism.

Void Network supports The Peoples Want from the summer of 2026 and after the contacts established during the book presentation’s tour Gen Z Makes History in Asia.

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One sunny day in the suburbs of Paris, back in 2019, people from all round the world came together to attend the first ever “The Peoples Want” gathering. Paris is a colonial metropolis, but it is also a crossroads, a place where for many centuries exiles have gathered. The name we gave of our meeting was intended as a tribute to a cry that shook the world for more than a decade: “The People Want the Downfall of the Regime.” By swapping “Peoples” for People, we were expressing an aspiration.

A few years earlier, this rallying cry was brought to Paris in the luggage of Syrian revolutionaries. An encounter with local dissidents gave birth to a cooperative called “The Syrian Canteen.” It was intended as a warm place in which to recoup strength and courage, where people could break out of their isolation, where the most intense debates revolved around food and revolution; and where, gradually, a community of exiles and friends from several countries was able to coalesce.

It was out of this community that ‘The Peoples Want’ arose, as a series of transnational gatherings year after year attended by revolutionaries from all over the world. We shared our experiences and discussed what we were trying to build and fight for in our territories and neighborhoods. We took time to get to know each other over large banquets and parties, heard inspiring speeches and participated in discussions that were sometimes difficult. Above all, we allowed ourselves to imagine that the future held possibilities beyond the repressive blanket of lead that had descended.

The last of these meetings set us on a new course. Revolutionaries from forty countries attended, and thousands of people came to meet them. Many expressed the desire to build something more sustainable, to go further. This energy proved that there was work to be done, that we were just at the beginning. So, the canteen remained a canteen, and the network began to draw its own constellation.

The process of writing this text began in the summer of 2023. It consisted in nine people from different parts of the world—Lebanon, France, Syria, Tunisia, Chile, Kurdistan, and Iran—coming together to establish a first draft. Nine contributors who, each in their own way, had taken part in the uprisings of our time. Different versions of this text were then offered for discussion from Santiago to Beirut, from Lyon to Buenos Aires, from the Massif Central to the Galloway Hills via the Beqaa Valley. Along the way, it was debated, reworked, fleshed out, and in places changed entirely. From places of exile, from sites of struggle, North, South, East and West, our words have been enriched by contributions from participants in the revolutions in Egypt, Sudan, and Iraq, the peasant revolts in India, the feminist wave in Latin America, the movement for George Floyd in the United States, the uprising in Sri Lanka, the Palestinian and Ukrainian resistance, and many others.

Putting ideological considerations aside, foregoing dominant discourses and TV studio geopolitics, we traveled to engage with bodies in struggle, then pooled our experiences. From these many encounters, and the illumination they produced, we tried to grasp what was at stake, and make the most of many uncertainties and apparent contradictions, to analyze forces at play and understand our most immediate challenges. We then set ourselves a series of short, medium, and long-term objectives. The intensification of open warfare—in Ukraine, Sudan, Palestine, and Lebanon, to mention only the most recent—and the reinforcement of the bloc logic this implies, seemed a major obstacle. How could we not appear out of step, when drawing up plans for a new internationalism, at a time when bombs are going off everywhere?

Recognizing ourselves

“Nos costó tanto encontrarnos, no nos soltemos”ⁱ

It was so hard to find each other, let’s never again be apart

The memories of our era are filled with images of its ongoing collapse; forests in flames, seas turned into graveyards, epidemics, famines, and murderous invasions …

But we could choose to remember something else. We could remember the power of the uprisings that shook the countryside and cities of the world, sparing no continent, no geography. Time and again, in the midst of this suffocating atmosphere of the end of civilization, people had risen against fatalism. Governments, regimes, and a few heads fell. People returned to knock on history’s door.

Hundreds of police stations set on fire by protesters in Iran. A thousand public buildings attacked by rebels from working-class neighborhoods in France. Giant barricades on Maïdan in Kyiv, banks stormed by insurgents in Lebanon. Everywhere, violent insurrection offered a response to the violence of humiliation.

Those who lived through the ransacking of triumphal arches, the invasion of presidential swimming pools, or participated in furious dances echoing across borders, remember the rage. The rage, but also beauty liberated in defiance of sadness. We remember the warmth of a library built under siege, late-night conversations in improvised street kitchens, splendid walls adorned with slogans, words of wit and messages of love, those tens of thousands of voices singing in unison that nothing would ever be the same again.

Let them repaint the walls and re-make their statues. They can send us into exile. They can lock us up and slaughter our people. A flame burns deep in our hearts through the hardest, coldest, most sinister moments.

In revolt, we have regained our dignity. From continent to continent, from our exile, in our travels and in our struggles, we have found each other. In the clash of street battles, gestures seen and then replicated in different countries, words echoed across languages, we have recognized each other. We understood that we belong to a single transnational struggle and that we stand against an internationally organized elite. We know that if we remain isolated, we will achieve nothing.

The bitterness of our defeats, and our refusal to accept them as final, has engendered the desire to get to know each other. We have begun to weave a network of planetary connections, from front lines to popular assemblies, from feminist strikes to resistance committees, from occupied traffic circles to occupied forests, and have discovered a common sensibility.

If the avant-gardes claimed to be marching one step ahead of the masses, we know that we are marching one step behind the popular uprisings of recent years. We have grown in their wake; they were our best school. Now we want to weave the fabric of a generational experience. By generation, we mean that which connects all those, regardless of age, gender, ethnicity, religion or language, who have recognized the emergence of a new revolutionary cycle and felt a tremor in the depths of their hearts and bodies.

None of the ideologies, none of the political roadmaps we have inherited is capable of grasping the tumult of our times. We have not sought to create new ones. But we do have a notion of the method that will enable us to find paths together: it’s called internationalism.

The revolutionary task has in part become a task of translation. Sharing and translating our different perceptions of reality, and circulating them, are the first steps in this method. This text is designed to highlight salient points of our first cross-analyses. It attempts to organize them in a way that may be useful to anyone wishing to take an active part in what happens next.

Palestine (2000, 2005, 2020), Argentina (2001), Kabylia (2001), Georgia (2003, 2024), Lebanon (2005, 2019), France (2005, 2018, 2023), Iceland (2008), Iran (2009, 2017, 2019, 2022), Kyrgyzstan (2010), Thailand (2013, 2020), Brazil (2013) South Korea (2016), UK (2011), USA (2011, 2014, 2015, 2020), Syria (2011), Morocco (2011), Libya (2011), Tunisia (2011), Spain (2011), Greece (2008, 2011), Egypt (2011), Sri Lanka (2022), Yemen (2011), Bahrain (2011), Quebec (2012), Turkey (2013), Ukraine (2004, 2014), Burkina Faso (2014), Bakur-Kurdistan (2015), Nicaragua (2018), Iraq (2019), Catalonia (2019), Ecuador (2019), Belarus (2006, 2021), Kyrgyzstan (2005, 2010, 2020), Turkey (2013), Chile (2019), India (2019), Hong Kong (2014, 2018), Haiti (2019), Algeria (2019), Sudan (2013; 2018; 2019), Colombia (2021), Burma (2021), Kazakhstan (2022), Peru (2009, 2022), Senegal (2022-2023), Bangladesh (2024) …

This is not just an incomplete and unfinished list of the revolts of our time. Behind every place, behind every date, lie hundreds of thousands of faces, dreams, and lives. The following lines are a tribute to the insurgents who took part in these events; a tribute to those we have found, those we have yet to meet and those we will never see again. To those who fell because they loved life. It is for our own sakes, but also for theirs, that we have decided to take to the road again; inspired by their presence and their energy. These words are dedicated to them.

Birth of our power

/ The margins attack the center / From the margins to the people / The fall of the regime / The plan we missed /

A fifteenth-century Arab thinker, watching his civilization crumble from bathing in superfluous luxury, worriedly predicted: the margins will put an end to Empire. What better image of this threat from the margins than Delhi in 2020, encircled by millions of peasants who had been long ignored. Peasants who, after the biggest strike in human history—a strike of 250 million people—set up peasant councils, the Mahapanchayat, all over the country, saying: The Mahapanchayat are the new parliaments of the people, and the untouchables will be at their center.

The margins attack the center

As the uprisings of our time have shown, there is no global revolutionary subject. Black people in the United States, women and sexual and gender dissidents in Latin America, Baluchis or Kurds in Iran, Indigenous peoples in Ecuador or Peru, youth from the working-class districts of Santiago and Tripoli. The revolt was led, above all, by those on the margins.

To be on the margins is to be part of the whole, but outside it. The margins include those who are carefully kept on the sidelines, not too far away to keep the machine running, but not too close to disturb; both outside and at the service of the centers. The centers are where power lies; state or capital city, multinational corporation, colonial settlers, bosses, patriarchs.

A revolt is limited when those who trigger it fail to rally other types of anger. Facing the centers, the great architects of our separation, the challenge of our uprisings was to ensure our encounter. Encounters between different segments of the margins, but also encounters between those on the margins and dissidents from the centers; those who defy the powers from which they benefit, such as the inhabitants of colonial metropolises who support liberation struggles in the colonies.

Where a segment of the margins, such as peasants in India, Indigenous people in Ecuador, high school students in Chile, or Black people in the United States, was joined by a large part of the population, uprisings have managed to achieve victories. Although these were often partial and provisional: the withdrawal of reforms in India and Ecuador, the opening of the constituent process in Chile, and the pseudo-overhaul of several local police forces in the United States.

In an uprising, encounters between fighters from the margins and dissidents from the centers gives rise to breaches that contain trenchant possibilities, where ambiguities and contradictions coexist. In the United States, the uprising triggered by the assassination of George Floyd was joined by white demonstrators in large numbers. After the first days of insurrection, these demonstrators tried to form a security cordon between the police and Black insurgents in order to ‘protect’ them. Without even realizing, they were helping to neutralize anger and redraw racial boundaries that the insurrectionary movement had momentarily made less rigid. Nothing is a given in the encounter between dissidents from the centers and fighters from the margins—or between different sections of the margins themselves—but the moments of uprising were unique opportunities to shift the boundaries beyond compartmentalized milieus.

Where such encounters did not take place, the revolts multiplied in successive waves, but at a certain stage dispersed, fragmented, or were repressed. This was the case in Iran, where it was mainly the declassed middle classes who revolted in 2009, and working class men in 2017 and 2019. It wasn’t until 2022 that the regime faltered, when all components of society rose up behind women. In France, white dissidents of the centers didn’t join the youth of working class neighborhoods in 2005 or 2023, and the middle classes or unionized workers took little part in the Yellow Vest uprising of 2018. Without these encounters, regimes hold, governments buy time.

From the margins to the people

In the heart of Paris, during the insurrectionary evening of 1 December 2018, after breaking down the doors of the former Paris stock exchange, a Black teenager, standing alongside a white protester in a yellow vest and an activist of Moroccan origin, enthusiastically blurts out, “It’s us the people … Wallah (I swear on Allah), it’s us the people!”

The revolt dismantles the separations produced by the centers; reconstituting the people. In Sudan, it was through meeting in the revolutionary processions of 2019 and at the sit-in in al-Qiyada Square that people from all parts of the country found themselves sharing their experience of the injustices that affected them all, although in different ways. It was in revolt that they first encountered each other, chanting together: “Unity is the people’s choice!”

The uprising shatters the people which was constructed and rigidified by national novels, fascist ideologies and dogmatic activists. Through their calls for unity, the margins of the uprising have often reinvented the people, in line with their own realities. That explains why, in France, a predominantly white movement like the Yellow Vests was so strong among colonized populations in Guadeloupe or Reunion; why a Black woman, the son of a Portuguese immigrant, and a young Romani could be found among the movement’s main leaders; why a small business owner and a working class woman could hold a barricade together. In Sri Lanka, the 2022 uprising brought together, not without friction, Buddhist monks, queer people, Sinhalese and Tamils, revealing the people for what they are: plural and in the making.

Weaving together the different fragments of the margins is done through speech as well as gestures. Syrian Arab revolutionaries understood this well when they used the Kurdish word “azadi” (freedom) as a call to Kurds; the Turkmen of Iran when they sang “Kurdistan the eyes and light of Iran” to bring together historically antagonistic minorities; the use of the Mapuche flag in the 2019 demonstrations in Chile, and the Kabyle one in Algeria during the Hirak. In the heat of uprising, these gestures were all attempts to extend the people.

Yet, no segment of the margins is capable of unifying the diversity of people indefinitely. Unity is enabled by the sharing of experiences from the margins—insurrectionary practices, resistance in the face of repression, and the organization of immediate survival—more than by visions of change or ideological convictions. While regimes were relentless in their efforts to divide the movement by all possible means, pre-existing divisions also returned at the first opportunity, undermining the unity born of revolt. This leaves us with a major question: how can we maintain our unity beyond the peak of an uprising?

A people is always several things at once. It can be deceived, oppressed, participate in its own defeat or that of others. It can be divided with each fragment fighting each other. But a people can also, on rare occasions, rally around a collective will to free itself from the political class that governs it. It’s only through coming together, even if ephemerally, despite obstacles and contradictions, that the various segments of the margins, together with dissidents of the centers, have created a people with a new meaning. A people with revolutionary potential.

The fall of the regime

In Egypt, Tunisia and Ukraine, regimes fell. In Lebanon, Sri Lanka and Iraq, governments were overthrown. Yet even when movements seemed momentarily victorious, nowhere did the uprisings succeed in preventing a return to the established order or the arrival of the worst. Insurgents everywhere were painfully reminded that replacing a government or a constitution is not synonymous with threatening the powerful. The uprisings failed to reach the core of regimes.

An uprising is the eruption of the real movement, the self-assertion of those who have been pushed out of their humanity, dispossessed of their own strength. In this way, it signals both to the centers and to the margins themselves that the status quo can no longer continue. It fractures the legitimacy of established powers. The question remains, what to do with this fracture?

In 2022, Sri Lanka found itself on the verge of tipping over. Government buildings were occupied, the president had fled the country, and the army and police didn’t dare intervene. In a way, revolutionaries had won the first round. But not knowing what to do with the ministries, they returned them. As elsewhere, revolutionaries were beaten by the shock of their own victory.

In many uprisings, in the face of our paralysis, politicians and technocrats of all stripes did not miss the opportunity offered by our weakness. The Muslim Brotherhood in Tunisia and Egypt, the military chiefs in Libya and Algeria, the “official” opposition of the Syrian National Council: the crowd of opportunists didn’t wait for us to finish mourning our dead or nursing our wounded. While our barricades were still in place, they went to negotiate a “political outcome,” synonymous with the end of the revolt.

How can we forget Boric, subsequently elected President of Chile, rushing into the halls of Congress in 2019, while the crowd was still confronting the police in the streets, to sign a biased agreement for a constitutional process to contain the revolt alongside the ruling political parties? As is so often the case, the institutional game intervened to restore order and prevent the country from plunging into the unknown. “If Piñera falls, we all fall,” said a leftwing Chilean senator with lucidity. Politicians and bourgeois of both right and left always prefer to accept cosmetic change and a few concessions to ward off the advent of a revolution that would really threaten their power and wealth. To prevent a profound revolution.

During the Maïdan uprising in Kyiv in 2014, the ministry doors slammed shut once the regime was deposed by the street. Opposition parties were quick to propose a “transitional government,” which they paraded on the central grandstand of the occupied square asserting their legitimacy. The insurgents were not fooled, but after three months of insurrection they were exhausted, so the subterfuge came to pass. Insurgents thought they could keep a close eye on the new government and even proposed “people’s” deputies. They pressured the new government by occupying a number of ministries to bring about institutional change and threatened to launch another Maïdan. But above all, it was a signal for everyone to go home.

In Sri Lanka, Chile, and Ukraine, for the uprising to have gone further it would have been necessary to face the uncertainty of knowing how the country was going to feed itself, where to get fuel or medicine, or how to defend themselves against foreign military aggression. To know how to survive and live, rebels would have had to answer questions of scale that, for the moment, are beyond their grasp: what to do with state institutions, international organizations, the army, or foreign debt? How could they overcome obstacles without creating new dependencies? History has taught us that compromises often lead to concessions, i.e. variations of the same, rather than alternatives. So how do we keep fighting without falling into the abyss?

To do so, we need more than just material assurances. Throwing yourself into the unknown is an act of faith. It’s done when there appears to be no choice. Or out of conviction; when you believe in something so deeply that it seems worth the risk. But what exactly do we believe in? What is our response to uncertainty? The days when socialism was on the table for every uprising are over. Without a map or compass, rebels have thrown themselves into the arms of those who had a plan: the reactionaries, the liberals, or the military. And those of us who ignited the revolt were left to contemplate, comment, and criticize—at least those of us who were still free, or alive.

The plan we missed

The irony is that perhaps the plan was there all along, right before our eyes.

Much has been said about the horizontal, decentralized nature of our revolts. About the extent to which the big traditional organizations were absent, or incapable of monopolizing the “leadership” of the emerging movements. Leftists around the world appeared overwhelmed by the intensity and inventiveness of this wave of uprisings.

As a result, each uprising, each struggle, saw the emergence—independently of the directives of this or that leader, party, or organization—of new forms of popular organization adapted to the needs of each revolt. Occupations of squares, buildings, or universities in Greece, Egypt, Lebanon, Iraq, Sri Lanka, and Hong Kong; local councils in Syria and resistance committees in Sudan; territorial assemblies in Chile and Colombia; feminist assemblies around the world; roundabouts taken over by Yellow Vests in France.

In each of these experiences, insurgents found themselves organizing the offensive as well as the day-to-day life of the uprising. Assemblies were held to discuss strategy and prepare for highway blockades, demonstrations, and assaults on centers of power. We tried to organize security and self-defense, geolocated repressive forces, prepared legal defenses, and took care of the wounded. We built camps and shacks, fed crowds through ollas communes (popular kitchens), and occupied and cultivated vegetable gardens. Everywhere, we tried to ensure the proliferation of our forces and our possibilities for action.

In Syria, revolutionaries went even further. In territories from which the regime was ousted, insurgents managed to run entire towns, hospitals, mills, power stations, and distribute food by themselves for several years. The hundreds of local councils in the liberated territories were testimony to the fact that Syria’s future lay neither in the hands of the National Council (opposition in exile), nor in those of armed groups. Yet revolutionaries didn’t dare claim that it was they themselves who might actually be building an alternative to the regime. It was the demonstration in deed that, even under bombs and siege, cut off from the world and facing ruthless repression, people were capable of governing themselves.

In an uprising, we’ll always face forces who won’t hesitate to take over the palaces. And their priority will always be to defeat nascent forms of popular organization. Not being recognized as serious or legitimate by national and international forces, rebels were sidelined. Faced with these threats, we generally failed to influence the outcome of revolts. We were either unable or unwilling to take charge of the aftermath of the uprising. We failed to establish ourselves as a power.

In Sudan too, during the last decade of struggle (2013-2023), resistance committees were set up in cities and neighborhoods. They organized both mobilizations and popular mutual aid. Year after year, revolt after revolt, they’ve grown in strength and experience. Following the ousting of President Omar al-Bashir, some opposition organizations decided to participate in the civilian-military Transitional Council. The resistance committees largely opposed this decision in order to remain faithful to the revolution’s demand to remove all powers linked to the military. As a result, they themselves embodied popular legitimacy. Freed from opposition organizations and strengthened by this legitimacy, the hundreds of committees drafted and then voted on a proposal for the country’s future: the Charter for the Establishment of People’s Authority. Only in Sudan did the movement’s grassroots committees dare to claim revolutionary power. Elsewhere, one of the great errors was to have reduced the emerging popular powers to the means of the revolution, rather than a unique combination of its means and ends. As a prefiguration of a possible revolutionary future.

These experiments offer a wealth of lessons for revolutionaries; they join and update a long history of popular power. It’s a history that no textbook mentions: that of the Comandos Comunales and Cordones Industriales in Chile (1970-73), the Quilombos of Brazil (1550-2024), the sans-culottes sections of the French Revolution (1789-93), the Caracoles of Chiapas and the Workers’ Councils of Russia and Bavaria (1905, 1918-1919), the communes of Paris (1871), Morelos (1913) and Kronstadt (1921). And many others.

We interpret what we’ve lived through as an ongoing era of insurrection. What some quickly dismissed as defeat, we see as the birth of a worldwide movement of revolt for dignity. We look our failures straight in the eye, and prepare ourselves for victories to come. Our starting point is all those places to which popular power has returned, sometimes ephemerally, sometimes more tenaciously, to give us back our strength.

Finding the emergency brake

/ Behind every fascism lies a failed revolution / The age of exhaustion / A State of Emergency in every state / Finding the horizon /

The beginning of this decade underlines a simple, but painful truth: as revolution progresses, so counter-revolution grows harsh.

Recent uprisings have shown that all regimes, whatever their nature, are radically out of step with popular aspirations. Unable to rekindle faith in their moribund projects, the first response of those in power was terror. The uprisings left martyrs, prisoners, and exiles in their wake. The militarization of territories and the criminalization of struggles intensifies, while enforced disappearance and torture multiplies. To add to the national horror, Russian, Iranian, French, and American generals flocked to the bedsides of threatened regimes. Tear gas, bombs, and ‘French policing expertise’ were offered to Ben Ali, German policemen and Israeli cybersecurity systems to Chile, Iranian militias and Russian bombs to the aid of Bashar al-Assad. The crushing of our uprisings was not just national, it was international.

After the uprisings, what survives gains strength and even organizes itself, and is more often than not some form of reaction. Everywhere, the ruling classes fiercely defend their interests, whatever the cost. Across the globe, the only organized forces that seem to outlive the uprisings are conservative at best, fascist at worst. The last decade’s uprisings have been brought to a halt by a large-scale and multifaceted response: a violent counter-revolution.

Behind every fascism lies a failed revolution

Counter-revolution is not just a global counter-insurgency operation. Nor is it simply a restoration, a return to the old regime, or the re-establishment of a social order battered by conflict and revolt. It actively builds a new order to suit its own needs. It shapes mentalities, cultural behaviors, tastes, habits, and customs. But there’s more: counter-revolution uses the same presuppositions and tendencies as those on which the revolution is based; it occupies the terrain of its adversary and gives other answers to the same questions. It reinterprets the revolution in its own way.

As revolutionaries are crushed, dispersed, and isolated, the heads of the hydra we thought we’d cut off slowly grow back. Whether through the decolonial costumes worn by Putin or Xi Jinping, the “anti-establishment” rebellions of Trump, Milei, or Bolsonaro, or the “free world’s” war for “democracy,” elites everywhere try to harness aspirations of the uprisings to prevent their return. In Argentina, the “afuera!” (Out!) of Milei echoes the “que se vayan todos!” (Out with them all!) of the rebels at the turn of the century. The best way to crush the desire for freedom is to present oneself as a liberator.

In 2024, Donald Trump participates in rallies featuring slogans such as “be ungovernable” and “mass deportation now.” If fascists are our sworn enemies, it’s not just because their project is the opposite of ours. They’re our sworn enemies because they defend their project in revolutionary disguise, feeding off the impulses and aspirations of popular revolt while being the last resort of the centers. Putin, Meloni, Le Pen, like so many others, take advantage of the frustration and humiliation of the working class, undermined by the latest changes in capital, to consolidate their anti-establishment stance, so as to better defend the system. They claim to want to change everything so that nothing changes. Today, reactionaries are becoming more radical, while progressives flounder in moderation.

It’s no coincidence that fascists have so much hatred for the feminist and queer movements. Fascism sees them as an adversary capable of creating a desire for liberation which could potentially threaten the established order. Feminists in the South have convinced millions to join their movements, thanks to their radical claim to empowerment and a will to change everything by transgressing the rules of gender, class, geography, and age. The same is true of the queer movement, one of the few that continues to dare to dream. By shattering the binary logic at the basis of all power, they turn the imaginary into a weapon, and desire into a force. By putting the body at the heart of transformation, the queer revolution is one of the few movements to stand in the way of the fascists’ vision and embody possible futures. But, like so many other movements before them, they are being courted by the progressive factions of Empire, who are trying to defuse them and transform them into a harmless cultural accessory.

How can we believe that the bulldozing supremacisms of Trump, Modi, or Netanyahu could be beaten by a well-sourced argument, an IPCC report, the fact-checking of the New York Times or a vote at the UN? Every time it ventures onto this terrain, progressivism is a little more mocked, a little more discredited, and therefore counter-productive. The resignation of social democrats who claim it’s impossible to change anything, even after winning elections, prepares the path for subversion by fascist forces who only have to stoop to harvest the legitimate anger and lost souls of the uprisings. From Washington to Brasilia, so far, there has been nothing more than parodies of insurrection. The next time it could be much more serious.

The worldwide resurgence of xenophobic nationalism and the systematic attacks on women’s rights and sexual and gender dissidence are the result of a well-planned global offensive; that of a neo-fascist international. The increasingly tense and grimacing faces of power may differ in appearance, yet they all belong to the same beast. For beyond their apparent conflicts and enmities, these forces share a common goal: to maintain the power of the centers, no matter the cost. To achieve this, no massacre will be too costly. On the contrary, war has always been the method of choice to keep revolution at bay.

The age of exhaustion

Everywhere, we have fallen into a state of emergency. Of all the regimes whose demise we could wish for, it is one of the most tenacious and multiform. It is indelibly inscribed even in our ways of organization and methods of struggle.

There are the immediate emergencies that spur us to action, because it’s no longer possible to endure things as they are. Not having enough to eat, risking death or rape on every street corner, finding nowhere to shelter oneself and one’s children for the night, risking humiliation with every new administrative procedure, being beaten up at every identity check, fearing that there won’t be enough water to grow crops, that the earth will turn to sand …

The precarity of life plunges us into a grueling daily routine, filled with imperatives that we can’t even begin to resolve, and then another pressing situation arises. These emergencies, which unite us in our lived realities and monopolize our time and energy, are either faced alone or within our networks of relations, which are also exhausted. These daily pressures force us into unsustainable rhythms to keep struggles alive, to protect ourselves or avoid being crushed, demanding ever more energy simply to exist.

On the government side, as a cynical response to the emergencies just mentioned, there are those emergencies which, each in their own way, aim to remind us how helpless we are without the state’s protection: “economic crisis,” “natural” disasters, “foreign agents,” “external threats,” “migration crisis,” and so on. The “State of Emergency” is utilized by all regimes, from the most democratic to the most despotic, as a measure of exception to the state of “peace.”

The “emergency law” (Qanun al-Tawari’) governed the daily life of Syrians for over forty years before the revolution. Officially put in place to counter the military threat of Israel, it has always been used to repress any internal dissent. A few months after the start of the uprising, it was transformed into the “Counter-terrorism Law” but was still used to target any opposition. In Chile, the State of Emergency allowed President Piñera to (re)deploy the military against people in revolt. Over the last two decades, the use of the State of Emergency—as a legal justification for the absence of the rule of law—has spread everywhere, ostensibly in response to terrorist attacks as well as viruses, urban riots, and natural disasters.

A State of Emergency in every state

If politics is the continuation of war by other means, then governing and waging war are two sides of the same coin. The nation-state, with its particular way of structuring power, population management, and territorial control, has conquered almost the entire globe, through wars of colonization. However, the way in which power is exercised and populations controlled is not the same from one state to another, or from one region of the world to another.

The operation of the state apparatus is different for a former colonial power, well-established on the wealth it extorted from the rest of the world, than for a recently decolonized state under the influence of greater powers seeking to gain control over its resources. The degree of violence inflicted by the state on its own population is determined by the material means (colonial rent, oil rent, financial windfalls of various kinds) that the national elites have at their disposal to buy social peace before resorting to brute force.

Socialism, the welfare state, and social democracy, where they exist, have all been attempts to link the question of the state and that of popular sovereignty in a different way. In addition to its monopoly on “legitimate violence” and territorial defense, the State is also entrusted with the welfare of citizens, redistributing a part of the wealth, and providing services to the population. Each of these attempts, whether the outcome of revolutionary uprisings or reformist efforts, resulted in broadening popular support for the stability of the state.

But the time for social utopias is well and truly over. Hardly anyone is trying to sell us a rosy future. Dystopias have replaced utopias everywhere. There’s the conspiratorial threat of the “Great Replacement” espoused by white racists; the society of control under the subordination of authoritarian artificial intelligences; the imminent collapse of living conditions on Earth. When the traditional parties of the left attempt to re-enchant us with dusted-off political programs and new promises of change, it is now only due to the cyclical urgency of preventing the far right gaining power.

The “War on Terror” launched by the United States ushered in the twenty-first century. The pretext of the diffuse, omnipresent, and ever-imminent threat of terrorism has justified every war, every control measure, and every measure of exception at home and abroad. Mexico’s “war on drugs,” Russia’s “denazification of Ukraine,” Israel’s “eradication of Hamas,” Syria’s “annihilation of the Zionist-Wahabi conspiracy,” Turkey’s “crushing of Kurdish terrorism,” Mali’s “ending Tuareg secessionism,” Chile’s “dismantling of Mapuche terrorism,” and so many others … These are just some of the ways in which threats—some real, some fabricated—are used to divert societal tensions towards the fight against a common “enemy,” the ultimate guarantor of national unity. A domestic protest that is a little too strong will quickly slip into the rank of “enemy from within” if it is not satisfied with the negotiating framework it’s granted. The state is always portrayed as a “besieged castle,” under threat from hostile forces within or on its doorstep. It is legitimized by the very thing that threatens it.

The emergency defines our relationship to the world and ushers in differing degrees of authoritarian methods to deal with disasters. In turn summoned by political forces, trade unions and associations, then by governments that sometimes take them on board without responding to them, emergency has become the universal motif of politics. The only way to govern, or do activist work (where possible), is in the name of emergency. This imperative masks difference, conflict, and inequality: we are all concerned, in the same boat, equally victims, equally responsible, equally mobilizable.

Responding to a “social emergency,” calling for a “state of ecological emergency,” running from one cause to another, from a fight against an ecocide project to mobilization against a state reform, from a humanitarian crisis to an anti-fascist campaign. Each of these struggles, however important, sucks up all our available energy, and, lacking an overall strategy, we run around like headless chickens.

Finding the horizon

The militarization of cities, swift border closures, the explosion of police controls, electronic surveillance, and restrictions on movement, house arrests, and the management of the COVID-19 pandemic demonstrate that authoritarian measures are perfectly feasible on a large scale and over a long period of time. All that is needed to reactivate them when necessary is a well-crafted argument or crisis.

For a number of years now, things that haven’t previously been in the media spotlight have been making headlines on 24-hour news channels: the sterilization of the oceans, the Australian or Amazon forests in the grip of flames, hurricanes and devastating floods. The mismatch between the positions and actions of governments and the proven gravity of the situation is clear to everyone. “Eco-anxiety” has become the disease of an epoch for those privileged enough not to have more pressing reasons to worry. It’s another contributing factor to the general paralysis. When we hear about wars, famines, humanitarian disasters, or mega-fires all day long, we’re left in a daze. It’s understandable, in order to survive, to ignore this information and carry on with life. As we are reminded of our own powerlessness, we are once again condemned to rely on an improbable leap of faith from the planet’s leaders, or at least try to pressure them.

The very real ecological emergency is undoubtedly a powerful mobilizing force when concrete targets are identified and action strategies drawn up. The call to respond to the climate emergency is partly used by people fighting to defend their territories, by political organizations and environmental movements, to gain attention and increase their forces, to legitimize more radical forms of mobilization, and create unprecedented popular convergences. But as these emergencies become more widely recognized and threaten the interests of the ruling classes, leverage may well change hands. Ecology, for example, has already permeated rightwing and liberal political discourse, and the moment is fast approaching when talk of ecological collapse will justify a new authoritarian turn, Chinese-Communist-Party style.

The youth of the centers are mesmerized by the prospect of their own tragic future, while those on the margins dream of plausible futures, with their back to the wall of an untenable present. The result is a repeatedly renewed disconnect between respective situations. In the time we have left, it is up to us to come up with a fresh response.

We must re-establish our own timeframe. We must make space to think together and apply the emergency brake. Whether we are living in a society already collapsing under the impact of war, natural disaster, or economic meltdown; or whether we belong to the heart of a Western fortress, stifled and haunted by the prospect of its forthcoming collapse, the only way forward is to elaborate a common plan, effective in each of our situations. And to ask:

What is the nature of this emergency? What leverage does it allow? What energy does it provide, what energy does it drain? What is to be gained in the race to define the root cause and nature of the emergency? What excessive means may it one day cause our opponents to use?

“Emergency,” as a mandate to act, is a maneuver to win people over, and make them submit to an agenda—andthere can be little doubt as to who will have the means to win in the end. As far as popular movements are concerned, urgency is always a prelude to scattering and exhaustion. We need to focus, measure our actions, and strike where striking can make a difference. Whatever the imperatives, whatever the pressure that can seem to paralyze us, the challenge is to act by focusing our energy and avoiding exhaustion. Organizing in the face of a counterrevolutionary offensive on this scale means rediscovering a horizon and building for the long term: establishing connections and marshaling strength to avoid defeat in the insurrectionary explosions to come.

Turning exile into a position of attack

/ Deadly paths / Arrival in the host country / Increasing circulations /

Every attempt at revolution, every insurrection, leaves in its wake a new generation of exiled revolutionaries. In Cairo, Baghdad, Santiago, and elsewhere, uprisings have left people unable to return to their former lives, not only because of the existential upheaval experienced, but also because of the cost of struggle. Losing an uprising is never without consequences. In addition to defeat, rebels pay the price through trauma, prison, mutilation, or death. Others experience the heartbreak of having to abandon their land and their loved ones. Our decade of uprisings has thrown a whole generation of Syrians, Sudanese, Iranians, Haitians, and Hong Kongers into exile, joining the Kurds, Palestinians, and Tamils of previous generations.

Exile is not just the result of political repression. An exile is also a person forced to abandon their homeland in order to survive, because home has become too dangerous, life has become unbearably expensive, and the land less nourishing. Wanting a future for one’s children, needing to live one’s convictions or one’s sexuality elsewhere, are all causes of exile. For people on the margins, especially in the Global South, countless threats make staying at home too great a risk. Yet, the “migration crisis” has only just begun. Global warming will lead to massive displacement in the decades to come, as resources become increasingly scarce and large parts of the globe become uninhabitable. Paradoxically, the proliferation of borders and classifications on arrival only reinforce the desire to leave, rather than discouraging it.

Faced with domination, exploitation and humiliation, we have three options: survive, flee, or revolt. Whether in Senegal, Haiti, or Lebanon, popular anger is multiplying at the same rate as departures. The clear-cut distinctions between “economic” migrants, “political” exiles, and soon-to-be “climate” refugees make sense only to governments.

Revolt and exile are different responses to problems that have the same root: the exponential deterioration of living conditions and the proliferation of repressive regimes. Since the beginning of this century, people all over the world have been rising against those responsible for their material and emotional misery. Global and local elites, whether authoritarian or liberal, are obsessed with maintaining their power and wealth, always obtained through the endless exploitation of resources and the bodies of those living on the margins. Is it any wonder then that these populations try to reach the centers—to reclaim what has been plundered?

Deadly paths

When we decide, or are forced, to leave our homelands, a new struggle begins. The roads of exile become more hostile by the day. The sea cemeteries of the Mediterranean or the English Channel, the death roads linking Latin America to the United States, the harsh desert of the Sahara that many African migrants cross only to risk enslavement in Libya. Exile is deadly, and like uprisings, it constitutes an act of refusal. You revolt or you leave, and sometimes you revolt and then you leave because you can’t or won’t put up with what you are put through. We flee because, despite the risks, sometimes flight is the safest option.

Governments continue to do everything they can to prevent “undesirable” migration: reinforcing security and military powers; increasing restrictions on freedom of movement, building walls and impenetrable borders, criminalizing solidarity with people on the move. Fortress Europe has established a specialized agency, Frontex, to keep those of us who have taken to the sea out of Schengen waters. States are quick to cooperate on these issues. Through lucrative agreements, Europe and the United States are trying to outsource border controls to Turkey, African countries, or Mexico so governments there may be seen to be “turning off the tap” of migration.

100 million Euros promised to Tunisia, in a state of economic collapse, by the European Union to “prevent illegal migration.” First results: Black people violently expelled from Tunisian territory to wander and die in a no-man’s land in the middle of the desert. President Kais Saied has even borrowed the “Great Replacement” theory from the European far right. This conspiracy theory postulates that white, “native” European civilization is being demographically and culturally replaced by the massive arrival of non-white migrants, particularly Muslims. Saied’s version turns this fable against Black migrants, who are accused of changing the demographic and cultural make-up of Tunisia. Through constant repetition, this discourse has become entrenched in a society with its own history of racism. We’ve seen mobs attacking Black people and demanding their expulsion.

In Sudan, the European Union has directly financed General Hemedti’s Janjaweed Rapid Support Forces to “curb immigration.” This paramilitary force, which was involved in the repression of the revolution and then went to war against the Sudanese Armed Forces, had previously carried out ethnic cleansing operations in Darfur thanks to this funding. Since 2018, repression and the war have displaced more than 10 million people inside and outside the country.

To maintain a semblance of alignment with their humanist principles, European democracies externalize, meaning make invisible, some of the violence they are prepared to wreak against us. Violence is exercised internally and without restraint in urban ghettos on the fringes of metropolises. It is financed externally in the form of bloody repression abroad. The British government attempted to introduce a policy of deporting asylum-seekers to Rwanda, in order to “deter unauthorized migration” by creating a “hostile environment” on British soil. Europe could not have been “enlightened” without being colonial.

Faced with this institutionalized xenophobic offensive, we must scale up our actions at borders to offer safe passage. In Europe, an autonomous maritime coordination system has been set up to organize solidarity in the Mediterranean: rescue boats at sea, telephone helplines, negotiations with the authorities, and public mobilization … Where such networks exist, we need to increase their capacity. Where they do not, we need to establish them. One of our main challenges is to ensure that comrades no longer die on the road to exile by providing efficient logistical support along major routes. We pay tribute to all those who have died on the road, to escape persecution, or simply in search for a dignified life.

But solidarity with those in exile is not enough. Freedom of movement is not limited to safe-passage or “legalizing” migration. Freedom of movement is meaningless if it does not imply the possibility of staying at home or returning. Hence the need to fight for a dignified life everywhere, instead of letting certain states claim to embody the good life while destroying the conditions that make it possible elsewhere.

Arrival in the host country

The ordeal does not stop at the end of the road. As soon as we arrive in the “host country,” we are confronted with the need to become “legal.” A series of bureaucratic procedures are responsible for determining whether a person had enough reason to leave their country of origin, enough money, or a certain level of education or “talent,” to be allowed to stay on the territory. Then begins a long process of classification and interrogation, an administrative limbo suffused with daily humiliation. Some eventually pass the test, others are rejected and deported as “illegals.” The administrative battle is compounded by the material question: again, a struggle for decent living conditions, the need to find a roof over your head and a source of income, while learning a new language, new cultural norms, and new ways of doing things.

Those fleeing political persecution will not necessarily find security in exile. If they are not criminalized again for political activities, like Kurdish or Uyghur activists in Turkey, they may be threatened abroad, or even murdered, as was Rouhollah Zam, an Iranian activist living in exile in France, who was kidnapped in Iraq and then executed in Iran. The Chinese authorities have even set up clandestine police stations in Europe and the United States to exert their control over Chinese people abroad. In Britain, anti-Chinese Communist Party activism on campuses is muzzled by the threat of reduced investment in universities run like businesses.

In addition to government and police repression, many of us face an increasingly hostile local population in our places of exile. Elections everywhere are held against a backdrop of xenophobic media coverage, where racism and Islamophobia feature with increasing prominence. “Moderate” forces are beginning to speak the same language of reactionary politics in the hope of not losing ground. Depicting foreigners as a threat, as one of the main reasons for the deterioration in living conditions, is designed to channel citizen anger and anguish. Designating scapegoats is a very convenient strategy for those in power. It justifies growing inequalities, boosting the profits of the richest while absolving them of responsibility for the impoverishment of everyone else. In a sign of the times, in mid-summer 2024, coordinated white racist riots rocked towns and cities across England. Rioters targeted non-white people, Muslim places of worship, and hotels housing asylum-seekers when a news story was successfully exploited by far-right networks. Only poor immigrants are called “aliens.”

Xenophobia can also be more subtle. Racial discrimination is not just a flaw in state institutions, it affects everyone. Though we may receive compassion or sympathy in exile, we are generally denied a political role, as we were in the country we have had to leave. There is no shortage of curious people in the West who find our culture, our music, our food, our language “delicious” and “utterly fascinating,” but who couldn’t care less about our opinions on the way the world works. An exile is a humanitarian and depoliticized figure who arouses the charity and good conscience of leftwing citizens, and a folkloric object on which to project fantasies of elsewhere. “Multiculturalism,” lauded in the age of globalization, is the analgesic for the destruction of cultures and worlds.

Anti-racist circles and movements of solidarity with exiles are not exempt from these phenomena. Our analyses and involvement in movements in our countries of origin arouse little interest. For the most part we remain outsiders. The persistent ignorance of certain “comrades” we meet in exile, of the situations of struggle outside their national and psychic borders, is a form of paternalism that reduces us to the role of victims: the “economic crisis” in Sri Lanka, the “civil war” in Syria or Sudan, or the Taliban in Afghanistan. This denial of our subjectivity and agency, combined with difficult material conditions, is a major obstacle to genuine political friendships. It creates a heap of missed opportunities that prolongs the ordeal of revolutionaries in exile and deprives local communities of the lessons, experience, and know-how that could only strengthen local militant activism.

In Greece, despite the economic crisis, the outpouring of solidarity with refugees led to a general mobilization of anarchists and revolutionaries. Squats, based on the principles of mutual aid, were opened in the cities to provide safe living spaces. They offered better living conditions and greater autonomy than government camps. Collective kitchens were established, and practical support given to help meet basic needs (clothing, language courses, and access to job opportunities) as well as access to physical, mental, and reproductive health care. Exiles and their supporters worked together to ensure self-defense against attacks by fascists and the state. Within a few years though, exhaustion set in, with a lack of horizon and sometimes common goals, and due to the gentrification policies of some neighborhoods, the movement lost its momentum.

Our primary task is to create and connect places of refuge to ensure the humanitarian minimum. We also need to consolidate lasting structures to generate new energy, heal trauma, reduce loneliness, and ensure subsistence. To do all this, we first need to meet each other.

Increasing circulations

Internationalism, like revolutionary theory, has always been closely linked to exile and diasporas. Throughout history, many revolutionaries have, at one time or another in their life, had to abandon their country of origin. They have been deported; they have had to migrate; they have been forced into exile; they have wanted to join a guerrilla movement. They have encountered new realities, familiarized themselves with different contexts, and shared analyses of the events that shook the countries they left behind. Far from being a mere coincidence, the transnational mobility of these figures was fundamental to nourishing practice and disseminating thought.

Internationalism is a journey, not only of people, but also of ideas and practices. Thinking about exile is a response to the challenge of constructing common perceptions despite a diversity of local contexts and the specific difficulties inherent to different situations. Exile can be experienced as an extension of revolt, a bridge linking it to the rest of the world. This could prove a means of compensating for the profound lack of understanding that many of today’s revolts have faced, due to the lack of relations between revolutionaries from different parts of the world.

Despite the daily struggle for regularization and dignified living conditions, despite the priority we logically give to solidarity with the struggle in our home countries, we need to link up with local and diasporic liberation forces wherever we arrive. In Berlin, a whole generation of exiles and their allies are organizing joint demonstrations for the liberation of Palestine, Syria, Ukraine, Iran, and Sudan. It is from this united front between foreigners that exiled people feel powerful, no longer isolated, each in his or her own ‘minority’ and ‘marginal’ struggle.

Participating in (or initiating) local mobilizations as exiles, and forging alliances with the forces at work, could well prove to be the best way to take up the offensive with new levers, more allies, and new horizons. The links between revolutionaries from different geographies, which are easier to forge in exile, help to increase material and political support for our comrades and loved ones still on the front lines or under the bombs.

Building a force capable of coordinating and supporting revolutionary efforts wherever they arise will involve a struggle to bring together a generation of defeated and exiled people scattered across the globe. It must respond to defeat, exhaustion, and dispossession, materially and emotionally. But it must also offer a more powerful remedy: the preparation of a response.

Internationalism from below

/ The problem of ‘solidarity’ / Mutual aid / Extending the minga worldwide / Down with realpolitik, for a revolutionary tenderness /

Although everything has been done to belittle the power of people in revolt, its impact has proved contagious. No amount of attempting to disrupt communication between different struggles has succeeded, no amount of trying to blur their meaning. Hope, courage, and insurrection have crossed bodies, territories, and all borders. The death of a Tunisian street vendor in December 2010 triggered one of the biggest revolutionary waves in history. When Lebanese people chanted Kilon yani Kilon (Every single one of them means every single one of them) ⁱⁱ , this was a belated reference to an Argentinian slogan at the start of the century—Que Se Vayan Todos(Out with Them All) ⁱⁱⁱ—and also to Tunisians’ chanting Dégage (Out of Here).^iv Feminists the world over chanted Jin, Jiyan, Azadi (Women, Life, Freedom).^v

Protesters in Brussels and Lausanne took to the streets after the murder of Nahel by French police. Colombian front lines borrowed their shields and their chants from the front lines of Chile. By challenging the mirage of nation-states, twenty-first century rebels realized they were fighting a common enemy. Same cops ahead, same banks behind, same bastards on top.

Feeling is not enough. It does not make for a front. Rebellious Egyptians proved unable to send cordons of “ultras” to support the uprising in Libya. Communalists the world over failed to give support to local councils in Syria. The Zapatistas lacked the means to send experienced cadres to front lines in Chile and Colombia. Anonymous hackers alone have been plugging the gaps, attacking digital strongholds around the world in support of rebels.

The absence of support from revolutionary forces led Syrian rebels to accept arms and funding from Saudi Arabia and Turkey. The Palestinian resistance is forced to take money from Iran and Qatar. The Kurds of the PYD are dependent on the Syrian regime and have sought help both from its Russian ally and the United States in order to survive. Revolts in West Africa are relying on support from Russia and China to oust France. Popular resistance in Ukraine has had to place its survival in the hands of the West.

Dependence on superpowers is a question of survival for many revolutionaries, so how can we condemn them? It’s unreasonable to expect people to continue living under repression, capitulate, or wait passively as the bombs fall. A lack of international support condemns revolutionaries to isolation or the hijacking of popular demands by foreign powers more concerned with their own interests than those they claim to help. Syrian revolutionaries, abandoned by the whole world, asked: “Governments have betrayed us. Where are the peoples?”

The problem of ‘solidarity’

In Iraq, after the US invasion had destroyed local seed banks, international organizations flooded the country with genetically modified seeds distributed to farmers free of charge. In order to use them, farmers had to purchase fertilizers and chemical pesticides from foreign companies, which meant that many fell into debt and were forced to abandon their land. This is how humanitarian aid prolonged colonial domination and led one of the cradles of agriculture to ruin.

Over the last few decades, “international aid” has come to replace internationalism, deemed too partisan and so sacrificed on the altar of “development.” This approach has long been criticized for the hierarchical dependence it creates in Southern countries on Northern NGOs. Although humanitarian aid may save lives, it rarely tackles root causes. Band-aids don’t stop the bleeding. Even where international aid terms itself “solidarity” and attempts to provide concrete solutions, the effects are often perverse.

In Palestine, the mass arrival of NGOs, foundations, and other international organizations followed the Oslo Agreement. Popular self-organization that had grown out of the intifadas were diluted in “civil society,” where resistance efforts were formalized, encouraged to become “projects” with logos, statements of intent, and budgets. By making funding conditional on “apolitical” actions, grassroots initiatives are disfigured and popular resistance is weakened. In any case, the Israeli occupying authorities exercise absolute control over any form of civil grouping in the West Bank and Jerusalem. So it’s hardly surprising that Hamas, a reactionary organization, concentrates all hopes for national liberation. These essentially top-down solidarities make aid conditional on rules and times that are disconnected from territorial struggles, as are the allegiances, codes, language, and bureaucracy they require.

To gain exterior support, a cause must be made acceptable, even attractive. Dependence on external funders subordinates a cause to the support it’s likely to receive. Such a cause is often molded to obtain the greatest possible return and guarantee competitiveness on the solidarity market. Solidarity of this kind alters the spirit of a struggle and submits margins to centers, be they Western, Russian, Turkish, Chinese, or in the Gulf. Syrian revolutionary brigades had to either cut off their beards to obtain Western support, or grow them to get money from Qatar or Saudi Arabia.

Even when “international solidarity” organizations and collectives leave a great deal of autonomy to those in struggle and trust people on the ground, they often generate one-way relationships. In order to compensate for structural inequalities and relationships of domination which they produce, common political and ethical lines, as well as strategic practice, need to be defined by the people concerned—those on the receiving end of solidarity and those handing it out. The aim is to create conditions conducive to mutual support, based on equal relationships that acknowledge reciprocity between struggles and territories.

Mutual aid

Mutual support begins with recognizing our need to work together. This is bound to be a gradual process. Making relationships truly reciprocal takes time. So does building bonds of trust. Both involve knowing how to be there for each other. Both demand erasing the distinction between word and deed. Rather than doing good deeds, the idea is taking other people’s struggle into account as being a part of our own, and vice versa. In a world where competition reigns supreme, even between struggles, this is the reversal of a paradigm.

Mutual aid has no center because it operates in multiple directions, and acknowledges power relations. When the first workers’ solidarity funds in the nineteenth century sent money to support a strike, they insisted that these were loans rather than donations. The idea was not to expect interest or even actual repayment. It rather asserted that help was not given out of kindness or charity, but was a gesture that called forth others in return, at other times, or in other forms. It’s clear that it’s easier to send financial support from the Global North to the South than vice versa. But this is not the only form that mutual aid can take.

The first form of mutual aid is material. It takes us back to the minga (coming together for the common good). In Abya Yala (a name that Indigenous ethnic communities in North and South America to refer to the landmasses generally known as the Americas/America), this principle is embodied in different ways by pooling the tasks, resources, and goods needed for collective work: helping to move a house, cultivating a field, constructing a building. It’s when people, neighbors, and communities work together, but also take advantage of the moment to enjoy the conviviality of being together and building strong communal bonds. The uprisings and their aftermath have made visible the need for material aid, from medicines to seeds, involving a long chain of people and places. To do this, allies are needed who can open paths and cross borders. Solidarity convoys to collectives in Greece after 2008 and popular mutual aid initiatives to Ukraine since 2022 both constitute examples to be generalized, built on, and shared. There’s considerable scope for progress in this area.

Such schemes need money. How can financial support, both popular and effective, be achieved? Or to put it another way: is it possible to finance a revolution without the help of the powerful? Many diasporas, whether Kurdish, Palestinian, or Burmese, whether very recently or a long time ago, have helped struggles in their native countries survive. The Burmese resistance, for instance, popularized “revolutionary crowd-funding,” raising hundreds of millions of dollars to finance resistance groups. Aggregating micro-contributions on a massive scale and setting up transnational mutual funds, can both limit our dependence on the goodwill of patrons, governments and NGOs.

Beyond the directly material question, mutual aid can take the form of amplifying the voices of individuals and groups grappling with the reality of the revolutionary terrain. The task of an international aid network is to help them break through the media net and the background noise of the reactionary communication channels. No revolution should ever again feel orphaned or betrayed by global indifference. This presupposes being able to communicate with people on the ground at crucial moments. It means obtaining information and translating it to suit other contexts. It involves coordinating support actions and establishing long-term communication channels to share our analyses.

It’s vitally important to create a common history, weaving together all our accumulated experiences. This implies making the history of previous struggles and experiences known. Running an anti-fascist campaign, writing a feminist constitution, developing farming techniques, defeating an army of trolls, defending ourselves against the police, setting up funding networks, and answering daily needs within a liberated area are skills and knowledge that can be shared. Conservative and counter-revolutionary forces are doing everything they can to portray our uprisings as disasters, our rebels as terrorists, and our achievements as failures. The battle of narratives and images is more important than ever, both in the immediacy of the struggle and to nourish a memory of the future, as Chilean comrades say.

Mutual support may be embodied in action. It can mean blockading an arms factory to reduce bombings elsewhere, or disrupting a multinational corporation in one place to undermine extraction across the globe. It can also mean influencing what is known as “public opinion” where people live, work, and spend their leisure time in order to build support for those on front lines. Mutual aid is the driving force behind internationalism. By acquiring an international profile, local struggles develop a capacity for global action and create global alliances against borderless networks of power and money. We will not lack common enemies.

Extending the minga worldwide

People will ask “But there are already so many things to fight for and against here … why add international struggles to the list? We need to avoid dispersion and exhaustion.” The priority and urgency of local situations is always more pressing. It might even seem illusory to claim to be changing the situation elsewhere when we are struggling to do so where we are. Internationalism sometimes seems like a romantic dream, beautiful but basically naïve, like a relic from the past, a dusty box full of memories and postcards: Vietnam, Cuba, Algeria, Spain …

But building internationalism has never been a luxury, it’s a survival strategy. Those who have made it a pillar of their struggle (the Zapatistas, Kurds, Palestinians) are almost the only revolutionary movements to have survived long-term to the present day, despite relentless attacks from all sides. For these movements, internationalism has compensated for the imbalance of power between the grassroots and the military forces they face, has shifted the terrain of hostilities to the diplomatic level, and created worldwide solidarity networks. In their time, the historic victories against colonialism in Ireland, Vietnam, and Algeria were won by insurgents on their own soil, but also through winning the hearts of the people in the center of empires, until the people of those countries themselves demanded an end to war and occupation. Fighting from the belly of the beast is always necessary to broaden the front and arena of confrontation and support those on the ground. But we need to listen to their demands, rather than centering ourselves and giving precedence to our own political positions or applying our own analytical framework to the situation.

While we draw on historical precedent, we’re not nostalgic for some “golden age” of internationalism. In the twentieth century, internationalism was largely aligned with the interests of nation-states, and it fractured as a result. Instead of combating nationalism, it sometimes reinforced it. Attachment to land and culture as terrains of struggle has its place, but we should be wary of its instrumentalization by state apparatuses that serve national ruling classes. Internationalism begins at home, in our everyday territories. Places where populations are diverse, mixed, heterogeneous and, strictly speaking, inter-national are fertile ground for it. These include the world’s metropolises, border areas, and the major agricultural production zones that rely on immigrant labor. Internationalism means establishing multiple links between struggling peripheries, between different corners of the world, to reduce the attractiveness of regional and global centers of power.

Our territories are interwoven with transnational production logics. The power of a local political proposal today lies in its ability to see itself as part of a global network of resistance and uprisings. Without this, it runs the risk of being reduced to an “alternative” experiment, whether that is cultural, economic, or social, ignoring the links that tie it to the rest of the world. Conversely, unless firmly established at local level, internationalism can be no more than a nostalgic song, or a nice meeting place for a cosmopolitan activist elite. The challenge we face is to extend the minga worldwide, between territories of struggle, between popular powers. This is what we mean by internationalism from below.

Looking at what’s happening elsewhere is a breath of fresh air, giving us strength and courage when “home” becomes dark and unbearable. Somewhere on Earth, there are always people who are organizing, who don’t give up. Since 2011, while people have shown an awareness of other people’s struggles and borrowed from them, intensifying exchanges, there is still no sign of a transnational revolutionary force capable of connecting resistance movements and revolutions without taking control of demands and aspirations. There is no time to lose in building such a force if we want to make a decisive impact.

Down with realpolitik, for a revolutionary tenderness

It won’t always be easy to find common lines of defense and attack, even if we share the same desires and hopes. There are a multitude of obstacles ahead. We don’t speak the same language; we live far apart; understanding local complexities takes time. Added to these practical difficulties is the posturing of those who actively oppose our struggles out of ‘pragmatism’ or out of counter-revolutionary nonsense. Such are overarching, geopolitical approaches, reminiscent of a bad remake of the Cold War, minus the socialism. From this perspective, in the final analysis, world events are only ever determined by a clash of blocs. States are the only agents capable of affecting change. Anything that goes beyond the realm of realpolitik, and is therefore potentially revolutionary, is doomed to failure.

This binary logic has led a section of the “anti-imperialist” left to support, implicitly or explicitly, the Iranian, Russian, Chinese, and Syrian regimes as “bulwarks” against imperialism, Zionism, colonialism, and western-capitalist hegemony. According to this point of view, the Syrian and Iranian revolutions are seen as “liberal” or “pro-Western” and easily “manipulated.” They were dismissed as plots hatched by foreign countries, obviously Western, to compromise the “national sovereignty” of the regimes in place. In this narrative, the people, their forms of organization, their autonomous actions, the plurality of their voices, their internal social or class struggles—like the massacres committed against them by these regimes and their allies—count for nothing.

These self-proclaimed “anti-imperialists” can seem so far out of step with real movements that when uprisings occur, they rush to apply their abstract interpretations, and deprive those most affected of their ability to make themselves heard. In their eyes, the popular resistance in Ukraine, the feminists in Iran, and the revolutionaries in Syria are either “agents of imperialism” or incapable of understanding their own situations. From their supposedly “critical distance” these ideologues, usually based in the West, believe they know better than people on the ground what needs to be done. When those in revolt put forward analyses and demands that don’t fit with their dogma, resistance fighters in Ukraine are slandered as “Nazis,” the rebels in Syria are called “jihadists,”,the feminists in Iran “traitors.” This is what these “anti-imperialists” are doing, acting as proxies for the murderous regimes they support and defend.

Seeing Western countries as the only imperialist powers, and the United States as the source of all evil, a characteristic bias of these “campist” positions, leads them to relativize the crimes of the Syrian, Russian, Chinese, or Iranian regimes. The maintenance of these regimes, or even their rise to prominence, would be opportune, according to this logic, to balance the world order and counter Western hegemony. Imperial powers such as China and Russia, which rhetorically support the cause of Palestine, are seen as allies, or the lesser evil vis-à-vis the hypocrisy of Western countries, all aligned behind the Israeli occupation. But more “opportune” or “lesser evil” for whom? Why should we tolerate the genocide of Uyghurs in China in order to put an end to the genocide in Gaza? Why should we denounce the Israeli occupation of Palestine on one hand, and turn a blind eye to the counter-insurgency war in Chechnya, Russia’s invasion of Georgia or Ukraine, and vice versa?

In 2019, Iraqi rebels, who have some experience of imperialism, made clear in mass demonstrations that they wanted “neither the USA nor Iran” in their country. There are subtle categories and more or less complex theoretical labels to describe the different types of imperialism that exist today; but “sub-imperialism” is the same old shit we’ve always known.

“Campist” positions only create barriers and divisions between struggles. They prevent necessary alliances between people on the margins. Instead of emphasizing what unites us, these “pragmatists” tell us that, to be effective, we should consider that the enemies of our enemies are our friends. Solidarity is therefore based less on what is happening on the ground than on the positions taken by the United States. If the United States opportunistically supports a cause, such as the rebellion in Hong Kong, then the people of Hong Kong are undeserving of support, no matter how much China wants to extend its authoritarian grip there. This is a “Kissinger” and not a “Che Guevara” approach. It is ethically deplorable and strategically counter-productive, we need a revolutionary tenderness capable of listening; wanting to understand; navigating contradictions in order to stand alongside those in struggle. We are placing our bets on those who want to change the rules of the game, rather than on those who want to win the game as it is.

Contrary to what an authoritarian and statist left would have us believe, linking struggles increases our power. Building collective strength is exactly what the feminist movements in the southern part of Abya Yala managed to achieve in recent years. By taking into account multiple forms of violence—against sexual dissidents, Afro-descendants, women, Indigenous people, migrants, children, the elderly, whether at work, in the street, at home, or by the police—and including all those impacted in the feminist general strikes, rather than seeing them as rivals, they succeeded in weaving together a huge popular movement. United but not uniform. Massive but radical.

Those who are too impatient, or have no horizon of their own, prefer to take refuge in the shadow of the powerful rather than share the fate of those who run the risk of being defeated. We must fight against our own weakness, and in particular against the belief that we can do nothing without participating in the games played by the powerful. Admittedly, we feel that we are few and that we are lacking in resources. But recognizing this and using it as a starting point to build our strength is certainly more realistic than taking shortcuts, clinging to second best, and thus reproducing the conditions of our powerlessness.

Only the people can save the people. We need to give substance to this slogan by starting to build, in the four corners of the globe, a transnational force capable of effectively countering the cold monsters that are devouring our present and future. Building a real force for intervention and mutual aid will take time and require resources that we need to patiently prepare, but it’s the only way forward. No real victory is possible in just one part of the world. Empire has established itself everywhere, so it’s only by confronting it everywhere, simultaneously, that we may one day share in its downfall.

The Fall of Empire

/ What we mean by The West / Empire will outlive the West / “Each generation must, in relative obscurity, face up to its mission: fulfill it or betray it” / Stopping this world /

Across the planet, despite the walls and fences placed in their way, despite the many strategies of assimilation and annihilation, people are reclaiming territories, resources, cultures, and heritages. They’re fighting for everything they’ve been robbed of by centuries of colonial plunder and imperial pretensions. Such is the case of the Palestinian resistance, which has held out against Israeli colonization and Western imperialism for over seventy years; or the Kurdish movement, which has been fighting for over a century against four nation states that deny its right to autonomy. In Abya Yala, Indigenous and Afro-descendant revolts have not ceased since 1492 and continue to inspire the continents’ struggles. From Wounded Knee to Oka, from Standing Rock to the uprising that followed the death of George Floyd, people are rising against a system of domination based on white supremacy and the exploitation of our bodies and territories. Time and again, revolts against racist police crime flare in Europe, while Kanaky continues is anti-colonial struggle against France, and in West Africa French postcolonial authority continues to be dismantled.

But international waters are murky and disputed and are difficult for insurgents to navigate. Until now, the centers have kept a firm grip on the horizon, confining each struggle, each uprising, to its particular context. Dominant figures in the centers cannot believe that anyone would want anything other than to join the center. The center is the best of all possible worlds. The rest of us can only run to catch up, collapse, get up again, and hope one day to make it. The only world we have in common is the world as defined by the victors of “globalization.” But when revolutionary irruption does occur, it gives rise to a different “world in common” that emerges from the ruins, cracks, and margins. This is the common world we need to name, born of revolt and free of the specifics of its various contexts.

What we mean by The West

The incredible claim of the West to define a ‘universal’ horizon for humanity has caused and justified millions of deaths, genocides, epistemicides, not to mention the enslavement and displacement of millions of people. What a macabre, and effective, intellectual swindle! The founding myth of the “free subject” forged and propagated by the “Enlightenment” was born in the context of a revolutionary struggle against tyranny. It has been transformed into an alibi for limitless expropriation under a new economic order, in lieu of the good word of God. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights was proclaimed with great fanfare the same year that the Palestinian Nakba (catastrophe) sent hundreds of thousands into exile.

Liberal ‘universalism’ is the apolitical rival of internationalism. It preaches that human rights are inalienable, and denies them to most. It teaches that states belong to an ‘international community’ where good relations between nations are harmonized. Yet, this is no more than a playground where hierarchies are masked and vassalages disguised. Words are bandied about, action and good resolutions are mimed, as if to conceal what everyone knows deep down: that the survival of the fittest still governs the human world.

The ‘international community’ is a private club of nation-states, in which hegemons agree on criteria for membership, while justifying perpetual dominion over those who don’t fit the bill. The latter are not exactly ‘excluded’: they are afforded a sort of partial membership. Some are more equal than others. And it’s the same with these entities’ populations: some are deemed human, some are human shields, some are human animals, and some just collateral damage. The United States invaded Afghanistan and also Iraq. It bombed many parts of the Middle East, at a cost of more than a million lives, in the name of “protecting democracy” and the “universal ideal of human rights.” Even as we write these lines, an Israeli colonial state is knowingly committing genocide in Palestine with the blessing of the West, and occupation troops sometimes fly the LGBTQI flag.

Yet Empire’s cynical use of the garb of ‘human rights’ to establish itself as a universal judge of peace has not prevented ‘human rights’ also being claimed as a discourse of resistance and a basis of support for popular struggles throughout the world. There is therefore a contradictory dual use of international law; by the centers and by the margins. Indigenous or colonized peoples regularly use the ‘right to self-determination’ as leverage in their struggle against their national governments and occupying forces. Human rights and their symbolic weight on the international stage regularly serve as a reference point for resistance to oppression on the ground, as a denunciation of State terrorism. But the lightning rod of international law offers little protection if it does not serve the interests of dominant powers. They will always prefer to turn a blind eye when the price is not worth it. So it was with the red lines of the ‘free world’ on the use of chemical weapons by the Syrian regime against its own population. The people of Ghouta were expendable.

NATO’s “humanitarian” or “responsibility to protect” intervention, that took place in Libya during the 2011 uprising, is one of the key events in this latest revolutionary sequence that nobody is talking about anymore. The end of a local order through the intervention of advocates of a “global order” interrupted the revolutionary process and created new dependencies. The Anglo-French intervention, while likely to have prevented a bloody Syrian-style scenario, has enabled the establishment of a semblance of governments that are not born of revolutionary spaces, yet possess a right to sign agreements on behalf of people who asked for nothing of the kind. The Libyan revolution has thus been lost in internal power struggles between factions, none of which seem capable of embodying the will of the people. But the “essentials” have been safeguarded: the coastguards are paid by the European Union to stem the tide of migrants. From Syria to Ukraine, the spontaneous reaction of some revolutionaries and their supporters has been to regret the non-intervention of the “international community.” Yet, when intervention did occur, it was simply another way of extinguishing or neutralizing the revolutionary “threat”.

In Sudan, resistance committees displayed a healthy mistrust towards any foreign intervention in the revolutionary process. This did not prevent the military and militias from winning out. Foreign interference found another path, siding with the competing factions of the former regime, some supported by the United Arab Emirates, others by Egypt, drowning the popular revolution in a military war. The consequence has been massive displacement and appalling famine. The Sudanese revolution’s tenacious non-alignment has earned it a number of determined enemies within and beyond its borders. Enemies prepared to “burn down the country” rather than risk revolutionary success.

No power whatsoever has ever really come to the aid of insurgent people. A few years ago, at an evening in support of the Syrian revolution somewhere in France, a member of the public asked “but what can we do to help?” One of the activists present, a survivor of the siege of Homs, replied: “send us anti-tank missiles!” Apart from the fact that the audience were not in a position to respond to such a request, it seemed to place any solidarity action with Syrian revolutionaries in the shadow of States. Was there no other way to help the revolution other than by calling on Western governments to intervene militarily against the regime, or deliver heavy weapons?

For us, this is not a moral question, even if for many dissidents in the centers it would be inconceivable to demonstrate to demand military intervention by NATO. Having access to weapons is a matter of survival for many insurgents, which even the most pacifist among us cannot fail to recognize. That comrades on the front lines of the Ukrainian, Libyan, or Palestinian resistance have called for military or tactical intervention by third powers to counter the ferocious repression unleashed against them is understandable. There’s a whole debate to be had within revolutionary movements on the question of military intervention, the forms it can take, and its impact on the outcome of events; from no-fly zones to boots on the ground; from opening up new fronts to technical assistance and the provision of military equipment. We cannot move forward without a serious assessment of the balance of power on the ground. Nor may we revert to impotent purism in the hope of avoiding contradictions. But to be dependent on the military capabilities of certain states or armed factions and see this as the only practical way of contributing to the struggle is a sign of our resignation; an abandonment of the very possibility of revolution.

Empire will outlive the West

The world we live in is full of differences, pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that are distinct but compatible, forming an overall picture of where we live. Differences are not just about distance. They are not the result of backwardness: they cannot be overcome by “progress.” In an era of monolithic beliefs, differences are denied, or crushed, to suit a global system for managing resources, exchanges, and identities. A skillful interweaving of distinct but complementary systems of domination has turned us into subjects of an Empire that is constantly being modulated and extended. Changes in alliances, in the balance of power, and of capital cities are on the surface. Although there were pre-capitalist empires which predated the nation-state and were non-Western, the expansion of capitalism unified Empire into a single whole. Thus, Empire survived the official end of European colonial empires, became secularized, and succeeded in spreading a belief that no alternative is possible.

Empire is not merely the name of the world system in which we live, with its international institutions, global markets, unified language, and ideological framework, from which no corner of the world is excluded. It’s also a particular way of perceiving the world as a vast board game where different allied or rival powers compete for wealth and spheres of influence. Empire is where States negotiate the most profitable division of labor and the ‘rules of engagement’ that allow each player to hold its own in the game of mass murder in which they are engaged. Beyond the capitalist system, Empire refers to all the formal and informal institutions, codes, customs, and rules that govern the centers’ predation on the rest of the world. From Mexico City to Dubai, from Tokyo to Cape Town, from Beijing to Frankfurt, people in the centers of power talk, eat, dress, make agreements, and con each other in much the same way. Empire always finds its local relays. It adapts to all cultures, all religions, all styles of exercising power. It remains indifferent to intention, culture, and behavior, as long as its spokespeople continue to play the game.

The recent strengthening of bloc logic is less a struggle between different kinds of imperialism, and rather a struggle for imperial hegemony within the same world-system. While the West may appear to be making a comeback these days, with its show of unity to cover up genocide in the name of “Israel’s right to defend itself,” this comeback does little to conceal a slow decline amply illustrated in the proletarianization of societies, galloping inflation, the rise of fascism, calamitous military interventions, the disorderly withdrawal of occupying troops, and the steady loss of commercial and diplomatic influence. On a different note, the apparent consensus in support of the Ukrainian resistance suggests a certain feverishness, with military aid provided in dribs and drabs that has never been equal to Russian aggression. The “decline of the West” would be good news if it meant the decline of Empire. But it’s only its face that is changing. The conquering smiles on the faces of the BRICs leaders, who everywhere flaunt their opportunistic alliance, makes clear that they are ready to take their place at the same game. As long as Empire exists, the struggle against it continues, always renewing its form and statements, which it will again try to swallow to get back on its feet.

“Each generation must, in relative obscurity, face up to its mission: fulfill it or betray it.”

In the last century, an entire generation across the globe rose up and exposed itself to bullets, deportation, and torture, to drive European powers out of colonized territories. The revolutionary offensive of the colonized was a response to the domination exercised by white powers for more than a century. And, in the crucible of these struggles, in the maquis and prisons of the West, in the first liberated territories, the political consciences of those who would plan the future were forged. The forms and concepts available in this already globalized world were those of Western history: the nation-state, progress, planning, regional development, national identities, representative democracy, nationalism, socialism … Ousting colonialists was not enough: the same captivatingly modern master’s tools were used to construct the post-colonial states, and they produced the same contradictions.

The promise opened up by the end of colonial empires, in the wake of national revolutions, gave way to a colossal hangover. Flags, anthems, and currencies have changed. Domination continued in other forms. The national bourgeoisies and political elites that emerged from the independence movements often succumbed to authoritarianism. After sacrificing the most militant among them, the new political classes in the countries of the South took their share of the fruits of post-colonial exploitation. In Arab countries, for example, twenty-first century uprisings shook the foundations of regimes that had remained unchanged or almost unchanged since the early days of colonization, most of which had become police states. Frozen in the historical postures of decolonization and front-line resistance to Western imperialism, the parties in power seemed able to stifle popular aspirations for change for all eternity. But the return of the people has reshuffled the deck. As the Algerian Hirak demonstrators proclaimed: the 2019 uprising attempted to finish the job of the unfinished revolution of 1962.

While a demand for democracy lies at the heart of many recent uprisings, it’s hard to find a place where democracy is fully embodied. The “democratic ideal,” as it’s still presented in the West, can no longer conceal what a sham it is. One only needs to look at a few images from the American election in the spring of 2024 to be convinced—in one of the “greatest democracies in the world.” Before Kamala Harris entered the race after the Democratic candidate’s near-cerebral death, two white, rich, Christian men in their seventies were clinging to power, vying with each other in tackling their respective symptoms of senility, instead of having political debates about the future of the world—a world which the United States has largely dominated and shaped for more than seventy years. The “democratic” deadlock which this image signifies bears similarity to the fifth presidential candidacy of a mummified Bouteflika—the final candidacy which sparked off the 2019 revolt in Algeria.

Democracy is not a Western invention extending from the assemblies of Athens to the French Republic, and now being exported to Afghanistan and Iraq with bombs. From the Haudenesaunee Confederacy in North America to the Haitian Revolution, via the fugitive territories of ‘Zomia’ in South-East Asia, throughout history countless peoples have developed egalitarian deliberative practices to organize communal life. Indeed, the hijacking of the concept of democracy by the West has made it repellent in some parts of the world. So how can we avoid abandoning the idea of power to the people? How can we combat the sham of liberal democracies without playing into the hands of authoritarian regimes?

Stopping this world

The face of Empire is changing, the face of war is changing, and so our strategies and our objectives cannot remain the same. In addition to suffering under authoritarian or oligarchic regimes, we have to deal directly or indirectly with the consequences of competing imperialist offensives that can destroy the already precarious living conditions in our territories overnight. Hunger riots are a daily occurrence across the globe. Rival powers are taking turns to use ‘food as a weapon’ in a world where societies’ ability to be self-sufficient has been methodically destroyed and where the vagaries of the climate are making harvests more uncertain than ever. In 2024 Vladimir Putin has put the whole of the Mediterranean in his power by monopolizing wheat production on Ukraine’s fertile plains, upon which most Mediterranean countries are dependent. Food sovereignty has thus become a central issue in any politics of emancipation, transforming ways of struggle on every continent. No revolutionary perspective today can ignore how to reappropriate the means to meet our basic needs.

In this new phase of open armed conflict, aggressive power strategies, and nationalist revival, we are faced with the contradiction between our desire for a cooperative world in which people can organize for subsistence, and the reality of permanent threats posed by inter-imperialist conflicts. Wouldn’t a ‘liberated’ area, or state, which voluntarily abandoned policies of accumulation and monopolization immediately be swallowed up by rival powers?

In many parts of the world, behind the façade of order imposed by the sovereign state, community or religious militias, mafias, territorial gangs, and transnational corporations exist, to whom the repression of our movements and control of our communities are delegated. So, invoking the end of the state as the only horizon for revolution is not enough. The idea seems completely alien to those of us who, living under failed states, are left at the mercy of gang leaders and war lords, with no recourse in the face of poverty, disease, famine, or natural disasters. Destroying or fragmenting the states that crush people will not be enough, nor will simply replacing those who embody them. It’s only by coming together collectively and taking control of our basic needs for safety, health, access to housing and food that we will be able to claim our independence from Empire beyond the moment of insurrection.

The world unified by Empire, whatever language it speaks, whatever god it prays to, whatever currency it uses—Dollar, Euro, Yuan or any other—is not compatible with any other. Its only outcome will be the extermination of life on Earth. All it knows is hegemony, the world as one; counted, mapped, developed, and made uninhabitable by a macabre rush towards the end. If nothing is done, our end will come before theirs. There is no going back, just as there is no maintaining the status quo. There is only a forward march, sometimes resolute, sometimes hazardous, only knowing where we’ve come from. We must break out of our national prism and think of a policy which is internationalist from the outset—reconstructing a world made up of a multitude of worlds. Worlds that are compatible and in the process of becoming so, and that are themselves riven by struggles and contradictions. There’s a need to build a common plan between these worlds. A plan that will enable us to circumvent Empire, hasten its fall, and imagine the aftermath.

Revolution?

/ Sooner or later, it will fall / Rupture by insistence / The organizational dilemma / Choose boldness, measure risk / Defending the revolution / The evidence of popular power /

In 2011, what commentators called the “Arab Spring,” insurgents called “thawra” (revolution). Revolution in Burkina Faso (2014), the “revolution of dignity” in Ukraine (2014), a “spring revolution” in Myanmar (2021), the “revolution of our time” in Hong Kong (2019), Jina’s revolution in Iran (2022). “Revolution! Revolution! Revolution!” chanted the crowd in yellow vests on the Champs Elysée (2019) reminding the rich of Paris of a refrain that weighs like a threat they thought they’d gotten rid of for good.

A few years after its sensational comeback, the fact that so few are asking the revolutionary question is testimony to the strength of the counter-revolution underway. The fact that so many people have recognized themselves as revolutionaries is not a sign of misplaced enthusiasm or youthful reverie. We must never underestimate what the real movement is announcing, to do so risks being swept away by the torrents of history.

Revolution is not an event to be studied, a theory to be developed, a cold body to be dissected. It’s a question asked of ourselves, the “we” that shapes this text. And contrary to what ideologues, intellectuals, and prophets have always asserted, the answer is never absolute or eternal; it can only be momentary, provisional, situational. A glimmer of truth. We have sought to gather the scattered fragments, assemble and interrogate them to see what they might tell us about the future.

Sooner or later, it will fall

Storming palaces and parliaments came back into fashion with the uprisings of 2011. For many participants, the revolution meant the fall of the regime. But hopes raised by the fall of governments in Yemen, Libya, Egypt, Tunisia, and Ukraine were short-lived. Authoritarian or liberal takeovers, foreign intervention, economic crisis, civil war … Removing tyrants is not synonymous with the victory of revolution.

Conversely, the failure to topple regimes in Syria or Iran has not meant the absence of revolutionary achievement. The rejection of the compulsory hijab (veil) and control over ‘morality’ imposed by the Islamic Republic was a radical fracture. Likewise, Syrians’ ability to organize themselves to administer territories liberated from the State collectively, represented an irreversible break with Assad’s totalitarianism. This explains why, thirteen years on, despite brutal counter-insurgency, the revolution’s flag continues to fly high in the provinces of northern Syria that remain beyond regime control, as in the rebellious province of Sweida, in the south of the country. In both Syria and Iran, the revolution has proved an existential turning point and the regime’s hold on bodies and minds has been partially broken. Sooner or later, they will fall.

No single event can put an end to all forms of domination. For a long time, the Grand Soir was the image par excellence of revolution. But repeated failure to bring about profound and lasting change by “seizing central power,” and the eternal appeals of traditional organizations to wait until “the conditions are right,” have led many to abandon the ideal of the fall of the regime as a strategic horizon and look for other prospects for liberation. For many, since the end of the last century, revolution is a process that begins without waiting. A determined but gradual march towards profound transformation embodied in a constellation of events, acts, interventions, ideas, feelings and everyday practices. El tiempo de la revolución es ahora (the time for revolution is now) say feminists in Argentina. Revolution is conceived as being no longer distant, but a way of life and a struggle in the here and now.

The challenge is to dismantle the structures that oppress us. The major strategic imperative is to stop sacrificing the means—or the struggle of some—in the name of an end which is always postponed. This conception of politics as transformation, rather than the conquest of power, relocates revolutionary politics in praxis and in the intimate, previously lacking in the work of so many organizations and activists. It’s about building a radically new life, a new relationship to one’s community, to desire, to money, to care, and even to one’s struggle.

Viewing revolution as a process is not inconsistent with the conviction that the moment of insurrection is central to it. Whatever the outcome, an uprising is always a decisive event. Even in defeat, it leaves irrefutable and embodied experiences. Countless seeds grow in its wake. If, on the other hand, revolution does succeed in toppling a regime, then something promising and perilous is born.

Rupture by insistence

To conceive of revolution without rupture, remaining oblivious to unexpected opportunities, would risk allowing our actions to exist independently of the world around us. For many revolutionaries, revolution as a gradual process means building material and political autonomy, through collective or territorial forms of self-sufficiency. This quest to break away from dependence on the centers has spread to the forests, mountains, and cities of the world. The construction of autonomy has given rise to spaces that are firmly rooted in the world, and which run counter to the infernal march imposed by Empire. Autonomy can take many forms. It can be rooted in a thousand-year-old history, or be entirely new. It can be embodied in a local assembly, an agricultural cooperative, a community canteen, a neighborhood union, a transnational queer solidarity network, or a media collective.

Yet, the construction of autonomy, which is costly in terms of time and energy, can easily become avoidance if it ignores real historical changes and is not challenged by them. Ideologically ‘pure’ insurrections can never exist. Moments of popular revolt are unique opportunities to multiply forces tenfold and scale up experiments. Otherwise, we run the risk of becoming an isolated, “alternative” niche, easily subsumed into capitalism or by the State. Remaining barricaded behind certainties and our own everyday experience condemns us to perpetual failure. The risk of conceiving autonomy as an unchanging form, punctuated by more or less agitation, locks us into cultural trench warfare, which we can only lose because of our adversaries’ colossal resources. We cannot live as we want without dismantling apparatuses of power that regulate social life and control where we live. But we cannot dismantle apparatuses of power alone.

Uprisings break through isolation. They allow for giant leaps forward. They make for unprecedented coalitions and constitute a moment of mass offensive, without which there can be no tipping points or irreversible change. Whether we are members of an agricultural cooperative or a media collective, an affinity group or mass organization, being alert to the possibility of the real movement erupting enables us to deploy forces effectively in the brief moments of opportunity that may present themselves.

Process and event. Perhaps this is the thoroughgoing revolution; the intersection of two ways of seeing and experiencing revolution. On the one hand, the present, patient, ongoing construction of our autonomy, the meticulous preparation for our encounter, the strengthening of our forces. On the other, the eruptive and explosive nature of the uprising, with its exceptional concentration of energies, its unequaled deployment of popular power, its creativity. Thoroughgoing revolutions are made possible by sequences of uprisings that meet and exceed their limits, in search of that rupture through insistence, as a Chilean comrade said.

We never start from scratch. Every insurrection, every experiment in popular power, every assault on Empire is part of a deeper movement, behind us and ahead of us at the same time, below the surface and looming over the horizon. A tidal wave starts out as an imperceptible current in the middle of the ocean. And it becomes one again after crashing against the shore. We need to learn to act as an undercurrent as much as a tsunami. Perhaps this is the full meaning of the mantra of Hong Kong’s revolution: Be water my friend.

The organizational dilemma

The popular mobilizations of our time have often been heterogeneous and diffuse. They’ve rarely been led by traditional organizations, nor defined by pre-existing political ideologies. The more or less spontaneous and horizontal self-organization, impressive though it was in the early days, was insufficient. The decentralized nature of our movements was both their strength and their weakness. The lack of any consistent organizational capacity or medium- to long-term strategic vision, combined with the difficulty of maintaining street tactics, meant that we were caught between repression and co-optation. In some cases, we lacked organizations to take up the revolutionary cause.

In Ecuador during the 2019 revolt, major Indigenous organizations and trade unions were able to mobilize millions of people from across the country and bring them to the capital to reinforce the ranks of insurgents. Due to their strength of appeal, logistical resources, and coordination skills, the movement was able to confront the authorities on several fronts and finally obtain the withdrawal of the contested government measures. This impressive capacity for mobilization reminds us of the potential strength of organizations, but we must also be mindful of their dangers.

Many have become disillusioned with historic organizations of the left because of their bureaucratic tendencies, their attempts to co-opt the movement, or their desire to direct it. Organizational intervention always carries the risk of limiting the spread of the uprising and curbing the radical nature of its demands, its creativity, and sometimes even its nascent popular institutions. Whether it comes from the far right, religious fundamentalists, or certain organized fringes on the left, there will always be groups seeking to push their own agenda during uprisings. Without organizational and strategic consistency, it’s difficult to prevent these factions from seizing power, and we are left at the mercy of their strategies.

An organization is both a concentration of energy and resources; and a network of connections capable of constituting a collective force. In certain contexts, organizations may be necessary, not only to prevent hijacking by reactionary or liberal forces, but also to help a movement achieve its aims. But how can the power of organizations within an uprising be circumscribed? How can we guard against the centralizing effects that organizations inevitably produce? How can we build the strength of the movement as a whole and not just the strength of the organization? A genuinely revolutionary organization is at one with the movement, striving to nourish the strength of the emerging popular powers, keeping the flame of revolt alive at the risk of extinguishing itself. And it can only do this by avoiding imposing its own agenda, its own dogma, its own way of doing or saying things.

In many uprisings, behind the apparent spontaneity of forms of self-organization, we may detect connections built between groups that existed prior to the moment of insurrection: local communities, political affiliations, religious or traditional institutions, professional or sporting societies which together form a substratum that enables something other than chaos to be. But how can we, mid-turbulence, formulate a coherent strategy to coordinate a revolution? During the Sudanese revolution, the hybridization between the organizational experiences of the student movement, former Communist Party activists, and the forces born of the popular revolt allowed resistance committees to come into being. The most promising experiences have been those in which there has been an encounter between partisan forms, constructed over many years, and new forms born of the event. Encounters only happen when both parties are transformed. A willingness to change is essential for any revolutionary force. Make plans: but draw them in pencil.

Choose boldness, measure risk

No single force can be expected to establish a plan for all. Thinking of ourselves as part of a movement that transcends us, rather than as an organization or chapel to be defended at all costs, means behaving and thinking in a complementary, rather than competitive manner. Maximizing the power of a common movement means finding the best combination of tactics to suit the respective situations of each component part. The Kurdish movement combines armed struggle with the election of mayors and deputies to the Turkish assembly. Burma’s pacifist resistance movement for democracy has transformed into an armed struggle with the support of a diaspora that raises funds through queer events and online video games. Lebanese revolutionaries have built self-managed cooperatives as well as trying to reclaim professional organizations.

Avoid fetishizing one mode of action over another and try out new hybridizations. Going against tactical and ideological rigidities opens up new ways of articulating strategies for transformation. No one can say a priori what a revolutionary act should be. A movement gains in strength if it listens to, explores, and connects the different spheres of struggle that challenge the status quo. It must avoid militant dogmatism and aesthetic posturing, without ever neglecting ethical development.

Ethical questions are not incidental to revolutionary strategy, they are at its heart. Working out how to do things together is essential. So is measuring the risks we’re willing to take for ourselves and for others. Keep in touch with what mattered at the start. Always remember what sets us apart from counter-revolutionary forces. Such principles enable us to thread our way through the storm of an uprising. As our Argentinian comrades used to say, if we do not want to reproduce the kind of power we’re fighting against, we must not confront it or regard it as a rival. As a result of the mirror effect, through facing and looking at each other, we always end up mimicking our opponents. When revolutionary forces hope to beat the centers at their own game, they become a deformed and misguided reflection of them.

The path of strategic articulation also involves learning from experience. In recent years, we have again seen how movements that focus on the institutional route, in a quest for concrete change at the expense of building political and material autonomy, are regularly co-opted. And those that assume they can pursue both insurrectionary and institutional avenues in parallel find themselves exhausted. In Argentina, feminists broke down the paralyzing dichotomy between reform and revolution by seeing potential victories in the implementation of direct institutional reforms, such as the legalization of abortion. But beset by fascist forces, after several defeats on the institutional terrain and unproductive alliances with a powerless and discredited progressivism, the movement found itself unable to preserve internal strength. The means for political autonomy was lost. There was no fallback strategy when the institutional route failed.

Both Syriza in Greece and Podemos in Spain seem to have reached the same impasse when they focused on institutional spaces of power: what followed was a disconnection with the popular mobilization, compromise with neoliberal policies, generalized disappointment, and a feeling of betrayal. But remaining outside institutions is neither an objective nor a question of principle. A reform, an election, and perhaps even a presidential candidacy can in certain situations serve the revolutionary cause. We must ensure that such moments serve to strengthen the revolutionary movement and its autonomy and are not merely a chance to launch the political career of inevitable opportunists. When it comes to tactics and devising strategies, inventiveness is what breaks new ground.

Defending the revolution

When the centers loose political ground, weapons intervene. This grim fact condemns most revolutions to war. Resorting to armed struggle is rarely a strategic choice. It’s the level of State violence that determines if and when revolutionaries are forced to pick up arms. Pacifism cannot defend itself against a State, or groups within it, that are prepared to exterminate an entire population to quell a revolt. But the arrival of arms in a revolutionary movement is always a threat to its survival because when they enter the scene, the whole movement is impacted. Many revolutionaries have said how militarization severed them from active participation in the insurrection, when “being a revolutionary” became synonymous with “carrying a gun.” Women and gender dissidents in particular often find themselves marginalized by the militarization of an insurrection. The use of armed violence irreversibly marks the course of a movement and serves to legitimize ever more violent repression by the State against the population as a whole. Our primary concern should be that the taking up of weapons does not radically change a movement’s objectives, composition, and political texture. When taking up arms is inevitable, efforts need to be made to prevent the armed struggle from becoming the sole horizon of the uprising. Survival on the military terrain cannot be the sole lever.

When a State’s armed forces defect, as in Tunisia and Egypt in 2011, something decisive is in play. Defectors often bring their weapons with them, but rarely enough to counter a state’s arsenal. Access to weapons and the financial resources to buy them becomes the alpha and omega of revolutionary struggle, often justifying alliances which, however judicious they may seem at the time, prove dangerous, even fatal, before long.

Unfortunately, the military balance of power often determines scope for revolution. The profoundly asymmetrical nature of confrontation with the State apparatus and superpowers places revolutionaries at a significant disadvantage. Syria and Sudan, two of the most promising and thoroughgoing revolutions of our time, have had painful experiences of this. Towns and villages were reduced to rubble and drowned in blood; millions were displaced from their homes. The trauma will take generations to heal.

Victory for a resistance or revolutionary movement often comes down not to having as many weapons as possible but rather to preventing adversaries from using theirs. The question of defending the revolution is as much a military question as a political one. Whenever possible, the challenge may be to attempt, while there is still time, to deactivate the military apparatus as effectively as possible. Blockade barracks, imprison generals, disarm institutions. But even if successful, what then? What can be done when an outside intervention or an attempt at domestic containment tries to regain control by force? And even if that doesn’t happen, what about the militias and armed gangs who, as in Haiti and Ecuador, try to take advantage of the situation? When weapons intervene, a popular uprising can easily turn into a cacophony of competing authoritarianisms, delivering people into the hands of warlords.

The relationship between the local and the transnational, and the nature of the links built between peoples, revolutionary forces, and popular organizations across the globe, are crucial to preventing revolts from becoming isolated. International support is a major asset on the revolutionaries’ side, which can exert significant pressure depending on the situation. At best it can prevent bloodshed, and at least buy time to organize self-defense. This is one of the horizons of revolutionary internationalism.

The evidence of popular power

“Why build a ‘counter-power’? We are the people. We should have power!” This reflection, formulated by a Yellow Vest protester at an assembly in France, is perhaps the best expression of the aspiration for popular power that we’ve heard. The revolution we seek is neither the refusal of power, nor its negation. That would mean perpetually leaving power in the hands of our adversaries. We cannot be content to always be a dam, a brake, an opposition, even permanent, to the domination of the centers. Popular power is, on the contrary, the active search and living construction of a collective way of forging a new legitimacy, of exercising a different kind of power.

Recent revolts everywhere have sought to increase popular power, or at least to prevent the confiscation of power by a few. Some, in Syria, Hong Kong, Ukraine, or Algeria, thought they were achieving this by demanding a democratic state; or by demanding the abolition or defunding of the police in the United States; or a permanent Citizens Initiative Referendum in France; by ousting the French neo-colonialists and their accomplices in West Africa; by establishing confederalism in Kurdistan or changing the constitution in Chile. The insurgents wanted more power, but that didn’t always mean they wanted to govern.

Others, like some of us, thought that extending the power of the people meant above all building popular power in the heart and in the wake of revolt. Beginning to build from below, from what had already begun to mutate, the principles of self-government that could serve as the architecture for the aftermath of the uprising. Building autonomous power without leaving it to a few vanguards, leaders, officers, or new governments. Removing central power and building popular power.

After the fall of the regime, the resistance committees of the Sudanese revolution, faced with the contradictions and paralysis of the first transitional government, drew up a proposal for the future of the country, so as not to leave the field to the old guard politicians. The Charter for the Establishment of the People’s Authority outlines a new form of governance. It proposes the establishment of a localized, bottom-up system of power in which the civil and popular forms of organization that emerged from the revolution retain a say in the legislative process and the balance of power. It also demands the fair distribution of the country’s wealth and an end to plunder by foreign powers, whoever they may be. With this proposal, Sudanese were trying to defend the revolution without resort to arms. Although the Sudanese revolution seems to have been cornered in a bloody impasse, it certainly has not said its last word. As a Sudanese comrade once said: revolution has become a religion in Sudan.

In Mexico, the struggle for the autonomy of popular powers and the defense of the revolution have never ceased since the first decade of revolts in 1910 which led to the establishment of the Mexican state. For over a hundred years, despite the Institutional Revolutionary Party’s decades long capture of power, the attempts at liberal counter-revolution supported by the United States, and the betrayals of the social-democratic left, a patient strategic wisdom has been woven in every territory, from remote Indigenous communities to the working-class districts of the big cities. Grassroots movements of slum dwellers or rural teachers’ unions, Indigenous councils, community police forces, neighborhood councils, and autonomous health facilities have flourished in a country that is known to be “one of the most violent in the world.” Nowhere else has community power been taken so far. While these experiments are still threatened by many reactionary forces and face the authorities’ corruption, they have demonstrated their ability to take root and resist for decades.

People power is the opposite of powerlessness. It means taking the time to climb the rungs of the ladder, one by one, and not relying on those who want to capture our votes. People Power. These two words in their naked simplicity. Power as the ability to act, to decide, to implement. Popular as diverse, as direct, as transversal, as here, as everywhere, and as now. Popular power as a guarantee against any further electoral betrayal, as an offensive against the status quo, as the only antidote to fascism.

* * *

If revolution is a question, then we can neither win or lose. Only battles can be won or lost. Always partial, sometimes decisive, never definitive. Revolution is the inextinguishable yearning for dignity, and the constant search, for several millennia now, for how to embody it on this Earth.

How can nascent popular powers be protected from the risk of civil war? Is there an alternative to taking up arms, or is it an inevitable horizon of revolution? Is the establishment of a revolutionary power on a “national” scale, in place of the one we are fighting, an indispensable stage in making change irreversible? Or, on the contrary, should we consolidate popular power everywhere to prevent it being brought to heel by the new state apparatus, however revolutionary? We do not have the answers to these questions, which so many revolutionaries have already asked. The search for a theory that would provide the secret formula for victory is a dead end. There is only experimentation, placing bets and more or less fertile strategic compositions. Some will base their answers on the strength of revolutionary organizations, others on emerging forms of territorial power, still others on the unifying power of religions and ideologies. Others will base their responses on a clever mix of all of these.

The path of revolution is not a straight line. It will be like a streak of stars, a series of conflagrations lighting up the night, each one pointing the way more clearly than the last, until we finally pass the point of no return.

Starting over

“And at dawn, armed with ardent patience, we will enter the splendid cities”

Over the last five years, following a number of gatherings, we’ve begun to weave a network that transcends borders, rooted in myriad spaces and territories intent on governing themselves. This is a network comprising individuals and collectives inspired by the cycle of popular uprisings that have taken place in the years since 2011, seeing in these a source of energy and a signal of major upheavals to come.

We’ve opened up a space where the revolutionaries of Khartoum’s resistance committees can exchange ideas and analysis with feminists and members of territorial assemblies in Santiago; where the determined youth of Sri Lanka’s GotaGoGama villages mingle with participants in the ecological struggles of France and the United States. Where grassroots movements from Mexico City’s working class neighborhoods talk to members of local councils from insurgent Syria, and Lebanese and Iraqi farmers connect with Indigenous peoples of Abya Yala. Barely a month after the uprising in Iran in 2022, Iranian exiles were able to debate with activists from grassroots movements in West Africa what the fall of the regime meant and the meaning of the word “revolution.”

From there, we set about laying the foundations for a new kind of transnational force. A force that could draw on the pooling of our experiences and analyses and give itself the means to ensure that they are followed up by action. A force capable of concretely supporting present and future movements and uprisings.

I. Creating a transnational space for liaison

Our first task is to ensure that we are able to meet; to increase the number of connections between the various centers of the emerging revolutionary movement throughout the world. To create the material and logistical conditions for a planetary debate in which approaches to revolution are renewed. We want to create a space that will enable us to go beyond existing connections and enable the birth of a shared strategy. It is important that this new space should last, and be geographically diverse, in order that as many people as possible should recognize something of theirs in it, and something relevant to their experience and to their hopes.

II. Pooling and multiplying our resources

There can be no revolutionary force without material power. Making our perspectives clear and explicit, broadening and multiplying movement between our territories, offers us the possibility of finding material and financial resources, but also allies and tools which, once pooled, will increase our capacity to act.

We want to establish a network of material mutual aid as soon as possible, so that we can quickly offer support during wars, climatic disasters, or revolutions, and at the same time build the long-term infrastructures that will enable our struggles to become self-sustaining in the long term. The balance of these two timeframes is needed if our movements are to survive, maintain their independence, and grow in strength.

The resources available to us on our own small scale may rightly seem infinitesimal given the scale of the task. But we have all experienced circumstances where not only did everything seem possible, but everything happened, with each gesture leading to dozens of others along the way. Revolutionary mutual aid, like courage, can make itself contagious when the time comes.

III. Mapping a planet of friendly places

To meet and organize, we need places. Discreet but accessible places of welcome to which anyone forced to flee their country of origin can turn. We need places of refuge, retreat, care, and protection, places where we can find a little respite and “recharge our batteries.” Also, places dedicated to livelihood issues and training, but also places to dance, make music, share films, create together, and eat well. Many of these places already exist, but they are waiting to be placed on a common map. Connecting these places will be like a process of planetary neighborhooding, of mujawara as our Lebanese comrades say. It will materialize our common oath from one neighborhood to the next, from one village to the next, from one farm to the next.

Of course, we don’t all have the same level of mobility. Building safe and dignified routes of exile, by imagining multiple interconnected territories and stages to facilitate escape and movement, is a major challenge. Finding channels and tricks to enable us to bypass physical and administrative barriers and occasionally gather en masse in organized convoys. Let these routes also be stages for return journeys, coming and going, as state borders crack under the persistent action of our flows.

IV. Producing a transnational revolutionary culture

To disseminate our analyses, to compare them, to allow the experiences of our comrades from different parts of the world be heard everywhere, so that together we can develop a political education worthy of our times. In the medium term, to put in place the means for a major cultural offensive in each of our countries to encourage the return of a non-aligned popular internationalism. Working on building synergies between different types of political, territorial, and community organizations, independent media, communication channels, and cultural venues.

The task before us is to restore legitimacy to the revolutionary perspective by preventing our struggles from facing isolation. Relating histories and experiences that our adversaries want to keep apart. Connecting different fronts within an international revolutionary movement, both such as already exist and as are yet to be built. We can see the stars separated in the sky, or we can see them as constellations.

Between the improbable and the possible

Every dream, every hope for a different life hangs in a fragile equilibrium and oscillates between the shadow of doubt and the glow of certainty. We stand at a crossroads where aspirations for change confront realities of a collapsing world. We can continue to watch as the Empire drags us into the abyss, affecting not to know; we can surrender to general panic or lie prostrate, awaiting the end; or we can meticulously organize an exit plan, betting we can extract a plausible future from an improbable present. We need to find a revolutionary horizon, not just in order to survive, but to live a life worth living.

Now is the time to build structures that can withstand the storms of tomorrow. Now is the time to extend and consolidate our connections. Our respective circumstances will continue to deteriorate, but tipping points of all kinds will create opportunities for change that we can turn to our advantage, provided we are ready. Every step we take, every obstacle we overcome, brings us a little closer to significant victories—victories that can offer some comfort to the souls of those we have lost in battle, who are waiting to rest in peace.

To structure this new force that we are calling for, to give shape to its action, there is still much to be done. Success will depend on responses to the proposal we are making in this text … on the number and determination of those willing to work with us.

We are aware of the magnitude of the task. We are learning from the failures of our elders. We know the many threats we face. The odds are not in our favor. Perhaps we will not turn the tide, become that tsunami.

But as a Catalan friend once said: there are times when not to take risks is a risk not worth taking.

___

Notes:

i It was so hard to find each other, let’s never again be apart

ii Every Single One Means Every Single One

iii Out with Them All

iv Out of Here

v Women, Life, Freedom

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written by Sayid Marcos Tenorio >> soupalestina

Throughout history, almost every national liberation struggle has been labelled “terrorism” by the powers exercising colonial rule or foreign occupation. This strategy is nothing new.

The British Empire branded IRA fighters in Ireland and EOKA guerrillas in Cyprus as terrorists. France portrayed Algeria’s National Liberation Front (FLN) as a criminal organisation. The same happened to the Mozambique Liberation Front (FRELIMO), the People’s Movement for the Liberation of Angola (MPLA), the South West Africa People’s Organisation (SWAPO) in Namibia, and even Nelson Mandela’s African National Congress (ANC).

History, however, vindicated these movements and condemned the colonial regimes that sought to perpetuate their domination.

This pattern reveals a constant: those who occupy a territory seek to strip the occupied people of any legitimacy to resist.

The dehumanisation of resistance is a colonial strategy. By labelling every resistance fighter a “terrorist”, attention is shifted away from illegal occupation, apartheid and the denial of self-determination, and redirected towards the reaction of the occupied people.

This narrative, however, encounters clear limits within international law itself.

From the United Nations Charter to Resolution 1514 (XV) on decolonisation and Resolution 2625 (XXV), which reaffirms the principle of peoples’ self-determination, the understanding has been consolidated that peoples subjected to colonial domination, foreign occupation or racist regimes have the right to struggle for their liberation.

Several subsequent resolutions of the United Nations General Assembly recognised the legitimacy of national liberation movements and acknowledged that such resistance may take the form of armed struggle, provided that it remains subject to the rules of international humanitarian law.

This is precisely why the international community has never automatically equated national liberation movements with terrorist organisations.

International humanitarian law regulates the manner in which armed conflicts must be conducted and imposes obligations on all belligerents, including resistance movements.

However, it does not eliminate the political and legal right of a people to resist occupation. Confusing these two dimensions serves only the interests of occupying powers, because it transforms a conflict of a political and legal nature into a mere policing matter.

The history of the so-called “State of Israel” itself exposes this contradiction.

Before 1948, Irgun and Lehi were regarded as terrorist organisations by the British government because of attacks such as the bombing of the King David Hotel and the assassination of UN mediator Folke Bernadotte.

Years later, their leaders reached the highest levels of government, and Menachem Begin received the Nobel Peace Prize. This demonstrates that the label “terrorist” often reflects political circumstances more than any permanent legal definition.

In the contemporary context, this debate remains highly relevant. Palestine continues to be recognised by the United Nations as a territory under occupation, while Western Sahara remains on the UN list of Non-Self-Governing Territories, awaiting the fulfilment of its people’s right to self-determination.

In this context, the Islamic Resistance Movement (Hamas), which emerged during the First Intifada, and the Polisario Front, recognised by the United Nations as the representative of the Sahrawi people in the Western Sahara peace process, belong to the historical tradition of national liberation movements.

As with South Africa’s ANC, Algeria’s FLN, Namibia’s SWAPO, Mozambique’s FRELIMO and many other movements, both base their struggle on their peoples’ claim to the right of self-determination in the face of occupation or foreign domination.

This does not mean that every military action carried out by resistance organisations is automatically legitimate under international law.

The rules of international humanitarian law apply to all parties to a conflict and prohibit deliberate attacks against civilians, regardless of the cause being defended.

However, possible violations of these rules do not, in themselves, invalidate the legal legitimacy of the struggle for self-determination, nor do they automatically transform a national liberation movement into a terrorist organisation under international law. These are distinct questions, frequently conflated for political convenience.

There is no colonialism without resistance. There never has been.

The French Resistance against Nazi occupation, Vietnamese guerrillas, Algerian fighters, South Africans who confronted apartheid, African liberation movements, the Polisario Front and the Palestinian resistance all demonstrate that no people will indefinitely accept the loss of their land, sovereignty and dignity.

The real question, therefore, is not why resistance exists.

The question the world should be asking is why military occupations, colonial processes and regimes that deny entire peoples the right to determine their own destiny continue to exist.

As long as there is colonisation, apartheid, illegal annexation and denial of self-determination, there will be armed resistance movements.

And international law, despite political pressure and attempts to criminalise liberation movements, continues to uphold the fundamental principle that the freedom of peoples is not an act of terrorism, but a fundamental right of humanity.

___

SOURCE:

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Decadence in our era comes in technologically mediated forms, emptied of desire and obsessed with self-optimisation

Written by Michèle Mendelssohn and Charlie Tyson

Do you want to have a good time? You know, really enjoy yourself? Click here, and tell us your desires. Maybe it’s a new outfit, or some exotic cuisine delivered anonymously and steaming hot to your door. Maybe it’s porn or gambling. Perhaps you prefer the infinite scroll, the endlessly unfurling ribbon of glossy images and videos starring people you’ll never meet doing things you’ll never do. Or maybe you favor talking to a chatbot who will assure you that you are the most special of all its users.

For anyone with an Internet connection and a little discretionary income, the contemporary moment offers a superabundance of seductive distractions. Why then the pervasive mood of emptiness? Why are so many at once overstimulated and bored?

Welcome to the era of decadence without pleasure.

The concept of decadence as a marker of cultural decline coinciding with a high level of wealth has been around since the twilight of the ancient Greeks and Romans. After the Roman emperor Elagabalus took the throne at 14, he served flamingo brains, seasoned his food with pearls, and, according to one account, smothered guests to death with an avalanche of rose petals. But his vices were outdone by Nero, who had his enemies sewn into wild animal skins and devoured by dogs in an elaborate garden spectacle.

So decadence has an inescapably pejorative ring, suggesting decay, excess and a falling away from norms and ideals. Critics of decadence have usually hailed from the political right, and the same is true today: consider conservative New York Times columnist Ross Douthat’s critique of cultural and economic stagnation in his 2020 book The Decadent Society, or billionaire investor Peter Thiel’s complaints about faltering innovation and the supposed decline of the west. JD Vance likes to invoke the fall of Rome, warning, in his 2026 memoir Communion, that the US is “a great civilization” tumbling into “disrepair”. But plenty of thinkers on the left also worry that modern wealthy societies have entered a period of paralysis, under the shadow of what the Italian theorist Franco “Bifo” Berardi calls “the slow cancellation of the future”.

That all sounds bad. Yet a passionate minority has sometimes found, in decadence, reasons for hope.Cultures later judged decadent produced extraordinary upwellings of art, like the flare of a dying star. Think of the undulating arabesques of Rococo painting before the French Revolution, or the lush shimmering silks of the late Ottomans, or the experimental cinema and nightlife of Weimar Berlin.

Nowhere was the cultural potential of decadence more visible than in the late-19th century. In France, Britain and (with less gusto) in the United States, artists such as Oscar Wilde, Aubrey Beardsley, Joris-Karl Huysmans and Rachilde developed new literary and visual styles championing extravagance, sensuousness and the superiority of artifice. It is to these avant-garde experiments that we owe green carnations (the fakest of flowers), frivolous dandies obsessed with perfumes, a bejeweled tortoise crushed to death by the weight of its splendor, and erotic nightmares including a woman with monstrous flowers growing between her thighs and a male anatomical model whose legs spread at the click of a spring so that he can be penetrated by his female lover. Such taboo-busting grotesquery protested against the inertia of modern civilization by applying moral and aesthetic shock treatment.

The decadents, however, were not just provocateurs. Their revolt against Victorian society’s deadening enslavement to usefulness, materialism and conventionality put forward a positive philosophy of life, a certain way of thinking about pleasure. Against their era’s obsession with use-value and profit, the decadents insisted that pleasure was, or ought to be, “useless”, enjoyed for its own sake in life’s passing moments. “Not the fruit of experience, but experience itself, is the end,” intoned the essayist Walter Pater, one of the guiding lights of English decadence, in his masterpiece The Renaissance. A reclusive Oxford don, Pater was said to have once stopped High Street traffic to stroke a cat. Why? For the sensation of fur beneath his fingers. The virtue of decadent pleasure is that it is useless, an end in itself.

The fixations of fin-de-siècle decadence that inspired Oscar Wilde and company are still with us, but in shrivelled, technologically mediated forms. GLP-1s turn the delights of eating into a problem to be managed. Anti-ageing remedies and “looksmaxxing” turn decadence’s preoccupation with self-styling into a (literally painful) form of self-optimisation. AI restages decadence’s love of artifice by outsourcing human thinking to a chatty, eager-to-please machine butler.

The problem with contemporary culture isn’t that we’re too decadent. We have inherited the surfaces of decadence – luxury, excess, artifice, bodily display – but have surrendered the fin de siècle’s commitment to pleasure. The result is a culture in which pleasure is subordinated to programs of optimisation and replaced at scale by numbing algorithmic stimulation and promises of instant gratification. Whether you’re after goods, food, art or ideas, you can get more, faster, now.

But quantity and speed can’t make up for the paradox at the heart of today’s decadence: the fact that it’s often “meh” and oddly joyless. It’s a sign of the times that this spring, Amazon’s Chinese rival launched in the UK and Europe under a name that promises to deliver emotional fulfilment: Joybuy.

The ‘looksmaxxing’ era

Bryan Johnson, the frequently shirtless tech tycoon who has funnelled his fortune into what he calls the “Don’t Die” movement, has turned his quest for immortality into a prolonged exhibition of ascetic self-management. His lifestyle is harrowingly spartan: he doesn’t drink alcohol, avoids the sun, never goes out in the evening, and subsists primarily on lentils, boiled broccoli and macadamia nuts. Yet his regimen is, in its peculiar way, one of prurient excess. He swallows up to 111 pills a day, tracks his night-time erections, and once tapped his teenage son for blood plasma. His fight against death costs a reported $2m a year.

Johnson presents himself as a man of the future, but he has a 19th-century double. While pallid, faintly androgynous men with money and strange habits are not rare in decadent literature, the most famous is Duke Jean des Esseintes, the hero of Joris-Karl Huysmans’s 1884 novel “Against the Grain”, a work considered the Bible of decadence. The last scion of an aristocratic French family, des Esseintes creates for himself a cloistered world of voluptuous artifice: padded walls, rare books, exotic flowers, fragrant bonbons, subtle liqueurs, perfumes so sweet they verge on rancid.

Like Johnson, des Esseintes is medically fragile, obsessed with death, and preoccupied with the minutiae of his private sensations. Like Johnson, he sees his retreat from ordinary society into a tightly controlled artificial environment as an experiment that tests the limits of human possibility. But whereas des Esseintes’s withdrawal is an immersion into the subtleties of sensation, Johnson’s “Don’t Die” movement treats the delights of the senses as suspect, even fatal. Des Esseintes hosts a funeral banquet for his “dead virility” in a dining room draped in black, opening on to charcoaled gardens, with guests dining on black-bordered plates filled with black food (rye bread, caviar, black pudding, cuts of meat dripping with liquorice-coloured sauce). Johnson, by contrast, treats impotence as a technical problem, repeatedly shocking his penis to increase his erections.

These attitudes reflect the fantasies of a narrow elite obsessed with human enhancement

Johnson’s programme is extreme, but he is not an anomaly. His lifestyle makes visible, in exaggerated form, new attitudes toward pleasure and embodiment being pushed by today’s tech billionaires. While some superwealthy people in or around Palo Alto are biohacking for longevity with the help of concierge medics, others are treating even sexual pleasure as a domain to be perfected through medical interventions. For example, at Dr Sally Greenwald’s exclusive OB-GYN practice, nicknamed the “Billionaire’s Vagina Club” – Greenwald describes her clientele as “the top 0.001%” – middle-aged women can improve their “sexspan” through bespoke advice, hormonal cocktails and tracking devices. “Sex equals sleep, stress reduction, cardiovascular engagement, relational fulfilment, and pelvic-floor health, and each of those equals health,” Greenwald says.

These attitudes reflect the fantasies of a narrow elite obsessed with human enhancement and – above all else – the prolongation of their own survival. The class politics of pleasureless decadence can be roughly summarized as: biohacking and quantified asceticism for the rich, algorithmic stimulation for the rest.

In contexts of extreme inequality, rich people tend to set the terms by which pleasure is understood and experienced. The very fact of inequality injures pleasure, because in a stratified society, food, art, travel and other delights can devolve into occasions to demonstrate rank or taste. Our present social order, however, is not just radically unequal; it’s dominated by a ruling class that distrusts pleasure and sensation. What passes for “fun” among today’s top 0.001% amounts to anything but: think of the 80-hour workweeks championed by tech titans like Elon Musk, or Equinox gym’s “Optimize” longevity membership costing $40,000 a year, or courtside seats at Knicks games inside the miniature surveillance state that is Madison Square Garden. And because of their outsized political and cultural influence, their sway over public and private investment, and their habit of not paying their share of tax, the pleasurelessness of the ultra-monied classes trickles down to the rest of us.

“I think trying to optimise things … is actually the divine spark within us,” recently professed the German biotech billionaire Christian Angermayer, a champion of “humanmaxxing”, the use of drugs and supplements to enhance the body. Divinity aside, it seems pertinent to mention that the person content with every day sensations makes for a poor consumer. But get people outside the plutocratic class to reconceive their minds and bodies as sites of perpetual self-improvement, and you have, in Angermayer’s words, “a total addressable market of ideally 100%”.

The most culturally revealing such market is for GLP-1s such as Ozempic, Wegovy and Mounjaro. One in eight American adults report taking GLP-1 injectables for weight loss, according to a 2025 Gallup poll, and far more express interest in taking them. The global market for this class of drugs is expected to reach $190bn by 2035. For many, these medications confer real benefits. Yet it seems fair to ask: what does the widespread embrace of appetite-governing pharmaceuticals suggest about our culture’s handling of pleasure and desire?

GLP-1s reshape the felt relation between desire and satisfaction, as research has already begun to show. While more studies are needed, some users report a diminution of pleasure across several areas of their lives: they complain of lethargy, decreased libido, emotional flatness and a weakened connection to the social dimensions of eating.

The decadence of the fin de siècle celebrated cornucopian abundance. Take for example Aubrey Beardsley’s 1896 drawing The Fruit Bearers, depicting two figures bearing colossal bowls of fruit, lush grapes overhanging, a peacock in the background observing the opulent procession. In contrast, today’s anhedonic decadence celebrates the inhibition, even the transcendence, of appetite. While in haute cuisinethe trappings of indulgence are preserved – some upmarket eateries now offer “small appetite” menus featuring caviar and foie gras – the tendency is toward delicate minimalism. Because eating is a quintessentially communal activity, an intervention in how people eat is also an intervention in how we socialize.

It seems reasonable to expect, meanwhile, that the widespread uptake of such drugs may contribute to a tightening not just of belts but of beauty norms. Looksmaxxing, an online subculture aimed primarily at young men, presents a darker strain of physical perfectionism, treating the body as a site of correction. Of course, women have long been ground down by painful and impossible beauty standards. What’s striking about looksmaxxing is the migration of this kind of disciplinary logic into a male subculture that speaks of beauty in terms of brutal domination: anyone can be “mogged” (outshone by a more handsome man), and one of the purposes of maxxing is to increase one’s “sexual market value”. Key to this subculture is the rejection of subjective taste in favor of mathematical norms (looksmaxxers prize certain ratios of facial proportion, measuring, for instance, the height of the forehead or the distance between the pupils).

“[T]o make oneself beautiful is a universal instinct,” a young Max Beerbohm wrote in his 1894 essay A Defence of Cosmetics, a send-up of decadence’s cult of artifice. Whereas the fin-de-siècle decadents with their love of makeup treated the face as a mask to play with or an enigma to contemplate, looksmaxxers recast the face as a set of homogenizing metrics requiring arduous correction. “The men are weeping in the gym,” writes Andrew McMillan in his prescient 2015 poem about punitive male beauty standards:

they have got too close to the glass

and now they are laying

in the broken pools of their own faces.

 

The pleasureless decadence machine

The fin de siècle had its own cult of masculine self-display in the form of the dandy, with his carefully tailored coat, polished shoes and pigskin gloves. The dandy’s concern for appearance was just part of the era’s wide-ranging love of stylization. “The first duty in life is to be as artificial as possible,” Oscar Wilde proclaimed. “What the second duty is no one has yet discovered.” Wilde and other decadents prized the made over the natural. Artifice was a way of intensifying the given world, overlaying the hard facts of life with a glittering sheen or a more pleasant smell. After all, what is the dandy’s perfume but a victory for pleasure over necessity?

AI marks a triumph of artifice more sweeping than the old decadents could have imagined. Yet far from bolstering our capacity for perceptual intensity, AI presents new threats to both. Its productions – LinkedIn posts about the virtues of entrepreneurship, cartoon soap operas about the infidelities of anthropomorphized fruits – are eerily hollow, with no felt experience, embodiment or sensation behind them. AI is the pleasureless decadence machine.

There is no pleasure or pain for an AI, no skin in the game

Carissa Véliz

Already our algorithmically driven culture is saturated with a deluge of slop that promises numbing, empty stimulation. The old decadents were fascinated by the prospect of mental oblivion, the loss of self-control in the face of overwhelming beauty. Today, AI researchers warn of “human enfeeblement” as tech companies seek to draw users into relations of dependency and infantilization, with machines to do their “thinking” for them.

While the fin-de-siècle left imprints on visual art, fashion, music and other art forms, it was primarily as a literary movement that its decadence made cultural interventions. Crucial to decadent writing was a taste for language – lilting rhythms, overheated exclamations – that would affect the reader viscerally, leaving her trembling, her moral assumptions upended. In contrast, LLMs leach language of pleasure by blandifying it: the algorithm steers language away from the idiosyncratic and toward the predictable.

Pleasure isn’t just about hedonism or indulgence in “useless” objects. It is one of the principal ways we, as embodied beings, perceive value. Pain teaches us not to touch the hot stove twice; pleasure guides us toward the sweetness of clean water and fresh air. Pleasure is not infallible: some things that feel good are cruel, addictive, or destructive. But the embodied experience of pleasure is crucial to how we learn and how we make judgments about what is good, beautiful and worth pursuing. These are not judgments we can wisely cede to disembodied machines.

“There is no pleasure or pain for an AI, no skin in the game,” the philosopher Carissa Véliz writes in her recent book Prophecy. As a result, an AI “cannot care, and therefore cannot value”. Without some felt relation to pleasure and pain, judgments of value and taste become abstract and bloodless.

Reclaiming everyday pleasures

Because of its commitment to embodied pleasure, fin-de-siècle decadence offers powerful lessons for the increasingly disembodied, tech-optimised world championed by elites. This is not to suggest, however, that the old decadents were living uncomplicated lives of satisfaction and joy. WB Yeats called the poets of 1890s London “the tragic generation”. The decadents could be moody and morbid, susceptible to ennui, spleen and other Baudelairean ailments. In other words, they were all too human. Some died young, succumbing to alcoholism or tuberculosis; others abandoned the religion of art to join the Catholic church. Fin-de-siècle decadence had, moreover, an aristocratic and misogynistic bent. Many of its most influential English champions were highly educated men who regarded ordinary life with aloofness, even contempt.

From the start, however, decadence was both an elite and a minoritarian movement, spearheaded largely by men (and some women) of privilege – but responsible for injecting a new awareness of queerness into public consciousness.

Oscar Wilde’s 1890 novel The Picture of Dorian Gray is a story of a thrill-seeker’s descent into decadent squalor – hedonism, moral bankruptcy, irresponsible self-indulgence and the exploitation of others – in the name of never ageing. But when Victorian society raged at Dorian’s monstrosity, Wilde countered that “vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art” that can reveal humanity to itself. Sure, Dorian was a perverted Peter Pan, a bad boy who didn’t want to grow up and face consequences. But his scandalous romp reflected society’s concealed desires back to itself.

In fin-de-siècle decadence, we can also see a growing appreciation of female desire. The 1892 poetry collection Sight and Song by Michael Field – the pen name of two lesbian lovers who wrote as one – turns an explicitly female gaze on the art-historical canon. A poem in response to Leonardo da Vinci’s drawing of Leda, the princess seduced by Zeus in the form of a swan, grants Leda all the power: “She draws the fondled creature to her will.” Their Saint Sebastian is, by contrast, a passive icon of masculine beauty, “with body fresh for use, for pleasure fit, / With its energies and needs together knit”.

So too have Black and postcolonial artists drawn from late-19th-century decadence in asserting their own claims to pleasure. Bruce Nugent’s homoerotic story Smoke, Lilies and Jade (1926), one of the more audacious works of the Harlem Renaissance, opens with the Black hero, Alex, lying on his bed, exhaling blue smoke from a cigarette. Alex idly ponders Wilde’s remark that “a cigarette is the most perfect pleasure because it leaves one unsatisfied” before passing into the streets in search of more gratifying pleasures. He meets a white man he calls Beauty, and the two embrace: Alex “could feel Beauty’s body … close against his … hot … tense … white … and soft”. That sentence’s panting prose gives away the game – Alex knows that enjoying the pleasure forbidden to him is the ultimate decadent act.

If a New Decadence is to emerge, we need artists to invent it and individuals to … appreciate its disruptive energies

And now? A renewed, democratic decadence could stage a revolt against optimisation, encouraging ordinary people to brace themselves against the siren simulations of the digital world. Because contemporary culture looks decadent but feels punishing and devoid of meaning, a New Decadence could respond powerfully to this essential contradiction. Every day acts of aesthetic perception – such as Walter Pater stopping traffic to stroke a cat – matter. But if a New Decadence is to emerge, we need artists to invent it and individuals to pause and appreciate its disruptive energies.

So far, neodecadent energies in art have been submerged in satirical entertainments about rich people behaving badly – films like Saltburnor TV shows like The White Lotus that reproduce the structure of pleasureless decadence by equating pleasure with status, power and consumption.

There are signs, however, of something more original and less reactive emerging, an art that foregrounds the senses for an era that distrusts the body. The sensuous cinema of Peter Strickland; the frightening but gorgeous blood-coloured sculptures of Anish Kapoor; the reinvigoration of Black decadence in Shola von Reinhold’s novel Lote; the Dionysian reimagining of the fin de siècle in John Corigliano’s opera The Lord of Cries – none of this amounts to a coherent movement. Yet all these works offer, to their respective artforms, materials from which a New Decadence could arise – a movement that could give pleasure back to people, make the social body’s pulses race again, and force fresh blood through today’s complacent, anemic culture.

Walter Pater prefaced his study of the Renaissance with a sort of epicurean pleasure script, a series of diagnostic questions you can ask yourself to get a better handle on what you experience:

What is this song or picture, this engaging personality presented in life or in a book, to me? What effect does it really produce on me? Does it give me pleasure? and if so, what sort or degree of pleasure? How is my nature modified by its presence, and under its influence?

Your answers to these questions, he argues, have the virtue of satisfying your soul. Giving your attention to what you are feeling, analyzing your impressions, being moved and attentive to life’s everyday experiences – this is where real pleasure lies, so long as your pleasure harms no one else’s.

Why strive for pleasure? Why long for it? Because – contra the Bryan Johnsons of the world – we will die. “A counted number of pulses only,” Pater writes, “is given to us of a variegated, dramatic life.” Like Johnson, like the humanmaxxers, Pater counts his pulses. “Our one chance lies,” he writes, “in expanding that interval, in getting as many pulsations as possible into the given time.”

How different Pater’s pulse-counting is from that of the biometric ascetics. Against the pressure to optimise life, decadence issues a different command: feel it.

___

SOURCE: https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/ng-interactive/2026/jul/26/age-of-decadence-pleasure-ai

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“Statistics likes to talk about people in large numbers, because that way it can’t see their faces.”

EXCAVATOR

No one looks at an excavator and thinks:

“What a shame it’s not destroying anything right now.”

But the moment I refused to take part in a war, people suddenly appeared who were convinced I was wasting my life.

LANGUAGE

I’m tired of having to justify the fact that I was born in Ukraine and consider Russian my native language. I grew up in a Russian-speaking mining town in eastern Ukraine. It wasn’t a political statement. It was my life.

Before becoming president, Ukraine’s current president played a president in the popular Ukrainian TV series Servant of the People. The show was in Russian. If most Ukrainians had spoken Ukrainian back then, the show probably would have been in Ukrainian too. But for some reason it wasn’t. Neither were most of the films, music, books, TV programs, and everyday conversations I grew up with.

Some people see language as proof of loyalty. I see it as a tool. A hammer doesn’t become guilty because someone used it to hit another person. Language doesn’t either.

DUTY

Talk of duty begins precisely where volunteers run out.

No one asks a hammer whether it wants to drive nails or crack skulls. Its value is measured solely by its usefulness. Conversations about a man’s duty to his country often work the same way.

If I am expected to pretend to be a tool, then let me be neither a hammer nor a rifle. I’d rather be somebody’s vibrator.

UNITY

On the first day of the war, I boarded a bus from Kyiv to Lviv. Back then, every missile seemed to be flying not just toward the city, but directly at you. At least that’s how it felt.

Somewhere along the way came the news that men were no longer allowed to leave the country. A strange feeling. That morning you had still been a person. By evening, you had become a prohibited category.

Then soldiers pulled me off the bus. They forced me to sign a document stating that I was volunteering for military service. Later, friends explained that such a thing couldn’t possibly have happened. Later, women on the street politely reminded me that all men were expected to report to the draft office. Later, taxi drivers stopped asking for my destination and started asking: “The draft office?”

TV talked about national unity. In reality, the world was losing its mind faster than a morning erection appears. I’ve already used some of these stories in my fiction. The rest are still too dangerous to publish.

Everyone kept saying the war would be over in a few days. Four years have passed. No, the last missile won’t change anything. Some wars end before they begin. Others continue long after the ceasefire.

BORDERS

There it is again: another well-fed, comfortable person talking about the importance of borders. It’s strange hearing that from people who cross dozens of invisible borders every day.

The border between work and home.

The border between a friend and a lover.

The border between a child and an adult.

The border between the person you were a year ago and the person you are today.

Everything good in my life began with breaking someone’s rules. So whenever I hear that borders are sacred, I remember that love, emigration, and growing up begin with crossing them.

NATURE

I’m tired of hearing that sex between men is unnatural. That we should look to nature for guidance. Fine. Let’s take a look at what nature actually has to offer.

As a child from a broken home, it pains me to write this, but nature is not particularly sentimental. A cuckoo chick dropped into another bird’s nest throws the other chicks out to monopolize the attention of its foster parents. Nobody calls that unnatural.

I’ve been on many dates. Some of them were terrible, but none of my partners ever tried to eat me afterward, as female praying mantises and some spiders do.

Ducks evolved complex reproductive anatomy to protect themselves from gang rape.

Maybe we shouldn’t look to nature for moral guidance in every situation. Maybe we should just make love.

If morality is determined by nature, then infanticide, cannibalism, and group violence must also be considered natural.

Fortunately, people usually build ethics not on what exists in nature, but on consent, freedom, and the absence of harm. That’s why the argument that something is “unnatural” tells us nothing about whether it is good or bad.

And if my sex life is still your strongest argument against me, perhaps you’ve simply run out of arguments.

OBSERVATION

No important story in my life has ever started with:

“I followed all the instructions.”

THE FACELESS MAN

States love faces. Faces are easy to hit. Easy to photograph. Easy to paste into documents.

I met the Faceless Man in Romania. He was trying to sell an old book. What interested me wasn’t the book itself, but the description. It read:

“They say the illustrations in this book were drawn by Satan himself.”

Naturally, I didn’t believe it. But I became curious about the kind of person who would advertise a book that way. That’s how I found the Faceless Man.

Now he helps me distribute my stories. He’s from Ukraine too. Also of military age. Also refused to fight. We both find it amusing when people ask, yet again:

“Why doesn’t he have a face?”

Are you aware that men with Ukrainian passports can’t even access consular services anymore? It’s hardly surprising that he has no face. That country steals young men’s identities. Or at least tries to.

Later he admitted that he had never intended to sell the book. He simply knew that a book like that would attract unusual people.

One of those people was me.

SECURITY

I was walking down the street listening to a podcast about Michel Foucault’s Discipline and Punish. It talked about how the state created a system in which people police themselves even when no one is watching.

That’s how a woman wears makeup not because she wants to, but because she feels compelled to meet expectations imposed on her idea of femininity.

That’s how a prisoner behaves even after the guard has walked away.

I’d read Foucault before. I’d walked down that street before. But only then did I notice that there were sixteen cameras on it. None of them was pointed directly at me. None told me to stop. None demanded my papers. They were simply there.

That’s what a modern city looks like: nobody accuses you of anything. They just keep watching, in case.

COLLECTOR

The Faceless Man collects weird things. Banned books. Photographs of demolished monuments. Letters written by executed authors.

The thing is that this weirdo doesn’t really collect objects. He collects evidence that the world could have been arranged differently.

STATISTICS

When the war began, I quickly realized that, as far as the state was concerned, there were two different people.

The first was me.

The second was a military-aged man.

The first read books, wrote stories, and had sex.

The second existed only in a spreadsheet.

The state showed little interest in the first one, but a great deal of interest in the second. That was probably the moment I first understood how dangerous statistics can be.

Statistics doesn’t know who you are. It only knows which category to place you in. Age. Sex. Citizenship. Fitness for service.

To statistics, I was never a person. Every statistic is a cemetery where names have been replaced with numbers. I was merely the intersection of several parameters. That’s why I enjoy ruining statistics. Sometimes it’s the only way to remind a system that it made a mistake.

COERCION

I’d like someone to shave me every evening. But I’d want them to do it with care. I’d want them to enjoy the feeling of the razor gliding across my neck.

Problems don’t begin when people develop unusual desires. Problems begin when they stop caring about reciprocity and start valuing an action more than the person involved in it.

Yes, I’d like someone to shave me. But I’d want there to be an erotic subtext. The act itself doesn’t interest me. That’s why it would never occur to me to force someone to do it. Coercion would destroy the very thing that made it meaningful.

States and ideologies make this mistake all the time. They try to obtain through coercion what can exist only voluntarily.

An employer dreams of a worker who arrives at work with the same enthusiasm people bring to a date. A state dreams of a soldier who dies with the same enthusiasm people bring to bed. Both love talking about duty. Both become nervous when a person remembers their right to refuse.

The greatest stories of love, success, heroism, and self-sacrifice always exist on the other side of coercion. An artist carrying paintings from country to country while living in exile. A volunteer driving humanitarian aid across half a continent. A woman donating a kidney to her sister. What makes them beautiful is that they could have chosen otherwise.

Try forcing them to do the same thing, and you end up with an entirely different story.

DIALOGUE

“You can find something positive in any situation,” I tell the Faceless Man.

“Even this one?”

“At least the state can’t steal your identity twice.”

EUROPEAN PROTECTION

For all four years of the war, one thing has continued to irritate me. The European Union granted temporary protection to people with Ukrainian passports, yet never said the obvious part out loud: some of us need protection not only from the war, but from Ukraine itself.

I am one of those people.

At first, I thought the EU’s refusal to acknowledge this was merely a bureaucratic oversight. The Faceless Man disagreed. We even made a bet. If he turned out to be right, he would shave me every day for a month. What I would owe him if he won is better left undisclosed.

Now, as more and more people discuss restricting or even revoking protection for military-aged men, I am beginning to suspect that the Faceless Man was right.

It no longer looks like an oversight. It looks like a reservation left for the future. A way of preserving the right to decide, one day, who I really am. A refugee. A taxpayer. Or military manpower.

It seems the Faceless Man won’t need to buy new razor blades after all.

STRENGTH

I like large dogs. But when people see a Rottweiler, they immediately start talking about what it might do: maul someone, attack someone, tear someone apart. Very rarely does anyone point out that a dog can also lie in the sun and mind its own business.

Something similar happens whenever people talk about men. The moment a man happens to be physically stronger than those around him, society starts discussing what that strength should be used for: let him die for state borders, let him die for women and children. For some reason, people are far less interested in a man’s right to simply keep that strength to himself.

IRONY

In May, the Faceless Man disappeared for two weeks. It later turned out that he had simply gone to buy a book. When he returned, he said:

“The state loves statistics for the same reason a butcher loves scales.”

After that, I had to buy him a beer.

QUESTIONS FOR HOMEWORK

If borders are so sacred, why do people cross them for love?

If language determines loyalty, why did the Ukrainian president play a president in Russian?

If security is so important, why do cameras appear before trust?

If coercion works, why do states have to threaten people with punishment?

RECOMMENDATIONS FOR PROPER CONDUCT

And while people continue searching for moral guidance in nature, let me remind you that necrophilia has been repeatedly observed among those adorable penguins.

Welcome to the world of natural values.

ANTIHERO

Today, the Faceless Man told me about a dream he had. In the dream, he was trying to burn off his fingerprints with acid. It hurt. When he woke up, the first thing he did was check his hands.

Sometimes I think the Faceless Man exists only because states need people they can enter into a spreadsheet. Every phenomenon eventually creates its opposite. There are no locks without lockpicks. No heroes without villains. No system of records without those who want to disappear from them.

If nobody tried to count him, describe him, classify him, or use him, perhaps his face would have returned long ago. But that hasn’t happened. And the longer I watch the world, the less the Faceless Man seems like an exception.

He simply understood what was happening before everyone else.

___

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In the past year, Israel and the US have twice used their advanced technology and massive firepower to launch surprise attacks on Iran and Lebanon, killing thousands of civilians and destroying ‘enemy’ weapons and boats, as well as mosques, churches, hospitals, museums, highways and bridges. Notwithstanding Trump’s pompous claims, Iran has defeated the US and Israel.

Although Israel has continually had a laser sharp focus on its goals, the US never had a clear view of why it was fighting. Unwilling to appear devoid of a rationale for his killing spree, Trump has recently begun to mechanically parrot Israeli fears of an Iranian nuclear bomb. Every time he repeats this war aim, the American public understands that the US is fighting a war for Israel, no matter how much Trump and his yes-boys deny it.

None of Israel’s goals have been achieved, not the overthrow of the Islamic Republic, not an end to Iranian nuclear program, not a popular uprising against the regime. Immediately after the attacks of February 28, 2026, Iran took control of the Straight of Hormuz, the first successful contestation of US naval power since World War 2. Three US aircraft carriers were compelled to depart from the Persian Gulf. Besides its successful targeting of Israel, Iran rained destruction on US and Israel regional allies, including the UAE, Kuwait, Bahrain, Jordan, and Qatar—all of which facilitated attacks on Iran.  The Islamic Republic so badly damaged nearby American military bases that many have been closed, and US troops billeted in hotels, proving to many small countries that US bases can be liabilities as much as they may be assets. Huge radar installation in Bahrain were destroyed, as were tens of billions of dollars of military infrastructure, including dozens of jets, helicopters, radar systems, and drones. At least 13 US troops were killed and 380 wounded, while more than 3,400 Iranians lost their lives, possibly as many as 7,000, half of them civilians. Facilitated by the US, Israeli attacks have killed at least 3,700 Lebanese.

On June 15, the day after Trump announced the coming MOU, an editorial in The New York Times accepted bitter defeat: Headlined, ‘The President Has Lost This War’ they called the settlement, ‘a humiliating comedown for him and the nation he leads.’ Although the magnitude of the debacle may not yet be clear, Alfred McCoy has already clarified the historic meaning of the US defeat: ‘…when the bombs stop falling and the rubble is finally cleared from the streets of Tehran and Beirut, the impact on U.S. global power of such a de facto defeat will become all too clear — as alliances like NATO atrophy, American hegemony evaporates, legitimacy is lost, global disorder rises, and the world economy suffers.’

In the remarks below, I focus on specific ways the Islamic Republic’s battlefield superiority was achieved.

Specific Reasons for Iran’s Victory

1.

On the battlefield, Iran’s successful asymmetric warfare is key to its victory. Analogous to guerrilla war in Vietnam, Iran has inflicted significant damage on much larger military assets. Large US warships cannot easily maneuver in the narrow Hormuz Strait while Iran’s hundreds of small speedboats, some loaded with missiles and torpedoes, can suddenly attack from inlets, islands and coastal caves. Mini submarines have reportedly been able to hide underneath giant American aircraft carriers. Iran’s asymmetric swarm tactics, simultaneously combining dozens of drones, missiles, and its mosquito fleet overpowered the larger US Navy. After brief incursions in May and June, the US Navy suspended its efforts to re-open the Hormuz straights and unceremoniously withdrew.

In the air, Iran’s ‘mosaic’ defense have caused far more damage than the US acknowledges. Dozens, possibly hundreds of aircraft have been downed, including seven Stratotankers, two MC-130s, one AWACS, one F-35, one F-15, and dozens of drones. Many others have been destroyed on the ground or by ‘friendly fire.’ Israeli cities have been continually attacked, and Hezbollah’s FPV drones have decapitated Israeli occupation forces in the south. During the war, the US and Israel expended a large majority of available stocks of “Tomahawk” missiles, Patriot interceptors and more advanced ATACMS, while Iran retains 70% of its prewar stockpile of launchers and missiles, as reported by The New York Times. In response to those articles, Trump called Times’ reporting “virtual treason.”

2.

Fighting a war made for Israel versus a war of survival. Iran fights on its homeland with millions of people ready to give their lives for national independence. Israel and the US embarked on its ‘war of choice’ by killing Iran’s supreme leader and much of his family in its murderous opening salvo, compelling Iran to fight for its ‘existential existence.’

The Israeli-American strategy of killing key leaders (from Hezbollah’s Secretary-General Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah to Iranian Ayatollah Ali Hosseini Khamenei) fails to understand that the resistance movement is based upon stoic endurance and a mosaic defense doctrine, ‘a state-scale guerrilla geometry of autonomous provincial commands.’ Just as the martyrdom of US president John Kennedy made him an American hero, so murders of key leaders in Iran and Lebanon strengthened resistance against enemies and gave more power to autonomous fighting units arrayed across the region.

Since the CIA overthrew of democratically elected Prime Minister Mohammad Mosaddegh in 1953, Iran has been fighting US imperial dictates. For the full 47 years of its existence, the Islamic Republic has been under attack, first by a proxy war led by one-time Iraqi CIA collaborator Saddam Hussein that cost the Iranian and Iraqi people at least half a million dead from 1982 to 1988. Although the US has never developed a coherent strategy, it now is close to an MOU that is less restrictive of Iran than the Obama administration’s 2015 JCPOA agreement, from which Trump arbitrarily withdrew in 2018. Given the long history of the US breaking nearly every treaty it signs, it is highly doubtful that the Trump administration will adhere to the terms of any MOU. Israel has already claimed it does not accept it.

3.

US battlefield decisions are largely made by political appointees with limited competence. The Secretary of War, Peter Hegseth, is himself a Trump appointee with military experience limited to platoon command in the National Guard. His qualifications are unlimited fealty to Trump, white Christian nationalism, disdain for Congress, and service as a host on Fox News. He has removed women and minorities from promotions rather than assigning duties based upon ability and expertise.

For new Director of National Intelligence, Trump originally chose Bill Pulte, Director of the Federal Housing Fiance Agency, a man who ‘stands out for having absolutely none of the experience, knowledge and skills needed for the critically important job Trump has given him.’  Among Pulte’s other qualifications were having given nearly $1 million to Trump and other Republican candidates, having posted on X that Trump is ‘the greatest president in history,’ and having invented unsupported charges of fraud against California Senator Adam Schiff and other Trump antagonists. After a widespread outcry that Trump was putting his own interests above those of the nation, Trump switched his choice to Jay Clayton, a federal attorney and former Chair of the Securities and Exchange Commission. While his loyalty to Trump but is unquestioned, he is a New York criminal prosecutor with no intelligence background.

Poor American intelligence and stupidity at the top can be readily observed in Trump and Hegseth’s repeated public claims that Iran has no navy or air force. Last year, Trump threatened to invade Greenland, this year he has kidnapped the president of Venezuela and attacked Iran, and next he has Cuba in his sights, where he no doubt will be greeted with surprises aplenty.

4.

While the 12-day war of Israeli-American aggression in 2025 and the 40-day war of 2026 have galvanized national unity in Iran, a solid majority of Americans oppose the war. Trump’s popularity has plummeted to its lowest levels while the price of oil has risen, leaving him desperate to sign an MOU. One widely cited reason for popular dissatisfaction is the war’s economic impact. While oil companies are projected to garner increased profits of hundreds of billions of dollars, US consumers have already spent more than $45 billion more on diesel and gas since February 28. Costs for basic foods like tomatoes, coffee and beef are up over 20%, and consumer inflation is currently 4.3%. Producer inflation at the end of May, an even more important predictor of the future, rose to 6.5%. Before he left for his recent trip to China, Trump declared he does “not even think about it,” that he is “not even a little bit concerned” with the economic pain the war inflicts on Americans. Pentagon officials have yet to reveal the war’s real cost in dollars, nor have they fully accounted for innocents murdered, for hospitals, schools, and mosques destroyed.

Economic factors are one reason Americans do not support Trump and Satanyahu’s war of choice, but many people are horrified by murder of innocent Iranians and Lebanese. The dozens of Minab schoolgirls murdered on February 28 deeply affected people’s consciences. The Pope’s opposition to the war is supported by many Catholics.

Toward a Real Anti-War Movement

It is long past time for people to tolerate continuing war after war by nation-states armed with weapons of mass destruction. As Howard Zinn bluntly concluded, war itself is a crime. Rather than debating whether specific acts such as Israel’s genocide in Gaza are criminal, a real anti-war movement should oppose all state violence targeted at other states and peoples as themselves the problem. Weapons of mass destruction should be banned internationally, arms manufacturers criminalized, and advocates of war imprisoned.

Even in considering a more limited anti-war movement, the principle of national self-determination may be ethically compelling, yet Iran’s suppression of the 2022 uprising for ‘Women, Life, Freedom’ and the killing of at least 3,000 people (including 200 state security personnel) during the 2025 uprising portray a less than peaceful regime. (Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi challenged the West’s version of the latter events, stating that the toll was less than 10% of Trump’s number of deaths.)

Within the Vietnam anti-war movement in the US, Ho Chi Minh was romanticized as a sincere leader dedicated to the peace and freedom of his people. He famously said, ‘Nothing is more precious than independence and freedom.’ Ho was more popular on college campuses in 1970 than then-US president Richard Nixon. Whether or not it is a result of constant Islamophobic propaganda, no comparable individual can be found in Iran.

For all its violence against women and Kurds, the Iranian regime has provided a huge boost to humanity by defeating US/Israeli wars of aggression. Not only has Iran dealt the US a major defeat, it has also punctured the long-term American strategy of surrounding China with military bases in preparation for what many US policymakers consider the coming war with China, which has emerged ever stronger from the ill-advised US/Israeli wars.

On a recent visit to the Bandung Asia-Africa Museum that commemorates the 1955 conference that birthed the non-aligned movement, US newspapers from the early 1950s were displayed that consistently blared headlines warning of the imminent Chinese invasion of Taiwan, a scare tactic that has been repeated daily for more than 70 years. Since the 1949 Communist triumph, the government of China has been regarded as an ‘enemy’ just as the Islamic regime has been cast out, attacked and continually pressured since its inception in 1979.

American fear-mongering today about an Iranian nuclear bomb serves to constrain humanity in a prison of wasteful and destructive military spending that squanders our vast social wealth. Militarism subverts enormous technological achievements of recent centuries by turning them into a form of domination, not liberation from drudgery and oppression. It is too soon to celebrate the demise of American world power and uninhibited wars of choice, but if we fail to recognize the resolve and steadfastness of Iranian people, whose blood and steadfastness won a victory that has wounded a savage beast, we miss the chance to envision the future demise of a world system that privileges billionaires and corporations at the expense of billions of human beings.

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George Katsiaficas is an American historian and social theorist. He is known for his many writings on social movements, including The Imagination of the New Left: The Global Analysis of 1968 and The Subversion of Politics: European Autonomous Social Movements and the Decolonization of Everyday Life.

Read more at his site: https://www.eroseffect.com/

The post Why Iran Defeated the US and Israel- George Katsiaficas appeared first on Void Network.

This article is a contribution by Sissy Doutsiou, a member of the Void Network , to the dialogue on sex work.

Reality is so complex and social phenomena so multifaceted that we cannot analyse the entire spectrum of sex work, understand all the underlying factors, feel all the conditions, and highlight all the problems that arise.

There is no objective reality since the point of observation is never the same—modern physics taught us this. Our perspective is always influenced by a specific angle, a body, a position, a history.

Everything exists on a continuous plane of action and reaction, necessity and desire, which is impossible to separate. This is the first thing we must understand. The discussion about sex work cannot be squeezed into the dichotomy of for or against. Sex work can be pleasure but also compulsion, liberation but also entrapment, creation but also destruction.

We don’t need to hide how much pain sometimes and how many wounds open with this profession, and we shouldn’t avoid criticizing the psychological tensions lurking in sex work. Many things happen. Money, pleasure, laughter, desire, respect, and on the other hand, disgust, nerves, tolerance, even use of addictive substances to “live the moment.” At the same time, communities are built, resistance networks are created, lives are saved from poverty, despair and destitution, a way out is found to get by, studies are supported, rents, dreams. The hardest part is that all of this is simultaneously true.

What We Don’t Say

You will very rarely hear “this job traumatized me,” “I would like to say no but I need the fucking money,” “I snorted five lines of cocaine to have more pleasant sex,” “I think I can’t fall in love anymore.”

These things are whispered, if said at all, because we know what will happen. They will be used as ammunition in the war against sex work. They will be used against sex workers to create a horrifying image and to support the most conservative and violent positions so they can stigmatize, imprison, arrest, devalue, and pity people moving in this space.

And yet, all of this exists. Trauma can exist. Marginalization and alienation exist. The difficulty is real. It’s not easy work. But these don’t defame sex work. They defame the system that creates it. We want to bring to the foreground poverty, inequality and lack of choice. We want to attack this world where survival always happens on others’ terms.

The Good Things We Don’t Dare to Say

We don’t only balance between Virtue and Vice (the myth of Hercules), there isn’t only the uphill or the easy path (moralism). There aren’t only fat rich men who smell like soap and thin millionaire women who want you to rub their clit frantically for a straight hour. There are things that make sex work truly beautiful. There is love, respect, mutual care, caressing, care, conversations, confessions, hedonism, pleasure, love, meetings, networking. Sex workers, mainly abroad (America, Asia, rest of Europe) build communities that people “outside” can’t even imagine.

These aren’t communities made from theoretical slogans like “women with common interests.” They are communities made from the recipe of survival. The more experienced send lists of safe clients. They share skills, strategies, ways to avoid police, safe communication channels. They create material and psychological forms of mutual aid and don’t wait for anything from the state, NGOs and activist movements that don’t even recognize that what they do is work.

And then there’s the simple joy of sex work. Yes! So much laughter!!! Jokes, pranks, weird things. A client who makes you feel intelligent, desired, dominant. One who listens. One who thanks you as if you were the best decision of his life. During a paid sadomasochistic sex session there can be real joy. Why should we hide this?

Sex work often saves you when you’re in a difficult financial situation, if of course you’re in a position to manage to stay independent, find decent clients and move exactly as you want. This is a fact. The money comes quickly and when you need it. No professional resume and interviews required. The money isn’t ideal or stable or fairly distributed, but it’s money—this horrible cause of misery in the world, the existence of money.

And if this feeds arguments against sex work? If some feminists use it to say “so all these women are forced, we must save them, find them another job!!!!!” or also “because of all this we can’t validate sex work, there’s no free choice, these women……”

I don’t care about all that. I care about the truth. The ambivalence, the contradictions of life, the paradox, pleasure and compulsion, ease and boredom, the gift and guilt, emotional security and expensive lingerie. Isn’t this how our entire life is? The beggar and you with shopping bags from the boutique, the psychopath on the train asking you to help him and you continuing to scroll on Instagram or posting a photo of yourself on Facebook, the forced 14-hour workday, wage slavery and the spilled blood of Chicago’s May Day. Life goes on with workers and employees going back and forth to work morning and night. I care about understanding injustice and the causes of its perpetuation. This is the world!!!

Suddenly we have to solve the problem of sex work without even taking into account that some people choose this profession freely just as everyone chooses a bunch of other forms of work “freely.” Do we all really choose our jobs “freely” in the end?

I understand, the first thoughts are that the body becomes a commodity, yes but it’s my body, there is the decision, the choice to dispose of my body for as long as I want and where I want. But, the second thoughts are that this way love is wounded, yes but other times this is how it’s born, this is how it’s valued, this is how it’s recreated. Life is complex.

Things That Don’t Fit on Posters

There are sides of sex work that we don’t want to say even to our own feminist group. There are women who have sex for money while having no home. There are sex workers who pay bills, rents, food, while husbands have “disappeared” from their responsibilities. There are girls who were left orphaned, boys who haven’t chosen their gender yet, girls whose confidence is developing.

And what does the state do? It imprisons them in many cases, especially in America. It puts them in categories of its own invention. It calls them victims while treating them as criminals. Laws to combat pornography in practice push sex workers deeper into illegality. More secret dates, more dangerous places, less access to medical care, non-existent labor rights. This is not called help. This is the logic of stigmatization dressed in moralism.

Motherhood, studies, the beauty of life, degrees, happiness and sex work are not opposite concepts. People don’t want to be ashamed of their choices, don’t want to be oppressed and blackmailed, don’t need moral rules, suppression and policing. And yet not only the system of domination but often even libertarian spaces treat sex workers as victims, as suffering bodies, as sexual machines that are oppressed and not as people with dignity, will, ability to choose and enjoy. And yet, among all these sex workers everywhere in the world there are also unemployed people looking for ways to pay rent, there are sociologists with their PhDs, there are trans women and mothers with their happy children, and tender happy beings and artists and angry rebels, and people full of energy and will for life, and students and queer people and every kind of subject like in any workplace, people who don’t want to be ashamed of their choices, need support and care by all of us.

At this point I must be clear. Me the writer of this essay I am a white woman with some social privileges. I speak from my own experiences, my travels and meetings with people on 5 continents and mainly from my discussions with the anarchist movement of sex workers and trans women in Thailand and anarchist sex workers in the USA.

Racism and police violence, borders, authoritarian regimes and migration policies, conservative views and state mechanisms produce social exclusion and personal tragedies worldwide. Sex workers from Latin America, Asia or Africa perhaps face something that is not at all the same as people in Europe or America, more obstacles, more devaluation, more restrictions, more violence. The violence they experience is first racist and then violence against sex work. And when we talk about “right to choice” or “body self-determination,” we know that these words are not enough for those living under the racist gaze, daily police violence and colonial policies.

The movement supporting sex workers spreads across the world. Since white men dominate the planet, it is given that white sex workers have greater access to media, publishing houses and communication platforms. Sex workers who are migrants and poor share their experiences and views on life with us much more difficultly. Recognizing this is not petty-bourgeois guilt and shame, it is political responsibility. All of this is not just lived experience—it’s also public discourse. In this direction, open meetings, research, articles, lectures, texts, public events, films, documentaries are necessary. When we talk about sources, references and networks, we are not just talking about academic articles. We are talking about how the information produced by sex workers themselves, collectives, activists, communities, but also medical and social sciences, can be used to protect and spread the discourse of the subjects themselves.

In many fields from technology to public health, analysis of sources, networks and influences shows how knowledge is built. Which voices are heard, which are hidden, which fundamental texts shape our political views or direction of legislation? The same happens with sex work. If we look at which texts, which references, which stories dominate the public discourse about sex work, we will see how often the sex workers themselves are absent.

However, in many countries and in many studies, we observe something repetitive. Where sex work is decriminalized, where it is recognized as work, where sex workers organize collectively, where they participate in decision-making, violence decreases, health improves, the safety of the people who work in this space increases. The feeling of shame and the stigma of the “poor unfortunate prostitute” or the “lumpen element that had no other choice” weakens.

Community groups, unions, sex worker collectives have shown in practice that when sex workers themselves organize their self-protection, when there is access to doctors without fear, when there are labor rights and sex work can be discussed openly without stigma, when needs and desires are openly recognized, then abuse and sex trafficking decrease, exposure to sexually transmitted diseases decreases and the power of acceptance, kindness and dignity multiplies.

On the contrary, where criminalization and illegality prevail, stigmatization and saviorism, there is more violence, more police harassment, less access to health services, more darkness. Policies that see sex workers as subjects with voice, free will, choice and rights improve the lives of sex workers. Policies that treat sex work as a problem to manage attack and kill in a subterranean way the sex workers themselves.

Would There Be Sex Work in a Free World?

If there was no capitalism, would there be sex work? If there was no patriarchy, would there be pornography? Some say no. They argue that all sexuality as we live it today is a product of patriarchy, market, oppression. That all our desires are shaped by this system.

Some of us say something else. That there is something even deeper. A sexuality that is not only a result of coercion. Something erotic, spiritual, creative, that wants to be played, explored, shared. This something would exist even if we tore down patriarchy and capitalism tomorrow.

I don’t believe sex work would disappear in a free world. I believe it would change radically. It would stop being work out of necessity and become something like ritual, play, service, creation. Something that wouldn’t have fear, poverty, dependence in it. Something we wouldn’t need to call work in today’s way.

But we don’t live in that world. We live here.

Here, Now, in This World

What is needed is not saviors, not feminists who tell us there is no free choice in sex work, we don’t need women who are afraid, terrified by this choice as they would be terrified by a young girl on LSD trip. We need to support the rights of sex workers. Protection, legal recognition of this work, access to health services without fear and stigma, the ability to report violence without risking arrest, the ability to be heard about the difficulties and limits of the profession without it becoming a weapon against sex work itself, the ability to appreciate the ease, eroticism and friendships that arise without shame.

We want communities controlled by sex workers. Networks created by sex workers. Research that includes sex workers as subjects with opinions, not as cases. Policies written together with sex workers.

The principle “with us and not for us” is not a slogan for posters. It is a political stance. It is a demand. It is the refusal to let others decide about our bodies, our lives, our desires.

It doesn’t end here. Or rather, it shouldn’t end here. What begins with sex work—resistance, the creation of new communities, the invention of ways to survive and tenderness in a violent world—doesn’t stop at the boundaries of the profession. It extends to other struggles, other communities, other uprisings.

This matters. Not to convince that sex work is good in a one-dimensional way, but to admit the complexity. That it is simultaneously difficult and liberating, traumatic and vital, dangerous and tender. That we can stand in this contradiction without disappearing.

Don’t be afraid of paradox to understand the world. There, exactly there, lies the real power, in the moment when we tell the whole truth not just the part that suits us, but also what hurts, and what redeems.

Sissy Doutsiou is a member of Void Network, actress, poet and writer. You can read more of her essays at her Substack page The Erotics of the Resistance

The post Sex Work, Don’t Be Afraid appeared first on Void Network.

Its basic structure would begin from the principle that coordination should arise from below, from people where they actually live and work, rather than being imposed from a distant centre. Local assemblies, workplace councils, tenant unions, cooperatives, care networks, and voluntary associations would form the living substance of society. These would not be symbolic forums with no real power, they would be the places where decisions are made, resources are allocated, disputes are addressed, and priorities are debated.

Wider levels of coordination, regional, interregional, even international, would still exist, but they would exist as federations of these bodies, built through delegation rather than rule. Delegates would carry specific mandates, remain recallable, and function as messengers and coordinators rather than a political class.

Technically, such a society would depend on a much more advanced and explicit infrastructure of democratic coordination than anything most twentieth century anarchist movements had access to. That is one of the central facts many people still fail to grasp. Modern communications systems, distributed databases, cryptographic verification, open accounting tools, and transparent public ledgers make it far more plausible to coordinate complex societies without a state bureaucracy standing above everyone.

An anarchist federation would not mean every person voting on every trivial matter every day, that would be absurd. It would mean clear layers of decision making, with most matters handled locally, and only genuinely large scale questions routed upward through federated structures. Energy use, transport, supply chains, ecological planning, healthcare capacity, production targets, and emergency coordination could all be made publicly legible through shared systems. Power, or the exercise of power would be made more visible, not less. The point is not to abolish organisation, it is to abolish unaccountable organisation.

Socially, daily life would likely feel more participatory, more reciprocal, and probably more demanding in some ways than people raised under passive liberal citizenship are used to. People would be expected to take some meaningful part in communal life, not as unpaid martyrdom, but because society would no longer be arranged around spectatorship and delegation upward. Much of what is now handled through market coercion or bureaucratic compulsion would instead be handled through norms of mutual obligation, negotiated responsibility, and communal expectation. Care work would be recognised as socially central rather than treated as invisible background labour. Education would be less about producing obedient labour for employers, and more about cultivating technically capable, socially conscious, self governing human beings. The average person would need a higher level of civic literacy, because freedom at scale requires competence, not just sentiment.

Economically, an anarchist federation society would most likely be plural in form but unified by certain boundaries. Natural resources, infrastructure, and the basic conditions of collective life would need to be held in common or under strong communal stewardship, because allowing these to become private power centres would simply recreate class rule in another costume. Beyond that, production could be organised through cooperatives, municipal associations, trade federations, and distributed manufacturing networks. The decisive question would be whether productive activity remains socially accountable. In practical terms that means workplaces governed by workers and communities, transparent procurement, open standards, interoperable systems, and planning tools that allow coordination without requiring a central state ministry dictating everything from above. In a technologically advanced society this could become far more dynamic than old arguments between market and plan usually allow. The real issue is whether coordination serves collective need, or whether it serves accumulation and domination.

Culturally, an anarchist federation would have to produce a different type of person from the one capitalism and the state currently produce. Today people are trained into competitive isolation, political cynicism, and learned dependence on systems they do not control. A free federation would need a culture of confidence, seriousness, and mutual respect. That does not mean moral perfection, human beings would still be flawed, contradictory, ambitious, and difficult. What changes is the surrounding structure that shapes those traits. Prestige would ideally shift away from wealth, command, and spectacle, and toward contribution, skill, reliability, imagination, and public trust. Art, science, engineering, and philosophy would likely take on a more common and public role, because they would no longer be so tightly subordinated to state strategy or private profit. A society like this would need culture to do real work, it would need stories, rituals, education, and symbols that teach people how to live as free equals in a complex world.

The reason this vision matters is because too much of the left still speaks as though the horizon of politics is either reforming the administrative state or capturing it. That leaves the imagination trapped inside the architecture of domination. An anarchist federation offers a more direct answer, it says society can be highly organised without becoming authoritarian, technically sophisticated without becoming centralised, and socially coherent without requiring a ruling class.

The challenge is not whether such a society can be imagined, it already can. The challenge is building the institutions, habits, and technical systems that make it materially credible. That is where anarchism now has to become more concrete, less purely oppositional, and more capable of presenting itself as a real civilisational design.

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Written and illustrated by Ash Carr

The post What would look like an Anarchist federation society? appeared first on Void Network.

Gaza is only the start. The new world order is one where the weak are obliterated by the strong, the rule of law does not exist, genocide is an instrument of control and barbarism is triumphant.

Mar 15, 2026

The war on Iran and the obliteration of Gaza is the beginning. Welcome to the new world order. The age of technologically-advanced barbarism. There are no rules for the strong, only for the weak. Oppose the strong, refuse to bow to its capricious demands and you are showered with missiles and bombs.

Hospitals, elementary schools, universities and apartment complexes are reduced to rubble. Doctors, students, journalists, poets, writers, scientists, artists and political leaders — including the heads of negotiating teams — are murdered in the tens of thousands by missiles and killer drones.

Resources – as the Venezuelans know – are openly stolen. Food, water and medicine, as in Palestine, are weaponized.

Let them eat dirt.

International bodies such as the United Nations are pantomime, useless appendages of another age. The sanctity of individual rights, open borders and international law have vanished. The most depraved leaders of human history, those who reduced cities to ashes, herded captive populations to execution sites and littered lands they occupied with mass graves and corpses, have returned with a vengeance.

They spew the same hypermasculine tropes. They spew the same vile, racist cant. They spew the same Manichaean vision of good and evil, black and white. They spew the same infantile language of total dominance and unrestrained violence.

Killer clowns. Buffoons. Idiots. They have seized the levers of power to carry out their demented and cartoonish visions as they pillage the state for their own enrichment.

“After witnessing savage mass murder over several months, with the knowledge that it was conceived, executed and endorsed by people much like themselves, who presented it as a collective necessity, legitimate and even humane, millions now feel less at home in the world,” writes Pankaj Mishra in “The World After Gaza.” “The shock of this renewed exposure to a peculiarly modern evil – the evil done in the pre-modern era only by psychopathic individuals and unleashed in the last century by rulers and citizens of rich and supposedly civilized societies – cannot be overstated. Nor can the moral abyss we confront.”

The subjugated are property, commodities to exploit for profit or pleasure. The Epstein Files expose the sickness and heartlessness of the ruling class. Liberals. Conservatives. University presidents. Academics. Philanthropists. Wall Street titans. Celebrities. Democrats. Republicans.

They wallow in unbridled hedonism. They go to private schools and have private health care. They are cocooned in self-referential bubbles by sycophants, publicists, financial advisers, lawyers, servants, chauffeurs, self-help gurus, plastic surgeons and personal trainers. They reside in heavily guarded estates and vacation on private islands. They travel on private jets and gargantuan yachts. They exist in another reality, what the Wall Street Journal reporter Robert Frank dubs the world of “Richistan,” a world of private Xanadus where they hold Nero-like bacchanalias, make their perfidious deals, amass their billions and cast aside those they use, including children, as if they are refuse. No one in this magic circle is accountable. No sin too depraved. They are human parasites. They disembowel the state for personal profit. They terrorize the “lesser breeds of the earth.” They shut down the last, anemic vestiges of our open society.

“There will be no curiosity, no enjoyment of the process of life,” as George Orwell writes in “1984.” “All competing pleasures will be destroyed. But always— do not forget this, Winston— always there will be the intoxication of power, constantly increasing and constantly growing subtler. Always, at every moment, there will be the thrill of victory, the sensation of trampling on an enemy who is helpless.
If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face— forever.”

The law, despite a few valiant efforts by a handful of judges — who will soon be purged — is an instrument of repression. The judiciary exists to stage show trials. I spent a lot of time in the London courts covering the Dickensian farce during the persecution of Julian Assange. A Lubyanka-on-the-Thames. Our courts are no better. Our Department of Justice is a vengeance machine.

Masked, armed goons flood the streets of the United States and murder civilians, including citizens. The ruling mandarins are spending billions to convert warehouses into detention centers and concentration camps. They insist they will only house the undocumented, the criminals, but our global ruling class lies like it breathes. In their eyes, we are vermin, either blindly and unquestionably obedient or criminals. There is nothing in between.

These concentration camps, where there is no due process and people are disappeared, are designed for us. And by us, I mean the citizens of this dead republic. Yet we watch, stupefied, disbelieving, passively waiting for our own enslavement.

It won’t be long.

The savagery in Iran, Lebanon and Gaza is the same savagery we face at home. Those carrying out the genocide, mass slaughter and unprovoked war on Iran are the same people dismantling our democratic institutions.

The social anthropologist Arjun Appadurai calls what is happening “a vast worldwide Malthusian correction” that is “geared to preparing the world for the winners of globalization, minus the inconvenient noise of its losers.”

Oh, the critics say, don’t be so bleak. Don’t be so negative. Where is the hope? Really, it’s not that bad.

If you believe this you are part of the problem, an unwitting cog in the machinery of our rapidly consolidating fascist state.

Reality will eventually implode these “hopeful” fantasies, but by then it will be too late.

True despair is not a result of accurately reading reality. True despair comes from surrendering, either through fantasy or apathy, to malignant power. True despair is powerlessness. And resistance, meaningful resistance, even if it is almost certainly doomed, is empowerment. It confers self-worth. It confers dignity. It confers agency. It is the only action that allows us to use the word hope.

The Iranians, Lebanese and Palestinians know there is no appeasing these monsters. The global elites believe nothing. They feel nothing. They cannot be trusted. They exhibit the core traits of all psychopaths — superficial charm, grandiosity and self-importance, a need for constant stimulation, a penchant for lying, deception, manipulation and the inability to feel remorse or guilt. They disdain as weakness the virtues of empathy, honesty, compassion and self-sacrifice. They live by the creed of Me. Me. Me.

“The fact that millions of people share the same vices does not make these vices virtues, the fact that they share so many errors does not make the errors to be truths, and the fact that millions of people share the same forms of mental pathology does not make these people sane,” Eric Fromm writes in “The Sane Society.”

We have witnessed evil for nearly three years in Gaza. We watch it now in Lebanon and Iran. We see this evil excused or masked by political leaders and the media.

The New York Times, in a page out of Orwell, sent an internal memo telling reporters and editors to eschew the terms “refugee camps, “occupied territory,” “ethnic cleansing” and, of course, “genocide” when writing about Gaza. Those who name and denounce this evil are smeared, blacklisted and purged from university campuses and the public sphere. They are arrested and deported. A deadening silence is descending upon us, the silence of all authoritarian states. Fail to do your duty, fail to cheerlead the war on Iran, and see your broadcasting license revoked, as the Chair of the F.C.C. Brendan Carr has proposed.

We have enemies. They are not in Palestine. They are not in Lebanon. They are not in Iran. They are here. Among us. They dictate our lives. They are traitors to our ideals. They are traitors to our country. They envision a world of slaves and masters. Gaza is only the start. There are no internal mechanisms for reform. We can obstruct or surrender.

Those are the only choices left.

SOURCE: https://chrishedges.substack.com/p/the-world-according-to-gaza

The post The World According to Gaza- Chris Hedges appeared first on Void Network.

The economic system is incompatible with the survival of life on Earth. It is time to design a new one.

By George Monbiot / theguardian.com

For most of my adult life I’ve railed against “corporate capitalism”, “consumer capitalism” and “crony capitalism”. It took me a long time to see that the problem is not the adjective but the noun.

While some people have rejected capitalism gladly and swiftly, I’ve done so slowly and reluctantly.

Part of the reason was that I could see no clear alternative: unlike some anti-capitalists, I have never been an enthusiast for state communism.

I was also inhibited by its religious status. To say “capitalism is failing” in the 21st century is like saying “God is dead” in the 19th: it is secular blasphemy. It requires a degree of self-confidence I did not possess.

But as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to recognise two things. First, that it is the system, rather than any variant of the system, that drives us inexorably towards disaster. Second, that you do not have to produce a definitive alternative to say that capitalism is failing. The statement stands in its own right. But it also demands another, and different, effort to develop a new system.

Capitalism’s failures arise from two of its defining elements. The first is perpetual growth. Economic growth is the aggregate effect of the quest to accumulate capital and extract profit. Capitalism collapses without growth, yet perpetual growth on a finite planet leads inexorably to environmental calamity.

Those who defend capitalism argue that, as consumption switches from goods to services, economic growth can be decoupled from the use of material resources. Last week a paper in the journal New Political Economy, by Jason Hickel and Giorgos Kallis, examined this premise. They found that while some relative decoupling took place in the 20th century (material resource consumption grew, but not as quickly as economic growth), in the 21st century there has been a recoupling: rising resource consumption has so far matched or exceeded the rate of economic growth. The absolute decoupling needed to avert environmental catastrophe (a reduction in material resource use) has never been achieved, and appears impossible while economic growth continues. Green growth is an illusion.

A system based on perpetual growth cannot function without peripheries and externalities. There must always be an extraction zone – from which materials are taken without full payment – and a disposal zone, where costs are dumped in the form of waste and pollution. As the scale of economic activity increases until capitalism affects everything, from the atmosphere to the deep ocean floor, the entire planet becomes a sacrifice zone: we all inhabit the periphery of the profit-making machine.

This drives us towards cataclysm on such a scale that most people have no means of imagining it. The threatened collapse of our life-support systems is bigger by far than war, famine, pestilence or economic crisis, though it is likely to incorporate all four. Societies can recover from these apocalyptic events, but not from the loss of soil, an abundant biosphere and a habitable climate.

The second defining element is the bizarre assumption that a person is entitled to as great a share of the world’s natural wealth as their money can buy. This seizure of common goods causes three further dislocations. First, the scramble for exclusive control of non-reproducible assets, which implies either violence or legislative truncations of other people’s rights. Second, the immiseration of other people by an economy based on looting across both space and time. Third, the translation of economic power into political power, as control over essential resources leads to control over the social relations that surround them.

In the New York Times on Sunday, the Nobel economist Joseph Stiglitz sought to distinguish between good capitalism, which he called “wealth creation”, and bad capitalism, which he called “wealth grabbing” (extracting rent). I understand his distinction. But from the environmental point of view, wealth creation is wealth grabbing. Economic growth, intrinsically linked to the increasing use of material resources, means seizing natural wealth from both living systems and future generations.

To point to such problems is to invite a barrage of accusations, many of which are based on this premise: capitalism has rescued hundreds of millions of people from poverty – now you want to impoverish them again. It is true that capitalism, and the economic growth it drives, has radically improved the prosperity of vast numbers of people, while simultaneously destroying the prosperity of many others: those whose land, labour and resources were seized to fuel growth elsewhere. Much of the wealth of the rich nations was – and is – built on slavery and colonial expropriation.

Like coal, capitalism has brought many benefits. But, like coal, it now causes more harm than good. Just as we have found means of generating useful energy that are better and less damaging than coal, so we need to find means of generating human wellbeing that are better and less damaging than capitalism.

There is no going back: the alternative to capitalism is neither feudalism nor state communism.

Soviet communism had more in common with capitalism than the advocates of either system would care to admit.

Both systems are (or were) obsessed with generating economic growth. Both are willing to inflict astonishing levels of harm in pursuit of this and other ends. Both promised a future in which we would need to work for only a few hours a week, but instead demand endless, brutal labour. Both are dehumanising. Both are absolutist, insisting that theirs and theirs alone is the one true God.

So what does a better system look like? I don’t have a complete answer, and I don’t believe any one person does. But I think I see a rough framework emerging.

Part of it is provided by the ecological civilisation proposed by Jeremy Lent, one of the greatest thinkers of our age. Other elements come from Kate Raworth’s doughnut economics and the environmental thinking of Naomi Klein, Amitav Ghosh, Angaangaq Angakkorsuaq, Raj Patel and Bill McKibben.

Part of the answer lies in the notion of “private sufficiency, public luxury”. Another part arises from the creation of a new conception of justice based on this simple principle: every generation, everywhere, shall have an equal right to the enjoyment of natural wealth.

I believe our task is to identify the best proposals from many different thinkers and shape them into a coherent alternative. Because no economic system is only an economic system but intrudes into every aspect of our lives, we need many minds from various disciplines – economic, environmental, political, cultural, social and logistical – working collaboratively to create a better way of organising ourselves that meets our needs without destroying our home.

Our choice comes down to this. Do we stop life to allow capitalism to continue, or stop capitalism to allow life to continue?

George Monbiot is a Guardian columnist

The post Dare to Declare Capitalism Dead – Before It Takes Us All Down With It appeared first on Void Network.

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Generation Z was born into the digital age, and the internet has been part of their lives since day one. For this reason, Gen Z is also called the “digital Generation.” Although they have certain widely accepted general characteristics, attempting to describe them through rigid stereotypes can be misleading. Definitions that portray Gen Z solely as a group that only communicates digitally are deceptive. This generation resembles a volcanic mountain ready to erupt, with an unpredictability about when it will spring into action. That observation can be observed in the powerful actions they have already carried out around the world. They have toppled three regimes in Asia and one in both Europe and Africa. In more than 20 other countries, they have compelled governments to reform.

The superficial analyses of Gen Z produced by groups that benefit from the capitalist system—claiming that “Gen Z is individualistic,” “Gen Z is financially oriented,” that they are a “lost generation”—serve no purpose other than attempting to shape and control the new generation, just as has been done with every previous one. We must pay close attention to this. No system wants the incoming generation to disrupt its “tranquil” domination. To prevent this, it creates its own experts and academics who spread theories that discredit Gen Z, while waging special warfare through mindless Tik Tok videos, “realistic” video war games, hard drugs, and other means targeted specifically at young people to blunt their revolutionary edge.

The capitalist definitions of Gen Z reveal cynicism and fears, but many more people greet Gen Z with open arms. Decades of past struggles produced visionaries who welcome Gen Z’s energies and actions.

Characteristics and Shortcomings of Gen Z Actions

Perhaps the most important feature of Gen Z is its ability to organize extremely quickly through digital media and simultaneously to turn organization into action. Globalizing solidarity networks in a very short time, especially in many parts of Asia and the Middle East, they display fearless resistance against entrenched politicians. Unlike previous Gens, Gen Z has no single leader. They organize horizontally. Their leaderless structure makes them appear strategy-less, unplanned, and scattered, which limits their ability to achieve lasting results. Because they lack self-defense planning, they often face extreme violence. When the government changes or when the issues they protest are addressed, their dissent subsides. While a few individuals step up to exert political influence, Gen Z as a group has not generally offered alternative models for qualitative change. In Bangladesh and Nepal, a Nobel Prize winning economist and a former Chief Judge were accepted to lead interim governments. In the next part of this article, I consider the free territory in Rojava, Syria  as a genuine alternative to nation-states based upon capitalist partiarchy.

Gen Z has already proven its fearlessness by challenging governments despite enormous state violence. They have paid a high price: more than 2,000 insurgents have been killed and thousands more wounded. The most important task now standing before us is to create a livable alternative, to move from rebellion to revolution. Whenever insurgencies compel governments to retreat or reform, similar regimes inevitably return. Over time they develop corrupt and  anti-democratic practices. For Gen Z’s struggles to truly transcend capitalist modernity, it is crucial to have an alternative model of life. Anarchism, feminism, national liberation movements, Marxism, Leninism, Maoism, and previous episodes of class struggles have created a tremendously important history of resistance. Yet Gen Z — one of the major forces of resistance in the new century — needs a 21st Century orientation to make their gains permanent and sustainable. One-dimensional or ideologically “correct” perspectives fragment the movement rather than creating the necessary transformation of existing systems. Facing a multitude of problems, Gen Z needs a holistic system that can shed light on all problems and develop collective solutions.

It is vitally important that Gen Z develops a perspective that takes women’s liberation, class consciousness, grassroots democracy, and an ecological worldview as its foundations. Today, many left and socialist movements lack a strategic approach to women’s liberation. Without resolving patriarchal oppression, no radical solution is possible. Similarly, ecology either has no place or only a very limited place in the ideology of many organizations, even though the pollution and gradual destruction of nature is currently one of the world’s most critical problems.

Against capitalism’s effort to create an individualistic society in which people stay away from social issues and focus on “individual” problems, Gen Z can overcome incessant capitalist assaults by building its own communal culture. To do so requires a radical break from customary everyday life. If Gen Z truly wants a freer society, it must begin with itself. To do that, a radical rupture from the life offered by capitalist modernity is necessary. We must take a stand against the system’s materialist personalities and imposed gluttonous consumer habits, and we must overcome the values that treat women merely as commodities.

Gen Z’s Alternative in Rojava

Since 2012, diverse peoples from northern and eastern Syria have come together in Rojava to build exactly the kind of society we need. Although it began as a Kurdish majority region, today Rojava contains a mix of Muslim Kurds, Syrian Christians, Assyrian Christians, Armenian Christians, Yazidis, Turkmen, Muslim Chechens and even atheists. A total of around three million people live harmoniously within a political framework that strives to ensure everyone’s rights are protected, women have equal representation in all organizations, and ecology is a basic principle. 

An estimated 40 to 50 million Kurds in the world are divided by Syria, Iraq, Iran and Turkey. Although they lack a nation-state, Kurds have built a variety of political organizations in the four countries where they live. Creatively navigating an international constellation of forces seeking to control them, Kurds became the main ally of all forces who oppose the Islamic State (ISIS). In a region where despotic dictatorships and religious exclusivity reign, Kurds provide a refreshing alternative of diversity, tolerance and free association.

The Rojava Revolution has emerged as an alternative organizational model to nation-states. The Rojava experience is the concrete embodiment of “Democratic Confederalism” — the democratic, women-liberationist, and ecological paradigm developed by the leader of the Kurdish Workers’ Party (PKK), Abdullah Öcalan. This system embodies the paradigm of freedom in an alternative in every aspect of life. Youth, women, all religions, and all languages are free to organize in their own specific ways and live together freely. Although Öcalan and the PKK originally fought for a nation-state, today they have changed both tactics and that goal: they believe in creating liberated democratic confederations similar to the Zapatista caracoles in which people can live freely.

Nation-states are fundamentally militaristic, nationalist, sexist, and religious. Governments have made people dependent on the state in matters of security, administration, and basic needs such as water and food. Democratic confederalism is an alternative created to oppose dependency, and it is an alternative to the nation-state itself. The goal of this system is the liberation of economy, culture, politics, and every dimension of social life—and to develop necessary self-defense to protect hard-won freedoms. The basic organizational forms of confederalism are academies, cooperatives, assemblies, and communes.

Academies play a strategic role in the formation of the educational system. Cooperatives in which members share responsibilities and reap the products of their labor is another fundamental organizational tool to protect society from giant monopolies and establish enterprises owned communally. People have organized themselves into communes and assemblies in every city, every village, and every neighborhood to solve their own problems together in solidarity with one another.

Nation-states monopolize all means of defense in order to control society. That is why self-defense is one of the foundational elements of democratic confederalism. All civilian and political organizations are built from the grassroots. Over more than  a decade of repelling attacks by ISIS and other Islamists as well as Erdogan’s Turkish army and air force,  more than 11,000 Rojava communards have lost their lives. Many more Iraqi Kurds have also been killed by regimes there.

Internationalist revolutionary youth from many countries of the world (England, Spain, Italy, Greece, Germany, USA, and others) came to Rojava to embrace the Rojava revolution against the threat posed by ISIS. In 2015, the Internationalist Freedom Battalion was formed by Marxist-Leninist, Maoist, and anarchist fighters from outside Syria. Beginning on June 10, 2015, they arrived to support the People’s Protection Units (YPG) against the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria in the Rojava War. Inspired by the International Brigades of the Spanish Civil War, at least 300 international fighters were also killed in the fighting. Most of the militias fought under the umbrella of the YPG before forming into other groups such as the Internationalist Freedom Battalion. Foreigners also helped to create the Rojava Information Center (https://rojavainformationcenter.org).

So, what is the history of the Rojava Revolution?

The Rojava Revolution

Just when Gen Z was being born, popular uprisings that began in Tunisia at the end of 2010, spontaneously spread across the Middle East, and became known as the “Arab Spring,” which reached Syria on 15 March 2011. The greatest success of the uprising that turned into a bloody civil war in Syria was the Rojava Revolution. Syrian Kurds neither took the side of the Baath regime nor the gangs formed against it. Choosing the Third Way, the Kurds led the “Spring of the Peoples” with the understanding of a “democratic nation.” Ultimately, they formed the basis of today’s Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF).

To demonstrate their determination for revolution, Syrian Kurds established the Democratic Society Movement (TEV-DEM) and the People’s Council of Western Kurdistan (MGRK) to form their own political unity in the face of attacks from both the regime and the forces described as “opposition.” Originally launched in northern and eastern Syria, Friday marches were held across the country. Following these protests, basic services previously run by the Assad regime were taken over by popular assemblies. In Afrin, language courses in Kurdish, a banned language in Turkey and Syria, were opened. For the first time, Kurdish children enrolled in primary and preparatory schools and received education in their own language.

The People Seize Power

On July 18, 2012, a meeting in Damascus, the capital of Syria, was attended by the heads of all major regime institutions. A massive explosion occurred, killing most officials. A day later, regime forces were driven out of Kobanê, led by Kurdish youth and with the participation of the people. Following Kobanê, the people seized power in Afrin, Serêkaniyê, Dirbêsiyê, Amûdê, Dêrik, Girkê Legê, Tirbêspiyê, and Til Temîr. On the same day, the Kurds declared a people’s government in Kobanê, which they named a canton, under the slogan “Democratic Syria, Autonomous Rojava.” July 19 became the starting date of the revolution. The declaration in Kobanê was followed by the declaration of new cantons in Afrin and Qamishli. As fighting intensified, people first formed local defense units and engaged in self-defense activities in the streets. Later, the YPG and Women’s Protection Units (YPJ), were officially established, although their foundations were laid years earlier during the resistance against the Baath regime’s massacres.

The first step taken in 2012 in the liberated areas, cities, towns, and villages was the establishment of People’s Houses. Through meetings and training sessions, people fully grasped autonomous administration. Security emerged as a fundamental concern. On this basis, people began to establish a self-defense system after the first steps of forming small defense groups. Another important task was to improve relations between the region’s divided communities while also taking the first steps to strengthen women’s power and to provide services to all in need.

As People’s Houses stimulated grassroots actions, the shape of autonomous administration changed. People’s Houses evolved into broader communes. Thousands of communes were established in villages and neighborhoods. Under the umbrella of these communes, education, defense, health, economy, and social services were provided. Members received training to play active roles, and separate women’s and youth communes were also created. Communes soon transformed into broader organizational structures organized as assemblies. City, village, and neighborhood assemblies were formed, consisting of representatives from communes, political parties, and municipal service institutions. Neighborhood assemblies were merged into city assemblies, and similar steps were taken at district and town levels. In December 2013, the first conference of city, district, and town assemblies was held, and a co-chair system was adopted for assemblies and communes, according to which every assembly, commune, and institution would have one female and one male co-chair. This dealt a major blow to the male-dominated mindset that had ignored women for years. Young people have continually played a major role in expanding democracy in Rojava.

Joint struggles were waged to unite ethnic and religious groups in the region, and significant progress was made fighting the provocations of Nusra (an affiliate of Al-Qaeda). The ISIS attack on Kobanê in 2014 was defeated through the unity of all peoples, beliefs, and different ethnicities in Northern and Eastern Syria. Years of fighting galvanized military units and command structures. The creation of  joint administrations to establish a free and equal lives further strengthened the military forces under the umbrella of the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF). In Rojava, one observer noted “a novel synthesis, a militant vertical organization empowers a communal, horizontal politics.”[1]

After this revolutionary advance, education in peoples’ mother tongues was intensified. Approximately 100 schools were opened in the region, and approximately 1,000 teachers were trained. Significant research on regional culture was initiated. Cultural and artistic centers with music groups, folklore, theater, and children’s groups were established. Committees were established to meet the needs of the people and address social, legal, and economic issues. A “justice committee” was established as an alternative to the Syrian legal system. Furthermore, a “social justice department” was created within the Mesopotamian Academy of Social Sciences on April 4, 2013, to improve the legal system.

Women’s Organizations

Female combatants have been centrally important to the defense of Rojava. Active since the beginning of the revolution and organized under the name Yekîtiya Star,[2] they created women’s assemblies and women’s houses. Priority was given to women’s representation in people’s assemblies, and women’s science-education centers and academies were opened in many cities. Women took their places in all administrations under the co-chair system and played active roles in education, family, politics, economy, and public security through women’s institutions.

Due to embargoes imposed on the region, the population facing severe shortages of medicine, flour, fuel, and other daily needs. To organize aid coming from abroad, the Kurdish Red Crescent (Heyvâ Sor) was established to break the embargo, build a non-capitalist system, and solve daily problems. In 2013, the Economic Development Institution for North and East Syria was founded. Aiming to develop an economy based on the people, this institution gave priority to cooperatives, starting in Kobanê and Dêrik.

At the end of 2013, the autonomous administration system recognized Kurdish, Arabic, and Assyrian as official languages. Other linguistic constituencies were granted the right to learn their own languages. Women’s representation in institutions was set at a minimum of 40%, and the participation of all regional components built on three pillars: Legislative Assembly, Executive Council, and High Court. All this multi-ethnic diversity has provided challenges that demand compromises, such as reversing a ban on polygamy in Arab-majority regions. In the fight for Kobanê, the SDF agreed to accept the offer of US air cover.

Youth’s Ownership of the Rojava Revolution

The second Middle East Youth Conference was held in Kobanê on February 20, 2019. Organized under the slogan “Toward a colorful and democratic Middle East under the leadership of youth,” the conference hosted more than 300 delegates from the four parts of Kurdistan, as well as Syria, Iraq, Jordan, Lebanon, Palestine, Libya, Armenia, Egypt, Turkey, Tunisia, Yemen, North Africa, and Sudan. The economic, political, and social crises in the region were discussed within the framework of capitalist modernity. In this context, solutions to the deadlock facing the Middle East were debated from fresh, youthful perspectives. At the end of the conference, steps were taken toward establishing a coordination council among youth organizations and developing joint political actions.

Led especially by Generation Z, young people organized the First World Youth Conference in Paris, France, between November 3–5, 2023. The conference brought together 400 delegates representing 95 youth organizations from 49 countries worldwide. Alongside participants from many European countries, young people from the Philippines, Kyrgyzstan, Sudan, Kenya, Mali, the United States, Mexico, Peru, Chile, Argentina, Brazil, Colombia, and Ecuador met with youth from the four parts of Kurdistan. The discussions and exchanges during the conference were strongly endorsed the demand for freedom of imprisoned Kurdish leader Abdullah Öcalan. The problems faced by revolutionary youth around the world were central to the agenda, emphasizing the importance of struggling together against the fragmentation created by the system. During the conference, solidarity was declared with all oppressed peoples, particularly the Palestinian people and the Kurdistan freedom movement. It was also stated that a common struggle would be carried out to protect the gains of peoples in Rojava and in many parts of the world.

Within the Democratic Autonomous Administration of North and East Syria, young people work in a distinctively autonomous manner. There is no imposition or top-down direction on youth councils or youth institutions in any field. Youth organizations determine their own forms of organization and modes of action. Education, organizational activities, as well as cultural and sports programs for young people are coordinated directly by youth councils themselves. As the pioneering and driving force of the revolution, youth take an active role in post-war reconstruction efforts, organize aid campaigns for those affected by war, and carry out support and play activities for children. Within the framework of women’s liberation, young people organize activities for November 25, the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, as well as marches, panels, and street actions on March 8, International Women’s Day. The struggle against patriarchal mentality stands at the center of youth work.

In the field of culture and arts, young people play an important role in preserving the cultures of peoples by organizing music and theater festivals that include all communities and cultures, as well as photography, cinema, and painting workshops. Youth also carry out significant activities on ecology by organizing meetings, actions, and events such as tree-planting campaigns and repairing damage caused to nature by war. Through the sports tournaments they organize, youth contribute to social solidarity and healthy living. In addition, by holding commemorative events on the anniversaries of massacres and attacks to honor those who lost their lives, youth take the lead in keeping social memory alive.

Ecology in Rojava 

Ecological work in Rojava faced significant obstacles in the implementation of many projects due to attacks from various jihadist groups and Turkey. Nevertheless, significant progress has been made in the ecological field. The first steps towards ecological production were taken by the village communes that began to form in 2012. In 2014, cooperatives were established to secure the food supply, and the first decisions were made to reduce the use of chemical fertilizers and pesticides.

The Ecology Committee was officially established in 2015, and local programs began to be developed. In 2016, a large-scale campaign aimed at planting hundreds of thousands of trees was launched. Starting in 2017, solar panel projects were developed to address power outages. Solar energy systems began to be installed at homes and cooperatives. In 2018, Jinwar, a women-run ecological village, was officially opened. This village is based on organic farming, natural building materials, solar energy, and collective living. In 2019, initiatives were launched to preserve local seeds and develop agricultural practices that reduce chemical use. Small-scale organic farming trials have begun. In 2020, campaigns against environmental pollution and waste management programs were launched. Local campaigns to reduce plastic use were also launched. The Keziyên Kesk (Green Braids) Initiative was established in September 2020 to combat the ongoing environmental destruction in North and East Syria and increase soil productivity. Its work aims to help the people of North and East Syria become more self-sufficient in agriculture, thereby strengthening their resilience to embargoes. In collaboration with the Ministry of Education in North and East Syria, it has ensured that every school has a teacher teaching social ecology. As part of the “Lungs of the Village” project, millions of saplings were planted, and teams visited villages to explain the ecological destruction and how it can be reversed. In 2021, following the region’s water crisis and the decline in the Euphrates River’s flow, an emergency ecological plan was developed. Turkey regularly disrupts the flow of the Euphrates River, posing a serious threat to the region. This impacts not only agricultural activities but also access to clean drinking water. In response, water conservation campaigns were conducted, alternative irrigation methods (drip irrigation and the use of recycled water) were promoted, and local water communes were established. Solar-powered irrigation systems were expanded, and organic agricultural production increased.

Approximately 500,000 hectares of land previously under the control of the Assad regime have been consolidated into public land. According to a report by the Public Land Administration dated December 20, 2023, approximately 80% of this land has been allocated to agricultural cooperatives, women’s institutions, families, forests/afforestation, parks, associations, and camps for internally displaced persons. Fifty per cent of the population’s vegetable needs are now met locally. Products are delivered directly to the public at fair prices through cooperatives. More than 140,000 fruit trees have been planted to increase fruit production. Production, processing, and distribution continue through cooperatives.

Rojava is now nearly self-sufficient olive oil production, along with wheat, flour, bulgur, pasta, and lentil processing facilities. The Economic and Agricultural Councils continue to work on sugar, sunflower, soybean, and cotton processing and textile production facilities. Significant progress has been made in dairy production through agricultural cooperatives; dairy processing facilities now produce cheese, yogurt, and butter. While Rojava fully meets its red meat needs, it has not yet achieved self-sufficiency in white meat. Ecological production principles continue to be implemented to secure the food supply for the people of North and East Syria.

Recognition of the Revolution

No UN member state has officially recognized Northern and Eastern Syria. However, in October 2021, the Catalan Parliament voted to officially recognize Northern and Eastern Syria. Catalonia thereby made history as the first parliament to recognize the Rojava Revolution. With this decision, Catalan MPs declared their friendship with the Kurdish people and their opposition to Turkey’s occupation policies.

While the Rojava Revolution inspires worldwide opponents of ethnocentrism, religious fundamentalism and global capitalism, some local, regional, and global powers are also hostile to the outbreak of freedom, particularly the Turkish government of Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. Turkey began attacking the free life of people whom they labelled “terrorists” both directly and through paramilitary proxies. With international support, Turkey continues its attacks unabated to this day. In recent years, it has been carrying out these attacks using armed drones.

Despite years of attacks by Turkey, its affiliated paramilitary forces, and ISIS, a significant ecological revolution led by Gen Z has been achieved in North and East Syria. In the face of ongoing threats and embargoes, the revolution is progressing step by step through communes. With its pillars of democracy, women, and ecology, the Rojava Revolution stands before us as an alternative that Gen Z can create elsewhere in the pursuit of freedom.

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Murat Bakur is a journalist and writer from Northern Kurdistan. His first novel, “Open Blue Freedom,” won second prize in the 5th Deniz Fırat Story and Photography Competition. Several of his short stories have been published by various news agencies. He continues his journalistic work at Medya Haber TV.

[1] Matt Broomfield, Hope Without Hope: Rojava and Revolutionary Commitment (AK Press, 2025).

[2] Formed from the combination of the words “Star” (goddess) and “Yekîtiya” (unity), the name means “Union of All Goddesses” or “Union of Women.”

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