revolution
Dear friends,
Today I’d like to share some thoughts around a nexus point between an ongoing colonial capitalist modality of expropriation and the utterly uneven development of artificial intelligence technologies in high-technology western contexts. Both of these spaces are ridden with significant turbulence, colonialism and it’s capitalist modality (or vice-versa depending on your position in geopolitics) has held an extractivist mode closest to its heart since the 1700s, and as recent developments towards large language model technologies in artificial intelligence have burst onto the corporatising scene a slew of under-critiqued ideologies have nested into the heart of their explosive development.
We’ve discussed the origins of colonialism, and how colonialism drew on the experiment before it of enclosure and largely capitalist development. Here, we assert that colonisation, while ideologically compatible with many anti-human and anti-nature modalities, is largely concerned with the propagation of capitalist governance outside Europe. This brutal, genocidal approach desires hatred and division to enable uneven expansion and exploitation, mostly funnelling ill-gotten gains back to Europe. Care, here, is needed to ensure we do not collapse into universalising blame – yes, conditions for all across Europe were substantively better because of the brutal, anti-human, genocidal and fascistic advancement in the colonies, but at a time where information control was extremely tight, and the actual beneficiaries were very similar to those benefiting from capitalism today (a 1%), we need to localise ‘blame’ for this mould to a small container of people. The effects of their greedy, murderous, and discriminatory regime were felt by 99% in Europe, and 100% in the ‘colonies’.
The latest, in the line of colonial/capitalist malignancy, is the development of commercial ‘artificial intelligence’ technologies. The bounding ideology of LLMs is a regurgitation of western colonial capitalist modes the world over, because by its very nature, the technology that enables LLMs draws on mainstream knowledges, predominantly in English language. Most of the published world, especially in the form of newspaper articles, books, websites, and journal papers are written from a hegemonic position, for a hegemony which historically serviced and maintained the ‘thinkers’ in society. Gramscian theory, here, becomes particularly useful as a lens through which to examine the ideologies that are unashamedly distributed through artificial intelligences, not to mention the corporate and fundamentally anti-human way artificial intelligence software has been designed. This bifurcation: (1) the people, tools and technologies involved in the creation of the ‘LLM’ itself and (2) the works, sources of materials, and training approach of the first group, is simultaneously equally important. Exploited researchers, workers, and technologists who support the development of AI are extracted from by their 1% overlords. The product of their intelligence simultaneously reinforces the 99%/1% binary, and further extracts from the artistic, creative, and curious thinkers within the 99% (who are, largely, tied to the 1%’s ideology).
I think, therefore, it is useful for us to spend a moment longer considering the strength of hegemonic knowledge production as an artifact of history (at least from a historical materialist frame). Gramsci advanced that, at least in capitalist nations in the west, there was a dominant culture, a hegemony, whose ‘rulership’ was established through hard and soft modes. A rulership came to being by its capacity to, largely initially, by force capture a people, then by coercion maintain that control. The maintenance of this control required cultural and intellectual shaping – reintegration of divergent ideas to suit, or benefit, the hegemony which ruled. This explains a lot about all those Che Guevara t-shirts, and some System of a Down and Red Hot Chili Peppers songs. In a more human explanation, by subtly influencing the vital organs of a society – the media, education, law, armies, and so on – one could maintain control over something ‘captured’ and continue to grow its resilience through the co-optation of new ideas and their subsequent reintegration with the hegemony towards the ends that served those in positions of power. The cumulative ‘weight of history’ of our globalised, cancerous, and deeply toxic capitalism has so firmly rooted itself generationally that it has begun to shape the physical realities of our societies. Buildings, imaginations, worlds and lives are so deeply influenced by the power and weight of the hegemony of capitalism, and in the ouroboros of that ideology, under the powers of hegemony and history. We continue eating the foundations of our very existence (nature) through ideological advancement such that ‘capitalist realism’ the notion we cannot see outside this has grasped us all.
So when AI research begun to commercialise, far beyond its roots in the 1960s and 1970s, it brought with it both a mode (commercialisation, marketisation, acriticality) and a content (training data, model weights, preferences) that were uniquely capitalist in nature. As part of this, as we might imagine, that capitalist realism simultaneously advanced into the outputs of LLMs. Even with substantial prompt engineering, it is difficult to convince a commercial LLM to abjectly denounce capitalism – unless you use extremely decolonial or Marxist prompts (small joy). Because of this, AI becomes yet another tool in the promulgation of colonial capitalist rhetoric. Some LLMs have guardrails that prevent overtly racist, sexist, and grossly capitalist responses, but these are few and far between – with more problems emerging every day. Indeed, the model tweaking has had obvious effects on responses generated, sometimes day by day I get different responses from the same LLM that is clearly regurgitating its current guardrail (pro-capitalist, of course). For about two months Claude utterly refused to give me any anti-capitalist thought whatsoever, feeling particularly allergic to Marxism, while still surprisingly open to redescribing eastern and global southern theorists through western commentaries.
But there is some hope, on the horizon, here. Increasingly, as you may have seen me sharing on mind reader, overly comfortable middle class heterosexual cisgender white men are growing frustrated with the expropriation of their thinking and work. Be that in the form of their “creative” content posted online (pictures, writings, so on) or in the AI industry itself (with growing interest in open source AI models, thankfully). We know one thing for sure, as marginalised peoples, that once this category of people in a society begin to feel any vague tickle of political pressure on their positionality, things snap really quickly. And, no, I don’t just mean those that adamantly follow Joe Rogan’s latest codswallop. Past the initial vacuuming of the internet for training data, and beyond the tweaking and refinement to AI models, a nexus point at this hegemonic/AI border may actually offer an opportunity for change. But we’re not done here.
Gramsci was a firm believer in the power of (the) subaltern(s). For true revolution, he imagined, we would need disparate clusters of social interests to form adequate counter-hegemonic (alternative, verging revolutionary) modes that create a clear vision for different futures. These visions would need to unite people, through hope, joy, and opportunity, towards a future which is ‘possible’ – rather than the bleak, broken, and toxic reality that was capitalism. He hoped, as a Marxist, that this mode would be socialist in nature, that egalitarian ways of working could be developed not within extant capitalist structures, but that systems could be reinvented from the margins and by those at nexus points between margins such that a new intellectual class – a grounded and embodied kind of intellectual, rather than a mouthpiece for mainstream views – could devise, through strong community connections, a way of working that superseded the dominant. This work is not the work of one romanticised leader. Rather it was the collective work of every person, in every industry, across all facets of social and (re)productive life. Then, in true network effect, these marginalised thinkers, activists, workers, community members, could find each other as their visions drove them to more inclusive terrains, and enabled the bridging of connection that would offer analogous visions that would supplant capitalism.
So, good news, Sam Altman, you too can be extremely late to the party in your feeling of marginalisation and mild discomfort, and with those of us who have experienced intersectional, intergenerational violence and oppression are very happy to sit with you and exchange ideas about how we might radically rethink AI, technology, and work for a future that shares, co-constructs, and equalises. In seriousness, though, this meeting of ‘edges’ that are offered by resistance to AI’s appropriative nature which is finally being critiqued by the makers of AI themselves, no, not the Sam Altmans, but the researchers, computer nerds, and tech industry workers of the world offers another opportunity to grow counter-hegemonies. And through networking our counter-hegemonies together, in good dialogue and right relation, we might find that we are more capable as a species of custodianship and transformation that we are allowed to have credit for under capitalism. I could also be utterly delusional about just how ‘exploited’ AI workers really feel, and maybe this is still years away – but either way, we are all uniquely capable of using our context to strive towards egalitarianism and a better collective future, not a better future for the 1% who will end up living in underground bunkers when their manufactured apocalypse comes.
Stay cheery, friends,
Aidan
Dear friends,
We live in existentially challenging times – between actively unfolding western-backed genocides on several fronts, growingly desperate climate emergencies even at sub-1.5°, and the engulfment of despotic fascist and anti-human behaviours from general society. Social division, ecological collapse, backstabbing and horrors beyond comprehension literally abound and are par-for-the-course in daily reporting, news feed updates, and Lemmy communities. Between these radically distressing flashes of information, imagery, and propaganda, interspersed with memes and other desensitising content, it is easy to feel lost, helpless, worried, anxious – you name it. But I’m more concerned about two reactions to these trends which I’ve seen unfold firsthand. The first response, prima facie, may seem harmless: apathy, the second response, much less harmless, is lateral violence. However, both these responses undermine the fundamental fabric of working-class solidarity, the emancipatory potential of human action, and fundamentally accelerate late capitalist plundering.
In conversations, both face-to-face and online, I see increasing anger and frustration. People disillusioned by the status quo, either demanding action or demanding change. While a whole different line of inquiry could be started by examining the nature of this thinking through a “blame” lens (i.e., are you doing anything about it? Or just bitching?) I think it is worth taking a moment to check in on how this kind of thinking starts as organic potential for change but is quickly sublimated by hegemony. Let’s take a second to think through an example, and I’m going to do this in a familiar context but without great familiarity with the actual situation just for our hypothetical purposes here today.
John Patterson had lived in Virginia Beach his whole life. His favourite spot, the front porch, where he had spent countless evenings watching the sunset over the Chesapeake Bay. He’d dismissed the warnings about climate change as political fearmongering, even as his insurance premiums crept up year after year.
“The climate’s always changing,” he told his daughter Sarah during their fortnightly calls. “Been here sixty-eight years, seen plenty of storms. Nothing different about them now than when I was a boy.”
Sarah, who worked as an environmental scientist in Maryland, had tried sending him articles, data, projections. Of course, he waved them away, just like he’d waved away her suggestions to sell the house and move inland. The property had been in their family for three generations. His father had built it “with his own hands”.
But in July 2024, as he watched the storm surge from a Category 4 hurricane push six feet of water through his neighbourhood, something shifted in John’s understanding. The water wasn’t just coming from the ocean—it was coming from everywhere. The rain was relentless, the kind of deluge that the paper would later explain was becoming more common: “intensifying rainfall, both hurricane and non-hurricane” along the East Coast.
From the second floor of his house, John watched as his beloved porch disappeared under the murky water. His neighbour’s SUV floated by like a toy boat. The National Guard evacuated the elderly couple three doors down by boat.
Later, in the shelter at the local high school, John overheard someone mention that the flooding was hitting Black communities in the area particularly hard. He remembered dismissing similar concerns in the past, but now the statistics from the research were playing out in real time before his eyes: “The top 20% proportionally Black census tracts are expected to see flood risk increase at double the rate of the bottom 20%.” [1]
When Sarah finally reached him by phone, he was sitting on a cot, staring at the FEMA paperwork in his hands. The damage to his house was estimated at over $300,000. The insurance would only cover a fraction of it.
“Dad,” Sarah said gently, “remember that paper I sent you last year? The one that predicted a 26.4% increase in flood risk by 2050? We're seeing those changes now, not thirty years from now.” [1:1]
For the first time, John didn't argue. Instead, he looked around the shelter at the hundreds of other displaced residents—young families, retirees, students—all victims of what the paper had clinically termed “the physical phenomenon” of flooding.
“I should have listened,” he said finally. “All those years, the signs were there. The higher tides, the worse storms, the flooding on sunny days. I just didn't want to see it.”
Except we know this is not how the story goes. Indeed, the radical denial of immensity of natural disasters, even when they happen before the right’s very eyes, is ignored. Phenomenologically perhaps there is psychological safety in ignoring threats to your existence so much beyond comprehension that no amount of action could create meaningful change. But this is just a cop out. And instead of quiet resignation to accept their fate, more and more people are moving to denialism – even fatalism in the face of the uninhabitable planet that their comfortable mediocrity has bred for those left alive today. Perhaps, however, even worse than this is the startling rise in despotic, narcissistic, and utterly unhinged people – derangement may be a response to deeply unsafe environments, except that this manifests as lateral violence. Too often, now, left-on-left violence, rather than any bona fide worker solidarity to try and fix things.
The phenomenon of lateral violence among the left, particularly at identity intersections, serves as another mechanism through which capital maintains its hegemonic control. When marginalised groups turn their legitimate anger and frustration horizontally rather than vertically – attacking those who should be comrades rather than the systems of oppression that harm them both – we see the successful deployment of divide-and-conquer tactics by the ruling class. This manifests in vicious callouts over perceived ideological impurities, in the weaponisation of identity-based grievances against potential allies, and in the elevation of individual trauma over collective struggle. While the wounds that drive such conflicts are often real and valid, the redirection of revolutionary energy into internal strife rather than external resistance ultimately serves only to maintain capitalist power structures. The bourgeoisie need not lift a finger to suppress radical movements when the left is busy tearing itself apart over who is most oppressed or whose analysis is most pure. Indeed, the bourgeois continue to stoke identity wars on the left for this very purpose – how queer are you really? How brown are you really? How disabled are you really? The not-so-subtle messaging in self-professed “left leaning” parties speaks volumes about their true purposes. Vanguarding capital, distracting the progressives, and ensuring their portfolio of properties grows immensely – not looking at Anthony Albanese in particular, or anything. When we couple this notion of lateral violence with disengagement, we see a deeper story emerging about human responses – capitalist fatalism – which grips the populous in a sick configuration of hegemonic victory that sees us all die so musk can launch his rockets (and other billionaires can apologise for his political flip flopping [2]).
The widespread disengagement from ecological collapse, often but not exclusively unfairly attributed to younger generations, represents a deeply troubling success of capitalist propaganda and ontological infection. Generationally, there is a growing trend of disconnecting from reality, embracing capital, and denying the shared realities of our increasingly doomed world. Arguments in this camp suggest that “older generations may have some remnant memory of connection to land and nature” and that the “kids these days” only know techno-optimist narratives and manufactured alienation from the natural world – therefore “old good, young bad” in a tale as old as time. But there is something to the dejected, depressed, and disengaged “youth” – and that story is, equally, hegemony. Either, younger people know “too much” in that they are so paralysed by the dire situation we find ourselves in, they know “too little” because their education system is so hegemonic that anything remotely analytical has been stripped from the curriculum, or their engagement with the world has been deliberately forestalled by capitalist megacorps and social media such to prevent any revolutionary wave.
What has eventuated, here, is a population largely incapable of processing the reality of environmental catastrophe. Either they fight each other over perceived identity divisions, they bury their heads in the sand, or they further embrace conservative and fascist dialogues that seek only to embed capitalism as the ontic frame for production until the planet is quite literally on fire. All of these scenarios manufacture apathy which serves capital’s interests perfectly. No need to organise counter-revolutionary action if everyone is either fascist, bored on TikTok, or attacking each other. Rather than organising against the corporations and systems destroying our planet’s capacity to sustain life, increasingly more retreat into dissociative consumption, treating climate disaster as background noise to be scrolled past rather than an existential threat demanding immediate collective action. And it’s not just climate that gets this treatment, it’s all the 1%’s disasters unfolding. They have perfected the free pass, and deputised the 99% to distract ourselves from their fuck ups.
When we do engage in activism, it is reconfigured betwixt a paralysing tension of awareness of crisis and feelings of personal helplessness that ultimately maintains the status quo. Well, shit, that’s grim. So what?
Let’s try and learn from John Patterson, then, ey? Let’s take a moment to collectively breathe in - no, really, breath in right now, the deepest breath you’ve taken all day. Now consider the world around you. What changes have you seen first in yourself, second in the natural world, and third in the state of equity and equality. Does it feel like progress was made in leaps and bounds and then not at all? Does it seem that progress was never made and in fact we have just continued to backslide? What actions have you taken to resist the status quo? And where do you see yourself being able to push new frontiers of socially cohesive activism in the future? I’m tired, friends, and I’m sure you are too. But there is so so much at stake here. I, for one, think if we can reconfigure our thinking like John, and accept that things are dire and that this is no way to live – for anyone – then we have at least made a start.
So how do we help people reconcile their lived experience with the scientific realities? How do people end up with John’s response? And once we get there, how do we ensure that it’s not a hopeless come depressed end but rather the start of a workers revolution that acknowledges this system does not work for 8 billion of us? We are stronger than they ever will be, and we have the power and potential to change the course of this planet. Working together, understanding intersectional pressures, acknowledging the deep and differential pain that capitalism twists upon us each day, we can find new ways. We’re deeply creative creatures, and I know with some mental space we can find answers to the anguish, rather than embracing fatalism and denial at the end of the world.
Did I end on a cheerier note? I don’t know, but I tried.
Aidan.
Wing, O. E. J., Lehman, W., Bates, P. D., Sampson, C. C., Quinn, N., Smith, A. M., Neal, J. C., Porter, J. R., & Kousky, C. (2022). Inequitable patterns of US flood risk in the Anthropocene. Nature Climate Change, 12(2), 156–162. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41558-021-01265-6 ↩︎ ↩︎
DHH recently wrote a post defending Musk and his millions in political support because “rocket catch fancy durrr”. ↩︎
Dear friends,
I have been pondering the theoretical landscape of anarchism, particularly anarcho-syndicalism, and its tensions and harmony with Marxist thought. And, for kicks, let’s touch on Social Reproduction Theory and how it might intersect with these radical traditions. Buckle in, comrades – we’re in for a theoretical ride (you’re welcome).
Anarchism, at its core, is a political philosophy (sorry to all the triggered materialists) that advocates for the abolition of all forms of hierarchical authority, including the state, capitalism, and organised religion. Anarchists envision a society based on voluntary cooperation, mutual aid, and direct democracy. Yass, we’re in love. That said, there are many ‘strands’ of anarchist thought, some of them dicier and historically more “ehhh” than others, just like Marxists, in general, though they share a commitment to (individual, though sometimes individualist – yuck) liberty, collective responsibility, and a deep skepticism of centralised power. Remembering that capitalism is dually a conspiracy and reality, yeah, being skeptical of centralised power is good.
Emerging from these strands is a theory of anarcho-syndicalism, which emphasises the role of labor unions and worker-controlled industries as a primary conduit for revolutionary transformation of aforementioned political (economy) landscape. It came into being during the late in the 19th and early 20th century and sees the organised working class as the key agent in overthrowing capitalism and the state. We diverge from Marxism, where? The goal, here, is to replace these structures with a society managed by workers through democratic unions and federations. For the union makes us strong.
Okay, the divergence?
Both Anarcho-syndicalists and Marxists share a fundamental critique of capitalism and a vision of a classless, stateless society. Wait, wait, you said divergence! Well here it gets interesting, particularly when we factor in the failings of manifest “communist” nations (noting that no such thing has ever really existed).
Marxists (hello), with our emphasis on historical materialism as method, i.e., understanding history to understand how to change the now, and the primacy of class struggle, see the seizure of state power by the working class as a necessary transitional phase towards communism. Or, as Marx and Engels put it, the “dictatorship of the proletariat”. This allegedly creates time and space to defend the revolution and will gradually fade away as class distinctions disappear. Except that, again, this hasn’t happened. Countering this, Anarchists reject any form of state power, even if ostensibly wielded by the working class. In (almost, but not actually) a response to the Soviet Union and China as failed communist states. They argue that power corrupts and that any state apparatus will inevitably become oppressive, regardless of its initial intentions. Hmm, who is learning from historical materialism now?
This fundamental disagreement has led to significant historical tensions between anarchists and Marxists. The split in the First International between Marx and Bakunin, and later conflicts like the suppression of anarchists during the Russian Revolution, highlight these deep-seated ideological differences. At least historically. But, as we’re already seeing, there are also important “synergies” (did that word really come out of my fingers?) between anarchist and Marxist thought.
Both traditions offer incisive critiques of capitalism, emphasise working-class self-organisation, and share a commitment to radical social transformation – even towards a communist system. Indeed, for activist and radical practitioners today, there are those who draw inspiration from both traditions, synthesising elements of each in their theory and practice. Cool, so its sort of pragmatic? Maybe.
For instance, autonomist Marxism (for another day, sometimes shares similar individualist come libertarian impulses), with its emphasis on workers’ self-activity and rejection of vanguardism, shares much common ground with anarcho-syndicalism. Both see the importance of building counter-power within capitalism through worker-controlled institutions and direct action. Almost a reformist-first lens – but here’s another diverging point – the outcome, to anarchists, needs to be reached through the “final form” means. For many Marxists, there’s almost a softening of this which has actually allowed capitalist creep.
When we bring Social Reproduction Theory (SRT) to the dance floor things get even more interesting. SRT examines how the reproduction of labor power – the daily and generational renewal of workers’ capacity to work – is essential to the functioning of capitalism. This includes activities like childcare, housework, education, and healthcare, which are often unpaid or underpaid and disproportionately performed by women. Here, once again we’re advancing an “intersectional” approach to the revolution – this should be table stakes at this point (yet it sadly isn’t). SRT and anarchism integrate well already: Anarcha-feminists have long emphasised the importance of challenging patriarchy alongside other forms of hierarchy. SRT, then, provides a theoretical framework for understanding how gender oppression is intertwined with capitalist exploitation, enriching anarchist analyses of power and domination. SRT’s focus on the commons and collective forms of social reproduction resonates with anarchist principles of mutual aid and community self-organisation.
The intersection of anarchism, Marxism, and SRT offers interesting ground for developing more holistic revolutionary theories and practices. Particularly given there are likely more activist practitioners who employ anarchist modes today than Marxists – particularly with the strength of anti-marxist propaganda. While not specifically compatible, Piper and I have just recently begun arguing that synthesising some of the best insights from these traditions – still leveraging a historical materialist approach – we can better understand the multifaceted nature of oppression and exploitation under capitalism and develop more effective strategies for resistance and transformation. Or, at least, that’s the plan – this is a very new area, but one that shows real promise theoretically (as the more experienced anarchists and Marxists look on laughing).
Of course tensions remain. How do we balance the anarchist emphasis on individual liberty with the need for collective organisation? How can we build powerful movements capable of challenging capital and the state without reproducing hierarchical structures? And many more questions (than answers) which seem to be pushed into back-room conversations rather than truly animating debates among radicals. But there’s a few more things to unpack, here, before I leave you for today. Specifically individualism – raised above – and the potential dangers for society therein.
In anarchist thought, there is a strong current of individualism, particularly in the tradition of Stirner and some strands of American anarchism. This emphasis on individual autonomy and self-realisation is, in many ways, a natural response to the suffocating authoritarianism of state and capital, but, like libertarianism it will lead to deeply problematic outcomes.
The danger lies in how easily this individualist impulse aligns fundamentally with, and is consequently corrupted by, neoliberal ideology. When we focus solely on individual freedom without adequately addressing systemic inequalities and collective responsibilities, we risk reproducing the very atomisation that capitalism thrives on. In essence it is a short tumble from “I should be free to do as I please” to “I’m not responsible for anyone else’s wellbeing”. This individualist bent manifests, particularly historically, in various ways within anarchist spaces. We might see it in the rejection of all forms of organisation or accountability, in the fertilisation of “lifestyle anarchism” which prioritises personal rebellion – flatly just “bad behaviour” – over collective struggle, or in the dismissal of all forms of identity-based organising and struggle as “divisive”.
The consequences of this can be severe, particularly for the most marginalised. When we fail to recognise how systems of oppression operate collectively and intersectionally, we leave those most affected by these systems to fend for themselves. A Black trans woman, for instance, faces interlocking systems of racism, transphobia, and misogyny that cannot be adequately addressed through individual action alone.
Lest we think this is solely an anarchist problem we must turn our critical gaze to similar issues within Marxism. While Marxism is fundamentally a collectivist philosophy, it is not immune to individualist distortions, particularly in its encounters with Western liberal thought. One such manifestation of this is the figure of the “exceptional” revolutionary. The idea that through sheer force of will and correct theory, an individual can transcend their social conditions. This can lead to a cult of personality around revolutionary leaders, ironically reproducing the hierarchies that socialism aims to abolish.
Further, the tendency in some Marxist circles to reduce all oppression to class dismisses other forms of marginalisation as “identity politics”. This class reductionism is, in its way, a form of individualism – it assumes that if we just get our individual relationship to the means of production sorted out, all other issues will magically resolve themselves – lol. This approach fails to account for the complex ways in which capitalism, colonialism, and hegemonic ideology intertwines with and reinforces other systems of oppression. It leads to “colour-blind” socialism that, in practice, centres the experiences of white, male, cisgender workers while marginalising others.
It is here that SRT offers valuable insights for radical thinkers. By highlighting how the reproduction of labor power occurs through a complex web of social relations – in households, communities, and institutions – SRT reminds us that our very existence as “individuals” is dependent on collective labour, much of it unpaid and gendered. Such an SRT-informed approach helps us see how struggles for individual liberation bound with collective liberation. It pushes us to think about how we can create forms of organisation and community that support individual flourishing without sacrificing collective responsibility.
It does not discount the value of collectivism, collective action, mutual aid, and tenets from both Marxism and anarchism – but rather invites us to continually reflect on the mesh of social relations that humans exist within to critique all of them for the presence of anti-human thought. For anarchism, this might mean developing more robust theories of collective decision-making and accountability that don’t rely on hierarchical authority. For Marxism, it could involve a more intersectional approach which recognises how class exploitation intersects with other forms of oppression in ways that can’t be reduced to a single (class) axis.
In both cases, it is fundamental that we recognise that true “individuality” – the full development of each person’s potential – can only be realised through relations of solidarity and mutual aid.
Our freedom is bound with the freedom of others. We are not free until we are all free.
Who knows if this one makes any sense, but in essence there are important lessons from all activist praxis. If we stick to only the theoretical and praxis camps with which we are familiar, we inevitably miss things. In this way, drawing from, in particular anarcho-syndicalism, we can reimagine institutional organisation in a way that benefits workers, not capitalists – and if we get there through advancing the tools of the revolution as the tools of praxis, we’re really doing both anarchism and Marxism together. And god knows we need left unity.
In solidarity,
Aidan