Seize the Means of Community

The Mamdani Mo(ve)ment” – Post #2

The promise of Mamdani’s campaign is not a rescue. It is an invitation—to join in an ongoing, collaborative reconstruction of the political life of this city.

Previous post in the series:

The Mamdani Mo(ve)ment” – Post #1: Zohran Mamdani as DSA in the Flesh: Disindividuated Politics, Foundational Justice, and the Power of Sincerity

Zohran Mamdani’s campaign has done more than put a socialist on the brink of the mayor’s office. It has revealed the latent presence of something larger: a city-wide appetite for transformation, voiced by thousands who canvassed, organized, and voted—not just for a candidate, but for a different way of living together.

If Mamdani wins, his victory will not be the culmination of that movement, but the beginning of a new, more demanding phase.

Because Mamdani cannot save New York.

But he can help New York save itself—if we, the people who made his victory possible, understand that this is not a moment to stand back and hope. It is a moment to step forward and stay in motion—to enter into informal but sustained collaboration with a mayor who shares our values, and who depends on our ongoing presence to make them real.

We cannot treat politics as a matter of choosing the right person and waiting. We have to treat it as an enduring relationship—between elected officials and the public, yes, but also among ourselves, as neighbors and co-creators of the city we want to inhabit. Mamdani’s platform is a point of departure, not a destination. He will need help to realize it—help not just in the form of policy advice or advocacy, but in the form of a mobilized, federated, citizen-driven civic presence that can bring social and political pressure to bear in real time.

That means groups of ordinary people—not as lobbyists, not as NGOs, not as “stakeholders,” but as citizens—must become visible and consequential to the political process in new ways. We must show up in formats the system is not built to expect: not occasional protestors or passive constituents, but persistent ensembles of deliberating, collaborating, justice-seeking people.

We need a civic infrastructure that supports that kind of presence—an ecosystem of small, self-directed, self-governing communities that share political intention, moral vision, and concrete practices. These communities will not be arms of city hall, nor will they be traditional political organizations. They will be something looser, deeper, and more durable: places where the social and the political are no longer kept apart.

Places where people who exchange recipes also organize to end food deserts. Where transit riders discuss land use and urban form. Where book clubs become working groups. Where people talk, argue, analyze, and act. Not once, but week after week. Not as a campaign, but as a way of life.

To do this, we need tools: open-source platforms for discussion, collaboration, and publishing; deliberation forums that support iterative decision-making; shared archives of thought, analysis, and plans. But tools alone won’t do it. What’s needed is a shift in posture—from seeing ourselves as supporters of a campaign to seeing ourselves as co-stewards of a city in flux, building with and beyond the Mamdani administration the structures that will let justice take root.

This is not about perfection. It's about presence. About showing up, regularly, in places where our collective voice is legible—to ourselves, to each other, and to those in office.

Mamdani’s mayoralty, should it come, will not be a magic wand. But it can be a scaffolding. It can be the formal opening of a political partnership with the city’s people—so long as we stay in the room.

We cannot expect one man to transmute our hopes into a new city. But we can let the fire he lit change the way we treat each other—and the way we show up in public. If we act now—carefully, joyfully, together—we may find ourselves building the kind of New York that no administration could ever deliver alone.

#TheCommunitariumProject #TheMamdaniMovement

More posts in the series:

The Mamdani Mo(ve)ment – Post #1: Zohran Mamdani as DSA in the Flesh: Disindividuated Politics, Foundational Justice, and the Power of Sincerity

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The Mamdani Mo(ve)ment – Post #1

I want to explore—and ultimately defend—a line of thinking that may serve both as a response to skeptics who doubt Zohran Mamdani’s capacity to follow through on his political commitments and as an explanation to the uninitiated for how he has already achieved what he has.

In short: Mamdani has been telling us all along how he intended to do what he’s now doing—but his audience, in many cases, wasn’t the general public. It was the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA), the organization to which he has long belonged and which he credits not merely as his support base, but as the precondition of his political possibility.

There are recorded moments throughout his early political career where Mamdani clearly states: I am only possible because of DSA. He frames his own activity not as a heroic exception or as personal genius, but as a manifestation of DSA’s collective program and organizing structure. He argues, for instance, that attacks on him personally are less effective because he is not merely a charismatic individual or a vulnerable political actor. He is part of a collective body—and is seen to be part of it. His political persona is embedded within a shared infrastructure.

I want to go further. Mamdani has acted as if he were a lens onto DSA. But since most of the public, in our increasingly parasocial world, pays more attention to the lens than to what it is focused on, he has effectively become “DSA in the flesh.” To borrow from early Christian rhetoric, he has become a kind of incarnation—a visible, tangible, and rhetorically savvy mediator between:

• the world that does not understand or recognize DSA, and
  
• the world DSA is trying to build.

He is not merely articulating ideas. He is enacting a strategy of disindividuation, in which political speech and action are never framed as personal expressions, but as the result of collective deliberation and organizing. He continually redirects questions from reporters—questions often framed in the idiom of individual ambition or liberal self-making—and turns them toward collective stakes, shared conditions, and systemic causes. In doing so, he challenges what might be called idiotism: the isolationist logic of possessive individualism built into the default grammar of political discourse.

But there is another dimension to Mamdani’s political appeal—one that helps explain why this strategy has worked where others have floundered. It is not just that Mamdani is aligned with a powerful organization, or that he deploys strategic messaging more skillfully than his peers. It is that he is widely and deeply perceived as sincere.

An old, multiply-attributed adage holds: “The main thing is honesty. If you can fake that, you’ve got it made.” But Mamdani has found a more direct path to political effectiveness. He doesn’t perform sincerity; he embodies it. Everyone who knows him—or watches him closely—believes him to be sincere. His consistency, humility, clarity of purpose, and refusal to posture all reinforce a basic sense that what you see is what he believes. And in a political world saturated with cynicism and performativity, this perceived sincerity is itself a radical form of credibility.

And so while Mamdani’s political strategy is operational, it is not coldly tactical. His effectiveness derives from the trust he inspires among those who have long felt excluded from power—not just because he promises to represent them, but because he seems to already be of them.

When he proposes legislation, he is not simply putting forward a bill; he is deploying a political test. A Mamdani bill is never just a policy idea. It is also an invitation to collective visibility—a chance for a constituency long treated as marginal to assert its centrality.

Take, for example, a bill that would tax the top 1% of income earners—something that would require implementation at the state level. If Governor Hochul is weighing whether to veto such a bill, she is not just doing policy math. She is being asked to consider whether doing so will trigger a groundswell of opposition from people who are increasingly seen as the true stewards of the city—the ones who build it, clean it, transport it, teach it, cook for it, care for it, and hold it together.

The supporters Mamdani has coalesced are not just numerous—they are morally and materially foundational. They are seen to represent New York’s everyday life and long-term interest in a way that property developers and managerial elites do not. And so Mamdani’s strength comes not simply from organized force, but from a growing recognition that his politics are anchored in justice, equity, and authentic representation.

This is what differentiates his politics. While traditional electeds operate in the performative register of individual persuasion or technocratic competence, Mamdani operates in a register of emergent legitimacy. His proposals are not just backed by infrastructure—they are backed by a rising sense that the people he speaks for are the city’s true body politic, and that those who oppose him are not just obstructing progress but sustaining an illegitimate status quo.

This is the “how he will do it” that critics and observers often miss. Mamdani is not betting on institutional goodwill. He is not just wielding numbers. He is advancing a reconstitution of the political imagination—one that says the right to shape the city belongs not to those who own the most of it, but to those without whom it cannot function.

In this way, his politics exemplify one of the core principles animating the Communitarium Project:

A proposal backed by organized popular power cannot be evaluated solely on its perceived ideological merits or messaging. It must be evaluated in terms of its capacity to mobilize collective action and its representational legitimacy among those who materially sustain the world in question.

Mamdani doesn’t need to hold executive power to influence executive decisions. What he wields is a politics of foundational justice—and he does so as a node in a living, distributed, and increasingly visible political body.

This is what makes him legible—both as a singular figure and as a prototype of what a post-individualist politics might look like. Not a man with a platform. A membrane between worlds. A vector of activation. A politician who understands himself not as the source of politics, but as its relay—and whose legitimacy comes not just from movement support, but from embodying the right of the many to reclaim the city they keep alive.

#TheCommunitariumProject #TheMamdaniMovement

More posts in this series:

The Mamdani Mo(ve)ment – Post #2: Zohran Mamdani Won’t Save New York—But He Can Help New York Save Itself

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Preface The logics of formal rationality, geopolitical abstraction, and American exceptionalism became progressively entangled over the course of the 20th and early 21st centuries—and, in figures like Donald Trump, they culminate in the idiotization of social reality. What began as a set of highly abstract, formalized tools for thinking the world (automata, deterrence, strategic choice) has, through successive degenerations, been embodied in performative forms of power that no longer simulate rationality, but parody it.

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1. The Strategic Turn: Von Neumann and the Formalization of Rationality

John von Neumann stands at the root of this genealogy. In modeling economics, warfare, and even biology as systems of formal logic, he initiated a powerful abstraction: human beings as strategic agents, interaction as games, life as computable pattern. His work birthed game theory and cellular automata, sowing the idea that human behavior could be managed and predicted through mathematical formalism.

This was not merely an intellectual project. It aligned with a national mood: mid-century America, facing the Cold War and commanding planetary scale, needed tools to manage vast complexity without losing control. Game theory offered the illusion of rational mastery, enclosure through comprehension.

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2. Cold Abstraction: Kahn and the Thermonuclear Mind

Herman Kahn extended von Neumann’s logic into the thermonuclear domain. For Kahn, even nuclear war could be modeled, strategized, and won, so long as one remained emotionally detached enough to treat mass death as a variable.

This was the next phase of enclosure: not just mapping the game but inhabiting its cold logic, turning apocalypse into a scenario. American exceptionalism here becomes explicit: while the world might burn, the U.S. could endure.

Kahn’s work reflects a shift from isolationism to strategic exceptionalism: America would not simply retreat, but govern global chaos through calculation. Kahn's posture mirrors the national affect: paternalistic, distant, and singular. (Kahn, notably, served as one of the real-life inspirations for Stanley Kubrick’s character Dr. Strangelove—a parody that may, in retrospect, have undershot the reality it satirized.)

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3. Tacit Signals and Social Systems: Schelling and the Interface of Strategy and Behavior

Thomas Schelling softened this logic, introducing the human back into the model. He studied how agents coordinate not just through commands, but through tacit signals, expectations, focal points, and credible threats. His models of segregation, brinkmanship, and commitment mechanisms made clear how micro-decisions could create macro-patterns.

Schelling’s great insight: even limited preferences, bounded rationality, and social signaling could lead to large-scale enclosures. But he left the political stakes largely unexamined. How these enclosures are legitimated, maintained, or weaponized would fall to future actors.

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4. Homo Economicus Ascendant: Trump as Strategic Idiot

Trump represents the performative degeneration of this trajectory. He is not the rational strategist von Neumann envisioned, nor the detached planner Kahn embodied, nor even the social modeler Schelling portrayed. He is instead a synthetic product of all three: he preserves the outward form of game logic—competition, leverage, advantage—but strips it of coherence, proportionality, and rational structure. His moves are impulsive rather than calculated, improvised rather than strategic, theatrical rather than credible.

In Trump, all interaction is reduced to “the deal”—a hollow transactionalism that desaturates schmooze-level social reality. Where others used game theory as model, Trump treats it as ontology. There are no deliberative processes, no shared frameworks, no community. There are only wins, losses, leverage, and spectacle.

His America is the idiotized imagined community: a national ego wrapped around grievance, projection, and brute negotiation. And at the core of this performance lies a grotesque metaphor: auto-erotic sovereignty. Power is exercised not as responsibility, but as gratification; diplomacy becomes dominance theater; international relations are reenacted in the register of “if you're famous, they'll let you”— with the world cast in the role of the submissive other. The nation becomes not a commons, but an extension of his libido and his brand.

In Trump, Homo economicus is no longer metaphorical. He is the game—and the only rule is him.

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5. Mood and Machine: National Affects as Systemic Drift

This history isn’t just intellectual. It’s affective. Each phase of this genealogy correlates with a national mood:

• Postwar anxiety seeks mastery (von Neumann)
• Cold War fatalism seeks survivability (Kahn)
• Late-century ambiguity seeks coordination (Schelling)
• Post-2008 decline seeks vengeance (Trump)

What binds these is not ideology, but a progressive enclosure of interpretive frameworks into systems of calculation, control, and strategic egoism. Sociality becomes strategy. Meaning becomes leverage. Deliberation becomes posture.

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6. Toward a Counter-Genealogy: Communitaria and the Resaturation of Meaning

The Communitarium Project emerges as a counter-move: not rejecting enclosure per se, but recognizing that it has been captured and idiotized. Rather than surrender social interaction to strategic modeling, the project insists on rebuilding ensembles of mutual interpretation, where meaning is not extracted or computed but co-constituted.

The Communitarium doesn’t long for a lost intimacy or preach anti-rationalism. It proposes a resaturation of schmooze-level sociality through collective deliberation, shared interpretive labor, and contextual moral economies.

In short: to resist the idiotized legacy of von Neumann, Kahn, Schelling, and Trump is not to deny structure or strategy—but to re-embed them in community, where computation serves life, not the reverse.

#TrumpAndMAGA

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New_ Public wants better digital communities. So does the Communitarium Project—but it starts further back, aiming not to reform platforms but to form new communities, infrastructures, and counter-realities beyond capitalism. A comparison:

The Communitarium Project shares a family resemblance with the initiative described in New_ Public’s post on a new social product for communities. Both begin with the premise that today's dominant platforms are failing us—not just in terms of functionality or civility, but at the level of purpose. Both seek to center human connection, public good, and communal well-being over engagement metrics and ad revenue. But where New_ Public sketches a more incremental renovation, Communitarium proposes something closer to a reinvention.

This post lays out some of the key similarities and differences, not to denigrate one project or exalt the other, but to make the aspirations of the Communitarium Project clearer to those who sense something is broken and are looking for ways to build anew.

Shared Concerns

1. Platform Capitalism Is Inadequate Both projects recognize that the logic of profit-maximizing platforms corrodes community life. Surveillance, extraction, and gamified attention distort human relationships and prioritize virality over solidarity.

2. We Need Spaces Designed for People, Not Advertisers The notion of a “social product” that nurtures belonging, collaboration, and deliberation—rather than just click-through—is a point of strong agreement.

3. Digital Infrastructure Can Be Designed Differently This is not just about codes of conduct or better moderation. It’s about building the underlying infrastructure—tools, protocols, and norms—that support richer, more humane interactions.

Where Communitarium Diverges

1. From Community Engagement to Community Formation New_ Public’s offering is geared toward existing communities—groups that already have some cohesion or identity—and giving them tools to flourish online. Communitarium is interested in what makes communities possible in the first place. It asks: how can new communities form, take root, and govern themselves in ways that are resilient, ethical, and post-capitalist?

2. A Platform for Autonomy, Not Just Expression Communitarium is not just a space to talk or share—it is an infrastructural commitment to collective autonomy. It is being designed to support deliberation, shared decision-making, mutual aid, and the co-creation of meaning. This requires something more robust than a “product.” It requires a world.

3. Explicitly Anti-Capitalist, Post-Individualist While New_ Public remains within the orbit of liberal reformism, the Communitarium Project draws openly from anarchist and socialist traditions. It rejects the enclosure of knowledge, the commodification of selfhood, and the atomization of digital life. It seeks to erode capitalism not by opposing it in rhetoric alone, but by offering alternate arrangements in which cooperation becomes natural and necessary.

4. More Than Safe Space—A Counter-Reality The goal is not to carve out a tranquil refuge on the internet. The goal is to cultivate sites of counter-power: federated spaces where people not only feel heard but become capable of acting together, deliberating together, and creating together. It is about forming symbiotic ensembles that can extend into material reality.

5. No Federation, No Cosmopolitanism Unlike the Communitarium Project, which is being built with federation and pluralistic interoperability as core principles, New_ Public’s offering appears to center around isolated community instances. While this may suffice for strengthening local cohesion, it lacks the cosmopolitan vision of a federated network of counter-power—communities capable of recognizing each other, deliberating across contexts, and sharing a common informational fabric without centralization.

Points of Contact and Possible Dialogue

Despite these differences, New_ Public and Communitarium aren’t enemies. They may be playing different roles in a broader movement toward reclaiming the social from the grip of technocratic capitalism. If New_ Public is renovating the civic front porch, Communitarium is rebuilding the neighborhood—perhaps even changing the zoning code.

There’s room here for cross-pollination. New_ Public’s focus on user needs, facilitation, and user-centered design may offer practical insights. Meanwhile, Communitarium’s insistence on rootedness, relationality, and emancipatory infrastructure could deepen New_ Public’s philosophical horizons.

Learn More

If you'd like to explore the ideas behind the Communitarium Project in greater depth, you can browse all posts related to it here.

Conclusion

We’re in an age of pervasive enclosure: of time, attention, discourse, even hope. If we are to reclaim what it means to live and think together, we must be willing to go deeper than product design or platform reform. The Communitarium Project is an effort to imagine and build that depth—a re-founding of community itself on different terms.

#TheCommunitariumProject

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Class, Myth, and the Obsolescence We Must Design

“Worker” has been a rallying point and a mythic role. But its durability is both a strength and a trap. If the Left is to move forward, we must use the term strategically—while refusing to treat it as permanent. The worker must remain historically specific, ideologically provisional, and ultimately, replaceable.

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The word worker carries a lot of weight. It evokes exploitation, solidarity, class consciousness, dignity, struggle. It calls back to miners, machinists, domestic laborers, union organizers, and precarious service staff. It has anchored the identity of the Left for generations.

And yet, for all its power, worker is a category we must learn to wear lightly. Because as much as it’s been a tool of resistance, it’s also become a conceptual enclosure—a role that subtly dictates what kinds of agency, solidarity, and futures we are allowed to imagine. Left unexamined, it becomes what we might call a teleological trap: the idea that the worker is not just a political subject but the inevitable political subject. That history will unfold toward worker power, and that the shape of that power is already understood.

This assumption has consequences. It constrains the language we use to describe emerging forms of labor, care, and value. It orients the imagination of justice around wage labor and production. It discourages rethinking what social roles we want to preserve or transcend.

From the point of view of the Communitarium Project, this is a problem. Because our aim isn’t to build a better worker-led society—it’s to build the conditions under which people are no longer defined by their function within a labor regime at all.

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Capitalism Needs the Worker Too

It’s easy to forget that “worker” is not just a revolutionary identity—it’s a capitalist one. The worker is the unit of labor. A cost center. A human resource. Even in heroic leftist formulations, the figure of the worker often remains within this same structural role: the one who produces value, and who therefore deserves more of it.

But what if production isn’t always the horizon of value? What if the fixation on the worker prevents us from recognizing other roles and relationships—caregiver, sharer, sustainer, thinker, neighbor, co-inhabitant—as equally central?

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The Mirror Myth: Worker vs. Entrepreneur

One reason “worker” remains so sticky is because it is rhetorically useful. It lets the Left anchor its identity in opposition to the myth of the entrepreneur: the self-made, risk-taking capitalist ideal. But as long as this binary holds, both roles reinforce each other. Each needs the other to stay coherent. One becomes the moral hero of collective labor; the other, the moral hero of individual ambition.

And both risk flattening lived complexity into a role: are you the exploited or the self-starter? Are you a cog or a visionary?

In reality, people are neither. Or rather: they are much more than either.

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Synchronic Utility, Diachronic Obsolescence

We don’t have to throw the word away. In immediate struggles—against wage theft, for labor protections, in organizing campaigns—it remains indispensable. But if we care about what comes next, we have to hold it differently.

The distinction here is between synchronic and diachronic commitments. In the now, “worker” can rally solidarity and clarify antagonism. But across time, we must recognize it as a historically situated term, bound to particular modes of production and particular visions of the social order.

If we reject historical inevitabilism, we must also reject the permanence of our categories. “Worker” is useful, not sacred. It is temporary, not timeless. Its strategic value depends on our ability to eventually let it go.

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Designing Its Obsolescence

To take this seriously means actively planning for its obsolescence. Not its erasure, but its dissolution into richer and more nuanced terms—terms that reflect a world not organized around jobs, employers, wage labor, or linear productivity.

That requires infrastructure: new languages, new institutions, new forms of collective identity that don’t just reward “hard work,” but support people in living well, together, beyond the metrics of employment. This is part of what the Communitarium Project seeks to prototype: spaces where people coordinate, create, and metabolize complexity without being defined primarily by what they produce.

This is not the end of class struggle. It’s the effort to outgrow the categories that capitalism made necessary in the first place.

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Refusing the Final Vocabulary

The Left needs to be capable of strategy without orthodoxy, solidarity without role lock-in. The figure of the worker has done important work, but it cannot be our final vocabulary. If we want a future beyond capitalism, we need terms that don’t just resist its logics but refuse to reproduce them in reverse.

We need to stop imagining the worker as our endgame. And start building the conditions in which the worker, too, can rest.

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#LanguageOfTheLeft

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The Communitarium Project isn’t about reviving communes or escaping society—it’s about building transitional, interstitial spaces where people can live, think, and act together differently. Not utopias, but shared infrastructures for sense-making, coordination, and care—without enforcing consensus or closing down difference.

It’s a familiar reaction. Mention “communes” in leftist circles and you’re likely to get a mix of eye-rolls, half-hearted smiles, and uneasy memories. For many, the word evokes a long history of well-meaning but often unsustainable experiments in collective living—some genuinely inspiring, others chaotic, insular, or quietly authoritarian. The skepticism is understandable. And yet, the desire to live differently, to reorganize how we share time, space, labor, and care, hasn’t gone away.

The classic idea of the commune is often structured around a kind of withdrawal. The hope is that by stepping outside capitalism, outside the state, outside inherited norms, people can start fresh. A new society in miniature, designed from scratch. But in practice, the world tends to follow us in. Patterns of domination, resource scarcity, informal hierarchies, and cultural sediment don’t stay outside the gates. They come along for the ride. And when the project buckles under their weight, it’s easy to conclude that the whole idea of living collectively is naïve or doomed.

But maybe the problem isn’t with the desire for a more communal life. Maybe it’s with the model we’ve inherited—and the assumptions it carries about how transformation happens.

The Communitarium Project is not an attempt to revive the commune. It isn’t a separatist outpost, an idealized return to the land, or a lifestyle alternative. It doesn’t promise self-sufficiency, purity, or escape. Instead, it proposes something quieter and more deliberate: we’re not trying to leave society behind; we’re trying to reimagine it in place. We’re not building enclosed utopias where existing rules are suspended; we’re building transitional, interstitial spaces that engage with the world as it is, while gradually reshaping it from within.

The structures we’re experimenting with—whether we call them hubs, nodes, collectives, or something else—are meant to support shared life in a way that remains open, adaptive, and historically aware. They’re designed to hold people in common purpose without collapsing difference, and to support coordination without reproducing hierarchy or burnout. The point isn’t to create a single model for everyone to follow. It’s to cultivate conditions where different communities can generate their own practices, based on their own needs and histories, while still finding ways to communicate and align across differences.

What also distinguishes the Communitarium Project is its emphasis on how we perceive and process the world together. Most collective projects focus on shared outputs—labor, decision-making, provisioning—but the Communitarium emphasizes shared intake as well. It’s designed to help people collectively interpret a world that has become too complex and contradictory to navigate alone.

That said, this is not a call for consensus thinking or interpretive uniformity. On the contrary, multiplicity and divergence are essential to the process. The goal is not to arrive at a common worldview, but to build the capacity to hold different perspectives in active relation—to metabolize disagreement, asymmetry, and partial understandings without collapsing them into a single narrative. The work is not about finding the right line, but about inhabiting the conditions under which lines can be drawn, revised, and challenged in good faith.

This is what makes the Communitarium’s model metabolic rather than doctrinal: it digests contradiction rather than eliminating it. It doesn’t offer ideological security, but the opportunity to participate in collective inquiry that remains grounded in material needs, shared time, and cohabitation with difference.

For that reason, the Communitarium is not meant to be isolated. It is interstitial by design. It exists in the gaps and overlaps between institutions, between geographies, between official narratives and lived realities. It aims to be locally rooted but globally connective, rigorous without being rigid, durable without being enclosed. In this way, it serves not as an escape hatch, but as a set of proto-infrastructures—an evolving effort to build and test the social forms that could support a more just, more livable future.

The word “commune” carries a great deal of historical and emotional baggage. That baggage has often led people to dismiss any attempt at collective living as utopian, impractical, or cultish. But if we let that skepticism become a reflex, we risk shutting down some of the most important work we still have to do. The Communitarium Project doesn’t promise utopia. It offers something more modest, and maybe more useful: a way to begin building shared life differently—not all at once, and not everywhere, but in ways that are attentive, accountable, and capable of change.

So yes, it’s okay to groan a little when you hear talk of communes. But it’s also worth asking whether that groan is doing the work of caution—or just reinforcing a sense of futility. The question isn’t whether we can go back to the commune. It’s whether we can build something forward-facing that’s able to hold us—and help us hold each other—through what’s coming next.

#TheCommunitariumProject

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For over a millennium, antisemitism has thrived on grotesque fabrications — a conspiracy theory with no authors, accusing a people with no crime. Jews have been portrayed, in different times and places, as shadowy manipulators of power, hoarders of wealth, global puppet masters, and even sadistic child murderers. These lies, devoid of evidence and rooted in fear and envy, fueled pogroms, inquisitions, expulsions, and ultimately genocide.

What’s striking, in the eerie mirror of modern American politics, is how these very tropes — long used to justify persecution of an innocent people — now find something resembling flesh in the form of Donald J. Trump. Not as a Jew, of course, but as the embodiment of those phantasmal accusations, made real in the actions and ambitions of a single man.

Trump, a man of immense inherited wealth, has flaunted that fortune while refusing transparency, skirting taxes, and using his position to enrich himself. Where Jews were falsely accused of controlling the press or banking, Trump has actively tried to co-opt the Justice Department, weaponize the IRS, and install loyalists at every level of power — not through secret cabals, but through brazen public acts. He has attempted to delegitimize elections, demanded personal loyalty from officials sworn to the Constitution, and encouraged violence from his base — a demagogue openly courting authoritarianism.

Perhaps most disturbingly, where the blood libel myth falsely claimed Jews murdered Christian children, real-world violence often destroyed Jewish families — including children — as collateral in waves of collective punishment. Trump, by contrast, has demonstrated indifference to the lives of actual children: jailing them at the border, ignoring climate threats, and supporting policies that tolerate mass death by gunfire in schools. These aren’t hallucinations. They’re documented.

This isn’t a moral inversion or an act of rhetorical vengeance. It’s a bitter historical irony. Trump is not what Jews are; he’s what antisemitism imagined them to be, and in that tragic irony lies a warning: those who weaponize myths may one day get their monster, not in the people they feared but in the leaders they adoringly follow.

#TrumpAndMAGA

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Neoliberalism thrives on idiotism—the enclosure of the self, severing people from collective life. Historically, “idiot” meant disengagement, but under capitalism, it became an insult. Leftist language must resist this by rooting itself in real communities of practice, rebuilding speech communities, and reclaiming political meaning from ideological enclosure.

The term idiotism is not widely used in contemporary political discourse, but it should be. As the current series of articles undertakes an exploration of how leftist vocabulary has been enclosed, diluted, and detached from lived communal structures, idiotism provides a crucial conceptual tool to explain how this process occurs—not just in language but in subjectivity itself.

Derived from the Greek idiōtēs, meaning a private person disengaged from public life, idiotism describes a condition in which individuals are severed from collective participation and locked into isolated, self-referential modes of thought and action. Historically, this was understood as a lack of civic engagement, a retreat from the responsibilities of the polis. Today, under neoliberalism, it is a structural condition, cultivated through market ideology, digital enclosures, and the fragmentation of public discourse.

This article explores the etymology and historical transformations of idiotism, its relevance to contemporary hegemonic individualism, and how it manifests in leftist discourse—particularly in the weakening of communal language and action. By reconnecting idiotism to broader discussions of possessive individualism, capitalist enclosure, and schmooze-level social reality, we can begin to chart a way forward.

1. Idiotism and Its Classical Roots

The modern word idiot traces back to the Greek idiōtēs (ἰδιώτης), which referred to someone who was not engaged in public affairs. Unlike the politēs (πολίτης), the active citizen who took part in collective decision-making, the idiōtēs lived in a privatized sphere, disconnected from the deliberative structures of the community. The term was not initially an insult but described a condition of civic disconnection.

This meaning shifted over time. In Latin and later medieval vernaculars, idiota came to mean an uneducated or ignorant person. By the time it entered English, idiot was fully synonymous with stupidity, losing its original political meaning. What was once a critique of disengagement became a medicalized and moralized insult.

This semantic drift was not accidental. As capitalist social orders developed, the political meaning of idiocy was lost precisely because capitalist hegemony required a population more preoccupied with private affairs than with collective governance. The transition from idiōtēs to “idiot” mirrors the rise of possessive individualism, in which self-interest replaces social obligation as the organizing principle of society.

2. Neal Curtis’ Idiotism: The Neoliberal Subject as Enclosed Self

Neal Curtis’ book Idiotism: Capitalism and the Privatisation of Life (n.b.: open access, free download) resurrects the term to describe how neoliberalism systematically cultivates self-enclosure. According to Curtis, capitalism not only dismantles communal infrastructures but actively reshapes subjectivity to make social alienation appear natural. Under neoliberalism, the ideal subject is an idiot—not in the sense of stupidity, but as someone locked into self-referential survival, disengaged from collective transformation.

Curtis argues that idiotism is not just an ideology but a structural condition, reinforced by:

• The destruction of public goods and common spaces.
• The ideological promotion of market competition over cooperation.
• The internalization of economic precarity, leading to a mindset of individualized struggle.
• The collapse of deliberative structures, making civic engagement feel futile or meaningless.

In this sense, idiotism is capitalism’s epistemic enclosure of the self, preventing people from recognizing their embeddedness in communal life. This process mirrors the semantic enclosure of leftist language—turning concepts like mutual aid into acts of charity rather than reciprocal obligation, or solidarity into an abstract virtue rather than an active structure of collective power.

3. Idiotism and the Limits of Leftist Language

Leftist language itself is not immune to idiotism. If neoliberalism produces enclosed selves, it also shapes the way political movements articulate their demands. Some key ways this manifests include:

• The Performance of Engagement Without Engagement – Leftist discourse is often performative, with radical rhetoric substituting for real structures of communal obligation. If language does not connect to real communities of practice, it remains self-referential, a form of idiotism in itself.
• The Fragmentation of Speech Communities – Digital spaces encourage ideological filtering, where leftist language becomes an in-group dialect rather than a tool of broad political engagement. Idiotism thrives where language ceases to be generative and instead reinforces static moral positioning.
• The Weakening of Collective Identity – In a world dominated by neoliberal atomization, even leftist movements struggle to construct enduring communal structures. Language that once mobilized collective agency now often serves as a personal branding tool—politics as aesthetic rather than as practice.

This diagnosis is not meant to be fatalistic. Recognizing idiotism within leftist discourse allows us to counteract it. The solution is not simply more rhetoric but a reconnection of language to lived, reciprocal relationships within real communities of practice.

4. Reclaiming Language, Rebuilding Collective Consciousness

If idiotism describes a condition of enclosure, the counter to it must be a deliberate reinvestment in communal structures of speech and action. Some key ways forward include:

• Embedding Language in Speech Communities – Leftist vocabulary must emerge from and be sustained by active communities, rather than functioning as a floating signifier in online discourse.
• Developing Communal Practices Alongside Communal Language – Political terminology should be grounded in real, material relationships—worker cooperatives, mutual aid networks, neighborhood assemblies—where meaning is not just asserted but enacted.
• Resisting the Enclosure of Radical Terms – Just as mutual aid must be reclaimed from its depoliticization into charity, other terms must be defended from ideological dilution and misappropriation.
• Expanding the Schmooze-Level Social Reality of Politics – A truly collective politics must restore dialogic interaction as a foundation for meaning-making, countering the passive consumption of political content.

Conclusion: Beyond Idiotism

Neoliberalism thrives on idiotism—the enclosure of the self, the collapse of communal meaning, and the severing of language from lived social reality. If leftist discourse is to remain viable, it must resist both semantic drift and social fragmentation, restoring political language to a living practice within interconnected communities.

The question is not merely how we critique idiotism, but how we cultivate its opposite: a world where no one is an idiōtēs because all are engaged in the ongoing, reciprocal construction of communal life. The first step is to ensure that our words, like our actions, move us toward this reality.

#LanguageOfTheLeft

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The Left’s key terms—solidarity, mutual aid, liberation—often fail to mobilize because they have been enclosed, ritualized, and detached from lived practice. While leftist organizations sustain these terms internally, they must help build outward-facing communities that integrate language into real, systemic change. This and future posts will explore how to reclaim a vocabulary of communal power.

This is not merely a problem of rhetoric. It is a symptom of deeper fractures in the Left’s capacity to create and sustain communal life. Our language has been subject to enclosures—sometimes imposed by hegemonic forces, sometimes self-inflicted through hyper-politicized subcultural discourse. The result is a set of terms that often mean less to those who use them than to those excluded from their use. This article is the beginning of a broader inquiry: How has the language of the Left been enclosed, hollowed out, or ritualized in ways that undermine its purpose? And what might it mean to reclaim a political vocabulary that moves us—one that generates real communal structures rather than merely naming them?

The Problem: When Words Cease to Build Worlds

Political language does not simply describe reality; it constructs it. Language is infrastructure—it enables coordination, orientation, and the reproduction of meaning across time and space. For a movement to be effective, its vocabulary must be alive—capable of evolving, spreading, and embedding itself in the daily experiences of those it seeks to mobilize.

Yet, many of the Left’s key terms have undergone a transformation that renders them less actionable, less felt, and less real:

• They have become detached from practice – Terms like solidarity and mutual aid are now more often used as performative declarations than as embedded social relations. Solidarity becomes a gesture rather than a structure of obligation; mutual aid becomes a hashtag rather than a durable system of care.
• They have become hyper-moralized and exclusionary – Instead of inviting participation, certain words now function as boundary markers, distinguishing the ideologically pure from the insufficiently committed. This leads to paralysis rather than expansion—instead of asking, “How can we bring more people into shared struggle?” the emphasis shifts to, “Who is using the right words in the right way?”
• They have been absorbed into bureaucratic and academic discourse – Many of the Left’s most vital concepts have been NGO-ified and academicized, stripped of their disruptive energy. Words like organizing and resistance become grant-friendly, professionalized terms, more suited for white papers than for lived, communal struggle.
• They are overused but underdefined – Some of the most frequently invoked words have lost any clear meaning. What does it mean to “center care”? What does it mean to be “radical” when that word is applied equally to lifestyle choices and revolutionary movements? When everything is called “liberation,” what distinguishes real, substantive transformations from aesthetic rebellion?

The result: a language that no longer moves us because it no longer connects to felt experience. A language that feels more like a moral scaffolding for individual positioning than a set of tools for collective world-building.

The Hegemonic Trap: Outrage, Containment, and Semantic Drift

Hegemonic forces do not simply repress leftist language; they capture, redirect, and exhaust it. This happens in multiple ways:

• The commodification of radical language – Terms like resistance and liberation are now frequently deployed by corporate brands, drained of any structural critique. The language of social change is absorbed into the market, where it can be used to sell sneakers and streaming services.
• The exploitation of moral outrage cycles – The Left is often caught in a reactive posture, responding to right-wing attacks or crises rather than setting its own agenda. This leads to the circulation of language within high-intensity but low-sustainability outrage cycles.
• The dilution of meaning through institutionalization – Once-radical ideas become incorporated into the logic of liberal reformism, where they can exist as terms without consequences. Concepts like diversity and inclusion can be operationalized in ways that leave power structures untouched.
• Algorithmic reinforcement of in-group jargon – Social media accelerates the transformation of political language into coded subcultural currency. Instead of words spreading outward to create shared meaning, they are often reinforced within ideological enclaves, making broad coalition-building harder.

The Limits of Walled Communities and the Fragmentation of Struggle

It is important to recognize that certain leftist organizations, such as the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA), have managed to create communities in which these terms do function with greater coherence. Within their walls, words like solidarity and mutual aid are more susceptible to genuine contestation and more effective at mobilization. However, these organizations often operate as walled communities, which, although open to anyone, exact the fee of ideological commitment—becoming sites of refuge rather than engines of broad democratic world-building.

Leftist organizations like DSA must be in the business of enabling the people they want to help to build their own speech communities and communities of practice. They must be in a position to teach people how to achieve what they, to some degree, have achieved. They must do work that plants the seeds of thousands of new outward-facing cosmopolitan communities, dedicated to certain broadly common principles but each pursuing them in their unique ways and forging distinct communal identities.

Outside of these spaces, leftist efforts tend to be piecemeal rather than integrative, localized rather than systemic. They promise particular improvements rather than articulating a broadly re-conceived way of living. This leaves leftist politics fragmented, unable to present a holistic alternative to the systems it critiques. If political language is to regain its vitality, it must escape these enclosures and serve as the connective tissue of a living, communal structure rather than a subcultural dialect.

Conclusion: Toward a Vocabulary of Communal Power

Future posts will examine key leftist terms through the lens of speech communities and communities of practice, exploring how they can be reclaimed to build a real, living infrastructure of communal meaning-making. Because if the Left is to move again, it must first find words that move us.

#LanguageOfTheLeft

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What do an ancient Egyptian pharaoh and a modern American president have in common?

More than you might think.

Nearly 3,500 years ago, Pharaoh Akhenaten undertook one of the most radical reforms in Egyptian history: a sweeping religious revolution that centered worship on a single god—Aten, the sun disc—and declared that all other gods were false or obsolete. Akhenaten didn’t just change the official religion; he tried to redefine reality itself, dismantling the symbolic and institutional structures that had organized Egyptian life for centuries.

Fast forward to the 21st century, and we find ourselves watching a figure like Donald Trump attempt something uncannily similar—not in theology, but in media, institutions, and the symbolic life of a democracy. His political project has been less about changing policy than about monopolizing interpretation. Truth itself, in this new regime, is increasingly framed as something only he can deliver. Anything outside that channel? “Fake news.”

This isn’t just about power in the usual sense. It’s about enclosure.

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What Is Enclosure?

In the history of land and law, enclosure refers to the fencing-off of common land, taking something that once belonged to many and making it the property of a few. But enclosure isn’t just something you do to land—it can also be done to meaning, to ritual, to language, even to reality itself.

In a broader framework we’re exploring (the Symbiotic Intelligence Framework, or SIF), we treat interpretation—the ability to make sense of the world—as something that is socially distributed. Meaning isn’t manufactured in the brain alone; it’s shaped in relationships, rituals, institutions, stories, and habits. Power, in this sense, isn’t just about force or law—it’s also about who gets to say what things mean.

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Akhenaten: Enclosing the Divine

Before Akhenaten, Egypt had a sprawling pantheon of gods: Amun, Osiris, Hathor, Ptah, and many others. These gods had temples, priesthoods, regional festivals, and mythic roles embedded in everyday life. Religion was not centralized—it was participatory, layered, and locally embedded.

Akhenaten tried to change all that.

He abolished the old gods, built a new capital city, and declared that Aten was the only true god. More dramatically, only he—Akhenaten himself—could interpret or access Aten. The priesthoods were sidelined. The symbols of old belief systems were scrubbed from monuments. A new iconography appeared: rays of sunlight ending in hands, blessing the royal family.

This was not just a religious reform. It was an epistemic coup—a top-down redefinition of what counted as sacred, real, and true.

And yet… the god Bes—a squat, cheerful deity of childbirth, music, and household protection—never really went away. Even under official suppression, Egyptians still kept amulets of Bes, whispered his prayers, and painted his grin on the walls of their homes.

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Trump: Enclosing the Real

In a very different setting, Trump has built his power not by offering a coherent ideology or governing vision, but by waging war on shared reality. Institutions that once offered multiple interpretive frameworks—science, journalism, law, education—have been systematically attacked or delegitimized. Loyalty is prized not for competence but for alignment with a singular interpretive frame.

In this view: – Only Trump can declare what’s real. – All others—journalists, experts, even courts—are liars or traitors. – Truth becomes person-bound, not process-bound.

He doesn’t need to suppress every opposing voice. He just needs to enclose belief—to narrow the trusted zone to a single source.

And yet, here too, there are limits. The household gods of modern life—meme culture, satire, community organizing, independent media, neighborly conversations—persist. Like Bes, they whisper from the corners. They can’t be fully stamped out.

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Why This Matters

Akhenaten’s reforms didn’t last. After his death, Egypt erased his name, restored the old gods, and reopened the symbolic commons. His attempt at enclosure was dramatic—but ultimately reversible.

What happens in our own time remains uncertain. But the stakes are eerily similar.

When we lose the ability to share in meaning-making, we lose something more than civility—we lose reality as a commons. And when one figure or faction claims exclusive rights to define the real, we’re not just facing political conflict. We’re facing epistemic enclosure.

Which is why the survival of Bes still matters.

And maybe why your neighbor’s stubborn attachment to shared truth, humor, or old-fashioned decency matters too.

Not everything can be enclosed.

#TrumpAndMAGA

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