15. Value Part Three: A Culture of Value

Post Number Fifteen of The Movement We Need

If we want to build a welcoming, broad-based movement for change, we must create a culture where everyone can feel that they are seen and valued for the full complexity of who they are. Value is one of five core human needs, including safety, belonging, agency and meaning, that successful movements meet, and one of the most important. When people feel valued, they can commit to the goals or work of a group.

Each of these five support and reinforce one another. When we feel valued and safe, we also feel that we belong. The practices that strengthen our sense of belonging also reinforce our sense of value, safety, and agency.

In my last post, I looked at some of the things we do that attack our sense of value, undercut our feeling of belonging, make us unsafe, limit our sense of agency and undermine meaning and purpose. In this post, I want to look at the positive things we can do within our groups, organizations, and movements to create a culture of appreciation and value.

(This series of writings is an experiment—I’m writing a book and releasing it a chapter at a time on Substack, accompanied with podcasts available on Substack, Apple, Spotify, etc. This is the third post in the section on Value, and the fifthteenth post in the series. I have now numbered the posts that are part of the book, to make them easier to find,)

Forge Real Relationships:

Connect with people beyond the immediate issue of the moment, the working group, the latest campaign. Invite people over for dinner. Watch the Super Bowl or go see a dance performance or movie or have a picnic in the park. Do something that allows you to enjoy each other's company and connect as full people, not as just another recruit for the work at hand.

Treat One Another with Respect:

Set norms that allow everyone a voice in meetings, discussions and decisions. Listen to people. Don’t interrupt or talk over one another, but give people time to complete a thought. That said, practicing respect means taking responsibility for leaving time for others to be heard, and not dominating the discussion. Avoid blaming, shaming, and name-calling: instead, learn to practice constructive critique. Use the gender pronouns that people request, and call them by the names they want to be called by.

Create a Culture of Appreciation:

Acknowledge people’s work and thank them for their contributions, especially those who do the behind-the-scenes jobs that can easily get overlooked. We often thank speakers at public events, but how often do we thank the bookeepers? This is important, not just because the people being thanked will feel good, but because it sends the larger message that this is a group that appreciates what people bring to it. And it can be important in your personal life. Every now and then I drop a note of thanks to my internet provider, who runs a small company that provides service in this very rural location. I tell him how grateful I am to have reliable internet up here that doesn’t depend on Elon Musk! Usually, he only hears from me, and others, when something is not working.

We can do the same for politicians when they take a stand we approve of, or come through for us—even partially. Many of us are writing and calling our representatives as never before, and protesting the many wrongs we see. That’s important work—but we should also make sure they hear our appreciation when they do speak out strongly, or move in the direction we want. Politicians will probably never pass a perfect bill. The very nature of the system works against that, as every bill and policy requires some level of compromise. But if their acts are moving us forward, we should thank them, even if we fall far short of our ultimate goal.

We can also create more formal, even ritualized expressions of thanks. The Onondaga Nations begin gatherings with a Thanksgiving Address, in which they offer gratitude to all of nature. This can take many minutes, sometimes hours, even days in ceremony. Unless we are part of those nations, we shouldn’t try to appropriate this specific custom, but we can adopt the idea of beginning with gratitude.

In Pagan circles, we open rituals, and sometimes classes or meetings, by thanking the four elements, the fifth—spirit, the ancestors, and whatever deities or spiritual forces we want to bring in. Many indigenous cultures thank the ancestors, offering food, drink or incense as a tangible form of gratitude.

Ceremonies of appreciation, awards, certificates, public honorings of all sorts can also be of value. When we taught gardening and permaculture classes in inner-city San Francisco neighborhoods, we made sure to print up diplomas for every course a student completed. Mentors from the community expressed to us that, with gun violence prevalent and high rates of poverty and disease, many families never get to see their children graduate from High School or College, so these certificates of achievement meant a lot to them. Some indigenous tribes create honor songs for special people. Public celebrations of someone’s achievements, gifts that make tangible community respect, can all be ways to show that we value one another.

Appreciate Our Victories—Even Partial Ones:

Honestly, we rarely if ever win a complete victory. But we should celebrate every small win that moves us in the direction of a world of justice and peace. Otherwise, we spiral down into discouragement and apathy.

When a thousand people crowd into a town hall and shout out their fury at their Republican rep, he may not shift his position, but the strong show of opposition is a victory. A protest at a Tesla showroom might not derail Elon Musk, but if it prevents sales for an afternoon, gets some public notice, shows that people are outraged by this unelected billionaire shafting vital government services and makes us feel good, that’s a victory!

Tell Stories:

We are creatures who love narratives, and one of the best ways to fully see and value people is to listen to their stories. Here are some of the kinds of stories we might tell:

Life Stories

We contain multitudes. All of us are complex, multi-faceted and multi-dimensional. In my posts on Belonging, I’ve written about the importance of seeing and acknowledging the complexity of our identities, of seeing one another beyond the stereotypes associated with the categories we think of as identities: race, gender, heritage, age, sexual orientation, physical capacities, etc.

As an aging person myself, I’ve also come to realize how important it is that we acknowledge one another’s full life history, our track records of achievements and even the failures we’ve learned from. Older people have navigated thousands of sticky situations, experienced myriads of conflicts, survived difficult love affairs, worked many jobs, possibly raised a number of kids, and navigated immense changes in technology, culture and lifestyle. Younger people bring a fresh perspective, new eyes and imagination to our current predicament. We need to value all those voices.

Telling personal stories might mean simply having a check-in before a meeting, when people can tell a bit about their week or about what’s happening for them in the moment. For groups that are relatively small in size, we might give each person a short time to say what's going on in their lives, as it relates to the work of the group or around anything they might need special support for. This provides a way to get to know each person beyond their role in the meeting.

Sometimes specific prompts can be helpful: Tell us one thing that’s inspiring you at this moment? Or tell us a rose, a thorn and a bud—something good that’s happening, something uncomfortable or disturbing, something you’re beginning. You can use any prompt that fits your particular culture. At one meeting here in the hills, the prompt was “Tell us about your water system.” We are not on city water, and everyone knew exactly the output of their springs, the number of their tanks, the configuration of all their pipes and drip systems. It was fascinating—but maybe only to us!

Check-ins can get long, and tend to get longer and longer as you go around the circle. One helpful tip is to set a timer that will ring after an agreed-upon time limit for each speaker. That avoids the need for the facilitator or timekeeper to interrupt someone’s story, and puts the responsibility on each speaker to respect the time.

in larger groups where time doesn’t allow for a full check-in, we might start with a weather report: if the way you're feeling today were a state of the weather, what would it be? Sunny? Cloudy? Stormy? A fire tornado?

Or break into pairs, groups of three or small groups for check-ins, so that everyone gets to tell their story to someone and be heard. This also allows participants to meet and make a more intimate connection with a few others, and feel more at home.

When a new group is forming, or if a group needs to renew its sense of belonging, scheduling a retreat or even a special meeting devoted to telling our personal stories can help members understand and connect at a deeper level.

The feminist Consciousness-Raising groups of the late ‘60s and ‘70s were based on telling our personal stories. Each week we’d gather at someone’s home, and take turns speaking about our own experiences on a topic, for example, work, or your mother, or your body. Out of those stories came the feminist agenda: issues such as rape or domestic violence had never been considered political before, but when, in a circle of ten women, you learned that six had been raped, suddenly the issue was revealed to be structural, not just an individual failing.

Alcoholics Anonymous and other 12-step programs are based on the power of story. By listening to the stories of others, and being given the opportunity to be a speaker at a meeting and tell a story of your own, people struggling with addiction learn that they are not alone, that their struggles may fit a common pattern, and can find help and support to change.

After an action, or after an intense or traumatic event, telling our stories can be healing and also instructive. Medical personnel debrief after an incident to learn how to respond more effectively the next time. While for some people, debriefing can intensify trauma, for others it can help make sense of a painful event or clarify the impact of an action. At the G8 actions in Scotland in 2003, activists in autonomous affinity groups mounted a series of roving blockades all over the roads, bridges, and access routes to Gleneagles, the golf resort where the meetings took place. “What only became apparent after the blockades were over and all the stories were collected was the extent of the action: every route into or around Gleneagles was disrupted with small or large blockades... One of the qualities of this action is that while the overall whole was tremendously effective, no one part felt very effective or dramatic in the moment. Some people spent the whole day being followed or corralled by cops. Only later did they realize that by distracting the cops they might have opened the road for others to blockade.” (1)

In the early ‘80s, we were held in a makeshift jail for almost two weeks after a Blockade at the Livermore Weapons Lab. Everyone was getting tired and discouraged from the terrible food and the cold—we were out in tents on uncomfortable cots with only thin blankets. One of the Affinity Groups—the small groups that took action together—was composed of elders, and one night we invited them to tell us their stories. It was powerful to hear the range of their experiences, from some who were veterans of every movement from labor organizing in the ‘30s to Vietnam protests, and some who had never been activists before but who feared for their grandchildren in a world threatened by the nuclear weapons the lab designed and developed. We were so inspired and energized that we were able to maintain jail solidarity until the authorities agreed to our demand for equal treatment for all.

Movement History:

We can also learn from movement history, which is generally not taught in school and is too easily forgotten. I’ll never forget teaching a group of British activists, many of them dedicated feminists, in 2000, and discovering that most had never heard about the actions at Greenham Common, a U.S. Missile Base where feminist peace activists had encamped and protested for more than twenty years!

Someone who is a lifelong activist will have a history of participation in many progressive causes. It’s likely they'll have made some mistakes along the way, taken positions that others now disagree with, acted differently in the context of their times than we might today. If we want people to learn and grow, we have to give room for them to make mistakes and learn from them, to change their position on issues and to respond to changing contexts.

Back in the ‘90s, a group called Detroit Summer formed, mentored by legendary activists Grace Lee Boggs and Jimmy Boggs, to bring young people into Inner City Detroit for a summer to do community organizing and practical projects. One of their traditions was to invite older activists for evening talks to share their memories of the Civil Rights Movement, the Peace Movement and local history. It was so moving to hear that history from those who had been part of it!

Telling Ancestor Stories

One of the most powerful ways of bridging some of the differences that divide us is by telling our ancestor stories. When we tell the stories of our grandparents or our more distant ancestors, we can find threads of connection with others while also recognizing our differences. Bill Aal and the late Margo Adair of Tools for Change offer this prompt: Who are your people and how did they get to the place where you were born? (2) .

In the U.S., some of our ancestors may have come here in chains, enslaved. Others may have come fleeing pogroms or famine, or looking for a better life. If you are indigenous, living on the land your ancestors have tended from earliest times, you may know both stories of oppression and trauma, but also something of the rich heritage of your culture. If your ancestors were enslaved African Americans, you may have heard the stories of the death ships and the plantations, and also of the rebellions, the Underground Railroad, the struggles to survive. If they were Chinese laborers on the railroads, you may know of the hardships and loneliness they endured, but also of the creativity, ingenuity and strength that enabled them to survive. Growing up Jewish 1950s and ‘60s I learned so many stories of the oppression of our people that my friends and I kept a body count in our Hebrew class of how many people died in each of the stories we read. But we also heard the stories of liberation and rebellion, from Moses leading the Hebrew slaves out of Egypt to the Macabees rebelling against the Greek ruler Antiochus.

History is complex, and so are the stories of our ancestors. At a time when immigrants are under attack, it's important for all those of us who come from immigrants to remember that we do. The ‘melting pot’ of America tended to erase the rich diversity of ethnicities and heritages the immigrants brought: rye bread, soda bread, focaccia and challah all got wonderbreaded into ‘whiteness’. But being Irish is not the same as being English! Learning about our own heritage is an important counter to the blenderization of diversity that erases our distinctive histories and simplifies the world into ‘white’ and ‘others’.

When we wrestle with the impacts of colonization, slavery, and the other ills some of our ancestors may have inflicted upon others, it's also important to remember that all of us have ancestors who stood up against oppression, just as all lineages contain some cruel oppressors. Even the English have a heritage, not just of conquest and empire, but of centuries of struggle against oppression. Did you learn in school anything about Wat Tyler, John Ball and the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381? Or Gerard Winstanly and the Diggers of 1649? Or the German Peasants’ Revolt of 1524 and 25? What about the abolitionists, the sixty year struggle in the U.S. to gain votes for women? The many thousands of other struggles against tyranny that we can claim and identify with as part of our heritage, even as we acknowledge privileges and benefits that we also inherit.

In the early 90s, around the 500th anniversary of Columbus’ arrival the Americas, our earth-based spirituality community, Reclaiming, held a series of multicultural rituals. In one daylong festival, we ringed the large hall with altars representing the different ancestries and heritages of participants. Each also held a basket filled with strips of cloth. Participants spent the afternoon travelling from altar to altar, taking time to sit and tell the stories of their own ancestors and to hear the stories of others.

For each story, we were gifted a strip of cloth. As we told our tales, we braided and wove them together into a long, long rope. The ritual culminated with a giant spiral dance. In the center was a large framework for a basket. As we danced and chanted, we wound our way toward the center, and passed the rope forward. Weavers in the center took it and wove it into a giant, ceremonial basket to represent the weaving together of our stories into a container that could represent a diverse community. The ritual created a sense of connection and allyship that bridged our differences, and embodied the beauty of a culture that celebrates diversity.

Cultural Sharing—Respectfully:

Telling our own stories is important, but so is learning about the heritages and cultures of others. One of the great gifts of our time is the opportunity we have to share culture, art, music, literature, poetry, dance and cuisine of a diverse world. We must be careful to avoid cultural appropriation: when people of the dominant culture cherry pick aspects of another culture, removed from their context and from the real-life struggles of their people, or use them for personal gain without giving back to the community of origin. But cultural sharing is different from appropriation, and if we refuse to learn from other cultures, we reinforce the supremacy of European culture and norms.

Many years ago, as I was struggling through my own questions and confusion around this issue, I decided to ask the ancestors. I created a simple ritual, meditated, and waited for inspiration. The ancestors spoke. “We don't really care who your ancestors were,” they told me. “What we care about is what you're doing for the children.”

How do I know if I have license to explore or enjoy aspects of a culture that’s not my own? Do I have any commitment to the children, the future, of that culture? That might mean a literal commitment to an actual child: I’m blessed with several African American Goddess children, which made it important to celebrate Kwanzaa as well as Winter Solstice, Hanukkah and Christmas. It can also mean a commitment to justice for a people when their future is threatened. The first Sweat Lodge I was ever privileged to take part in was when a group from the American Indian Movement asked for support from white activists for their takeover of an unused Federal site near Sacramento where they were establishing an indigenous university, D-Q University. Several dozen of us went and encamped there to be a buffer, should the Federal Marshalls swarm in, and we were invited to participate in a sweat lodge. Since then, I’ve experienced many, including a women’s sweat at the Standing Rock mobilization in 2016. It's a powerful experience, of deep spiritual significance. I've always felt honored to have the opportunity to participate and learn from elders and teachers. But I would never set myself up as a leader of the sweat lodge, any more than I’d hang up a shingle and advertise myself as a brain surgeon. I’m not trained in either discipline. Christian culture tends to think of religion and spirituality as universal truths. Christianity, especially, has been set on proselytizing. But many indigenous cultures look at spirituality differently, as the specific set of instructions given to their people, not as a universal prescription. Part of the motivation for developing our Pagan traditions, with their roots in Europe and the Middle East, was to reconnect to our own indigenous roots, obscure and half-forgotten as they may be.

There's also a difference between specific spiritual practices given to a tribe and creative offerings such as literature, music, and poetry. True, in some cultures a song or a story belongs to whomever created it, and others need permission to sing or tell it. There are sacred drums which are only meant to be played in ceremony by those who have studied and trained for the role.

But there are other drums, for example, the Middle Eastern doumbek, that are shared across many different places, time periods and musical traditions, and the only stricture about playing it is to learn to play it as well as you can.

A poem or a piece of music is often considered a gift to the world. You might need permission to reprint or record it, especially if you make money from it, and you should always acknowledge where it came from. People of color and women have been so often made invisible, their creative work attributed to ‘anonymous’, that giving credit where credit is due is an important mark of respect. But you don’t need permission to listen, read, enjoy creative works and explore their meanings.

Another important aspect of respectful sharing is giving back. If I record someone’s song and make money from it, I’m obligated to send them royalties. If I benefit from another’s cultural practice, I should return something to the community from whence it came, whether that be a financial return, or active support for the real-life struggles many frontline communities face.

In San Francisco, El Dia de Los Muertos on November 2 has for many decades been an inspiring example of cultural sharing. In Mexico, this day sacred to the ancestors is a time to visit the family graves and bring flowers and offerings. People create beautiful altars, ofrendas or offerings to honor those who have passed, with their pictures, mementos of their lives, their favorite foods and drink, marigolds, sugar skulls and pan de muertos, the bread sculptures that represent the beloved dead.

The immigrant community in San Francisco, far away from their family graves, began celebrating El Dia de los Muertos with a procession, led by Aztec dancers, where people carried candles to represent their lost loved ones. Over the decades this has become an event celebrated by the whole community. A local park becomes the setting for dozens of altars, set up by people of many different faiths, heritages and traditions. Local artists are invited to do installations. Schools send contingents to march together. Sometimes the altars are political: in 2024 there were altars to both the Israeli hostages and the victims of the Israeli military assault on Gaza. More often, they are purely personal. People in the neighborhood set up altars on their doorsteps or hold dance parties in the streets, which are filled with thousands of people, extremely diverse and entirely peaceful. It’s an event that embodies the beauty, color and richness of a diverse world, and counters the racist lies about immigrants that fuel the rise of fascism.

Being respectful about other cultures, being open to learning and sharing, is one important aspect of creating a culture of value.

Norms and Expectations:

If we want our movement to be a welcoming space where all who come feel seen and valued, we need to look honestly at our own norms and expectations. Are they truly welcoming? Might they be inherently exclusive some way? If all the real business gets done over a pint at the pub, where does that leave someone who's struggling with alcoholism? If the group bonds by hiking through the wilderness, where does that leave someone who is unable to do so?

I’m not suggesting that the group should never take a hike together, but rather to be aware that if this is the key rite of bonding, some people are going to be left out and feel devalued. Is there a way to create additional opportunities, that can really value everyone?

I once gave a retreat at a beautiful workshop center on an island off the coast of Vancouver Island. One of our participants was wheelchair bound, in the later stages of ALS,a debilitating progressive disease. The group wanted to do a ritual at the ocean, but we didn’t want to leave her out. The beach was stony, and it wasn’t possible to bring her wheelchair out to the shore. After much thought and discussion, and asking her what she felt comfortable with, we came up with a plan. We brought her wheelchair out as close as we could to the ocean. Then we formed a double line, and passed her hand-over-hand along to the tide line, where we could carefully immerse her in the water. The ritual was deeply meaningful to her—because she felt valued and cared for. And caring for her, using our creativity to find a way to include her and still give ourselves the experience we craved, made the ritual much more meaningful for all of us.

A welcoming group also will establish a way to let people know what the norms are. Of course, inherent in the very notion of ‘norms’ is the unspoken expectation that people know them without being told. In many indigenous cultures, there’s a clear expectation that people show respect by sitting back, shutting up and not putting themselves forward until they’ve watched and listened long enough to figure out what the norms are. In the dominant culture, however, we’re taught to make ourselves know, offer something, and grab some attention. We not only don’t know the norms, we often don’t know that we don’t know.

Years ago, I was invited to a gathering of indigenous women with white women to build bridges of understanding and alliances of friendship. Unfortunately, it fell prey to one misunderstanding after another, that culminated when a well-meaning, young white woman who was leading a moon circle for menstruating woman decided to have them bless the poles of the sweat lodge. She didn’t know that menstruating women were never allowed to enter the lodge, and that their presence made the poles unusable. She didn’t even know that protocol required her to ask before interacting with any of the sweat lodge materials. Her intention was to honor the process, not to disrespect it. But she also didn't think to ask permission first or to inquire about whether or not this offering would be well received. And the organizers hadn’t thought to warn people about the taboos surrounding the sweat lodge, as those norms were so engrained in their culture that they couldn’t conceive of anyone not knowing enough to ask first.

At the Standing Rock Mobilization, led by indigenous people in 2016 to counter the Dakota Access Pipeline, when more and more non-indigenous folks kept arriving to support the actions, organizers created an orientation that laid out clearly expectations and ground rules, for example, not speaking at the Council fire if you weren’t indigenous unless you had permission from the elders, not offering non-indigenous prayers or songs, again, unless you asked first. This didn’t eliminate all cultural clashes, but it prevented many.

Understanding that we often don't know what will be respectful or offensive in another culture is one of the ways we can undo a sense of entitlement. If we are creating a group or a gathering where people will be invited who may not know the norms, finding a way to explain them shows that we value newcomers.

Showing Up:

Another way we can show that we value one another is by showing up. If you're a parent and your child is in play, you go to it, not because you think the third grade interpretation of “Where the Wild Things Are” is going to be a theatrical triumph, but because you know it's important for your child that you're there in the audience watching. Your presence says, “I care. I value you.”

If you're part of a group or an organization, showing up to support one another when someone has a performance or a life event such as a graduation or wedding are ways we can show that we value one another. When someone is sick, hospitalized or dies, friends show up with help, food, sympathy and comfort. It's common, not just in indigenous cultures but middle America, that when someone dies, neighbors and relatives arrive with a hot dish. When people are in grief and mourning, they are less capable of ordinary self-care, let alone organizing and planning. In a healthy community, friends and neighbors step in.

Offering Practical Support:

Another way that we show that we value people is by offering practical support when it's needed. This could be as simple as making sure someone has a ride to the meeting or a ride home. It might mean providing childcare, or ASL interpretation to allow deaf people to participate in a group, or scheduling gatherings at places accessible to wheelchairs or on the routes of public transportation.

I've been privileged to teach at OUR Ecovillage on Vancouver Island for many years, and I've seen the way the ecovillage community has developed relations with the Cowichan Nation, which has a reserve nearby. Brandy Gallagher, founder of the ecovillage, and many others have helped cook and serve food for ceremonies, woven baskets for potlatches, and offered the ecovillage facilities for gatherings. Over the years, we've been able to bring our permaculture courses to the reserve, not just to meet with the elders, but to plant trees, clear brush, design food forests, and demonstrate in a very-hands on way that we value the connection.

When we organize political actions that involve the risk of arrest, we also organize legal and jail support. When someone gets released from jail, we're there with food, warmth, rides, blankets, whatever is needed. It's a practical demonstration that we value one another and appreciate the sacrifice that people have made in the action. Mobilizations offer training, gathering spaces, food, sometimes camping spaces or ways to connect with locals for housing. We’ve also organized medical clinics, herbal first aid, street medics and trauma healing spaces, and everything from graywater systems to compost toilets.

Today, many people are organizing mutual aid groups and practical support for those who are being targeted by the current administration. During COVID, activist groups organized neighborhood support to bring food to those who could not go out. During Hurricane Sandy in New York, groups that originated in Occupy Wall Street provided relief to elders trapped on high floors of apartment buildings with no electricity. After Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, former Black Panther Malik Rahim put out a call to activists to come help the community and founded Common Ground Relief, which distributed emergency supplies, set up a medical clinic that was functioning a month before the Red Cross arrived on the scene, and provided many other sorts of practical aid. All of these are ways of showing that we value people.

Emotional and trauma support:

In many political and revolutionary organizations, the norm is to be brave and tough, with a kind of unspoken machismo. The most risky actions are assumed to be the most powerful and effective, and ‘strength’ means not showing fear, anxiety, or depression. Rarely does anyone identify that these assumptions internalized the same ideology that fuels male domination and militarism.

The armies of the world have learned to recognize post traumatic stress disorder, originally termed ‘shell shock’, not as a personal weakness but as a human response to overwhelming fear and loss. Activists have also had to learn that confronting the power of the corporate state can also be traumatizing. In many of the mobilizations around global justice in the early ‘oos, we began setting up trauma support spaces in our convergence centers. There we could offer safe space for people to retreat, regroup, talk about with had happened, and perhaps receive healing herbs or massage or simply be in a quiet space until they feel ready to go back on the street again. Making space for our emotions and caring for our psychological and spiritual distress are ways of showing that we value one another as more than radical cannon fodder.

Many Ways To Show Value:

All of these are ways that groups can create a culture of value, one in which people can feel seen in the fullness of who they are, appreciated for their contributions, supported in their challenges, and empowered to grow. When we feel valued, we also feel that we belong. We feel safe in the group, and find opportunities to make an impact on the world. Our voices are heard, and together we develop a common sense of purpose and meaning.

A movement that provides positive ways for us to meet these core human needs will be stronger, smarter, longer lasting and more effective in creating a world in which every human being, and the natural world we’re part of, can be valued and cherished.

Notes:

1. Starhawk, “Diary of a Compost Toilet Queen” in Shut Them Down: the G8, Gleneagles 2005 and The Movement of M.ovements. Leeds, UK and New York, jointly published by Dissent! and Autonomy Media, 2005 Pp. 196, 197

(2) https://www.toolsforchange.org/

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