Auroville & soft rebellion

When the AVFO seized our communications platforms, we created alternative channels. When they bulldozed the Youth Centre, we didn’t respond with equivalent force — we found new spaces to gather. When they dismantled our Working Committee, we continued recognising our duly selected representatives.

This is exactly what Willis means when she writes: “Soft rebellion does not meet violence with a mirrored fist but with the supple intelligence of the willow, bending just enough to redirect the force and send it spiraling elsewhere.”

The most powerful part of Willis’s framework is what she calls “sanctuary networks”. She explains that “authoritarianism thrives on isolation, on making people feel like they stand alone”. Our response has been precisely what she describes: “building underground networks of care — mutual aid, resource sharing, protection”.

We’ve created these networks—but let’s be honest, they remain fragile and incomplete. Some of us still fall through the cracks. When about 200 Aurovilians suddenly lost their maintenances, our community support systems were stretched thin. When residents are being targeted with vindictive actions, many of us prefer to pretend all is fine, because fear is creeping in. Many are exhausted from what Willis calls “engagement fatigue” as the assault becomes constant.

I’ve seen this fatigue in myself and others. There are days when, after another announcement of land exchanges, budget cuts and other abuses of power, hope feels distant. Willis acknowledges this reality when she writes: “And so I am writing this for everyone who, like me, has tried to outrun the fire only to become the kindling. Who knows the high of going all in, only to crash, emptied out.” Yet she reminds us that “endurance is its own kind of rebellion”. This is what we need to cultivate now — not just flashes of resistance but sustainable networks that can withstand prolonged pressure.

As Willis writes, “A revolution with no head cannot be beheaded.” Our strength isn’t in hierarchical power but in our interconnectedness.

Willis also speaks about “slowing the machine” by choosing to “work just enough to survive, then redirecting energy into resistance, into community, into slowness”. We’ve seen this in how we’ve maintained our focus on what matters—our ecological work, our educational initiatives, our community bonds—rather than being consumed by reaction.

What practical guidance can we take from Willis’s concept?

1. Strengthen and expand our mutual aid networks — identify who still needs support and how to support them.

2. Create more resilient communication channels as censorship increases.

3. Practice what she calls “disobedient joy” — gathering, singing, creating art that reminds us “another world is possible”.

4. Continue our “rituals of rewilding” by maintaining our environmental work despite obstacles.

5. Rest when needed — as Willis writes, “The machine thrives on exhaustion... choose to rest when the system demands exhaustion”.

I find hope in Willis’s observation that “beneath even the most rigid structure, roots are moving”. The 20,000 trees they’ve cut cannot erase the forest we've grown for 55 years, nor can administrative takeovers erase the spirit of what we’ve built together.

Even in moments when hope dims, remember that Willis wrote about soft rebellion specifically for times like these: “for everyone who has tried to outrun the fire only to become the kindling” we need a different strategy — ”one that doesn’t just burn, but smolders, spreads, takes root”.

The full collection of Willis’s writings (at thehoneyedoracle.substack.com) offers more wisdom on navigating through these challenging times without becoming brittle ourselves. I encourage you to read it.

Through all of this, I remind myself: they may control the offices, but they cannot control the roots of Auroville that run deeper than any foundation.

In community and persistent hope.