The Dance of Collective Action: From Passive Consumers to Active Citizens

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the future, not just the problems we face, but what it could look like if we truly came together to shape something better. This piece is part of that exploration: imagining how we move from being passive consumers to active citizens, and what it might take to get there.

The result. A message from the future, about how we found the others and danced a new world into being.

The Dance began in 2019.

At first, it was hard to notice. The floor was empty, and no music played to guide the steps. It felt lonely, fragmented. A few brave dancers entered, their presence fleeting, uncertain.

In other places, there were dance floors too, more structured, yet rooted in fear, in anger, in the notion of the “other.” Inherently fragile.

But this… this was something else.

Movement 1: Face the Truth, Together (to the melody of the Robin)

These first dance steps were like the robin’s dawn chorus, not a clear melody, but a tentative, high-pitched whistle, broken by silence. A first voice piercing the dark. We had forgotten how to sing, how to move together, buried under the weight of consumerism, separated into individuals, defined by the things we owned.

We were learning again. Learning that we were citizens, not consumers.

Those early steps were awkward. We stumbled. We shamed instead of celebrated. Few joined at first. But slowly, we discovered the power of truth shared in community. Grief, fear, anger, and overwhelm, once seen as weakness, became a route to connection. As we made space for honesty, we began to form bonds.

Movement 2: Decide What Matters, Together (to the song of the Blackbird)

Next others began to dance. Like the song of the Blackbird, they laid foundations. Their part carried something new.

We had been isolated, divided by systems that fed on separation. But the more we danced, the more we allowed ourselves to feel, the more we shook off paralysis. And then something sparked: we realised we weren’t alone. We were discovering ACTionism: the art of finding the others and taking collective action.

There wasn’t just one dance floor forming, there were many. They sprang up across places and practices. Farmers danced to the rhythm of regeneration. Designers and makers reshaped consumption into community. Accountants helped us remember what we valued. Educators reimagined how we grow. Elders stepped forward, carrying wisdom. Activists challenged. Ancient culture reminded. Citizens rebuilt politics.

Each floor developed its own beat, its own rhythm. But they were connected, they echoed from the past, repeating, evolving. Like the Blackbird’s song: a melancholic whistle, full of space, we listened as much as we moved. The dance was still imperfect, it always would be, the endings unfinished, but they were made together.

Blackbirds are known to mimic. And so we mimicked one another, not in uniformity, but in collective spirit. A shared dance took shape. And with it came the questions:

What do we truly care about?
What are we protecting, restoring, or creating?

As we danced and sang, a common purpose emerged. We remembered: we didn’t need permission to act.

Movement 3: Find Your Role in the Work (to the warble of the Thrush)

Everyone had a role to play. You didn’t have to master the steps, just find your own rhythm. Maybe you cooked, organised, repaired, listened, designed, taught, told stories. Every contribution mattered. Every action helped shape the whole.

The volume began to rise, like the Thrush. Loud, diverse, patterned. Some repeated familiar moves, like a stitch in a sewing machine, they knew what was theirs to do. Others shifted, floating between roles, guides, ushers, igniters.

They watched, listened:
What’s already happening?
Where can I add energy?
How can I show up in ways I love?

That’s when the movement began to thrive. The action became joyful. It became real.

Movement 4: Build Local Relationships & Trust (to the chirp of the sparrow)

Then came the next phase: relationships. Trust formed, like conga lines weaving through the crowd. Like the: social, adaptable, house sparrow, loud in its togetherness. Its chirps cut through the chorus, reminding us that connection is everything.

Before real change, there must be trust. And that trust didn’t arrive overnight. It grew through ACTion, by showing up, helping out, listening, dancing, over and over again.

Trust became our mycelium, unseen, but holding everything together. We soon learned that change moved at the speed of trust.

Unlike the dance floors built from fear, this foundation couldn’t splinter. It was built on joy. It could weather anything.

Movement 5: Take Collective Action (to the rhythm of the chiffchaff)

The dance began to crystallise. Two even, clear movements, like the call of the Chiffchaff, rippled across the floors. The sign of spring. A metronome of renewal.

We moved into collective action.

Ideas took shape: energy co-ops, food growing schemes, repair cafés, reuse networks, tool libraries, community kitchens, transitions at work. The dance floor became a demonstration, we protested, learnt the power of collective boycotts, but we also built, grounded in possibility. Our notes were creativity and action, they played one after an other, until we spiralled, hand in hand into a future.

We didn’t just respond to crisis, we built. Not alone, together. With one foot in the old world, and the other in the new. We didn’t just resist, we reimagined.

Movement 6: Reimagine the Future, Together (to the sound of the citizens)

Now, we sang, our chorus rose, rattling windows. And with it: story, art, ritual, listening, imagination. Dreaming wasn’t a distraction. It was the direction. Our faith returned, restorative, rooted, rebuilt as citizens of a more-than-human world.

As systems collapsed, we didn’t just survive, we reimagined. Hope became our resource. Shared imagination, our power. And yes, we danced.

We danced hard, not with fists, but with joy. The dance floors built on fear, on anger, on the idea of the “other” began to crack and fall apart. In their place, our dance floors swelled, as we dismantled division. Our conga lines grew longer, our sense of interdependence deepened. We repeated our moves, strengthened our rhythms: feel, connect, act, imagine, again and again. Our dance didn't become a march to a single beat; it was messy, wild, and uncontainable.

We weren’t just changing what we did, we were changing who we were, together. And that changed everything.

The movements, shaped by relationship, sparked real change. They rippled outward, across neighbourhoods, networks, systems. They formed the roots of a just, regenerative future.

Our true agency arose from the collective rhythm.

And we did it.

In 2035 we drowned out the fear with creativity and action. A shared rhythm. A collective vision. There is still much work to be done but, 'WE' have reconnected, built bridges to each other and the more-than-human-world. 'WE' own the energy, 'WE' own our future.

We dance like everyone is watching. And we don’t care. From that messy, joyful, deeply human rhythm, our collective agency is born.

We are no longer passive consumers, we have become active citizens. With a voice. With rhythm. With collective agency. We found the others, and danced a new world into being.

Our collective vision isn't a distant dream, we now create it, it is real. And as we move together, ‘OUR’ dance reaches full swing. All of a sudden, everything is possible.

We danced ourselves free from the shackles of the system.