Keynote: Stavros Stavrides

On 5 July 2024, architect and academic Stavros Stavrides delivered the opening keynote of the Cinema of Commoning Symposium. Below is an edited transcript of his presentation.

Stavros Stavrides: Through my contribution, I would like to support the idea that emancipation involves collective inventiveness. Part of this inventiveness is how people use art to explore the potentialities of different worlds beyond the ones we currently live in.

Let’s start with introducing the concept of potentiality. Potentiality is not simply something that simply exists, waiting to be actualized. We create, perform and expand potentialities through our actions. As a Mexican theorist  once said,“the art of the possible consists in extending it.” We create the possible; we practice and perform it. This is why I connect potentiality to commoning.

Commoning isn’t just about sharing things more justly, although this is an important element of commoning. It is about rethinking social organization and the question of power through equality, mutual support and care. Commoning is inherently linked to resisting power accumulation. It’s not merely distributive; it expands social potentialities toward a more just society. It also involves an active reimagining of what the future can be.

Of course, I understand that by saying this, I’m entering this discussion through a specific entrance. It’s not that we all agree on one definition of what commoning is. There are a lot of theorists or even institutional actors who use the language of commons and commoning by limiting it at the same time, to a kind of (within capitalist conditions) a more humane or more equal, egalitarian form of distribution of goods and services. I strongly suggest that commoning is a lot more than that. Commoning is expanding the field of social potentialities in the direction of a more just, egalitarian society. So, that is why I also think that it has to do with a kind of imaginary, a forming of a thought of what the future can be.

Commoning is about creating a common ground, which does not pre-exist. This is why I think you also chose the verb and not the noun for this gathering. Commoning is a practice that creates its own ground. We’re not talking about a state of homogeneity here; Commoning is a process, where differences come together to explore the possibility of building a shared future. I find the metaphor of the threshold useful here—it represents a space in the making, belonging to no one and everyone. It’s similar to the process of translation.

What do we do when we translate? We seek to find common ground between two languages. While we may fantasize about artificial intelligence, we recognize from the beginning that this common ground cannot be automated. It is a process of continuous tests and exploration—a poetic process. Translation is always in the making, and the common ground between languages is an act, not a final condition.

That is why I try to remind you with some images that perhaps show the potentialities of thresholds. Is this a negotiation between people on a literal threshold? This is an image from Cuba.

There are similar images I could share taken in Madrid, another space of negotiations, an area where common ground is neither assumed nor pre-established. Or in Paris, by the river. Or in Tunis, by the sea. It is indeed a process in which people actually — and this highlights the role of the body — are not engaging alone mentally. It is a process of exploration, where real presence makes a difference. Through bodily presence, we shape this common ground, understanding the bodies of others as a form of negotiation involving all senses, transmitting effects, and drawing from the experiences and memories we carry. Commoning is not about reaching agreement. It’s not the liberal idea of finding common ground through deliberation. Commoning, I suggest, is much more than that. It is a process in which we discover this common ground as a potentiality for acting together.

So, what about creativity then? I believe that collective creativity is an essential element of commoning. This links to the ideas that are being developed in the Cinema of Commoning Symposium. Collective creativity is a process in which people explore the limits of the possible together, connected directly to potentiality. It also pushes the boundaries of possible social relations. Collective creativity is not simply a way of doing things that are separate from everydayness or usual social relations. It is not about art as a type of performance sanctioned by certain liberties and institutional definitions. No, it is a process, one that includes art, through which we explore the limits of imagination and reality. Collective creativity has the potentiality of emancipation, because it reveals potential new social relations. In what follows, I will try to explore this collective creativity in at least three or four domains with examples.

A small methodological note: this is not about the West producing grand theories while the rest of the world provides case studies. No, movements develop theories. Theories emerge from the particularity of our experiences, and this particularity takes on a general, international significance. What you are doing here, for example, is not a “case study” of commoning activism. It’s a space that produces theory about commoning, equally with any other academic or non-academic environment that considers itself as a center of theory production. So, my “case studies” are not simply case studies. They are experiences I have participated in and learned from, which have helped me develop the theoretical suggestions I will share. They have also shown me the potentialities of this discussion. In many parts of the world, as you know, the word “commoning” is not even used. It’s more of an academic invention. But it serves us well because it can encompass actions happening in many parts of the world, sharing a common ground or a certain potentiality. I strongly suggest that we collect these experiences as ways to open the field of social potentialities.

Let us start with the creativity of collective expressions. These can include, but are not limited to, the art of graffiti. While graffiti occurs within the limits of the city, it transforms the body of a city. These marks can expand urban imagination and push the limits of the possible. Graffiti is not simply a form of decoration, not even a scream; It’s a way to expand shared imagination. These expressions are not simply the expression of one man; they are usually made by so-called “crews.” They are forms of saying, asking and demanding things that have to do with life. As one unnamed Colombian graffiti activist said,  “we will keep on screaming about our rights until you hear us.” This form of creativity is not simply an expression of a collective self; it’s a form of demand, a form of presence. It’s a performance of doing things through art.

Take Fernando Traverso, an Argentinian artist stenciling his bicycle across the world. People are using this bicycle as a form of protest. Why the bicycle? It is what remained of a friend who was waiting for an appointment, a rendezvous, during a dictatorship, and then was vanished and killed by the dictatorship .So this bicycle symbolizes an absence. But when you actually perform its presence on different worlds, in different cities, you say something more than solely reminding us of the incident.

What about the creativity of dissident rituals?  We tend to see rituals as socially reproductive acts, as forms through which no creativity is expressed, or as the repetition of a certain form of social condition that is meant to establish and reaffirm what exists. But by observing the ways movements, particularly in Latin America, create their own rituals, I began to see the power of dissident rituals. These repetitive behaviors have expressive power and can indicate potential patterns of action that go beyond what already exists. Rituals establish a “magic circle” where something distinct from everydayness occurs. Yet dissident rituals transcend this circle, pressing against the boundaries of urban and social order. In these rituals, activists or subjects of commoning do not simply express themselves; they find themselves and reinvent themselves as commoners. So I think it’s important to observe the ways rituals can enhance, support and corroborate the process of commoning, revealing its potential.

There is the case of Estrella Roja in Colombia, a settlement where displaced people demand their right to the city. So what do they do? They cook together, a ritual that reflects not only the importance of sharing food but also the creation of relationships through communal action. In Greek, the word for comrade, σύντροφος, means “someone with whom you share food.” Cooking together is a performance, not just a necessity.

For the Misak , who are one of the many different groups of indigenous peoples of Colombia, liberation is tied to their relationship with the earth. In their language, they use the word “Minga” to refer to a process of co-presence, working toward consensus. It’s not about majority rule but finding the best possible way through agreement. Thus, establishing a relation with the earth is a very important process, which also depends on presence. Establishing a relation with the earth means not only being there, being included, but also emerging from there, like a snail which retrieves but then re-emerges.

The same ritual condition now exists in the landless movement “Movimento dos Trabalhadores Rurais Sem Terra” (MST) of Brazil, which has its own series of very powerful rituals. Esperança, as you probably know, means hope, and it is a word used in one of their ritual performances. There are various forms of organized performances which are not typical and are part of these rituals. As I found out, there is an openness in the process. Some people actually invent rituals that support their own ideas of producing, or create the natural conditions that can inspire movements in the process of fighting against the devastating conditions of capitalism. So, MST is calling this process “mística” which resonates with various religions, but is also deeply rooted in a Marxist approach towards emancipation and class struggle.

Another ritual action performed by Misak activists was the tearing down of the statue of Sebastián de Belalcázar, the Spanish conquistador who founded Cali. However, interestingly the statue was re-erected again in the same place after the Municipality of the city agreed to put on the pedestal the following inscription: “We, the inhabitants of Cali, descendants and heirs of our indigenous ancestors, carve here, on this pedestal of the founder of Santiago de Cali, Sebastian Balcazar, our own voice, a voice of recognition and exaltation of the value and heroism offered by the blood of the indigenous people of the time, and we proclaim them as an example of love for the ancestral lands. They were the ones who resisted and died with honor, defending their land and their culture from the brutal Spanish conquest, which stripped them of their wealth and power and imposed Western civilisation…” – Municipality of Santiago de Cali. 

Can we think of education also as a dissident, creative practice? This is a very important area, because I don’t refer here to education as a form in which existing knowledge is transmitted. Education should be considered as an area in which collective creativity creates this knowledge, through exchanges, through the hybridity and cross fertilization of different cultures. That is not the knowledge which should be transmitted worldwide, but rather, there are knowledges which are expressing the richness of humanity. One of the areas of this kind of knowledge are the occupied factories in Argentina, in Buenos Aires – empresas recuperadas (“recuperated enterprises”) as they call them – which have indeed created a universidad de los trabajadores, “a university of workers.” This is an area in which knowledge is being not simply produced, but shared through a process of commoning. In the same area, in Impa, Pacific Factory in Buenos Aires, you also have a secondary school established within the occupied factory, which is focused on cooperativism as an area of knowledge. That is directly linked to the practice of sharing through collaboration and cooperation. And, of course, there is the self-run TV station: Barricada TV. This independent, worker-run television station broadcasts from the premises of the IMPA (Industria Metalúrgica y Plástica Argentina), one of the most iconic recuperated factories in Buenos Aires.

The final example is of course the Universidad de la Tierra (University of the Earth, or Unitierra), which is a university of indigenous people created in total agreement with the Zapatista movement in Chiapas, Mexico. This “University of the Earth,” as they call it, is establishing forms of creativity which are based on indigenous knowledge, but also with a kind of collective creativity based on accomplishments and discoveries coming also from Western disciplines and Western Philosophy. So it’s an area of encounters, where you can find places of teaching, places of assembly and places of collective work.

Two more examples from Colombia. I was there recently, and I was impressed by the people who are fighting, despite experiencing an almost-60-year civil war. There’s a self managed sculpture school in Medellín, Colombia called TallerArte founded by the artist activist Guillermo Mejias in one of the poor barrios populares Comuna 6. In this school engaged artists try to attract the young people of the area and convince them that through art, they can find something else which is important beyond the use of guns in gangs that are supporting or forced to support drug trafficking, which is a huge problem in the area. So here is an expression of this effort: they asked the children to create a sculpture of a gun that does not shoot. See how these kids – who have to put their guns at the entrance, this is the kind of situation we are talking about – could express this kind of creative appropriation of a machine for killing in a different way.

There’s also another initiative I want to mention, one that focuses on giving the children in the area the possibility to explore different forms of expressing themselves in the neighborhood. It is called House of the Encounters Eduardo Galeano and it is located in Medellin’s Comuna 2. This brings me to my favorite concept: el derecho al delirio,  the “right to delirium,” or, the right to have fun (written in a banner at one of the building’s events). It’s not just about doing things in a creative, sober, or overly established way. Social creativity isn’t just about productivity; it’s about creating this kind of effervescence, this kind of joy. It shows us that another world is not simply possible, but it’s one that can create better human conditions.

Liberating cultural production is another area of exploration that can show us interesting forms of doing things through commoning. This reminds me of the movement in Napoli, the so-called Beni Comuni (Common Goods) movement, through which people try to liberate culture. What do they do? They have their own workspaces, their own theaters, and of course, cinemas! Cinema, as you know better than I do, isn’t simply an area of watching, for spectators, or for pure production. It’s an exchange between producers and spectators; it’s a place where commoning happens through creating images and storytelling.

Let me give you another example, this time from in São Paulo. There is a large occupied space called the 9 July Squat where art plays a great role. They are not simply using the walls for expression, they have even created an area for exhibitions, supporting alternative forms of art. And, of course, they’re pushing the boundaries of what art can be—not just what’s already established.

Now, maybe the essence, or the highest potential of collective inventiveness, is the city itself. Here I’m following the idea of Henri Lefebvre who said that the city can be a collective oeuvre. You know, the word oeuvre in French is not simply the product of labor, but it’s also a form of a work of art. So we can think of the city not simply as something that exists, that we inhabit, but perhaps as a condition being built by the presence, the hopes, the dreams and the efforts of people, as they inhabit it. Then, the city may be considered as a work in progress, in spite, against and beyond existing conditions of appropriation and exploitation by the dominant elite. So, the city is an area of struggle, but it’s also a work in itself.

If we’re talking about collective creativity through commoning, we shouldn’t just focus on the collective creativity that unfolds within the city, but also on the city itself as a target of commoning, as a scope of commoning, as an area in which commoning can possibly show its potentialities for social change or human emancipation. And of course, common space is not simply something that is being produced by all those efforts of collective creativity. Common space is actually a shaping factor of those who develop it or produce it. So this is not a process in which you have to imagine pre-existing subjects and what they do. You should imagine subjects who are being transformed by what they’re doing. This essentially, in my suggestion, is the power of commoning. Commoning does not have to do with the work of some people who decide to do certain things, in a certain direction, in order to accomplish certain scopes. Commoning is also a shaping factor that can influence the process, can influence the scopes, and can influence the subject. It’s the media, the forms, through which you work that show what you’re trying to do, and it’s not the declaration.

So, if we want to see how the city can become an area of collective inventiveness, just watch what can happen one day in the streets of Rio de Janeiro, in an area which is very important for the Black people of Brazil. This was the first place where Black people arrived as slaves in the continent. They have this day of celebration each week, by the performance of dancing and samba. And samba isn’t performed in the usual way, it’s not the frontal projection of music as we usually see performed in our countries. It’s organized around a table, it becomes a representation not only of a performance but also of a community, something which is shared in common.

Collective creativity can flourish even in the darkest times. Think of the earthquake in Mexico, when the state was totally paralyzed. It was the people who took over and they tried to save one another. It’s in these arrangements of bodies, working together, that commoning truly happens. The same thing happened when they occupied Syntagma Square in Athens, during the Occupy movement. The media center of the Syntagma Square occupation was not simply transmitting essential reports of what was happening; it was actually contributing to what was happening. It was a performative process, not just documentation.

As you would know more than me, documentaries are not simply about tracking and capturing what is happening. They are actors in what is happening, they perform, they exist within the process of documenting, they exist in the process in which events unfold. Thus, they support what is happening and show the power of images alongside the power of the coexistence of bodies and action.

If I may sum up, commoning, I would suggest, as a force of emancipatory potentiality is no guarantee. It doesn’t necessarily lead to change or emancipatory struggles, but it has the potentiality to do this, because it is formed through a process of creating common ground. And this process can happen both in terms of reinventing the community. Not simply establishing existing communities, or repeating the existence of existing communities, because in many cases, communities are based on shared identities and homogenization. Commoning has the power to build bridges, thresholds, between differences, and thus has the power to transform those who participate in it.

And of course, the appropriation of collaboration is essential, because it means that collaboration is not simply people agreeing to do something under capitalist command – so somebody will exploit this agreement by taking profit out of it. The reinvention and reappropriation of collaboration might mean that commoning has the power of inventiveness, and sharing the results, producing new results in place of existing ones. So, my final suggestion is to see people creating this history, not simply as producers, but perhaps as inventive craftsmen. Because it is up to us to create a better future.

Audience Question: My question is about the vision of commoning and whether you think there is space for hierarchies and leadership within this process. In my experience, especially in Berlin, there’s a narrative around flat hierarchies or even the disappearance of hierarchies. However, this seems unrealistic because funds often come from external sources, and someone usually has control over those resources. Based on the examples you’ve shared from Latin America, is there room for leadership or hierarchies in commoning? Could you elaborate on this?

SS: You’re right; it’s not easy to break away from established mentalities that reinforce hierarchies or leadership in collective practices. However, this isn’t just an ideological question, but one of experimentation. Commoning must be tested in practice, especially when it comes to power dynamics. In my experience, people have found ways to avoid power accumulation in commons. For instance, in a recuperated factory in Argentina, the workers had to take over after the engineers and experts left. A remarkable woman there had to learn accounting, even though she had to first learn to read and write. She was aware that her knowledge gave her a certain authority, and she made a conscious effort to share what she knew to avoid being seen as a leader.

This situation demonstrates that without specific mechanisms to prevent the accumulation of power, commoning can easily revert to hierarchical structures. Some ways to counter this are through rotating roles, deliberation based on informed opinions, and ensuring that participation is meaningful. Participation is only valid if individuals can influence decisions and if they are equipped with the necessary knowledge to shape their opinions. In Venezuela, for example, there’s an organization that operates based on sharing knowledge and accomplishments collectively, to the point where they ask whether they are moving towards a collective mind—not by consensus but by deep trust and participation.

The key is to look closely at these real-world examples. They offer practical answers to questions about leadership in commoning.

Audience Question: How can we protect commons once they’ve been established, particularly in terms of legal systems and relationships? For example, in Berlin, there have been efforts to protect recuperated buildings.

SS: This is a very important and common question. Protecting commons often requires some form of defense, and this can sometimes jeopardize the expansive potential of commoning. For instance, during the Syntagma Square occupation in Athens, the state’s strategy was to create a “sanitary zone” around the square to prevent the movement from expanding into other parts of the city. We learned that while protection is important, the power of commoning lies in its ability to expand and cross boundaries. Commoning is inherently against enclosure. However, we can’t ignore the fact that there are forces working against it.

In Naples, they talk about “hacking the law”—using legal loopholes or contradictions to further commoning efforts. Similarly, in Brazil, the MST (Landless Workers’ Movement) uses a constitutional provision that requires land to serve a social function to justify land occupations. They also fight legal battles in the courts, but the law itself becomes a tool for expanding the commons. So, protecting the commons involves a mix of legal strategy, activism, and ingenuity.

Audience Question: You mentioned the Syntagma Square occupation, which took place more than a decade ago. What has happened since then? Have any of the initiatives, like the collective kitchens or pharmacies, survived?

SS: Some initiatives did survive the state’s crackdown, even under more recent right-wing governments that are hostile to self-management and commoning. While some initiatives have disappeared, others have been transformed or passed on to new movements. For example, I’ve seen students in my architecture classes take inspiration from these past experiences.

Commoning is a continuous process—never fully established or destroyed. Many of these practices now exist “under the radar” and continue to shape the potential for future movements. A notable example is how the pandemic reignited collective initiatives around mutual care and solidarity, especially in communities neglected by the state. Experiences from places like Italy and Brazil show that people self-organize because they could not rely on the government. So while the grander moments of commoning may fade, the underlying practices persist and evolve, creating fertile ground for the future.

Stavros Stavrides is an architect and activist, and Professor at the School of Architecture, National Technical University of Athens, Greece, where he teaches graduate courses on housing design (social housing included) and urban design, as well as a postgraduate course on the metropolitan experience. He is a member of the NTUA Lab for Architectural Design and Communication. He has done extensive research fieldwork in Brazil, Uruguay, Argentina, Colombia, Venezuela and Mexico focused on housing-as-commons and on urban struggles for self-management. He has lectured in European, North and South American Universities on urban struggles and practices of urban commoning.