The term stochastic comes from statistics, referring to randomness or probabilistic outcomes. In the context of violence, it describes a situation where an instigator creates an environment in which attacks become statistically likely, even though no direct attack orders are issued. This provides a built‑in shield as legally there is no threshold reached for incitement, whilst politically the violence is not attributable. The process typically involves demonisation, dehumanisation, desensitisation to violence, and then denial of responsibility once an attack occurs.

Traditionally, stochastic terrorism is framed as a bottom‑up phenomenon: public rhetoric, media narratives, and/or political speeches priming susceptible individuals to commit “lone wolf” acts of violence that appear spontaneous and unpredictable. But such framing obscures a deeper truth - the most effective stochastic terrorists are very often state actors or their proxies, who do not merely enable the conditions for probabilistic violence, but actively participate in or shape it. They mimic the appearance of lone‑wolf extremism precisely to blur attribution, confuse the public, and maximise psychological impact. This is where stochastic terrorism has become more than a tactic. It is a now rhetorical cover for covert state action, especially in democratic states where overt repression is politically costly. Hence, if violence can be framed as the work of unpredictable extremists, the state can intervene aggressively while claiming clean hands.

Modern information ecosystems amplify these dynamics dramatically. Social media algorithms boost divisive content, while state‑linked actors such as troll farms, influence networks, covert accounts, and funded influencers, seed narratives designed to inflame, polarise, and radicalise. Lone‑wolf attackers may indeed self‑radicalise in such environments, but many “random” actors are not random at all; they are infiltrators, provocateurs, or assets whose actions are shaped, guided, or exploited by state agencies.

This is the lens through which the public must increasingly view high‑profile so called “terrorist incidents.” Rather than reacting immediately with emotional certainty, it is far healthier to pause and ask basic analytical questions: Who benefits? What political context surrounds the event? What narratives were already being primed? How is the incident being framed, and by whom? These questions do not assume orchestration. They simply prevent us from being swept along by pre‑packaged interpretations.

A recent example is the reported arson attack on Hatzola ambulances. In the days leading up to the incident, media coverage focused heavily on rising antisemitism, online hostility, and heightened tensions linked to the ongoing conflict involving Israel, the United States, and Iran - a conflict that is deeply unpopular among many Western citizens. Against this backdrop, it seems fair to question whether the timing, narrative framing, and rapid political utilisation of the ambulance incident warrants closer scrutiny.

There are several unusual elements to the incident istelf: the emergence of a previously unknown group claiming responsibility using language that some analysts found inconsistent with authentic Arabic phrasing; the group’s sudden appearance shortly before the incident; the swift bail granted to suspects despite the seriousness of the allegations; and the later revelation that an individual filmed intimidating journalists in the aftermath was a serving Metropolitan Special Constable. These details prompt calls for transparency and need careful investigation - particularly because the modern hybrid‑information environment makes it essential for the public to critically evaluate the narratives surrounding such incidents, especially when they occur in politically charged contexts. States, political actors, and influence networks have historically used crises - real or manufactured - to generate fear, justify new security measures, and rally support for unpopular policies. Hence, when an incident such as the Hatzola ambulance event is immediately framed in ways that align neatly with geopolitical objectives or domestic political agendas, it is reasonable for the public to ask questions rather than accept the first explanation offered. Critical examination does not mean assuming conspiracy; it means refusing to outsource interpretation to those who may have vested interests. In an era where psychological operations, narrative shaping, and information warfare are routine tools of statecraft, healthy scepticism is, in fact, a civic duty.

Stochastic terrorism fits neatly within broader psychological warfare: propaganda, disinformation, deception, gaslighting, and covert influence operations. States use these tools to sow division, justify policy shifts, or destabilise opponents without deploying overt force. Psychological manipulation primes individuals or groups for violence, while the stochastic nature of the resulting acts ensures deniability. The societal effects of fear, polarisation, demands for security measures, always serve state interests, regardless of who actually carried out stochastic terrorist attack.

Within this framework:

• Psychological manipulation is the method. State‑aligned media, politicians, or influence networks repeat dehumanising narratives (“X group is a threat to civilisation”), desensitising the public and radicalising the fringes.

• Stochastic terrorism is the effect. Lone‑wolf attackers, manipulated individuals, infiltrated groups, or covert operatives commit acts that appear organic and unpredictable but are probabilistically enabled - or indeed directly orchestrated - by the manipulated environment. The state then benefits from the fallout while maintaining plausible deniability.

The core mechanism of stochastic terrorism - indirect incitement, probabilistic violence, and built‑in deniability - aligns closely with classic state tactics such as infiltration, provocation, and false‑flag operations. The twist is that the state itself is the “lone wolf”, acting through proxies, covert units, and engineered narratives while attributing the violence to extremists, radicals, or isolated individuals.

Psychological manipulation and stochastic terrorism function as complementary tools in modern asymmetric power struggles. Psychological manipulation lays the groundwork by shaping narratives, priming emotional responses, and constructing an atmosphere of threat, whilst stochastic terrorism delivers the “random” blow that appears spontaneous but lands with maximum psychological force. Together, they create a climate in which violence feels emergent rather than directed, yet consistently serves strategic ends.

Agents provocateurs and infiltrators

Undercover officers, intelligence assets, or informants embed themselves within activist, extremist, or protest groups and escalate tensions in ways that would not have occurred organically. This can produce incidents that appear to be lone‑wolf or small‑cell actions but which serve state interests, for instance justifying crackdowns, expanding surveillance powers, or discrediting political movements. Historical examples include undercover police in the UK who were documented to have broken the law or escalated protests, and Cold War intelligence operations where assets radicalised individuals or nudged them toward violence.

Strategy of tension

The clearest historical parallel is the strategy of tension in Italy from the 1960s to the 1980s. Bombings and attacks attributed to neo‑fascist groups were later linked to elements within Italian intelligence services, security forces, and NATO’s stay‑behind networks (Operation Gladio). The purpose was to generate fear, destabilise society, and push public opinion toward authoritarian measures or away from left‑wing political gains. Violence appeared ideological and random - stochastic in effect - but was shaped by covert state involvement. Parliamentary inquiries and court cases uncovered evidence of complicity and cover‑ups, though full accountability was rare.

Hybrid or proxy involvement

States may sponsor, tolerate, or indirectly support actors who carry out violence that can be framed as extremist or spontaneous. This includes providing funding, training, safe havens, or narrative amplification. It also includes allowing extremist groups to flourish because their actions serve political ends. Modern examples extend to transnational repression, where dissidents abroad are targeted through contractors or deniable operatives, and domestic psyops where official rhetoric dehumanises groups, increasing the probabilistic risk of attacks while maintaining distance.

In all the above cases, the “stochastic” element - unpredictable timing, unclear perpetrator, apparent ideological motivation - provides the same deniability as classic stochastic terrorism. But with state resources behind it, the effect is more potent, more targeted, and more politically useful. Psychological manipulation primes the environment; covert action delivers the blow; and the aftermath is exploited to justify expanded powers, suppress dissent, and reshape public opinion.

Most analyses of stochastic terrorism focus on non‑state actors: politicians whose rhetoric inspires unaffiliated attackers, media figures who radicalise audiences, or influencers who normalise dehumanisation. Direct state orchestration of lone‑wolf or small‑group violence is less openly acknowledged in so called democratic societies, but indirect facilitation through psyops, infiltration, narrative shaping, or tolerating extremist actors, is far more common. Attribution is deliberately difficult, because ambiguity is the point. A seemingly random attack may stem from genuine radicalisation, amplified hate speech, agent provocation, covert support, or a mixture of all four.

This ambiguity has severely eroded public trust and deepened polarisation. It is also consistently used to justify expanded security powers and allows states to position themselves as protectors against threats they may have helped create or manipulate. There is a well‑documented historical record of intelligence services and security agencies using deniable actors, provocateurs, or false‑flag tactics to shape public perception or justify security measures. These operations are not usually labelled “stochastic terrorism,” but they follow the same logic: violence appears to come from unpredictable extremists, while the state’s role remains hidden.

Several documented operations illustrate how Western states have used deniable violence or manufactured extremism to shape public opinion:

• Operation Northwoods (United States, 1962): Proposed staging attacks on Americans and blaming Cuba to justify military action.

• The Lavon Affair (Israel, 1954): Israeli intelligence organised bombings in Egypt to blame on Egyptian nationalists.

• COINTELPRO (United States, 1956–1971): FBI infiltration and provocation within civil‑rights and political groups.

• UK Undercover Policing (1960s–2010s): Long‑term infiltration of activist groups, with officers escalating or encouraging disorder (noted above and linked).

• Operation Gladio (NATO countries, 1950s–1990s): Stay‑behind networks linked to false‑flag bombings and a deliberate strategy of tension (noted above and linked).

Stochastic Terrorism as a Dual Reality in Modern Statecraft

The convergence of psychological manipulation, covert action, and stochastic‑style violence reveals a deeper truth about modern power: the boundary between organic extremism and engineered events is no longer clear. Stochastic terrorism is not only a real phenomenon - where rhetoric primes individuals for unpredictable violence - but also a narrative framework that states can exploit to obscure their own involvement in hybrid operations. This dual reality is what makes the concept so potent and so difficult for the public to navigate.

Democratic states face political and legal constraints on overt repression. Covert influence, deniable violence, and narrative shaping offer a way around those constraints. When violence can be attributed to lone wolves, fringe groups, or ideological radicals, the state can intervene forcefully while maintaining the appearance of neutrality. The public sees chaos, whilst the state sees opportunity. The ambiguity is not a flaw but a feature, as it allows governments to benefit from the psychological impact of violence without bearing responsibility for its origins.

This ambiguity is amplified by the modern information environment. Social media accelerates polarisation, inflames grievances, and creates echo chambers where individuals can be nudged toward violence. At the same time, intelligence agencies and influence networks can seed narratives, infiltrate groups, and manipulate online spaces in ways that make genuine radicalisation and engineered provocation indistinguishable. The result is a landscape where attacks may be spontaneous, manipulated, or hybrid - and the public has no reliable or discernible way to tell the difference.

Historical cases such as Operation Gladio, the Lavon Affair, COINTELPRO, and long‑term undercover policing in the UK demonstrate that Western states have historically and routinely used deniable actors, false‑flag tactics, and psychological manipulation to shape public perception. These operations were not framed as stochastic terrorism at the time, but they operated on the same logic: violence that appears random, ideological, or emergent, which can be a powerful tool of governance when its true origins are obscured. This is why the concept of stochastic terrorism must be understood as part of a broader continuum of psychological and hybrid warfare. At one end lies rhetoric that indirectly inspires violence, whilst at the other lies covert action disguised as extremism. Between them is a spectrum of infiltration, provocation, narrative shaping, and proxy involvement. All share the same structural features: deniability, unpredictability, and psychological impact.

The consequence is a public sphere defined by uncertainty. When people cannot distinguish genuine threats from manufactured ones, trust erodes. When fear becomes ambient and directionless, societies become more polarised and more willing to accept expanded security powers. And when states can hide behind the appearance of randomness, accountability becomes nearly impossible.

Understanding this continuum does not require assuming that every lone‑wolf or group attack is orchestrated, nor that every extremist act is manipulated. It requires recognising that the mechanisms of stochastic terrorism (probabilistic violence, indirect incitement, and plausible deniability), are not limited to non‑state actors. They are part of the historical toolkit of state power, adapted to the digital age and deployed in ways that blur the line between organic extremism and engineered events.

The challenge for modern societies is that this ambiguity is now structural. The tools of psychological manipulation, information warfare, and covert influence are woven into the fabric of contemporary politics so that the question is no longer whether states use these methods, but how often, how subtly, and with what long‑term consequences for legitimacy? Understanding stochastic terrorism as both a real phenomenon and a rhetorical shield is therefore a necessary step toward recognising the complexity of modern statecraft and the vulnerabilities it creates in the societies it seeks to shape. In such an environment, safeguarding one’s own cognitive autonomy becomes essential, because the first casualty of manufactured uncertainty is the individual’s ability to interpret events independently and react appropriately therefrom.

Thank you for taking the time to read this article. This is a complex subject and I have done my best to simplify it and present it in plain English so that readers can better understand the risks involved and make informed decisions.

If you found this article valuable or learned something new, you can support my work by buying me a coffee - if you wish to and can afford it. The link is Buy Me a Coffee, or you can copy and paste the URL directly: https://buymeacoffee.com/claredwillb

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See you all again soon!

“If there is a State, then there is domination, and in turn, there is slavery” – Mikhail Bakunin

“In every State, the government is nothing but a permanent conspiracy on the part of the minority against the majority, which it enslaves and fleeces” - Mikhail Bakunin

“Men and women… do you not realize that the State is the worst enemy you have? It is a machine that crushes you in order to sustain the ruling class, your masters” – Emma Goldman

“The most absurd apology for authority and law is that they serve to diminish crime. Aside from the fact that the State is itself the greatest criminal, breaking every written and natural law, stealing in the form of taxes, killing in the form of war and capital punishment, it has come to an absolute standstill in coping with crime. It has failed utterly to destroy or even minimize the horrible scourge of its own creation” – Emma Goldman

“War is mass murder. Conscription is slavery. Taxation is robbery” – Murray Rothbard

For a long time now, I’ve been thinking about ownership of property - especially the absurd idea held by some that your own body somehow isn’t your own property. It might sound unbelievable that anyone could think this way, but honestly, it doesn’t surprise me. When you look at the sheer scale of perception management carried out across the world - psychological operations running for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years - it makes sense that people end up with a warped view of reality.

When a false reality is created and reinforced for so long, and so expertly, by external controllers, you end up with generations of people who simply accept whatever the state (the controllers’ middle‑management arm) tells them. People don’t just believe the messaging though; their entire sense of reality, rights, self‑ownership, and personal responsibility gets shaped by it, which means that their worldview isn’t really theirs at all. It’s been engineered through mass mind control, often reinforced by trauma - endless imagery of war, destruction, death, and constant messaging about scarcity, poverty, and fear.

Nothing exposed the lack of belief in ownership of one’s own body more clearly than the whole “Covid” era. People lined up to be forced - socially, economically, or through “law” - into injecting an experimental substance into their bodies just to earn back the “privilege” of going to a restaurant or taking a holiday. That alone shows how deeply the idea of not owning your own body has been normalised.

And then there’s voting. People treat voting as some sacred expression of freedom, but in practice it’s just choosing which group of middle managers gets to govern you on behalf of the (self‑styled) “elite”. Voting is basically consenting to be ruled by a master - agreeing to follow whatever edicts the successful political‑party management class hand down, while giving up a big chunk of your earnings from your own labour and somehow being expected to smile about it. Every election, people show up to pick their next master and call it “democracy,” convinced it gives them agency. The film Jones Plantation captures this perfectly. It’s an allegory showing how modern society has replaced open, violent servitude with a psychological version. Instead of chains, people are conditioned to believe they’re free while voluntarily complying with their own oppression. The plantation still exists - it’s just been rebranded.

A belief that you do not own your own body is basically acceptance that you are a slave. I understand that the word slave hits a nerve for a lot of people because of the horrific history attached to it, but avoiding the word doesn’t change the reality. People need to get past the discomfort, because until we can name the condition we are living in, we cannot even begin to challenge it.

Across the board, major dictionary definitions of slavery centre on one core idea: a person being owned or controlled as property, forced to work without freedom, and having their life and labour dictated by someone else. Here are a few examples:

• Merriam‑Webster describes slavery as the state of being held in forced servitude, often as someone else’s chattel.

• Cambridge defines it as being legally owned by another person and forced to work for or obey them.

• Oxford keeps it simple: the state of being a slave, or the practice of owning people and forcing them to work.

• Dictionary.com frames it as the condition of being enslaved or held in bondage, often as property.

All these definitions highlight the same themes: ownership, forced labour, loss of personal freedom, and domination by another person or entity.

But slavery does not only mean physically forcing someone to work. According to the most influential legal definition we have - the 1926 Slavery Convention - “Slavery is the status or condition of a person over whom any or all of the powers attaching to the right of ownership are exercised.” That definition is intentionally broad. It doesn’t require literal legal ownership, (which is now banned everywhere). Instead, it focuses on ownership‑like powers: restricting someone’s freedom, claiming their labour without consent, treating them as property, or exerting control over their life in ways comparable to ownership.

So, while the classic image of slavery is chattel slavery, the definitions - both dictionary and legal - clearly cover a much wider condition: any situation where a person’s autonomy, liberty, and control over their own life are taken away in full or in part and replaced with ownership‑like domination.

Given this, we can clearly see that taxation is forced payment of tokens earned through a person’s sweat equity. It is forced payment because if you do not pay, you are penalised and criminalised. Likewise, we can see that proposed 15‑minute cities will restrict freedom of movement at the behest of a relatively small number of bureaucrats and therefore limit autonomy, again carrying penalties for anyone who breaks the “rules”. Similarly, digital identity systems will restrict participation in society if not taken up and/or adhered to strictly - such as access to consumer goods or compliant social‑media platforms - further restricting autonomy and liberty. And many laws enacted by “government” limit freedoms, restrict liberty, and reduce autonomy.

In light of this, modern “governance” can be regarded as slavery under the broad definition noted above. In fact, any form of “authority” by one group over another can be classed as slavery, because coercive elements of governance or authority equate to the exercise of ownership‑like powers over individuals, through restrictions on labour, movement, or participation in society. While this view isn’t universally accepted (of course it isn’t - that would mean everyone was awake to the problem!), it’s substantiated in various intellectual traditions and ongoing discussions.

Below, I’ve looked more deeply at taxation, 15-minute cities and digital identity, to make the slavery point clear.

Taxation as Forced Payment for “Sweat Equity”

If we accept the broader definition of slavery outlined earlier, then taxation fits neatly into that framework. The idea that taxation amounts to a form of slavery comes from the simple fact that it forces people to hand over a chunk of the fruits of their labour under threat of punishment. That is treating individuals as partial property of the state. This line of thinking goes back to classical liberal and anarchist ideas: John Locke’s notion of self‑ownership says your labour is inherently yours, and taking any of it by force violates natural rights. Murray Rothbard pushes this further, calling taxation “theft” and even a form of “slavery” because it’s involuntary - a modern version of labour being seized without consent. If someone works 40 hours a week and the state claims 30–40% of their earnings, the argument is that this is effectively uncompensated labour - partial enslavement. Taxation without consent is therefore, in my view, the foundation of modern coercion.

Of course, there are counterarguments. Some insist taxation isn’t slavery because it’s not total ownership; they frame it as part of a “social contract” that supposedly funds collective goods like roads and hospitals. Philosophers like G.A. Cohen critique the “taxation as forced labour” idea by arguing that voluntary systems can still be exploitative, and partial taxation isn’t the same as full chattel slavery. Online, this debate gets polarised: some call it ethical theft, others say it’s the price of civilisation.

But here’s the problem: the “ethical theft” and “social contract” defence simply do not hold up. It’s not a real contract - you never signed anything, you can’t opt out, and the penalties for refusing are coercive by design. Political theorists from Lysander Spooner to contemporary critics point out that a contract without consent is just domination dressed up in nicer language. Spooner famously argued that the U.S. Constitution has no legitimate authority because no living person agreed to it, (the same could be said about the UK’s unwritten constitution), and the same logic can be applied to taxation. The social‑contract story therefore functions less as a moral justification and more as a pacifying myth - a way to make people feel virtuous about surrendering their labour under threat. It reframes coercion as civic duty, turning subjugation into something people are encouraged to celebrate. In this sense, it doesn’t rebut the slavery analogy at all; it reinforces it – it’s part of the broader perception management that shapes what people think is “normal,” even when the reality is anything but.

15‑Minute Cities and Restrictions on Freedom of Movement

The 15‑minute city concept - where essentials like work, shops, and services are supposedly accessible within a short walk or bike ride - is often presented as a harmless urban‑planning idea. But in practice, these cities will become tools for bureaucratic control, limiting movement at the whim of planners and political (self‑styled) elites. When implemented through zoning rules, traffic restrictions, digital permits, or surveillance systems (like low‑emission zones and ANPR cameras), they will clearly demonstrate “ownership‑like powers” by confining people to designated areas. This echoes one of the classic features of slavery: restrictions on mobility.

These systems will also enable and expand state surveillance, reducing personal autonomy and turning neighbourhoods into “open‑air prisons” under the banner of sustainability or climate policy. Defenders - including the concept’s originator, Carlos Moreno - insist that 15‑minute cities enhance freedom by reducing car dependency, improving health, and fostering community. But this is an inversion of reality. If you’re not free to move where you want, when you want, without being monitored or fined, then your autonomy is being curtailed. And if your movements are constantly tracked, regulated, or restricted, how is that not a form of ownership? Fifteen‑minute cities are not designed for freedom - they are designed for containment. That is a form of slavery.

Digital Identity and Restrictions on Societal Participation

Digital‑identity systems - which tie identity to online and/or biometric verification for everyday services - create the perfect infrastructure for exclusionary control. If access to banking, travel, communication, or goods can be switched off because of “non‑compliance” (whether through social‑media monitoring, behaviour scores, or bureaucratic rules), then the system mirrors one of the core features of slavery: the denial of autonomy. Centralised digital‑identity systems also magnify privacy risks. Once all a person’s data sits in one place, it invites surveillance, breaches, and misuse, paving the way for a de facto “social credit” system where dissent or non‑conformity can lead to digital exile. That’s why many critics call it a form of “digital slavery,” especially when it’s mandated from birth and tracks a person’s life without meaningful consent.

The broader risks are obvious: exclusion of marginalised groups, corporate or governmental lock‑in, and the erosion of anonymity in daily life. Yet proponents insist digital identity will boost inclusion, streamline services, and enhance security through “privacy by design.” They also claim such systems are voluntary - but this argument collapses instantly. Nothing is voluntary if you must comply to access basic services or exercise natural rights. That is coercion by the back door.

We can already see this in action in the UK: identity or age verification to access social‑media content “to prevent online harm,” or being required to provide a biometric face scan to secure a tenancy agreement or use legal services. Officials frame this as us “choosing” to opt in - but who genuinely believes this when refusal means being denied the service entirely? True voluntary participation would mean there could never be denial of service for refusal to participate. What we have instead is conditional access enforced through digital compliance. And once the ability to function in society depends on that compliance, the line between governance and ownership becomes very thin indeed.

Broader View: Any Authority Is a Form of Slavery

Anarchists like Mikhail Bakunin and Emma Goldman viewed all hierarchical authority as tyrannical, equating state power to slavery because it imposes non‑consensual rule and denies self‑sovereignty. I agree wholeheartedly.

Murray Rothbard - and many other libertarian theorists - argue that even “benevolent” authority is unjust, just as voluntary‑slavery contracts are invalid because freedom cannot be alienated. In this frame, governance’s “authority by one group over another” fits as slavery. This philosophical stance challenges the current status quo, and while it may seem radical, it echoes historical anti‑slavery thought that evolved into broader critiques of power.

If the modern definition of slavery is “the status or condition of a person over whom any or all of the powers attaching to the right of ownership are exercised,” then the word any is vitally important. By virtue of this little word, taxation and all other forms of force used by “authority” can be regarded as exercises of ownership‑like powers over the individual. One’s own body is one’s own property. Therefore, one’s sweat equity, one’s movement, and one’s decisions about what to put into or keep out of one’s body are all property rights. Any encroachment by “state authority” into any area of one’s own property - the body - therefore meets the definition of slavery.

Taxation, forced medication (adding fluoride to water, folic acid to flour, compulsory child vaccines, and many other things) can in fact only be one of two things: slavery or theft – the latter theft of free will; the former theft of earnings. Both arise because one owns one’s body as private property, and if the body is private property, then forcing substances into it or its taxing labour is an encroachment on that property, meeting the “any” threshold in the 1926 Slavery Convention as a form of partial ownership.

This is my philosophical extension of the 1926 Slavery Convention’s definition, honing in on the word any to argue that even partial or indirect exercises of ownership‑like powers over a person’s body qualify as slavery or theft. The inclusion of the word any is significant because it broadens the scope of slavery beyond full chattel ownership to include partial or de facto exercises of powers such as restricting freedom, claiming labour, or treating someone as transferable property. I believe this was intentional - to capture evolving forms of exploitation, such as debt bondage or forced marriage, without requiring literal legal ownership.

However, legal scholars and courts interpret “any” not as encompassing isolated or minor encroachments, but as requiring a threshold where the powers cumulatively amount to domination akin to ownership. In short, legally, the word any doesn’t trigger the definition for every coercive act; it’s about the nature and extent of control resembling property rights. Extending it to taxation or public‑health measures has never been upheld in courts - and why would it be? Courts are just another part of the control structure and perception‑management machinery. Even if they are not consciously aligned with the coercive power structure, they are certainly staffed by people who exist within a reality created for them - a reality in which it seems normal and just that the state can coerce you into giving up a large percentage of your labour, dictate where you can and cannot move, and demand what you do or do not put into your own body.

If we do not own our own bodies, then we own nothing. Without bodily ownership, we are effectively surrendering ourselves to the whims of others, allowing them to do as they please with and to our bodies. Any counter‑argument is ultimately claiming that we “rent” our own bodies for the mythical “greater good” to “prevent chaos” - frankly, hysterical nonsense invented by brainwashed collectivists who believe in empire, and who see the people within that empire as mere bodies to serve and enrich it. If one does not own one’s body, then one’s thoughts, inventions, ideas, and creations cannot be owned either. That makes a mockery of patents, licences, intellectual‑property rights, and countless other supposedly sacred legal constructs.

Body ownership isn’t a spectrum. It is a zero‑sum game between the individual and the state, (or any external authority). If the individual owns their body as private property, then any state infringements, whether major or minor, amount to partial theft or domination, fitting the slavery definition through the exercise of ownership‑like powers. And if the state claims even a partial right over our bodies, that is effectively a claim of outright ownership, making citizens de facto state property.

In philosophy, self‑ownership is often treated as axiomatic: you control your body and its extensions (labour, choices) exclusively, or someone else does. John Locke’s foundational idea - that “every man has a property in his own person” and in the labour of his body - underpins this, implying that any unconsented encroachment violates natural rights. Modern libertarians like Murray Rothbard and Stephan Kinsella extend this: the body is scarce and rivalrous, so ownership defaults to the self; denying this opens the door to slavery or theft by others, including the state. Anarchists like Max Stirner go further, rejecting collective claims as “mysticism” that erases the individual to justify domination.

From this standpoint, any state infringement into one’s property - the body – and the rights arising therefrom, is slavery. Any forced claim on the body (conscription, mandatory medical procedures, additives in food and water) mirrors historical slavery’s denial of autonomy. Extending this, taxation becomes “forced labour extraction,” and public‑health mandates become non‑consensual alterations - both partial claims on the body as property. State demands for “duties” treat you as an object, not a sovereign person and state denial of self‑ownership justifies slavery by default. If the body isn’t fully yours, then the state (or society) holds the title, making “rights” mere permissions that can be revoked at whim.

Anyone who accepts even partial state claims on the body - for the “public good” or “collective safety” - is endorsing a form of voluntary slavery. Our bodies are unequivocally ours. No external entity should have any claim to them without consent. If this is not so, then we are subjugating ourselves to arbitrary whims, whether from the state, collectivist ideology, or “greater good” rationalisations.

Collectivists will always argue that self‑ownership isn’t absolute, that bodies and minds exist “in society,” and that “renting” autonomy prevents chaos. They claim intellectual property is a social construct balancing individual rights with “collective progress,” not tied strictly to body ownership. Some even deny that “ownership” applies to bodies at all - we “are” them, they say, so property analogies don’t apply. But this dodges the issue entirely: if the body is not owned by the self, control defaults to others, enabling empire‑style exploitation. This is brainwashed nonsense - historically used to justify serfdom, conscription, and rogue interventions into people’s lives, meaning individuals always lose bodily sovereignty.

No self‑ownership means no true ownership of anything. This view of course challenges the foundations of modern systems and points instead toward voluntaryist alternatives where consent, not coercion, is the organising principle. In Part 2 of this article, I’ll explore voluntaryist societies - what could a genuinely self‑governing society look like and what does it actually mean to self‑govern? How do people organise without rulers? And why, in my view, natural law - grounded in absolute moral principles - is all we need to thrive without hierarchy, coercion, or imposed authority.

Thank you for taking the time to read this article. If you found it article valuable or learned something new, you can support my work by buying me a coffee—if you wish to and can afford it. The link is Buy Me a Coffee, or you can copy and paste the URL directly: https://buymeacoffee.com/claredwillb

You can also subscribe to this Substack for free to access all my previous and future work.