
Almost all funding in the #openweb space gets absorbed by the mediation layer – the people and organisations who talk about, manage, and frame the work rather than doing it. Some money reaches (#geekproblem) developers. Some supports visible projects and #fashionista careers. But the pattern holds: funding flows to what institutions can understand, and institutions rarely understand messy, unglamorous, day-to-day grassroots work.
So resources pile up around reports, events, strategy documents, coordination roles, and polished narratives – while the people actually running infrastructure, holding small communities together, and doing the labour that sustains the #openweb go unfunded. That’s not usually corruption, it’s structural. Institutions fund what they can measure and present. What they can measure and present is almost never the soil layer.
The result is a widening gap between the #fashionista story of the #openweb and the lived reality of it. More funding grows blinded narratives faster than it grows anything real. The question isn’t just “more money”, it’s how do we get resources to the people actually doing the work?
That’s why strong words matter. Naming parasites gives people who are currently being parasitic a chance to stop. Naming #techshit gives people making it a chance to compost their own mess. If they take that chance, good – a kindness has been done. If they don’t, we compost the mess ourselves and grow something better. #KISS.
“Impossible” Is a Political Word
Slavery abolition was impossible. Universal suffrage was impossible. Worker self-organisation was impossible. An open global communications network outside state control was impossible. Until people acted as if it weren’t.
Calling something impossible is usually political – a way of narrowing imagination and disciplining ambition, keeping demands within what existing power structures can tolerate. Structural shifts rarely begin as reasonable proposals. They begin as overreach. Commons infrastructure, resisting enclosure, building beyond scarcity logic – none of this looks feasible from inside the incentive structures it’s trying to replace.
If we only aim for what seems immediately achievable, we are reinforce existing incentives. If we aim beyond them, we shift the terrain. We may not reach the impossible goal, but we change what becomes possible next. That’s not utopianism. Historically, it’s actually #KISS and it’s how boundaries move.
Open Spaces Attract Parasites. That’s Ecology.
The #openweb generates real value: code, trust, collaboration, legitimacy, cultural capital. None of it is stable without maintenance. When drift sets in, someone has to shovel. That work is messy, exhausting, unpaid, and constant – because digital commons produce nutrients, and institutional actors are trained to harvest nutrients. If nobody composts the shit, the project chokes.
The “parasite class” in tech isn’t made up of evil masterminds. They tend to be institutional, NGO-aligned, career-professional actors who attach themselves to commons projects and redirect energy toward grant cycles, brand positioning, and compliance governance. They don’t build the soil. They feed on it. And they usually don’t know they’re doing it.
The most common parasite logic is digital scarcity: “everyone should pay their way.” It sounds responsible. It sounds sustainable. It’s also a direct import from market ideology. Digital infrastructure is non-rivalrous – it can be shared at near-zero marginal cost. But scarcity gets reintroduced through subscriptions, premium tiers, paywalled features, SaaS dependency, and professional gatekeeping. That’s enclosure wearing a cardigan. It’s not building commons, it’s rebuilding #dotcons platforms with nicer vibes.
The #NGO layer brings its own infection: risk aversion softened by consensus theatre. Measurable outputs. Depoliticised language. Branding as reputational management. None of it is directly evil, but it’s structurally parasitic – because the moment legitimacy becomes more important than usefulness, you start designing for funders instead of participants. You optimise optics instead of flows, you protect the brand instead of the commons.
This keeps happening because commons produce surplus – trust, energy, attention, infrastructure – and institutional actors are trained to capture surplus. They don’t see themselves as parasites. They see themselves as stabilisers. But when their survival depends on controlling narratives, they can’t help bending the project toward those needs. That’s structural parasitism, not personal villainy.
So ask yourself honestly are you building soil or feeding off soil someone else built? Are you increasing abundance or reintroducing scarcity through “sustainable” monetisation? Are you materially decentralising power or just professionalising it? Commons infrastructure should reduce dependence on gatekeepers, not multiply them.
Pick Up the Shovel
Yes, there are parasites. Yes, there’s shit to shovel. No, pretending everything is collaborative harmony doesn’t help anyone. The work of #OMN and #4opens isn’t trend-chasing or #NGO alignment. It’s building resilient soil, designing against digital scarcity, and keeping governance open and genuinely messy. If that makes institutional actors uncomfortable – good. Composting always smells bad before it becomes fertile.
One last thing: stop burning out alone. The number of good people burning out right now is not accidental. It’s what happens when systemic problems get reframed as personal responsibility. Collective infrastructure is weak, crisis is constant, and nobody can carry that alone. Nobody should try. The solution isn’t heroic individual effort. It’s shared architecture. In #FOSS terms: if the system keeps crashing, stop blaming the users and redesign the stack.
That’s the composting we actually need to do.












