u/WabiSabi2068

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I think understanding how dictatorships actually function (fear, everyday compromises, even some level of bottom-up consent) is essential if we want to recognize and prevent them. But there’s a fine line between explaining and normalizing. The goal should be to use that understanding to build a more equitable, participatory, and less centralized society—not to justify authoritarian systems.

I’ve been thinking about getting into liveaboard life, but instead of jumping straight into a bigger cruiser, I’m considering starting small with a J/24.

On paper, it seems like a cheap and simple entry point: solid boat, widely available, and relatively easy to maintain. But I’m aware it’s primarily a racing sailboat, not designed for comfort or long-term living.

From what I understand, the main challenges would be:

Very limited interior space (no standing headroom)

Minimal cooking setup

Basic sleeping arrangements

Little storage and autonomy (water, power, etc.)

At the same time, I wonder if that’s actually a good thing for a “trial phase”—kind of forcing a minimalist lifestyle and helping me understand what I really need before upgrading to a larger boat.

So my question is:

Has anyone here actually tried living aboard (even short-term) on a J/24 or something similar? Was it manageable, or did it become frustrating very quickly?

Would love to hear real experiences, pros/cons, and whether you think it’s a smart stepping stone or just a bad idea.

If the goal is to create a group that operates without rigid hierarchies, the starting point is not so much “founding” something, but clarifying the values and ways people relate to each other. It’s important to define shared principles such as mutual respect, voluntary participation, and collective decision-making.

A second key step is building trust. This develops through open meetings, transparent dialogue, and small, practical activities that allow participants to get to know each other and collaborate. Without trust, any horizontal form of organization tends to be fragile.

It is also useful to establish clear decision-making processes, such as consensus or other participatory methods, to avoid conflict or deadlock. At the same time, it’s important to recognize the practical challenges: coordinating without traditional leadership requires time, active listening, and strong communication skills.

Finally, starting with concrete projects (social, cultural, or mutual-aid initiatives) helps give purpose and continuity to the group, preventing it from remaining just an abstract idea.

In short, rather than “creating a group” in a formal sense, the focus is on building relationships and practices that reflect the values you want to live by.

Choosing between a new and a used sailboat involves several factors that go far beyond the initial price.

A new sailboat offers the advantage of the latest technology, modern materials, and no prior wear and tear. It typically comes with a warranty and can be customized to suit personal needs. This often means fewer maintenance issues in the early years and greater peace of mind while sailing. However, the upfront cost is significantly higher, and depreciation is steep in the first years, similar to buying a new car.

On the other hand, a used sailboat is usually much more affordable. With the same budget, you may be able to purchase a larger or better-equipped boat. Additionally, most of the depreciation has already occurred. The downside is the potential risk related to its condition: poor maintenance, outdated systems, or hidden structural problems. Buying used often requires careful inspection and possibly additional investment in repairs or upgrades.

In conclusion, a new sailboat is ideal for those seeking reliability, comfort, and customization without immediate financial constraints. A used sailboat is better suited for buyers with a limited budget who are willing to handle maintenance and want to maximize value for money.

Ultimately, the best choice depends on the buyer’s experience, budget, and intended use of the boat.

“**Tanka boat people**” usually refers to the **Tanka (or Dan) people**, a traditional ethnic group from southern China who historically lived on boats.

They are not the same as the Vietnamese “boat people” refugees, although the terms can sound similar.

### Who are the Tanka?

The **Tanka** are a coastal community found mainly in:

* Guangdong (southern China)

* Hong Kong

* parts of Fujian

For centuries, many Tanka families lived **entirely on boats**, rather than on land. Because of this, they were often called “boat people.”

### Way of life

* They built and lived on wooden boats called *sampan*-like vessels

* Fishing and coastal trade were their main livelihoods

* Entire families, including children, were born, lived, and died on boats

* They developed a distinct maritime culture and dialect

### Social history

Historically, the Tanka were considered socially separate from land-dwelling Chinese populations. In some periods:

* They were restricted from owning land

* They faced social discrimination

* Intermarriage with land residents was discouraged

Over time, especially in the 20th century, many Tanka gradually moved onto land and integrated more into mainstream society, particularly in places like Hong Kong.

### Important distinction

* **Tanka people**: long-established maritime ethnic group in southern China

* **Vietnamese “boat people”**: refugees who fled Vietnam by sea mainly after 1975

If you want, I can also explain how the Tanka culture influenced Hong Kong’s coastal history or how their boat communities actually worked day-to-day.

There are objects that capital abandons once they stop producing profit—like a toy of a single summer. And then there are communities that bring them back to life.

Boats left to rot in harbors or forgotten in shipyards are not waste: they are spaces of potential. Reclaiming them is not theft, but social reuse. It is an act of material justice: taking from abandonment to return to the commons. Within these floating structures, one can imagine far more than simple shelter: self-managed workshops, meeting spaces, hubs of shared knowledge, nodes in networks of solidarity. Microcosms of self-sufficiency where energy, food, skills, and relationships are built outside the logic of profit.

The sea, long a space of passage and boundary, thus becomes liberated territory. A reclaimed boat can host ways of living that escape control and commodification: collective kitchens, libraries, free education, concrete mutual aid. Not utopia, but necessity.

Within this horizon emerges the Collettivo Velico: not as a guide, but as a tool. Technical support, sharing of nautical knowledge, recovery and maintenance, building networks among those who reject isolation and choose self-management. A light infrastructure that makes possible what the system considers impossible.

Because living differently is not a dream: it is a practice. And every boat reclaimed from abandonment is a step toward a more just, free, and shared way of inhabiting the world.