---
title: "Operational Security for Mutual Aid"
description: "Why protecting information isn't paranoia: it's care work in a hostile world"
author: "Author name"
date: "2025-08-10"
related:
  - "resolving-active-conflicts"
  - "digital-mediation-and-the-death-of-nuance"
  - "knowledge-management-and-institutional-amnesia"
thumbnail:
  vertical: "operational-security-mutual-aid-vertical.svg"
  horizontal: "operational-security-mutual-aid-horizontal.svg"
background:
  color: "#EECB8F"
---

We like to think of mutual aid as something pure, outside the machinery of state surveillance and corporate extraction. But the reality is messier. The moment you start organizing, you're generating data. Names, addresses, health conditions, immigration status, financial need. All of it stored somewhere, passed between people, vulnerable to exactly the kind of scrutiny that could harm the people you're trying to help.

Operational security isn't about cosplaying as revolutionaries or obsessing over encrypted everything. It's about recognizing that care work happens in a context where information itself can become a weapon. When you're distributing food to undocumented neighbors or running an underground HRT network, a single careless spreadsheet can translate directly into state violence. The risk isn't theoretical.

The problem is that most mutual aid networks inherit their infrastructure from the nonprofit world or just use whatever's convenient. Google Sheets because everyone has access. Facebook groups because that's where people already are. Venmo because it's fast. Each of these choices makes perfect sense in isolation, but together they create a surveillance surface that would make any security professional wince.

Start with the basics. Who actually needs to know what? Not everyone in your network needs access to intake forms with people's full legal names and why they need help. Compartmentalization isn't about mistrust, it's about minimizing exposure. If someone's phone gets seized or their account gets compromised, what can they give up? The less any single person knows, the safer everyone is.

Think about your tools. Signal is free and actually encrypted. Proton Mail costs nothing for basic use. There are alternatives to Google Drive that don't scan your files for content. These aren't difficult switches to make, but they require convincing people to change habits, which is always harder than the technical side. Frame it as part of the work, not an optional extra. If you're serious about care, you have to be serious about protection.

Data retention matters too. How long are you keeping intake forms? Why? Every piece of information you hold is a potential liability. Set up systems where sensitive data gets deleted on a schedule, not kept indefinitely because you might need it someday. You probably won't, and if you do, the risk of keeping it likely outweighs the benefit.

And then there's the cultural piece, which is harder to solve with an app. Mutual aid attracts people who want to be helpful, who want to share and connect. That openness is beautiful but it's also a vulnerability. Teaching people to be thoughtful about what they post, what they photograph, who they name, requires ongoing conversation. It's not natural to most people raised in an attention economy where sharing everything is the default.

None of this is about becoming invisible or retreating into bunkers. It's about building practices that match the stakes. You can still be open, still be welcoming, still operate with trust at the center. But you do it with eyes open to the fact that the state is watching, that platforms will comply with subpoenas, that one mistake can unravel months of work and endanger real people.

Operational security is another form of solidarity. It says: your safety matters enough that we'll do the boring, annoying work of protecting it. It's not glamorous, but neither is most care work. And like all care work, it's political whether we admit it or not.
