Self-management | B-Side in Münster: When utopia suddenly becomes everyday life

After nine years of battling bureaucracy and burnout, after nine years of hoping that things would be different this time – without bosses, without investors – after nine years of pouring heart and soul into a place that aims to prove that collective self-management can be more than idealism with dark circles under the eyes, five people sit in front of their laptops, their Wi-Fi failing. The Brechtian struggles of the mountains are over, the struggles of the plains are just beginning.

Outside, the greenish harbor water laps against the quayside. Inside, between bare walls, Tim Többe opens the plenary session with his usual check-in: "I'm fine, but as always, we're too few for too many tasks. Check."

The Commons working group meets at the B-Side socio-cultural center on the south side of Münster's harbor. Every Thursday, the meeting focuses on how to sustainably organize and maintain communally used resources in a spirit of solidarity. Until now, the path to utopia has been paved with wear and tear and exhaustion.

One floor up, in the exercise room, where the smells of fresh wood and old sweat mix, briefly stopping the brain, where yoga mats lean against boxing pads, the "Yoguerrillas" are supposed to consider a new financing model. The previous principle – the B-side receives 30 percent of the course revenue, up to a maximum of 15 euros per lesson – no longer works. Electricity and heating are expensive, and in the future, a paid position is to be created to organize the space. "So that the same two people don't have to do everything on a voluntary basis, like they have for the past eight or nine years," says Tim. "Self-exploitative."

Everyone decides together, everyone can participate

Tim Többe, 42, estimates that for four to five years, he volunteered around 20 hours a week to fight for B-Side. Today, he volunteers only about five hours a week, and he now receives funding for 27 hours a week, both from B-Side GmbH and from external sponsors.

Tim was there from the beginning when a group of artists and creatives mobilized ten years ago to protest the sell-off of the old harbor district. An investor wanted to buy the dilapidated Hill warehouse from the city—to generate profits through offices instead of open space for culture.

But the creative collective had other plans and raised state funding for the renovation. "At first, we thought it would take four years, and if there were any problems, we'd look each other in the eye," says Tim. It took nine years, and today he no longer knows everyone who brings life to B-Side. They celebrated the reopening in September 2024.

With almost ten million euros and countless volunteer hours, what Tim calls a "Gallic village of civil society and self-organization" has been created in the old 3,500 square meter warehouse: an event hall for 400 guests, a café with lunch (but no obligation to eat), group rooms and offices for community-oriented initiatives.

There's a wood and metal workshop with a 3D printer and CNC milling machine, shared studios, rehearsal rooms, cargo bikes, a professional kitchen that everyone can use, and under the roof: the light-filled exercise room.

B-Side GmbH employs 28 people, spread across ten full-time positions. "We'll have to hire more," says Tim. Around 50 people regularly volunteer, and for individual events, the number is expected to reach up to 200. Although B-Side doesn't have to pay rent, it expects monthly expenses of €80,350 in its first year of operation alone. And yet, the goal remains: everyone makes decisions together, everyone can participate, and there are no hierarchies. Can this work in the long run?

On a Tuesday at 7:31 p.m., someone in the "Hansawerkstatt" plenary session had a good idea: first, let's air the place out. For 44 minutes, the discussion on the first item on the agenda meandered from side issues to individual points, yet always returned to the core: Who is allowed to open the workshop and use it independently? There are not only expensive machines like the CNC milling machine, but also circular saws capable of severing limbs.

"It's about theft, damage, and injuries," the moderator summarizes, her black mixed-breed dog on her lap, piercings in her lip and nose, and her bun secured with a fineliner. She tries to steer the debate toward a decision. The new rule should be binding, but not too binding—so as not to exclude anyone.

The draft resolution appears on the wall, edited and projected in real time by the note-taker: "People with independent access to the workshop must attend the plenary session regularly." What "regularly" means remains unclear. The moderator looks around and asks: "Is there any opposition to this resolution? One, two, three." On the count of three, all twelve attendees simultaneously cross their arms: no opposition. One raised arm would have signaled opposition, two arms doubled opposition.

The underlying principle is called systemic consensus. It measures resistance, not agreement. This avoids the blockages that occur in traditional consensus processes with the right of veto. The option with the least resistance is chosen, i.e., the solution that comes closest to consensus. However, it's usually possible to formulate a decision during the discussion that everyone can live with. Even if that sometimes takes time.

»Faltenrocker« and a special culture of conversation

But what's the point of all this consensus-building, moderation, record-keeping, and bottom-up delegation if it doesn't fit humanly? Or if knowledge and informal power are still concentrated in individuals? Because they're charismatic, because they have more experience, because they've read more?

Tim Többe sits with his back straight on the terrace of the B-Side. "Just as important as the structure," he says, "is the culture." The culture at the B-Side includes self-reflection and an open approach to mistakes, according to the website. You can still find many like-minded people here, Tim says, although the group is nowhere near as homogenous as some other left-wing collectives.

He himself is trying to relinquish responsibility and make room for a new generation. But letting go and trusting others is difficult for him – even though, in retrospect, he is often impressed by what others accomplish. A few days after the Commons Working Group meeting, he will say that he was dissatisfied with his large speaking share in the plenary session.

On another lunchtime, Burkhard Zimmer trips into the B-Side café, stops in front of the board with the weekly specials, and wonders aloud whether "Chili sin Carne" really is meatless. Burkhard, 71, sporting a flat cap and a gray beard on his chin, is something of a link between the B-Side and a new, or rather, older, generation. Five years ago, he brought the "pleated skirt" to the B-Side. Today, almost 500 people come to the monthly over-60s party. Up to 40 help out, and six to eight are at the DJ booth. Almost all of them are retirees.

Burkhard discovered B-Side in 2018 through a work colleague. He raises his head and nods toward the corner next to the cake display. Over there, when everything here was still a ruin, he sat in a plenary session for the first time. The chili now stands in front of him, meatless, on a table made of recycled wood. "I was completely blown away," he says. By the discipline. By the timekeepers. By the moderators. By the hand signals.

For years, Burkhard was responsible for marketing at a refrigeration technology manufacturer, flying halfway around the world for work – China, North America, and South America. He remembers endless meetings in which managers talked and talked as soon as they had the floor. "You had to be brutal to even get a word in edgewise," he says, staring wide-eyed at his beans. But here, at B-Side, things are different. The conversation culture is respectful. The group dynamics are such that people are happy to take on tasks.

Today, Burkhard not only fights to ensure that the groove alone counts when selecting music, so that "people's legs twitch, so they can dance with joy." He also tries to "very carefully let B-side air flow" among the diverse group—older people, not just academics. For example, when he insists that Rammstein or music from other problematic groups no longer blares from the speakers. Or when he explains to other seniors what the collective term "FLINTA" means. That's often "a bit exhausting," says Burkhard.

And sometimes, even he, who speaks so naturally about things like "NFTs," "blockchain," and "ChatGPT," doesn't understand the young people. For example, a few years ago, when individuals indiscriminately blamed "old, white men" for abusive behavior. "I'm also an old, white man on the outside," says Burkhard. But one who observes closely. He's glad that there's an awareness group in the B-Side whose rules the Faltenrock team can follow.

But all the discussions, and the occasional disappointments, seem to be worth it. When the "Faltenrock" returned to the B-Side after renovations in October 2024, when 400 guests swung their hips to Queen, Black Sabbath, and Nirvana for the first time in the new venue, when dozens flirted like they used to, pairs of eyes scanning the room for eye contact – there stood Burkhard on stage. He made the announcements between songs. And there were tears in his eyes.

Tim Többe's mission in the Commons working group is to demonstrate that the "tragedy of the commons" is not a law of nature. Ecologist Garrett Hardin used this term to describe the inevitable overuse of freely accessible resources – because everyone wants to get the most out of them, thereby causing long-term collective damage. There is a lack of willingness to voluntarily assume responsibility.

Tim, however, believes it can be done without external authority. He walks past the common kitchen at B-Side and talks about Elinor Ostrom's "eight design principles." The Nobel Prize-winning economist demonstrated that people in local communities often use resources very sustainably – when they are well-informed, trust each other, and develop clear rules.

Instead of relying on admission fees or rent for group rooms, B-Side wants to focus on "reproduction work": things like setting up the stage, working at the bar, trash disposal, or tending plants. Collective responsibility that fosters identity. To make this work, the Commons working group is developing a model for the fair distribution of use and maintenance, documented in a digital tool intended to create transparency and commitment. The plenary session is still busy clarifying which tasks are even eligible for the upcoming "reproduction work day." There are many ideas – but the complex reality is once again slowing things down.