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Hello — this is Jan, your gentle radical.

Once a month, I would like to invite you into a space where we can slow down and ask difficult questions — about power, freedom, and the fragile possibility of change.

This is not a discussion show or political propaganda. It’s about listening, wondering and building a different kind of world — one conversation at a time.

For me, being radical means taking responsibility for your own freedom and the freedom of others. Refuse domination—not by replacing one authority with another, but by living otherwise. Radicalism rules out violence, and true radicals can hardly stand on the side of winners, as the French philosopher and Christian anarchist Jacques Ellul wrote in On Violence. Since radicals dwell underground—at least spiritually—they remain close to the humiliated, the excluded, and the forgotten. In that sense, every gentle radical is an anarchist of the heart.

This podcast — Your Gentle Radical — is a monthly exploration of the intersections of radicality and dialogue.

Some episodes will reflect on ideas from philosophy, theology, and social thought.

Others will be about artists, activists, and people who live gentle revolutionary lives.

I keep asking: How can we be radical and open at the same time—so that we don’t reproduce the violence we resist?v

As this is to be a personal journey, I should introduce myself first.

I’m Jan Motal—an experimental artist, philosopher, and university teacher based in Prague, Czech Republic. I work where ideas meet practice: classrooms, alternative art communities, and DIY projects. My work explores how power, care, and responsibility shape our lives. I prefer open-source tools, slow craft, and honest dialogue. I’m also a founding member of the artistic collective Dílo. You’ll find links, episode extras, and transcripts at yourgentleradical.space.

Since this podcast is about radicality, here’s my stance. I identify as an anarchist in the nonviolent, dialogical sense: take responsibility for your freedom and others’, challenge oppressive power, and build new institutions from the grassroots. With Jacques Ellul, I don’t believe a fully anarchist society is likely, but the struggle toward it matters. I’m also a Christian—baptized Roman Catholic, now walking a more personal path. I feel close to the Quaker tradition: listen, discern, and act with integrity.

Let’s start with a bit of terminology so we’re on the same page. In this first episode, I want to sketch what I mean by radicality—and how it differs from extremism and fundamentalism. A little history first.

Radical begins with Latin: rādīx means “root.” From it, late Latin formed rādīcālis—“of or from the root.” Middle English picked up radical in the late 14th century to mean “fundamental,” and that root idea appears across fields. In math, the √ radical sign for roots first shows up in print in 1525 in Christoph Rudolff’s Die Coss. In chemistry, “radical” originally named the supposed “root” of acids by Lavoisier in late 18th c., and later narrowed to atoms or molecules with unpaired electrons—hence “free radicals,” which are highly reactive. The through-line is depth and origin: root causes, root operations, root components.

In politics, the word radical appears in Britain by the late 18th century. Figures around the Whig tradition—think Charles James Fox and allies—pressed for sweeping parliamentary reform and a much broader franchise. From there, “Radicals” became a 19th-century label for movements pushing thorough, root-level change to the political order. Marx’s line in the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right—“To be radical is to grasp the root of the matter”—captures that older literal meaning and gives it a philosophical charge.

Through the 19th century, political radicalism in Britain and France generally meant democratic and liberal reform—civil liberties, expanded suffrage, accountability—often to the left of mainstream parties. As socialism grew, these currents interacted, overlapped, and sometimes diverged; later “libertarian” streams took a more market-centered path, but that’s not a straight line from 19th-century Radicals.

The enduring root of many radical traditions is the revolutionary triad Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité. That matters, because it distinguishes radicalism from mere libertarianism: for radicals, liberty is inseparable from social and economic justice. Popular radicals—Chartists are the classic case—framed politics as the people versus a corrupt establishment, pushed for wider suffrage, recall and referendums, and used extra-parliamentary mobilization and cheap media.

On the surface, that rhetoric can resemble today’s populisms. But the continuity breaks if we look closely. Much right-wing populism today is exclusionary and nativist, whereas classic radicalism was typically expansive and universalist about rights. Radicals sought structural democratization—labor rights, civil liberties, accountable representation. By contrast, many contemporary populist projects prioritize identity, sovereignty, or anti-immigration—and sometimes tilt toward illiberal majoritarianism. (There are left-wing populisms that remain inclusionary, though, and they echo more of that older radical universalism.)

So here’s the takeaway for our series: radicalism, in its best sense, means going to the roots—of problems and of justice—without endorsing violence or simple “winner’s politics.” Populism today can amplify real grievances, but it isn’t the same thing as the radical democratic tradition. We’ll keep returning to these distinctions as we go.

So, as we have seen, radicalism means going to the roots of a problem and demanding deep reform, but it is not inherently anti-democratic or violent; radicals can be pragmatic and work within (or to widen) democratic norms. Extremism, by contrast, is typically defined as anti-pluralist and anti-democratic in both ends and means—closed to compromise and often willing to legitimate violence. Fundamentalism is different again: it’s a religious or ideological project that posits a return to foundational truths and disciplined community order; it can be non-violent yet absolutist in doctrine.

In practice, however, policy and policing often blur these terms, especially in counter-radicalisation frameworks. The UK’s Prevent strategy itself noted terminological confusion among “extremism,” “radicalisation,” and “terrorism,” and critics show how this conflation chills lawful dissent and over-polices minorities. Scholarly and civil-liberties critiques argue that treating radical ideas as a precursor to extremism collapses crucial differences between democratic radicalism and anti-democratic extremism.

Authorities can also weaponize the label “extremism” to discredit or criminalize opponents. Russia’s broad anti-extremism law has long enabled bans and prosecutions of peaceful groups and activists (documented by Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International). From a securitization perspective, branding opposition as “extremist” casts it as an existential threat, legitimizing extraordinary measures that marginalize dissent.

For me, a radical is someone who goes to the roots yet stays open, while an extremist is a fundamentalist who rigidly defends those roots. Radicality, in my sense, means self-reflection and a readiness to change—precisely because I know where I stand. These roots may be social, political, philosophical, historical, or ethnic, but first and foremost they are personal—gnōthi seauton, “know yourself,” as the Greeks said. That is in accordance with the original political radicalism: society should be organized to secure the conditions for everyone’s self-realization, not only for the wealthy or powerful.

In a normative sense, radicalism is therefore depth without rigidity. The extremist also speaks of roots, but as a fundamentalist defense: roots as walls. Radicality is different—rootedness that breathes. It is self-reflection and a readiness to change because I actually know where I stand; from that grounded place, I can listen, revise, and move. Without this inner work, “openness” decays into drift, and “principle” hardens into dogma. Radicality holds both: the courage to name first principles and the humility to test them in encounter with others and with reality itself.

Such radicality is urgently needed now. Our world fractures along extremist lines or dissolves into the thinness of consumer culture and political populism. Between hardness and hollowness, radical openness offers another way: to seek causes, not scapegoats; to change institutions without mirroring the violence we oppose; to build communities of repair, solidarity, and truth. That is our guiding question: how to be radical and open at the same time.

When I think of radicality and openness, I see the cross.

Not as a symbol of power — but of resistance.

The cross is the intersection of all opposites:

heaven and earth, strength and surrender, death and renewal.

It is the moment where authority collapses, and freedom begins — not by conquering, but by giving.

That’s what gentle radicality is about:

the courage to stand firm in love,

and to open one’s arms to the world,

even when the world does not understand.

Thank you for listening.

I’m Jan — your gentle radical.

Let’s keep walking toward the roots.

In this podcast, I collaborate with my nonhuman co-authors—not only books and archives, but AI as well. Although I remain the final editor and author, part of my mission is to acknowledge the invisible work of these nonhuman actors and the people who make this project possible: my family, my partner, my students, my ancestors, and the many teachers and friends who have influenced me and continue to inspire me. There are so many that I use the word “Collective” to include them all. Thank you, guys. Do not forget to check out the podcast website for extras and more info – www.yourgentleradical.space.