修车大队

To those of you in the United States, the organizers, activists, community workers, and everyday people of the Global South are writing to you about hope. We do not mean the misunderstood interpretation of hope that prizes optimism or triumphalism. We mean the kind of hope fierce enough to confront the suffering caused by systemic oppression, and one that tactfully and persistently fights to put an end to it.

We know your panic because we are no strangers to your fear. We resonate with your anxiety鈥攑erhaps even on a greater scale than what most of you have felt. That鈥檚 because we are no strangers to authoritarian regimes, human rights violations, and the exploitation of our lands and lineages.

And for many of us in the Global South, our wounds are directly caused by the legacy of the United States, down to the everyday decisions of the American people鈥攖hrough taxpayer money and day-to-day capitalist consumptions that are seldom questioned yet passively or actively consented to鈥攔esulting in the dispossession of countless communities in the Global South.

Yet we are here to encourage you in a pivotal time. Think of the following as a letter, one rooted in the wisdom of the Global South to remind you of an alternative way forward.

May you read with reverence, as most of these Global South organizers have written their messages in English, which for most of them is not their first language. Additionally, they offer frameworks, philosophies, and strategies after generations and centuries of resistance. They would like to teach you what has worked for them and their ancestors in the ancient and ongoing fight against autocratic power and state violence.

They send you鈥攖he organizers, activists, workers, and everyday people of the United States鈥攎essages of hope. Keep going, just as they have. 

To commence, Uganda-based environmental educator and grassroots organizer Darren Namatovu asks you to 鈥渒eep hope alive鈥攏ot as blind optimism but as an act of defiance, and remember our Global South family, especially our siblings who are depending on us for a deep sigh of their life.鈥�

Collective Trust and Safety

Maria Reyes, a climate and human rights defender in Mexico, says it is essential to remember the shared humanity between those of you in the U.S. and those most vulnerable to authoritarian policies and orders. 

鈥淔rom your neighbors in the South, we see your efforts to resist authoritarianism and we thank you, because whatever you do, deep within the heart of the beast, will delay the damage caused by its head,鈥� Reyes says. 鈥淎lthough the mainstream media has tried to convince you that we are different, the truth is that you have much more in common with our immigrant uncles, cousins, and grandparents than with those who claim to represent you from the heights of power. A desire to live in dignity, remember that.鈥�

She continues by encouraging strong and established infrastructures of community safety and accountability: 鈥淢y wish for you is that you resist the individualistic urge to isolate yourselves in the face of imminent risks and uncertainty. Better than any security gadget, protocol, or exit plan is to build community. Don鈥檛 let states and [nongovernment organizations] monopolize security; weaving solidarity with your neighbors, monitoring your colleagues, and supporting your families may be the best first line of response.鈥�

More than keeping up with the most advanced technology for digital security, we must prioritize the ideology, intentions, and culture in how we use technology. Of course, we need to secure our identities, devices, and internet networks by and , by whenever possible, and using other methods to improve digital security while organizing and mobilizing for social change. However, we must depend on human trust and communication more than technology in order to protect one another.

Selma Zaki, a Lebanese psychotherapist, reflects on the need to 鈥渃reate a 鈥榮omewhere鈥� of connection where we can draw strength from one another.鈥� To Zaki, this includes the freedom fighters of the past and future. 鈥淚鈥檝e particularly found it powerful to draw strength from the generations before me and from the generations after me,鈥� she says. 鈥淚n my Sufi death class, someone said that the graves are not for those we lost, but for us who are still here: to reflect on what our responsibility is. It鈥檚 on us to care for this Earth. And it may feel like a lot, but鈥� the past generation paid it forward, we pay forward, [and] the future generation pays it forward.鈥� 

At times when we might feel our commitments to social justice have been too much鈥攁nd they have鈥擹aki asks us all to remember our sense of humanity: 鈥淲e have the burden to help people fulfill their humanity鈥� and to do so, we must remain human.鈥�

Hope as Deliberate Praxis

Dimitra, a Bangladeshi organizer in Southeast Asia who requested to use her first name only, is building on by adding hope.

鈥淔or the past few years, I鈥檝e described the experience of working in movement spaces as a pendulum swinging between hope and despair,鈥� she shares. 鈥淏ut recently, I鈥檝e come to understand that I can鈥檛 afford to wait for hope to arrive before I begin the work I鈥檝e committed my life to. Hope isn鈥檛 something that simply appears鈥攊t must be cultivated, practiced, tended to like something alive. It must be felt, lived, and chosen every day.鈥�

Dimitra considers it strategic to lean into community and her legacies of resistance. This involves organizing queer film nights in Southeast Asia, a region where the majority of structural systems 鈥渃o-opt and flatten [queer] identities.鈥� This strategy also involves opening up about her everyday needs, which may be challenging to grassroots organizers. 

鈥淚t looks like telling my friends I鈥檓 exhausted and letting them nourish me with food and tenderness,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t looks like diving headfirst into joy with the same intensity I give to despair. It looks like remembering that my Bangladeshi ancestors endured tyrants and colonizers for centuries and still found ways to survive鈥攁nd that survival, too, is a form of hope. In remembering that the act of resisting violence鈥攁gain and again鈥攊s not new, I find strength. It has been done before. This moment is no different.鈥�

She turns to Audre Lorde鈥檚 timeless words: 鈥淐aring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare,鈥� which Dimitra believes is built on alternative structures of reciprocity and care. What does it mean to resist while also accessing the pleasure, rest, and self-determination in the revolution?

鈥淐ultivating hope also requires self-reflexivity,鈥� says Dimitra. 鈥淚t means recognizing that in our interactions with systems of power, we often internalize the very messages and structures we鈥檙e resisting鈥攅specially when we live in close proximity to regimes of oppression. Hope, then, becomes a practice of examining what we鈥檝e absorbed, noticing how it shows up in the alternative spaces we鈥檙e trying to build, and committing to creativity and reimagination as tools to unlearn and undo those patterns.鈥�

With care, Dimitra invites us to 鈥渞eflect on your own practice of hope. What might it look like in today鈥檚 climate?鈥�

We have the burden to help people fulfill their humanity鈥� and to do so, we must remain human.鈥�

Andrea Cort茅s Islas, an ecofeminist and human rights defender in Mexico, shares similar sentiments: 鈥淗ope is a practice that must be continually nurtured.鈥� She paraphrases Maya-Xinka community-based territorial feminist Lorena Cabnal in describing active hope: 鈥淎long with joy and rebellion, [hope] serves as an act of political resistance. This hope is strengthened within communities as they jointly seek to create dignified living conditions for all beings inhabiting the intricate web of life.鈥�

Islas contradicts these dignified living conditions with 鈥渇orced displacement 鈥� and various forms of spatial reconfiguration, [which result from] patriarchal, imperialist, extractivist, and colonial violence 鈥� increasing daily in the territories of the global majority. These issues are exacerbated by fascist governments that position themselves at the forefront of necropolitics globally. However, it is essential to remember a few key elements that can contribute to this active hope.鈥�

Amid this fight, Islas believes it is important to recognize that those who are trampling on the rights of our most marginalized neighbors are in the minority. 鈥淲e must recognize that the far-right governments that primarily target our Indigenous, peasant, trans, nonbinary, migrant, women, racialized, and neighborhood rights communities are not the majority,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 repeat: They are not the majority. While these governments try to create the illusion of disorganization and lack of mobilization鈥攁ctions that have indeed been hindered by policies of fear鈥攖hey actually bring us closer to reconsidering what is essential in life: Who are our communities? What does solidarity mean in a communal context?鈥�

Islas doesn鈥檛 minimize the challenge that comes with offering this type of care, especially while systems continue to crumble and reckon with themselves. But she insists on a revitalized sense of imagination: 鈥淚t is not governments or large corporations that sustain life; this has been abundantly demonstrated,鈥� she says. 鈥淩ather, it is our communities that provide this sustenance. In an increasingly fragmented world, we must remind ourselves that all living beings require care (in varying degrees and forms) to continue existing, and we have the capacity to offer that care.鈥�

What are the stories鈥攑ast and present鈥攖hat invigorate our 鈥測es鈥� to this liberatory path?

Islas is aware of collective sorrow, disillusionment, and fatigue, but she also believes that 鈥渃ontinuing to inhabit a vision of utopia is also crucial for maintaining the struggle. As Eduardo Galeano said, 鈥楿topia is on the horizon. I walk two steps, and it moves two steps away; the horizon moves 10 steps further. So what is utopia for? That鈥檚 what it鈥檚 for: walking.鈥�

We Are Ready for This

Ni Ni, a leader in the fields of anti-human-trafficking and migrant protection in Myanmar and Thailand, believes the most powerful community organizing will always be led by the people most impacted by the problems movements are aiming to fix: 鈥淭his is not merely an opinion that happens when people affected share their stories鈥攊t鈥檚 a fact that can connect people鈥檚 hearts,鈥� she says. 鈥淓very big movement starts somewhere, and often it can be as simple as encouraging those most affected to tell their stories.鈥� 

Ni Ni believes that telling stories blazes the trail toward social change: 鈥淪torytelling is one of the strongest ways to build empathy, inspire action, and bring people together. It鈥檚 through these personal stories that people connect, and that鈥檚 how change begins.鈥�

And change is what we are and have been ready for. In times like this, it can be easy to forget the foundations of our current solidarity movements, which . Tara Abrina, a community organizer in marine conservation in the Philippines, harkens us to the crucial act of remembering. She writes to you as her kasama, which is a Tagalog translation for companion or comrade: 

Dearest Kasama, 

It鈥檚 here. The day we have studied, trained for, moved toward, and prayed for is finally here: the collapse of empire. Of course, like a hunted animal backed into a corner, the fascist will do all it can to claw its way through. It will rage against the setting of its sun on the horizon of history. I take heart in the words of Ursula K. Le Guin: 鈥淲e live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. But then, so did the divine right of kings.鈥�

You are the human beings tearing at the heart of this human power. Your struggles liberate us all. 

Do not be afraid of the world to come. We will be with you on the day the sun rises on a new world. In the Philippine movement, there is a saying: Nauuna ang kapasyahan bago ang kahandaan. Our commitment to their new world precedes our readiness to inherit it鈥攂ut more importantly, it is in moving toward it that we become ready. Take heart, because everything and everyone that came before you has brought you to this moment. 

Dasig kanunay! Mabuhay kayo! [Have courage always! May you come alive more and more.]