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The Culture of Liberation
Kweku Mandela & Amanda Seales in Conversation
KWEKU MANDELA: How are you?
AMANDA SEALES: I’m fine. I mean, I’m getting death threats, but it’s fine. I’m like, if y’all aren’t throwing a brick through the window with a note, then what are we really doing?
KWEKU: It’s this digital age. I had people come after me earlier this year. We had a big election in South Africa—30 years of democracy—and it’s always chaotic during that time, but this year was more extreme. Still, it renewed my faith in people.
I’ve always believed that for every group trying to oppress or control us, there are hundreds of millions more fighting against that future. They’re the cooks, the waiters, the cleaners, the pastors—the people most wouldn’t give a second thought to. That’s why I think we still have a chance to change the course of the world. I see it in young people, but also in our generation. I used to think we were done for—like, after Occupy Wall Street, we couldn’t seem to materialize protests into real change. But now, I feel hopeful.
AMANDA: I think we’ve had a long stretch of what we thought were “good times.” When things would bubble up, they’d just be “handled.” We got used to that. Now, in the States, people still think everything can just be “dealt with” and go back to normal. They’re always asking, “What’s the solution?” But I don’t think it’s going to work like that. This isn’t a quick fix; it’s not something that’ll just go away.
KWEKU: Yeah, those of us in our 30s and 40s are realizing we need to take responsibility as leaders in every part of life—whether
that’s in your workplace, your home, or your community. We can’t just keep saying, “There are no good choices, no good leaders.” Well, then get involved and become a leader!
AMANDA: There’s a real issue with how people are trained to think they need to follow someone. They believe leaders have to be a certain kind of person, and if you’re not that, then you can’t lead. People come to me all the time, asking, “So what do we do?” And I’m like, I’m the information sharer—that’s my role in leadership. I’m not the organizer.
I’m trying to encourage people to find the leader within themselves. What part of you can lead, and in what way?
KWEKU: True, but leading to what? In modern society, leaders are equated to celebrities. They’re put on pedestals. I saw this with my grandfather, Nelson Mandela. People would say, “He’s not just an African, he’s Nelson Mandela,” or “He’s not a Black person, he’s Nelson Mandela.” They did that to separate him from who he really was. And then, they’d act like he was the only one who did anything, like it’s a hero’s journey. So young people see that and think, “I can’t ever be like that.” But that’s not true.
He always broke that down by staying connected to the people. He’d randomly tell security, “I’m going to that school,” or “I’m going to speak to this group.” He avoided the bubble and kept interacting with people.
Now, though, with social media and movements, it’s hard to know what’s real and what’s not—even for someone like me, who’s pretty familiar with these things! That’s why organizations like Slow Factory are so important; they’re trusted sources for information.

AMANDA: I’ve gotten to the point where I’m resistant to being seen as the trusted source of information. I’m mostly over that idea. I’ve heard plenty of “stick to acting” or “shut up and dribble” nonsense.
We’re in a time where people are having so many different awakenings all at once. Even the idea of celebrity and what people’s relationships with celebrities are, is changing. Fans are questioning, “Do I want to support this person anymore? Do I want to continue propping up their existence as a Creative?” If their character doesn’t hold up, people are making real decisions about that. We’re heading into a new era.
By the way, I wanted to ask you about the recent elections in South Africa. How do you feel? Was there anything different about them this time?
KWEKU: It was a lot different. South Africa is a young democracy, and it’s one where people were enshrined with the right to vote in 1994 — a very substantial step towards freedom, but not freedom as a whole, because the economic levers that run society were still maintained by a group of people. The international community now really had a way to inject itself into South Africa—and there were good parts of that. There were also really bad parts of it. And then oftentimes, in a country like South Africa that has this extreme disparity of wealth, not dissimilar from the United States, there is this idea that we complain all the time.
All of the major indexes talk about the fact that we’ve been able to double the amount of people that have formal housing and double the amount of access to piped water, electricity, and sanitation. These are all massive things that prior to 1994 did not exist for the majority of the population. Those indexes are all over 80% right now, and it’s only been throughout the last thirty years. You think about countries that have had 100 years and didn’t get there, so there’s lots of progress, there’s a lot to be positive about, but sometimes people can’t see that. They’re so prone to looking at the negative.
Obama’s sister Maya Soetoro-Ng said something very powerful a few weeks ago about positive and negative peace. Negative peace is defined by the simple absence of conflict, and positive peace being the presence of nurturing systems of support. And so for me, that’s one of the things I’ve come to when you talk about divesting from celebrity. I’m looking at not only how I can divest from a lot of the ego traps that exist in our world, but how I can make sure my impact is focused on putting positive into it?
AMANDA: I think the biggest issue is education. There’s a huge gap in understanding what we’re even fighting against, and that gap has been intentionally created. There’s been a lot of effort to keep people ignorant. For example, many Americans don’t even know there’s an election happening in South Africa. Global news isn’t a natural part of our news cycle—you have to seek it out. But in other countries, the news is global by default, not just local. So what do you think is needed on the American side of things? And what’s your perspective on the South African side?
I feel like my role right now is to educate people on multiple levels—through art, spiritually, about history, and about systems. I say this as someone who wasn’t educated on these things for a long time. When I started learning about how systems operate, I had to let go of the lies I believed kept me safe. Americans tell themselves that the government is trying its best, and we find comfort in that. But in many other countries, people don’t trust their governments. They’re like, ‘We never trust the government.’ It feels bittersweet to realize that, but also it’s a beautiful awakening. It shows how much power we actually have to affect change.
KWEKU: I love that. The topic here is ‘everything is political,’ and I see that a lot too. When I try to have conversations, people often say, ‘I don’t talk about politics,’ or ‘I’m too busy with work to follow that.’ They instantly shut down. But I always explain that everything we do is political. In South Africa, people like to complain but then avoid responsibility for how things are and place all the blame on the government. Sure, we can critique the government, but we also have to look at the bigger picture—our reality and history. We can’t look at things in a vacuum.
AMANDA: Right now, I’m encouraging people to ask themselves: What would you need help with if the government didn’t exist? Child care? Food security? Healthcare? Elderly care? Education?
If you get to the end of that list and think, ‘I don’t need any of that,’ then ask: What would happen if others didn’t have access? How would that affect you? There’s leadership in just taking charge of how you build resources, not just for yourself but for your community. We don’t have that mindset here. Leadership here is taught as, ‘How do I get into a position to tell others what to do?’ That’s the only version of leadership pushed in America.
KWEKU: We have a different type of leadership here, which is very community-oriented. People come together often to address issues, and we have one of the highest levels of protest—about 2,000 to 3,000 a year. So, it’s hard for our government to ignore that kind of pressure.
AMANDA: So, it’s part of your culture—protesting, rallying, raising the roof?
KWEKU: Yeah, it’s a key part of our culture, undoubtedly. Amanda: Where do you think that comes from? Is it tribal? From fighting apartheid? How is it upheld?
KWEKU: It’s a mix. Part of it comes from our traditions, the way tribes and villages engage. Then, of course, apartheid played a huge role. It was the most sophisticated system of oppression in the world for nearly 60 years. To dismantle it required a massive amount of energy, ideas, and collaboration—not just in South Africa but worldwide. Hundreds of millions of people rallied behind it. People shared information, educated one another, and most did this voluntarily, without any financial incentive. What came out of that was real change. It was a system being dismantled, and people felt their impact. That momentum has carried through, even though things change when money and other factors come into play. The media and institutions influence that too, but there’s still a strong push-and-pull dynamic, and I think it’ll continue for many decades.
AMANDA: I believe it was part of Black culture by necessity during segregation, and I think that’s where a lot of issues with integration come from: integration created a disconnect among us as we tried to access white spaces. What’s going to be crucial now are global connections, right? Like when you said you connect so much with the things behind me on the wall. For some, this is just pop culture, but for many Black people, pop culture is as powerful as culture itself. For example, Claire Huxtable. Claire isn’t just a TV character—she’s a real person to us, while for white girls, Barbie is just Barbie. We needed these spaces to see ourselves because we were constantly being erased. In my work, I try to weave those threads together, reflecting our unique existence.
Many Black Americans feel strongly that, ‘No, We are African.’ While I believe it’s important to acknowledge our African descent and the beauty and significance of that connection, I also think it’s crucial to recognize that Black American identity is unique. It shouldn’t be overshadowed by the historical violence of America or solely defined by our African ancestry. As someone from the continent, specifically from South Africa, I’m curious to hear your perspective on this.”
KWEKU: “I’ll quote the words of Kwame Nkrumah, who said, ‘I’m not African because I was born in Africa. I’m African because Africa was born in me.’ And I think that sentiment resonates with people around the world. It’s a state of mind, a way to approach life. If you look at Africa, it’s one of the least violent continents that has ever existed and the most resilient. There are many virtues and truths in our continent that are essential to the identity of African Americans, and those can never be taken away. It’s up to African Americans to connect with that if they choose to and to educate themselves on it.
But as you said, that connection shouldn’t detract from who they are as their own people, with their own history and triumphs. It’s important to find that balance. However, I believe it’s also crucial for African Americans to connect with their African heritage. It’s a deep part of who they are, and for too long, it has been muddled, challenged, or treated as if it’s a curse or ridiculed in pop culture, as we’re discussing. That has changed over time, which I find really beautiful.
We’ve also seen leaders from the African diaspora — whether from the Caribbean or Europe — who embody the virtues of what it means to be African. But I don’t think it’s helpful to express that connection in a performative way either.”
AMANDA: “It’s really fascinating because it considers Africa beyond just a geographical context. You’re placing Africa in a spiritual context, within a value system, which, to your point and Kwame Nkrumah’s, means you can be from anywhere and still carry those values within you. And that doesn’t undermine the uniqueness of where you are.
My mother is Grenadian. I am Grenadian. I also know that within my culture as a Grenadian, Africa is very present and very clear, and that presence is not hidden or shunned in any way. But it also doesn’t diminish the distinctiveness of what it means to be Grenadian. I want that for Black America, but I feel like we haven’t been able to fully achieve it because we are still within the context of our oppressor.”
KWEKU: Going back to what I mentioned about politicians in this modern era, especially my grandfather, and the idea of putting him on a pedestal — that happens within African American culture too. How do the leaders of that community ultimately dispel that, and instead, instill the understanding that who we are as a people, as a community, exists beyond just one individual’s success, or even a handful of individuals? It’s about the sum total. And I think that’s so important.
And again, all these things really come down to education. If you can educate yourself, then you’ll often discover the truth that’s out there. And it will surprise most; it will shock most.
AMANDA: “When we talk about ‘Everything is political,’ we understand through education that politics is a word — it’s literally just a word at this point for how we exist within a ‘society’ governed by institutions. But if those governments weren’t there, we would still be figuring out how to exist as a society, and the word ‘politics’ might not be the one we use, but we’d still be trying to solve the same challenges.
That’s why I think it’s great that Slow Factory is starting this initiative, and I believe it’s imperative that we recognize education as the key to liberation on all fronts. And how do you get that education? There are so many ways. Personally, I find that my favorite ways to educate are through ranting, interviewing, and art.
Someone asked me the other day, ‘What are you doing for the movement?’ I try my best to give a platform to voices that people might not know about but should, to new ideas and innovation, and also to reiterate important ideas. I wake up every single day thinking about how we can be better, more okay, than we were yesterday.”
KWEKU: I think we have to challenge our existence every day. I’m interested in this idea, that if we stayed the same as we always were—whether that’s when we were born, whether that’s when we were five years old, 10 years old, or yesterday—that’s not truly living, right? We have to adapt and we have to change, but it starts with us. There’s a constant need to engage and also listen. I think far too many of us just don’t want to listen to anybody else. I have to remind myself each day— because at times I do have an ego— how important it is to take a step back and listen to people so you understand them better, which I think is important in this day and age where it’s so easy to tune people out.
Here, in South Africa, we have our first coalition government since 1994 and it’s a unity of different parties with different opinions and votes, but I remain confident that we can pull it together even on our craziest days.
A lot of my friends who are currently in America are disappointed in what’s unfolded and at a loss for what to do. I would love to hear what you think is the way forward?
AMANDA:To sum up, for me, the biggest issue is that Americans, by and large, have put so much stock in their politicians. This government is built on corporations; it’s not built on any level of public servitude in the federal government, right? So, when the culture of America has been propping up our government versus demanding of our government, we have to start from the root —encouraging people to vote locally and in their state elections first and foremost, while simultaneously identifying the organizations that are doing the work.
In Conversation:
Illustration by:
Kweku Mandela, grandson of the late Nelson Mandela, carries on a legacy of liberation and advocacy that runs deep in his family. In this conversation, he engages with Amanda Seales, an actress and activist known for her outspoken support for Palestine and her dedication to amplifying the voices of the marginalized.
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Location:
{
"article":
{
"title" : "The Culture of Liberation: Kweku Mandela & Amanda Seales in Conversation",
"author" : "Kweku Mandela, Amanda Seales",
"category" : "interviews",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/amanda-kweku",
"date" : "2024-09-20 00:00:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/amanda-kweku-thumb.jpg",
"excerpt" : "KWEKU MANDELA: How are you?",
"content" : "KWEKU MANDELA: How are you?AMANDA SEALES: I’m fine. I mean, I’m getting death threats, but it’s fine. I’m like, if y’all aren’t throwing a brick through the window with a note, then what are we really doing?KWEKU: It’s this digital age. I had people come after me earlier this year. We had a big election in South Africa—30 years of democracy—and it’s always chaotic during that time, but this year was more extreme. Still, it renewed my faith in people.I’ve always believed that for every group trying to oppress or control us, there are hundreds of millions more fighting against that future. They’re the cooks, the waiters, the cleaners, the pastors—the people most wouldn’t give a second thought to. That’s why I think we still have a chance to change the course of the world. I see it in young people, but also in our generation. I used to think we were done for—like, after Occupy Wall Street, we couldn’t seem to materialize protests into real change. But now, I feel hopeful.AMANDA: I think we’ve had a long stretch of what we thought were “good times.” When things would bubble up, they’d just be “handled.” We got used to that. Now, in the States, people still think everything can just be “dealt with” and go back to normal. They’re always asking, “What’s the solution?” But I don’t think it’s going to work like that. This isn’t a quick fix; it’s not something that’ll just go away.KWEKU: Yeah, those of us in our 30s and 40s are realizing we need to take responsibility as leaders in every part of life—whetherthat’s in your workplace, your home, or your community. We can’t just keep saying, “There are no good choices, no good leaders.” Well, then get involved and become a leader!AMANDA: There’s a real issue with how people are trained to think they need to follow someone. They believe leaders have to be a certain kind of person, and if you’re not that, then you can’t lead. People come to me all the time, asking, “So what do we do?” And I’m like, I’m the information sharer—that’s my role in leadership. I’m not the organizer.I’m trying to encourage people to find the leader within themselves. What part of you can lead, and in what way?KWEKU: True, but leading to what? In modern society, leaders are equated to celebrities. They’re put on pedestals. I saw this with my grandfather, Nelson Mandela. People would say, “He’s not just an African, he’s Nelson Mandela,” or “He’s not a Black person, he’s Nelson Mandela.” They did that to separate him from who he really was. And then, they’d act like he was the only one who did anything, like it’s a hero’s journey. So young people see that and think, “I can’t ever be like that.” But that’s not true.He always broke that down by staying connected to the people. He’d randomly tell security, “I’m going to that school,” or “I’m going to speak to this group.” He avoided the bubble and kept interacting with people.Now, though, with social media and movements, it’s hard to know what’s real and what’s not—even for someone like me, who’s pretty familiar with these things! That’s why organizations like Slow Factory are so important; they’re trusted sources for information.AMANDA: I’ve gotten to the point where I’m resistant to being seen as the trusted source of information. I’m mostly over that idea. I’ve heard plenty of “stick to acting” or “shut up and dribble” nonsense.We’re in a time where people are having so many different awakenings all at once. Even the idea of celebrity and what people’s relationships with celebrities are, is changing. Fans are questioning, “Do I want to support this person anymore? Do I want to continue propping up their existence as a Creative?” If their character doesn’t hold up, people are making real decisions about that. We’re heading into a new era.By the way, I wanted to ask you about the recent elections in South Africa. How do you feel? Was there anything different about them this time?KWEKU: It was a lot different. South Africa is a young democracy, and it’s one where people were enshrined with the right to vote in 1994 — a very substantial step towards freedom, but not freedom as a whole, because the economic levers that run society were still maintained by a group of people. The international community now really had a way to inject itself into South Africa—and there were good parts of that. There were also really bad parts of it. And then oftentimes, in a country like South Africa that has this extreme disparity of wealth, not dissimilar from the United States, there is this idea that we complain all the time.All of the major indexes talk about the fact that we’ve been able to double the amount of people that have formal housing and double the amount of access to piped water, electricity, and sanitation. These are all massive things that prior to 1994 did not exist for the majority of the population. Those indexes are all over 80% right now, and it’s only been throughout the last thirty years. You think about countries that have had 100 years and didn’t get there, so there’s lots of progress, there’s a lot to be positive about, but sometimes people can’t see that. They’re so prone to looking at the negative.Obama’s sister Maya Soetoro-Ng said something very powerful a few weeks ago about positive and negative peace. Negative peace is defined by the simple absence of conflict, and positive peace being the presence of nurturing systems of support. And so for me, that’s one of the things I’ve come to when you talk about divesting from celebrity. I’m looking at not only how I can divest from a lot of the ego traps that exist in our world, but how I can make sure my impact is focused on putting positive into it?AMANDA: I think the biggest issue is education. There’s a huge gap in understanding what we’re even fighting against, and that gap has been intentionally created. There’s been a lot of effort to keep people ignorant. For example, many Americans don’t even know there’s an election happening in South Africa. Global news isn’t a natural part of our news cycle—you have to seek it out. But in other countries, the news is global by default, not just local. So what do you think is needed on the American side of things? And what’s your perspective on the South African side?I feel like my role right now is to educate people on multiple levels—through art, spiritually, about history, and about systems. I say this as someone who wasn’t educated on these things for a long time. When I started learning about how systems operate, I had to let go of the lies I believed kept me safe. Americans tell themselves that the government is trying its best, and we find comfort in that. But in many other countries, people don’t trust their governments. They’re like, ‘We never trust the government.’ It feels bittersweet to realize that, but also it’s a beautiful awakening. It shows how much power we actually have to affect change.KWEKU: I love that. The topic here is ‘everything is political,’ and I see that a lot too. When I try to have conversations, people often say, ‘I don’t talk about politics,’ or ‘I’m too busy with work to follow that.’ They instantly shut down. But I always explain that everything we do is political. In South Africa, people like to complain but then avoid responsibility for how things are and place all the blame on the government. Sure, we can critique the government, but we also have to look at the bigger picture—our reality and history. We can’t look at things in a vacuum.AMANDA: Right now, I’m encouraging people to ask themselves: What would you need help with if the government didn’t exist? Child care? Food security? Healthcare? Elderly care? Education?If you get to the end of that list and think, ‘I don’t need any of that,’ then ask: What would happen if others didn’t have access? How would that affect you? There’s leadership in just taking charge of how you build resources, not just for yourself but for your community. We don’t have that mindset here. Leadership here is taught as, ‘How do I get into a position to tell others what to do?’ That’s the only version of leadership pushed in America.KWEKU: We have a different type of leadership here, which is very community-oriented. People come together often to address issues, and we have one of the highest levels of protest—about 2,000 to 3,000 a year. So, it’s hard for our government to ignore that kind of pressure.AMANDA: So, it’s part of your culture—protesting, rallying, raising the roof?KWEKU: Yeah, it’s a key part of our culture, undoubtedly. Amanda: Where do you think that comes from? Is it tribal? From fighting apartheid? How is it upheld?KWEKU: It’s a mix. Part of it comes from our traditions, the way tribes and villages engage. Then, of course, apartheid played a huge role. It was the most sophisticated system of oppression in the world for nearly 60 years. To dismantle it required a massive amount of energy, ideas, and collaboration—not just in South Africa but worldwide. Hundreds of millions of people rallied behind it. People shared information, educated one another, and most did this voluntarily, without any financial incentive. What came out of that was real change. It was a system being dismantled, and people felt their impact. That momentum has carried through, even though things change when money and other factors come into play. The media and institutions influence that too, but there’s still a strong push-and-pull dynamic, and I think it’ll continue for many decades.AMANDA: I believe it was part of Black culture by necessity during segregation, and I think that’s where a lot of issues with integration come from: integration created a disconnect among us as we tried to access white spaces. What’s going to be crucial now are global connections, right? Like when you said you connect so much with the things behind me on the wall. For some, this is just pop culture, but for many Black people, pop culture is as powerful as culture itself. For example, Claire Huxtable. Claire isn’t just a TV character—she’s a real person to us, while for white girls, Barbie is just Barbie. We needed these spaces to see ourselves because we were constantly being erased. In my work, I try to weave those threads together, reflecting our unique existence.Many Black Americans feel strongly that, ‘No, We are African.’ While I believe it’s important to acknowledge our African descent and the beauty and significance of that connection, I also think it’s crucial to recognize that Black American identity is unique. It shouldn’t be overshadowed by the historical violence of America or solely defined by our African ancestry. As someone from the continent, specifically from South Africa, I’m curious to hear your perspective on this.”KWEKU: “I’ll quote the words of Kwame Nkrumah, who said, ‘I’m not African because I was born in Africa. I’m African because Africa was born in me.’ And I think that sentiment resonates with people around the world. It’s a state of mind, a way to approach life. If you look at Africa, it’s one of the least violent continents that has ever existed and the most resilient. There are many virtues and truths in our continent that are essential to the identity of African Americans, and those can never be taken away. It’s up to African Americans to connect with that if they choose to and to educate themselves on it.But as you said, that connection shouldn’t detract from who they are as their own people, with their own history and triumphs. It’s important to find that balance. However, I believe it’s also crucial for African Americans to connect with their African heritage. It’s a deep part of who they are, and for too long, it has been muddled, challenged, or treated as if it’s a curse or ridiculed in pop culture, as we’re discussing. That has changed over time, which I find really beautiful.We’ve also seen leaders from the African diaspora — whether from the Caribbean or Europe — who embody the virtues of what it means to be African. But I don’t think it’s helpful to express that connection in a performative way either.”AMANDA: “It’s really fascinating because it considers Africa beyond just a geographical context. You’re placing Africa in a spiritual context, within a value system, which, to your point and Kwame Nkrumah’s, means you can be from anywhere and still carry those values within you. And that doesn’t undermine the uniqueness of where you are.My mother is Grenadian. I am Grenadian. I also know that within my culture as a Grenadian, Africa is very present and very clear, and that presence is not hidden or shunned in any way. But it also doesn’t diminish the distinctiveness of what it means to be Grenadian. I want that for Black America, but I feel like we haven’t been able to fully achieve it because we are still within the context of our oppressor.”KWEKU: Going back to what I mentioned about politicians in this modern era, especially my grandfather, and the idea of putting him on a pedestal — that happens within African American culture too. How do the leaders of that community ultimately dispel that, and instead, instill the understanding that who we are as a people, as a community, exists beyond just one individual’s success, or even a handful of individuals? It’s about the sum total. And I think that’s so important.And again, all these things really come down to education. If you can educate yourself, then you’ll often discover the truth that’s out there. And it will surprise most; it will shock most.AMANDA: “When we talk about ‘Everything is political,’ we understand through education that politics is a word — it’s literally just a word at this point for how we exist within a ‘society’ governed by institutions. But if those governments weren’t there, we would still be figuring out how to exist as a society, and the word ‘politics’ might not be the one we use, but we’d still be trying to solve the same challenges.That’s why I think it’s great that Slow Factory is starting this initiative, and I believe it’s imperative that we recognize education as the key to liberation on all fronts. And how do you get that education? There are so many ways. Personally, I find that my favorite ways to educate are through ranting, interviewing, and art.Someone asked me the other day, ‘What are you doing for the movement?’ I try my best to give a platform to voices that people might not know about but should, to new ideas and innovation, and also to reiterate important ideas. I wake up every single day thinking about how we can be better, more okay, than we were yesterday.”KWEKU: I think we have to challenge our existence every day. I’m interested in this idea, that if we stayed the same as we always were—whether that’s when we were born, whether that’s when we were five years old, 10 years old, or yesterday—that’s not truly living, right? We have to adapt and we have to change, but it starts with us. There’s a constant need to engage and also listen. I think far too many of us just don’t want to listen to anybody else. I have to remind myself each day— because at times I do have an ego— how important it is to take a step back and listen to people so you understand them better, which I think is important in this day and age where it’s so easy to tune people out.Here, in South Africa, we have our first coalition government since 1994 and it’s a unity of different parties with different opinions and votes, but I remain confident that we can pull it together even on our craziest days.A lot of my friends who are currently in America are disappointed in what’s unfolded and at a loss for what to do. I would love to hear what you think is the way forward?AMANDA:To sum up, for me, the biggest issue is that Americans, by and large, have put so much stock in their politicians. This government is built on corporations; it’s not built on any level of public servitude in the federal government, right? So, when the culture of America has been propping up our government versus demanding of our government, we have to start from the root —encouraging people to vote locally and in their state elections first and foremost, while simultaneously identifying the organizations that are doing the work."
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"date" : "2025-09-16 10:47:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/2025_9_16_UN_Genocide_1.jpg",
"excerpt" : "On the 43rd anniversary of the massacres committed under Israeli authority at Sabra and Shatila camps in Beirut in 1982, a United Nations Commission Of Inquiry has concluded, as would any rational observer, that Israel has been committing genocide in Gaza since October 2023.",
"content" : "On the 43rd anniversary of the massacres committed under Israeli authority at Sabra and Shatila camps in Beirut in 1982, a United Nations Commission Of Inquiry has concluded, as would any rational observer, that Israel has been committing genocide in Gaza since October 2023.This is not news. It could, however, be a turning point, . The UN’s declaration cracks open the conservative West’s long-standing wall of denial about the genocidal intentions and actions of the U.S.–Israel military machine. What happens next matters.A Century of Genocidal IntentFor those who have been watching Palestine with clarity long before 2023, this genocide is not an aberration — it is the project itself. From its inception, every major Zionist leader and Israeli politician has openly articulated the goal of erasing the Indigenous people of Palestine, whether through forced expulsion or mass murder.More than a hundred years of speeches, policies, and massacres testify to this intent. The so-called “War on Gaza” is simply the most visible and livestreamed stage of an ongoing colonial project.The UN’s Empty WordsIs this UN report different? The UN has made declarative statements for decades with no action or enforcement. In 1975, the UN declared Zionism is racism, citing the “unholy alliance” between apartheid South Africa and Israel. Yet Zionists continued to enjoy privileged status across Western institutions. Since 1967, the UN has passed resolution after resolution denouncing illegal Israeli settlements on stolen Palestinian land. Still, the theft continues unchecked. In December 2022, the UN General Assembly demanded Israel end its “unlawful presence” in the Occupied Territories within one year. That deadline expires this week, September 18, 2025. Israel has ignored it completely, as expected — with no consequences. Declarations without enforcement are not justice. They are fig leaves for impunity.What Good Is the UN?The Geneva Convention obliges all states to intervene to stop and punish genocide. Yet no country has deployed forces to resist Israel’s military slaughter in Gaza. No sanctions. No accountability.If the UN cannot stop one of its own member states from carrying out genocide in full public view — in “4K” as the world watches live — then what is the UN for?The Rise of AlternativesThe cracks are widening. The government of China has announced a new Global Governance initiative, already backed by dozens of countries. Without illusions about its motivations, the concept paper at least addresses three of the UN’s structural failures: Underrepresentation of the Global South — redressing centuries of colonial imbalance. Erosion of authoritativeness — restoring the credibility of international law. Urgent need for effectiveness — accelerating stalled progress on global commitments like the UN’s 2030 Agenda. The question is not whether the UN will reform. It is whether it can survive its own irrelevance.Toward a New Global OrderFrom Sabra and Shatila to Gaza, the UN has failed to prevent — or even meaningfully resist — genocide. Its reports and resolutions pile up, while the graves in Palestine multiply.If the international body tasked with “peace and security” cannot act against the most televised genocide in history, then the world has to ask: do we need a new United Nations? Or do we need to build something entirely different — a system of global governance that serves the people, not the powerful?"
}
,
{
"title" : "France in Revolt: Debt, Uranium, and the Costs of Macron-ism",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/france-in-revolt",
"date" : "2025-09-14 22:39:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Bloquons-Tout.jpg",
"excerpt" : "France is burning again—not only on the streets of Paris but in the brittle foundations of its political economy. What began as a mass revolt against austerity and public-service cuts has become a national convulsion: roads blocked, train stations occupied, workplaces shut down under the call to “Bloquons Tout” (Let’s Block Everything). The collapse of François Bayrou’s government is only the latest symptom. At the root of the crisis is a political project: Macronism—the steady, decade-long tilt toward pro-business reforms, tax cuts for the wealthy, and austerity by default—that has hollowed out public revenue and narrowed citizens’ options.",
"content" : "France is burning again—not only on the streets of Paris but in the brittle foundations of its political economy. What began as a mass revolt against austerity and public-service cuts has become a national convulsion: roads blocked, train stations occupied, workplaces shut down under the call to “Bloquons Tout” (Let’s Block Everything). The collapse of François Bayrou’s government is only the latest symptom. At the root of the crisis is a political project: Macronism—the steady, decade-long tilt toward pro-business reforms, tax cuts for the wealthy, and austerity by default—that has hollowed out public revenue and narrowed citizens’ options.Tax Cuts, Corporate Giveaways, and Rising DebtSince Emmanuel Macron took office in 2017, his administration rolled out a suite of pro-market reforms: the abolition of the broad wealth tax (ISF), replaced by a narrower property wealth tax (IFI); a sustained reduction of the corporate tax rate to about 25%; and a raft of tax measures framed as competitiveness fixes for companies and investors. Economists now estimate that Macron’s tax cuts account for a significant share of France’s rising public debt; his reforms helped widen deficits even before pandemic and energy-shock spending pushed them higher. Today France’s public debt sits near 113–114% of GDP, and ratings agencies and markets are watching closely. (Le Monde.fr)These policies did not produce the promised boom in broadly shared prosperity. Investment did not surge enough to offset lost revenue, and growth remained sluggish. The political consequence was predictable: when the state has less to spend, the burden of balancing budgets falls on cuts to pensions, healthcare, and social programs—measures that overwhelmingly hurt working-class and vulnerable communities. (Financial Times)Pension Reform, Social Fracture, and the Limits of ConsentMacron’s government pushed a controversial pension reform—raising the retirement age from 62 to 64—which sparked nationwide strikes and mass protests in 2023. The reform illustrated a defining feature of Macronism: when public consent falters, the state still presses forward with market-oriented restructuring, deepening social fracture and anger. The pension fight didn’t create the crisis so much as expose it. (Al Jazeera)Colonial Hangover: Uranium, Energy, and GeopoliticsFrance’s energy model has long rested on nuclear power—once a source of national pride for its emission-free nature, and geopolitical independence. Behind that story, however, is another: the colonial era’s extraction of uranium in places like Niger, where French companies (notably Orano/former Areva) secured resource access under unequal terms. As Niger reasserted sovereignty over its resources after the 2023 coup and pushed back on French access, the illusion of seamless “energy independence” began to crack. Losing preferential access to Nigerien uranium has widened France’s energy insecurity and amplified the fiscal squeeze: higher energy costs, the need to secure new supply chains, and political pressure to maintain subsidies for households. The politics of extraction are now returning home. (Le Monde.fr)Climate, Austerity, and the Moral EconomyAdd the climate emergency to the mix—record heatwaves, floods, and wildfires—and the picture becomes even more bleak. Infrastructure strain and rising costs of climate adaptation demand public investment, yet the government’s posture has been to trim and reprioritize spending to satisfy markets. In practice, that means the people least responsible for climate harm—low-income communities, migrants, and precarious workers—are asked to pay the price. The result is a moral and political rupture: climate vulnerability plus fiscal austerity equals radicalized grievance. (Financial Times)A Convergence of FailuresThis is why the current uprising cannot be reduced to a single grievance. It is the convergence of multiple failures: Economic: tax policy that favored the wealthy while starving the public purse; rising debt and cuts that fall on the poor. (Financial Times) Colonial: the unraveling of extractive arrangements that once propped up French energy and power. (Le Monde.fr) Ecological: climate shocks that amplify social need even as public services are stripped back. (Financial Times) The revolt has therefore drawn a broad constituency—students, unions, public-sector workers, and neighborhoods long marginalized by austerity. It is not merely a labor dispute; it is a crisis of legitimacy for a model of governance that privatized gains and socialized pain.What Macronism Tells Us About the Global MomentFrance is a cautionary tale for democracies worldwide. When political leaders prioritize tax breaks for capital and cut public goods to placate markets, they borrow political stability against the future. The bill eventually comes due—in rising debt, in weakened social cohesion, and in violent backlash. Where resource dependencies meet neoliberal retrenchment, the risk of social rupture grows.Three Questions for What Comes Next Will the French state return to a redistributive project—taxing wealth, reclaiming revenues, and investing in climate resilience—or double down on austerity? Can movements translate street power into institutional change that addresses colonial legacies (resource sovereignty) as well as domestic inequality? Will climate policy be woven into social policy—so that adaptation and justice go hand in hand—or will they remain separate priorities, deepening vulnerability? France stands at a crossroads: continue a model that funnels benefit to capital while exposing citizens to climate and economic shocks—or imagine a social contract rooted in redistribution, de-colonial resource politics, and ecological justice. The choice will not be made in the Élysée alone. It is being argued in the streets, in workplaces, and across borders where the costs of extraction were first paid.Everything is Political—and in France today, that truth has never been clearer."
}
,
{
"title" : "Nepal’s New Reckoning",
"author" : "Tulsi Rauniyar",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/nepal-reckoning",
"date" : "2025-09-11 18:11:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/nepal1-IMG_5694.jpg",
"excerpt" : "From September 8-11, 2025, a massive popular uprising has taken place in Nepal, forcing the resignation of the Prime Minister and much of the government. We present some description and first reflections on the protests and riots, which were sparked by a social media ban and anger over government corruption and nepotism.",
"content" : "From September 8-11, 2025, a massive popular uprising has taken place in Nepal, forcing the resignation of the Prime Minister and much of the government. We present some description and first reflections on the protests and riots, which were sparked by a social media ban and anger over government corruption and nepotism.September 8In the white glare of a late summer morning, the broad avenues of Kathmandu, Nepal’s modern capital, are usually thrumming with traffic and smog. But on this sweltering day, the streets were crowded with chanting protesters, all of them demonstrating against the government of KP Sharma Oli. The largest crowd by far was made up of Gen-Z youth, most in their twenties, many still in school and college uniforms.For Nepal, such eruptions aren’t new: generations have risen before—against Rana autocrats in the 1950s, against royal rule in 1990, against King Gyanendra’s coup in 2005—only to watch hard-won freedoms erode. But for many of the protestors I spoke to, this was likely their first gathering. Their mission, organised on Instagram, Facebook, and Discord, was grand. They had gathered to protest the dismal state of the country, where the powerful and their children lived in luxury while countless Nepalis laboured abroad in countries like Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and Malaysia, sending remittances home to sustain their families. They marched in loose coordination, some singing protest songs, others dancing to drumbeats, and many chanting slogans. Handmade signs bore slogans carefully daubed in black paint.The last straw had come days earlier when the government imposed a blanket ban on social media platforms, cutting off main channels through which young Nepalis expressed frustration and organised politically. Tensions were already high, fueled in part by viral chatter about “nepo-babies,” the young faces that have long been symbols of privilege fast-tracked into positions of power because of their family connections. For Nepal’s youth, social media became a stage to mock them, question their merit, and call out a system where politics often feels like a family business.As the protesters pushed past the barricades outside Parliament, the police unexpectedly fell back rather than delivering the usual baton charge. A few tear gas canisters hissed through the air, and a lone water cannon swept the crowd, but the confrontation seemed restrained. People snapped selfies amid the haze, their chants echoing off the old brick walls, and for a brief moment, it felt almost ordinary, as if the protest might remain just another turbulent day in Kathmandu.According to reports, a cluster of older men mumbled about storming Parliament, while a few young riders, adrenaline surging, tore recklessly through the crowd on motorbikes, shouting insults. Near the complex itself, the energy shifted, protesters began hammering at the outer walls, some scrambling up the gates as flames flickered near the main entrance. The Armed Police Force advanced, their body armour and riot shields glinting under the dimming light, first launching tear gas canisters, then rubber bullets. In moments, the demonstration’s creative, almost celebratory tone disintegrated. Rocks and debris flew back toward the police lines. Gunfire—allegedly live rounds—cracked above the din. Chaos engulfed Kathmandu’s political heart.Videos soon flooded social media of unarmed students in school uniforms bleeding from head wounds, men collapsing unconscious, and disturbing claims that security forces had even fired tear gas into hospital grounds and beat the injured. What began as students chanting against corruption was quickly slipping into something far more volatile.By nightfall, nineteen people were dead in Kathmandu—a toll that already exceeded the casualties from Nepal’s 2006 People’s Movement, which had taken nineteen days to claim thirteen lives. Hospitals across the capital struggled with hundreds of injured protesters, many still in school uniforms. Blood banks reported critical shortages as medical staff worked through the night, treating gunshot wounds and head injuries from what had begun, just hours earlier, as a peaceful demonstration. Across the rest of Nepal, deaths and injuries were also reported, though full numbers remain unrecorded as events continue to unfold.The scale of the violence was unprecedented in Nepal’s modern democratic history. Even during the monarchy’s final, desperate attempts to maintain power nearly two decades earlier, the state had not deployed lethal force with such devastating efficiency against its own citizens. For a generation that had known only the republic, however flawed, the sight of young people bleeding in the streets represented a profound rupture in their understanding of what their government was capable of.To understand why thousands of teenagers and twenty-somethings would brave tear gas and rubber bullets, one must consider a long history of frustrated hopes for reform. Nearly two decades after the civil war ended, Prachanda, the former Maoist insurgent, once seemed a beacon of change. Millions voted for him, hoping for a fairer voice for the marginalised, a more just Nepal. But hope gave way to compromise, personal gain, and the slow churn of the same familiar leaders. The constitution, progressive on paper, was watered down. A new constitution, progressive in Nepal’s historical context, was stalled and diluted, and subsequent elections delivered a familiar cycle. The same discredited leaders rotating through power, swapped like pieces on a chessboard, their promises of reform fading with each turn.Public services remain poor. Tax burdens are high. Corruption scandals implicating politicians, bureaucrats, and businessmen piled up like grim milestones in the failure of the state. For decades, Nepal’s elites had looted land, siphoned public funds, and promised reforms that never came, leaving ordinary citizens disillusioned.It is this long pattern of systemic rot that now fuels the anger spilling onto Kathmandu’s streets—the young protesters demanding, in word and in action, that Nepal finally deliver on the change that generations have been promised but never seen.September 9The smell hit you first—acrid smoke from burning tires laced with petrol, hanging in Kathmandu’s September air like a toxic fog. Dawn on September 9th brought no respite. If anything, the deaths of nineteen protesters had transformed grief into something more volatile. Thousands defied hastily imposed curfews, emerging into streets still lingering with smoke from the previous day’s violence. What had begun as a youth-led movement against corruption now metastasised into something broader and more destructive—an utter rejection of Nepal’s political establishment.The targets were systematic. Party offices, politicians’ residences, and government buildings all came under attack. By afternoon, thick columns of smoke rose across the Kathmandu Valley, and the tint in the sky shifted from clear blue to a smoky haze that hung over the entire capital. Tribhuvan International Airport suspended operations, diverting flights as the capital descended into chaos. In the newer ministerial quarters south of the city, helicopters shuttled back and forth, evacuating officials in what appeared to be a tacit admission that the government could no longer hold pressure.The political collapse was swift and total. Ministers resigned in cascading waves, following the home minister, who had tendered his resignation the previous evening. Opposition parliamentarians abandoned their posts en masse, demanding fresh elections. By three o’clock in the afternoon, even K.P. Sharma Oli, in his third stint as prime minister and renowned for his political durability, announced his resignation and fled to Dubai.But resignation could not restore order. As the day moved, things spiralled completely out of control.This was no longer the Gen Z protestors of the previous day. In their place, an unruly mob surged through the streets. Outside Singha Durbar, Kathmandu’s sprawling government hub, protesters smashed windows, looted buildings, and seized weapons from the police as they pushed deeper into the complex. In the chaos, prisoners were freed, fires consumed the President’s residence, the Supreme Court alongside Parliament, and police stations burned alongside shops. The line between symbol and target had vanished. In just forty-eight hours, Nepal had witnessed its bloodiest civil unrest in modern memory, and the civilian government had unravelled before the nation’s eyes.“This is not us,” the Gen-Z groups leading the movement, Hami Nepal, posted on their social media. “Our struggle is for justice, dignity, and a better Nepal, not for chaos and theft.”Only well into the night, the Army chief appeared, urging restraint and calm. The military would be deployed to restore order.September 10All this upheaval would have been unimaginable even a month ago.A heavy, almost unnatural silence hung over the city. Curfew had been imposed, the streets were empty, and the Army patrolled in rigid lines. The roar of burning tires, the chants that shook walls, and the smoke that had choked the air yesterday had faded, leaving only a lingering haze and the metallic tang of uncertainty. Sunlight struggled through the smog, casting the streets in a dim, uneasy glow. The city felt suspended, caught between yesterday’s chaos and whatever tomorrow might bring, and we awoke with nothing but questions and the weight of uncertainty pressing down on every corner.The Nepal Army still mans checkpoints across Kathmandu, its soldiers stationed at every major intersection. Any gathering of more than a handful of people is broken up, an officer steps forward, offers an unmistakable “move on,” and the cluster dissolves.Questions hung in the air with the smoke. Who would answer for the bloodshed? Who now held authority? And in the absence of clear leadership, how would life move forward? The deaths of more than thirty protesters could not go unanswered. Yet even among those who had demanded change, the scale of destruction stirred unease. Nobody could say who truly held power, or what would come next.The revolution’s fever has broken; now comes the harder, less visible work. The only institutions left standing, the Presidency and the Army, have invited Gen-Z representatives to the table to sketch a path forward. But even in these early overtures, the Army’s hand is visible, its preferences for who might lead flickering through measured, strategic negotiation.Gen-Z in Nepal remains unmoored, bound more by digital fluency than by shared leadership or vision. Amid the chaos of Discord debates and clashing ideas, the movement is experimenting with ways to assert influence in a leaderless uprising. On a bustling Discord server, young protesters held their own vote for an interim leader, selecting Sushila Karki, Nepal’s first female Chief Justice. The proposal followed an extensive discussion on the platform, lasting nearly five hours, where over 10,000 participants shared their opinions. The server buzzed with debate, dissent, and deliberation, a digital agora where ideas clashed and alliances formed, revealing both the potential and uncertainties of a leaderless uprising. Other names, such as Balen Shah, Kathmandu’s independent mayor who rose from rapper to reform-minded politician, and Harka Sampang, Dharan’s grassroots-focused mayor, also surfaced in discussions, signalling the generation’s appetite for leaders who break from the recycled elite and embody accountability, visibility, and boldness. Though no formal appointment has been made, these debates offer a glimpse of a generation seeking new pathways, negotiating authority and vision in real time.This is the third great convulsion to shake South Asia since 2022—after Sri Lanka and Bangladesh—prompting some observers to whisper of a ‘South-Asian Spring,’ a phrase that carries the echo of the Arab Spring’s long shadow. The Nepali youth-led uprising has even borrowed the aesthetics of dissent from Indonesia as protesters waved the Straw Hat Pirates flag from One Piece, an emblem that has become a shared shorthand for rebellion in both countries. In Bangladesh, Sheikh Hasina’s government fell to similar youth-led protests just months earlier; in Sri Lanka, the 2022 uprising forced out the Rajapaksa dynasty. The same fault line ran across the region, crooked governments, restless citizens, and revolt spread across borders.Yet across and within these territories, the road ahead remains murky, the outcomes anything but certain. Bangladesh’s interim government struggles to reform entrenched systems. Sri Lanka’s new leadership has already retreated from promises that once stirred hope. These movements have excelled at toppling regimes but have struggled to build lasting alternatives.Nepal now faces the same daunting test its neighbours have confronted, struggling to turn a swell of popular fury into durable political reform rather than merely swapping one weary cadre of power brokers for another. Whether this generational uprising can finally crack the cycle of disappointment that has long defined South Asian politics, or whether it will join the list of movements that changed everything and nothing at all.September 11By Thursday morning, steady rain slicked Kathmandu’s streets, but the scars of upheaval were impossible to miss. Charred cars leaned against curbs, and the husks of looted buildings smouldered faintly under the drizzle. The capital was calm, almost eerily so, yet the quiet felt provisional, like a held breath. With the prime minister and his cabinet gone, Parliament effectively leaderless, and ministries shuttered, Nepal now stands without a functioning civilian government. The President and the Army, the only intact institutions, continue to act as de facto authorities, signalling interest in forming an interim arrangement. The old guard has vanished, leaving a power vacuum that multiple actors with competing interests are eager to fill. Political parties that seemed fractured just days ago are quietly regrouping, issuing statements of solidarity with Gen Z to distance themselves from their past complicity. Opportunists linger in the shadows, hoping to redirect the uprising’s momentum for personal gain. At the same time, misinformation spreads online, clouding clarity and amplifying confusion. Former Chief Justice Sushila Karki is seen as a frontrunner. Still, no consensus has been reached among protest groups, leaving the country in a state of suspended expectation.The old guard has vanished, leaving a power vacuum that multiple actors with competing interests are eager to fill. Political parties that seemed fractured just days ago are quietly regrouping, issuing statements of solidarity with Gen Z to distance themselves from their past complicity. Opportunists linger in the shadows, hoping to redirect the uprising’s momentum for personal gain. At the same time, misinformation spreads online, clouding clarity and amplifying confusion. After days of silence, Nepal’s President Ram Chandra Paudel issued a statement on Thursday assuring citizens that every effort is being made to navigate the crisis and find a way forward within the constitutional framework. Former Chief Justice Sushila Karki is seen as a frontrunner, but no consensus has been reached among protest groups, leaving the country in a state of suspended expectation."
}
]
}