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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.
Topics:
Filed under:
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."
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"title" : "Legalized Occupation: Dissecting Israel’s Plan to Seize Gaza",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/legalized-occupation-dissecting-israels-plan-to-seize-gaza",
"date" : "2025-08-09 10:13:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Cover-Legalized_Occupation.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Israel’s newly approved plan to “take control” of Gaza City and other key areas of the enclave is being presented to the world as a security imperative. In reality, it is an extension of a long-standing settler-colonial project—another chapter in the ongoing dispossession of the Palestinian people.",
"content" : "Israel’s newly approved plan to “take control” of Gaza City and other key areas of the enclave is being presented to the world as a security imperative. In reality, it is an extension of a long-standing settler-colonial project—another chapter in the ongoing dispossession of the Palestinian people.The language of “control,” “buffer zones,” and “security perimeters” is not neutral. It is a calculated rhetorical strategy designed to obscure the material realities of occupation, annexation, and ethnic cleansing. This is not a temporary maneuver aimed at stability. It is the consolidation of power through the seizure of land, the dismantling of Palestinian civil society, and the deepening of Gaza’s humanitarian catastrophe—all in violation of international law.The Political Calculus Behind the OperationTo understand the decision, we must first acknowledge its political function for Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. Facing mounting domestic discontent, the collapse of public trust, and arrest warrants from the International Criminal Court for war crimes, Netanyahu is cornered. His far-right coalition partners demand an uncompromising expansionist agenda, and his own political survival depends on delivering it.Occupation has always been a cornerstone of this political project. By launching a military campaign to seize Gaza’s largest urban center, Netanyahu signals strength to his base while sidestepping accountability for the escalating humanitarian disaster. That disaster is not collateral damage—it is a form of collective punishment meant to force submission. It is also a bargaining chip: an occupied, starved, and displaced population is easier to control and harder to resist.A Continuation of the NakbaThis plan is not an anomaly; it is the latest manifestation of a decades-long pattern. Since the Nakba of 1948, the forced displacement of Palestinians and the destruction of their communities have been central tools of state policy. In Gaza today, we see the same logic: empty the land of its people, destroy the infrastructure of life, and claim it under the guise of security.International law is explicit: annexation through military force is illegal. The Fourth Geneva Convention prohibits collective punishment and the transfer of an occupying power’s civilian population into occupied territory. Yet, as with the occupation of the West Bank and East Jerusalem, Israel has consistently acted with impunity—shielded by the political, financial, and military backing of powerful allies.The Humanitarian FrontGaza has already been described by UN officials as a “graveyard for children.” The enclave’s population has endured a near-total blockade for 18 years, compounded by repeated bombardments that have destroyed hospitals, schools, and basic infrastructure. According to the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA), the majority of Gaza’s 2.3 million residents have been displaced since the start of this latest escalation. Food insecurity is at catastrophic levels; medical supplies are almost nonexistent.Israel’s seizure of Gaza City—home to hundreds of thousands—will further collapse what remains of civilian life. Humanitarian organizations warn that the move will trigger mass displacement, deepen famine, and cut off the few remaining supply routes. These are not accidental outcomes. They are part of a strategy that weaponizes deprivation as a means of political control.Narrative as a BattlefieldThe battle over Gaza is not only military—it is discursive. The words chosen by political leaders and media outlets shape how the world understands, or misunderstands, what is unfolding. In Netanyahu’s framing, Israel is not occupying Gaza; it is “liberating” it from Hamas. In this telling, Palestinian civilians become invisible, reduced to collateral casualties in a counterterrorism campaign.This is why reframing is crucial. We must reject the sanitized vocabulary of “security zones” and “temporary control” and speak plainly: this is occupation, annexation, and the forcible seizure of Palestinian land. It is not liberation, it is domination. And it is not about peace, it is about power.Global ConnectionsIsrael’s actions in Gaza are not isolated from broader global struggles. From the forced removal of Indigenous peoples in North America to the apartheid regime in South Africa, the tactics of dispossession, militarization, and narrative control follow a familiar pattern. This is why solidarity movements around the world—led by Indigenous, Black, and other colonized peoples—see their own struggles reflected in Palestine’s.The link is not merely symbolic. Israel’s military technology, surveillance systems, and counterinsurgency tactics are exported globally, often marketed as “field-tested” in Gaza and the West Bank. These technologies underpin policing, border control, and repression from Ferguson to Kashmir. In this way, Gaza is both a site of profound local suffering and a laboratory for global authoritarianism.Discrediting the PlanIf the goal is to discredit this plan in the eyes of the international public, the strategy must be twofold: expose contradictions and center Palestinian agency.Expose contradictionsNetanyahu insists Israel does not seek to govern Gaza permanently, yet the seizure of land, establishment of military perimeters, and destruction of civilian infrastructure point toward long-term control.Israel claims to act in self-defense, yet the scale and method of its campaign far exceed any proportional response under international law.Center Palestinian agencyElevate Palestinian voices—journalists, doctors, teachers—who are documenting life under siege.Highlight grassroots forms of resilience and resistance that defy the portrayal of Palestinians as passive victims or inevitable threats.Name the enablersIdentify the governments, corporations, and financial institutions providing material or diplomatic cover for the occupation.Show how this complicity undermines their stated commitments to human rights and international law.Connect to global strugglesFrame Gaza as part of a worldwide resistance to settler colonialism, authoritarianism, and militarized capitalism.Build coalitions across movements to break the isolation that occupation depends upon.Everything Is PoliticalFrom a political-analyst perspective, the key insight is that this is not simply a geopolitical crisis—it is a crisis of narrative. If we accept the occupying power’s framing, we have already conceded the first battle. That is why the work of reframing—naming what is happening, connecting it to historical patterns, and centering the perspectives of the colonized—is not ancillary to the struggle; it is the struggle.In the end, Israel’s plan to seize Gaza is not about security—it is about sovereignty. Not Palestinian sovereignty, but the sovereignty of a state built on the denial of another people’s right to exist on their land. That is the truth the world must see clearly, and that is the truth we must continue to tell, relentlessly, until occupation becomes not a political fact but a historical memory."
}
,
{
"title" : "Ziad Rahbani and the Art of Creative Rebellion",
"author" : "Céline Semaan",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/ziad-rahbani-creative-rebellion",
"date" : "2025-07-28 07:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/2025_7_for-EIP-ziad-rahbani.jpg",
"excerpt" : "When I turned fourteen in Beirut, I came across Ziad Rahbani’s groundbreaking work. I immediately felt connected to him, his words, his perspective and his unflinching commitment to liberation for our people and for Palestine. My first love introduced me to his revolutionary plays, his unique contributions to Arab music and very soon I had listened to all of his plays and expanded my understanding of our own culture and history.",
"content" : "When I turned fourteen in Beirut, I came across Ziad Rahbani’s groundbreaking work. I immediately felt connected to him, his words, his perspective and his unflinching commitment to liberation for our people and for Palestine. My first love introduced me to his revolutionary plays, his unique contributions to Arab music and very soon I had listened to all of his plays and expanded my understanding of our own culture and history.Ziad Rahbani’s passing marks more than the end of a brilliant life—it marks the closing of a chapter in the cultural history of our region. His funeral wasn’t just a ceremony, it was a collective reckoning; crowds following his exit from the hospital to the cemetery. The streets knew what many governments tried to forget: that he gave voice to the people’s truths, to our frustrations, our absurdities, our grief, and our undying hope for justice. Yet he died as an unsung hero.Born into a family that shaped the musical soul of Lebanon, Ziad could have taken the easy path of replication. Instead, he shattered the mold. From his early plays like Sahriyye and Nazl el-Surour, he upended the elitism of classical Arabic theatre by placing the working class, the absurdity of war, and the contradictions of society at the center of his work. He spoke like the people spoke. He made art in the language of the taxi driver, the student, the mother waiting for news of her son.In his film work Film Ameriki Tawil, Ziad used satire not only as critique, but as rebellion. He exposed the rot of sectarian politics in Lebanon with surgical precision, never sparing anyone, including the leftist circles he moved in. He saw clearly: that political purity was a myth, and liberation required uncomfortable truths. His work, deeply rooted in class consciousness, refused to glorify any side of a war that tore his country apart.And yet, Ziad Rahbani never lost his clarity on Palestine. While others wavered, diluted their positions, or folded into diplomacy, Ziad remained steadfast. His support for the Palestinian struggle was not an aesthetic position—it was a political and ethical commitment. And he did so not as an outsider or savior, but as someone who understood that our futures are intertwined. That the liberation of Palestine is integral to the liberation of Lebanon. That anti-sectarianism and anti-Zionism are not contradictions, but extensions of each other.He brought jazz into Arabic music not as a novelty, but as a defiant act of cultural fusion—proof that our identities are not fixed, but fluid, diasporic, ever-evolving. He blurred the lines between Western musical forms and Arabic lyricism with intention, not mimicry. His collaborations with his mother, the legendary Fairuz, carried the weight of generational dialogue, but his own voice always broke through—wry, melancholic, grounded in the everyday.Ziad taught us that being a revolutionary doesn’t require a uniform or a slogan. It requires listening. It requires holding complexity, laughing in the face of despair, and making room for joy even when the world is on fire. He reminded us that culture is the deepest infrastructure of any resistance movement. He refused to be sanitized, censored, or simplified.As we mourn him, we also inherit his clarity. For artists, for organizers, for thinkers: Ziad Rahbani gave us a blueprint. Create without permission. Tell the truth. Fight for Palestine without compromising your own roots. And never forget that the people will always hear what is real.He was, and will always be, a compass for creative rebellion."
}
,
{
"title" : "Saul Williams: Nothing is Just a Song",
"author" : "Saul Williams, Collis Browne",
"category" : "interviews",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/saul-williams-interview",
"date" : "2025-07-21 21:35:46 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_SaulWilliams_Shot_7_0218.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Saul Williams: Many artists would like to believe that there is some sort of sublime neutrality that art can deliver, that it is beyond or above the idea of politics. However, art is sometimes used as a tool of Empire, and if we are not careful, then our art is used as propaganda, and thus, it becomes essential for us to arm our art with our viewpoints, with our perspective, so that it cannot be misused. I have always operated from the position that all my work carries politics in it, that there are politics embedded in it. And I’ve never really understood, if you are aiming to be an artist, why you wouldn’t aim to speak directly to the times. Addressing the political doesn’t have to take away from the personal intimacy of your work.",
"content" : "Collis Browne: Is all music and art really political?Saul Williams: Many artists would like to believe that there is some sort of sublime neutrality that art can deliver, that it is beyond or above the idea of politics. However, art is sometimes used as a tool of Empire, and if we are not careful, then our art is used as propaganda, and thus, it becomes essential for us to arm our art with our viewpoints, with our perspective, so that it cannot be misused. I have always operated from the position that all my work carries politics in it, that there are politics embedded in it. And I’ve never really understood, if you are aiming to be an artist, why you wouldn’t aim to speak directly to the times. Addressing the political doesn’t have to take away from the personal intimacy of your work.Even now, we are reading the writings of Palestinian poets in Gaza and the West Bank, not to mention those who are part of the diaspora, who are charting their feelings and intimate experiences while living through a genocide. These works of art are all politically charged because they are charged with a reality that is fully suppressed by oppressive networks and powers that control them.Shakespeare’s work was always political. He found a way to speak about power to the face of power, knowing they would be in the audience. But also found a way to play with and talk to the “groundlings,” the common people who were in the audience as well.Collis Browne: Was there a moment when you realized that your music could be used as a tool of resistance?Saul Williams: Yeah, I was in third grade, about eight or nine years old. I had been cast in a play in my elementary school. I loved the process of not only performing, but of sitting around the table and breaking down what the language meant and what the objective and the psychology of the character was, and what that meant during the time it was written. I came home and told my parents that I wanted to be an actor when I grew up. My father had the typical response: “I’ll support you as an actor if you get a law degree.” My mother responded by saying, “You should do your next school report on Paul Robeson, he was an actor and a lawyer.”So I did my next school report on Paul Robeson. And what I discovered was that here was an African American man, born in 1898, who had come to an early realization as an actor that the messages of the films he was being cast in—and he was a huge star—went against his own beliefs, his own anti-colonial and anti-imperial beliefs. In the 1930s, he started talking about why we needed to invest in independent cinema. In 1949, during the McCarthy era, he had his passport taken from him so he could no longer travel outside of the US, because he refused to acknowledge that the enemies of the US were his enemies as well. He felt there was no reason Black people should be signing up to fight for the US Empire when they were going home and getting lynched.In 1951, he presented a mandate to the UN called “We Charge Genocide.” In it he charged the US Government with the genocide of African Americans because of the white mobs who were lynching Black Americans on a regular basis. [Editor’s note: the petition charges the US Government with genocide through the endorsement of both racism and “monopoly capitalism,” without which “the persistent, constant, widespread, institutionalized commission of the crime of genocide would be impossible.”] When Robeson met with President Truman, Truman said, “I’d like to respond, but there’s an election coming up, so I have to be careful.”Paul Robeson sang songs of working-class people, songs that trade unionists sang, songs that miners sang, songs that all types of workers sang across the world. He identified with the workers and with the working class, regardless of his fame. He was ridiculed by the American Government and even had his passport revoked for his activism. At that early age, I learned that you could sing songs that could get you labeled as an enemy of the state.I grew up in Newburgh, New York, which is about an hour upstate from New York City. One of my neighbors would often come sing at my father’s church. At the time, I did not understand why my dad would allow this white guy with his guitar or banjo to come sing at our church when we had an amazing gospel choir. I couldn’t understand why we were singing these school songs with this dude. When I finally asked my parents, they said, “You have to understand that Pete—they were talking about Pete Seeger—is responsible for popularizing some of the songs you sing in school.” He wrote songs like “If I Had a Hammer,” and he too was blacklisted by the US government because of the songs he chose to sing and the people he chose to sing them for, and the people he chose to sing them with. I learned at a very early age that music and art were full of politics. Enough politics to get you labeled as the enemy of the state. Enough politics to get your passport taken, or to be imprisoned.I was also learning about my parents’ peers, artists whom they loved and adored. Artists like Sonia Sanchez, Amiri Baraka, and Nikki Giovanni, all from the Black Arts Movement. Larry Neal and Amiri Baraka made a statement when they started the Black Arts Repertory Theatre School in Harlem that said essentially that all art should serve a function, and that function should be to liberate Black minds.It is from that movement that hip-hop was born. I was lucky enough to witness the birth of hip-hop. At first, it was playful, it was fun, but by the mid to late 1980s, it began finding its voice with groups like Public Enemy, KRS-One, Queen Latifa, Rakim, and the Jungle Brothers. These are groups that started using and expressing Black Liberation politics in the music, which uplifted it, made it sound better, and made it hit harder. The first gangster rap was that… when it was gangster, when it was directly challenging the country it was being born in.As a teenager, I identified as a rapper and an actor. I would argue with school kids who insisted, “It’s not even music. They’re just talking.” I would have to defend hip-hop as music, sometimes even to my parents, who found the language crass. But when I played artists like KRS-One and Public Enemy for my parents, they said, “Oh, I see what they’re doing here.”When Public Enemy rapped, “Elvis was a hero to most, But he never meant shit to me you see, Straight up racist that sucker was, Simple and plain, Motherfuck him and John Wayne, ‘Cause I’m Black and I’m proud, I’m ready and hyped plus I’m amped, Most of my heroes don’t appear on no stamps,” my parents were like Amen. They understood. They understood why I needed to blast that music in my room 24/7. They understood.When the music spoke to me in that way, suddenly I could pull off moves on the dance floor like doing a flip that I couldn’t do before. That’s the power of music. That’s power embedded in music. That’s why Fela Kuti said that music is the weapon of the future. And, of course, there’s Nina Simone and Billie Holiday. What’s Billie Holiday’s most memorable song? “Strange Fruit.” That voice connected, was speaking directly to the times she was living in. It transcended the times, where to this day, when you hear this song and you understand that the “strange fruit” hanging from Southern trees are Black people who have been lynched, you understand how the power of the voice, when you connect it to something that is charged with the reality of the times, takes on a greater shape.Collis Browne: Public Enemy broke open so much. I grew up in Toronto, in a mostly white community, but I was into some of the bigger American hip-hop acts who were coming out. Public Enemy rose to a new level. Before them, we were only connecting with punk and hardcore music as the music of rebellion.Saul Williams: Public Enemy laid down the groundwork for what hip-hop is: “the voice of the voiceless.” It was only after Public Enemy that you saw the emergence of huge groups in France, Germany, Bulgaria, Egypt, and across the world. There were big acts before them. Run DMC, for instance, but when Public Enemy came out, marginalized groups heard their music and said, “That’s for us. Yes, that’s for us.” It was immediately understood as music of resistance.Collis Browne: What have you seen or listened to out in the world that has a clear political goal, but has been appropriated and watered down?Saul Williams: We can stay on Public Enemy for that. Under Secretary Blinken, Chuck D became a US Global Music Ambassador during the genocide in Gaza. There are photos of him standing beside Secretary Blinken, accepting that role, while understanding that the US has always used music as a cultural propaganda tool to express soft power. I remember learning about how the US uses this “soft power” when I was working in the mid-2000s with a Swiss composer, who has now passed, named Thomas Kessler. He wrote a symphony based on one of my books, Said the Shotgun to the Head, and we were performing it with the Cologne, Germany symphony orchestra, when I heard from the head of the orchestra that, in fact, their main financier was the US Government through the CIA.During the Cold War, it was crucial for the American Government to put money into the arts throughout Western Europe to try to express this idea of “freedom,” as opposed to what was happening in the Eastern (Communist) Bloc. So it was a long time between when the US Government started enlisting musicians and other artists in their propaganda campaigns and when I encountered this information.There’s a documentary called Soundtrack to a Coup d’État, which talks about how the US Government used (uses) music and musicians to co-opt movements and propagate the idea of American freedom and democracy outside the US in the hope of winning over the citizens of other countries without them even realizing that so much of that art is there to question the system itself, not to celebrate it. Unfortunately, there are situations in which an artist’s work is co-opted to be used as propaganda, and the artist buys into it. They become indoctrinated, and you realize that we’re all susceptible to the possibility of taking that bait."
}
]
}