Digital & Print Membership
Yearly + Receive 8 free printed back issues
$420 Annually
Monthly + Receive 3 free printed back issues
$40 Monthly
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" : "Weaving Palestinian Heritage with Lara Salous’ Wool Woman",
"author" : "Ayesha Le Breton",
"category" : "interviews",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/lara-salous-wool-woman-palestine-heritage-interview",
"date" : "2026-03-12 12:21:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Wool%20Woman%20Image%201.jpeg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "Lara Salous with shepherd Rajeh Al-Essa at his house in Mughayer village where he shows her how to use the Palestinian traditional drop spindle (Ghazzale)Photo Credit: Raof Haj YahyaTo Lara Salous, the disappearing art of wool weaving needs a revival. “The loom is a tool that’s now endangered in Palestine,” says the 37-year-old Palestinian artist and designer, who called me from her studio, nestled in Ramallah Al-balad, the old city, in the occupied West Bank. She’d spent the morning packing art frames, throws, and short stools that customers in Norway and Canada ordered from her home decor brand: Wool Woman. “It’s more of a network rather than a company that controls everything,” Salous explains of Wool Woman. Behind the brand is a delicate, sometimes precarious, web that connects Salous to shepherds and wool spinners in Palestine—too often at the mercy of Israel’s siege of the area. Abu Saddam Traifat, a Palestinian Bedouin shepherd who Salous sourced her wool from, for instance, spent years tending to his Indigenous flock of Awassi sheep in al-Auja, Jericho, washing his harvest of wool in the vital water spring. All his sheep are now gone, as are the majority of Palestinians in the area, because Israeli settlers, accompanied by the Israeli army and police, stole all his sheep in the middle of the night. This, Salous explains, is just one case of how Israeli control and violence affect the area. “In al-Mughayer, a village near Ramallah, I interviewed three shepherds,” she says. “When I visited them the last time, it was just after the settlers burned 30 houses, including one of the shepherd’s homes. ”Recent reports by Al Jazeera confirm that Israeli settlers have annexed the entirety of al-Auja spring, forcing out and blocking water access to Bedouin herding communities like Traifat’s, who have resided in the surrounding areas since before 1967. Throughout 2025, settler violence against Palestinians soared to record devastation across the West Bank. In October alone, there were over 260 violent attacks, leading to deaths, injuries, property damage, and stolen livestock. As Israel’s genocide on Gaza and occupied Palestine rages on, Salous’s Wool Woman feels more crucial than ever to archive and celebrate Palestinian culture and identity. Lara embroidering the Palestinian flag with wool on a woven frame. Photo Credit: Mahmoud AbdatSalous traces Wool Woman’s inspiration back to October 2020. At the time, she was teaching an architecture and design course at her alma mater, Birzeit University, near Ramallah, and participating in a workshop investigating historical, cultural, and personal ties to the making of Palestinian rugs. It was on a field trip to visit Bedouin communities in Khan al-Ahmar, whose rug industry was once integral to the area’s economic livelihood, that Salous was struck by the absence of rugs and the wool used to make them. She learned that shortly after Al Naqba, the tribe fled harassment in the hills south of Hebron, leaving their homes and belongings, including the livestock and wool. But even in their new location, Israel encroached upon the Bedouin community’s lives, limiting where they could graze and raise their sheep, eventually making wool production nearly impossible. “Something started to spark in my mind; I began questioning what was happening to this industry or to this craft,” Salous remembers. “The [Bedouin women] showed us one [rug] that they preserved in a wooden box, which is used for celebrations or weddings. ” I asked them, “Why don’t you make them anymore? They said, ‘It’s so hard to maintain a living from sheep because we are in a daily struggle with the Israeli settlers. ’”Houses in Khan al Ahmar where Lara visits the woman she purchases wool from. Photo Credit: Lara SalousWitnessing remnants of the fading practice, Salous felt a renewed sense of purpose in working with these artisans. Through word of mouth and returning to Bedouin communities in Khan al-Ahmar, Salous began interviewing, photographing, and filming the shepherds, descendants of weavers, and searching for wool spinners. “I’m collecting oral history and trying to capture images and short videos, because you can never find anything in the archives,” Salous explains. “We invited one woman to weave at the university. I then started to ask around about women who are still spinning [wool]. It took me a lot of time, to be honest. ” Years of field research and building relationships culminated in the evolving network that now makes Wool Woman possible. Using her interior design background, Salous started to integrate wool into furniture designs. Since most Bedouin weavers are either displaced or long deceased, she is mostly self-taught and dyes the material herself. Experimentation and play are at the center of her process. She conjures thoughtful motifs of Palestinian identity and liberation, including olive trees, poppies, and watermelon slices. She incorporates bold teal and maroon stripes and abstract color blocking that take shape on rocking chairs, room dividers, throws, curtains, and benches, among other pieces. “Sometimes I do some design sketches on paper, [or] I just design on the spot while mixing the colors because you can do more when you have these rich textures and tones in your hand,” explains Salous. The first products she sold were stools and chairs created with carpenters in Ramallah—the carpenters crafted the wooden structures while Salous wove the seats and backs. LEFT: Lara’s woven olive tree design on a stool inspired by the Palestinian landscape. Photo Credit: Lara SalousRIGHT: Lara finalizing a wool throw she wove on the loom. Photo Credit: Mahmoud Abdat“The kick start for me was at a gallery here called Living Cultures, but now it’s closed. People started to come, and they purchased them [the stools and chairs],” she recalls. “From there, I built on other designs. It was very interactive with the local community because people started to ask me for bigger chairs or higher stools or chairs with a big back. ”Community is core to the designer’s craft revival. “It’s something that we inherited, and we need to pass it from hand to hand,” Salous explains. Through Wool Woman and the Palestinian Centre for Architectural Conservation, Salous has developed intergenerational weaving workshops for children and their parents, and any adults who wish to participate. Together, they create natural dyes with flower petals and integrate Palestinian traditional tile design into simple weavings. Her impact on attendees extends far beyond the triannual sessions. Salous beams when she explains that some students have taken on the practice as their own. “I’m so happy that one of the students purchased a professional loom that she now has at home. Another one who was very excited; he wanted to work with me,” she says. Running Wool Woman is not without its challenges. As the shepherds and women Salous sources from remain under constant threat of theft, violence, and land siege—their livelihoods at stake—Wool Woman has encountered supply chain delays and Salous has had to pause visits to her collaborators’ communities. “It’s not safe at all,” she shares. “I keep sourcing from one shepherd, but it’s very dangerous now, especially recently, now that the Israeli settlers built another settlement on the top of their mountain [in al-Mughayer]. ” She keeps up with orders as best she can, holding onto a stock of wool that is already processed and spun, and dyeing the material herself. “To be honest, it’s exhausting,” she admits. Local demand has expectedly dwindled throughout the genocide, making it impossible for Wool Woman to afford employees and increasingly difficult to make a profit. But as Salous recounts these hardships with vulnerability, her commitment to preserving Palestinian weaving echoes. “I’m alone on the business side, but I keep supporting these women by purchasing wool from them,” she says. “[I’m] trying to take this material into other shapes and other possibilities. ”Lately, Wool Woman has found creative refuge by collaborating with fellow Palestinian artists. “With architects, interior designers, and fashion designers, these are the best projects I ever had because you feel that you are integrating more into your community,” shares Salous. Nöl Collective, the popular fashion label that celebrates weavers and embroiderers across Palestine, recently commissioned braiding from Wool Woman for a pair of trousers. And it was through their founder that Salous connected with Hussam Zaqout, one of the last surviving Gazan weavers and the inspiration for her latest art installation, If Only We Could Bury Our City. Guided by their shared purpose of preserving Palestinian heritage, Salous presents a towering traditional Majdalwi Fabric loom and intimate interviews with Zaqout, who narrates his intergenerational connection to the ancient profession. Multimedia installation of ‘If Only We Could Bury Our City,’ made from Lara’s research and interviews with Hussam Zaqout. Photo Credit: Elis HannikainenFor Zaqout, Israel’s genocidal onslaught is tangible. “Just one month before the war, I had set up a new workshop, added additional tools and equipment to expand my work. I also had parts of a weaving loom that existed in the city of al-Majdal before the occupation,” he recalls. “Unfortunately, all of this was destroyed during the airstrikes on the city. ” By March 2024, Zaqout made the difficult and expensive decision to evacuate Gaza to Cairo. Through fundraising, he and some of his family reached Cairo safely, where he has been rebuilding his weaving center. Facing profound loss and a need for hope, for Zaqout, contributing to Salous’s art felt imperative. He shares, “It was a mix of pride, gratitude, and responsibility: for my personal experience and the craft I inherited from my father, to be an inspiration for an artwork of this significance. [It] makes me feel that the voice of my family, the voice of Palestine, and the memory of my hometown, al-Majdal, are still present and not forgotten, despite all the loss and displacement we have endured. ”In the wake of destruction, clinging to and sharing memories has become a form of resistance and a means of survival. Salous delicately entwines oral histories, like Zaqout’s, and material politics into thoughtful art and design, holding a rare space for Palestinian identity, culture, and history to flourish. “One story could say a lot about [the] shared realities that Palestinians face since the Nakba. Through meeting Husam and other Palestinian weavers, I bring back memories to a wider audience,” says Salous. “Our cities are being erased, but we still hold them in our bodies and memories. ”Multimedia installation of ‘If Only We Could Bury Our City,’ made from Lara’s research and interviews with Hussam Zaqout. Photo Credit: Elis Hannikainen"
}
,
{
"title" : "Forced From Home: Women Living Through Lebanon’s Evacuation Zones",
"author" : "Sarah Sinno",
"category" : "essay",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/forced-from-home",
"date" : "2026-03-12 11:56:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/PHOTO-2026-03-11-04-23-35.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "Photo Credit: Omar GabrielMalak told me they left Chaqra, a village in southern Lebanon, at four in the morning and did not reach her aunt’s house in Saida until one in the morning the next day. “We were fasting and exhausted, but we had dates,” she said. “We took them out of the car and began sharing them with the people around us. We also helped another repair a car that had broken down, and despite the fear, we got to know each other. ”The following morning, the news arrived: their house had been bombed by Israel. On March 2, residents across southern Lebanon woke to Israeli “evacuation orders. ” At first glance, the term suggests concern for civilian life, invoking the language of safety and protection. In reality, however, these orders function as a mechanism of forced uprooting, compelling entire communities to abandon their homes under the threat of bombardment. Official state reports indicate that nearly 700,000 people have been internally displaced over the past week. Many spent nearly 24 hours trapped on the roads trying to reach Beirut, a journey that normally takes less than two hours from even the farthest villages along the Lebanese–Palestinian border. Many of those forced to flee their homes had been preparing shour, the meal eaten before sunrise, ahead of the daily fast, when they left in haste, unsure when they would be able to return. Women, who often manage the household, cook, and care for the children, frequently bear the emotional burden of holding the family together in times of crisis while coping with prolonged uncertainty. For working women, displacement frequently results in losing their jobs and the financial independence they once had, pushing them into increasingly difficult conditions to sustain themselves. Photo Credit: Omar GabrielFor instance, on March 4, similar evacuation orders were issued for Dahiye, Beirut’s southern suburbs. Khadije, a resident of Hay Al-Solom, is now sheltering on the second floor of the Lebanese University in Beirut. The public campus, usually crowded with students moving between classes, is now filled with displaced families. “No one has asked about us,” she says. “I am a Lebanese citizen. I have a Lebanese ID. Where is the emergency relief?” Sitting in the corner of a classroom, she speaks with visible disappointment. As she shows me the medicines she depends on, she questions why the Lebanese government has done nothing to provide protection or assistance. It is a sentiment widely shared across a community that has long felt neglected by the state. Even international organizations, faced with shrinking budgets, have fallen short in their relief response and have not been able to act at the level of urgency required. “Several of my neighbors could not leave despite the evacuation order, because they have nowhere to go. They only leave at night and sleep by the beach in Ramlet al-Bayda to escape the constant bombing sounds. ” With no alternative, one might think that sleeping in the open air would, grimly, feel safer than staying in one’s own home. Yet even there, they remain targets of Israeli barbarism. On March 12, around two in the morning, Israel carried out a massacre against displaced people who had sought refuge by the Ramlet al-Bayda beach, killing ten of them. Witnesses describe women’s and children’s body parts scattered across the site. Nowhere is truly safe. Souad, who lives on the outskirts of Beirut, was forced to flee her home and is now sheltering in a school in Choueifat. In this area, speaking with displaced residents proved difficult, as the municipality appears to have imposed strict regulations. These measures are meant to organize the large influx of people and, I was told, prevent chaos. But they also create an uneasy atmosphere. Conversations feel monitored, almost scripted, as if everyone is careful not to say the wrong thing. The tension of this is palpable across the country, with fearmongering on the rise and some openly expressing that they do not want displaced families in their neighborhoods. As a result, many of the displaced feel targeted both by Israel and from within. There is growing concern that even minor disagreements could quickly spiral out of control. With a smile that never quite leaves her face and a frail cat sitting beside us, Souad tells me that her house was destroyed during the previous war. Now, she says, it feels as though everything is happening all over again. “When I lost my house last time, I went back to search through the rubble,” she recalls. “Luckily, I found what is most precious: a photo album of my children. ”Displacement did not begin with the most recent evacuation orders; it has been ongoing. Since 2024, several frontline villages have been razed to the ground and turned into ghost towns. Photo Credit: Omar GabrielReturn has effectively been forbidden as the Israeli occupation gradually expands its control. On March 5, it announced the seizure of additional land alongside the five positions it has held there since November 2024, further entrenching a reality in which many displaced families still have no clear path home. Wafaa, from Rab El Thalathine, a southern village directly on the border, had her home destroyed in 2024 and has not been able to return since. Displaced once again from a second house she had rented in Beirut, she now finds herself sheltering in a school in Burj Abi Haidar. When I ask her what she longs for most once the war is over, a moment of silence follows. She takes a long breath, her voice breaking, and says:“I had planted my garden in the village with all kinds of flowers: jasmine, Damask roses, gardenias, and carnations. After the last so-called ‘ceasefire,’ I was told the garden had been scorched. All I want is for my land to remain. ”As I write these lines, Israel issues new evacuation orders. It never stops. "
}
,
{
"title" : "Mark Zuckerberg Went to the Prada Show In Milan. It Wasn’t For Fashion",
"author" : "Louis Pisano",
"category" : "essay",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/mark-zuckerberg-prada-meta-glasses",
"date" : "2026-03-06 09:07:00 -0500",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Pisano_Meta_glasses.jpeg",
"excerpt" : "When Mark Zuckerberg and Priscilla Chan took their seats in the front row at Prada’s Milan runway show on February 26, the photographs circulated quickly—the Meta CEO in his now-familiar uniform of expensive basics, watching models move down the runway in Miuccia Prada and Raf Simons’ latest vision of intellectual austerity.",
"content" : "When Mark Zuckerberg and Priscilla Chan took their seats in the front row at Prada’s Milan runway show on February 26, the photographs circulated quickly—the Meta CEO in his now-familiar uniform of expensive basics, watching models move down the runway in Miuccia Prada and Raf Simons’ latest vision of intellectual austerity. He was there because Meta is in active discussions with Prada to develop a line of branded AI smart glasses, a logical next step for a company whose Ray-Ban partnership has become one of the more surprising consumer electronics stories of the decade. Sales more than tripled in 2025, and on Meta’s January earnings call, Zuckerberg described them as “some of the fastest-growing consumer electronics in history. ” The Oakley deal followed. Prada, if negotiations close, would be the latest luxury house recruited to solve a stubborn distribution problem: how to get people to wear a computer on their face without making them feel like they’re wearing a computer on their face. The answer, apparently, is to put it in a frame that costs as much as a car payment. The Meta Oakley Vanguards can be yours for the low cost of $549. Zuckerberg is not executing this pivot alone. Over the past year, tech’s richest men have staged a quiet, coordinated rebrand away from the founder-in-a-hoodie archetype toward something more deliberately cultured. Jeff Bezos has become a fixture in the fashion press, his aesthetic transformation carefully managed, his public image now signaling cultural seriousness alongside the financial kind. The underlying message from both men is consistent: that they are not the problem, but rather represent the future. And that the future can be beautiful and luxurious. This is what elite legitimacy looks like in our era of late-stage capitalism. When your industry faces sustained scrutiny across antitrust proceedings, data privacy legislation, and the slow erosion of public trust, you don’t just deploy lobbyists and communications teams. You acquire taste. You sit front row at shows with a century of cultural prestige behind them. You let the associations do work that no PR campaign could. Cultural capital operates differently from paid media; it feels earned, and its effects are harder to trace. Which is why the timing of Zuckerberg’s Milan appearance is worth examining more closely. At the same time that Zuckerberg was cementing a potential partnership with one of fashion’s most storied feminist houses, his company’s flagship wearable product was generating very different press coverage. In January 2026, BBC News investigated a pattern of male content creators using Ray-Ban Meta glasses to secretly film women during staged pickup encounters on the street, then uploading the footage to TikTok and Instagram as dating advice content. Dilara, a 21-year-old from London filmed on her lunch break, found her phone number visible in footage that had accumulated 1. 3 million views, leading to a night of abusive calls and messages. Kim, a 56-year-old filmed on a beach in West Sussex, received thousands of inappropriate messages after her video reached 6. 9 million views, and was still receiving them six months later. None of the women had seen any recording indicator. The BBC separately found YouTube tutorials demonstrating how to cover or disable the small LED light that Meta claims signals when the glasses are filming. The problem has spread internationally. In early 2026, a Russian vlogger traveled through Ghana and Kenya filming covert encounters with women using smart glasses (though it has not been confirmed that they were Meta-brand glasses) and posting footage to TikTok, YouTube, and a private Telegram channel where more explicit content was available by paid subscription. Some women were filmed in intimate situations without any knowledge that they were being recorded, let alone distributed to a global audience. Ghana’s Gender Minister confirmed that some victims were receiving psychological support, noting that exposure of this kind carries severe social consequences in conservative communities. Kenya’s Gender Minister called it a serious case of gender-based violence. Meta’s response, when asked for comment, was to point to the LED indicator light and its terms of service, a response that privacy advocates have consistently noted is equivalent to putting a “do not steal” sign on an unlocked car. Hundreds of similar accounts exist across TikTok alone, and the women who appear in them have had no recourse beyond reporting content that has already been viewed millions of times. These cases sit alongside The New York Times’ recent revelation of internal Meta plans for a feature called “Name Tag,” which would allow wearers to identify strangers in real-time by pulling data from Meta’s ecosystem of Instagram and Facebook profiles. Refuge and Women’s Aid told The Independent that this capability would pose a direct and serious risk to domestic abuse survivors, women who have rebuilt their lives at new addresses, hoping that distance and anonymity might be enough. Refuge reported a 62%rise in referrals to its technology-facilitated abuse specialist team in 2025, driven in part by wearable tech being used by abusers to monitor and control partners. Real-time facial recognition running on glasses indistinguishable from any other pair does not care about restraining orders. Into this landscape walks a potential Prada co-branded version of the same device. And there is something worth sitting with in the specific choice of Prada as Meta’s luxury target. Miuccia Prada has spent decades articulating, through her collections and in her public statements, a sustained engagement with feminist thought, grappling explicitly with how women are perceived, constrained, and resist the codes that govern their visibility in public and private life. The Prada woman, as a cultural figure, has never been decorative, according to Miuccia. She is thinking—and she is often acutely aware of being watched. Whether Miuccia Prada or the Prada Group’s leadership has genuinely reckoned with what women’s safety advocates have documented about the device they are being asked to co-brand is a question the company has not yet been asked loudly enough to their consumers. A Prada-branded pair of AI glasses would not simply be a licensing deal; it would be an aesthetic endorsement of the technology inside the frame, lending the cultural authority of a house that has built its identity around the intelligence and autonomy of women to Meta’s surveillance hardware. There is a term for what happens when corporations facing public scrutiny attach themselves to respected cultural institutions, when they fund museum wings, sponsor literary prizes, or plant themselves in the front rows of fashion weeks historically associated with progressive values. The association is meant to transfer accountability and even responsibility. The institution’s credibility flows toward the brand, and the brand’s controversies recede into the background noise of cultural life. Zuckerberg’s Milan appearance fits this pattern. A Prada partnership would give Meta’s smart glasses access to a female luxury consumer demographic they have struggled to reach, while simultaneously borrowing the feminist credibility of a house that has spent decades earning it, at the exact moment when critics, charities, and regulators are arguing most loudly that the product threatens women’s safety. The front row seat was not incidental to the pitch. It was the pitch. But the women who have had their faces filmed without consent, their phone numbers exposed to millions of strangers, their locations potentially traceable by the men who mean them harm, don’t get to sit front row or get a rebrand. What they get is a company whose products have been repeatedly documented and enabled their harassment, now aligning itself with a symbol of female empowerment, hoping the association does its work before the reckoning catches up. Miuccia Prada has built her career on the argument that what we put on our bodies makes an argument about the world. If she signs off on this, the argument she’ll be making won’t be the one she intended. "
}
]
}