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The Ecosystem of Refusal
Menopause and the Power of Maroon Space

Charting Pathways from the Margins to the Menopausal Multiverse
From Black Girl’s Guide to Surviving Menopause by Omisade Burney-Scott
Margins are maps in disguise, coded with ancestral memory, ecological wisdom, and stories too bold for the center. The margins—the spaces where the stories, experiences, and wisdom of human beings deemed “other” have been relegated—are not places we chose. They were deliberately constructed by a dominant culture intent on controlling not just the narrative of menopause but the narratives of race, gender, sexuality, class, and power itself. For those of us who live at the intersections of these identities, the current menopause landscape could be considered inhospitable terrain, one that mirrors the broader societal patterns of erasure, exclusion, and pathologizing difference.
But what if these margins were sacred spaces instead of sites of exile? What if the margins were ecosystems of resistance, transformation, and care? They could be places where people create culture, conjure safety, and practice sovereignty. Margins are not the edge of the story—they are the origin of new ones.
The margins of menopause—once peripheral spaces of silence and invisibility—are being reclaimed and reimagined as intentional, intergenerational menopause maroon communities and a direct pathway to the Menopausal Multiverse.
A Word About Maroons
Throughout the Americas and the Caribbean, maroon communities were formed by formerly enslaved people who refused the terms of their captivity. These communities, often hidden deep in forests, swamps, or mountains, were rooted in self-liberation, sovereignty, and cultural preservation. They integrated themselves into natural landscapes, allowing them to live, organize, and thrive in plain sight.
In the American South, the Great Dismal Swamp became a haven for those who had self-liberated from enslavement. Historical records and oral histories document that from the 1600s through the Civil War, thousands of Black people sought refuge in the swamp’s dense forests and wetlands, forming maroon settlements that lasted for generations. Despite the harsh terrain, these communities developed intricate systems of agriculture, bartering, kinship, and resistance. The swamp became not only a physical sanctuary but also a site of Black ingenuity, perseverance, and refusal.
In Jamaica, Queen Nanny of the Maroons is celebrated as one of the most formidable leaders of resistance against British colonial rule. Born in what is now Ghana, she was brought to Jamaica as an enslaved African and escaped into the Blue Mountains, where she became a leader of the Windward Maroons in the early 18th century. Nanny led successful guerrilla warfare campaigns against the British, outwitting colonial forces and negotiating a peace treaty in 1739 that secured land and a degree of autonomy for her people. Beyond her military prowess, Queen Nanny was a spiritual leader and herbalist whose knowledge of African traditions, healing, and community governance shaped maroon society. Her leadership embodied the power of post-menopausal Black womanhood—rooted in clarity, strategy, protection, and vision.
These maroon societies were not utopias, but they were declarations of self-determination in a world that denied their humanity. Many were led by elder post-menopausal Black women—women who wielded their wisdom, pragmatism, and power to build sovereign spaces of care, resistance, and renewal. Their stories offer not only a historical blueprint but also a spiritual map for how we might reimagine our own liberation.
The Menopausal Maroon and the Margins We Did Not Create
At Black Girl’s Guide to Surviving Menopause, we recognize that people of the global majority did not create the margins of the current menopause landscape, but we are reclaiming them. These margins were built by systems that failed to see us: the medical industrial complex that pathologized our bodies, the wellness industry that commodifies our pain, and media and research landscapes that often render our experiences invisible unless they can be exploited for profit.
Yet within these margins, we are creating something different. Through storytelling, oral histories, intergenerational knowledge exchange, and embodied cultural practices, we are illuminating what has always been here: a rich and diverse ecosystem of menopausal wisdom. We are not hiding in plain sight. We are illuminating the margins as a sacred space of safe passage—a waystation between erasure and freedom, between isolation and multiverse.
Our divestment from the mainstream menopause landscape is not about abandonment, it is about realignment. It’s about redirecting our labor, attention, and partnerships toward the world we want to live in. And in doing so, we are transforming the margins into a map with a series of questions born out of 6 years of excavation from the margins:
-
What might a divestment strategy look like if it begins with a question of sovereignty? What would it mean to build structures that refuse exploitation and instead center our stories, truths, experiences, power, and cultural wisdom?
-
What would it mean for genderqueer, nonbinary, and trans people to divest from narratives that flatten or erase their embodied experiences, and instead claim space as knowledge holders, visionaries, and healers?
-
What would it mean for formerly incarcerated people to reshape the narrative entirely, to reclaim agency in a system that pathologized and punished them, and build a community rooted in care, dignity, healing, and renewal?
-
What would it mean for people under 40 to divest from the idea that menopause only belongs to the old, the straight, or the settled, and instead, see their own early, surgical, or medically induced menopause experiences as valid, powerful, and transformative? What would shift if younger people navigating menopause were affirmed in their identities and offered language, community, and care that honors their transformation as legitimate and deeply wise? What if their stories became maps, guiding others through uncharted terrain with clarity and courage?
Our answer, shaped by the determination of maroon communities and the futuristic vision of the Menopausal Multiverse, is this:
It means building something sovereign and interdependent. It means reclaiming the ecosystems we’ve been told are wastelands. It means listening to our elders, trusting our stories, and creating spaces where all of us, not just some of us, are free.
Lessons from Queen Nanny and the Great Dismal Swamp
As we shape new ways of being and belonging in the Menopausal Multiverse, we activate the memory, strategy, resilience, and creativity of our ancestors—not to replicate the past, but to honor its wisdom while creating something radically new. These lessons from Queen Nanny and the maroons of the Great Dismal Swamp remind us that what has been built before can be reimagined, and what was meant to be hidden can now be illuminated.
From Queen Nanny, we learn that leadership can be strategic, emergent, and deeply spiritual all at once. Her legacy teaches us that organizing for freedom demands not only tactical brilliance but also a profound reverence for ancestral knowledge. She reminds us that survival alone is not enough—we must also fight for land, for dignity, and for the sacred right to govern our own lives. In this light, menopause becomes more than a biological transition; it emerges as a threshold into a new kind of leadership, one that is clear-eyed, protective, and unapologetically rooted in community.
From the maroons of the Great Dismal Swamp, we learn that even the most seemingly inhospitable places can be transformed into havens when shaped by collective will and resistance. The margins, far from being empty, are alive with potential, with memory, and with the blueprint for what is possible. These communities show us that we do not need proximity to power to create safety, culture, or systems of governance that reflect our values. What we need is each other, a deep connection to land, shared commitment, and the courage to build beyond the gaze of the systems that have abandoned or betrayed us.
To build the Menopausal Multiverse is to carry forward these lessons. It is to reconnect with the land, with the community, and with ancestral wisdom. It is to root our future in place, resistance, and self-determination. It is to honor the margins, not as peripheries but as portals. It is to understand that healing justice and reproductive justice begin with remembering who we are and refusing to be forgotten. The Menopausal Maroon is not a metaphor. It is a living practice of reclamation and redesign. And it will lead us home.

The Margins Are a Map
A Meditation from the Menopausal Multiverse
Close your eyes.
Inhale deeply.
Let the breath trace a line—not to the center, but to the edge.
To the margin.
To the place you were told was too much, too complicated, too far.
Now exhale, and imagine this:
The margins are not exile.
They are a beginning.
They are the ground where ancestors whisper,
where stories root,
where liberation takes its first breath.
The margins are maps in disguise—
coded with memory,
lined with resistance,
drawn in the hand of the Maroon, the midwife,
the queer visionary, the freedom-seeker.
They are where those of us othered by our race, ethnicity, gender, religion or access to resource
those who have been cast out have always conjured safety,
crafted beauty,
and practiced sovereignty.
So today,
if you find yourself at the edge—
of a system, of a story, of your own becoming—
know this:
You are not lost.
You are not late.
You are not outside.
You are exactly where the map begins.
This margin,
this wild edge,
is not a boundary.
It is a portal.
It is a place of power.
Breathe into it.
Honor it.
Name it sacred.
And walk forward, not toward the center,
but into the multiverse
where all of you is welcome.

{
"article":
{
"title" : "The Ecosystem of Refusal: Menopause and the Power of Maroon Space",
"author" : "Omisade Burney-Scott",
"category" : "essays",
"tags" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/menopause-maroon-space",
"date" : "2025-06-15 14:26:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/BW_Omi_Eno_M_Nixon_Taplet.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "Charting Pathways from the Margins to the Menopausal MultiverseFrom Black Girl’s Guide to Surviving Menopause by Omisade Burney-ScottMargins are maps in disguise, coded with ancestral memory, ecological wisdom, and stories too bold for the center. The margins—the spaces where the stories, experiences, and wisdom of human beings deemed “other” have been relegated—are not places we chose. They were deliberately constructed by a dominant culture intent on controlling not just the narrative of menopause but the narratives of race, gender, sexuality, class, and power itself. For those of us who live at the intersections of these identities, the current menopause landscape could be considered inhospitable terrain, one that mirrors the broader societal patterns of erasure, exclusion, and pathologizing difference.But what if these margins were sacred spaces instead of sites of exile? What if the margins were ecosystems of resistance, transformation, and care? They could be places where people create culture, conjure safety, and practice sovereignty. Margins are not the edge of the story—they are the origin of new ones. The margins of menopause—once peripheral spaces of silence and invisibility—are being reclaimed and reimagined as intentional, intergenerational menopause maroon communities and a direct pathway to the Menopausal Multiverse.A Word About MaroonsThroughout the Americas and the Caribbean, maroon communities were formed by formerly enslaved people who refused the terms of their captivity. These communities, often hidden deep in forests, swamps, or mountains, were rooted in self-liberation, sovereignty, and cultural preservation. They integrated themselves into natural landscapes, allowing them to live, organize, and thrive in plain sight.In the American South, the Great Dismal Swamp became a haven for those who had self-liberated from enslavement. Historical records and oral histories document that from the 1600s through the Civil War, thousands of Black people sought refuge in the swamp’s dense forests and wetlands, forming maroon settlements that lasted for generations. Despite the harsh terrain, these communities developed intricate systems of agriculture, bartering, kinship, and resistance. The swamp became not only a physical sanctuary but also a site of Black ingenuity, perseverance, and refusal.In Jamaica, Queen Nanny of the Maroons is celebrated as one of the most formidable leaders of resistance against British colonial rule. Born in what is now Ghana, she was brought to Jamaica as an enslaved African and escaped into the Blue Mountains, where she became a leader of the Windward Maroons in the early 18th century. Nanny led successful guerrilla warfare campaigns against the British, outwitting colonial forces and negotiating a peace treaty in 1739 that secured land and a degree of autonomy for her people. Beyond her military prowess, Queen Nanny was a spiritual leader and herbalist whose knowledge of African traditions, healing, and community governance shaped maroon society. Her leadership embodied the power of post-menopausal Black womanhood—rooted in clarity, strategy, protection, and vision.These maroon societies were not utopias, but they were declarations of self-determination in a world that denied their humanity. Many were led by elder post-menopausal Black women—women who wielded their wisdom, pragmatism, and power to build sovereign spaces of care, resistance, and renewal. Their stories offer not only a historical blueprint but also a spiritual map for how we might reimagine our own liberation.The Menopausal Maroon and the Margins We Did Not CreateAt Black Girl’s Guide to Surviving Menopause, we recognize that people of the global majority did not create the margins of the current menopause landscape, but we are reclaiming them. These margins were built by systems that failed to see us: the medical industrial complex that pathologized our bodies, the wellness industry that commodifies our pain, and media and research landscapes that often render our experiences invisible unless they can be exploited for profit.Yet within these margins, we are creating something different. Through storytelling, oral histories, intergenerational knowledge exchange, and embodied cultural practices, we are illuminating what has always been here: a rich and diverse ecosystem of menopausal wisdom. We are not hiding in plain sight. We are illuminating the margins as a sacred space of safe passage—a waystation between erasure and freedom, between isolation and multiverse.Our divestment from the mainstream menopause landscape is not about abandonment, it is about realignment. It’s about redirecting our labor, attention, and partnerships toward the world we want to live in. And in doing so, we are transforming the margins into a map with a series of questions born out of 6 years of excavation from the margins: What might a divestment strategy look like if it begins with a question of sovereignty? What would it mean to build structures that refuse exploitation and instead center our stories, truths, experiences, power, and cultural wisdom? What would it mean for genderqueer, nonbinary, and trans people to divest from narratives that flatten or erase their embodied experiences, and instead claim space as knowledge holders, visionaries, and healers? What would it mean for formerly incarcerated people to reshape the narrative entirely, to reclaim agency in a system that pathologized and punished them, and build a community rooted in care, dignity, healing, and renewal? What would it mean for people under 40 to divest from the idea that menopause only belongs to the old, the straight, or the settled, and instead, see their own early, surgical, or medically induced menopause experiences as valid, powerful, and transformative? What would shift if younger people navigating menopause were affirmed in their identities and offered language, community, and care that honors their transformation as legitimate and deeply wise? What if their stories became maps, guiding others through uncharted terrain with clarity and courage? Our answer, shaped by the determination of maroon communities and the futuristic vision of the Menopausal Multiverse, is this: It means building something sovereign and interdependent. It means reclaiming the ecosystems we’ve been told are wastelands. It means listening to our elders, trusting our stories, and creating spaces where all of us, not just some of us, are free.Lessons from Queen Nanny and the Great Dismal SwampAs we shape new ways of being and belonging in the Menopausal Multiverse, we activate the memory, strategy, resilience, and creativity of our ancestors—not to replicate the past, but to honor its wisdom while creating something radically new. These lessons from Queen Nanny and the maroons of the Great Dismal Swamp remind us that what has been built before can be reimagined, and what was meant to be hidden can now be illuminated.From Queen Nanny, we learn that leadership can be strategic, emergent, and deeply spiritual all at once. Her legacy teaches us that organizing for freedom demands not only tactical brilliance but also a profound reverence for ancestral knowledge. She reminds us that survival alone is not enough—we must also fight for land, for dignity, and for the sacred right to govern our own lives. In this light, menopause becomes more than a biological transition; it emerges as a threshold into a new kind of leadership, one that is clear-eyed, protective, and unapologetically rooted in community.From the maroons of the Great Dismal Swamp, we learn that even the most seemingly inhospitable places can be transformed into havens when shaped by collective will and resistance. The margins, far from being empty, are alive with potential, with memory, and with the blueprint for what is possible. These communities show us that we do not need proximity to power to create safety, culture, or systems of governance that reflect our values. What we need is each other, a deep connection to land, shared commitment, and the courage to build beyond the gaze of the systems that have abandoned or betrayed us.To build the Menopausal Multiverse is to carry forward these lessons. It is to reconnect with the land, with the community, and with ancestral wisdom. It is to root our future in place, resistance, and self-determination. It is to honor the margins, not as peripheries but as portals. It is to understand that healing justice and reproductive justice begin with remembering who we are and refusing to be forgotten. The Menopausal Maroon is not a metaphor. It is a living practice of reclamation and redesign. And it will lead us home.The Margins Are a MapA Meditation from the Menopausal MultiverseClose your eyes.Inhale deeply.Let the breath trace a line—not to the center, but to the edge.To the margin.To the place you were told was too much, too complicated, too far.Now exhale, and imagine this:The margins are not exile.They are a beginning.They are the ground where ancestors whisper,where stories root,where liberation takes its first breath.The margins are maps in disguise—coded with memory,lined with resistance,drawn in the hand of the Maroon, the midwife,the queer visionary, the freedom-seeker.They are where those of us othered by our race, ethnicity, gender, religion or access to resourcethose who have been cast out have always conjured safety,crafted beauty,and practiced sovereignty.So today,if you find yourself at the edge—of a system, of a story, of your own becoming—know this:You are not lost.You are not late.You are not outside.You are exactly where the map begins.This margin,this wild edge,is not a boundary.It is a portal.It is a place of power.Breathe into it.Honor it.Name it sacred.And walk forward, not toward the center,but into the multiversewhere all of you is welcome."
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"title" : "Neptune Frost",
"author" : "Saul Williams, Anisia Uzeyman",
"category" : "screenings",
"tags" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/eip-screening-neptune-frost",
"date" : "2025-07-12 16:00:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/netune-frost-movie-poster.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Join us on Saturday, July 12 for a special screening, followed by an exclusive Q&A with the directors of Neptune Frost. Part of our member screening series, tune in live or anytime in the next 24 hours, from anywhere in the world!",
"content" : "Join us on Saturday, July 12 for a special screening, followed by an exclusive Q&A with the directors of Neptune Frost. Part of our member screening series, tune in live or anytime in the next 24 hours, from anywhere in the world!Multi-hyphenate, multidisciplinary artist Saul Williams brings his unique dynamism to this Afrofuturist vision, a sci-fi punk musical that’s a visually wondrous amalgamation of themes, ideas, and songs that Williams has explored in his work, notably his 2016 album MartyrLoserKing. Co-directed with the Rwandan-born artist and cinematographer Anisia Uzeyman, the film takes place in the hilltops of Burundi, where a group of escaped coltan miners form an anti-colonialist computer hacker collective. From their camp in an otherworldly e-waste dump, they attempt a takeover of the authoritarian regime exploiting the region’s natural resources – and its people. When an intersex runaway and an escaped coltan miner find each other through cosmic forces, their connection sparks glitches within the greater divine circuitry. Set between states of being – past and present, dream and waking life, colonized and free, male and female, memory and prescience – Neptune Frost is an invigorating and empowering direct download to the cerebral cortex and a call to reclaim technology for progressive political ends."
}
,
{
"title" : "Socialist Girl Summer: How Capitalism Spent Billions to Demonize Socialism — And Why That Spell Is Breaking",
"author" : "Céline Semaan",
"category" : "essays",
"tags" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/socialist-girl-summer-demonize-socialism-why-spell-breaking",
"date" : "2025-07-03 22:00:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_SocialistGirlSummer.jpg",
"excerpt" : "As the founder of Slow Factory, I design everything you see—every typeface, every framework, every campaign. I don’t outsource the vision. I shape it. And I started Slow with one goal in mind: to rebrand socialism, justice, and environmentalism—not as niche causes, but as cultural movements essential to our survival. Design isn’t just about aesthetics. It’s about power. And I use design as a tool to imagine, demand, and build better worlds.For nearly a century, the United States has spent billions of dollars, media bandwidth, and educational muscle to ensure one thing: that the word socialism would strike fear in the public imagination. That’s not because socialism failed. It’s because socialism threatens power—especially the kind of power that hoards land, labor, and life for profit.But something is shifting. The re-election of Assemblymember Zohran Mamdani in New York—an openly socialist organizer who unapologetically defends tenants, workers, and Palestinians—marks a rupture in that narrative. A new generation no longer flinches at the word. They embrace it. They are building it. They are winning.But before we can move forward, we must understand what we are up against.",
"content" : "As the founder of Slow Factory, I design everything you see—every typeface, every framework, every campaign. I don’t outsource the vision. I shape it. And I started Slow with one goal in mind: to rebrand socialism, justice, and environmentalism—not as niche causes, but as cultural movements essential to our survival. Design isn’t just about aesthetics. It’s about power. And I use design as a tool to imagine, demand, and build better worlds.For nearly a century, the United States has spent billions of dollars, media bandwidth, and educational muscle to ensure one thing: that the word socialism would strike fear in the public imagination. That’s not because socialism failed. It’s because socialism threatens power—especially the kind of power that hoards land, labor, and life for profit.But something is shifting. The re-election of Assemblymember Zohran Mamdani in New York—an openly socialist organizer who unapologetically defends tenants, workers, and Palestinians—marks a rupture in that narrative. A new generation no longer flinches at the word. They embrace it. They are building it. They are winning.But before we can move forward, we must understand what we are up against.A Propaganda Empire Built on FearFrom Cold War cinema to first-grade civics books, socialism was rendered as the enemy. Not because it endangered democracy, but because it questioned private property, militarism, and capitalism’s sacred cow: unlimited profit.The U.S. government, backed by its capitalist elite, responded with a sweeping cultural war. The Red Scare and McCarthyism turned union leaders, civil rights activists, and artists into traitors. The FBI surveilled and imprisoned people for organizing against poverty and racial capitalism. Hollywood blacklists sanitized storytelling and sold capitalist mythology as aspirational truth. CIA coups, from Chile to Iran to the Congo, dismantled democratically elected socialist governments because they dared to nationalize oil, land, and education. This wasn’t a fear of failure. It was a fear of redistribution.Why the Spell Is BreakingCapitalism made big promises. But it delivered gig work, burnout, debt, climate collapse, and endless war. A growing number of people—especially Gen Z and Millennials—aren’t buying the myth anymore.According to Pew Research (2023), 70% of younger Americans support some form of socialism.Mutual aid groups, public power campaigns, and tenant unions are taking root in cities across the U.S.And politicians like Mamdani, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Summer Lee, and others are bringing these values to governance—publicly, unapologetically.This isn’t a rebrand. This is a return. A remembering.Designing LiberationDesign has always been political. It’s a tool used by empires—and also a tool of resistance. Every successful propaganda campaign used design to criminalize solidarity and glorify capitalism.Mid-century posters showed socialism as monstrous: Stalin as an octopus devouring the planet. Red flags engulfing American homes in flames. Inspectors peering through windows. These visuals weren’t neutral. They were weapons.But today, we’re flipping the frame.As a designer, I use visual culture to demystify and disrupt these fear-based narratives. We design not just what we see—but how we see. And when we shift that perspective, we make new futures possible.My work at Slow Factory has always been about this: telling stories rooted in care, equity, and ecological justice. Whether through open education, cultural programming, or climate justice campaigns, I’m reprogramming what power looks like—and who it belongs to.Zohran Mamdani and the Future of StorytellingMamdani’s victory isn’t just electoral. It’s cultural. He won while calling for an end to genocide in Gaza, organizing with workers instead of corporations, and speaking openly about the harms of capitalism and imperialism.He won while the establishment poured millions into defeating him.His win is proof: the old script is wearing thin.Reclaiming the Word, Reclaiming the WorldSocialism has always been about care—public housing, free healthcare, universal education, the right to rest and exist without fear. These are not fringe demands. These are the bare minimum for a livable planet.The villain was never socialism. The villain was the empire that told us we didn’t deserve care unless we could afford it.We are entering the Possible Futures era. And it’s being led by people who no longer fear justice—but are terrified of its absence.Designing that future means unlearning propaganda and replacing it with stories of survival, resistance, and imagination. We must reclaim the visual language of dignity—transforming symbols of domination into frameworks for liberation.We don’t just need to rebrand socialism.We need to remember it.And redesign everything."
}
,
{
"title" : "Who’s Profiting from Genocide? What Francesca Albanese’s Report Reveals—and Why It Matters for the Climate",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "essays",
"tags" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/profiting-from-genocide-what-francesca-albanese-report",
"date" : "2025-07-02 18:33:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Francesca_Report.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Let’s be clear: genocide is never just a military operation. It’s an economy.",
"content" : "Let’s be clear: genocide is never just a military operation. It’s an economy.This week, UN Special Rapporteur Francesca Albanese released a groundbreaking report—“From the Economy of Occupation to the Economy of Genocide” naming dozens of global corporations complicit in and benefitting from Israel’s genocidal war on Gaza. The report makes what many of us have long known impossible to ignore: multinational corporations are not just “doing business” with Israel—they are profiting from displacement, resource theft, and mass death.And it’s not just harming people. It’s killing the planet.Albanese’s report lays out how corporations across defense, tech, finance, construction, and agriculture are directly enabling Israel’s assault on Gaza. This is not indirect. This is not abstract. These companies are not passive observers—they are profiteers. Weapon Manufacturers like Lockheed Martin, Elbit Systems, Boeing, BAE Systems, and General Dynamics are supplying the bombs raining down on hospitals and refugee camps. Tech Giants like Google, Amazon, Microsoft, IBM, and Palantir provide the cloud computing, AI surveillance, and targeting software that power Israel’s military intelligence. Construction Firms like Caterpillar, HD Hyundai, and Volvo provide bulldozers used to demolish Palestinian homes—often paid for with public funds or foreign aid. Hospitality Platforms like Booking.com and Airbnb list vacation rentals on stolen Palestinian land, laundering settler colonialism into leisure. Financial Institutions including BlackRock, Barclays, Citigroup, JPMorgan, and Deutsche Bank fund Israeli military bonds and invest in all the above sectors. This is what an economy of genocide looks like: global, profitable, and deeply entrenched in the status quo.Genocide and Ecocide Are Two Sides of the Same CoinThe same companies enabling genocide are actively destroying ecosystems. This isn’t a coincidence—it’s a pattern.Caterpillar, already infamous for displacing Palestinian families, is a major contributor to fossil fuel extraction and mining projects that poison Indigenous lands in the Global South.Palantir, which boasts about using AI to “optimize” military surveillance, is also deployed by ICE in the United States to track, detain, and deport climate refugees and migrants.Netafim, an Israeli irrigation company profiting off stolen Palestinian water, is celebrated as “sustainable innovation” in the ag-tech world—masking eco-apartheid as green tech.In short: genocide and ecocide share a supply chain. And we need to cut the cord.Elbit Systems, an Israeli weapons manufacturer, supplies drones and surveillance tech to police at the U.S.-Mexico border—and to ICE.HP and Google provide AI and cloud infrastructure for the Israeli military while also marketing themselves as “green tech” leaders.Chevron and ExxonMobil continue to fund and extract from the Eastern Mediterranean, leveraging Israel’s military occupation to secure infrastructure.This is greenwashing meets genocide—a deadly symbiosis between environmental harm and militarized violence.What This Means for UsThis moment calls for more than statements. It calls for a total redefinition of what sustainability means—because there is nothing sustainable about silence in the face of genocide.If you are a brand, an artist, a designer, a policymaker, a curator, or a student: you are being called in. Your work, your budget, your institution may be entangled—knowingly or not—with the companies Albanese has exposed. Now is the time to do the work.What We Must Do—Now1. Follow the MoneyStudy the companies listed in Albanese’s report. If you work with—or fund—any of them, ask questions. Divest. Cut ties.2. Demand Institutional AccountabilityMuseums, universities, nonprofits, and sustainability conferences are often quietly sponsored by companies profiting from Israeli apartheid. Push for transparency. Refuse complicity. Call it what it is.3. Connect the StrugglesThe fight for Palestinian liberation is not separate from climate justice. This is all one system: extraction, occupation, militarization, profit. As we say often: everything is political—because everything is connected.4. Build and Invest in AlternativesMutual aid, abolitionist design, food sovereignty, fossil-free infrastructure, and Indigenous stewardship—these are not just buzzwords. They are the way forward. Center Global South leadership. Fund frontline communities.5. Say PalestineRefuse the pressure to sanitize. Refuse the pressure to stay neutral. In the face of genocide, neutrality is complicity. If your liberation practice does not include Palestine, it is incomplete.A Propaganda Crisis, TooThese companies aren’t just selling tools of war—they’re shaping narratives. They sponsor art exhibitions, climate conferences, design summits. They greenwash occupation and brand apartheid as “security innovation.”The most dangerous lie today is that “sustainability” can coexist with genocide. It can’t.No climate justice without Palestinian liberation. No sustainable future while apartheid is profitable.So What Can We Do?DivestCampaign for your workplace, university, or city to divest from the companies named in the report. Check your retirement funds. Audit your donors. Pull the receipts.ExposeIf your favorite brand or cultural institution is collaborating with Amazon, Palantir, or Caterpillar—say something. Publicly. Email them. Call it what it is: complicity.Cut the Narrative LoopRefuse to use language that normalizes occupation: “conflict,” “both sides,” “retaliation.” This is genocide.Build AlternativesSupport community-owned energy, Palestinian agricultural cooperatives, and local solidarity economies. Join land back and degrowth movements—they are connected.Organize for PolicyPush for legislation that bans military trade with apartheid regimes and prohibits companies from profiting off human rights abuses.Tell the Truth, ConsistentlyUse your platform to amplify the names, the facts, the systems. Share this report. Write your own version. Make the invisible visible.The Link Between Genocide and Climate HarmWe can’t talk about genocide without talking about resource theft, land colonization, and environmental destruction. The same weapons being used to bomb hospitals and schools in Gaza are being manufactured by companies who also profit from climate collapse—polluting ecosystems, propping up fossil fuel economies, and creating the conditions for displacement that militarized borders are then built to contain.We must hold the line. Genocide is not inevitable—it is designed. And anything that is designed can be dismantled. If we want to build a just, livable future, we must start by divesting from the machinery of death—and investing in life.Let this be the beginning."
}
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}