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Nicholas Galanin
Art as a Weapon Against Colonialism

The first in a series of hide paintings for guiding the escape of Indigenous remains and objects in non-Indigenous Institutions to return to their home communities, Architecture of return, escape (Metropolitan Museum of Art) is a mapped escape plan for objects held in the Met in New York City.
The work is a plan for wayfinding during decolonization; requiring return, building new structures for good ways of being. Of the few objects held in display cases, many more (including human remains, and ceremonial objects not intended for public view) are held in museum archives. The cost and processes required to travel and visit these archives limits access to cultural knowledge and inheritance for Indigenous communities, and continues the removal of the objects from their land and people. While institutions control the air temperature, humidity, uv exposure and dust, they are unable to adequately care for these objects in cultural or spiritual ways.
Painting information on hides to remember, and instruct has a long history in many Indigenous communities, particularly for recording significant events or feats of bravery. In this series of work, the hide paintings depict a floor plan referencing a visitors guide and architecture blueprints for building. The objects themselves are unwilling visitors to the museum, and the painting builds a route for escape and vision for reunification of cultural inheritance with community. In the painting, the galleries of the museum containing Indigenous American objects (along with elevators and stairs coming from the archives) are marked with a red dashed line leading to the exit. The exit from the museum is also an entrance for our cultural at.óow (ceremonial objects) imprisoned in these spaces, an entrance for return to land, community and culture. The work serves as a reminder of the past, and as a plan for a good way forward; where stolen objects, human remains and works sold under duress can return home for their own health, for the health of the communities that created them, and for the health of the communities that took them.
EIP: Your art speaks volumes, and is often deliberately “provocative”; tell us first about your life outside of the art you do, the person from which the expression comes?
NICHOLAS: My life is deeply shaped by my connection to the Land, water, community, and family. Beyond my art practice, I navigate my days with a sense of responsibility to these relationships, recognizing that they ground both my work and my existence.
A typical day begins early with children going to school, I often try to get outside—whether walking, running or simply being present with the Land, I love witnessing the seasons and nature’s clock. Living in Alaska, the Land is powerful, a teacher and provider. The weather and its natural rhythms influence so much of my practice and understanding. Summers are busy harvesting. Winters provide time for creating with less distraction.
Family is at the heart of my life. I prioritize being present for my children, supporting them in their education and growth, and sharing the values and knowledge passed down to me through continuum. This extends to my community, where mentorship and collaboration are part of daily experience—through conversations, shared meals, or working alongside others.
Much of my time is spent engaging with creative disciplines— researching, reading, listening and exploring ideas. Music is an integral part of this exploration, providing both a creative outlet and a meditative practice. Some days are dedicated to carving, others to the music studio, or working on projects that require research and concept. The throughline remains the same: honoring Indigenous knowledge, challenging structures that seek to erase it, and creating space for future generations.
Resistance is also present in my daily life—whether through showing up for movements that support Indigenous sovereignty, engaging in conversations about Land and imagined futures. I move forward with gratitude and a commitment to my people, my culture, and the responsibilities that come with both.

EIP: How would your children & family describe you as an artist?
NICHOLAS: Not that I would speak for my children on this, but I can lead with what knowledge they have access to. My children have understood that this practice is not separated from our life, our connection to Land, to sustenance, culture and continuum, how it is connected to language, to our survival and to time generationally, how it contributes to health and well being. My children have been raised to understand that the studio is free and alive, shifting with objects and projects that hold story. Often the work has generative dialogue that reaches into silenced history that is not taught in school systems. They are allowed to explore in the studio with the tools and material, some of my children continue their own creative practice in their own time and space. Music, Lingit formline, carving, jewelry etc. I am so grateful for them to have access to something that has been so enriching and meaningful to my life experience.
EIP: In all your years of work, what would be your favorite piece you have ever worked on?
NICHOLAS: I don’t spend enough time looking back to celebrate works or favorites. The process of creating and exploration includes growth and new thought, new perspective and experiment. I am so grateful for opportunities to travel and meet with other cultures and communities, any work that allows for this is thought of as a blessing and form of higher learning.
EIP: Your work often explores themes of Indigenous identity and culture. How has your heritage shaped your perspective as an artist, and what role does storytelling play in your art?
NICHOLAS: All of my work is rooted in my cultural understanding and connection to place. I was speaking with my friend Jeffrey Gibson who had invited me to present to his students and Jeffrey mentioned something I never really noticed about my practice. Jeffrey said I was a storyteller. I know that creative practice can change the world. I know that creative practice can provide clarity, focus and vision. This is transmission of thought, this is survival, this is responsibility and necessity. Culturally speaking our community had no word for art, yet the visual form and language was everywhere. It is part of existence and life.
EIP: Can you speak about the importance of reclaiming traditional art forms and narratives in contemporary Indigenous art?
NICHOLAS: The receipts of time (or the gaps) are well documented and represented in art collections, in museums, in language, in books and media. Indians and dinosaur bones are often experienced together by public school visits to the museum. Anthropology and romanticism is something we still navigate. My grandfather created work in an era where customary education had been purposefully broken, where our clan houses had been dismantled and our language forcefully removed. Our ceremonies were banned, our knowledge and Land extracted. To continue to relearn language and song, to provide and share harvests from the Land with elders, to teach the youth is care. Creating in continuum and building is power, consumption is colonial. This is a living community and the work we do exists because of those whose shoulders we stand on.
EIP: Much of your work touches on the resistance against colonialism and cultural erasure. How do you view the role of art as a form of protest or political expression?
NICHOLAS: Its voice in a space where our voices have been silenced, in a timeline where the media seeks to control and profit from our humanity at the expense of Land and life. Free Palestine, Free Congo, Free Sudan and Land Back. I am listening and learning. I have so much respect for those that voice and work towards collective liberation. We have seen so much backlash and it is clear that economic power is a tool with a means to oppress. Art is an opportunity.
EIP: What have been some of the most challenging or rewarding moments you’ve faced when addressing difficult historical and political subjects through your work?
NICHOLAS: Everything comes with challenges, whether it is fighting censorship or seeking funding to realize projects. I have fought for projects,I have fought for words to remain in text and for language and intention of work to be clearly stated. Words are a battlefield and the pushback can be proof of impact. Early on it felt great to have access and participation, through time I’ve seen that we are also being consumed. Understanding spiritual connection to place grounds me, knowing that the Land provides and cares is a powerfully humbling understanding. The challenge I look forward to most is growth.
EIP: If you could reflect into your youth and childhood, what moments have been deeply ingrained in you that have now become or affected a part of your artistic practice?
NICHOLAS: Growing up around the cultural art form was very inspiring and powerful, my fondest memories include the smell of red cedar in my uncle’s shop, the tools, the knives and all of my fathers jewelry making equipment. Music played a roll in this as well, instruments and song were always shared and loved in my family. In grade school I was practicing Lingit formline and drawing as often as possible, building and trying to understand this visual language with guidance from my father and uncle. We moved around often and the imagery connected me back to home in a meaningful way, it instilled pride in my culture and carried many other life teachings beyond the creative process. It is life work, it connects us with the community, to ceremony, to song, to Land and water, to past present and future. I wanted to understand more and this cultural art form had provided that insight, it still continues to provide more understanding. Through this work I learned that all is possible and for me that is incredibly powerful.

EIP: Do you feel like your art makes political statements? If this is so, have you always approached your work this way?
NICHOLAS: Yes. Indigenous existence is political. Land is political, water is political, air is political when the systems that consume and extract, damage, remove or forcefully seek to control it/us continue to exist. My initial training in the creative world began with customary apprenticeships carving wood and metals. I think the most continual aspect in my practice was something I still try to maintain to this day, which is to keep the mind open.
EIP: In light of growing global inequality, what do you believe are the most pressing issues that world governments need to prioritize?
NICHOLAS: Collective liberation, human rights for all, climate crisis, access to healthcare, affordable housing, and clean water. We can envision a better future.
EIP: Was there a specific moment or experience that made you realize the political potential of your work?
NICHOLAS: In order to access my culture I had to navigate institutions, museums and academia. So much of our culture had been intentionally removed through genocide. Learning about my history is highly political. My grandparents in an internment camp, my Unangax family forcefully removed from their villages. Boarding schools, forced assimilation, language removal. Erasure. The impacts still surface through living generations, we are still fighting to protect herring, salmon, waterways and for sovereignty and Land rights. My survival is political in a homeland that sought to remove us. There is a necessity and responsibility to bring voice to these conversations.
EIP: Can you talk about your connection to the youth, whether it’s your children or children you might work with. How do they respond to your work and what has been your focus if any when educating them using creativity?
NICHOLAS: Our culture lives through shared knowledge and continuum, I have and continue to take on apprentices and understand this as a form of living knowledge. Some were taught that if it had not been for museums who “care” for our at.óow (sacred objects) then we would not have them. This is myth created by settler supremacists, the same kind of mythology that calls any non-Eurocentric spiritual belief primitive, this is the same mythology that still continues to disregard Indigenous science. I like to speak about kooteeya (totem poles) when talking about this. In our communities the kooteeya is carved raised and returns back to the forest in its life. In colonial society these have been removed, preserved with arsenic and placed into collection. The preservation is in the knowledge and understanding of how to create the kooteeya, in the preservation and protection, care of the forests that provide the cedar to create the totem. The preservation and care has to be literal care for the community that stewards this knowledge, not just the fetishized object. I am starting a 2 year apprenticeship where I will train and work with younger artists, starting with tool making, design, cultural protocol and carving. The students will work with me over the course of this time and upon completion will have carved and raised a 25ft totem. This is knowledge transmission.

{
"article":
{
"title" : "Nicholas Galanin: Art as a Weapon Against Colonialism",
"author" : "Nicholas Galanin",
"category" : "interviews, visual",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/nicholas-galanin-art-as-a-weapon-against-colonialism",
"date" : "2025-03-21 17:28:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/NGA24-06_The-Imaginary-Indian_Nicholas-Galanin.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "The first in a series of hide paintings for guiding the escape of Indigenous remains and objects in non-Indigenous Institutions to return to their home communities, Architecture of return, escape (Metropolitan Museum of Art) is a mapped escape plan for objects held in the Met in New York City.The work is a plan for wayfinding during decolonization; requiring return, building new structures for good ways of being. Of the few objects held in display cases, many more (including human remains, and ceremonial objects not intended for public view) are held in museum archives. The cost and processes required to travel and visit these archives limits access to cultural knowledge and inheritance for Indigenous communities, and continues the removal of the objects from their land and people. While institutions control the air temperature, humidity, uv exposure and dust, they are unable to adequately care for these objects in cultural or spiritual ways.Painting information on hides to remember, and instruct has a long history in many Indigenous communities, particularly for recording significant events or feats of bravery. In this series of work, the hide paintings depict a floor plan referencing a visitors guide and architecture blueprints for building. The objects themselves are unwilling visitors to the museum, and the painting builds a route for escape and vision for reunification of cultural inheritance with community. In the painting, the galleries of the museum containing Indigenous American objects (along with elevators and stairs coming from the archives) are marked with a red dashed line leading to the exit. The exit from the museum is also an entrance for our cultural at.óow (ceremonial objects) imprisoned in these spaces, an entrance for return to land, community and culture. The work serves as a reminder of the past, and as a plan for a good way forward; where stolen objects, human remains and works sold under duress can return home for their own health, for the health of the communities that created them, and for the health of the communities that took them.EIP: Your art speaks volumes, and is often deliberately “provocative”; tell us first about your life outside of the art you do, the person from which the expression comes?NICHOLAS: My life is deeply shaped by my connection to the Land, water, community, and family. Beyond my art practice, I navigate my days with a sense of responsibility to these relationships, recognizing that they ground both my work and my existence.A typical day begins early with children going to school, I often try to get outside—whether walking, running or simply being present with the Land, I love witnessing the seasons and nature’s clock. Living in Alaska, the Land is powerful, a teacher and provider. The weather and its natural rhythms influence so much of my practice and understanding. Summers are busy harvesting. Winters provide time for creating with less distraction.Family is at the heart of my life. I prioritize being present for my children, supporting them in their education and growth, and sharing the values and knowledge passed down to me through continuum. This extends to my community, where mentorship and collaboration are part of daily experience—through conversations, shared meals, or working alongside others.Much of my time is spent engaging with creative disciplines— researching, reading, listening and exploring ideas. Music is an integral part of this exploration, providing both a creative outlet and a meditative practice. Some days are dedicated to carving, others to the music studio, or working on projects that require research and concept. The throughline remains the same: honoring Indigenous knowledge, challenging structures that seek to erase it, and creating space for future generations.Resistance is also present in my daily life—whether through showing up for movements that support Indigenous sovereignty, engaging in conversations about Land and imagined futures. I move forward with gratitude and a commitment to my people, my culture, and the responsibilities that come with both.EIP: How would your children & family describe you as an artist?NICHOLAS: Not that I would speak for my children on this, but I can lead with what knowledge they have access to. My children have understood that this practice is not separated from our life, our connection to Land, to sustenance, culture and continuum, how it is connected to language, to our survival and to time generationally, how it contributes to health and well being. My children have been raised to understand that the studio is free and alive, shifting with objects and projects that hold story. Often the work has generative dialogue that reaches into silenced history that is not taught in school systems. They are allowed to explore in the studio with the tools and material, some of my children continue their own creative practice in their own time and space. Music, Lingit formline, carving, jewelry etc. I am so grateful for them to have access to something that has been so enriching and meaningful to my life experience.EIP: In all your years of work, what would be your favorite piece you have ever worked on?NICHOLAS: I don’t spend enough time looking back to celebrate works or favorites. The process of creating and exploration includes growth and new thought, new perspective and experiment. I am so grateful for opportunities to travel and meet with other cultures and communities, any work that allows for this is thought of as a blessing and form of higher learning.EIP: Your work often explores themes of Indigenous identity and culture. How has your heritage shaped your perspective as an artist, and what role does storytelling play in your art?NICHOLAS: All of my work is rooted in my cultural understanding and connection to place. I was speaking with my friend Jeffrey Gibson who had invited me to present to his students and Jeffrey mentioned something I never really noticed about my practice. Jeffrey said I was a storyteller. I know that creative practice can change the world. I know that creative practice can provide clarity, focus and vision. This is transmission of thought, this is survival, this is responsibility and necessity. Culturally speaking our community had no word for art, yet the visual form and language was everywhere. It is part of existence and life.EIP: Can you speak about the importance of reclaiming traditional art forms and narratives in contemporary Indigenous art?NICHOLAS: The receipts of time (or the gaps) are well documented and represented in art collections, in museums, in language, in books and media. Indians and dinosaur bones are often experienced together by public school visits to the museum. Anthropology and romanticism is something we still navigate. My grandfather created work in an era where customary education had been purposefully broken, where our clan houses had been dismantled and our language forcefully removed. Our ceremonies were banned, our knowledge and Land extracted. To continue to relearn language and song, to provide and share harvests from the Land with elders, to teach the youth is care. Creating in continuum and building is power, consumption is colonial. This is a living community and the work we do exists because of those whose shoulders we stand on.EIP: Much of your work touches on the resistance against colonialism and cultural erasure. How do you view the role of art as a form of protest or political expression?NICHOLAS: Its voice in a space where our voices have been silenced, in a timeline where the media seeks to control and profit from our humanity at the expense of Land and life. Free Palestine, Free Congo, Free Sudan and Land Back. I am listening and learning. I have so much respect for those that voice and work towards collective liberation. We have seen so much backlash and it is clear that economic power is a tool with a means to oppress. Art is an opportunity.EIP: What have been some of the most challenging or rewarding moments you’ve faced when addressing difficult historical and political subjects through your work?NICHOLAS: Everything comes with challenges, whether it is fighting censorship or seeking funding to realize projects. I have fought for projects,I have fought for words to remain in text and for language and intention of work to be clearly stated. Words are a battlefield and the pushback can be proof of impact. Early on it felt great to have access and participation, through time I’ve seen that we are also being consumed. Understanding spiritual connection to place grounds me, knowing that the Land provides and cares is a powerfully humbling understanding. The challenge I look forward to most is growth.EIP: If you could reflect into your youth and childhood, what moments have been deeply ingrained in you that have now become or affected a part of your artistic practice?NICHOLAS: Growing up around the cultural art form was very inspiring and powerful, my fondest memories include the smell of red cedar in my uncle’s shop, the tools, the knives and all of my fathers jewelry making equipment. Music played a roll in this as well, instruments and song were always shared and loved in my family. In grade school I was practicing Lingit formline and drawing as often as possible, building and trying to understand this visual language with guidance from my father and uncle. We moved around often and the imagery connected me back to home in a meaningful way, it instilled pride in my culture and carried many other life teachings beyond the creative process. It is life work, it connects us with the community, to ceremony, to song, to Land and water, to past present and future. I wanted to understand more and this cultural art form had provided that insight, it still continues to provide more understanding. Through this work I learned that all is possible and for me that is incredibly powerful.EIP: Do you feel like your art makes political statements? If this is so, have you always approached your work this way?NICHOLAS: Yes. Indigenous existence is political. Land is political, water is political, air is political when the systems that consume and extract, damage, remove or forcefully seek to control it/us continue to exist. My initial training in the creative world began with customary apprenticeships carving wood and metals. I think the most continual aspect in my practice was something I still try to maintain to this day, which is to keep the mind open.EIP: In light of growing global inequality, what do you believe are the most pressing issues that world governments need to prioritize?NICHOLAS: Collective liberation, human rights for all, climate crisis, access to healthcare, affordable housing, and clean water. We can envision a better future.EIP: Was there a specific moment or experience that made you realize the political potential of your work?NICHOLAS: In order to access my culture I had to navigate institutions, museums and academia. So much of our culture had been intentionally removed through genocide. Learning about my history is highly political. My grandparents in an internment camp, my Unangax family forcefully removed from their villages. Boarding schools, forced assimilation, language removal. Erasure. The impacts still surface through living generations, we are still fighting to protect herring, salmon, waterways and for sovereignty and Land rights. My survival is political in a homeland that sought to remove us. There is a necessity and responsibility to bring voice to these conversations.EIP: Can you talk about your connection to the youth, whether it’s your children or children you might work with. How do they respond to your work and what has been your focus if any when educating them using creativity?NICHOLAS: Our culture lives through shared knowledge and continuum, I have and continue to take on apprentices and understand this as a form of living knowledge. Some were taught that if it had not been for museums who “care” for our at.óow (sacred objects) then we would not have them. This is myth created by settler supremacists, the same kind of mythology that calls any non-Eurocentric spiritual belief primitive, this is the same mythology that still continues to disregard Indigenous science. I like to speak about kooteeya (totem poles) when talking about this. In our communities the kooteeya is carved raised and returns back to the forest in its life. In colonial society these have been removed, preserved with arsenic and placed into collection. The preservation is in the knowledge and understanding of how to create the kooteeya, in the preservation and protection, care of the forests that provide the cedar to create the totem. The preservation and care has to be literal care for the community that stewards this knowledge, not just the fetishized object. I am starting a 2 year apprenticeship where I will train and work with younger artists, starting with tool making, design, cultural protocol and carving. The students will work with me over the course of this time and upon completion will have carved and raised a 25ft totem. This is knowledge transmission."
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"title" : "From Sabra & Shatila to Gaza: The UN’s Century of Failure and the Rise of Alternatives",
"author" : "Collis Browne",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/from-sabra-and-shatila-to-gaza",
"date" : "2025-09-16 10:47:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/2025_9_16_UN_Genocide_1.jpg",
"excerpt" : "On the 43rd anniversary of the massacres committed under Israeli authority at Sabra and Shatila camps in Beirut in 1982, a United Nations Commission Of Inquiry has concluded, as would any rational observer, that Israel has been committing genocide in Gaza since October 2023.",
"content" : "On the 43rd anniversary of the massacres committed under Israeli authority at Sabra and Shatila camps in Beirut in 1982, a United Nations Commission Of Inquiry has concluded, as would any rational observer, that Israel has been committing genocide in Gaza since October 2023.This is not news. It could, however, be a turning point, . The UN’s declaration cracks open the conservative West’s long-standing wall of denial about the genocidal intentions and actions of the U.S.–Israel military machine. What happens next matters.A Century of Genocidal IntentFor those who have been watching Palestine with clarity long before 2023, this genocide is not an aberration — it is the project itself. From its inception, every major Zionist leader and Israeli politician has openly articulated the goal of erasing the Indigenous people of Palestine, whether through forced expulsion or mass murder.More than a hundred years of speeches, policies, and massacres testify to this intent. The so-called “War on Gaza” is simply the most visible and livestreamed stage of an ongoing colonial project.The UN’s Empty WordsIs this UN report different? The UN has made declarative statements for decades with no action or enforcement. In 1975, the UN declared Zionism is racism, citing the “unholy alliance” between apartheid South Africa and Israel. Yet Zionists continued to enjoy privileged status across Western institutions. Since 1967, the UN has passed resolution after resolution denouncing illegal Israeli settlements on stolen Palestinian land. Still, the theft continues unchecked. In December 2022, the UN General Assembly demanded Israel end its “unlawful presence” in the Occupied Territories within one year. That deadline expires this week, September 18, 2025. Israel has ignored it completely, as expected — with no consequences. Declarations without enforcement are not justice. They are fig leaves for impunity.What Good Is the UN?The Geneva Convention obliges all states to intervene to stop and punish genocide. Yet no country has deployed forces to resist Israel’s military slaughter in Gaza. No sanctions. No accountability.If the UN cannot stop one of its own member states from carrying out genocide in full public view — in “4K” as the world watches live — then what is the UN for?The Rise of AlternativesThe cracks are widening. The government of China has announced a new Global Governance initiative, already backed by dozens of countries. Without illusions about its motivations, the concept paper at least addresses three of the UN’s structural failures: Underrepresentation of the Global South — redressing centuries of colonial imbalance. Erosion of authoritativeness — restoring the credibility of international law. Urgent need for effectiveness — accelerating stalled progress on global commitments like the UN’s 2030 Agenda. The question is not whether the UN will reform. It is whether it can survive its own irrelevance.Toward a New Global OrderFrom Sabra and Shatila to Gaza, the UN has failed to prevent — or even meaningfully resist — genocide. Its reports and resolutions pile up, while the graves in Palestine multiply.If the international body tasked with “peace and security” cannot act against the most televised genocide in history, then the world has to ask: do we need a new United Nations? Or do we need to build something entirely different — a system of global governance that serves the people, not the powerful?"
}
,
{
"title" : "France in Revolt: Debt, Uranium, and the Costs of Macron-ism",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/france-in-revolt",
"date" : "2025-09-14 22:39:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Bloquons-Tout.jpg",
"excerpt" : "France is burning again—not only on the streets of Paris but in the brittle foundations of its political economy. What began as a mass revolt against austerity and public-service cuts has become a national convulsion: roads blocked, train stations occupied, workplaces shut down under the call to “Bloquons Tout” (Let’s Block Everything). The collapse of François Bayrou’s government is only the latest symptom. At the root of the crisis is a political project: Macronism—the steady, decade-long tilt toward pro-business reforms, tax cuts for the wealthy, and austerity by default—that has hollowed out public revenue and narrowed citizens’ options.",
"content" : "France is burning again—not only on the streets of Paris but in the brittle foundations of its political economy. What began as a mass revolt against austerity and public-service cuts has become a national convulsion: roads blocked, train stations occupied, workplaces shut down under the call to “Bloquons Tout” (Let’s Block Everything). The collapse of François Bayrou’s government is only the latest symptom. At the root of the crisis is a political project: Macronism—the steady, decade-long tilt toward pro-business reforms, tax cuts for the wealthy, and austerity by default—that has hollowed out public revenue and narrowed citizens’ options.Tax Cuts, Corporate Giveaways, and Rising DebtSince Emmanuel Macron took office in 2017, his administration rolled out a suite of pro-market reforms: the abolition of the broad wealth tax (ISF), replaced by a narrower property wealth tax (IFI); a sustained reduction of the corporate tax rate to about 25%; and a raft of tax measures framed as competitiveness fixes for companies and investors. Economists now estimate that Macron’s tax cuts account for a significant share of France’s rising public debt; his reforms helped widen deficits even before pandemic and energy-shock spending pushed them higher. Today France’s public debt sits near 113–114% of GDP, and ratings agencies and markets are watching closely. (Le Monde.fr)These policies did not produce the promised boom in broadly shared prosperity. Investment did not surge enough to offset lost revenue, and growth remained sluggish. The political consequence was predictable: when the state has less to spend, the burden of balancing budgets falls on cuts to pensions, healthcare, and social programs—measures that overwhelmingly hurt working-class and vulnerable communities. (Financial Times)Pension Reform, Social Fracture, and the Limits of ConsentMacron’s government pushed a controversial pension reform—raising the retirement age from 62 to 64—which sparked nationwide strikes and mass protests in 2023. The reform illustrated a defining feature of Macronism: when public consent falters, the state still presses forward with market-oriented restructuring, deepening social fracture and anger. The pension fight didn’t create the crisis so much as expose it. (Al Jazeera)Colonial Hangover: Uranium, Energy, and GeopoliticsFrance’s energy model has long rested on nuclear power—once a source of national pride for its emission-free nature, and geopolitical independence. Behind that story, however, is another: the colonial era’s extraction of uranium in places like Niger, where French companies (notably Orano/former Areva) secured resource access under unequal terms. As Niger reasserted sovereignty over its resources after the 2023 coup and pushed back on French access, the illusion of seamless “energy independence” began to crack. Losing preferential access to Nigerien uranium has widened France’s energy insecurity and amplified the fiscal squeeze: higher energy costs, the need to secure new supply chains, and political pressure to maintain subsidies for households. The politics of extraction are now returning home. (Le Monde.fr)Climate, Austerity, and the Moral EconomyAdd the climate emergency to the mix—record heatwaves, floods, and wildfires—and the picture becomes even more bleak. Infrastructure strain and rising costs of climate adaptation demand public investment, yet the government’s posture has been to trim and reprioritize spending to satisfy markets. In practice, that means the people least responsible for climate harm—low-income communities, migrants, and precarious workers—are asked to pay the price. The result is a moral and political rupture: climate vulnerability plus fiscal austerity equals radicalized grievance. (Financial Times)A Convergence of FailuresThis is why the current uprising cannot be reduced to a single grievance. It is the convergence of multiple failures: Economic: tax policy that favored the wealthy while starving the public purse; rising debt and cuts that fall on the poor. (Financial Times) Colonial: the unraveling of extractive arrangements that once propped up French energy and power. (Le Monde.fr) Ecological: climate shocks that amplify social need even as public services are stripped back. (Financial Times) The revolt has therefore drawn a broad constituency—students, unions, public-sector workers, and neighborhoods long marginalized by austerity. It is not merely a labor dispute; it is a crisis of legitimacy for a model of governance that privatized gains and socialized pain.What Macronism Tells Us About the Global MomentFrance is a cautionary tale for democracies worldwide. When political leaders prioritize tax breaks for capital and cut public goods to placate markets, they borrow political stability against the future. The bill eventually comes due—in rising debt, in weakened social cohesion, and in violent backlash. Where resource dependencies meet neoliberal retrenchment, the risk of social rupture grows.Three Questions for What Comes Next Will the French state return to a redistributive project—taxing wealth, reclaiming revenues, and investing in climate resilience—or double down on austerity? Can movements translate street power into institutional change that addresses colonial legacies (resource sovereignty) as well as domestic inequality? Will climate policy be woven into social policy—so that adaptation and justice go hand in hand—or will they remain separate priorities, deepening vulnerability? France stands at a crossroads: continue a model that funnels benefit to capital while exposing citizens to climate and economic shocks—or imagine a social contract rooted in redistribution, de-colonial resource politics, and ecological justice. The choice will not be made in the Élysée alone. It is being argued in the streets, in workplaces, and across borders where the costs of extraction were first paid.Everything is Political—and in France today, that truth has never been clearer."
}
,
{
"title" : "Nepal’s New Reckoning",
"author" : "Tulsi Rauniyar",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/nepal-reckoning",
"date" : "2025-09-11 18:11:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/nepal1-IMG_5694.jpg",
"excerpt" : "From September 8-11, 2025, a massive popular uprising has taken place in Nepal, forcing the resignation of the Prime Minister and much of the government. We present some description and first reflections on the protests and riots, which were sparked by a social media ban and anger over government corruption and nepotism.",
"content" : "From September 8-11, 2025, a massive popular uprising has taken place in Nepal, forcing the resignation of the Prime Minister and much of the government. We present some description and first reflections on the protests and riots, which were sparked by a social media ban and anger over government corruption and nepotism.September 8In the white glare of a late summer morning, the broad avenues of Kathmandu, Nepal’s modern capital, are usually thrumming with traffic and smog. But on this sweltering day, the streets were crowded with chanting protesters, all of them demonstrating against the government of KP Sharma Oli. The largest crowd by far was made up of Gen-Z youth, most in their twenties, many still in school and college uniforms.For Nepal, such eruptions aren’t new: generations have risen before—against Rana autocrats in the 1950s, against royal rule in 1990, against King Gyanendra’s coup in 2005—only to watch hard-won freedoms erode. But for many of the protestors I spoke to, this was likely their first gathering. Their mission, organised on Instagram, Facebook, and Discord, was grand. They had gathered to protest the dismal state of the country, where the powerful and their children lived in luxury while countless Nepalis laboured abroad in countries like Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and Malaysia, sending remittances home to sustain their families. They marched in loose coordination, some singing protest songs, others dancing to drumbeats, and many chanting slogans. Handmade signs bore slogans carefully daubed in black paint.The last straw had come days earlier when the government imposed a blanket ban on social media platforms, cutting off main channels through which young Nepalis expressed frustration and organised politically. Tensions were already high, fueled in part by viral chatter about “nepo-babies,” the young faces that have long been symbols of privilege fast-tracked into positions of power because of their family connections. For Nepal’s youth, social media became a stage to mock them, question their merit, and call out a system where politics often feels like a family business.As the protesters pushed past the barricades outside Parliament, the police unexpectedly fell back rather than delivering the usual baton charge. A few tear gas canisters hissed through the air, and a lone water cannon swept the crowd, but the confrontation seemed restrained. People snapped selfies amid the haze, their chants echoing off the old brick walls, and for a brief moment, it felt almost ordinary, as if the protest might remain just another turbulent day in Kathmandu.According to reports, a cluster of older men mumbled about storming Parliament, while a few young riders, adrenaline surging, tore recklessly through the crowd on motorbikes, shouting insults. Near the complex itself, the energy shifted, protesters began hammering at the outer walls, some scrambling up the gates as flames flickered near the main entrance. The Armed Police Force advanced, their body armour and riot shields glinting under the dimming light, first launching tear gas canisters, then rubber bullets. In moments, the demonstration’s creative, almost celebratory tone disintegrated. Rocks and debris flew back toward the police lines. Gunfire—allegedly live rounds—cracked above the din. Chaos engulfed Kathmandu’s political heart.Videos soon flooded social media of unarmed students in school uniforms bleeding from head wounds, men collapsing unconscious, and disturbing claims that security forces had even fired tear gas into hospital grounds and beat the injured. What began as students chanting against corruption was quickly slipping into something far more volatile.By nightfall, nineteen people were dead in Kathmandu—a toll that already exceeded the casualties from Nepal’s 2006 People’s Movement, which had taken nineteen days to claim thirteen lives. Hospitals across the capital struggled with hundreds of injured protesters, many still in school uniforms. Blood banks reported critical shortages as medical staff worked through the night, treating gunshot wounds and head injuries from what had begun, just hours earlier, as a peaceful demonstration. Across the rest of Nepal, deaths and injuries were also reported, though full numbers remain unrecorded as events continue to unfold.The scale of the violence was unprecedented in Nepal’s modern democratic history. Even during the monarchy’s final, desperate attempts to maintain power nearly two decades earlier, the state had not deployed lethal force with such devastating efficiency against its own citizens. For a generation that had known only the republic, however flawed, the sight of young people bleeding in the streets represented a profound rupture in their understanding of what their government was capable of.To understand why thousands of teenagers and twenty-somethings would brave tear gas and rubber bullets, one must consider a long history of frustrated hopes for reform. Nearly two decades after the civil war ended, Prachanda, the former Maoist insurgent, once seemed a beacon of change. Millions voted for him, hoping for a fairer voice for the marginalised, a more just Nepal. But hope gave way to compromise, personal gain, and the slow churn of the same familiar leaders. The constitution, progressive on paper, was watered down. A new constitution, progressive in Nepal’s historical context, was stalled and diluted, and subsequent elections delivered a familiar cycle. The same discredited leaders rotating through power, swapped like pieces on a chessboard, their promises of reform fading with each turn.Public services remain poor. Tax burdens are high. Corruption scandals implicating politicians, bureaucrats, and businessmen piled up like grim milestones in the failure of the state. For decades, Nepal’s elites had looted land, siphoned public funds, and promised reforms that never came, leaving ordinary citizens disillusioned.It is this long pattern of systemic rot that now fuels the anger spilling onto Kathmandu’s streets—the young protesters demanding, in word and in action, that Nepal finally deliver on the change that generations have been promised but never seen.September 9The smell hit you first—acrid smoke from burning tires laced with petrol, hanging in Kathmandu’s September air like a toxic fog. Dawn on September 9th brought no respite. If anything, the deaths of nineteen protesters had transformed grief into something more volatile. Thousands defied hastily imposed curfews, emerging into streets still lingering with smoke from the previous day’s violence. What had begun as a youth-led movement against corruption now metastasised into something broader and more destructive—an utter rejection of Nepal’s political establishment.The targets were systematic. Party offices, politicians’ residences, and government buildings all came under attack. By afternoon, thick columns of smoke rose across the Kathmandu Valley, and the tint in the sky shifted from clear blue to a smoky haze that hung over the entire capital. Tribhuvan International Airport suspended operations, diverting flights as the capital descended into chaos. In the newer ministerial quarters south of the city, helicopters shuttled back and forth, evacuating officials in what appeared to be a tacit admission that the government could no longer hold pressure.The political collapse was swift and total. Ministers resigned in cascading waves, following the home minister, who had tendered his resignation the previous evening. Opposition parliamentarians abandoned their posts en masse, demanding fresh elections. By three o’clock in the afternoon, even K.P. Sharma Oli, in his third stint as prime minister and renowned for his political durability, announced his resignation and fled to Dubai.But resignation could not restore order. As the day moved, things spiralled completely out of control.This was no longer the Gen Z protestors of the previous day. In their place, an unruly mob surged through the streets. Outside Singha Durbar, Kathmandu’s sprawling government hub, protesters smashed windows, looted buildings, and seized weapons from the police as they pushed deeper into the complex. In the chaos, prisoners were freed, fires consumed the President’s residence, the Supreme Court alongside Parliament, and police stations burned alongside shops. The line between symbol and target had vanished. In just forty-eight hours, Nepal had witnessed its bloodiest civil unrest in modern memory, and the civilian government had unravelled before the nation’s eyes.“This is not us,” the Gen-Z groups leading the movement, Hami Nepal, posted on their social media. “Our struggle is for justice, dignity, and a better Nepal, not for chaos and theft.”Only well into the night, the Army chief appeared, urging restraint and calm. The military would be deployed to restore order.September 10All this upheaval would have been unimaginable even a month ago.A heavy, almost unnatural silence hung over the city. Curfew had been imposed, the streets were empty, and the Army patrolled in rigid lines. The roar of burning tires, the chants that shook walls, and the smoke that had choked the air yesterday had faded, leaving only a lingering haze and the metallic tang of uncertainty. Sunlight struggled through the smog, casting the streets in a dim, uneasy glow. The city felt suspended, caught between yesterday’s chaos and whatever tomorrow might bring, and we awoke with nothing but questions and the weight of uncertainty pressing down on every corner.The Nepal Army still mans checkpoints across Kathmandu, its soldiers stationed at every major intersection. Any gathering of more than a handful of people is broken up, an officer steps forward, offers an unmistakable “move on,” and the cluster dissolves.Questions hung in the air with the smoke. Who would answer for the bloodshed? Who now held authority? And in the absence of clear leadership, how would life move forward? The deaths of more than thirty protesters could not go unanswered. Yet even among those who had demanded change, the scale of destruction stirred unease. Nobody could say who truly held power, or what would come next.The revolution’s fever has broken; now comes the harder, less visible work. The only institutions left standing, the Presidency and the Army, have invited Gen-Z representatives to the table to sketch a path forward. But even in these early overtures, the Army’s hand is visible, its preferences for who might lead flickering through measured, strategic negotiation.Gen-Z in Nepal remains unmoored, bound more by digital fluency than by shared leadership or vision. Amid the chaos of Discord debates and clashing ideas, the movement is experimenting with ways to assert influence in a leaderless uprising. On a bustling Discord server, young protesters held their own vote for an interim leader, selecting Sushila Karki, Nepal’s first female Chief Justice. The proposal followed an extensive discussion on the platform, lasting nearly five hours, where over 10,000 participants shared their opinions. The server buzzed with debate, dissent, and deliberation, a digital agora where ideas clashed and alliances formed, revealing both the potential and uncertainties of a leaderless uprising. Other names, such as Balen Shah, Kathmandu’s independent mayor who rose from rapper to reform-minded politician, and Harka Sampang, Dharan’s grassroots-focused mayor, also surfaced in discussions, signalling the generation’s appetite for leaders who break from the recycled elite and embody accountability, visibility, and boldness. Though no formal appointment has been made, these debates offer a glimpse of a generation seeking new pathways, negotiating authority and vision in real time.This is the third great convulsion to shake South Asia since 2022—after Sri Lanka and Bangladesh—prompting some observers to whisper of a ‘South-Asian Spring,’ a phrase that carries the echo of the Arab Spring’s long shadow. The Nepali youth-led uprising has even borrowed the aesthetics of dissent from Indonesia as protesters waved the Straw Hat Pirates flag from One Piece, an emblem that has become a shared shorthand for rebellion in both countries. In Bangladesh, Sheikh Hasina’s government fell to similar youth-led protests just months earlier; in Sri Lanka, the 2022 uprising forced out the Rajapaksa dynasty. The same fault line ran across the region, crooked governments, restless citizens, and revolt spread across borders.Yet across and within these territories, the road ahead remains murky, the outcomes anything but certain. Bangladesh’s interim government struggles to reform entrenched systems. Sri Lanka’s new leadership has already retreated from promises that once stirred hope. These movements have excelled at toppling regimes but have struggled to build lasting alternatives.Nepal now faces the same daunting test its neighbours have confronted, struggling to turn a swell of popular fury into durable political reform rather than merely swapping one weary cadre of power brokers for another. Whether this generational uprising can finally crack the cycle of disappointment that has long defined South Asian politics, or whether it will join the list of movements that changed everything and nothing at all.September 11By Thursday morning, steady rain slicked Kathmandu’s streets, but the scars of upheaval were impossible to miss. Charred cars leaned against curbs, and the husks of looted buildings smouldered faintly under the drizzle. The capital was calm, almost eerily so, yet the quiet felt provisional, like a held breath. With the prime minister and his cabinet gone, Parliament effectively leaderless, and ministries shuttered, Nepal now stands without a functioning civilian government. The President and the Army, the only intact institutions, continue to act as de facto authorities, signalling interest in forming an interim arrangement. The old guard has vanished, leaving a power vacuum that multiple actors with competing interests are eager to fill. Political parties that seemed fractured just days ago are quietly regrouping, issuing statements of solidarity with Gen Z to distance themselves from their past complicity. Opportunists linger in the shadows, hoping to redirect the uprising’s momentum for personal gain. At the same time, misinformation spreads online, clouding clarity and amplifying confusion. Former Chief Justice Sushila Karki is seen as a frontrunner. Still, no consensus has been reached among protest groups, leaving the country in a state of suspended expectation.The old guard has vanished, leaving a power vacuum that multiple actors with competing interests are eager to fill. Political parties that seemed fractured just days ago are quietly regrouping, issuing statements of solidarity with Gen Z to distance themselves from their past complicity. Opportunists linger in the shadows, hoping to redirect the uprising’s momentum for personal gain. At the same time, misinformation spreads online, clouding clarity and amplifying confusion. After days of silence, Nepal’s President Ram Chandra Paudel issued a statement on Thursday assuring citizens that every effort is being made to navigate the crisis and find a way forward within the constitutional framework. Former Chief Justice Sushila Karki is seen as a frontrunner, but no consensus has been reached among protest groups, leaving the country in a state of suspended expectation."
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