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Sustainable Fashion Is Colonial—And Silent About Palestine
In the summer of 2014, I launched a silk scarf depicting Gaza in total darkness, lit only by explosions visible from the International Space Station. The image had been tweeted by a German astronaut who called it “the saddest picture I’ve taken from space.” That sentiment—rare for astronauts who typically speak of the awe-inspiring overview effect—was profound. I responded immediately, printing the photo on high-quality silk reminiscent of Hermès, launching a collection that funded dignity kits for displaced Palestinian women.
Later that year, I volunteered in Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon, providing skill training in fashion and beauty. I documented this experience in The Cut, following a widely circulated essay I had written linking colonialism and the unspoken hierarchies embedded in sustainable fashion.
By fall 2018, I was organizing one of the largest sustainable fashion events at the United Nations. For the first time in fashion history, Palestinian and Lebanese craftsmanship shared the stage with Indigenous experts from the Global South.
This was just after my inaugural Study Hall conference, powered by the MIT Media Lab—an event Vanity Fair would later ask, “Is this what the future of fashion week looks like?” At the time, I was unaware of my growing influence. My boundaries were porous; I allowed many into my orbit—some eager to capitalize on my platform for their own careers as “eco-influencers.”
In the summer of 2020, I launched Sustainable Literacy through Slow Factory, which evolved into Open Edu. My course on sustainable fashion best practices crashed the Zoom app on day one with over 10,000 attendees. Among them were nearly every eco-influencer now making careers out of work I pioneered—many of whom later published books or delivered talks that repackaged my ideas without credit. Executives from major fashion conglomerates—H&M, Kering, LVMH, adidas, Nike, Gap, Gucci, Chanel—attended my classes and engaged in direct conversations about systemic change.
By winter 2023, one such global brand, with whom Slow Factory had a five-year waste-reduction agreement, threatened to pull funding unless I stopped speaking publicly about Palestine. I refused. Legal negotiations followed. I cannot name the company, but I can say this: the sustainable fashion industry, supported by Zionist PR firms, was quick to ostracize me from the very field I had helped shape.
My former students, now celebrated authors and keynote speakers, collected awards in designer gowns while I was blacklisted. Hundreds of PhD students reached out to include my work in their theses—while the industry attempted to erase my presence entirely.
In fall 2024, my book A Woman is a School sold 5,000 copies within weeks. Not a single fashion outlet covered it, despite the fact that their editors regularly consume my content—from Instagram Stories to newsletters to private industry seminars. The colonial dynamics of erasure, exclusion, and appropriation remain deeply entrenched in fashion. DEI initiatives continue to leave out Palestine and Lebanon. Ask yourself: who gets platformed? Who gets invited to speak? Where are the Arab women—intellectuals like myself—who have shaped this industry, only to watch our work be diluted and regurgitated by “cute girls” with nothing to say but plenty to wear?
Meanwhile, women in the Global South suffer and die under systems of oppression—including genocide—while the industry claps for parrots in designer outfits. Those of us who dare to name these truths are erased.
But something changed in me. I stopped seeing myself as a victim of these systems. I realized I am a media platform. I have always been. I have shaped culture, media, and fashion. I no longer comply with colonial structures of censorship and erasure.
That’s why I started my column A Woman is a School, where I’ll regularly share what traditional institutions won’t teach you—starting with this story. Below, you’ll find a list of articles I’ve written that have shaped the way sustainable fashion is discussed today. But this is not just about credit. This is a call to action. It’s time to name the elephant in the room: colonialism—and the women of color who enable it by participating in the erasure of those of us who refuse to be silent about Palestine.
Links to my articles.
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"title" : "Sustainable Fashion Is Colonial—And Silent About Palestine",
"author" : "Céline Semaan",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/sustainable-fashion-is-colonial-and-silent-about-palestine",
"date" : "2025-05-22 10:19:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Celine_Portrait_2025.jpg",
"excerpt" : "In the summer of 2014, I launched a silk scarf depicting Gaza in total darkness, lit only by explosions visible from the International Space Station. The image had been tweeted by a German astronaut who called it “the saddest picture I’ve taken from space.” That sentiment—rare for astronauts who typically speak of the awe-inspiring overview effect—was profound. I responded immediately, printing the photo on high-quality silk reminiscent of Hermès, launching a collection that funded dignity kits for displaced Palestinian women.",
"content" : "In the summer of 2014, I launched a silk scarf depicting Gaza in total darkness, lit only by explosions visible from the International Space Station. The image had been tweeted by a German astronaut who called it “the saddest picture I’ve taken from space.” That sentiment—rare for astronauts who typically speak of the awe-inspiring overview effect—was profound. I responded immediately, printing the photo on high-quality silk reminiscent of Hermès, launching a collection that funded dignity kits for displaced Palestinian women.Later that year, I volunteered in Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon, providing skill training in fashion and beauty. I documented this experience in The Cut, following a widely circulated essay I had written linking colonialism and the unspoken hierarchies embedded in sustainable fashion.By fall 2018, I was organizing one of the largest sustainable fashion events at the United Nations. For the first time in fashion history, Palestinian and Lebanese craftsmanship shared the stage with Indigenous experts from the Global South. This was just after my inaugural Study Hall conference, powered by the MIT Media Lab—an event Vanity Fair would later ask, “Is this what the future of fashion week looks like?” At the time, I was unaware of my growing influence. My boundaries were porous; I allowed many into my orbit—some eager to capitalize on my platform for their own careers as “eco-influencers.”In the summer of 2020, I launched Sustainable Literacy through Slow Factory, which evolved into Open Edu. My course on sustainable fashion best practices crashed the Zoom app on day one with over 10,000 attendees. Among them were nearly every eco-influencer now making careers out of work I pioneered—many of whom later published books or delivered talks that repackaged my ideas without credit. Executives from major fashion conglomerates—H&M, Kering, LVMH, adidas, Nike, Gap, Gucci, Chanel—attended my classes and engaged in direct conversations about systemic change.By winter 2023, one such global brand, with whom Slow Factory had a five-year waste-reduction agreement, threatened to pull funding unless I stopped speaking publicly about Palestine. I refused. Legal negotiations followed. I cannot name the company, but I can say this: the sustainable fashion industry, supported by Zionist PR firms, was quick to ostracize me from the very field I had helped shape.My former students, now celebrated authors and keynote speakers, collected awards in designer gowns while I was blacklisted. Hundreds of PhD students reached out to include my work in their theses—while the industry attempted to erase my presence entirely.In fall 2024, my book A Woman is a School sold 5,000 copies within weeks. Not a single fashion outlet covered it, despite the fact that their editors regularly consume my content—from Instagram Stories to newsletters to private industry seminars. The colonial dynamics of erasure, exclusion, and appropriation remain deeply entrenched in fashion. DEI initiatives continue to leave out Palestine and Lebanon. Ask yourself: who gets platformed? Who gets invited to speak? Where are the Arab women—intellectuals like myself—who have shaped this industry, only to watch our work be diluted and regurgitated by “cute girls” with nothing to say but plenty to wear?Meanwhile, women in the Global South suffer and die under systems of oppression—including genocide—while the industry claps for parrots in designer outfits. Those of us who dare to name these truths are erased.But something changed in me. I stopped seeing myself as a victim of these systems. I realized I am a media platform. I have always been. I have shaped culture, media, and fashion. I no longer comply with colonial structures of censorship and erasure.That’s why I started my column A Woman is a School, where I’ll regularly share what traditional institutions won’t teach you—starting with this story. Below, you’ll find a list of articles I’ve written that have shaped the way sustainable fashion is discussed today. But this is not just about credit. This is a call to action. It’s time to name the elephant in the room: colonialism—and the women of color who enable it by participating in the erasure of those of us who refuse to be silent about Palestine.Links to my articles."
}
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"title" : "100+ Years of Genocidal Intent in Palestine",
"author" : "Collis Browne",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/100-years-of-genocidal-intent",
"date" : "2025-10-07 18:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/1920-jerusalem.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Every single Israeli prime minister, president, and major Zionist leader has voiced clear intent to erase the Palestinian people from their lands, either by forced expulsion, or military violence. From Herzl and Chaim Weizmann to Ben-Gurion to Netanyahu, the record is not ambiguous:",
"content" : "Every single Israeli prime minister, president, and major Zionist leader has voiced clear intent to erase the Palestinian people from their lands, either by forced expulsion, or military violence. From Herzl and Chaim Weizmann to Ben-Gurion to Netanyahu, the record is not ambiguous:{% for person in site.data.genocidalquotes %}{{ person.name }}{% if person.title %}<p class=\"title-xs\">{{ person.title }}</p>{% endif %}{% for quote in person.quotes %}“{{ quote.text }}”{% if quote.source %}— {{ quote.source }}{% endif %}{% endfor %}{% endfor %}"
}
,
{
"title" : "Dignity Before Stadiums:: Morocco’s Digital Uprising",
"author" : "Cheb Gado",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/dignity-before-stadiums",
"date" : "2025-10-02 09:08:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Cover_Morocco_GenZ.jpg",
"excerpt" : "No one expected a generation raised on smartphones and TikTok clips to ignite a spark of protest shaking Morocco’s streets. But Gen Z, the children of the internet and speed, have stepped forward to write a new chapter in the history of uprisings, in their own style.The wave of anger began with everyday struggles that cut deep into young people’s lives: soaring prices, lack of social justice, and the silencing of their voices in politics. They didn’t need traditional leaders or party manifestos; the movement was born out of a single hashtag that spread like wildfire, transforming individual frustration into collective momentum.",
"content" : "No one expected a generation raised on smartphones and TikTok clips to ignite a spark of protest shaking Morocco’s streets. But Gen Z, the children of the internet and speed, have stepped forward to write a new chapter in the history of uprisings, in their own style.The wave of anger began with everyday struggles that cut deep into young people’s lives: soaring prices, lack of social justice, and the silencing of their voices in politics. They didn’t need traditional leaders or party manifestos; the movement was born out of a single hashtag that spread like wildfire, transforming individual frustration into collective momentum.One of the sharpest contradictions fueling the protests was the billions poured into World Cup-related preparations, while ordinary citizens remained marginalized when it came to healthcare and education.This awareness quickly turned into chants and slogans echoing through the streets: “Dignity begins with schools and hospitals, not with putting on a show for the world.”What set this movement apart was not only its presence on the streets, but also the way it reinvented protest itself:Live filming: Phone cameras revealed events moment by moment, exposing abuses instantly.Memes and satire: A powerful weapon to dismantle authority’s aura, turning complex political discourse into viral, shareable content.Decentralized networks: No leader, no party, just small, fast-moving groups connected online, able to appear and disappear with agility.This generation doesn’t believe in grand speeches or delayed promises. They demand change here and now. Moving seamlessly between the physical and digital realms, they turn the street into a stage of revolt, and Instagram Live into an alternative media outlet.What’s happening in Morocco strongly recalls the Arab Spring of 2011, when young people flooded the streets with the same passion and spontaneity, armed only with belief in their power to spark change. But Gen Z added their own twist, digital tools, meme culture, and the pace of a hyper-connected world.Morocco’s Gen Z uprising is not just another protest, but a living experiment in how a digital generation can redefine politics itself. The spark may fade, but the mark it leaves on young people’s collective consciousness cannot be erased.Photo credits: Mosa’ab Elshamy, Zacaria Garcia, Abdel Majid Bizouat, Marouane Beslem"
}
,
{
"title" : "A Shutdown Exposes How Fragile U.S. Governance Really Is",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/a-shutdown-exposes-how-fragile-us-governance-really-is",
"date" : "2025-10-01 22:13:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Cover_Gov_ShutDown.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Each time the federal government shutters its doors, we hear the same reassurances: essential services will continue, Social Security checks will still arrive, planes won’t fall from the sky. This isn’t the first Governmental shutdown, they’ve happened 22 times since 1976, and their toll is real.",
"content" : "Each time the federal government shutters its doors, we hear the same reassurances: essential services will continue, Social Security checks will still arrive, planes won’t fall from the sky. This isn’t the first Governmental shutdown, they’ve happened 22 times since 1976, and their toll is real.Shutdowns don’t mean the government stops functioning. They mean millions of federal workers are asked to keep the system running without pay. Air traffic controllers, border patrol agents, food inspectors — people whose jobs underpin both public safety and economic life — are told their labor matters, but their livelihoods don’t. People have to pay the price of bad bureaucracy in the world’s most powerful country, if governance is stalled, workers must pay with their salaries and their groceries.In 1995 and 1996, clashes between President Bill Clinton and House Speaker Newt Gingrich triggered two shutdowns totaling 27 days. In 2013, a 16-day standoff over the Affordable Care Act furloughed 850,000 workers. And in 2018–2019, the longest shutdown in U.S. history stretched 35 days, as President Trump refused to reopen the government without funding for a border wall. That impasse left 800,000 federal employees without paychecks and cost the U.S. economy an estimated $11 billion — $3 billion of it permanently lost.More troubling is what happens when crises strike during shutdowns. The United States is living in an age of accelerating climate disasters: historic floods in Vermont, wildfire smoke choking New York, hurricanes pounding Florida. These emergencies do not pause while Congress fights over budgets. Yet a shutdown means furloughed NOAA meteorologists, suspended EPA enforcement, and delayed FEMA programs. In the most climate-vulnerable decade of our lifetimes, we are choosing paralysis over preparedness.This vulnerability didn’t emerge overnight. For decades, the American state has been hollowed out under the logic of austerity and privatization, while military spending has remained sacrosanct. That imbalance is why budgets collapse under the weight of endless resources for war abroad, too few for resilience at home.Shutdowns send a dangerous message. They normalize instability. They tell workers they are disposable. They make clear that in our system, climate resilience and public health aren’t pillars of our democracy but rather insignificant in the face of power and greed. And each time the government closes, it becomes easier to imagine a future where this isn’t the exception but the rule.The United States cannot afford to keep running on shutdown politics. The climate crisis, economic inequality, and the challenges of sustaining democracy itself demand continuity, not collapse. We need a politics that treats stability and resilience not as partisan victories, but as basic commitments to one another. Otherwise, the real shutdown isn’t just of the government — it’s of democracy itself."
}
]
}
