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Question? Ask us anything!
The Politics of Sound with Ana Tijoux

COLLIS BROWNE: I remember first becoming aware of you last year with your Tiny Desk performance because the image of you with the keffiyeh was so clear and strong. It was at a moment when those of us connected to the Palestinian struggle for so many years started to see solidarity in places we hadn’t before, and in new ways. What’s your connection to Palestine and the Palestinian community?
ANA TIJOUX: I was born in France, and in my house, since I was born, there were always Palestinian friends of my parents. As far back as I can remember, we had the Palestinian flag at home when I was one, two, three, four years old. I remember having a picture of Arafat in my backpack since I was six years old. It was the representation of something important in my house as a Chilean. And it doesn’t matter if you’re Chilean—you don’t need to be Palestinian to have empathy. I think it’s very important to say: I’ve learned from Palestinian friends that some people have Palestinian blood, and other people have Palestinian hearts.
I think this is because Palestine represents all struggles—it’s the union of everything: colonization, gentrification, patriarchy, capitalism—everything in one place. And I had the chance to meet Palestinian people of my generation, to talk a lot, to understand more. The question is, perhaps, who cannot feel empathy for what is going on in Palestine today? As a human being, period. It’s just as a human being in service. And I was born into a family that, through the dictatorship, always told me, nunca más (never again)—never again torture, nunca más muerte (never again death), never again violence, any violence. And that’s the language we always use every day, like, let’s stand up against violence, systemic violence.
COLLIS BROWNE: Let’s focus on a couple of simple questions explicitly about this link between music and politics. My simplest definition of politics is “awareness of power in the world.” So the question for you as an artist, as a person, from the perspective of music: tell us about something that radicalized you, something that allowed you to get to the root of the issue, or some type of musical awakening.
ANA TIJOUX: First of all, I think that behind the music, everything is political. Everything in life, every relationship, is political. Every relationship with your friends or with someone you love is political. Why am I saying that? Because the word “political” has become something that everybody is afraid to say: Oh no, no, no, no, I’m apolitical, I don’t speak about political things. Because apparently, saying the word “political” automatically puts you in conflict with another person, which is crazy.
You were asking me about artists or people that changed my life. I’ve got such a long list of people who have changed my life and continue to change it. All the music that really touched my soul, my brain, and my body at the same time—because that’s something that gives me an orgasm in terms of pleasure of thought—is very political, because that person changed something in me. That person—through music, poetry, a documentary, or photography—had the ability to open something in me.
For me, it’s very political to speak out against violence—any violence. If we lose that, we lose empathy, and we lose humanity. If music and art are not about humanity and empathy, then I don’t know what they are. To me, they’d just be advertising.
COLLIS BROWNE: A million percent. There’s this quote I read recently: if art isn’t challenging, if it’s not deeply disrupting power or structural relations, then it’s just advertising.
Unrelatedly, tell me how you see the difference in mindset, culture, everything, between Chile and France. How do you navigate this bridge that is your world?
ANA TIJOUX: I never thought of myself as totally French or totally Chilean because I’m not a fan of la patria (patriotism) in general. I was not raised with that concept because I’ve been raised as an internationalist person. Even though my origins are in Chile, and I feel a deep connection to the culture, humor, and history, at the same time, I feel naturally distant. I have friends who were born and raised in Mapuche land [Indigenous Chilean land], and they have a real connection to the earth. But I always grew up in cities, so I never had that kind of relationship with the land. My Mapuche friends always say that I never really had land. I’ve always lived in apartments. I never had my feet on the ground.
For many years, I thought that was a problem—not having that connection. But now, I feel the opposite. I find it interesting because I always feel like a stranger everywhere. And now that I’m older, I like it. I always try to connect with people—maybe we come from very different cultures or histories, but we always find some kind of community sense. So, in some way, that’s how I define myself.
COLLIS BROWNE: Yeah, I like that a lot. It gives me a new perspective on myself. I grew up in Canada, in a very settler culture, descended from Scottish-Irish-British settlers. And I realized at some point that what’s really missing at the core of this settler culture is exactly that link to land, to ancestral history, to soul and meaning. I took it as an emptiness. But it’s interesting to hear you speak about disconnection from the land (for entirely different reasons) as a kind of freedom—a way to prioritize human connection. That’s interesting.
ANA TIJOUX: I like it because it’s like a camera—a photography camera. You go somewhere, and you’re always looking at the land, through the lens, looking inside but also looking far away at the same time. In some way, that gives me perspective. Of course, when you’re a teenager, when you’re building your personality, that can feel like an issue. Where do I come from? What are my roots? But I think that lack of definition is actually part of the migrant world we live in today.
I had lunch recently with friends—some from Morocco, born in France, others from Martinique and Cameroon, also born in France. None of us were born in our countries of origin, yet when we were talking together, it felt like we had our own country, right there in that conversation. That’s the way I perceive myself.
COLLIS BROWNE: Do you feel pushback from the industry? Do people ever say, for example, Can you be less political? Can you not talk about this or that issue?
ANA TIJOUX: “Don’t be too loud.” Of course! Of course, that has happened since I was very young. Like one of the first songs that I did, I was, I don’t know, 19 years old, and I put the name of a [Chilean] torturer, who tortured a lot of people, and I wanted to hear it on the radio. I wanted that. I wanted his name on the radio. And I remember the radio at the time, they censored the song, but everybody was listening to the song. In the music industry, they always want to make you afraid. Don’t say that. Don’t push too strong. Please shut up. Of course, because I’ve got to live, I’ve got to be strategic sometimes, obviously. But I will never forget who I am and the story of my family. Like, oh, my family had been in jail. Like, that’s prisoners. Like, that’s the story of my family and I’m super proud of them, I tell it openly that I’m proud of my family, like, I’m proud of the way that they raised me.
That’s part of my history. My parents have been in jail, the two of them, and so that’s part of my history, of where I grew up, and they lived the torture. That’s the story of Chile. Not them particularly, I don’t mean personally, it’s the history of dictatorship. And I remember when I saw after the pandemic, I saw some terrible news about how fascism was growing. And I called my father. Now imagine those of that generation that lived through what I never lived— I’m a privileged person. So I called my father super worried, like “Papa, we are facing a global crisis. What are we gonna do?” My father laughed in my face. I say, Ana María, we were born in crisis, and we have known that since we were born. The issue is how we organize with each other. So I say, okay, Ana Maria, I feel so stupid. Yes, of course. So I see all that older generation is so full of struggle and dignity and ability.
I’m proud of the critical thinking my family instilled in me, and I think, at the same time with everything that happened since the seventh of October, I have said to a lot of friends, like, don’t be afraid to talk. And if they try to shut you up, to ban you, it’s a good sign. It’s because you’re saying something. And don’t be concerned.
So everybody’s afraid, I don’t know of what, because we can never be afraid to speak up against a genocide. Never. Because, if not, we’re going to repeat it, and it will be normalized, the normalization of violence, and against violence, we got to talk about life is our biggest revenge. Life is the biggest revenge against death.
Keep reading:
Global Echoes of Resistance:
Artists Harnessing Art, Culture, and Ancestry
HaveCooth
{
"article":
{
"title" : "The Politics of Sound with Ana Tijoux",
"author" : "Ana Tijoux, Collis Browne",
"category" : "interviews",
"tags" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/the-politics-of-sound-with-ana-tijoux",
"date" : "2025-03-21 16:38:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Ana-Tijoux-photo---credit-Inti-Javiera-Gajardo.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "COLLIS BROWNE: I remember first becoming aware of you last year with your Tiny Desk performance because the image of you with the keffiyeh was so clear and strong. It was at a moment when those of us connected to the Palestinian struggle for so many years started to see solidarity in places we hadn’t before, and in new ways. What’s your connection to Palestine and the Palestinian community?ANA TIJOUX: I was born in France, and in my house, since I was born, there were always Palestinian friends of my parents. As far back as I can remember, we had the Palestinian flag at home when I was one, two, three, four years old. I remember having a picture of Arafat in my backpack since I was six years old. It was the representation of something important in my house as a Chilean. And it doesn’t matter if you’re Chilean—you don’t need to be Palestinian to have empathy. I think it’s very important to say: I’ve learned from Palestinian friends that some people have Palestinian blood, and other people have Palestinian hearts.I think this is because Palestine represents all struggles—it’s the union of everything: colonization, gentrification, patriarchy, capitalism—everything in one place. And I had the chance to meet Palestinian people of my generation, to talk a lot, to understand more. The question is, perhaps, who cannot feel empathy for what is going on in Palestine today? As a human being, period. It’s just as a human being in service. And I was born into a family that, through the dictatorship, always told me, nunca más (never again)—never again torture, nunca más muerte (never again death), never again violence, any violence. And that’s the language we always use every day, like, let’s stand up against violence, systemic violence.COLLIS BROWNE: Let’s focus on a couple of simple questions explicitly about this link between music and politics. My simplest definition of politics is “awareness of power in the world.” So the question for you as an artist, as a person, from the perspective of music: tell us about something that radicalized you, something that allowed you to get to the root of the issue, or some type of musical awakening.ANA TIJOUX: First of all, I think that behind the music, everything is political. Everything in life, every relationship, is political. Every relationship with your friends or with someone you love is political. Why am I saying that? Because the word “political” has become something that everybody is afraid to say: Oh no, no, no, no, I’m apolitical, I don’t speak about political things. Because apparently, saying the word “political” automatically puts you in conflict with another person, which is crazy.You were asking me about artists or people that changed my life. I’ve got such a long list of people who have changed my life and continue to change it. All the music that really touched my soul, my brain, and my body at the same time—because that’s something that gives me an orgasm in terms of pleasure of thought—is very political, because that person changed something in me. That person—through music, poetry, a documentary, or photography—had the ability to open something in me.For me, it’s very political to speak out against violence—any violence. If we lose that, we lose empathy, and we lose humanity. If music and art are not about humanity and empathy, then I don’t know what they are. To me, they’d just be advertising.COLLIS BROWNE: A million percent. There’s this quote I read recently: if art isn’t challenging, if it’s not deeply disrupting power or structural relations, then it’s just advertising.Unrelatedly, tell me how you see the difference in mindset, culture, everything, between Chile and France. How do you navigate this bridge that is your world?ANA TIJOUX: I never thought of myself as totally French or totally Chilean because I’m not a fan of la patria (patriotism) in general. I was not raised with that concept because I’ve been raised as an internationalist person. Even though my origins are in Chile, and I feel a deep connection to the culture, humor, and history, at the same time, I feel naturally distant. I have friends who were born and raised in Mapuche land [Indigenous Chilean land], and they have a real connection to the earth. But I always grew up in cities, so I never had that kind of relationship with the land. My Mapuche friends always say that I never really had land. I’ve always lived in apartments. I never had my feet on the ground.For many years, I thought that was a problem—not having that connection. But now, I feel the opposite. I find it interesting because I always feel like a stranger everywhere. And now that I’m older, I like it. I always try to connect with people—maybe we come from very different cultures or histories, but we always find some kind of community sense. So, in some way, that’s how I define myself.COLLIS BROWNE: Yeah, I like that a lot. It gives me a new perspective on myself. I grew up in Canada, in a very settler culture, descended from Scottish-Irish-British settlers. And I realized at some point that what’s really missing at the core of this settler culture is exactly that link to land, to ancestral history, to soul and meaning. I took it as an emptiness. But it’s interesting to hear you speak about disconnection from the land (for entirely different reasons) as a kind of freedom—a way to prioritize human connection. That’s interesting.ANA TIJOUX: I like it because it’s like a camera—a photography camera. You go somewhere, and you’re always looking at the land, through the lens, looking inside but also looking far away at the same time. In some way, that gives me perspective. Of course, when you’re a teenager, when you’re building your personality, that can feel like an issue. Where do I come from? What are my roots? But I think that lack of definition is actually part of the migrant world we live in today.I had lunch recently with friends—some from Morocco, born in France, others from Martinique and Cameroon, also born in France. None of us were born in our countries of origin, yet when we were talking together, it felt like we had our own country, right there in that conversation. That’s the way I perceive myself.COLLIS BROWNE: Do you feel pushback from the industry? Do people ever say, for example, Can you be less political? Can you not talk about this or that issue?ANA TIJOUX: “Don’t be too loud.” Of course! Of course, that has happened since I was very young. Like one of the first songs that I did, I was, I don’t know, 19 years old, and I put the name of a [Chilean] torturer, who tortured a lot of people, and I wanted to hear it on the radio. I wanted that. I wanted his name on the radio. And I remember the radio at the time, they censored the song, but everybody was listening to the song. In the music industry, they always want to make you afraid. Don’t say that. Don’t push too strong. Please shut up. Of course, because I’ve got to live, I’ve got to be strategic sometimes, obviously. But I will never forget who I am and the story of my family. Like, oh, my family had been in jail. Like, that’s prisoners. Like, that’s the story of my family and I’m super proud of them, I tell it openly that I’m proud of my family, like, I’m proud of the way that they raised me.That’s part of my history. My parents have been in jail, the two of them, and so that’s part of my history, of where I grew up, and they lived the torture. That’s the story of Chile. Not them particularly, I don’t mean personally, it’s the history of dictatorship. And I remember when I saw after the pandemic, I saw some terrible news about how fascism was growing. And I called my father. Now imagine those of that generation that lived through what I never lived— I’m a privileged person. So I called my father super worried, like “Papa, we are facing a global crisis. What are we gonna do?” My father laughed in my face. I say, Ana María, we were born in crisis, and we have known that since we were born. The issue is how we organize with each other. So I say, okay, Ana Maria, I feel so stupid. Yes, of course. So I see all that older generation is so full of struggle and dignity and ability.I’m proud of the critical thinking my family instilled in me, and I think, at the same time with everything that happened since the seventh of October, I have said to a lot of friends, like, don’t be afraid to talk. And if they try to shut you up, to ban you, it’s a good sign. It’s because you’re saying something. And don’t be concerned.So everybody’s afraid, I don’t know of what, because we can never be afraid to speak up against a genocide. Never. Because, if not, we’re going to repeat it, and it will be normalized, the normalization of violence, and against violence, we got to talk about life is our biggest revenge. Life is the biggest revenge against death."
}
,
"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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}