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In defense of a long-neglected form of protest.

Soapbox is a series where people make the case for the sometimes surprising things they feel strongly about.

At a press conference in Baghdad in December 2008, Iraqi journalist Muntadhar al-Zaidi stood up and threw both of his shoes at then-U.S. President George W. Bush in an act of protest against the Iraq War. “This is a farewell kiss from the Iraqi people, you dog,” he yelled in Arabic, chucking the first shoe. “This is for the widows and orphans and all those killed in Iraq,” he continued, throwing the other. 

Disappointingly if impressively, Bush managed to duck both shoes. But the impact of al-Zaidi’s actions was both immediate and profound: It demonstrated that an American leader—a man responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people—was not untouchable. And by proxy, neither was the United States. 

Muntadhar al-Zaidi wasn’t the first person to throw a shoe at a politician, and he wouldn’t be the last. (In fact, he wasn’t even the first to do it that year.) Still, the Bush incident inspired copycats over the following months, many explicitly citing al-Zaidi as their inspiration. Over a decade and a half later, it feels like the practice has gone out of style. I imagine this is partly because, with the rise of global authoritarianism, the potential punishment for throwing a shoe at a world leader has drastically gotten worse—something true even with softer ammo, such as when a protester was arrested for throwing tomatoes at then-presidential candidate Donald Trump in 2016. Or last year, when another protestor was sentenced to prison for throwing coffee cups at Reform UK leader Nigel Farage. But, in my opinion, this is all the more reason for it to make a comeback: More war criminals need to have shoes thrown at them. And, more importantly, people should be allowed to throw shoes at war criminals without fear of death, jail, or other punishment. 

In the grand scheme of violence, having a shoe thrown at you is painful but temporary—often to the ego for far longer than the body. Even in the Bush incident, the only people injured were then-Press Secretary Dana Perino after a boom mic gave her a black eye, and al-Zaidi himself, when he was subsequently tackled to the ground and kicked by Iraqi guards and U.S. Secret Service agents. When compared to the countless deaths caused by the person on the receiving end of the shoe, some might even consider it a relatively minor gesture. But I believe it’s the spirit of the act that matters most, both in meaning and message. Having a shoe thrown at you is highly offensive, and as Iranian-American professor Hamid Dabashi points out, not just in Arab culture; a truth easily understood by the billions of us around the world who know to take off our shoes whenever we enter a home. As an insult, it dates at least as far back as the Old Testament—“Upon Edom I will cast My shoe” (Psalm 60:8)—and as a form of defiance towards a person in power, it requires a great deal of bravery. More than anything else, though, shoeing is an outlet for insurmountable rage and grief—a desperate expression of despair. 

Feeling helpless, al-Zaidi chose to throw his shoes at the person most responsible for his people’s suffering. In the nearly 20 years since, arguably, the world’s collective anguish has only ballooned. As I write this from my desk in Los Angeles, President Donald Trump has just sent another 2,000 members of the National Guard to tamp down protests against ICE raids across the city. The U.S. has just bombed Iran, violently escalating and inserting itself into another war in the Middle East. Over four years after their initial arrests, the majority of the Hong Kong 47 remains imprisoned, as press freedom around the world grows increasingly tenuous, further threatening the media’s ability to hold war criminals to account. On a mission to break the blockade and deliver food to Palestinians in Gaza, the Freedom Flotilla—carrying Swedish climate activist Greta Thunberg, amongst other international activists—has just been intercepted by Israel, its passengers all either deported or unlawfully arrested and detained. Unable to leave, desperate Palestinians continue to starve at "catastrophic" levels, with hundreds killed by the Israeli army "while attempting to approach the few remaining aid convoys" in the last month alone.

As our protests in their many forms continue to go unheard, and the world’s countless injustices mount, it sometimes feels as if there is little recourse to stop the people most responsible for our collective devastation. After reading Chris Stephen’s The Future of War Crimes Justice (2024), I was disappointed but not surprised to learn, in great detail, that the reason most war criminals never face trial is largely bureaucratic. There is no feasible way to have a functioning “international” criminal court, because no country notorious for its crimes against humanity would ever willingly comply with its laws, or even agree that it’s subject to such a court’s jurisdiction. Notably, the United States is still not a member of the International Criminal Court (ICC), despite signing the Rome Statute in 2000, two years after the treaty was adopted. In a statement in 2002, then-United Nations Ambassador John Bolton confirmed that the U.S. had no intention of ratifying it, and therefore, the country “has no legal obligations arising from its signature.” (Equally notable, the three other countries that signed the Rome Statute but confirmed they would not comply are Israel, Russia, and Sudan.) 

If the so-called systems of justice aren’t serving their purpose, at what point, then, is it acceptable for us to take matters—and shoes—into our own hands? I’m not saying we should all be throwing shoes at any run-of-the-mill asshole, or even any run-of-the-mill asshole politician. But I do think the world shouldn’t bend so easily to fascists and dictators and genocidal oligarchs; that literal war criminals shouldn’t get to feel so comfortable moving through the world, living morally bankrupt lives without consequence. If their victims aren’t ever going to see real justice, then at the very least, they should feel perpetually inconvenienced, and a little on edge—aware that, at any moment, a rogue shoe might thwack them in the head.

Personally, if I were a war criminal or billionaire or other generally detestable figure enacting suffering on millions, I’d rather have a shoe thrown at me than lose my head to a guillotine. (For legal reasons, this is a joke.) But beyond inconvenience, perhaps it might also accomplish something more substantial—if not a reckoning for the person being shoed, then for the millions of people who might witness it. Because sometimes, it takes seeing someone else accomplish something we hadn’t considered possible to understand what’s possible to accomplish ourselves.

Muntadhar al-Zaidi has claimed he does not believe himself to be a hero, but merely “a person with a stance.” His only apology in the incident’s aftermath was to his fellow journalists—with the caveat that, “Professionalism does not preclude nationalism.” 

“This scene stands as proof that… a simple person was capable of saying ‘no’ to that arrogant person, with all his power, tyranny, arms, media, money, and authority,” al-Zaidi said in an interview with Reuters for the shoeing’s 15-year anniversary. To me, this is precisely why it has endured in our cultural consciousness for so long: Bush’s shoeing remains an important reminder that each of us, as individuals, is more powerful than we often give ourselves credit for; and when we act collectively, that power only multiplies. 

Like all forms of “violent” protest, throwing a shoe at a prominent political figure is not without its risks. After he threw his shoes at Bush, al-Zaidi was sentenced to three years in prison, later docked down to a year. He ultimately served nine months, having been released early for good behavior, alleging he experienced violent torture at the hands of senior government officials throughout. But he has also never once expressed regret for anything other than the fact he “only had two shoes.” 

If more of us were to partake in this time-honored tradition, however, this wouldn’t be a problem: After all, if one pair of shoes can cause such a fuss, just imagine what we might accomplish with a few million more.

[post_title] => Who Throws a Shoe, Honestly? [post_excerpt] => In defense of a long-neglected form of protest. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => closed [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => soapbox-shoe-throwing-shoeing-muntadhar-al-zaidi-george-w-bush-iraq-united-states-war-crimes-international-criminal-court-protest-opinion [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2025-06-27 20:57:44 [post_modified_gmt] => 2025-06-27 20:57:44 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://conversationalist.org/?p=8790 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw )
An illustration of a brown dress shoe on a white background. The shoe is untied, and in all-caps white lettering on the side it says, "This machine kills fascists," a reference to Woody Guthrie, who would paint the same message on his guitars as protest during WWII.

Who Throws a Shoe, Honestly?

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Meet the mothers caring for Ukraine's most vulnerable children.

One summer day in 2022, Varvara, an autistic 6-year-old girl from Ukraine, approached her mother Oksana while she was on the phone with the police. Oksana, now 39, was inquiring about her husband Maksim, a Ukrainian soldier who had been reported dead, but whose body still hadn’t been found.

“Mom,” Varvara said, “I know that dad is already in heaven.” She pointed toward the sky.

It was at this moment that Oksana realized her daughter was not like other children. “Varvara somehow understood that her father had been killed while he was defending Kharkiv from the Russian troops,” Oksana says, tears streaming down her face. “I never told her the truth; she only knew that her daddy moved to a faraway place… But she understands everything.”

Like Oksana, thousands of mothers in Ukraine are raising their children alone as a direct result of the ongoing war between Russia and Ukraine. Although the number of war widows has not officially been confirmed by Ukrainian authorities, President Volodymyr Zelenskyy said in a statement last February that over 46,000 Ukrainian soldiers had been killed since the war began in 2022. As the fighting continues, it is mostly women who care for the country’s children. Some of these women live on the frontlines and use their own bodies to shield their toddlers from Russian attacks. Others have to safeguard children and teenagers who suffer from post-traumatic stress, developed after witnessing and experiencing atrocities during the war. Others, like Oksana, have to take care of children in increasingly difficult circumstances, managing their households and earning a living while grieving for their dead husbands, or else worrying about those alive but still fighting. 

Disabled children are particularly vulnerable during war, in part because they are unable to access the same resources normally available for their ensured safety and care. On the frontline or under Russian occupation, that means that they might not have access to a hospital or needed medications, let alone specialists or therapy, as deteriorating mental health is a widespread issue in war-torn countries. Beyond that, being in the epicenter of the fighting makes children more vulnerable to PTSD and shock, as well as to physical injuries, which can further impact their mental state. 

According to UN Women, of the 14.6 million people needing humanitarian assistance in Ukraine in 2024, 8 million were women—many of them single mothers, the elderly, or victims of gender-based violence. A large number of these women take care of children and loved ones with disabilities. The Centre for Sustainable Peace and Democratic Development reports that over 3 million persons with disabilities currently live in Ukraine—but this estimate almost definitely falls short of the actual numbers, and will likely continue to increase due to war-related injuries. 

Of those, 1.8 million people with disabilities are already in need of humanitarian aid because of the war, a number that will also likely only increase. But where resources have fallen short, mothers across the country have singlehandedly done everything in their power to fill the gap.

Defending Ukraine Since Day One

The city of Kharkiv, where Oksana and Varvara live, was among the first to be invaded by Russian troops following the start of the war on February 24, 2022, in what Russian President Vladimir Putin called “a special military operation.” To this day, Kharkiv remains one of the most dangerous cities in Ukraine, and is regularly hit by both airstrikes and artillery. 

“My husband, who has been in the Ukrainian army since 2015, told me he was going to fight immediately after Kharkiv was invaded,” Oksana says. She was left alone with their two daughters: Varvara, now nine, and Sofiia, 17. Her husband Maksim never came back; and even after he was confirmed dead, Oksana shares, it took ten months to find his body.

“It was hell,” Oksana tells me. “I am still taking antidepressants.”

Varvara, who was diagnosed on the autism spectrum at the age of three, has also become increasingly fearful as the war has unfolded. “Whenever she sees dead or injured persons, she says in her own words: ‘A bad boy has been shooting,’” Oksana says. Still, she says it has been difficult for them both. “Whenever the sirens sound, Varvara is extremely stressed—much more than a [neurotypical] child. She experiences panic several times a day.”

A family photo of Varvara, Oksana, and Sofiia on a picnic blanket in a field.
Oksana and her daughters, Varvara (top) and Sofiia (right). (Photo courtesy of Oksana.)

Luckily, Varvara is sociable and likes going to school, which is often her only source of joy—and a great source of comfort for her mother. In the suburbs of Kharkiv, Varvara attends classes at a specialized institution, where a local humanitarian organization recently built a bomb shelter specially tailored for children with disabilities, with heating, restrooms, and a library. Disabled children like Varvara—who are extremely afraid of air raids—can spend their entire days there peacefully.

Alyona Budagovska, a communication officer for People in Need, the NGO that constructed the bunker, tells The Conversationalist that families with disabled children in Ukraine face extraordinary challenges. For example, many parents cannot carry their children to safety during air raids, and standard public shelters are often inaccessible or too far away. In some cases, children are left behind out of fear or desperation, including children who are bed-bound or too heavy to be carried.

“In the context of war, children with disabilities are among the most vulnerable, yet often the most overlooked. Many of them attend specialized schools that lack the most basic protection against missile attacks,” Budagovska says. “Building shelters in [these] schools is about more than concrete walls—it’s about dignity and inclusion.”

Oksana feels relieved that her daughter likes school, and that her two daughters get along well. Yet, she says, it is still difficult being left without her husband, who she says knew Varvara best. “My daughters love each other very much and that makes me happy, but it doesn’t replace my husband,” she says. While her loving family is a source of resilience, both she and her daughters continue to be affected by grief.

Mothers On the Frontline

Oksana’s experience is far from singular. In frontline towns and villages across Ukraine, thousands of single mothers also raise their children without any support, despite the incredible risks. According to UNICEF, the United Nations agency for children, there are currently 1.9 million children in need inside the country. But prior to the war, Ukraine already had one of the highest rates of child institutionalization in the world, and the highest in Europe. Of these children, UNICEF reports nearly half of them were disabled. Now, the agency reports that 16 children are killed or injured in Ukraine on average every week.

Denys, a 7-year old boy from the Kherson region, is one of the survivors of such frontline attacks—together with his mother, Iuliia, 25, who also suffers from heavy injuries. Both of them were diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and are overcoming psychological hardships, facing the challenge of healing both physically and mentally in the aftermath of their attack.

In late April, I meet them in their home village only a few miles away from Kherson, currently the most dangerous city in Ukraine. Upon entering their home, I learn that a Russian drone has shattered a local house just three hours before my arrival. These FPV (first person view) drone attacks and artillery strikes continue on a daily basis—and can be heard as I conduct interviews.

Iuliia is still in shock after the morning attack, and cries relentlessly during our conversation, while Denys is silent, hiding in another room.

“My husband died on the frontline in Kherson shortly after the war broke out,” Iuliia says. “Up until that point, we lived just like everyone else: We had jobs, we worked on a farm, we had our daily worries… Then, everything turned upside down.”

Iuliia and her son, still grieving their loss, had continued living in the destroyed village, even as artillery strikes became more and more frequent. But one night, everything changed.

She and Denys were sleeping in their house—each in a different room—when they awoke to a loud sound. Then, came the shock and the chaos: a Russian missile had hit their home, reducing it to ruins.

Iuliia and her son were lucky in their misfortune: They both survived, but suffered severe concussions, head trauma, and PTSD. Iuliia, who was closer to the explosion, also sustained skin wounds and severe damage to her inner ear.

“The ambulance immediately took us to the nearest hospital,” Iuliia recalls, shuddering at the memory. “We spent several days there. They gave us injections, syrups, medicines, and we underwent various procedures.”

Once Iuliia and Denys were released from the hospital, they also needed to find a safe place to stay. “Our house has been turned into ruins; there is no roof, and the walls are broken,” she tells me. “I literally had to go back and dig out some of our basic personal belongings from the [rubble].”

The pair decided to live, temporarily, with Iuliia’s sister. But their first night there quickly turned into a nightmare. “As we were falling asleep, a rocket hit the property right next to my sister’s house, with shrapnel hitting our walls,” Iuliia tells me, crying. Following that night, she says she suffered a breakdown.

“If I could somehow force myself to function before [the second attack], I really can’t now,” Iuliia tells me. “I have severe PTSD and need to rest and consult a psychologist. I am constantly short of breath, my hands are shaking, my vision is going black.”

But Iuliia tells me she has no savings, and nowhere to go. While Denys is sometimes cared for by their family and friends in the village, she says she has lost hope for a better future. She still suffers from earaches, tinnitus, dizziness, hypervigilance, flashbacks, and frequent blackouts. Denys, she says, is seeing several doctors and a therapist, and is in need of rehabilitation. While he is healing well from his physical injuries, there are multiple layers of trauma that he needs to talk through with a psychologist, especially due to his young age: losing his father as a toddler; losing his home in a bombardment; witnessing his mother and family members injured and suffering. 

Iuliia cries whenever she talks about her son. “Denys is everything to me,” she says. “Children heal faster from some wounds; he recovered from his concussion faster than I did. At age seven, he is stronger than I am at 25.” Like many other mothers in Ukraine, she is facing the impossible challenge of remaining calm and composed in front of her child, despite facing deep physical and psychological wounds herself. But taking care of an injured child while suffering from PTSD and her own injuries, in a village hit by drones every day, is one of the most difficult things she has ever had to endure. Her only recourse, she says, has been to reach out to the very few humanitarian NGOs operating where she lives. 

Giles Duley, the UN Global Advocate for Persons with Disability in Conflict and CEO of Legacy of War Foundation, which provides aid to people on the frontlines, tells me that in conflict, the most marginalized and vulnerable members of society are often forgotten or ignored. “The elderly, single parent families, and those living with disability are at far higher risk from collapsing healthcare systems, displacement, and lack of social services—in Ukraine we have seen those with disabilities unable to evacuate frontline areas; vital medical facilities targeted by Russian [forces]; and vulnerable communities left without healthcare,” he says. 

“The war has also exacerbated previously existing inequalities, with disproportionate effects on older women and single mothers,” he adds.

Surviving Occupation with a Disability

Olena, 54, has felt the weight of this inequality as a single mother to a disabled child. She and her son, Misha, 12, come from Mykhailo-Laryne, a small village near Mykolaiv in the south of Ukraine that was occupied between late February and November in 2022. Her ex-husband, Misha’s father, lives in a different town, and is unable to help support their child financially, in part because of the distance, and in part because of the war.

Olena’s son Misha has an intellectual disability, and she believes he is likely also on the autism spectrum—but she has been unable to take him to a psychiatrist since the war broke out. Traveling, even to neighboring Mykolaiv, is too expensive for her, and while their village was occupied, it was “absolutely unthinkable,” she says.

Olena and Misha sitting on a couch, surrounded by drawings and art in the colors of Ukraine's flag.
Olena and her son, Misha. (Photo courtesy of Sara Cincurova.)

Olena currently works as a school assistant for a disabled girl at a local school—but with her single salary and prices skyrocketing since the outbreak of the war, she frequently struggles to buy food, she says. As a school assistant, she earns approximately $88 USD a month at most—but her salary is often cut down significantly, as it largely depends on the number of hours she works per week.

Apart from this severe financial hardship, what Olena suffers from the most is when she sees the inhabitants of her village mock and hurt her Misha, who is her only child.

“People have this narrow-minded mentality in our village… They often used to make fun of Misha, calling him [slurs],” Olena says with pain in her eyes. But Misha is a talented and sensitive boy, she adds. “He is kind, curious, and a patriot. He loves cooking, he is always cheerful.” 

Olena is currently receiving humanitarian aid from a local NGO, Voices of Children. The organization works with a wide range of children—including those with disabilities and/or on the autism spectrum. Olha Yerokhina, a Communication Manager for the organization, tells me that whenever a family with a neurodivergent child asks for help, “We listen, we try to understand the need, and even if we can’t provide specialized support in-house, we do our best to refer [the family] to trusted professionals or partner organizations.” 

The NGO also supports Ukrainian mothers just like Olena. “[Mothers] are often overwhelmed and left to navigate [the] complex reality alone,” Yerokhina says.

At the end of the interview, Olena recalls the one—and perhaps only—positive aspect that the war has had on her and her son. “People are now more accepting of Misha’s disability,” she says. “During the occupation, many have reconsidered their values and their priorities.”

“They now make less fun of Misha and accept he is a human being, and treat him with more love.”

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Following the bombing of the Kramatorsk railway station on April 08, 2022, the wounded civilians were evacuated to the hospital in Dnipro. In the photo, 9-year-old Rinat has sustained injuries and is lying on a hospital bed at the pediatric unit, facing away from the camera. His mother Olena is sitting next to him.

Motherhood on the Frontlines

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We don't just need more women in office. We need a culture shift.

I once believed that the presence of a female leader signaled real progress—a sign that gender equality had taken root. As a girl growing up in China, I watched with admiration as women like President Tsai Ing-wen in Taiwan and President Park Geun-hye in South Korea rose to the highest offices in their respective countries. Their success seemed to promise a future in which women’s voices would be equally heard, equally respected—that perhaps women might finally be seen as equals.

But as I began to study gender and politics more deeply, particularly across East and Southeast Asia, that initial optimism gave way to unease. Representation alone, I realized, does not guarantee change. Even more alarmingly, the symbolic presence of women in power can obscure the systemic barriers that continue to shape—and often silence—most women’s participation in political life.

Globally, this problem has proven surmountable. In Scandinavia, gender quotas and institutional reforms have helped elevate women to between 40% and 50% of parliamentary seats, reflecting not only a shift in numbers but a broader cultural embrace of women as political leaders. Similar gender quotas in Mexico—which elected its first woman president, Claudia Sheinbaum Pardo, last year—have led to women making up 50% of seats in congress, after gender parity was enshrined in the country’s constitution in 2014. 

In contrast, however, East and Southeast Asian democracies continue to lag behind—not only in representation, but in the structural support needed to close the gender gap. Japan, for example, despite being one of the world’s largest economies, has seen little progress in this area. Women occupy roughly 16% of seats in the national legislature—a statistic that reveals not just electoral imbalance, but deeper societal expectations about leadership, gender roles, and public legitimacy. As of April of this year, the percentage of women who hold parliamentary seats in India (13.8%), Cambodia (13.6%), Malaysia (13.5%), Sri Lanka (9.8%), and Bhutan (4.3%) remains even lower. And in China, there have been no women in the politburo since 2022, something the United Nations has flagged as a matter of great concern.

So, are women truly gaining power in Asia, or are they simply there to make politics look more gender equal?

Analyzing data from the Asian Barometer Survey suggests the reason women’s political participation remains low in Asia is as much a numbers problem as it is a cultural one. Founded in 1971, the ABS is a cross-national survey that aims to gather “public opinion data on issues such as political values, democracy, governance, human security, and economic reforms.” In a 2020 academic paper from the University of Edinburgh’s Dr. Sarah Liu, one surprising finding from the 2010–2012 survey was how the gender of the interviewer affected women’s answers. Faced with female researchers, women opened up about their political beliefs. With male interviewers, many of them hesitated. This suggests a much deeper problem with Asia’s gender divide, rooted in women feeling both uncomfortable with and unwelcome in politics. 

Across many societies, not just in Asia, politics is still seen as a man’s domain, where women are expected to support, not lead. But in East and Southeast Asia, where traditional gender roles continue to shape public and private life, this attitude is amplified. Even in modern cities, women are constantly told that politics is not their space. For me, it wasn’t that anyone said I couldn’t be a leader when I was growing up—it was that no one ever expected me to be one. And when women are constantly told that something isn’t an option for them, it makes sense that, eventually, they might actually start to believe it.

When women do step forward to lead, they also face a very different kind of scrutiny to their male peers. Their private lives are often judged more harshly than their professional ones, and given as much attention, if not more. When Tsai Ing-wen became Taiwan’s first female president, critics focused on the fact that she was unmarried—as if being single made her unfit to lead. But when it comes to unmarried male leaders, no one ever even thinks to question it.

The media frequently contributes to this double standard. I remember watching coverage of Shoko Kawata, a 33-year-old woman who became the youngest female city mayor in Japanese history after winning her election in Yawata, Kyoto Prefecture in 2023. I was furious that the story’s focus was not on what she’d said in her speech, but on what she was wearing. Other reports also emphasized her love of tea ceremony and traditional kimono attire—while barely mentioning her actual policy goals. Her agenda had been reduced to its aesthetics: her clothes were that day’s headline news, while her policies went overlooked.

Even within political institutions, this bias persists. In Japan, a young Tokyo assemblywoman was once heckled by her male colleagues while speaking about the need for better childcare policies. This incident occurred in 2014, when Ayaka Shiomura, a member of the Tokyo Metropolitan Assembly, was addressing how the government might better support mothers in light of Japan’s drastically decreasing birth rate. During her speech, several male lawmakers interrupted her with sexist remarks such as “Go and get married!” and “Can you even have children?” One of them, Akihiro Suzuki, later admitted to the heckling and publicly apologized. But the incident sparked widespread outrage, and served as another stark reminder of the entrenched gender bias in even the most formal of political spaces. 

Fueling all this is the deeper issue that women are still expected to prioritize the family above all. This problem isn’t singular to Asia, but nonetheless, it feels especially pervasive here: Even in the public sphere, women are still trapped in private expectations. When a woman chooses public service, some see it as a betrayal of her “real” duty. The media asks, “Can she have it all?”—a question they’d never ask of a man, and one that has never been asked of a father.

These attitudes don’t just make the job harder. They make women question whether the space was ever meant for them. And in many ways, it still isn’t—something that keeps women out of politics, and keeps everyone, regardless of gender, chained to the status quo.

Yet, despite persistent challenges, women politicians in Asia have continued to make remarkable strides. President Tsai and President Park both shattered historical barriers to ascend to the highest levels of national leadership in their respective countries, proving that women are more than capable of leading. They also both drove meaningful social and economic change during their terms—even in systems not designed for them. 

As the first woman president of Taiwan, Tsai Ing-wen and her administration actively pushed for gender-equal policies, earning Taiwan the top spot in Asia—and one of the highest rankings globally—for gender equality. One particularly meaningful initiative was an amendment requiring companies with more than 100 employees to provide childcare facilities—helping to ease the burden on working mothers. Tsai also supported policies that loosened loan restrictions for women entrepreneurs and promoted female participation in the economy as a path to structural change. 

Beyond legislation, she repeatedly called for dismantling gender stereotypes and encouraged women to participate in public life—raising both the visibility and legitimacy of women in leadership. Under her eight-year tenure, Taiwan’s economy grew steadily, with an average annual GDP growth rate of 3.15%, and even reached 6.6% in 2021—a rare achievement during global economic uncertainty.

Park Geun-hye’s presidency, meanwhile, offered a different but equally important approach to leadership. While her administration made more modest progress on gender-specific reforms, it recognized the challenges faced by working mothers and proposed expanding childcare services to support female employment. More broadly, Park’s role as a woman navigating a traditionally male-dominated political landscape was also deeply symbolic. 

Under her leadership, South Korea expanded its global economic footprint by signing free trade agreements with 52 countries, including China and Vietnam—bolstering South Korea’s export markets and international competitiveness. These policy efforts, though not always framed through a gender lens, reflected a broader vision of national growth, with women as increasingly visible participants.

Tsai and Park’s contributions—each shaped by their own context—highlight the transformative power and potential of women’s leadership. For millions of women across Asia, seeing them in positions of power—on television, in parliament, in international headlines—continues to deliver an enduring message: women belong here. And their presence alone continues to inspire others to imagine what is possible when women are no longer the exception.

Change won’t come overnight. Cultural shifts take time. But every honest conversation, every woman who speaks up, every moment of resistance matters—so hopefully, one day, girls growing up in East or Southeast Asia will see women in power and think: “That could be me.” Not because it’s rare, but because it’s normal.

To achieve this, we don’t just need more women in office. We need political systems that respect their leadership, media that reports on their work—not their wardrobe—and societies that stop measuring women by outdated standards. We need women in Asia to not just be seen in politics, but truly heard.

[post_title] => When Will Women in Asia Be Seen as Leaders—Not Exceptions? [post_excerpt] => We don't just need more women in office. We need a culture shift. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => closed [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => women-leaders-asia-politics-tsai-ing-wen-taiwan-park-geun-hye-south-korea-government-gender-parity-equality [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2025-06-05 18:36:03 [post_modified_gmt] => 2025-06-05 18:36:03 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://conversationalist.org/?p=8525 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw )
A soft, blue-toned illustration of a wind chime. In the center, replacing one of the bells, is a piece of paper depicting a woman facing away.

When Will Women in Asia Be Seen as Leaders—Not Exceptions?

WP_Post Object
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    [post_author] => 15
    [post_date] => 2025-05-29 00:10:24
    [post_date_gmt] => 2025-05-29 00:10:24
    [post_content] => 

Stories from my friends still trying to survive.

It begins with a panicked message on Bluesky in October 2024. Someone is messaging me with a link to a fundraiser and stilted English that reads as though it came from a bad translation app. The picture on her GoFundMe shows a young woman with a pale face and shocking green eyes. 

It’s been seven months since the borders of Gaza were sealed. She says she is in Zeitoun, a pocket of north Gaza under siege. I respond in colloquial Arabic, to see if this person can even speak the language, to see if she is real. I ask her for a WhatsApp number. She gives me one. It starts with +972.

She is real. Her name is Hayat. She, along with her husband and children, did not flee south as the siege on north Gaza tightened. Where to go? she says. 

Hayat is pregnant. Eventually she will give birth—by c-section, without anesthesia—to a little girl with blue-green eyes as brilliant as her own. She names her Fatima. Now, I have a namesake in Gaza. 

I meet Mohamed next. A farmer and a teacher, he has lost his sheep and rabbits, but even living in al-Mawasi refugee camp, he persists in growing plants and crops in a little garden by his shelter so there may be something fresh to eat amid the siege. Al-Mawasi, a cruelly named “safe zone,” has witnessed regular attacks and bombardments since Mohamed arrived there in March 2024. 

This same siege today, almost three months since all aid to Gaza has been cut off, has driven people to famine. The cost of flour, if you can find it, careens wildly, swinging from an already farcical $100 USD to an impossible $700 USD. The bread bakeries have shut down. The World Central Kitchen says its warehouses are bare. Children have been dying of malnutrition and under bombs all at once, like fish in an increasingly shrinking barrel. To quote a DC pundit, “The war in Gaza is not really that different than other wars.” A beat. “Well, except I guess they can’t run away.” 

My keeping a bunny as a pet amuses Mohamed. One day, he shares a story about missing his animals, and a farmer in Texas donates $500 to his fundraising campaign. Mohamed is saving every penny for his eventual evacuation from Gaza, now a distant hope. Meanwhile, the cost to survive continues its inhumane inflationary spiral. Funds meant for escape are now hoarded for food, any food, which is becoming harder and harder to find.

After Hayat and Mohamed, I meet Obada. Obada is a lawyer with three children. He considers his youngest, Zain, a gift from God, as his other two children required medical intervention to exist. Zain did not. On Eid, Obada shares a photo of Zain in his little white thobe, a dignified and serious garment for adults that is adorable on a baby. 

The calls for help swirl thick and fast—other families realize they can build lifelines beyond the walls of Gaza, that someone, anyone, is willing to hear out their agony. There are Naser and Amal, with their children Rolan and Omar. Naser currently lies in one of Gaza’s last functioning hospitals with a breathing obstruction, and needs surgery. I try to help them a little. Rolan sends me a thank you photo: a young girl of seven, sitting on a pile of rubble against a blue sky, holding a sign that reads, “My love for you (heart) Fatima Ayub.” 

Before Israel sealed the Rafah crossing with Egypt in March 2024, it cost $5000 USD per adult, and $2500 USD per child, to organize an evacuation from Gaza. Those figures, as extortionate as they were, are meaningless now. No one can leave, and if they do, it will be as part of the deliberate depopulation of the strip. Yet, as my friends in Gaza keep telling me, nothing is left. Virtually no school, clinic, hospital, or mosque in Gaza has been left standing. Gaza has been bombed more heavily than London, Dresden, and Hamburg in World War II, combined. Children keep arriving in the few remaining hospitals with bullets in their heads.

I meet multiple Ahmads. There is Original Ahmad, who braved the migration boat passage under Israeli gunfire to escape Gaza to Europe—but is distraught because his mother and the rest of his family are still in the north. There’s Child Ahmad, who returned to Gaza to marry his lifelong sweetheart Samar, and was trapped when the war came. There’s Other Ahmed, whose siblings are all frantically trying to survive in a tent. Then, comes Another Ahmad, who shares a photo of himself in the rain, barefoot with already too-thin legs. 

There is Suad, who is only 24, and mother to a little boy, Omar. She’s taken to calling me mom, having lost her own mother before the war. I have no maternal experience, but try to hear her story. Among the most common injuries in Gaza unrelated to war wounds are burns—made worse by so many people cooking on unsafe, open fires. She shows me a bad burn that needs medical treatment. Her little boy has broken his leg, an ordinary childhood tragedy compounded infinitely by the horror. 

I meet Malak and Maali, who are sisters. Maali is disabled and needs a new wheelchair and special care. Malak labors hard on an unwelcome internet and on an unforgiving planet to help her sister retain her life and dignity.

Then comes Majd, 17, only just a child himself. Still, he shoulders the responsibility of trying to help his sisters and mother survive. He feels he has no choice.

Moataz is a shy and kind young man whose beloved father is ailing from kidney disease. Moataz doesn’t understand online fundraising, doesn’t understand social media, doesn’t understand this bizarre dystopia where he talks to a woman on the other side of the planet to try and outmaneuver a siege of biblical proportions. 

Rumors circulate in the aftermath of hostage Edan Alexander’s release that food aid will be permitted to enter Gaza. So far, these are only rumors. The siege grinds on. The ground invasion begins in earnest. An Israeli MK tells the world, “Last night, almost 100 Gazans were killed. And the question you asked me just now had nothing to do with Gaza. Do you know why? Because it doesn’t interest anyone. Everyone has gotten used to [the fact] that [we can] kill 100 Gazans in one night during a war and nobody cares in the world.”

Does anyone care? Does caring matter? 

Hayat, too, has burned herself. She tells me a pack of diapers for baby Fatima costs $70. 

Still, no aid comes.

Obada sends me photos of his dear friend, killed just last night with his wife and baby daughter. “My heart hurts, Fatima,” he tells me. “With his baby in his arms. He was only married a year.” 

Still, no aid comes. 

A friend asks me if I can help Hanadi, a still-young woman with eight children. I give what I can. 

Still, no aid comes. 

Even good news comes tainted. Naser is out of the hospital, but now, his neighborhood in Khan Younis is under evacuation orders following the latest assault. He decides not to evacuate. “I’m tired,” he tells me. “Rolan came to me crying asking why we are staying when everyone else is fleeing. It cut my heart.”

Child Ahmad, meanwhile, is fleeing, also pushed into al-Mawasi. He says he will not be online so much. When I do not hear from him for a day, I worry. I think of the al-Hol concentration camp for some 55,000 wives and children of ISIS fighters in Syria.

The US undertakes a farcical “aid delivery attempt,” under the eye of mercenaries who take selfies against a backdrop of starving Palestinians. The effort is about as successful as the floating pier to deliver aid that sank into the sea, a perfect grotesque metaphor, almost as perfect as letting children die while hundreds of thousands of tons of food rots within sight. 

Now that the ghastly end game for Gaza has been laid bare, this is what we—the Western world—have done to the Palestinians. When will it end? my friends ask me. How much more can we be expected to take? they ask. Until when? they ask. 

It is May 28, 2025. I have no answers for anyone. 

If readers wish to help any of these or other families trying to survive in Gaza, they may contact the author on Signal at fatimaayub.01 or by email at fsayub@gmail.com.

[post_title] => To Live and Die in Gaza [post_excerpt] => Stories from my friends still trying to survive. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => closed [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => gaza-palestine-israel-war-survival-siege-aid-embargo [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2025-05-29 00:10:36 [post_modified_gmt] => 2025-05-29 00:10:36 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://conversationalist.org/?p=8581 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw )
GAZA CITY, GAZA - MAY 17: Palestinians, struggling with hunger due to Israeli embargo, wait in line to receive hot meals distributed by the charity organizations as Israeli attacks continue, in Jabalia Refugee Camp in Gaza City, Gaza on May 17, 2025.

To Live and Die in Gaza

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    [post_date] => 2025-05-01 18:22:01
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“Who are these people who are not seeing that our people are dying?”

Njeru municipality, located in Uganda's Buikwe district, is a scenic area where the River Nile flows out of Lake Victoria. While the locale attracts tourists, who go swimming, canoeing, and rafting in these waters, the region has also seen a drastic transformation in recent years, drawing large industries that provide employment opportunities for Uganda's young population. They often get work as machine operators or production workers, sorting and packaging at these factories. But while economically beneficial to some, these industries are also increasing pollution in the water, air, and environment—threatening the health of the region for tourists, youth workers, and long-time residents alike.

Since 2019, through the Uganda Investment Authority, the Ugandan government has allocated 956 acres of land for industries in Buikwe district as part of Vision 2040, an economic initiative that aims to transform Uganda into a modern and prosperous country within 30 years. But many locals suggest the government has fallen short in regulating these industries, leading to disastrous repercussions: It’s almost certain you’ll engage with some form of factory pollution in the region, via inhaling smog or coming into contact with the polluted water that flows into the Nile.  

While Uganda’s 2019 National Environmental Act requires industries to treat their effluent before discharging it into water bodies, many businesses in the region do not comply. In Bujowali village, for example, the steel manufacturing company Pramukh Steel Limited releases wastewater into the Naava stream without proper treatment. Residents are concerned about the pollution, which affects their main water source, and consequently, their health.

On a warm day in March, the wet season fully underway, three women stand akimbo, atop a drainage channel being constructed across the marram road from Pramukh factory. In the channel, about a dozen men are hard at work lifting stones and mixing sand and cement while a supervisor hovers over them.

One of the women is Wazemba Annet Jackline, a resident of Bujowali village, and a local area councilor. “This is the only clean water stream we have in the village,” she says. “But now, we cannot take the water without boiling it first. It is no longer safe, it's contaminated.”

The steel company not only releases dust and sludge into the region’s water and air, but also mill scale, which pollutes the air with small particles that can be ingested by people and animals in close proximity to the factory. Residents have reported cases of illnesses such as diarrhea, cough, and flu. There are also some unconfirmed cases of cancer and allegations of animals dying due to the pollution. What’s more, the company’s factory also releases wastewater with a foul smell during the dry season, and even larger quantities mixed with fecal matter during the rainy season, which flows into the lower end of the stream. 

In March this year, after a series of negotiations, Pramukh agreed to build the water drainage channel in response to complaints from Bujowali’s residents. Unfortunately, the construction materials they’ve used cannot withstand the water flow from the factory or the region’s heavy rains. Residents say this is the third time the channel is being constructed, with the same materials, after previous attempts have collapsed.

“They are reconstructing in the same place every day. The type of cement they are using will take time to set, yet this is a water-logged area,” says Jackline, who is a civil engineer by profession. “I’m asking them to reconsider the type of cement they are using. As much as they are looking at cutting costs, the cement type I’m suggesting only hydrates when it rains, and the mixture gets stronger instead of being washed away.”

Her pleas, however, fall on deaf ears as the workers continue with their work.

On the frontlines of the environmental fight in the region is Girls for Climate Action, an eco-feminist movement founded in Jinja district, advocating for climate justice and action in Buikwe. The organization has partnered with the community to address industrial pollution and promote sustainable practices under the campaign “Toa Uchafu,” a Swahili word meaning, “remove the garbage,” a call to end industrial water pollution in Buikwe.  

The campaign highlights how the region’s industries are not complying with Uganda’s National Environment Management Authority (NEMA) standards, says Viola Kataike, the organization’s advocacy lead. “[They] pollute the different eco-systems that the community—especially women and girls—depend on for their livelihoods,” she adds.

The factories have also led to the displacement of some of the region’s long-time residents. Kataike cites an example of a woman she says is currently being forced to leave her land, where her late husband is buried. “She is crying out,” she says. “How is she going to move her husband’s remains because now the land supposedly belongs to the factory? It’s traumatic.”

Girls for Climate Action has also carried out a situational analysis of the pollution levels for existing industries in Buikwe, measuring contamination in the different natural water sources. According to Kataike, the results were revealing. “These industries have taken the opportunity to release their waste and effluents into River Nile, but of course channel it through the streams that the communities fetch water from.”

This pollution is also affecting the farming community throughout the Buikwe district. Farmers report crop damage, animal deaths, and health problems such as itchy eyes and skin, as well as inflamed skin that turns ashy after contact with the contaminated water.  

At a community meeting held in March at the Mubeeya cultural site in Nyenga in Njeru municipality, farmers expressed distress at the pollution of the Mubeeya stream caused by the sugar, spirits, and plastics manufacturing company, GM Sugar. The farmers, most of whom are rice growers, raised a number of complaints.

“During the night, you can't sleep, the water stinks,” says 44-year-old Godfrey Walusimbi, a farmer who has spent his whole life in Buikwe. “You can't give your cattle the water, if they drink it, our cattle fall sick. I lost two goats.”

Some farmers also say their crops are being burnt up by the chemicals now contaminating the ground. “The acid in the soil has killed the soil fertility and crops are drying up in the garden,” Walusimbi says.

In the town of Njeru itself, which is centrally located in Buikwe, councilor Ibriata Clarke says that a factory located next to a secondary school has water trenches that run through the school’s playfield. She also says some representatives have tried to speak to factory management but are constantly being sent away. “We’ve been told not to complain about what the factories are doing to our people,” she says—but, she adds, “Who are these people who are not seeing that our people in Njeru municipality are dying?”

A Buikwe district officer who asked that they remain unnamed but whose role offers relevant insight, says they have carried out several tests, and there is proof that industrial chemicals have polluted the water, soil, and air in the locality. According to them, “While the recommended chemical oxygen demand in the water is 50, in Njeru, it is much higher, which is proof the water is polluted.” With residents reporting headaches, stomach pains, and skin reactions, the immediate solution, they say, is to stop using the water, concluding that it is corrosive.

However, they added that farmers who use agro chemicals and pesticides to kill weeds are also partially to blame. “During the rainy season, those chemicals sink into the sand and the water runs off into the streams,” they explain.

As environmental incidents continue to gain attention in the district, a court case between a local farmer, Allan John Ddamulira, and GM Sugar has come to underscore Buikwe’s industrial pollution problem.

Ddamulira claims that GM Sugar's discharge of toxic waste into the Kinywa water stream killed his fish and damaged his farm, which consisted of eight fishponds located on 10 acres. “Unknowingly to us, the water that was flowing through the stream that day had been polluted with molasses from the sugar factory,” he says. “So, we woke up to a fish kill. All the fish were floating, dead.”

In September 2022, Ddamulira registered a formal complaint with NEMA in Uganda’s capital city, Kampala.“Results comparing the stream water and the water from the ponds revealed there was an oxygen deficiency that resulted in the fish kill at the farm,” Ddamulira says.

Following their investigation, NEMA issued a stop order to GM Sugar to cease the company’s release of effluent into the stream, but Ddamulira says the order has never been respected. He has since taken GM Sugar to court, and has accused NEMA of withholding evidence that would be useful in his case. 

In February 2024, through his lawyers, Ddadmulira wrote to NEMA requesting that the environmental authority share their findings with them, to be presented in court. But in a letter dated March 22, 2024, NEMA’s Executive Director, Barirega Akankwasah, stated that the matter was still under criminal investigation and consequently would not hand over copies of the technical expert report, stop order, or photographs taken at the site. He added that their refusal was protected by law. When contacted for comment, NEMA spokesperson Noame Karekaho responded, “Discussing the issue of GM Sugar and degradation of the environment are considered ‘subjudice.’”

GM Sugar’s Head of Legal has also denied Ddadmulira’s claims, saying the company has the latest technology from Germany handling its waste. “The company waste does not flow to the stream as the complainant claims. We usually take our waste to the Buikwe Industrial Park.”   In court, Ddamulira produced a video of a GM Sugar vehicle pouring waste near the fish farm, disputing this was the case. However, GM Sugar argued that the “errant driver was asked by the villagers to release the waste into the road to allegedly reduce the dust which was about 15km from the fish pond.”

Still, Ddamulira fights on. “We need to pursue this case to get these people to understand that what they are doing is wrong and get justice for myself and many other farmers suffering because of this pollution,” he says. He claims he has lost 800m Uganda Shillings, or $218,000, as a result of the fish kill.

He also isn’t alone in this fight—and despite her frustrations, Kataike believes they are making an impact as community members increasingly voice their concerns. This is happening not just at meetings, but through peaceful protests and demands for action, including demands for more drainage channels. She adds, however, that not everyone has been supportive of their work: According to her, some community leaders are undermining their efforts by supporting the companies for selfish gains.  “It’s a huge problem, especially with the small bribes that they give to a few leaders,” she says. “They also give false promises, offering positions to those who oppose them.”

Rather than slow their efforts, however, this has only further fueled them. Girls for Climate Action continues to raise awareness and empower the community to push the factories to adhere to the set environmental standards and to stop polluting, especially water sources. While Kataike expresses disappointment that the pollution persists, she promises their campaign against it will do the same.  “If we don't act now, then when?” she asks. “Should we wait for the rest of the people to die, or should we support the community to create justice?”

[post_title] => One Ugandan Village's Fight Against Industrial Pollution [post_excerpt] => “Who are these people who are not seeing that our people are dying?” [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => closed [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => uganda-village-njeru-buikwe-industrial-pollution-national-environment-management-authority-nema-girls-for-climate-action-factory-waste [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2025-05-01 18:29:07 [post_modified_gmt] => 2025-05-01 18:29:07 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://conversationalist.org/?p=8263 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw )
A woman in a blue and silver garment with a head scarf wrapped around her hair, Byeganje Robinah, stands in front of her abandoned rental units in Buikwe behind the Pramukh factory. She says the pollution from the factory has made her houses inhabitable. Behind the trees, you can see the factory in the near distance.

One Ugandan Village’s Fight Against Industrial Pollution

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    [post_author] => 15
    [post_date] => 2025-04-22 02:08:57
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    [post_content] => 

Despite the threat of police violence and arrest, student-led protests against President Erdoğan and his ruling party continue across Turkey.

A wave of street demonstrations began rapidly taking over Turkey last month after a crowd of students at Istanbul University pushed back against, and ultimately overcame, a riot police barricade attempting to block their path. This feat was seen as a moment of encouragement and empowerment for a country that has long felt silenced by its current government, and has led to continued demonstrations across Turkey in the weeks since.

The students on March 19 were protesting the imprisonment of Ekrem İmamoğlu, Istanbul’s current mayor, and the biggest rival of President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan in the next presidential election. They were also protesting a court decision made the day prior that nullified İmamoğlu’s diploma, a controversial ruling that meant the mayor, a member of the main opposition Republican People’s Party, the CHP, would not be directly eligible for candidacy. 

The ruling was taken as a major blow to democracy and rule of law both by his supporters and by the opposition, with the party’s chairman calling it a “black mark.” But it was only a foreshadowing. The next morning, İmamoğlu, along with some 100 people, including aides, business people, and other mayors of the metropolitan’s districts, were detained in their homes. İmamoğlu had been accused of corruption and terror for allegedly establishing an electoral alliance with the Kurds in previous mayoral elections. 

The case against him was widely taken as politically-motivated—the law being utilized once again as a weapon to extend Erdoğan’s reign, and discourage and limit his critics. Many were also quick to call out the hypocrisy of the charges: President Erdoğan, founder of the ruling Justice and Development Party, the AKP, has himself been in talks with Turkey’s pro-Kurdish DEM Party to release Abdullah Öcalan, the imprisoned leader of the separatist Kurdistan Workers’ Party, the PKK, designated as a terror entity by Turkey and the U.S. alike.

In a handwritten note posted on Twitter/X while he was detained, İmamoğlu wrote, “My people will respond to those who steal the people’s will.”

Massive demonstrations immediately erupted across the country, in Istanbul, Ankara, Izmir, and tens of provinces, including Konya in central Turkey, a very conservative AKP stronghold. All were met with brutal police violence. At many of the protests, the riot police used tear gas, rubber ball rifles, and water cannons against the young protestors, many of whom had their faces covered to hide their identities, out of fear of losing their livelihoods. 

For many, it was their first street demonstration. Many held various sizes of the Turkish flag, and banners—some humorous—expressing their resilience and upset. 

Bülent Kılıç

On March 22, at the legal end of the mayor’s detention period, İmamoğlu and the CHP Chairman Özgür Özel both called for a demonstration at Sarachane, the metropolitan municipality’s headquarters in Istanbul’s historic Fatih district. 

“The walls of fear have been overcome,” İmamoğlu said in his call, posted on Twitter/X—referencing a culture of fear that has been especially prevalent since 2015, when a war re-erupted with the PKK, and since 2016, when a U.S.-based Turkish cleric was accused of orchestrating a coup. Both paved the way for a more authoritarian environment, in which civil dissent would often be marginalized.

Hoping to deter protestors from attending the demonstration in Sarachane, the Interior Ministry imposed various travel restrictions in key provinces, including shutting down metro and bus stations to limit travel. But their efforts were unsuccessful. Hundreds of thousands surrounded the municipality in support of İmamoğlu, while many other demonstrators of various ages stood outside the courthouse in Caglayan, where the mayor’s hearing would be held throughout the night. 

Ultimately, demonstrators were protesting what they believed to be an attack on Turkey’s democracy and core values. Facing a riot police barricade encircling the massive building, hundreds chanted, “Turkey is secular; it will remain secular,” and the famous Bertolt Brecht line: “All of us, or none!”

The court ruling came at early dawn: İmamoğlu and tens of aides were arrested for corruption, pending trial, which has since been postponed to July 11.

The decision drew masses more to the streets, mainly young people, many of whom viewed the ruling as an extension of Erdoğan’s corruption. For millions across the country, it was a drop too much following years of polarizing rhetoric and the criminalization of dissent in a crumbling economy.

“We are not here to support any political party,” Beyza Ozdemir, a 30-year-old screenwriter said in Sarachane, a day after the mayor was arrested. “I came because I want to defend my rights, my country; to stand against injustice. I’m here for the ruling government to resign.”

Alongside her friend, 27, Ozdemir explained that, like much of the population, they were just “surviving.” Under near-80 percent inflation, it has become nearly impossible to travel, own property, or make plans for the future in Turkey, something they blamed on Erdoğan and the AKP. 

Other demonstrators said they were protesting for freedom of expression, justice, and in support of earthquake-proofing cities, following the devastating damage caused by the 2023 earthquake. Others said they were there because of the alarming femicide numbers, the destruction of nature, and the killing of strays in shelters. A majority said they came to protect the secular democracy entrusted to the Turkish youth by Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, founder of modern Turkey.

President Erdoğan, who’s been in the official power seat since 2003, called the demonstrations “a movement of violence” and “street terror.” But Beyza’s friend said that he felt like “a phoenix” standing among the crowds, chanting in solidarity, after years of being silenced following the massive 2013 Gezi Park protests against the same government, protests that were criminalized to the point of terror charges and a life sentence for a Turkish philanthropist, who is accused of undertaking an alleged organizational role.

Bülent Kılıç

Twelve years later, in Sarachane, the authorities would take similar, disproportionate measures once again. Caught on camera by photojournalists and protestors on the night of March 23, hundreds of riot police sprayed tear gas and fired heavy barrages of rubber balls directly at demonstrators, many of whom were just walking back to the metro at the end of the night. 

Dozens of shoes were left behind by those who could flee. The next morning, members of the media, including internationally-acclaimed photojournalists, were detained on morning raids along with hundreds of young demonstrators, many of them university students.

All were accused of violating the law on meetings, and were imprisoned pending trial. Immediately, a public campaign to release them began, underlining that they were simply using their constitutional rights to protest. The campaign gained momentum on various social media and opposition platforms, which seems to have helped most of them to be freed, but with tens still imprisoned.

The protests continued. Following the last day of the mass gathering in Sarachane, on March 25, the CHP announced a demonstration in Maltepe, across the Bosphorus, the weekend following. They claimed 2.2 million people attended the event in solidarity. 

The next day was the beginning of a government-imposed nine-day religious holiday, Eid al-Fitr, putting a temporary end to the mass demonstrations. In response, the opposition called for a day of nationwide mass boycott to curb the AKP’s economic hinge, by stopping consumption fully, a goal that was supported by many shops and restaurants, which all closed for the day.

Some actors who supported the boycott were removed from their roles in state-owned streaming platform Tabii, while Cem Yiğit Üzümoğlu, who stars as Mehmed the Conqueror in Netflix’s Rise of Empires: Ottoman, was briefly detained.

While the heat of the mass street demonstrations has since slowed down because of the break, boycotts against pro-government brands and the student-led protests have continued. This month, videos of demonstrations held by high school students from various provinces have also started circulating. In one, tens of riot police are stationed outside Vefa High School in Istanbul, where one student holds a banner reading, “Rights, Law, Justice!”

Many universities across the country have also continued to hold sit-ins and forums, calling for more demonstrations on campuses and in the streets. They continue to demand the release of the remaining imprisoned students, and to defend their right to constitutional welfare and secular democracy under new leadership. 

Bülent Kılıç

On April 8, a “resistance and solidarity concert” was held in Kadikoy, attended mostly by university students, with hundreds of riot police standing by. While letters from imprisoned students were read aloud on stage, slogans against Erdoğan and his government were chanted throughout.

“Turkey has major problems of injustice and corruption. These come together and threaten our future,” Ayse, a 25-year-old student, who did not want to provide her last name, said. She’s about the same age as the AKP’s political power.

“Our fight will not end upon the students’ and İmamoğlu’s release, but when Turkey becomes a just and equal country, providing a bright future for its youth,” she said. “Though, they should be released because they were only practicing their constitutional rights.” 

Despite the growing authoritarianism, Ayse said she feels more empowered than ever before, thanks to the crowds surrounding her.

[post_title] => "A Drop Too Much" [post_excerpt] => Despite the threat of police violence and arrest, student-led protests against President Erdoğan and his ruling party continue across Turkey. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => closed [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => turkey-protests-istanbul-university-ekrem-imamoglu-president-recep-tayyip-erdogan-politics [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2025-04-22 02:09:01 [post_modified_gmt] => 2025-04-22 02:09:01 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://conversationalist.org/?p=8231 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw )
Protestors in Turkey stand in a line, all with their faces covered. In the center, someone in a ski mask is gesturing with their hand, seemingly yelling; in front of them, a child with their face covered is holding a protest sign and a red rod.

“A Drop Too Much”

WP_Post Object
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    [ID] => 8185
    [post_author] => 15
    [post_date] => 2025-04-17 20:59:49
    [post_date_gmt] => 2025-04-17 20:59:49
    [post_content] => 

Under Trump, the ideology is on the rise. But ultimately, eliminating eugenic beliefs from our shared society may require dismantling the United States itself.

In a moment when the experiment of the United States is teetering on the brink, the Trump administration is weaponizing deep-seated hatred of marginalized people to exacerbate ideological divides and deepen MAGA’s cult-like relationship with the president. A key component to this is their belief in and use of eugenics—the idea that it’s possible to create an ideal human by eliminating “undesirable traits.” Meaningful resistance to Trump, then, requires a culture shift grounded in understanding the ideology’s history, the tech industry’s role in encouraging it, and the complicity of liberals and the left in conversations about whose life has value. It also means acknowledging just how deeply baked the ideology is into modern American culture.

Many people associate eugenics with the Nazis, comparing what’s happening in the United States today—the disappearing of immigrants without due process, the erasure of anything considered DEI, the destruction of archives—to the Nazi movement of the 1930s and 1940s. Nazi policy called for the extinction of unwanted communities via any means possible, including forced sterilization, social control, and, of course, “euthanasia” and mass murder. Yet in this pursuit of an improved “Aryan race,” the Nazis didn’t just want to populate the world with nondisabled blue-eyed blonds: They also viewed circumstantial, socially-mediated experiences such as criminality and poverty as genetic and therefore targets for elimination via breeding, an idea fundamental to the broader eugenics movement.

But the movement didn’t start there: The U.S.-based eugenics movement of the early 20th century was a tremendous influence on the Nazis, as was the work of British eugenicists such as Francis Galton and Julian Huxley. In the U.S., Charles Davenport, Henry Goddard, and many others aimed to “improve” humanity by fighting “dysgenic” influences, with prominent corporate foundations bankrolling their efforts. The normalization of American eugenics was also supported on a broader, sociocultural scale: Across the United States, laws encouraged marriage and children (for the right people), while simultaneously promoting the institutionalization and mass sterilization of disabled people, poor people, and Black, Indigenous people of color. “Better Babies” contests at county and state fairs promoted eugenic beliefs, alongside “fitter family” lectures and informational pamphlets.

Eugenics in the United States didn’t stop in 1945 with the fall of the Third Reich, and is very much still reflected in standing policies from both major parties in the U.S. today. Laws across the country still criminalize poverty. A growing number of states take eliminationist approaches to unhoused people and use poverty alone as grounds for removing children from their families. The state still promotes the use of sterilization and long-acting reversible contraceptives, disproportionately using both in some communities more than others. As recently as 2010, the California prison system sterilized incarcerated women without consent. The American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) recently released guidance justifying the use of permanent contraceptives in children and youth with intellectual disabilities, in which the authors simultaneously acknowledged the heinous past of permanent sterilization while suggesting permanent contraception without the capacity for consent is “respecting their inherent reproductive rights.”

The normalization of these policies across the U.S. has directly fed the rise of Trumpism, and the return of eugenics to the mainstream. The president’s support of this ideology is also explicit: Trump, throughout his campaigns and now in the White House (again), has made comments about “immigrant bloodlines,” implying Black and Brown immigrants are inherently animalistic, criminal, subhuman. This, despite the fact that Trump himself is the child of a Scottish immigrant, and the fact that he has been married to two immigrants himself—collectively, the mothers of four of his five children. The only difference, of course, is whiteness.

We’ve already seen Trump’s belief in race science—and eugenics more broadly—reflected in his administration’s actions so far. His Transportation Secretary, Sean Duffy, has proposed prioritizing funding for areas with higher marriage and birth rates, a directly eugenic project echoing the “marriage incentives” long promoted by the right. The administration is attempting to write trans people out of existence, both in the sense of stripping all references to the community from federal reporting, documents, and initiatives, and attacking transition care. And while abducting and trafficking people to high security foreign prisons without due process, Trump has simultaneously begun offering “golden visas” to more “desirable” (re: rich, white) immigrants to take their place, including offers of a “rapid pathway” to immigration for white South African farmers, whom he claims are subjects of “reverse racism.”

The goal of the current administration is clear: Advancing whiteness and eliminating marginalized and variant bodies. And the administration is acting quickly. Musk’s slash and burn approach to “cutting government spending” is targeting a variety of agencies and efforts that fund research and treatment of disease; an open eugenicist is heading the Department of Health and Human Services, promising to “Make America Healthy Again” by dismantling the vaccination apparatus and attacking mentally ill people; Trump has withdrawn the United States from the World Health Organization; and the CDC just announced a plan to study (YET AGAIN) the thoroughly debunked connection between vaccines and autism. They’ve allegedly done all of this in the name of reducing government waste. But not coincidentally, the “waste” they’ve decried in government is often associated with programs that keep people alive, attempt to make the nation more equitable, and protect people from discrimination, all of which ties back to eugenics under a cloak of “meritocracy” and “fighting reverse discrimination.”

Enter the tech industry, whose belief that it’s superior to representative democracy isn’t anything new. Eugenics has always been a component of big tech ideology, and unsurprisingly, its cited goal of “human improvement” has only made this more explicit. The transhumanist movement in particular is rife with disablism, with disabled culture critic Anna Hamilton noting that under transhumanist frameworks “certain disabilities can, and should, be fixed for the good of humanity.” The biotech industry may be behind critical advancements, but these advancements have also come with complex implications: CRISPR, for example, makes it possible to edit the human genome, but has also allowed for tailoring embryos beyond targeting issues such as lethal fetal anomalies, and well into designer babies.

Silicon Valley is also obsessed with Great Replacement Theory—the idea that the “white race” is somehow under attack—a particular interest of the right. Musk is notably fixated on having as many (white) children as possible to do his part for the cause, seeding the world with what he describes as his superior genetics (often, allegedly, via IVF), with his daughter Vivian Wilson claiming that Musk and her mother Justine even engaged in prenatal sex selection. Fellow technocrat Mark Zuckerberg also longs for a “tribe” of children. The technofascism is on full display as a growing number of tech companies publicly move right, sometimes actively repudiating former progressive stances, while the billionaires who run them move to control the media and government.

Disabled people; Black, Indigenous people of color; low-income people; Jewish people; trans people; and others very familiar with navigating a hostile United States in undesirable bodies have been warning about this for a very long time. And while liberals and those on the left may think of eugenics as a rightwing ideology, it’s also baked into some of their attitudes, in part because eugenics is so core to U.S. culture. Recognizing that some lives are valued more than others, and the ways in which this interacts with liberal and left praxis, is challenging, especially with the external pressures of fascism and capitalism. But shying away from our own complicity in these systems only perpetuates them, and leaves some marginalized people feeling like perennially conditional members of these social movements and society at large.

This is on particular display for the disability community, which has repeatedly expressed concerns about being left out, and is tired of being told to wait its turn for liberation. This frustration is rooted in the community’s continued dehumanization, and a general sense that disabled lives are somehow more expendable than others, that disabled bodyminds do not have a role to play in the collective struggle. The long covid community, for example, as an active advocate for masking and other basic measures to prevent the spread of infectious disease, is increasingly shut out of theoretically left organizing spaces. Rhetoric in support of abortion raises the specter of a “disabled” fetus as grounds for ensuring continued access to reproductive health care. Conversations about medical aid in dying often revolve around the idea of being a “burden” on family members, or assumptions about quality of life that are rooted in solvable problems, for those with the money and the will to solve them. There is a sense that some disabled people are “unfit” for political struggle, and therefore “unfit” for existence—echoing the rejection of “the unfit” throughout the history of eugenics.

This isn’t just about disability, but about a larger lack of support for marginalized people in the midst of a project to eliminate them. This includes the sidelining of trans people at a time when they are under active assault; the prevalence of respectability politics for Black, Indigenous people of color; and the dehumanization of red states and their most marginalized residents—all of which highlight a willingness to leave some communities behind for factors entirely out of their control. The fundamental implication that life would be more convenient if these populations were to shut up, or simply not exist, is always bubbling below the surface.   

Fighting eugenic influences requires challenging racism, disablism, and other discriminatory attitudes that are deeply woven into our society. It requires reckoning with the fact that class does not exist in a vacuum; and acknowledging that a person’s worth should not be dependent on their ability to “contribute to society” through capitalist exploitation. In many liberal and left spaces, this includes eliminating the anti-Blackness that pervades so many conversations, and learning the most basic foundations of disablism, starting with the continued treatment of disability as a medical issue rather than a social identity, and the assumption that disabled people want cures over full social inclusion. Antisemitism in liberal and left environments is also an enduring problem, as is resistance to conversations about how these spaces are falling short.

If it is possible to create some version of the United States that is not inherently morally bankrupt, fighting eugenics is essential, as is truly valuing marginalized people and making a robust case for their defense and inclusion at all costs. Change is possible. During the Occupy movement, for example, organizers fought­—with varying degrees of success—for the application of gender and racial analysis to conversations about class. The Disability Working Group at the Democratic Socialists of America, and the increasing number of disability caucuses in other left and progressive organizations, shows that there is a growing understanding of disability’s role in the struggle. Solidarity is also on display in protests against the ongoing genocide in Gaza, itself a eugenic project, and one Trump very much supports.

Ultimately, eliminating eugenic beliefs from our shared society may require dismantling the United States itself. The first step in that project, however, must involve an engagement with the role of eugenics in political thought, and conscious efforts to acknowledge and make good on the harm done. In the midst of the current political climate, pulling at the threads of eugenics isn’t adjacent to fighting the political right: It’s essential. The nation was founded on a basis of white supremacy, which is now woven deeply through the nation’s legal and popular culture. Whether liberals and the left are willing to continue building momentum, let alone face up to the influence of eugenics on their political values, is an open question and one that needs to be decided quickly. Challenging eugenic influences on political ideology isn’t infighting or purity policing: It lies at the heart of an inclusive political movement that actually strives towards liberation for all.

[post_title] => The United States of Eugenics [post_excerpt] => Under Trump, the ideology is on the rise. How do we finally dismantle it once and for all? [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => closed [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => united-states-america-eugenics-politics-policy-race-science-disablism-transphobia-racism-xenophobia-trump-immigration [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2025-06-26 04:43:29 [post_modified_gmt] => 2025-06-26 04:43:29 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://conversationalist.org/?p=8185 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw )
An illustration featuring a three rows of six circles, each with illustrations of plants or human silhouettes. A pink virus links some of the circles, spreading across the image from the left to the right in a wave.

The United States of Eugenics

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    [ID] => 8165
    [post_author] => 15
    [post_date] => 2025-04-11 22:24:36
    [post_date_gmt] => 2025-04-11 22:24:36
    [post_content] => 

The U.S. isn't the only country paying the price for his policy changes.

When Donald Trump returned to the presidency in 2025, one of his first actions was to reverse almost all of the climate commitments made by the Biden administration that preceded him. These actions included initiating a second withdrawal from the Paris Agreement—following his first withdrawal in 2017—and terminating multiple critical climate finance programs. The consequences of these decisions have already extended beyond U.S. borders, affecting vulnerable and developing nations while undermining international climate negotiations, scientific collaboration, and the urgently needed global transition to more sustainable economies.

Despite their minimal contributions to global emissions, developing countries disproportionately face the most severe climate impacts. They also depend on the countries that contribute most to emissions to pay their fair share when it comes to reducing them, of which the U.S. is one. Trump’s withdrawal of approximately $11 billion in annual U.S. climate finance, previously pledged by the Biden administration, has robbed these countries of vitally needed resources and is creating significant funding gaps for climate projects around the world, threatening regional and global climate objectives alike. 

Unsurprisingly, this will affect developing nations the most, and Small Island Developing States (SIDS) have become particularly vulnerable. Facing existential threats from sea level rise, intensifying hurricanes, and other climate-related disasters, these nations have been severely impacted by the Trump administration's withdrawal from the newly established Loss and Damage Fund, which Biden pledged $17.5 million to in 2022. Without adequate support for adaptation and recovery, island nations across the Caribbean and Pacific will be forced to confront heightened risks to critical infrastructure and economic stability; and ultimately, their very existence.

Another notable victim of Trump’s policy shift is the Just Energy Transition Partnerships (JETPs)—multibillion-dollar agreements designed under the Biden administration to assist coal-dependent developing countries in transitioning to renewable energy. Trump's administration has abruptly canceled U.S. participation in JETPs with countries including Indonesia, South Africa, and Vietnam, creating uncertainty around the future of projects vital for reducing global carbon emissions and ensuring socially equitable transitions. Beyond their environmental importance, these partnerships were also structured to prioritize job creation and community support in regions historically dependent on fossil fuels.

Trump's policies have also significantly destabilized international climate negotiations at large. The second U.S. withdrawal from the Paris Agreement has diminished diplomatic trust in the country and emboldened other nations to reconsider their own commitments to climate policy. During COP29 in 2024, the absence of U.S. leadership allowed fossil fuel-dependent nations to gain greater influence yet again, further complicating efforts to meet and strengthen global emissions reduction targets. This retreat was particularly damaging to trust among developing nations, who view it as a profound injustice that wealthy countries would abandon their commitments, despite bearing disproportionate responsibility for causing climate change in the first place.

The disengagement from climate science under the Trump administration carries equally troubling implications. Notably, U.S. scientists were absent from recent Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) meetings, depriving global climate research of critical American expertise and undermining the strength and legitimacy of the meetings’ scientific assessments. The deliberate sidelining of science under Trump weakens global responses precisely when robust scientific consensus is urgently needed to drive ambitious climate action. When combined with Trump’s massive cuts to science funding and federal grants, things are likely to only get worse.

Domestically, Trump’s policies are clashing even with Republican-held states that benefited economically from the 2022 Inflation Reduction Act (IRA) passed by Biden. The IRA provided significant support for clean industries, driving growth in historically marginalized communities. As a result, states like Texas and Florida attracted billions in investment for renewable energy and green manufacturing, resulting in the creation of thousands of jobs. The reversal of these policies threatens not only climate progress but also denies the tangible economic and social benefits that the clean energy transition has delivered to these communities—and to the U.S.’s bottom line.

The administration, meanwhile, has doubled down on its aggressive expansion of oil and gas extraction on federal lands, yet another concerning development, particularly as Trump continues to dismantle the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA). By fast-tracking drilling permits and relaxing environmental review processes, these policies prioritize short-term interests in fossil fuels over long-term climate stability. The increased extraction not only undermines global emissions reduction efforts but also exposes local communities—often lower-income and minority populations—to pollution risks and environmental degradation, further exacerbating climate injustice both domestically and abroad.

However, while the U.S. has faltered on its commitment to climate action, not every country has abandoned the fight—and the U.S.’s retreat has created space for alternative leadership to take its place in global climate governance. China, France, and the broader European Union have already moved to fill the vacuum, increasingly shaping international climate policy both at COP29 and beyond. This shift presents these nations with an opportunity to advance their strategic interests while growing their global influence, demonstrating the international community's continued commitment to climate action despite U.S. disengagement.

Still, as the global community races to limit global warming, the absence of American leadership and financial support is strongly felt. Trump's climate policy decisions transcend climate concerns, representing a serious regression in social and economic justice, particularly for the world's most vulnerable populations. Developing nations, especially the most climate-vulnerable ones, bear the disproportionate burden of these policy shifts as they struggle to adapt and transition in an unstable climate landscape.

These circumstances underscore a fundamental truth: Effective climate action requires not only environmental responsibility but also a commitment to global justice, equity, and shared prosperity. The current U.S. approach only undermines these principles at a time when solidarity and collective action are most urgently needed.

[post_title] => Who Trump's Climate Denialism is Really Hurting [post_excerpt] => The U.S. isn't the only country paying the price for his policy changes. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => closed [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => international-donald-trump-climate-change-denialism-policy-cop29-international-fossil-fuels-alternative-energy [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2025-04-15 21:50:29 [post_modified_gmt] => 2025-04-15 21:50:29 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://conversationalist.org/?p=8165 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw )
US President Donald Trump speaks in the Roosevelt Room of the White House in Washington, DC, on March 3, 2025. He is wearing a red tie and pointing. In the background, out of focus, is a portrait of Roosevelt on a horse.

Who Trump’s Climate Denialism is Really Hurting

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    [post_author] => 15
    [post_date] => 2025-02-03 23:03:39
    [post_date_gmt] => 2025-02-03 23:03:39
    [post_content] => 

From my recent travels, the answer seems to be "no."

I’ve been to at least 15 countries in the last two and a half years, some of them repeatedly, including frequent trips to Nigeria and the United Kingdom for personal and family commitments. But most of my travel has been while working on my forthcoming book, Foremothers, including visiting new countries for the first time, such as Brazil, or some, for the first time in a long time, like South Africa. 

Foremothers, slated for release in the near future, has taken much more time and much more out of me than I thought it would when I first conceived of it over seven years ago. Surprisingly, this hasn’t just been because of the laborious effort of working on a cross-continental, multicultural, multigenerational, women-centered historical nonfiction book. It has also been due to the universal sentiment of doom and gloom I kept encountering while researching and writing it—raising my internal and intellectual alarm bells beyond the scope of the project. As such, in the wake of my travels, I’ve found myself repeatedly considering a new and troubling question: Is it just me, or is anyone, anywhere having a good time?

Of course, the very premise of this good time and its practice may not even be universally defined. What constitutes a good time in Dakar, Senegal may not be the same as in Lagos, Portugal. But even if the specifics of a good time and good times are relative, we can all agree—as difficult as it may be for us to do, given our abundant disagreements—that having a good time on a broader scale must consist of some fundamentals. For any country or society or group of people anywhere to claim it, for example, there must be established, uncontestable liberties that its people, irrespective of their differences, enjoy collectively. Healthy, nourishing, affordable food must be available to its inhabitants. Their most humble abodes, whatever they look like, ought to be functional and secure to the environment they live in. Basically, there should be basic human rights, and then some, for all. And even though, across communities and nations, these good time aims may not previously have been achieved, this did not change its pursuit for and by subsequent generations. It seems, however, this is no longer the case. 

To the pessimists and realists, whose differences have become the same, these so-called “good times” have always been little more than a post-World War II mirage, chased by the utopic dreamers who don’t understand the real world and how it works. To others, the vision has long lost its luster because too many of us are unwilling to pay the price it would take to accomplish it, from living with less, to partaking in simultaneous revolutions more. This view, most embodied by the old-school retired optimists, has also found favor with the apolitical and the nihilistic, who mimic each other so closely they can hardly be told apart. But even for the optimists still-in-residence, and indeed those rare fools who dare to be counted and characterized as the hopeful, the dream of a good time appears increasingly illusive, increasingly difficult to hold onto. This, I think, has been the greatest throughline of my travels, and perhaps the most worrying, too—a collective loss of hope among everyone, but especially amongst the hopeful.

The reasons why appear obvious enough. COVID and its poor handling by political and public health institutions alike around the globe. The economic frustrations stemming from a widespread rise in cost of living and inflation, and the ebbs in job opportunity and security; everywhere, the rich have got richer, and the poor have got poorer, with fewer people able to make it to, and stay within, the in-between. Climate change is unequivocally upon us and we are living through its effects, wondering with each unprecedented event or catastrophic change to a people’s way of life, the longevity of our human existence on Earth. We have become witnesses to, if not reluctant consumers of, the daily accounts of the violence of apartheid, war, and the unjust global nation-state dynamics respective to Palestine-Israel, to Sudan, and elsewhere, mainly in the Global South—even as the most hopeful among us have protested and petitioned continuously in the face of ever-creeping sentiments of powerlessness. 

All this has also come as trust in news media everywhere, but especially in the United States’ conglomerates, remains at record lows, and in the midst of a technological insurgency of misinformation and disinformation where even the media literate are as liable to conspiracies as they are to good-faith misinterpretations. Add to that a broken faith in political systems that no longer appear built for the world we live in today, tightly tethered to a system that continues to serve the most materially advantaged. But even more alarming still, is the broken trust permeating through the people we live near to and alongside, as a contagion of loneliness sweeps through the world, posing as much threat to our species’ health and well-being as future pandemics inevitably will—all of which is, in part, an outcome of a rise of individualism around the world. 

This incomplete list of gloom and doom sounds bleak, because it is. Yet much of what has even been listed has always been true of our collective human experiences, in eras long past that in important ways were objectively worse than this one. What we are experiencing now, then, is just the latest iteration of the human condition, the sufferings and the sufferers altering every few hundred years or so. But this reality also stands in contrast with the objective progression of this time—in science, in medicine, in technology, in faith; in short, in all that we know makes for a good life, and a good time, for the many. In the context of our human history, perhaps these progressions frustrate us all the more because in spite of them, the human condition has not been permanently altered. But maybe the biggest difference between the eras of yesteryear and today, is that so many of the people I have encountered in my travels, whatever their politics and whatever our disagreements, do not believe that those who come after them will enjoy a better future.

From what I’ve observed during my travels, it’s not difficult to see why. In Nigeria, the country of my birth, years of unfettered greed and complacency by politicians and the rise of high-influence people who prop up ethnocentrism and religious bigotry, in tandem with a return to the old-school tricks of its former dictatorship era, including threats of violence and free speech suppression, have led to a national mood of despondency for an otherwise almost hazardously hopeful people—a people I ordinarily advise to be more skeptical. This has dashed the reveries of my elders, peers, and juniors, some of whom returned home at the turn of the late aughts, in the midst of a prodigious cultural boom, to partake in a contemporary attempt of nation-building when the country looked on the ascent economically. Today, Nigeria is experiencing what has been called its worst economic crisis in a generation, and the high cost of basic needs has resulted in over 30 million people facing food insecurity in 2025. 

In South Africa, high unemployment and depletion in the quality of public services have resulted in the economic disempowerment of everyday citizens, who blame migrants with its cause, stoking the country’s African-centric xenophobia. All of this has been laid at the feet of its African National Congress (ANC) party, the former heroes of the apartheid struggle who lost their 20 years of political dominance in 2024. Following South Africa’s elections last May, the ANC was all but forced to form a political coalition with the Democratic Alliance (DA) party, the latter of which a journalist friend of mine referred to as “the residual party of white privilege.” 

But even the more hopeful chances we might have anticipated at achieving a “good time” have struggled to achieve it. This includes Brazil, a place where the people seem to most demonstrate the desire for a good time—partly because that Brazilian label runs deep in the national fabric, and partly as a result of their 2022 election in which leftist candidate Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva  replaced the authoritarian-like Jair Bolsonaro. In the weeks after Lula was sworn in, I attended carnival in both Rio de Janeiro and Salvador, documenting the joyous tradition and its history, and was told by many of the relief they felt at Lula’s return, his third time at the helm of the nation. Yet Bolsonaro’s continued influence prevails to the point of his own possible comeback, even despite a recent police report of his attempt at a failed coup in those same 2022 elections. 

Meanwhile, as in much of the West, right-wing extremists in Portugal gained support via parliamentary representation during its general elections in March last year, and the once open, migrant-friendly policies of the country that drove its digital nomad explosion are now set to be restricted. In the UK, the self-inflicted Brexit wound has come to fester in the last few years following its summer 2016 vote. Compounded with the COVID years, it has left the country’s economy smaller, and exacerbated its cost of living crisis; any night out in London will confirm a decimated scene, unveiling how the once Swinging City hardly deserves to be mentioned among its global equivalents anymore. In the United States, where I have lived for much of my adult life, the early days of a second Trump presidency have already brought about a sense of impending chaos and doom throughout structures and institutions, political, cultural, and economic, after his landslide victory in November. Much ink will continue to be spilled as to how and why he was reelected at all, but the fears of the authoritarianism that accompany Trump’s presence long preceded his first administration, and will supersede the current one. It’s unclear, too, if the coalitions that oppose his presidency even have the wherewithal to form and execute an integrated vision that will safeguard the communities they claim to defend, not only against Trump’s actions, but for the good of the people, regardless of who sits in The White House. 

Of course, some ordinary people—and not those who actually benefit from these global state of affairs—have boasted of victory in all of these instances. Their overall political participation (and not just their electoral one), or lack thereof, stems from a plethora of grievances and discontent—many real, some imagined—leading to a need to believe that their side will at least see gains, or more honestly, not suffer quite as much as the “losers.” This of course is an effective political strategy set up by those who truly benefit—convincing their base that despite the lack of evidence that surrounds them, they have been victorious. But a cursory examination of the whole, along with the many candid if unsuspecting admissions people have shared with me during my travels—including from those claiming electoral victory—nonetheless reveals that none, regardless of which political side they may be on, believe that their life will marginally improve after an election. The winning side confesses deep-seated dejections as much as the imagined losing side, in sometimes unspoken but always communicated anxieties that the good times are no longer within one’s reach, nor within one’s children’s reach, if they ever even were. 

The privilege of observing this phenomenon these last few years has been witnessing how its cultural ramifications have grown alongside its political ones. This is obvious in the rise of the rhetoric and content of trad wives and the manosphere, indicating a desire to suppress women’s rights and keep men in less empowered, less diverse visions of masculinity. Oppression begets repression to more than its victims, and because it does, a good time becomes impossible for all, oppressor and oppressed alike. Relatedly, another cultural consequence can be seen in the choice—when it is a choice—to delay or wholly repudiate parenthood, not only because of the real expenses associated with it, but because so many have decided they would rather deny themselves the experience than foist the offerings of this dystopia we are headed towards onto their potential offspring. But less obvious manifestations can also be seen in how so much of the latest sociotechnological innovations are not improving our material lives but instead inviting us to escape into virtual apathy and antipathy. It struck me continuously throughout my travels how much even when around others, people expressed a desire to abscond into their digital lives, most often to nurse parasocial relationships where they imagined their counterparts as more fulfilled than them, counterparts who they seem to have outsourced their hopes and dreams to. Witnessing all this and more, and as someone who ordinarily accepts that little is new under the sun—seasons of plenty and joy live alongside seasons of paucity and pain as a fact of life, and we are called to persist in all of them—I, who considers myself among the hopeful, began to wonder if hope here is even the answer. Moreover, what does hope even look like under such universal malaise? 

The truth is I don’t have a unanimous solution, or at least, not yet. Certainly, building coalition across issues in ways that acknowledge our political and social differences has been advocated for by those more knowledgeable than I, as have mutual aid collectives in our communities by movement leaders at the frontlines of our despair. There are guides to survival that have been written in the form of literature, such as Octavia Butler’s Parables, or nonfiction directives we can follow to address the underlying litany of systemic problems we face, offered in books like David Graber’s The Utopia of Rules. But because of the work I do as a journalist and the work I have been doing as a forthcoming author, and because of who I am—a person whose imagination is wired to pursue history in order to realize the future—I have found myself meditating on not only the stories of significant women of the past that I’ve collected for Foremothers, but on those of my own foreparents, too. 

In the past year especially, I have contemplated not infrequently the lives of my foreparents, including those I never met and those that in my own lifetime transitioned beyond the physical realm. I have thought about the conditions they endured—from illness to war to colonization to migrations, new and old. And I have thought about the fears they overcame, the joys they found, and the unwavering perseverance they had to continue on; at least in part, for the sake of descendants they would never meet. And they did this not always because they believed they could promise their descendants a good life, but because they believed that whatever progress they made—even the most minute—should never see its end when their own lives ended on this Earth, but instead, be built upon with each generation that followed. Their responsibility to those who they could not know would come after them, was, above all else, a refusal to succumb to whatever hopelessness their circumstances presented, and instead a choice to hold onto an imagination that made no promises of what was to come, but only of what is possible. 

For what it’s worth, although I didn’t hear this same sentiment expressed in great quantities throughout my travels, the debt of continuing to carry as a testament to one’s forebearers was the singular throughline even the most faintly hopeful people managed to convey. From a source in Luanda, Angola who told me how our dues to our ancestors is what can propel us forward in times of difficulty, to colleagues I encountered in Nairobi, Kenya who proposed that in order to keep moving forward, we must look continually to all those who have survived before us.  

All the same, I cannot promise myself a good time knowing what I have seen these last few years and even prior to them, much less can I promise a good time to anybody who will come after me. I also cannot promise relief will come anywhere, because for most of us, even those of us who might have the means and privilege of movement, there is nowhere to run to, to escape this intercontinental anguish. But alongside the pragmatism of collective coalitions in our communities, small and big, that we must adopt in order to persist, we owe it to the foreparents gone and the foreparents still to come to never let our imagination yield to believing that both good and better times are not possible. Our collective survival depends on it.

[post_title] => Is Anyone, Anywhere Having a Good Time? [post_excerpt] => From my recent travels, the answer seems to be "no." [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => closed [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => is-anyone-anywhere-having-a-good-time [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2025-02-03 23:06:17 [post_modified_gmt] => 2025-02-03 23:06:17 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://conversationalist.org/?p=7813 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw )
An illustration of various women from around the world going around in a large circle, all crying and exhausted.

Is Anyone, Anywhere Having a Good Time?

WP_Post Object
(
    [ID] => 7768
    [post_author] => 15
    [post_date] => 2025-01-24 22:40:34
    [post_date_gmt] => 2025-01-24 22:40:34
    [post_content] => 

To believe things can get better, we must first accept they can get worse.

I find Trump so repulsive that I wasn't willing to engage with the reality of his second term until he won and I had no choice. In the weeks following, I braced myself for Christo-fascism, knowing every day he wasn’t president was a day to cherish. I told anyone who would listen to prepare for the worst. 

In the days since he was sworn in, I’ve been frustrated but not surprised that people still don't get it. “Is he really a fascist?" "Was that really a Nazi salute?" "Is this really going to be that bad?" Girl, yes. In fact, it’s probably going to be worse than most can imagine, considering it was a massive failure of imagination that led us here in the first place: American optimism has done us no favors this time around, and now we're all paying the price. 

Millions failed to imagine that fascism really was popular enough to get Trump reelected. They failed to imagine that the outlandishly evil Project 2025 could really be the GOP manifesto, and clung to the obvious lies and denials of its authors (who are now overwhelmingly employed by the White House). Immigrants who fled failed states and autocracies only to vote for Trump failed to imagine this country having the exact same problems as the ones they’d left. It was a collective failure of imagination that the Supreme Court would actively cover for a coup, let alone that they’d reward the man who incited it with immunity. Personally, I failed to imagine that losing reproductive rights would have so little impact on white women's presidential votes; and these same women who chose to split their tickets failed to imagine state abortion protections could be undone by a national ban.

Americans have an escalating autocracy problem, but underlying that is an emotional and psychological problem. At every turn, we get tripped up by reality, especially around humanity's capacity for evil at scale, not to mention imperial decline. Putting these criminals in charge has likely poisoned the United States for generations. Anyone who thinks it will be over in four years is deluding themselves. But few want to wrap their heads around the fact that most checks on executive power are already gone. No one wants to imagine themselves being targeted until it's too late. We don’t want to believe that things can, and will, get worse. But our failures of imagination won't stop the bad things from happening. They’ll just ensure we won’t be prepared to handle them—which is exactly how we’ve ended up here. 

There's a Russian proverb, "Когда я думала, что достигла дна, снизу постучали." "Just when I thought I'd hit rock bottom, someone knocked from below."

These last few weeks, I've been thinking a lot about Adolf Eichmann, architect of the Final Solution, and about people's readiness to accept lies at face value when the truth is too painful. It's the corollary of our failure to imagine atrocities before they happen. When Trump was elected the first time around, I wrote a piece on what the Nazis were thinking when they committed genocide—a warning on how dehumanization and propaganda create the conditions for mass murder. I compared the interviews a Jewish US Army psychiatrist did with the Nuremberg defendants to Hannah Arendt's Eichmann in Jerusalem, which argued that an autocratic cult of personality can lead mild-mannered people to abdicate their own moral compass and commit atrocities in the name of Dear Leader. Since then, the Eichmann tapes have surfaced—a 1957 recording of an interview Eichmann did in Buenos Aires, in which he admitted to a fellow Nazi that of course they knew they were murdering all those Jews, and he'd have been happy had they completed the job. Countless academics and practitioners, myself included, have spent decades debating the banality of evil and individual agency: whether people intentionally commit mass murder or are "just following orders." Fields have developed, careers have been made, and centers have been built around the question of whether perpetrators are cynics or true believers—when all this time Eichmann was just a fucking liar.

The day after Trump won last November, when Steve Bannon slithered out of some hole to rub Project 2025 in our faces, I thought: This is the Eichmann tapes all over again. The inauguration, and what has followed, has done little to change my mind. Take Elon's Nazi salute, which he performed (twice) at a fascist inauguration bought with his fascist money. The discourse and debate and scrambling that has followed has been nothing short of infuriating: Is the apartheid oligarch who runs a Nazi-friendly site, calls himself Kekius Maximus, promotes eugenics and the Great Replacement Theory, and bought the US presidency while campaigning for the German far-right a Nazi, or is it autism?

People are clinging to the fact that Musk is a troll, as if pushing boundaries then retreating isn't part of the fascist playbook. Trolling doesn't diminish his responsibility for his behavior, lessen the salute's impact, or alter the context in which he performed it. People similarly brushed off Trump's insistence that Haitians are eating pets as a joke, sharing cat memes that will haunt them when he ends Temporary Protected Status and deports their neighbors. 

Orwell had words for the West's failure to imagine autocracy: "If you have grown up in that sort of [liberal] atmosphere it is not at all easy to imagine what a despotic regime is like….Such things as purges, secret police, summary executions, imprisonment without trial, etc are too remote to be terrifying. They can swallow totalitarianism because they have no experience of anything except liberalism." Orwell was writing here about Western leftists' apologism for Stalin (also embarrassingly still a thing in some circles), but the reasoning still applies.

This inability to imagine an end to America as we know it was more understandable during Trump's first round, though that still required ignoring our long history of white supremacy and corruption. At this point, the failure to acknowledge that far-right extremists are in charge of all three branches of government feels willful. The cognitive dissonance when a rich white man does a bad thing is astounding, no matter how many flagrant crimes he's committed in the past, how many people he's violated. Suddenly everyone's parsing intent like they're guest judges on Law and Order. 

Is evil really banal? Or are we simply unable to process the insidious truth that extreme abuses of power are so common? Frequency and severity are not the same thing. I've been writing for over eight years now about the delusions of exceptionalism, and how the failure to imagine America's decline ensures it. I’ve also written at length about how abuse distorts reality, and how state abuses mirror interpersonal abuse. As a survivor of childhood narcissistic abuse, I watched otherwise decent adults ignore or make excuses for monstrous behavior they personally witnessed, because taking a stand would cost them too much, or at least more than throwing me under the bus might keep them up at night. I don't have to imagine the depths people will reach to avoid what's right in front of their eyes, because I've lived it. Abuse thrives where reality is too painful to digest, when people get exhausted, look away, give up, blame the victims, apologize for power and patriarchy, follow charlatans, accommodate in advance. Abuse leads us to blame the people or institutions who failed to keep us safe, even when they aren't the ones hurting us. Expected violence is perversely easier to accept than failed promises. And all of us are tired of being let down.

Unsurprisingly, lost in all the questions about why the Democrats have lost the information war, or why mainstream media keeps sane-washing a decompensating narcissist, is the fact that it's safer to attack Democrats for the things they didn't do than to pick a fight with Trump over the things he's done and is doing. To be clear, Democrats have absolutely betrayed voters' trust by campaigning on Republicans wanting to end democracy, and then caving to collegiality. How is it that in the past few days only AOC seems appropriately angry, and brave enough to show it? Meanwhile legacy media is on the path to both-sides-ing themselves into extinction, and wondering why they’ve lost everyone's trust. But whether or not their actions are motivated by corruption or naivete is, again, besides the point. Focusing on unprovable intent—what's in people's hearts and minds, whether bones are racist—is safer than confronting what's observable: that the federal government and civil rights are being dismantled before our eyes. Principles come at a cost, and most Americans, including Democratic leadership, seemingly do not want to pay. Bargaining to avoid a fight while someone is already beating you is the ultimate failure of imagination.

Scared people say and do dumb things, and many of us are terrified. But fascism feeds on fear, and it’s only through brave, principled opposition that we can begin to overcome these seemingly impossible circumstances. I founded The Conversationalist to combat the nihilism and despair that oligarchs and autocrats depend on, in the hopes that we'd stop the cancer from metastasizing. Only now that it's spread through the entire body politic do we get dire warnings from President Biden on his way out the door about the dangers of oligarchy and disinformation. Now that autocracy is entrenched, and we're deep into the destruction of democracy and rule of law, there are finally articles in the mainstream arguing what I was called hysterical for saying in 2016. Better late than never, but hardly a model of courage.

To be fair, denial is deeply human. Most of us crave a stable life that allows us to follow our dreams and our loved ones to thrive. Puncturing those dreams with the ugly reality of autocracy is a hard sell to those privileged enough to avoid it. But as American institutions collapse around us, those dreams move further and further away. Americans are so accustomed to the costs of our colossally bad ballot box decisions being born by voiceless others elsewhere, that we’ve kneecapped ourselves and expected it not to hurt. But if there’s one message I wish everyone would hear, it’s that this round is not going to be like the last one, and may last way longer, too. 

A lot of the election autopsies have chosen to pit economic concerns as separate from the transphobia, misogyny, and xenophobia that Republicans ran on, which is odd considering how fascism works. In less than a week, we’ve already seen this play out via a blitz of ChatGPT-authored executive orders stopping refugee entry, attempting to end birthright citizenship, denying trans people's existence, and firing any federal employee who was part of a DEI program (including a snitch hotline for people who want to denounce their colleagues of color). It was a banner week for far-right terrorists with pardons for January 6 insurrectionists and anti-abortion extremists. Trump has threatened to invade Canada, and wants to reinstitute tariffs. He's withdrawing from climate treaties, ending FEMA, and withholding aid for California wildfires unless they cave to Republicans. 

Taking hostages is par for the course: The message Trump was selling wasn’t economic prosperity for all, but economic prosperity for his supporters, at the expense of the rest. Fascism is all about prosperity through persecution. Help us get rid of the bad, undeserving folks, and there will be more left for you. No, not every Trump voter is chomping at the bit to deport 20 million people. Some just wanted to stick it to the incumbent administration, and others weren't paying much attention either way. Their intentions are irrelevant, however, because they gave the electorate's power away, and effectively voted for Americans to not freely and fairly vote again.

When you replace your civil servants and judiciary with loyalist hacks, and corrupt the processes that keep them in check, institutions do not hold. And yet most narratives still talk about future elections as if they’ll be recognizable. The US has devolved into what political scientists call competitive authoritarianism or electoral autocracy, a hybrid system that maintains the veneer of elections with rigged outcomes for the ruling party. A friend described our current state as Schroedinger's democracy: both here and not. Trump's primary focus in office will be making sure he never leaves again. 

Unfortunately, Trump's not starting from scratch here, and he's got a lot of help. Between his first term; the coup; the captured Supreme Court that rejected the plain language of the 14th amendment to let him run for office again, and gave him immunity while president; the transnational cabal of autocrats, oligarchs, white supremacists, and religious fundamentalists rooting for him while actively plotting our dystopian future; and the Democrats' failure to mount proper opposition at any point along the way—the frog has already boiled several times over. Already there are Republican proposals to amend the Constitution and give him a third term. In this election alone, the GOP (with foreign assistance) suppressed the vote with legislation, lawsuits, Russian bomb threats, and other acts of violence, while billionaire oligarchs amplified extremist propaganda from captured media outlets and platforms. Rather than pay the consequences for these actions, all of them got to celebrate at the White House this week.

Before we become too cynical, it's important to remember: Just because Trump is determined to gut the country and die in office doesn't mean he'll succeed—electoral autocracies are fragile and we don't have to make it easy for him. He lacks the resources and the competence to accomplish all his goals. But picking a fight with a bully like Trump could lead to being targeted by him. He's coming for the DOJ, the civil service, the military, private business, late night TV hosts—his goal is to make it illegal to oppose him and require everyone to beg for his favor.

Cronyism and kleptocracy aren't new to this country. Historical examples include the robber barons and the Jim Crow South. In our current day, we have no safety net, healthcare is a scam, and guns are everywhere. And still, we have a lot to lose. People think eggs were expensive before. Just wait until they're double the price, half as available, and ten times more likely to poison you with avian flu. We're going to miss career civil servants, food safety, consumer protections, postal service, air and water quality, public health, public education, libraries, a free press, a depoliticized military, rule of law, and free and fair elections when they're gone. We're going to miss support for climate science, contraceptives, and measles vaccines. We're going to miss the immigrants who are the backbone of our economy and our culture. We're especially going to miss being able to remove the politicians responsible for predatory policies. A lot of Trump voters depend on Medicare and Social Security. Congrats, you’ve played yourself. It's not that we didn't have serious problems before. It's that in a year from now, we're going to be nostalgic for them. We're going to miss the good government we took for granted once it's gone.

Which isn't to say we should give up—quite the opposite. If there was ever a time to fight for our future, our values, and our communities—this is it. All is not lost. A failure to imagine the problem implies a failure to imagine its solution, as well. In fact, we must imagine how bad things can get in order to plan and prepare to overcome them. It isn’t too late—is never too late—to turn things around. There are millions of people around the globe that have fought fascism and won. We can learn from them, and from our past. Our history isn't just atrocities. We have so many role models, as well; people who fought under even worse circumstances for this country to be a better version of itself. We don’t have to wait for the next horror to happen before we choose to believe it’s possible to do the same.

[post_title] => A (State) Failure of Imagination [post_excerpt] => To believe things can get better, we must first accept they can get worse. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => closed [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => state-failure-of-imagination-fascism-autocracy-united-states-of-america-donald-trump-inauguration-elon-musk-nazi-salute [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2025-01-24 22:43:14 [post_modified_gmt] => 2025-01-24 22:43:14 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://conversationalist.org/?p=7768 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw )
An illustration of an austere gray room, with a man holding an American flag looking at his reflection in a curved, floor-length mirror. In his reflection, the flag is much smaller, and his upper body is on fire and smoking, obscuring his face.

A (State) Failure of Imagination

WP_Post Object
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    [ID] => 7742
    [post_author] => 15
    [post_date] => 2025-01-23 00:13:35
    [post_date_gmt] => 2025-01-23 00:13:35
    [post_content] => 

Last year was considered one of the biggest election years in history. Here's a quick overview of some of its most influential results.

In 2024, it was estimated that half of the world’s population would have the chance to participate in what observers called “the biggest election year in history,” with over 60 countries holding national elections throughout the year. Now, in 2025, people around the world may begin to experience the consequences. 

Despite the varied histories and contemporary politics across countries and regions, a number of noticeable themes were evident in last year’s elections. The biggest one being that, from Portugal to Indonesia, right-wing parties were successful at the polls. This comes as young populations have become more electorally influential: In Iran, 60% of the population is under 30 years old and over 60% of people in Botswana and South Africa are younger than 35. Meanwhile, across the various elections that took place, only five women were elected heads of government, and globally, a mere 27% of parliament members are women. Opposition parties also gained considerable success, most notably in Senegal, South Korea, and Ghana. 

Over the next few years, the aftermath of these outcomes will reverberate throughout their respective nations and throughout all of us together, as a global community. In the meantime, here’s a roundup of some of 2024’s most consequential elections, and where to pay attention in 2025.

Senegal

In late March, opposition candidates Bassirou Diomaye Faye and Ousmane Sonko were elected president and vice president, respectively. Faye, who was relatively unknown before the election, was endorsed by Sonko, who had been arrested in 2023 in what some supporters and international observers alike determined was “political prosecution.” Both Sonko and Faye were in jail until just before the election. The election was originally slated to take place in February, but was postponed by then-president Macky Sall, leading to protests around the country. Faye’s victory was celebrated as a potential shift away from Western dependence; one proposal of his was to create a currency that is independent from the Euro, unlike the West African CFA Franc, which is what the country currently uses. At 44, Faye is also currently Africa’s youngest president. 

Indonesia

Prabowo Subianto and Gibran Rakabuming Raka, the son of former Indonesian president Joko Widodo, announced victory in February. Subianto, 72, was the former Indonesian Defense Minister and there were concerns of Subianto’s human rights record from when he was in the military; activists allege that he was involved in various abuses, which led to him being banned from the United States and Australia until 2020. It was Subianto’s third time running for president in the “world’s third-largest democracy.

Russia

Vladimir Putin, who has been president since 2012 but involved in Russian politics as either president or prime minister since 1999, was re-elected in March in what the European Parliament described as a “carefully staged legitimisation ritual.” Alex Navalny, one of Putin’s most prominent critics, also died in prison the month prior. Russia’s Central Election Commission claimed that Putin secured over 87% of the vote, but a watchdog group noted that “voter intimidation” occurred, which likely affected the integrity of the votes. Putin’s win means that he will be in power until at least 2030.

Iran

Elections were held in the Western Asian country around 6 weeks after the sudden death of then-president Ebrahim Raisi. Two rounds of elections were held and reformist Masoud Pezeshkian won. The race, in which less than half of the eligible population voted, was described as a “silent protest” of dissatisfaction with previous regimes. Pezeshkian, a former heart surgeon, will have to balance reformist politics with Iranians’ frustration at conservative policies. Notably, in Iran, the Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, actually holds the highest title in the nation and the president ultimately reports to him, which may limit what Pezeshkian can actually achieve.

Venezuela

Nicolás Maduro, Venezuela’s incumbent president since 2013, once again won last July’s election. His main opponent, Maria Corina Machado, was banned by the country’s Supreme Court from running against Maduro due to alleged “financial irregularities that occurred when she was a national legislator,” which was considered a politically motivated move as Machado was a popular opposition candidate. Venezuela’s elections have been widely criticized by various countries, including the United States and Denmark, as “fraudulent.” According to the US, Edmundo González, another candidate who ran, should have been considered the winner. But González fled to Spain in September 2024, saying he was forced to recognize Maduro’s win before being allowed to leave. This is not the first time Maduro has claimed victory in a disputed election; he also did so in 2013 and 2018. Maduro remains a controversial figure, his government having led the country while it continues to experience severe inflation and inflicts human rights abuses, including the torture of political critics. 

Ghana

In early December, citizens of Ghana cast their votes, and opposition candidate John Mahama won against incumbent vice president Mahamadu Bawumiua in “the biggest margin of victory in the country for 24 years.” Mahama, who had previously been Ghana’s president from 2012 to 2017, ran with Jane Naana Opoku Agyemang, who became the nation’s first female vice president. Parliamentary elections also took place, and all 276 seats were up for election. In addition to Maham’s prior term as president, he has also occupied a number of other roles, including “MP, deputy minister, minister” and “vice-president.” While running, Mahama pledged to transform the cocoa industry

Mexico

In early June, Claudia Sheinbaum won Mexico’s presidential election. Sheinbaum, a former Mexico City mayor and scientist, became the country’s first female president. According to one election observer, despite some reports of polling stations facing “various threats, the voting process seemed to roll out relatively smoothly in most places, even if the process was slow in some stations.” Multiple candidates for various offices, including mayoral roles throughout Mexico, were killed during the general election season.

United Kingdom

Last July’s general election marked a rare swing to the left last year, with the Labour party winning a majority for the first time in over a decade, and its leader, Keir Starmer, elected Prime Minister. The Labour party gained 211 seats for a total of 412 out of 650 total seats in Parliament, in contrast to the Conservative party’s 251-seat loss. This win has been aptly described as a “landslide victory.” 

Namibia

In November, the southwest African nation elected its first female president. However, Netumbo Nandi-Ndaitwah’s victory has been called into question by one of her opponents, Panduleni Itula. Nandi-Ndaitwah has a long history of involvement in Namibian politics; she was also once in exile as a result of her work with South West Africa People’s Organization (SWAPO), which was once a liberation movement and is currently a political party. SWAPO has been Namibia’s ruling political party since 1990, when it gained independence from South Africa, but the most recent election reflected its lowest levels of support so far.

El Salvador

Nayib Bukele declared victory in the El Salvadoran presidential election last February. The self-described “coolest dictator in the world” has been head of the Central American country since 2019 and was previously mayor of El Salvador’s capital, San Salvador. He has been responsible for jailing over 70,000 people in El Salvador in order to “fight organized crime,” which has made him “popular” across the country, but human rights groups have raised concerns over potential violations. Bukele’s New Ideas party won 54 out of 60 National Assembly seats. Of his win, Bukele said, “El Salvador has broken all the records of all democracies in the entire history of the world.”

Tunisia

Kais Saied was declared the winner of the North African country’s October presidential race, but the election has been described as “Tunisia’s first undemocratic presidential election in almost fourteen years.” Saied, who has been head of state since 2019, won more than 90% of votes. However, fewer than 30% of voters cast their ballots, representing a general lack of enthusiasm among Tunisians who were eligible to vote.

South Korea

The opposition party won 175 out of 300 parliamentary seats in South Korea’s April 2024 general elections. This was a reflection of South Koreans’ dislike of incumbent President Yoon Suk Yeol, who has been in office since 2022. In December, Yoon declared martial law, but it was reversed a few hours later after parliament opposed it. Then, a few days later, an impeachment attempt was blocked, but a later effort was successful. The government has been thrown into chaos since, and a few days ago, Yoon was arrested.

Botswana

October’s general election saw the end of the Botswana Democratic Party’s (BDP) rule after almost 60 years. The BDP, which had been in power since the country’s 1966 independence, lost to the Umbrella for Democratic Change (UDC). “Recent poor economic growth and high unemployment” were among some of the factors that affected the BDP’s loss of power. Duma Boko, the head of the UDC, replaced BDP’s Mokgweetsi Masisi as president. BDP is a center-left party, which may reflect Botswana’s youth leaning left, unlike elsewhere.

South Africa

South Africa’s late-May legislative elections marked a shift in the nation’s political history. The African National Congress (ANC) party, formed from a “liberation movement" for Black South Africans, and which had been in power since the country ended apartheid, lost its majority. The ANC, once led by Nelson Mandela, still has a plurality of seats, meaning it has more seats than the other parties, but it no longer has more than half the seats. The ANC and “centre-right party,” the Democratic Alliance (DA), formed a coalition in June, which gave incumbent Cyril Ramaphosa enough votes to remain president. The DA and ANC “have been rivals for decades,” and this coalition reflected a change in how the ANC had to operate in order to remain in power. The ANC’s loss of majority reflected many South Africans’ frustration with “the state of the country, and a desire for change.

[post_title] => The Global Elections That Led Us to 2025 [post_excerpt] => A quick overview of some of the most influential elections of last year. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => closed [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => global-international-elections-2024-right-wing-conservative-opposition-party-russia-senegal-indonesia-iran-venezuela-ghana-mexico-united-kingdom-namibia-el-salvador-tunisia-south-korea-botswana-south [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2025-01-23 00:16:08 [post_modified_gmt] => 2025-01-23 00:16:08 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://conversationalist.org/?p=7742 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw )
Photo portraits of the UK's Prime Minister Keir Starmer, Senegal's President Bassirou Diomaye Faye, Iran's President Masoud Pezeshkian, Mexico's President Claudia Sheinbaum, Indonesia's President Prabowo Subianto, and Russia's President Vladimir Putin.

The Global Elections That Led Us to 2025

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    [post_author] => 15
    [post_date] => 2024-12-13 23:13:25
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    [post_content] => 

How the "separation barrier" changed everything.

There was a time when people would ask, "Do Israelis and Palestinians hate each other?" and I would say "no."  Then, the walls came up. Now, that time is increasingly hard to imagine, even in memory.

As a Palestinian who grew up in the West Bank and would frequently return to visit, I vividly recall the first time I witnessed the walls rising in the early 2000s along a road to Ramallah, a city in the occupied West Bank near Jerusalem. I thought: Why did the Israelis do this? Why has it been erected with such disregard for the communities living behind it? I understood, even then, that this division would only tear neighbors apart, and more alarmingly, further separate "enemies" from one another.

In just a few years, the walls would stretch over 400 miles, dividing the occupied Palestinian territories from Israel. These walls and fences, which Israelis called the separation barrier, would not just be physical barriers, but the hardening and entrenchments of dueling positions in this conflict. They still stand today: In some stretches, the walls are made of concrete and 30 feet high.

What Palestinians call Al Jidar—Arabic for "the Wall," connoting "the Apartheid Wall"—was, according to Israelis, mainly erected to prevent suicide bombings and violent attacks, which were accelerating at a rate they alleged left them with very few options. In 2002, during its construction, Human Rights Watch reported that "more than 415 Israeli and other civilians have been killed, and more than two thousand injured, as a result of attacks by armed Palestinians between September 30, 2000 and August 31, 2002,” with most of the harm “caused by so-called suicide bombings.”

But while I could understand the horror and the pain and the fear these attacks had caused, I could never understand how the wall was the solution. 

A child of the occupation 

As a child, I discovered a fear that would forever shape my understanding of the military occupation.

I have seen soldiers for longer than I can remember, but through childhood eyes, they’d always seemed friendly. One night, however, that changed.

I was maybe 5 or 6 years old when I demanded that I be allowed to mop the store floor in my small town in the West Bank. It was a sign of growing up, and behaving as I saw the adults around me do—working, tidying, driving, living. While I was mopping, a group of soldiers came into the store to buy some things. I remember being unable to control the joy I felt, performing this adult chore, while trying to control the mop, which was three times my size. I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings, until I accidentally hit one of the soldiers with the mop’s handle.

When I looked up, I saw something I’d never seen before—the soldier's hand on the trigger of a very long weapon and, oddly, his bared teeth. I still remember these teeth without a face, and how they scared me as much as the trigger on his weapon. I knew I’d made a mistake—and that night, I learned how easily a mistake could cost me my life.

I’d finally met my "master," and understood the divide between "us" and "them."

The "solution" that created the "monsters"

After the wall, this divide grew bigger. For Palestinians, the wall separated us from life.  It turned our cities and towns into cages, where the sky above us was the only place outside that felt within reach.

Solutions to this conflict were never going to be easy, if ever achieved. Yet the wall allowed both Israel and the international community to sidestep its complexity, disregarding the future of both Palestinians and Israelis alike. It decreased all human interaction with the “other side,” regardless of which side of the wall you stood. It was not a solution at all, but the deference or maybe even the ignorance of one. It was also a boiling pot: I say this because I saw it, and I felt it, and I lived it. 

The wall disconnected me from both friends and "enemies," but in time, I was no longer interested in seeing either. It isolated all of us and confined us to our own causes and anger, not caring for how the "other" felt. After all, I could only feel my anger when standing at a checkpoint. I could only feel my hatred when looking at the wall in front of me. I could only feel my outrage that my freedom to move was restricted by a permit, which I was required to obtain whenever I wished to leave, and that it was something I needed to be deemed “acceptable” to acquire.

For some Palestinians, receiving this permit may have brought joy, because they felt like the "lucky" ones. But for me, I often felt better just going about my life, refusing to get one, because living inside the wall felt more dignified than seeking permission to leave it.

I did not always prioritize my dignity in this conflict. I looked for friendships and ways to enjoy life despite the violence and the vitriol that surrounded me. But eventually, all these constant humiliations chipped away at me. Chipped away at the hope and joys I sought—all the things available to most human beings, but not to me. It offered me no choice but to instead look at what I did not have: my freedom, my rights, even my will to love, something I cannot have when I am stripped every day of everything that is mine.

The wall did this. And I wondered as I wonder now, when people are unable to meet freely, is our only alternative more war and more killing?

Before the wall

There was a time when American-Palestinians from the West Bank could drive what we called a "yellow tag" car, which felt like the height of "privilege," because it meant you could drive freely in the West Bank and Israel. At the time, if you had one of these cars, it felt as if all you had to do was drive by the checkpoint and get waived through, most times without your ID even being checked. (Over the years—just like the ever-changing restrictions—civilian cars with a Palestinian tag couldn’t enter Israel and most parts of Jerusalem. Those rules continue to change even now, depending on the political climate.)

I drove a car like this once to go and meet with a friend for a swim in Tiberias, an Israeli town on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee. Just writing this seems absurd in the year 2024. But it did happen often once, and not just for me, but for others, as well—although for Palestinians with limited "privilege" today who have an Israeli residence or hold an Israeli passport, it can still be a daily occurrence should they wish, because those people are considered "outside" the wall.

When driving back from my trip, I had to pass another checkpoint when leaving Tiberias. While I have an American passport, I also hold a West Bank ID, which placed restrictions on what car I could drive at the time. The restrictions had recently become stricter, and technically, I was not allowed to drive the "yellow tag" car I was driving.

I was nervous, but as I passed the checkpoint, the soldiers mistook me for Israeli. They asked me a question in Hebrew that I did not fully understand, and I said "yes." I thought they were asking if I was from Jerusalem, which would have allowed me to drive that car, and hoping they’d let me pass, I lied.

Seconds later, three soldiers entered my vehicle. Afraid of being caught violating the law, I just smiled and started driving. I soon realized that the soldiers wanted to hitch a ride to Jerusalem, something that might have allowed me to get away with my transgression, except I wasn’t going to Jerusalem, but home to a village in the West Bank. Not knowing what to say or do, I kept driving.

Amidst my panic driving along the winding road that night, one of the soldiers asked, "You came from America?" I said that I had. Then, he asked, "How come your parents didn’t teach you Hebrew?"

I knew this was the moment I should tell them I am Palestinian, so I replied, "Because my parents taught me Arabic."

After, it felt as if the world stopped turning and it was just me and the soldiers in the car. We were silent for a long time. My face turned hot, so hot I can still feel it all these years later. I could feel the soldiers were tense, too.

I’d made a mistake not confessing that I was not authorized to drive that vehicle and they’d made a mistake not vetting me at that checkpoint. In any other context, this might have been a moment of silent honor amongst harmless lawbreakers, but instead, it felt like a dangerous mess for us all.

For their safety, those soldiers should not have been in my car. For my safety, I should not have let them in.

"So, what are we going to do?" I asked after another long pause. "I cannot drive you to Jerusalem because I am almost out of gas and we must go through a checkpoint, and I cannot leave you on the side of the road just anywhere." We started strategizing when and where I could drop them off that was familiar to them, but was also somewhere I could go unnoticed. Eventually, we chose a place and parted ways, and never saw each other again.

This incident would not play out the same today—or maybe, more accurately, after the walls went up, it couldn’t: I’d see them differently now, and they’d see me differently, too.

You cannot contain hate

The wall did not just create a cage for "us." Israelis were also not free; instead, they were caged in fear.  

You see, I am a person who is "occupied." I grew up understanding "they" rule me, and my rulers will kill "us" if we dare to rise and demand our freedom, the right of every human being on this earth. A right that is not to be granted or given. A right that we are born with and that belongs to us. Both of us also have a right to not live in fear. Yet it is their fear which is why we are made to stand, stripped of everything, in front of an enemy with an arsenal of weapons with which to annihilate us.

Killing, however, is not a right—not for "them" or for "us." As societies, we find different ways to justify it, support it, and, at times, speak proudly of it. Yet when we do so, we all lose, because there is no pride in killing. There is, I believe, no justification for taking a human life. And nothing can exonerate us from our complicity when we support it, even when it’s in service of pursuing our freedom. 

When I was still a young aspiring documentary filmmaker, I remember once having to ride on an Israeli bus. As a Palestinian, I had no permit, and I remember being grateful I was still able to board, but was unprepared for how I felt throughout the ride.

I felt fear! What if there was a suicide bomber on this bus? One of my people, I remember thinking. Filled with anxiety, I surveyed every person who got on the bus at every stop, worried if "this person" could be the one. And in that moment, I understood there was no human difference between the fear Israelis must experience and my own.

But I also wondered if they would ever understand that, too. When I felt "their fear," I also wished they could know mine, and how we, the Palestinians, feared "them"—their cruelty, their disproportionate response to "our" attacks. Their collective punishment without mercy against the people inside the wall.

Witnessing horror in the making 

As time passed, I grew accustomed to the wall's presence, and it became acceptable to see it everywhere without staring at or questioning it for too long. But the anger remained, an anger that is difficult to understand for those who have not lived on the "other" side of it. 

Visitors saw the wall as an "ugly" thing, a sign of injustice, at most. But they were not witnesses to what has happened to the people for whom this wall represents the circumference of their existence. We were not living—just existing. Constantly adjusting to everything, from restrictions to violations, because we had no choice.

The years have gone by, and like many, I’ve seen less hope and more hate every year, with no way to correct it. My privilege as an American-Palestinian has allowed me to see the severity of these changes with each visit: the deteriorating living conditions, the increased restrictions, the endless violence, almost always without consequence.

But I have also observed something far sadder and more terrifying: a generation growing up without seeing their "enemy" as human.

You see, I am of a different generation. A generation that grew up under occupation and was constantly reminded that I had a "ruler." But before the wall, no matter how I felt about the occupation and my oppression, I could still see the people who "ruled" me; I could still see their humanity, because I could still see their faces.

Now, the wall has made the "enemy" soulless and faceless. And I wonder, on the other side of the wall, is there also a generation that fears their enemy and thinks of us as non-human, too? As people who not only do not belong to this world, but who also wish to cause them harm—to kill them? 

I pictured a generation of people on either side, fighting an enemy they’ll never know, and I worried about what would happen when the walls come down, because walls always do. It’s because of this, when the time came, and people would ask me, "Do they hate each other?" My answer became, "Yes, they do."

The children of the wall    

October 7, 2023 happened over two decades after the walls were built. To this day, I do not want to watch the videos that were plastered on every television screen. It is the nightmare I imagined, but even worse, because it was real. In the aftermath, many people—the media, acquaintances, colleagues—called the Palestinians who did it "monsters." Then, we saw the other "monsters" emerge, the Israelis.

On October 7, more than 1,200 people were killed in Israel, including about 800 civilians, 346 Israel Defense Forces (IDF) soldiers, and 66 police officers, according to the Israeli Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Thousands were also injured in the attack and about 250 men, women, and children were abducted.

Since then, Israel’s retaliatory war on Hamas has killed more than 44,000 Palestinians, with more than half of them women and children. Gaza has become “home to the largest cohort of child amputees in modern history,” according to a UN official. Entire bloodlines have been erased. The videos that have emerged have been equally unbearable to watch as those from October 7: As ABC reported, "in many pictures and videos that have circulated since the conflict began… IDF soldiers are seen blowing up buildings in Gaza while in combat, waving women’s underwear like flags and rifling through the possessions of Gazans with gleeful expressions."    

Many families of the Israeli hostages who were not released or rescued are still waiting on their loved ones to come home, dead or alive; while thousands of unidentified Palestinian children are either buried under the rubble in Gaza or have been left orphaned and injured and starving. Mass graves are only a sign of the times for the people in Gaza: Their "open-air prison" is now a graveyard.

Many may uphold that staying in Gaza is a heroic honor—and it absolutely is. But when there is no choice but to stay, we cannot call it a choice at all. Those still alive in Gaza continue to have nowhere to go, their right to move and live freely taken from them. The children, especially, deserve to grow up and decide their position on a war they did not choose to be a part of. But we have robbed them of that. We are spectators with a cause: We count the dead but look away from the living. The Israeli soldiers and the Palestinian fighters, even Hamas—all of them chose to fight in this war. The children did not.

Are we comfortable with Gaza’s children dying for "our" cause? I am not. But there are no winners in war: What good is winning when the land is drenched in blood?  

So, who is the monster? 

Neither of us were created to suffer. It is not our destiny, or theirs. While I’m not a peace activist, I did—and still do—believe that the only way through this conflict is to be seen, to be heard, and to share without hate and fear. But we can only do that by opening ourselves to the idea of peace, to opening the doors for peace. Not by walling them up.

Like the Israelis soldiers in Gaza killing Palestinians, many of those who killed Israelis on October 7 are from "behind the wall." The same wall that taught them that neither of them is human, that the people on the other side are objects to destroy, to seek revenge from, and to win against, no matter the cost. It’s a matter of perspective.

But I do not believe it is only the people who pulled the trigger who are to blame. To me, all who were silent when the walls came up, who witnessed  human rights violations increase every year, who watched two generations living side by side while growing to hate and fear one another—they are to blame.

All of us, then, are to blame. 

Every educator, every media personality, every politician, every international leader who did not speak loudly and demanded solutions. Every person who only chose to look after it was too late. All of us are complicit in the death of every child and civilian in Gaza, and Jerusalem, and the occupied West Bank, for the death of every person and child on October 7, and for the fear every hostage and citizen feels in Gaza today. This misery was created by us all. The deadly airstrikes, the starvation, the inhumane conditions that people are living under, the unknown fate of the hostages—all of it was made and maintained by us. Whether consciously or not, through our complicity, through losing sight of our shared humanity, we have all become the monsters we most purport to fear. Because the truth is, when we choose to build walls, we are the ones making a monster out of the people on the other side—and a monster out of ourselves in the process.                

We must all ask ourselves, then, if the right conditions were set, the right circumstances—would we become a monster, too? I don’t know that I can say “no” for certain; my privilege, relative though it may be, does not allow me to give definitive answers. I was born a Palestinian by chance, just as we all are born into our circumstances by chance. But maybe in another life, I, too, could have turned into the "monster" behind the wall in this one.

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RAMALLAH, WEST BANK - FEBRUARY 07: Palestinian demonstrators try to climb the separation wall during a protest against U.S. President Donald Trump's Middle East plan near a town in Ramallah, West Bank on February 07, 2020. (Photo by Issam Rimawi/Anadolu Agency via Getty Images)

The “Monsters” Behind the Wall