Adrián Pastor González es bombero y técnico en emergencias, con una amplia trayectoria profesional que incluye su experiencia como bombero forestal y jefe de una unidad helitransportada. Actualmente trabaja como bombero conductor y mantiene un firme compromiso con la formación y la profesionalización del sector.

Es cofundador de Nexo Emergencias, una plataforma dedicada a la consultoría, la organización de eventos y la divulgación especializada en protección civil. También impulsa el pódcast FIRESPACE, en el que analiza la actualidad, los retos y las tendencias del ámbito de las emergencias, tanto para profesionales como para el público general.

Su trabajo combina la experiencia operativa sobre el terreno con una clara vocación por formar, informar y conectar a la comunidad dedicada a la prevención y respuesta ante emergencias.

Alan: Buenos días, Adrián. Muchas gracias por dedicarnos parte de tu tiempo y participar en esta entrevista. Para empezar, ¿podrías contarnos un poco sobre ti, tu trayectoria y qué te llevó a dedicarte al mundo de los bomberos y las emergencias?

Adrián: Buenos días, Alan. Muchas gracias a vosotros por invitarme. La verdad es que llegué al mundo de los bomberos un poco por casualidad, ya que no tengo antecedentes familiares relacionados con esta profesión. Mi interés comenzó durante una excursión, en la que pude conocer más de cerca el trabajo de los bomberos. A partir de ese momento nació en mí una gran pasión y curiosidad por este oficio.

Siempre he tenido vocación de servicio y me ha gustado ayudar a los demás. Además, me interesan mucho la actividad física, los vehículos y el trabajo en equipo, aspectos que están muy presentes en esta profesión.

También me identifico con una frase que dice: «Es mejor ser un guerrero en un jardín que un jardinero en una guerra». Para mí, representa la importancia de estar preparado para afrontar situaciones difíciles, aunque esperemos no tener que vivirlas.

Alan: Me gustaría comenzar hablando de los incendios forestales. ¿Cuáles son sus principales causas y qué factores deben coincidir para que un incendio evolucione hasta convertirse en un gran incendio forestal?

Adrián: Para que un incendio evolucione hasta convertirse en un gran incendio forestal suele darse una combinación de varios factores. Entre ellos se encuentran la falta de medios operativos suficientes, la dificultad geográfica del terreno y unas condiciones climatológicas adversas, como las altas temperaturas, el viento fuerte o la baja humedad. A lo que tenemos que añadir la alta presencia de combustible disponible para arder.

También influyen factores sociales y económicos. El abandono de las zonas rurales y la falta de gestión forestal provocan una acumulación progresiva de biomasa, es decir, de vegetación seca y combustible natural. Cuando esa cantidad de combustible es elevada, el fuego puede propagarse con mucha más rapidez e intensidad.

Por eso es fundamental contar con una gestión forestal ordenada e integral. Sin embargo, actualmente la economía forestal resulta poco rentable en muchos lugares, por lo que esa biomasa no se aprovecha suficientemente ni como fuente de energía ni como materia prima. Esto favorece su acumulación y aumenta el riesgo de incendios de gran magnitud que superen las capacidades de extinción de los dispositivos.

Alan: A menudo escuchamos que prevenir es mejor que apagar. ¿Qué medidas son realmente eficaces para reducir el riesgo de grandes incendios? ¿Qué administraciones, organizaciones o actores tienen mayor capacidad para aplicarlas?

Adrián: Una de las medidas más eficaces es crear zonas de seguridad alrededor de los entornos urbanos y de las viviendas cercanas al monte. Estos perímetros, que pueden ser de unos 25 metros dependiendo de la exposición, la vegetación y las características del entorno, ayudan a reducir la continuidad del combustible y dificultan que el fuego alcance las edificaciones.

También es necesario actuar sobre la masa forestal. Aunque solo se gestione una parte del territorio cada año, retirar biomasa, reducir la densidad de vegetación y romper la continuidad del combustible puede marcar una gran diferencia. El objetivo no es eliminar el bosque, sino mantenerlo en mejores condiciones para evitar que un incendio se propague con tanta rapidez e intensidad.

Otra medida importante es favorecer la recuperación de las zonas rurales. La ganadería extensiva, el aprovechamiento de los recursos forestales y la presencia de población en el territorio contribuyen a mantener el monte cuidado. El abandono rural provoca que se acumule vegetación sin gestionar y aumenta el riesgo de grandes incendios.

Por ello, hacen falta planes integrales de prevención que combinen la gestión forestal, la planificación urbanística, la actividad económica rural, la educación y la preparación de los servicios de emergencia.

Las administraciones públicas tienen una gran responsabilidad, pero también deben participar los propietarios forestales, los ayuntamientos, las comunidades autónomas, el Estado, el sector ganadero y la población local. Sería necesario alcanzar un pacto de Estado que permitiera trabajar con una estrategia común y a largo plazo, dejando de convertir los incendios en una guerra cultural o política.

Además, debemos evitar desviar toda la atención hacia los pirómanos. Aunque los incendios provocados existen y deben perseguirse, centrarse únicamente en ellos puede ocultar problemas estructurales como la falta de gestión forestal, el abandono rural y la ausencia de políticas preventivas continuadas.

Alan: Muchas de estas medidas son conocidas desde hace años. ¿Por qué crees que todavía no se aplican de manera suficientemente amplia o coordinada?

Adrián: Uno de los principales problemas es la desconexión que existe entre la mayor parte de la población y el territorio rural. Aproximadamente el 90 % de la población vive concentrada en una parte muy pequeña del territorio, por lo que muchas personas no conocen de cerca la realidad del monte ni las dificultades que supone mantenerlo y gestionarlo.

Esta falta de contacto hace que la prevención de incendios no siempre se perciba como una prioridad hasta que ocurre una gran emergencia. Sin embargo, la gestión forestal debe realizarse de manera constante y a largo plazo, no solamente cuando los incendios ocupan los titulares.

Por eso, combatir la despoblación rural es también una medida de prevención. Mantener población, actividad económica y servicios en estas zonas permite que haya personas cuidando el territorio, aprovechando sus recursos y detectando los problemas antes de que se conviertan en grandes emergencias.

Como han señalado expertos en gestión forestal, entre ellos Paco Castañares, no podemos separar la conservación del monte de las personas que viven y trabajan en él. Para aplicar estas medidas de forma amplia y coordinada hacen falta continuidad política, inversión y una visión común del territorio.

Alan: ¿Cómo se vive un gran incendio desde dentro? ¿Podrías compartir alguna experiencia que ayude a entender las condiciones, la presión y las decisiones que afrontan los equipos de emergencia sobre el terreno?

Adrián: Un gran incendio se vive con una sensación enorme de impotencia. Estás rodeado de calor, peligro y tensión máxima. Caen árboles, vuelan piedras por las descargas de los medios aéreos y el comportamiento del fuego puede cambiar en cuestión de segundos. Es una situación dantesca, probablemente lo más parecido a una guerra que se puede vivir en este contexto.

En alguna ocasión he tenido que acabar en el hospital por inhalación de gases y compañeros han tenido que ser evacuados por caídas y fracturas. Pero, más allá del riesgo físico, también pesa mucho la parte emocional. Ves cómo desaparecen cultivos, viviendas y formas de vida enteras. Sabes que detrás de cada terreno quemado hay años de trabajo, recuerdos y familias que pueden perderlo todo.

Lo más duro es que, a veces, después de arriesgarlo todo, tienes que retirarte y observar cómo el incendio continúa avanzando. Te marchas sintiéndote peor que cuando llegaste, porque tienes la impresión de no haber conseguido apenas nada.

En esos momentos te preguntas por qué estás allí y si todo el esfuerzo ha servido de algo.

Alan: El año pasado nos hicimos eco de la precariedad laboral denunciada por numerosos bomberos, por ejemplo en Castilla y León y en la Comunidad de Madrid. Desde tu experiencia, ¿Cuáles son los principales problemas laborales y profesionales que afectan actualmente al sector?

Adrián: Uno de los grandes problemas es que muchas veces se utiliza la vocación como excusa para justificar condiciones laborales muy precarias. Que una persona sienta pasión por su trabajo y tenga voluntad de servicio no significa que deba aceptar cualquier situación.

En muchos dispositivos existe una temporalidad muy elevada. Hay profesionales que trabajan únicamente durante cuatro meses al año, principalmente en verano, y que durante ese periodo deben mantener una disponibilidad prácticamente total. A esto se suman los salarios muy bajos y la gran movilidad geográfica, que obliga a muchos trabajadores a desplazarse lejos de sus hogares sin contar siempre con unas condiciones adecuadas.

Hay personas que tienen que intentar vivir con unos 600 euros al mes o buscar un segundo empleo, por ejemplo trabajando como camareros durante los fines de semana. Esto resulta especialmente grave en una profesión que exige una gran preparación física, responsabilidad y exposición constante al riesgo.

Las carencias también afectan a los medios y a las condiciones básicas de trabajo. En algunos casos no se proporciona la comida más adecuada para recuperar las calorías consumidas durante una jornada de gran esfuerzo físico. También puede haber falta de duchas, espacios adecuados para el descanso, higiene suficiente o equipos de protección y trabajo en condiciones como señalaba esta misma semana la BRIF.

A esto se añade el uso de vehículos poco apropiados. En ocasiones se trabaja con furgonetas de reparto en lugar de vehículos especializados y preparados para circular por terrenos forestales difíciles. Todo ello no solo perjudica la dignidad y el bienestar de los trabajadores, sino que también compromete su seguridad y la eficacia de la respuesta ante una emergencia como hemos visto en INFOCA.

Alan: ¿Existe suficiente representación sindical y capacidad de organización entre los profesionales? ¿Qué cambios serían necesarios para mejorar sus condiciones de trabajo, su estabilidad y su seguridad?

Adrián: Uno de los principales problemas es que somos un colectivo relativamente pequeño y muy fragmentado. Esto dificulta la organización, la representación sindical y la capacidad de ejercer presión para mejorar las condiciones laborales.

Además, muchos profesionales del sector no cuentan con un estatuto propio que reconozca de manera clara las características específicas de su trabajo, los riesgos que asumen y las necesidades particulares de la profesión. Esa falta de regulación común provoca diferencias importantes entre territorios, administraciones y tipos de contrato.

Sería necesaria una mayor coordinación a nivel nacional, con unos criterios mínimos compartidos en materia de formación, salarios, estabilidad, prevención de riesgos, equipamiento y acceso a los cuerpos de emergencia. No se trata de eliminar las competencias territoriales, sino de garantizar que todos los profesionales dispongan de unas condiciones dignas y seguras, independientemente del lugar en el que trabajen.

También es necesario reforzar los cuerpos públicos y reducir la dependencia de contrataciones temporales o dispositivos que solo funcionan durante algunos meses al año. Contar con plantillas estables, bien formadas y suficientes permitiría mejorar tanto la seguridad de los trabajadores como la capacidad de respuesta ante los incendios y otras emergencias.

Alan: ¿Hay alguna cuestión importante que no te hayamos planteado y que consideres necesario abordar?

Adrián: Creo que no hemos hablado suficientemente de lo que puede hacer la ciudadanía. Es una cuestión complicada, porque tampoco se puede pedir constantemente más esfuerzo a familias que trabajan muchísimas horas, llegan agotadas a casa y, en muchos casos, ya están al límite como para preocuparse de más cosas.

Los incendios forestales son un problema muy complejo y no pueden reducirse únicamente a la responsabilidad individual. La población puede informarse, respetar las normas de prevención, cuidar los entornos rurales y exigir políticas públicas eficaces, pero las soluciones deben ser colectivas y estructurales.

Alan: Quizá los medios de comunicación podrían desempeñar un papel mucho más importante. Podrían contribuir a centrar el debate en las causas estructurales de los incendios, en lugar de limitarlo a casos anecdóticos de pirómanos; dar voz a quienes conocen el territorio y no suelen tener presencia pública; y presionar a los gobiernos para que desarrollen una verdadera planificación territorial y mejoren las condiciones de los bomberos forestales.

Adrián: Desde luego. Por eso es tan importante que tengamos esta conversación y que hagamos toda la divulgación posible, tanto desde vuestra plataforma como desde las de nuestras propias comunidades. Cuanto mejor se comprendan las causas reales del problema, más fácil será exigir soluciones serias y duraderas.

Alan: Muchas gracias por tu tiempo, tu trabajo y tu dedicación, Adrián.

Adrián: Gracias a vosotros por dar espacio a esta conversación.

Recursos adicionales

• Nexo Emergencias: https://emergenciasespana.wordpress.com/

• FIRESPACE: Haz clic aquí

• Twitter: Haz clic aquí

• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nexoemergencias/

• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@NexoEmergencias

• LinkdIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/adri%C3%A1n-pastor-gonz%C3%A1lez-245b68264/

• Grupo de Telegram: https://t.me/nexoemergenciaschat

Wildfires, Rural Abandonment and Precarious Working Conditions: A Conversation with Adrián Pastor González

Adrián Pastor González is a firefighter and emergency medical technician with extensive professional experience, including service as a wildland firefighter and leader of a helicopter-borne firefighting unit. He currently works as a firefighter-driver and remains strongly committed to training and the professional development of the sector.

He is a co-founder of Nexo Emergencias, a platform devoted to consultancy, event organisation and specialist public outreach in the field of civil protection. He also leads the FIRESPACE podcast, where he discusses current developments, challenges and trends in emergency management for both professionals and the general public.

His work combines hands-on operational experience in the field with a clear commitment to training, informing and connecting the community involved in emergency prevention and response.

Alan: Good morning, Adrián. Thank you very much for taking the time to speak with us and participate in this interview. To begin, could you tell us a little about yourself, your professional background and what led you to pursue a career in firefighting and emergency response?

Adrián: Good morning, Alan. Thank you very much for inviting me. I actually entered the firefighting profession somewhat by chance, as I have no family background in this line of work. My interest began during an excursion, when I had the opportunity to learn more about what firefighters do. From that moment on, I developed a deep passion for and curiosity about the profession.

I have always had a strong sense of public service and have enjoyed helping others. I am also very interested in physical activity, vehicles and teamwork, all of which are central to this profession.

I also identify with the saying, ‘It is better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war.’ To me, it expresses the importance of being prepared to face difficult situations, even though we hope never to experience them.

Alan: I would like to begin by discussing wildfires. What are their main causes, and which factors must come together for a fire to develop into a major wildfire?

Adrián: A fire generally develops into a major wildfire through a combination of several factors. These include insufficient operational resources, difficult terrain and adverse weather conditions such as high temperatures, strong winds or low humidity. We must also add the presence of large amounts of combustible material available to burn.

Social and economic factors also play a role. The abandonment of rural areas and the lack of forest management lead to a gradual accumulation of biomass—in other words, dry vegetation and natural fuel. When the fuel load is high, fire can spread much more rapidly and intensely.

This is why orderly and integrated forest management is essential. However, forestry is currently not economically viable in many areas, so this biomass is not sufficiently used either as an energy source or as a raw material. As a result, it accumulates and increases the risk of large-scale wildfires that exceed the suppression capacity of emergency services.

Alan: We often hear that prevention is better than suppression. Which measures are genuinely effective in reducing the risk of major wildfires? Which public authorities, organisations or stakeholders are best placed to implement them?

Adrián: One of the most effective measures is to establish defensible safety zones around urban areas and homes located close to woodland. Depending on the level of exposure, the vegetation and the characteristics of the surroundings, these zones may be approximately 25 metres wide. They reduce fuel continuity and make it more difficult for fire to reach buildings.

Action must also be taken within forest stands. Even if only part of the territory is managed each year, removing biomass, reducing vegetation density and breaking up fuel continuity can make a significant difference. The aim is not to eliminate the forest, but to keep it in better condition so that a fire cannot spread with such speed and intensity.

Another important measure is to support the recovery of rural areas. Extensive livestock grazing, the productive use of forest resources and the continued presence of people in the territory all help keep the countryside managed. Rural abandonment allows unmanaged vegetation to accumulate and increases the risk of major wildfires.

What is therefore needed are comprehensive prevention plans combining forest management, spatial and urban planning, rural economic activity, education and the preparedness of emergency services.

Public authorities bear considerable responsibility, but forest owners, municipalities, regional governments, the national government, the livestock sector and local communities must also participate. Spain needs a long-term national agreement that enables all parties to work under a common strategy, rather than turning wildfires into a cultural or political battleground.

We must also avoid focusing all attention on arsonists. Deliberately started fires do occur and must be investigated and prosecuted, but concentrating exclusively on them can obscure structural problems such as inadequate forest management, rural abandonment and the absence of sustained prevention policies.

Alan: Many of these measures have been known for years. Why do you think they are still not being implemented broadly or consistently enough?

Adrián: One of the main problems is the disconnection between most of the population and rural areas. Approximately 90% of the population is concentrated in a very small part of the territory, which means many people have little first-hand understanding of the countryside or of the difficulties involved in maintaining and managing it.

This lack of contact means wildfire prevention is often not perceived as a priority until a major emergency occurs. Forest management, however, must be carried out continuously and over the long term, not only when wildfires dominate the headlines.

For this reason, countering rural depopulation is also a form of prevention. Maintaining population, economic activity and services in these areas ensures that people are present to care for the land, make use of its resources and identify problems before they develop into major emergencies.

As forest-management experts such as Paco Castañares have pointed out, the conservation of the countryside cannot be separated from the people who live and work there. Broad and coordinated implementation of these measures requires political continuity, investment and a shared vision for the territory.

Alan: What is it like to experience a major wildfire from the inside? Could you share an experience that helps people understand the conditions, pressure and decisions faced by emergency crews in the field?

Adrián: A major wildfire creates an overwhelming sense of helplessness. You are surrounded by heat, danger and extreme tension. Trees fall, rocks are thrown through the air by the downdraught from aerial firefighting operations, and the behaviour of the fire can change within seconds. It is a harrowing situation—probably the closest thing to war that one can experience in this context.

On one occasion I ended up in hospital after inhaling smoke and gases, and colleagues have had to be evacuated following falls and fractures. Yet beyond the physical risk, the emotional impact is also immense. You watch crops, homes and entire ways of life disappear. Behind every burned area are years of work, memories and families who may lose everything.

The hardest part is that, sometimes, after risking everything, you have to withdraw and watch the fire continue to advance. You leave feeling worse than when you arrived because it seems that you have achieved almost nothing.

At such moments, you ask yourself why you are there and whether all the effort has served any purpose.

Alan: Last year we reported on the insecure working conditions denounced by many firefighters, for example in Castilla y León and the Community of Madrid. From your experience, what are the main employment and professional problems currently affecting the sector?

Adrián: One of the major problems is that a sense of vocation is often used as an excuse to justify extremely poor working conditions. The fact that someone is passionate about their work and committed to public service does not mean that they should have to accept any conditions whatsoever.

Many services rely heavily on seasonal employment. Some professionals work for only four months of the year, mainly during the summer, and throughout that period they are expected to remain almost entirely available. This is compounded by very low wages and extensive geographical mobility, which forces many workers to travel far from home without always being provided with adequate conditions.

Some people are expected to live on around €600 per month or find a second job—for example, working as waiting staff at weekends. This is particularly serious in a profession that demands exceptional physical fitness, carries substantial responsibility and involves constant exposure to risk.

Shortcomings also affect equipment and basic working conditions. In some cases, workers are not provided with appropriate food to replace the calories expended during a day of intense physical effort. There may also be insufficient access to showers, suitable rest areas, adequate hygiene facilities, or proper protective and work equipment, as the BRIF crews themselves reported this very week.

The use of unsuitable vehicles is another problem. In some cases, crews work from delivery vans instead of specialised vehicles designed for difficult forest terrain. This not only undermines workers’ dignity and wellbeing, but also compromises their safety and the effectiveness of the emergency response, as we have seen in INFOCA.

Alan: Is there sufficient trade-union representation and organisational capacity among professionals? What changes would be needed to improve their working conditions, stability and safety?

Adrián: One of the main problems is that we are a relatively small and highly fragmented professional group. This makes organisation, trade-union representation and the ability to exert pressure for better working conditions much more difficult.

Moreover, many professionals in the sector do not have a dedicated employment statute that clearly recognises the specific nature of their work, the risks they assume and the particular needs of the profession. The absence of a common regulatory framework creates significant differences between regions, public authorities and types of contract.

Greater coordination is needed at national level, with shared minimum standards for training, pay, employment stability, occupational-risk prevention, equipment and entry into emergency services. The aim is not to remove regional powers, but to ensure that all professionals have dignified and safe working conditions, regardless of where they work.

Public emergency services must also be strengthened, and reliance on temporary contracts or services that operate for only a few months each year must be reduced. Stable, well-trained and adequately staffed teams would improve both worker safety and the capacity to respond to wildfires and other emergencies.

Alan: Is there any important issue we have not raised that you believe should be addressed?

Adrián: I do not think we have spoken enough about what the public can do. It is a difficult issue, because we cannot continually ask more of families who already work very long hours, arrive home exhausted and, in many cases, are already at their limit.

Wildfires are an extremely complex problem and cannot be reduced solely to individual responsibility. People can stay informed, comply with prevention rules, care for rural environments and demand effective public policies, but the solutions must be collective and structural.

Alan: The media could perhaps play a much more important role. They could help focus the debate on the structural causes of wildfires instead of limiting it to isolated cases of arson; give a voice to people who understand the territory but rarely have a public platform; and put pressure on governments to develop genuine territorial planning and improve the working conditions of wildland firefighters.

Adrián: Absolutely. That is why it is so important to have this conversation and to share as much information as possible, both through your platform and through those of our own communities. The better the real causes of the problem are understood, the easier it will be to demand serious and lasting solutions.

Alan: Thank you very much for your time, your work and your dedication, Adrián.

Adrián: Thank you for giving this conversation a platform.

Additional resources

• Nexo Emergencias: https://emergenciasespana.wordpress.com

• FIRESPACE: Click here

• Twitter: Click here

• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nexoemergencias/

• YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@NexoEmergencias

• LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/adri%C3%A1n-pastor-gonz%C3%A1lez-245b68264/

• Telegram group: https://t.me/nexoemergenciaschat

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In this post, I share what I am learning from nature finance, and I will explain why it is one of the most important things to focus on to secure our collective future.

Nature is already priced, mostly at zero

Let’s look at the prices of land in Germany. You will find in many places forestry or land for agriculture for around 3 Euros per square meter. I am using this unit of measure, not common in land jargon, as most of us are more familiar with square meters. In contrast, housing in Germany is priced between 3000 and 6000 Euros per square meter. So for the price of an average apartment, you can own 20 hectares (200.000 square meters). Housing is important but totally over priced (I will talk about this on another post), but does it make sense that the forest lands that provide essential ecosystem services (biodiversity, habitat, oxygen, rain, water, cooling), food, materials, and energy are 1000 times cheaper than an apartment?

Now, let me offer another example of how nature is priced and how that enables pollution and ecosystem degeneration. The price of releasing CO₂ into the atmosphere, polluting water, depleting the soil, and killing biodiversity is close to zero. We misnamed extractive practices as “conventional,” ... and the ones that do not deplete life as ecological... the former should be prohibited or at least heavily priced, but instead committed citizens are priced with a premium for wanting products and services that do not leave our planet bare of life.

The low price of nature is the result of cost shifting, which is the transfer of a cost to others, mostly racialized citizens, non-human life forms and future generations. Polluters and those extracting value from the commons should never have the chance to not pay the exploited communities back under mutual agreed conditions. This is because unequal power relations allow it.

As the justice elements of those processes are well covered in the literature, I am going to focus on a dimension overlooked but rightly pointed out by Elena Doms in a recent talk at “Change Now.” Extractive finance follows the cheapening of nature and, contrary to their own interest, is also reducing wealth over time, making wealth creation a one-off venture, instead of managing regeneratively, to have permanent wealth.

Recently there has been a shift in some areas of the finance sector, a slow realisation that cost shifting or near-zero pricing of nature will eat up their wealth too; regenerative finance is not another green washing campaign, it is pure rational wealth management. And this is why regenerative nature finance has grown 10 fold in 4 years, and it is likely to grow even more because ecosystem degeneration exposes the contradictions of the current economic system irrationality.

The Case for Regenerative Natural Finance

If we want to secure our survival and some degree of shared prosperity, then securing ecosystem functioning is necessary, despite not being sufficient for social justice.

But let’s not forget, there is no point to aiming for a perfectly democratic system on a dead planet, so the very foundation we need to rebuild the world is the right to have access to healthy life-supporting systems. Whether your focus is on anti-colonial struggle or women rights in the textile industry, we all rely on the productivity and permanence of those systems.

There is a growing case for restoring degraded land, protecting and expanding biodiversity, restoring the water cycle, localising and implementing low-carbon energy systems, and leveraging the bioeconomy — in place of the linear, extractive industrial “take-make-discard” paradigm. Supply chain’s reliability, cost, and resilience depend on this increasingly as the planet heats up, neocolonial aggressions intensify, and ecosystem collapse moves from distant threat to near reality.

A new paradigm of finance — one that treats nature as existential infrastructure — is emerging. It puts capital to work restoring ecosystems and deploying nature-based solutions to secure prosperity, not out of moral obligation, but out of radical pragmatism. Radical pragmatism does not seek perfection, but positive transformation; it understands that change is messy and collective action incredibly complex. Two examples make this point clear:

• Radical pragmatism supports a transition to regenerative agriculture, as it does not depend on expensive and unreliable external inputs; it is more nutritious, safer, and still profitable. It can function at multiple scales, and is the most viable approach to food security on an overheating planet that urgently needs soil health back.

• This logic also applies to finance: holistic forestry, when fire prevention and mosaic-like landscapes bring more water to human settlements, or when they prevent destructive fires that render infrastructure uninsurable.

Natural finance can further mean an economic planning framework that recognises the rural as a core provider of essential services — restoring the dignity that the primary sector has been denied for too long.

Natural regenerative finance is not philanthropy — it is an investment for permanent wealth.

The Oxygen Conservation Model

To make this concrete, consider the example of Oxygen Conservation — a venture-capital-backed startup already restoring 25.000 hectares. Its model rests on five foundations.

1. First, that well-functioning land with healthy soils and intact water cycles is worth more than degraded land.

2. Second, that ecosystem services such as carbon sequestration can be traded to offset unavoidable emissions.

3. Third, that restoring built infrastructure and housing increases asset value.

4. Fourth, that portions of healthy land can generate low-carbon energy — biomass, wind, solar.

5. And fifth, that healthy landscapes attract responsible tourism.

This approach allows for speed and scale, which are great features in terms of a climate emergency. The main difference with permaculture is the heavy reliance on modern technology — as data is central to both diagnosis and impact verification of the work they do.

Their model of large land acquisitions from venture capital deserves scrutiny. Even if large scale land restoration and ecosystem function is achieved, it remains unclear what it means for the communities and the people. The verticality of the company and the pressure from venture capital does not secure an alternative political economy and the management of the landscape as commons.

These concerns are legitimate, but even experts on common management are skeptical that purely decentralised methods of restoration would be fast and capable of delivering regeneration on time. Without massive capital expropriation or the state’s takeover (also problematic), the decentralisation of the means of production and reproduction will likely happen in parallel and not as a prerequisite to ecosystem function preservation.

From problematisation to crisis management

My utopia draws on mass decentralisation and harmonious plural systems of production and reproduction, where public abundance and individual sobriety are the norm, with different cosmologies.

Having said that, the more I get into systems transformations, the more I realise that we need to agree on what is urgent and what is important, and what can be solved in a decade and what will take generations to change. This strategic conversation is missing, delaying more effective work for positive change.

In the last decade, enough work has been done to demonstrate the causes and responsibilities of climate breakdown. The remainder of this decade and the coming ones will require mass agency take over to lead the management of the crisis. The change in the material conditions we want to experience will only happen through collective organising and doing, not virtual narrative and vocabulary wars.

Compromise is the operative verb of doers. Progress will be measured by our capacity to increase life, resilience, and natural capacity to support collective existence — not by metrics as hollow as GDP or demonstrating that exponential growth is impossible in an infinite planet on social media.

Achieving the necessary transformation in productive and reproductive systems will require significant capital. Time is running short and there is a shortfall of 30:1 from extractive to regenerative finance.

We need massive growth of Degrowth-aligned funding. (I know, it sounds funny.)

Progressives, socialists, degrowthers — we are, and for good reasons, skeptical of capital. Centuries of extractive and exploitative finance in the economies of the global core have made this skepticism earned. But the reality is that we need capital that accounts for risk, and balances out failed projects. We can either persuade or take over — and since the latter is a fight that most are unwilling to pursue, persuasion and symbiotic work is the task at hand.

Regenerative finance shifts resources from business-as-usual toward systems that keep our life-supporting foundations solvent. Done well, it can reduce large defensive costs for both public and private budgets — but above all, it secures livelihoods and a future not to be scared about. This is a bridge across the current progressive and finance divide. Placing life at the centre, beyond cultural wars, has the potential to make collective prosperity genuinely irresistible and transfer large amounts of capital into it.

This is not an escape from the necessity of decolonizing, democratizing, repairing and improving the justice and redistributive properties of our eco-social systems. It is an opportunity for those who have the capacity to plan for the future and bring economic security in the now: a short time window that must be used to redirect finance toward regenerative ends, because finance is what channels what is done, whether we liked or not.

This should not rely on large private capital alone. Public and municipal budgets must play a role, and the bigger the better. Just taxation and responsible monetary expansion can allocate large resources to this. A very recent example with significant government leadership is the case for credit climatics in Catalunya. They have defined a standard to support credits to improve the capacity of forest to provide basic ecosystem services, such as water, biodiversity and CO₂ capture. Their first credits have already been purchased by a public water utility, and those payments have brought back meaningful work in Val del Lord and Vall de la Muga, but more importantly, security against large fires and water shortages. This shows how public and private entities can work together to allocate resources to bring resilience and prosperity to our landscapes and peoples.

Regenerative finance is the biggest opportunity for rural communities

The crisis we face demands a material change in conditions for those who are custodians of agricultural land, forest systems, and watersheds. They represent a small fraction of the workforce and of finance flows — yet they are the most defining force for the future of life on this planet.

Paying forest workers not only for timber but for carbon, water, oxygen, biodiversity, habitat, beauty, and fire prevention is not a moral gesture — it is a recognition of work being done well, and the restoration of dignity and security that this work deserves.

The same applies to farmers who steward healthy soils, produce nutritious food, support insect and microbial diversity, and avoid depleting water reserves or using products that fuel either geopolitical conflict or planetary overshoot.

First bread, then philosophy — or in this case, first life-supporting finance, then philosophy.

Time to Evolve

Some say the climate movement is dead. I would say it is maturing. We need to permeate every arena of struggle and leverage each toward a transformation that secures our existence and dignity, and creates conditions for a future worth inhabiting. Finance is no exception.

The time to prove the crisis exists and explain why is over. It is time to manage it — to transition, to iterate, to fail and learn and succeed, to compromise, to negotiate, to restore, to forgive, to defend, and to win.

Virtue signalling is exhausted. Moralism without action is exhausted. Climate hysteria is exhausted. This is the moment for the doers, the builders, the revolutionaries who understand that victory is existential — and that it contains both light and darkness.

The goal is a ratio of 30:1 — regenerative capital over destructive capital. It will not happen on its own. Organise. Persuade. Execute. Our lives depend on it.

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1. Part I: An introduction to navigating chronic illness and current events

2. Part II: Navigating the workplace as a someone with a chronic illness

3. Part III: Questioning and relearning what it means to take care of the self

4. Part IV: Learning to find joy again

5. Part V: Chronic illness, capitalism, and climate change

6. Part VI: Lessons to help us weather any storm

To read the previous articles in this series, click the links above.

Looking Back, and Looking Ahead

There was a silver lining to being forced to shrink my world, if you can call it a silver lining. It required that I spend time—a lot of time—noticing the details of my life. What had changed, what hadn’t, who understood, who didn’t bother to try. Who I could depend on, and who I couldn’t. What mattered, and what really, really didn’t.

No one expects their life to be turned on its head in the matter of a moment. Therein lies the cruelty of such change—it’s necessarily unexpected, impossible to emotionally prepare for, fundamentally unfathomable until it’s happened. Because some things can’t be understood unless they’re felt.

But that doesn’t mean we should all throw caution to the wind and barrel forward without regard to what the future consequences might be. If there’s anything I’ve learned in the last six months, it’s that the things that matter in times of crisis--those things matter regardless of what the crisis is. The craziest part of this Long COVID experience, for me, has been seeing the parallels to climate change. Not just in the way that infectious diseases are becoming more common, more easily spread, and more intense as the climate crisis worsens, or in the way that those of us who are chronically ill (a population that has been steadily increasing in size) are more vulnerable to climate change-related risks. The most interesting parallels are in the solutions, the antidotes, in what resilience looks like.

A lot of what I’ve learned about what matters, and how to be resilient in the face of unexpected change, is useful and relevant to any crisis, no matter the kind. Whether it’s the climate crisis, the humanitarian, financial, or medical one, I keep coming back to the same list of things that matter. Maybe it’s because these crises are interrelated, or maybe it’s because at the end of the day, the list of what it is we need in order to thrive is relatively short. Take a look at the following list, and insert whatever kind of crisis you want (climate, medical, technological, etc.), then choose another kind of crisis and see how well the list holds up. The list is by no means comprehensive, but it’s a start:

Lesson 1: The village matters. Get to know the people around you.

Knowing your neighbors, really knowing them (and not just their names—I’m talking about knowing them enough that you feel comfortable asking for a cup of sugar, or a ride to the doctor’s office for an unexpected appointment) not only provides a sense of belonging and meaning within your physical community, but those are the people who will literally, physically be there when the crisis arrives. The people you reach out to when you’re ill and can’t cook for yourself are the same people who will be there when your power goes out because of the heatwave or because the electricity bill got too expensive. They’re the ones who can offer to watch your kids for a couple hours while you interview for a job because AI took your last one. They’re the ones who might be willing to share a meal with you when the grocery stores are empty because all the farmers went on strike. And this isn’t just a nebulous village that consists of your loved ones scattered across the country—place matters. I’m talking about the people who spend their lives physically near you, the barista at your normal coffee shop, the couple that walks their dog by your window every morning, your kid’s teacher or ballet instructor. Most importantly, get to know your next-door neighbor, and the older couple on the corner, and yes, even that family with the loud kids down the street.

Lesson 2: Borrow and lend like your life depends on it. Learn to be okay with asking for help.

It’s quite literally impossible to prepare for every potential disaster, ask any doomsday prepper. When things go south and you don’t have what you need, and you can’t [insert need here]-as-a-service your way out of the mess, you’ll want to have established history of being a trustworthy borrower. Whether it’s a lawnmower, a sewing machine, an hour of someone’s time, a book, or some money, the practice of borrowing and lending has benefits beyond the obvious monetary ones. You never know when you might be in need, or what you might be in need of. Start practicing how to ask for (and how to give) now, so that if something happens, and it’s a matter of life or death, those around you will be more willing to trust you. Sharing resources also puts less stress on an already-strained system, it allows you to build trust while also getting the most (and best) use out of objects that too often sit on a shelf gathering dust. This can also lead to a whole new perception of what it means to be wealthy: communities full of individuals who understand that to be rich is to be generous, that the more you share with others, the wealthier you become. Not wealthy with piles of money, but wealthy in friends and networks of support to lean on when times are hard.

Lesson 3: Accept generosity when it comes, leave judgment at the door.

You never know what’s going on in someone else’s life. Even if it’s not reciprocated—and maybe especially when it’s not—generosity and kindness can mean a world of difference. Treat others the way you’d want them to treat you on your darkest day, and assume they’re experiencing their darkest if they don’t respond the same way.

Lesson 4: It’s not the things, it’s the people.

At the end of the day, the only things we really need—aside from the fundamentals of food, water, shelter—are to feel safe and like we belong. Both of those can be achieved through relationships with other living beings. Everything else is superfluous.

Lesson 5: Taking care creates care.

The moment you start putting effort into something, you start caring about it. Put any extra effort you can spare into the loved ones around you. Show up for them when it matters, even when it’s inconvenient. You never know when you might need them to show up for you. The act of putting effort into something (or someone) also creates a feeling of value—on both ends. Not only are you making that human (or more-than-human) feel valued, but you’re contributing to a sense of self. You’re showing up, you’re putting in the effort, you’re proving you care. It creates a bond with a strength that may surprise you, and may show up at some point to remind you that you matter, too.

Lesson 6: Rest and joy are forms of resistance, and we must resist like never before—because our lives depend on it.

Find the things that bring you real, lasting joy. Savor the good moments, even if they’re small. Rest deeply, and fully, when you can. Deep joy, the kind that comes from community, love, support, etc. can’t be co-opted by capitalism—it’s anathema to its very existence. Rest, too, is a demand for patience from a system that wants to convince you that your needs are inconvenient, damaging, or even lazy.

The challenge

What makes these lessons difficult to realize isn’t that they are impossible to do -- in fact, you might find that your neighbors are friendlier than you think. It’s in prioritizing these things before the crisis hits. Creating a strong community, testing the strength of your relationships, ensuring you have access to the resources you might need (and that they’re located locally)— these are all to-do list items that fall through the cracks, set aside for a less-busy day that never comes. But when disaster hits, and you’re suddenly faced with navigating a life that looks wholly and irreconcilably different, those tasks are the ones that will be the difference between meager survival and flourishing.

If you’re the kind of person who craves concrete steps, and you feel a little disappointed by my list of amorphous lessons, here are a couple ideas to get you started:

1. Does your community have a physical notice board where members can share local events, post flyers asking for/offering help, etc? If not, make one!

2. Do you know your neighbors well enough to ask them to cat-sit for you? If not, invite them over for dinner.

3. If you want to get to know more than just your direct neighbors or a few individuals, try setting up a “Chair and Share”! All you need to do is decide on a place & time, print some flyers, and bring a chair.

As it turns out, you don’t have to individually prepare for every potential crisis under the sun. With strong, resilient communities, we can weather any storm that comes our way. Without them, we’re screwed.

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We are Shrishti and Prashant, two political activists from India. As Israel’s assault on Gaza continues, conversations about Palestine have increasingly become conversations about the global political order that enables it. In this discussion, we explore the growing relationship between India and Israel, examining how military cooperation, surveillance technologies, and political alignments have deepened over the past decade, and what that means for democracy, dissent, and solidarity.

The conversation looks at India’s complicity in the ongoing genocide in Gaza, the suppression of pro-Palestinian voices in India and elsewhere, and the ideological affinities between Hindutva and Zionism. We also discuss how technologies, narratives, and methods of repression often travel across borders, making Palestine not a distant issue but one that is deeply connected to struggles for civil liberties and justice around the world.

Beyond analysing state power, we reflect on the importance of building transnational solidarities in the face of a growing global far right. As authoritarian movements increasingly learn from and support one another across national boundaries, justice movements must also think and organise internationally. We also discuss the particular responsibilities of the Global North and the minority world in confronting genocide, resisting authoritarianism, and supporting those on the frontlines of occupation and oppression.

At its heart, this is a conversation about solidarity: why Palestine matters far beyond its borders, and why our collective response to injustice will shape the kind of world we choose to build.

Find us on Instagram:

Shrishti Khana

Prashant Pundir

These are two free episodes of the Sufficiency and Wellbeing Experience.

Stella McShera is a serial entrepreneur who knows how to transform the materiality around her through business. Trained in neuroscience and with a master's in degrowth, she brings an unusual combination to the world of enterprise — one that is less interested in scaling up than in fundamentally changing what businesses take, and what they give back. Her latest venture, PivotAll, works with companies looking to move away from extractive practices and redesign themselves around regeneration at the core.

Alan: Hello Stella, thank you for your time and for sharing your story and the work you do with S&W Magazine. To start, could you tell us a bit about your background and why you find post-growth or degrowth appealing?
Stella: I’m a lifelong lover of secondhand. My first memories are of my dad taking us all to the flea market every Sunday and walking up and down the sea of used stuff. There were treasures on almost every table. My grandmother was a seamstress and always dressed my mother to the nines, making all of her clothes by hand. So the combined gifts bestowed upon me - love of vintage things, love for fashion and understanding how things are constructed - made me appreciate the quality and craftsmanship of things. I have been wearing well-made, secondhand clothing almost exclusively since the 80’s. As fast fashion began to dominate our culture, I rejected it from the beginning. Not just clothing but the quality of so many things were declining for the sake of convenience. When I saw an article in Business Vogue entitled “Is Degrowth the Answer?” I knew I found the antidote to the poison that had become consumerism.

Alan: You have been working in business for many years. What role do you think business can play in the transition toward a just and regenerative mosaic of alternatives to growth?
Stella: I started out in fashion (in school) but quickly realized I have no artistic talent. So, after returning from teaching in Japan, I had an epiphany that one of the main reasons I loved fashion was the psychology behind it - how clothes made us feel and how we engaged with others based on what we/they were wearing. So I ended up going back to college to study the brain. After graduation, a number of paths presented themselves that lead me away from science but offered a way to use both my analytical and creative skills...business. I founded the first business incubator for fashion in the US and 3rd in the world in 2000. Since then, I’ve been working to support local, creative economies and have been developing a degrowth business incubator with others called PivotAll to focus on transitioning US “main street” businesses. Together, we can all pivot to a better economy.

Alan: Unfortunately, most people in productive sectors are not engaging with degrowth as much as we might hope, and the degrowth community often does not fully trust or see businesses as sufficiently transformative. How can we bridge this gap?
Stella: From our early beginnings, humans have engaged in exchange of goods and services. We can’t exist as a society without this, as we are social creatures. Our theory of change is that if we want to change the economy, we must change how the businesses operate within it. That’s what PivotAll aims to do.

Alan: Entrepreneurship can be intimidating and, for many, completely unfamiliar. What makes it exciting? And how can we encourage more degrowth believers to create the alternatives envisioned by degrowth scholars?
Stella: Change is tough for most people. Our brains create ways to make things easier, more efficient, more familiar and that eases our anxieties. But change is inevitable and a necessary part of any evolution. Entrepreneurship is an evolutionary (or revolutionary?) path we must take to realize a post-growth society. What makes entrepreneurship exciting is the ability to create something entirely new from a perspective the world has yet to experience. It’s an art form.

Alan: Many people struggle with the finance part of alternative projects, how can we finance alternative biz and organisations, specially at early stages?
Stella: Speaking of scary...money is what we’re conditioned to strive for and lack of it symbolizes so much in our society. But this scarcity mindset is limiting. I don’t have the answer but what I know is that we need to think differently about how we approach finances projects. I talk to anyone and everyone who I’ve learned has been innovative and resourceful in their businesses and succeeded, even if in small ways. That’s why at PivotAll, we’ve been looking for degrowth aligned businesses - for and nonprofits - to conduct case studies and apply these learnings to an incubator program we’re building. We have started to create a library of these strategies and tools businesses have shared with us so that we can share them others who need not only inspiration but concrete and proven infrastructure. There is no one way to approach financing a project, but we know the extractive model that’s entrenched in business today will not work for a degrowth tomorrow.

Alan: I think people can draw inspiration from your clothing library. Could you explain what it is and what stage the initiative is currently at?
Stella: The Clothing Library was my masters thesis project at UAB. Your readers likely know that fast fashion is one of the most harmful industries that exists today generating endless amounts of clothing while extracting both raw materials and labor without consideration for the true cost. This leads to millions of tonnes of non biodegradable trash heaps piling up with nowhere to go. Global corporations have successfully instilled in us “consumers”, not humans, that we need to have more than we need, things we ‘want’ have to be easy to get, and cost us pennies. Quantity, convenience and (low) cost is driving our societies into the ground. But what if we could flip that on its head? What if we could deliver but without producing more? A model already exists all over the world that people are familiar with and trust - the public library. Books are loaned out for free to anyone with a valid library card. So I thought, partner with these institutions to make borrowing easy, free and like a library, provide a curated and bountiful collection, but in addition to books, libraries also offer ‘looks’. What’s beautiful about this partnership is that, rather than having one clothing retail location that could struggle to get off the ground, libraries have a connection to the their communities already - often at least 30% of residents are library members in any given town. So there is a built in base of potential borrowers from the start. And there are 2 million libraries globally, so scaling horizontally is a grand idea, but not out of the realm of possibility. Think globally but act locally is the saying.

In 2023, I partnered with my local library for a 6 week pilot and not only did hundreds of people peruse the aisles and borrow not buy clothing, many said they started to change their buying behaviors. Some said they began to rethink their impact of buying more than they needed; others said they actively chose a thrift store or clothing swap over a retail store; and still others realized the compulsion to acquire lessened when they knew they could get something they actually needed at the library. We were fortunate enough to get inquiries and articles written about it both locally and globally and to this day, people are contacting me about it. I’m focusing on PivotAll now but should anyone want to take the baton, I’m happy to share what I learned and support them in creating a Clothing Library in their town.

Alan: You are now focusing on Pivotall. Could you tell us more about it?
Stella: PivotAll was conceived of before I began the masters program at UAB but studying there helped me to recruit others who shared in my original vision. Of course, with other voices, PivotAll has changed and morphed into what it’s becoming today and will continue to do so to meet the needs of the businesses and communities it serves. We have completed five in-depth case study interviews so far and by the time this articles come out, will have published two or three. We hope to publish one per month and are planning to launch several MVP workshops this summer to learn more about the needs businesses are facing. What are their biggest challenges operationally and how do we create an incubator program that will support their long term financial sustainability and impact? We won’t have all the answers but we hope to be a go-to source for entrepreneurs in a growing ecosystem of post growth aligned organizations (like the Lift Economy, House of Small, and the Donut Economics Action Lab).

Alan: Could you tell us about the team? How did you come together to lead this initiative?
Stella: We started out with the four of us - Patrick Loftus and I were in the same cohort at UAB and Veronica Devenin was our degrowth business teacher (and my thesis advisor). I invited Matt Orsagh to join us after meeting with him as part of the Degrow US team. I met Lauren Goetze, Jack Blumenshine and Alison Chopel at the DeSchool event the following year and invited them to join along with Richard Robinson, Alison’s partner, and Seth Schori, who is currently a UAB masters student. We are always open to welcoming new energy to our team!

Alan: What are Pivotall’s plans and goals for this year and the coming years?
Stella: We are currently an all volunteer team and with other full time commitments, everyone’s involvement ebbs and flows. We are looking to organize as a workers cooperative this summer and begin accepting consultation clients so that we may begin operating as a social impact business that can provide viable living wages for us all. This summer in June, we presented our first workshop at the US Society for Ecological Economics in Ohio and as mentioned earlier, plan to host MVP workshops to inform how we will develop the incubator program. We plan on launching the degrowth incubator program in 2027 in New England where I live. As I am a Town Councilor, I hope to work with the municipality and businesses to enact more degrowth friendly policies that supports the transition of traditional, business-as-usual companies into a plethora of business-that-benefits-all ecosystems locally. Our vision is that PivotAll serves as a model for other communities to adopt and adapt to the needs of their people and their place.

Alan: We are indeed living in challenging times. What gives you hope and keeps you motivated?
Stella: I have a lot of irons in the fire - maybe too many. So I need a way to blow off steam and re-energize. So I started a flash mob. We rehearse every Sunday, dance to Bruno Mars’ “I Just Might” (which we thought would be easy but its not!) and plan to perform at random grocery stores once we all learn the choreography and for some, muster up the courage. I say, Be Brave.

Alan: Is there someone you would like to highlight or give a platform to?
Stella: The Degrowth Masters program at UAB changed my life. Although the bureaucracy behind it is still challenging, the program itself not only opened my eyes wider to the systemic oppression of capitalism everywhere but also brought together an incredible community of academics, activists and advocates who have every intention of dismantling our broken economies. And best of all (to me) is that I met some of the most treasured friends I now have, and together, we can change the world. Shout out to Alan, Gisela, Amerissa, Diana, Kanika, and so many more!

Additional Resources

Link: https://pivot-all.org/

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Human nature is not designed for inequality or equality. Both are social constructs.

Property rights were invented by Romans. They are imperfect and are vital to capitalism. They must be reformed.

Science proves we do not have free will, which is a strong case for abolishing meritocracy.

And more…

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1. Part I: An introduction to navigating chronic illness and current events

2. Part II: Navigating the workplace as a someone with a chronic illness

3. Part III: Questioning and relearning what it means to take care of the self

4. Part IV: Learning to find joy again

5. Part V: Chronic illness, capitalism, and climate change

6. Part VI: Lessons to help us weather any storm

To read Part IV of this series, click here.

A Different Kind of Trifecta: Chronic Illness, Capitalism, and Climate Change

There are some rough lines I can draw between chronic illness, capitalism, and climate change to connect the three—namely that our current brand of capitalism (late-stage capitalism, or growth-dependent capitalism) has wrought havoc on our planetary ecosystems, pushing and warping them to the brink of destruction. A system that assumes unlimited growth is possible with the limited resources of the Earth—and further, that relies on that growth being exponential—is inherently problematic for a closed-loop system that has limited capacity to regenerate inputs.

That constant extraction without sufficient and substantive reciprocity leads to fundamental shifts in the character of any ecosystem. In other words, it alters the scope of possibilities, similar to how chronic illness alters a person’s scope of lifestyle possibilities or activity possibilities. Those systemic shifts, when they happen frequently enough so that the system can’t recover fully between events, lead to decreased resilience and lower chances of recovery. Therein lies the first link: between capitalism and climate change.

A concrete example of this link is that pathogenic microorganisms thrive in warmth, and therefore spread more quickly and easily as the average global temperature becomes increasingly comfortable for the harmful microbial communities that carry diseases. Not only do diseases spread faster and farther, but the genes that resist antibiotics also strengthen under climate-related stress. Inter-species transmission rates are higher as the climate continues to destabilize ecosystems and disrupt existing balances—balances which, when healthy, help increase resilience capabilities and reduce spillover effects. The coronavirus family’s particularly vast “reservoir of genetic diversity” and “propensity for recombination” makes it a clear threat for proliferation and growth under increasing climatic shifts. In other words, COVID-19 was as infectious and damaging as it was (and will likely continue to plague the human population with new strains and versions) precisely because the climate change-related shifts in ecosystem structure and health cultivated conditions that were friendly to COVID-19 microorganisms, fostering its spread.

But COVID-19 isn’t the only disease that can lead to chronic illness. Other respiratory diseases such as asthma, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), and emphysema have been linked to air pollution and are worsened by climate change. Air pollution has also been linked to cancer and cardiovascular disease. The climate crisis makes those with chronic illness even more vulnerable than they already are by increasing morbidity and mortality rates, higher symptomatic frequency and intensity, and more. Therein lies our second link: between climate change and chronic illness.

That link works from a different angle, too. The effects of climate change—the magnitude of the potential lifestyle changes, the way we are suddenly faced with a new reality—these challenges parallel those created by chronic illness. If we can use chronic illness as a lens, and learn from those who have already navigated similar challenges, we might have a chance to prepare for climate destruction before it hits.

Before diving into the lessons I think are applicable to climate change, it’s important to explore why climate change is unlike chronic illness. Or perhaps, to put it differently, why we need to utilize chronic illness experiences to understand how to prepare for climate destruction. The answer lies in timescales.

Daily life will look different 50 years from now, and it’s hard to imagine exactly how, especially because the modeling is imprecise, but also because the future isn’t set in stone—to put it simply, we know it will be bad, we just don’t know exactly how bad. That range, between “bad” and “apocalyptic bad,” is up to us, right here, right now. But suffice it to say, we can expect certain lifestyle changes—food will cost more as soil health depletes and farms therefore require increasing inputs to artificially induce yields, vital resources like water will become increasingly scarce and therefore more expensive, housing will become even more unstable as highly-populated areas get inundated by sea level rise, many people will die because there will be more wildfires, storms, and severe weather events.

None of this includes the effects of ecosystem collapse from the loss of pollinators, or what will happen when a variety of other tipping points are reached. Life will get tangibly more difficult—we’ll get sick more frequently, our mental health will hit rock bottom (if it hasn’t already), food will taste worse and provide fewer vital nutrients, clean water will be hard to come by (which might bring enforced changes to our bathing, cleaning, and drinking habits), etc. Many of us feel like we’re barely holding it together now...just imagine it being orders of magnitude worse.

Just a blip in time

One important reason it’s hard to understand the urgency and significance of these changes is that the human lifespan is but a blip in the timeline of our planet. When devastating weather events increase in frequency over our lifetime, say from once in a lifetime to once every ten years or so, it’s still infrequent enough for us that it’s relatively easy to brush off and recover between events. Humans work—and recover—at super speed, in comparison to the Earth. But a year for the planet is like ½ a second for humans.1 Imagine someone punching you twice every second for the rest of your life. After the first few punches, ½ a second may be enough time to recover and ready yourself for the next punch, but after a minute or two there’s simply no time to recover between punches. Worse still, the punches are coming from multiple angles, just like our practices in multiple industries hurt different dimensions of the Earth’s ecosystems. Suddenly, a punch catches your nose or a rib, and it’s a big enough hit to make you stagger. Even worse, the punches are getting harder, and your ability to fight them off is waning exponentially with each additional hit.

Those who experience many life-changing events in a short period of time—or one life-changing event if it’s significant enough—are quick to tell anyone how challenging it is. Recovery takes time, and recovery is impossible if those devastating events just keep piling up. But there is no inherent inertia in those punches—they can slow down and stop. We can recover.

Humans don’t experience climate-related catastrophes as life-changing moments because, for us, they take too long to develop—there’s enough human time within these planetary moments for us to adjust and normalize any given change. At some point, though, the punches will accumulate to a point where there’s a fundamental shift—and the body goes from fight mode to survival mode. Instead of reacting and dodging and trying to find a way through, the goal becomes to protect the most valuable and vulnerable parts, the life-points. The body will be forced make tough choices—to sacrifice a kidney in order to protect the heart.

But the fact that we don’t experience these changes as sudden and emergent doesn’t make them any less life-changing or dangerous. In fact, it makes it even more dangerous because, like the frog that gets slowly boiled to death, there’s no signal to jump out before it’s too late. There will be a tipping point, but we may not be able to recognize it in the moment because our time horizon is mismatched to that of Earth’s. It’s worth taking the time to learn from those of us who have experienced our own tipping points. Collectively, we need to learn from these experiences in order to prepare for the change that’s coming—whether we can see it clearly or not.

There’s one additional link—between chronic illness and capitalism. I think it’s fair to say that the previous parts in this series have explored this connection at least subliminally—the mismatch between chronic illness needs in the workplace and a system that constantly seeks to extract every last drop of productivity from its workforce, or how capitalism fails to capture and curate joy in the way humans crave. There’s something important about the way chronic illness doesn’t fit into the capitalist model, but it’s hard for me to put my finger on it. It may be as simple as the fact that capitalist structure incentivizes efficiency and productivity in a way that chronic illness makes impossible. Or that it promotes a certain individualist lifestyle, where everything can be distilled to a transaction. Its obsession with debts and profits require a certain level of record-keeping that rubs up against communal living and causes friction. But chronic illness requires community, it demands it. You must accept help when you’re chronically ill, because you simply can’t do it all on your own.

Perhaps it’s the mismatch between the two that shines light on a system that is constantly striving to optimize, organize, categorize, and perfect an entirely organic and imperfect process—the human experience. Humans don’t fit neatly in boxes, and a system that tries to force us into such impermeable spaces will naturally compel us to strain against it. Or perhaps it has something to do with the way climate solutions require a divergence from capitalism—similar to the way chronic illness forces you to exist outside that same system.

Whatever it is, it’s clear that these things are connected, and that truly understanding one requires seeing its relationship to the other. In exploring these connections, a few consistent themes have jumped out: the importance of care, reciprocity, and patience; the ways in which our current system is structured as a tool of suppression; and the impermanence of life. In the next (and last) part of this series, I’ll share a few of the lessons I’ve learned from this last year, and hope that you can take them with you as suggestions for how to prepare for what’s coming.

To read Part VI of this series, click here.

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See my quick calculations below:

AI, or machine-learning as we practitioners prefer to call it, is taking over knowledge-workers by storm. Translation, administration, code, writing — it all feels different, and even wrong. Part of that discomfort is legitimate: if you’re leveraging these tools to mislead people, overloading tight attention spans with content no one cares about, or enabling systems of oppression, that’s a real problem. AI’s footprint is not negligible, but a careful analysis shows that video generation and the exponential abundance of useless content — rather than necessary, useful work — is mostly to blame. My (AI inclusive) work making affordable impact reporting for thousands of impact-driven organisations costs less energy than a single flight with zero real impact. I’d rather take the heat and use it for what matters, while keeping my commitment to not flying and providing nutritious, just food for my community.

This is not a defence of tech-bros and the monopoly of digital infrastructure we all suffer under — and Palestinians and people forced to migrate suffer most acutely — not to mention communities living next to water-hungry data centres. My point is that AI, like low-carbon energy, can be emancipatory under alternative conditions of production and governance. There is no venture-capital ethical AI and there never will be, because it will always choose profit and growth above everything else, even at the cost of our fragile democratic fabric.

The solution to this dystopian world of surveillance, automated killing, and creative displacement is collective. It requires massive agency and participation in building alternative modes of production — machines that genuinely support decision-making and productive processes. The delimitation work on big tech is largely done. What we need now is to simultaneous dismantle monopoly structures that capture all capital, while we build organisations that offer these tools under net-positive-impact schemas: focused on essential industries, helping workers reduce time and gain productivity; distributive in design, creating a mosaic of alternatives that balance cost, access and reach; and limited — there is no space for machines in arts, music, social interaction, or the work we want to do ourselves.

Alternatives exist, but like email and video alternatives before them, they must survive against companies offering zero-price products that make your data and privacy the commodity — and that receive vast amounts of venture capital, private and public, allowing them to run at a loss for years. That is impossible for member-based and stewardship-owned alternatives. We will either need massive public financing, or accept — as with unions — that only people’s effort saves the day. Engage with ethical, member-based solutions, or accept defeat in your wonderful ivory tower.

Information technology requires not only democratic scrutiny, it needs literacy — just like finance. This is not achieved by being consumers or users, but by critically assessing how these tools work, their limitations, risks and potential. Many people think AI is ChatGPT only, while continuing to use Gmail, YouTube and search engines that are not only AI-based, but clearly benefit from human rights violations worldwide and fuel military applications whose dangers are suffered by millions today — mostly in the global south, but soon everywhere. We need sufficiency and wellbeing principles embedded in technology’s design, governance and use — not as optional nice-to-haves. Digital permaculture offers a genuinely good approach to designing just and lasting digital tools. I encourage you to read that literature alongside material about digital utopias; they offer paths for alternative systems, not just problematisation without collective agency.

Grace Brekeley put it wonderfully: it’s your boss, not AI, who will fire you. Firing people is as much a political choice as it is an economic one. AI can only go as far as managers are willing to take it. This is the goal of big corporations — purposeless, monotonous, impersonal, soulless — but not of cooperatives and impact-driven businesses. The latter can leverage AI to focus on what makes them human and unique, leaving the boring stuff to machines--a genuine gift for the working class still engaged in dehumanising labour.

I hate paperwork, admin and routine reporting. I love design, problem-solving and building persuasive stories from data. AI has no place in those human spaces. If you feel threatened in your workspace: organise, speak up, reorganise work with your peers. Not using OpenAI, Google, and Microsoft is necessary, but nowhere near sufficient. Having said that — let’s move away from big tech, big social media, big cloud; support the rising alternatives, even knowing they’re not yet at the right price point. Be patient investors with your 20 euros a month, and create schemes so privacy is not a privilege of the affluent.

Let’s not forget: the struggles linked to AI are class struggles, not technological ones. Organise, learn, build, iterate — until the margins become the common place.

Now the other hot potato. The natural capital industry. Investors and businesses are slowly recognising that their own survival depends on healthy ecosystems, and new financial instruments to protect productive capacities are rising exponentially — even if most of you aren’t aware. Land purchases, biodiversity funds, water credits: these are not just processes of enclosure, they are the system attempting to save itself before it’s too late. That’s genuinely good news for survival, but justice is by no means guaranteed. It is entirely possible to maintain unjust systems with violence while restoring land and ecosystem services. Ecofascism can restore nature without redistributive social systems. We need to get into this field before it’s too late.

As with AI, the general public’sallergy to finance makes us nearly illiterate in what’s actually happening. We may hold the principles of alternative finance, but we are too far from making a dent — from dismantling these systems and creating the social awareness and political projects to regenerate both landscapes and social relationships, not only the former.

Understanding the economics of insurance, the valuation of natural processes, and how capital moves, is used, taxed and reproduced — this is essential. A just transition does not only require a mass movement, parliamentary representation and organised workers; it will require massive capital. Restoring ecosystems while securing livelihoods demands knowledge transfers and payments to the custodians of the land. There is an opportunity to avoid externalising costs and free-riding by extractive forces, but the governance and financial instruments must be ready to integrate local communities, productive capacity, and resources into one of the deepest transformations of our generation.

Land and water systems are the areas where whether we collapse as a civilisation will be decided, and what degree of suffering we’ll endure. The physical world will play an increasingly determinant role in what is possible. Soil health, water security, resilient energy, community strength — these will depend on how we manage local landscapes. The time has come to move from climate alarmism to crisis management. Some claim the climate movement is dead; I think it is maturing and being pruned. Purist ivory towers are dying. People are quietly leaving their bullshit jobs to restore land and focus on existential needs, in solidarity with others. Software developers who could earn 200k in big tech are leaving for alternative projects at high personal cost. The same with architects, teachers and medical professionals who resist — despite mainstream media giving them almost no voice.

If you feel overwhelmed, I feel you. I was desperate, close to doing stupid things. I chose action, radical pragmatism, deep solidarity and the long game. We will fail and fall many times. But in this civilisational crisis of the western model of production and reproduction, we need to repurpose, refurbish, create and repair — as much as we resist, denounce and demand. Your full potential is reached when you dare to engage with the messy world of deep transformations, not when talking about it only superficially or academically.

See you at the barricades and at many life festivals.

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We need a moral QR code on everything that is produced and sold for money in our economy. This QR code should link to the following information:

• the place where every component of the product was produced

• the salaries of all employees from the lowest ranking to the highest ranking at the company that made the product

• the names of all shareholders, big and small

• the average weekly work-time for each employee

• the paid vacation time for each employee

• photographs of the place where the product was made at the time when the product was made

• all the materials including chemical substances used in the manufacturing of the product

• a full list of suppliers including a similar moral QR code for each supplier and contractor

This may sound absurd, far-fetched, or impossible to you. What would be the purpose of these moral QR codes?

First, they would show us a crystal clear picture of how our material economy is constructed on hidden moral assumptions. Capitalism functions on trade secrets, non disclosure agreements, salary secrecy, secret contracts and negotiations, and a lot of evaded responsibility. All these secrets are meant to protect a status quo in which the fundamental principles of capitalism must be defended at all costs. These principles are about the use of hierarchies of power at the workplace, the proportional link between power and property and vice-versa, and the shameless dispossession of various forms of property from land to personal data for the purpose of accumulating more capital. This entire design of capitalism is held together by many layers of secrets, lies, manipulations, misdirections, and violent oppression.

Second, moral QR codes on all products would give us evidence of how our economy impacts the environment and all workers. It would force all economic agents to disclose their complete material footprints, from the resources they use, to how they pay their employees from the lowest to the highest ranks. There is no doubt that the climate crisis is caused by the economic activities of humans. There is no doubt that the breach of Earth limits is caused by the specific quest of capitalists for more profits, more market share, more power, more domination, more growth in general. But all these facts are largely invisible in our daily life. We buy things and services without being aware of the monumental destruction that the capitalist mode of production has done to human and non-human life. Just like we placed warning messages on cigarette packages we should have moral QR codes on all products. Let us separate the good from the bad.

Third, moral QR codes would act as a significant barrier against the expansion of illegal, immoral and destructive practices of production. Implementing moral QR codes that cannot be faked would be a massive blow to the capitalist mode of production. Capitalists will scream 24/7 that implementing moral QR codes will be too expensive and will make their businesses not profitable. Very good! That is exactly what we want! Eliminate the grifters, the polluters, the exploiters, the greedy, and the psychopaths. Let us produce and consume goods and services that are morally just and acceptable by all consumers. Let us make sure that all workers across the entire supply chain are paid fairly, are not discriminated, have safe working conditions, and free access to quality healthcare and education. In fact, moral QR codes would also act as a psychological mirror for consumers themselves because once the entire system of production will be exposed to the world to see, it will be impossible to hide from the accountability of producing and consuming products that destroy life on Earth.

The fashion industry hides exploitation of workers and mountains of waste under glamour and the mindless quest by fashionistas to be the most interesting person on the street, or whatever narcissistic psychopathic idea motivates their lizard brains. Companies such as REI and Patagonia make the high-tech apparel that for extreme outdoor sports all under the pretense of caring for the environment! Epitome of hypocrisy! Meanwhile, another institution obsessed with costume design is the military industrial complex which hides incredible devastation to environments and life under the pretense of national security. What if we put on each bullet and rocket a moral QR code with the names and salaries of all military contractors from the lowest rank to the highest rank? This would make Peter Thiel and Palantir the most famous names on the planet!

Fourth, moral QR codes would help us evolve our moral principles in symbiosis with the living world. The first step in defeating evil is naming and shaming evil for what it is. The forces of good cannot win against nameless, hidden ghosts. We, as a society, are in a severe deficit of meaningful information, that allows us to assess the moral dimension of our material life. If we were exposed to the truth behind what is produced, we would be much better qualified to upgrade our consumption behaviors. One of the most egregious lies told in recent history was that individuals bear the responsibility of their carbon emissions. Fossil fuel companies have launched this lie to hide their responsibility as producers. We are past the point where we can reform capitalism by recycling all our Amazon cardboard boxes.

We have been flooded by oceans of irrelevant information for decades. The purpose was to protect the hidden motives of capitalists and the real design of the system. These hidden motives are hidden because they would cause planetary outrage if they were exposed. We need to know how the sausage is made, both the real sausage and the metaphorical sausage, if we want to survive as species on this planet.

Of course, the idea of moral QR codes is symbolic. Moral QR codes are close to impossible to put in practice under the current economic regime. But the idea itself should make us think that everything that is produced and consumed on this planet has a moral dimension, from the production and use of industrial fertilizers, to the expansion and use of artificial intelligence. Behind every product and service, there are competing moral ideologies and ethical guidelines. Capitalists try their very best to hide their true intentions--which are pretty basic: it’s always about growth of profit, of market share, of power, and of status.

The advertising industry has the job to get paid to lie on behalf of capitalists about the the real intent and morals of capitalism and sell a different moral standard. A luxury car is therefore not about maintaining class, status, and privilege for the super rich, but it is about freedom, comfort, vision, and elegance. The higher the price of a product or service, the bigger the lie.

Defeating consumer culture starts by exposing the hidden moral code of capitalists, which is embedded into the rules of production for pretty much everything. To make it simple, let us start with a realistic moral QR code on all the clothes we buy. How about that for a start, Shein, Zara, H&M, Temu, Forever 21 and you, yes you, Patagonia?

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Zoraida Calle, bióloga colombiana, es un referente en el estudio y práctica de la restauración agroecológica. Zoraida forma parte del equipo de investigadores de CIPAV, donde coordina el Área de Restauración Ecológica. Desde el comienzo de su trabajo con comunidades campesinas en Colombia, Zoraida entendió que la ciencia de la ecología de la restauración no tenía todas las respuestas para motivar a los campesinos a mejorar su entorno natural. Hacía falta movilizar sus emociones y su arraigo hacia la tierra para lograr que asumieran el papel de custodios de la biodiversidad.

El sistema agrícola es el mayor emisor de gases de todos los sectores económicos. Es responsable de entre el 25 y el 30% de las emisiones. Es, con diferencia, la principal causa de pérdida de biodiversidad. También es el mayor consumidor de agua dulce: el 70% de las extracciones de agua en ríos, lagos y aguas subterráneas proceden de la agricultura. Y la sobrecarga de nitrógeno y fósforo se debe al uso excesivo de fertilizantes. La expansión de la tierra [para uso humano] está causada principalmente por la agricultura. Johan Rockstöm, 2024

¿Tendríamos que hablar aquí de los daños causados por “la agricultura” a secas, o más bien de un tipo muy concreto de agricultura, que causa daños? Al leer una declaración como la de arriba de Rockström nos imaginamos que la devastación es inevitable, pues tenemos que comer. Sin embargo hay personas dedicadas hace ya décadas a estudiar alternativas que simultáneamente puedan alimentar a la humanidad, cuidar los suelos y la vida en la tierra y ser sostenibles. Estas alternativas existen y están siendo implementadas. Pueden traer simultáneamente soluciones medioambientales, alimentarias y sociales, pero además son viables económicamente. Entrevistamos a Zoraida Calle sobre éstos temas.

Gisela Ruiseco: Zoraida, vivimos hoy una grave crisis de degradación de suelos, Según datos de la UNESCO, el 75% está ya degradado. ¿Nos puedes contar un poco sobre las causas de esta degradación?

Zoraida Calle: La degradación de los suelos tiene múltiples causas: la deforestación y pérdida de la cobertura vegetal, las prácticas de labranza para la agricultura, el pastoreo continuo, el uso de sustancias sintéticas como fungicidas, herbicidas y fertilizantes, y el fuego. Todas estas causas tienen en común la falta de conciencia de la sociedad sobre el valor del suelo y la infinidad de servicios que proporciona y que hacen posible la vida humana.

Gisela: Si bien las estadísticas sobre la magnitud de la degradación resultan estremecedoras, las posibilidades reales de restauración pueden llenar de esperanza. He tenido el placer de conocer tu proyecto familiar en tierras antioqueñas (nota: zona andina colombiana) en el que llevan ya muchos años, y mucho amor también, en el proceso de restaurar suelos degradados. Han logrado cosas hermosas y sorprendentes como ver surgir un arroyo ‘de la nada’. Por otro lado, mantienen allí también un proyecto agroecológico. ¿Cómo fue ese proceso, qué nos puedes compartir de las experiencias al ver cómo el suelo y la vida en general, logran recuperarse?

Zoraida: En la década de 1970, mis padres, ambos médicos y miembros de familias que habían perdido su conexión con el campo, compraron un terreno de 12 hectáreas que había sido un potrero de una ganadería extensiva. El suelo de vocación forestal y fuerte pendiente había sido maltratado por la eliminación casi total del bosque, el pastoreo continuo y el uso del fuego para el control de malezas. La única fuente de agua era un pequeño manantial situado en un lindero de la propiedad. Sin conocimiento técnico pero motivados por el deseo de mejorar la tierra y el agua, mis padres protegieron el pequeño bosque, el manantial y otras áreas sensibles del predio. También compraron vacas e iniciaron una pequeña lechería de manejo convencional, donde los pastos se fertilizaban con urea y había pocos árboles en los potreros.

En la década de 1990 iniciamos una reconversión de la ganadería basada en los principios de la agroecología: establecimos bancos forrajeros mixtos, subdividimos las áreas de pastoreo en pequeños potreros con árboles y arbustos e iniciamos la eliminación gradual de insumos sintéticos. Al mismo tiempo, intensificamos la restauración de los bosques nativos: plantamos miles de árboles nativos e instalamos cercas para acelerar la recuperación del bosque en terrenos sensibles. Tres décadas más tarde, el predio era irreconocible. Más de la mitad del área estaba cubierta de bosques jóvenes y vigorosos, la fauna silvestre fue regresando poco a poco y la ganadería convencional se transformó en sistemas silvopastoriles de manejo agroecológico con una alta diversidad de especies.

Nunca vimos una frontera entre la reconversión productiva y la restauración ecológica; más bien, integramos ambos esfuerzos en un proceso gradual de transformación para mejorar la producción y la conservación biológica.

Gisela: ¿Nos podrías contar sobre tí, cómo llegaste a interesarte por estos temas, qué vivencias te llevaron a que te dedicaras a la restauración agroecológica?

Zoraida: Pienso que fue una cadena de casualidades y encuentros fortuitos. Estudié biología porque me encantaba la genética, pero después de un semestre de campo en la selva de La Macarena (Meta, Colombia), supe que el laboratorio nunca sería mi lugar de trabajo. La selva me atrapó en cuerpo y alma. Al estudiar las relaciones ecológicas de dos especies de monos en su ambiente natural, entendí que lo mejor que podía hacer por estos parientes de vida arbórea era aprender a restaurar el bosque que los sostiene.

Además de la ecología y la conservación, siempre me fascinó la agricultura basada en la ecología, es decir la agroecología. Durante años trabajé en restauración ecológica y agroecología intuyendo que ambas disciplinas debían colaborar y dialogar activamente. Un día decidí comenzar a usar el término híbrido restauración agroecológica, y desde entonces trabajo en la intersección entre agricultura, ganadería y conservación de la biodiversidad.

Gisela: Esta intersección es especialmente fascinante, ya que muchas veces desde el ambientalismo se imagina a la restauración ecológica como un proceso del que se debe apartar al ser humano y sus actividades agrícolas. ¿Nos podrías contar de algún proyecto en concreto con el que podamos entender cómo estos elementos pueden confluir? Particularmente la ganadería, pues sabemos del nefasto rol de la ganadería convencional, de sus excesos, en el cambio climático: ¿cómo puede ésta contribuir a la restauración? Y qué tan viables, económicamente, pueden llegar a ser estos proyectos?

Zoraida: Hay visiones muy contrastantes de la restauración ecológica. En un extremo tenemos la restauración de cinco estrellas, que busca replicar fielmente un ecosistema histórico de referencia, sin tener muy en cuenta los gustos y preferencias de las personas que habitan el territorio. Otra posibilidad es hacer una restauración socio-ecológica e incluyente, que integra diversos valores, prácticas, conocimientos y objetivos en diferentes escalas y con varios grupos de beneficiarios. Este tipo de restauración busca reconstruir un ecosistema que pueda sostener los medios de vida de la población local.

A través del Proyecto Mojana Clima y Vida del Ministerio del Medio Ambiente y el PNUD (Programa de las Naciones Unidas para el desarrollo), el equipo de CIPAV trabajó con comunidades y organizaciones de base para hacer una restauración comunitaria con árboles nativos y cultivos con el fin de fortalecer la soberanía alimentaria y la economía local. En vez de plantar 700 árboles por hectárea (como era la meta del programa), plantamos 200 a 400 árboles en hileras, con espacios para integrar cultivos diversos. El resultado son sistemas agroforestales que generan servicios ecosistémicos y alimentos saludables. Al integrar la producción de alimentos, se logró el entusiasmo y la continuidad del proyecto.

Los proyectos que integran los medios de vida de las comunidades pueden ser más viables financieramente que los proyectos que intentan reconstruir ecosistemas históricos. El mismo concepto aplica para los sistemas ganaderos. Es posible diseñar sistemas mixtos donde el ganado pastorea en sistemas silvopastoriles y se liberan áreas sensibles para restaurar los bosques. Al fin y al cabo, el ganado bovino evolucionó en un ambiente de bosque abierto, no en praderas homogéneas sin árboles. Al crear potreros arbolados, estamos devolviendo al ganado a su ambiente natural, donde puede tener más bienestar y productividad.

Gisela: Los saberes locales, que se defienden en la restauración agroecológica por mucho tiempo han sido descalificados. Cuéntanos, en tus experiencias con campesinos y comunidades en Colombia ¿cómo se complementan los saberes científicos y los tradicionales?

Zoraida: Sin duda, el mayor pecado de la ciencia es la arrogancia y el desprecio por otras formas de generar conocimiento. Muy temprano en mi trabajo de campo entendí que el conocimiento indígena y campesino sobre los ecosistemas es profundo y multidimensional. El lenguaje sencillo de las personas que han pasado su vida en convivencia estrecha con la biodiversidad está lleno de sabiduría para quien tenga la humildad necesaria para escuchar con atención. Muchas veces los biólogos creemos conocer una especie porque podemos darle un nombre científico en latín y entender a cuál linaje pertenece. Pero un curandero tradicional tiene un conocimiento más detallado y sutil sobre las relaciones de una planta con su entorno o los efectos terapéuticos de las plantas que crecen a la sombra. El conocimiento ecológico tradicional es más colorido, poético y vital. Al trabajar con campesinos e indígenas como colegas en la generación de conocimiento, podemos lograr mucho más que al trabajar solos.

Para mis colegas de CIPAV y para mí, la relación de amistad y trabajo colaborativo con la comunidad campesina de la localidad de Bellavista (municipio de El Dovio, Valle del Cauca, Colombia),* fue clave para entender la profundidad y el valor de los conocimientos ecológicos tradicionales. Las personas que han vivido toda su vida en las montañas conocen la flora local, saben cuáles aves dispersan las semillas de los árboles, entienden las variaciones sutiles de los suelos y tienen una gran riqueza de saberes sobre el territorio. Un gran maestro en esta comunidad fue el líder campesino Tiberio Giraldo quien nos enseñó que “no se puede restaurar la tierra sin antes restaurar el corazón”.

El investigador científico debe tener curiosidad para indagar sobre este conocimiento basado en la experiencia, y apertura mental para interpretarlo, traducirlo y aplicarlo. Muchas preguntas de investigación se responden de manera más efectiva a través de un diálogo horizontal y colaborativo donde todos reconocemos el valor de las distintas formas de conocimiento.

Juntos hemos transformado prácticas tradicionales en alternativas que regeneran los suelos, protegen el agua, enriquecen los paisajes y fortalecen la economía local.

Gisela: El empuje hacia la globalización y la vigente desigualdad en tenencias de tierra ¿pueden ser factores que impiden que haya un cambio más raṕido hacia una agricultura sostenible? ¿Cómo podemos contrarrestar este empuje hacia el monocultivo, la estandarización de semillas, etc., hacia la gigantez?

Zoraida: Como bien lo explica el agroecólogo Miguel Altieri, comer es un acto ecológico y político. Cada vez que compramos alimentos para nuestra familia, estamos tomando decisiones sobre el uso y el futuro de la tierra. Para contrarrestar la tendencia homogeneizadora de la agricultura industrial contemporánea los consumidores debemos tener un papel más crítico y activo. Debemos estar informados sobre el origen de los productos agrícolas y ganaderos, y los métodos de cultivo y cuidado de los animales. Es una responsabilidad de todos favorecer las cadenas cortas de comercialización al comprar productos locales en mercados campesinos y entablar relaciones directas con los productores de los alimentos. Los descubrimientos científicos recientes sobre el microbioma de nuestro intestino y el papel que este conglomerado de microorganismos juega en nuestra salud física y mental, muestran en forma contundente que los alimentos saludables se producen en suelos vivos y biodiversos, no en suelos removidos por maquinaria agrícola y saturados de compuestos sintéticos.

Gisela: ¡Gracias Zoraida!

* La colaboración del CIPAV en esta zona ya es de décadas, e incluye varias generaciones de agricultores. He aquí un video donde se pueden conocer más detalles de cómo los monocultivos en un momento empobrecieron la zona, y cómo, en colaboración comunitaria, se logró una transformación agroecológica:

Leer de más casos de restauración agroecológica del CIPAV

PPF sobre el CIPAV y su obra

Between science and communities: a life dedicated to agroecological restoration

Zoraida Calle, a Colombian biologist, is a leading figure in the study and practice of agroecological restoration. Zoraida is part of the research team at CIPAV, where she coordinates the Ecological Restoration Unit. From the very beginning of her work with rural communities in Colombia, Zoraida understood that the science of restoration ecology did not have all the answers needed to motivate farmers to improve their natural environment. It was necessary to tap into their emotions and their deep connection to the land to help them take on the role of biodiversity stewards.

The agricultural sector is the largest emitter of greenhouse gases among all economic sectors. It accounts for between 25% and 30% of emissions. It is by far the leading cause of biodiversity loss. It is also the largest consumer of freshwater: 70% of water withdrawals from rivers, lakes, and groundwater come from agriculture. And nitrogen and phosphorus overload is due to excessive fertilizer use. Land expansion [for human use] is caused primarily by agriculture. Johan Rockström, 2024

Should we be talking here about the damage caused by “agriculture” in general, or rather about a very specific type of agriculture that causes harm? When reading a statement like Rockström’s above, we imagine that devastation is inevitable, since we have to eat. However, there are people who have dedicated decades to studying alternatives that can simultaneously feed humanity, care for the soil and life on earth, and be sustainable. These alternatives exist and are being implemented. They can simultaneously provide environmental, food, and social solutions, and they are also economically viable. We interviewed Zoraida Calle on these topics.

Gisela Ruiseco: Zoraida, we are currently facing a serious crisis of soil degradation; according to UNESCO data, 75% of the world’s soil is already degraded. Can you tell us about the causes of this phenomenon?

Zoraida Calle: Soil degradation has multiple causes: deforestation and loss of vegetation cover, agricultural tillage practices, continuous grazing, the use of synthetic substances such as fungicides, herbicides, and fertilizers, and fire. All these causes share a common factor: society’s lack of awareness regarding the value of soil and the countless services it provides that make human life possible.

Gisela: While the statistics on the extent of degradation are shocking, the real possibilities for restoration can be a source of hope. I’ve had the pleasure of learning about your family’s project in the Antioquia region (in the Colombian Andes), where you’ve been working for many years—and with great dedication—to restore degraded soils. You have achieved beautiful and surprising things, such as seeing a stream emerge ‘out of nowhere.’ Additionally, you maintain an agroecological project there. What was that process like? What can you share with us about your experiences as you witness how the soil and life in general are recovering?

Zoraida: In the 1970s, my parents—both doctors and members of families who had lost their connection to the countryside—purchased a 12-hectare plot of land that had been a pasture for extensive cattle ranching. The steeply sloped land, naturally suited for forestry, had been severely damaged by the near-total clearing of the forest, continuous grazing, and the use of fire for weed control. The only source of water was a small spring located on the edge of the property. Without technical knowledge but motivated by a desire to improve the land and water, my parents protected the small forest, the spring, and other sensitive areas of the property. They also bought cows and started a small, conventionally managed dairy farm, where the pastures were fertilized with urea and there were few trees in the paddocks.

In the 1990s, we began a transition of our livestock operations based on the principles of agroecology: we established mixed forage strips, subdivided grazing areas into small paddocks with trees and shrubs, and began the gradual elimination of synthetic inputs. At the same time, we intensified the restoration of native forests: we planted thousands of native trees and installed fences to accelerate forest recovery on sensitive land. Three decades later, the property was unrecognizable. More than half of the area was covered with young, vigorous forests; wildlife gradually returned; and conventional livestock farming transformed into agroecologically-managed silvopastoral systems with high species diversity.

We never saw a boundary between productive conversion and ecological restoration; rather, we integrated both efforts into a gradual process of transformation to improve production and biological conservation.

Gisela: Could you tell us about yourself—how did you become interested in these topics, and what experiences led you to dedicate yourself to agroecological restoration?

Zoraida: I think it was a chain of coincidences and timely encounters. I studied biology because I loved genetics, but after a field semester in the La Macarena rainforest (Meta, Colombia), I knew the lab would never be my workplace. The jungle captivated me in body and soul. While studying the ecological relationships of two species of monkeys in their natural habitat, I realized that the best thing I could do for these tree-dwelling relatives was to learn how to restore the forest that sustains them.

In addition to ecology and conservation, I’ve always been fascinated by ecology-based agriculture—that is, agroecology. For years I worked in ecological restoration and agroecology, sensing that both disciplines needed to collaborate and engage in active dialogue. One day I decided to start using the hybrid term agroecological restoration, and since then I’ve been working at the intersection of agriculture, livestock, and biodiversity conservation.

Gisela: This intersection is particularly fascinating, since environmentalism often views ecological restoration as a process from which humans and their agricultural activities must be excluded. Could you tell us about a specific project that would help us understand how these elements can come together? Particularly livestock farming, since we know of the disastrous role of conventional livestock farming, and its excesses, in climate change: how can it contribute to restoration? And how economically viable can these projects become?

Zoraida: There are very contrasting views on ecological restoration. At one extreme, we have “five-star” restoration, which seeks to faithfully replicate a historical reference ecosystem without taking into account the tastes and preferences of the people who inhabit the territory. Another possibility is to undertake a socio-ecological and inclusive restoration that integrates diverse values, practices, knowledge, and objectives across different scales and with various beneficiary groups.

This type of restoration seeks to rebuild an ecosystem that can sustain the livelihoods of the local population.

Through the Mojana Climate and Life Project of the [Colombian] Ministry of the Environment and the UNDP (United Nations Development Programme), the CIPAV team worked with communities and grassroots organizations to carry out a community-based restoration using native trees and crops to strengthen food sovereignty and the local economy. Instead of planting 700 trees per hectare (as was the program’s goal), we planted 200 to 400 trees in rows, with spaces to integrate diverse crops. The result is agroforestry systems that generate ecosystem services and healthy food. By integrating food production, we fostered enthusiasm and ensured the project’s continuity.

Projects that integrate into communities’ livelihoods can be more financially viable than those that attempt to reconstruct historical ecosystems. The same concept applies to livestock systems. It is possible to design mixed systems where livestock graze in silvopastoral systems and sensitive areas are set aside to restore forests. After all, cattle evolved in an open forest environment, not in homogeneous, treeless grasslands. By creating wooded pastures, we are returning cattle to their natural environment, where they can enjoy greater well-being and productivity.

Gisela: Local knowledge, which has been long dismissed historically, is advocated for in agroecological restoration. Tell us, based on your experiences with farmers and communities in Colombia, how do scientific and traditional knowledge complement each other?

Zoraida: Without a doubt, science’s greatest sin is arrogance and contempt for other ways of generating knowledge. Very early on in my fieldwork, I realized that indigenous and peasant knowledge of ecosystems is profound and multidimensional. The simple language of people who have spent their lives in close coexistence with biodiversity is full of wisdom for those who have the humility to listen attentively. Often, biologists believe we know a species because we can give it a scientific name in Latin and understand which lineage it belongs to. But a traditional healer possesses a more detailed and nuanced understanding of a plant’s relationship with its environment or the therapeutic effects of plants that grow in the shade. Traditional ecological knowledge is more colorful, poetic, and vital. By working with farmers and indigenous people as colleagues in knowledge generation, we can achieve much more than by working alone.

For my colleagues at CIPAV and for me, the friendship and collaborative work with the peasant community in the town of Bellavista (municipality of El Dovio, Valle del Cauca, Colombia)1 was key to understanding the depth and value of traditional ecological knowledge. People who have lived their entire lives in the mountains know the local flora, know which birds disperse the seeds of the trees, understand the subtle variations in the soils, and possess a wealth of knowledge about the territory. A great teacher in this community was the peasant leader Tiberio Giraldo, who taught us that “you cannot restore the land without first restoring the heart.”

Scientific researchers must have the curiosity to explore this experience-based knowledge, and the open-mindedness to interpret, translate, and apply it. Many research questions are answered most effectively through a horizontal, collaborative dialogue where we all recognize the value of different forms of knowledge.

Together, we have transformed traditional practices into alternatives that regenerate soils, protect water, enrich landscapes, and strengthen the local economy.

Gisela: Could the push toward globalization and the current inequality in land tenure be factors preventing a faster shift toward sustainable agriculture? How can we counter this push toward monoculture, seed standardization, and the rise of agribusiness giants?

Zoraida: As agroecologist Miguel Altieri aptly explains, eating is an ecological and political act. Every time we buy food for our family, we are making decisions about the use and future of the land. To counteract the homogenizing trend of contemporary industrial agriculture, consumers must play a more critical and active role.

We must be informed about the origin of agricultural and livestock products, as well as the methods of cultivation and animal care. It is everyone’s responsibility to support short supply chains by buying local products at farmers’ markets and establishing direct relationships with food producers. Recent scientific discoveries about our gut microbiome and the role this community of microorganisms plays in our physical and mental health clearly demonstrate that healthy foods are produced in living, biodiverse soils—not in soils churned up by agricultural machinery and saturated with synthetic compounds.

Gisela: Thank you, Zoraida!

Read more about CIPAV’s agroecological restoration projects

PDF on CIPAV and its work

1. Part I: An introduction to navigating chronic illness and current events

2. Part II: Navigating the workplace as a someone with a chronic illness

3. Part III: Questioning and relearning what it means to take care of the self

4. Part IV: Learning to find joy again

5. Part V: Chronic illness, capitalism, and climate change

6. Part VI: Lessons to help us weather any storm

To read Part III of this series, click here.

It’s funny, which memories stick. I have vivid memories of sitting in my ninth-grade biology class and learning about telomeres. I can’t even remember what they are, other than that they’re somehow related to DNA, and shortened telomeres can mean you’ll live a shorter life. Oh, and the notion that telomeres become shorter with stress. So naturally, I’ve been stressing about the length of my telomeres ever since—the irony is dumbfounding. I remember little else from that class, other than mitochondria being the powerhouse of the cell—but the telomeres? Man, my long-term memory snatched that lesson up and clung on for dear life. Little did I know that almost a decade later, stress would come to define my life in entirely new ways.

The natural antidote to stress is joy. But for those of us who are familiar with depression, questions like “what brings you joy?” are particularly hard to answer. Especially right now, when it feels like every day is another step towards apocalyptic collapse, finding joy in anything can seem futile and selfish. But as I’ve learned the hard way, joy is an integral part of survival. Without it, each day feels more bleak than the last, and finding the will to live is like looking for a shadow at high noon.

At this point in my life, I was desperate for some joy—but it was nowhere to be found. Part of the reason for this was that the things that had formerly brought me so much joy were now activities I couldn’t physically participate in. My avenues for joy had vanished into thin air.

Other vivid memories that have stuck around include some of my earliest: running down a sandy boardwalk in summer while my mother chased me down with sunscreen in hand; learning tennis at a day camp and deciding I hated it because I wasn’t any good; learning to ride a bicycle in the park with my dad—who insisted that the best way to learn was by trying to balance on the bike while it was stationary; the day I tried out for the club soccer team my best friend was on—it was pouring rain and I was too nervous to go alone, so she accompanied me and withstood being pelted by cold raindrops while I ran endless drills; the day I finished my first half-marathon and the feeling of my legs being somehow simultaneously numb and pulsing with strength.

So many of my memories are steeped in the athletic pursuits of my childhood because that’s who I was—an athlete. I loved the early morning practices, the pre-game jitters, and the after-school study sessions. I loved playing soccer in the pouring rain—and being unable to tell the difference between sweat and raindrops. I craved the hush that would grip a gymnasium as I stepped up to the free-throw line with the basketball in my hands, my body brimming with adrenaline.

Eventually, as I prepared for a post-pandemic collegiate soccer season that never came, I learned to dig deep and find fulfillment in the training as much as the match itself. I grew to define myself by my abilities, my athletic achievements, and the strength of character I built along the way. I challenged myself to expand my comfort zone by joining a water polo team and learning to play. Eventually, I reached a milestone that my younger self would have believed impossible: three half-marathons, one of which was on a treadmill. Every week, I looked forward to the feeling of a wind-worn throat and hands so numb I lacked the dexterity to pause my music, both of which were common after a 10-mile run. Many non-runners don’t get it—and even I was a hater once—but the queen-of-the-world feeling you get after a particularly gnarly run is unparalleled.

To be suddenly swept into this new reality, where my well-worn, familiar sources of happiness were no longer available, was devastating. Without these activities that I’ve grown to think of as part of me—running, hiking, soccer, basketball, tennis, water polo, kayaking, climbing, biking, I could go on—did I even know who I was?

I can’t say it was one thing or another that specifically got me out of this identity crisis. I definitely still miss being able to go for a run, and have lost points of connection with others by virtue of being unable to share in some of the more physical hobbies. But I’ve managed to find some pinpricks of light within all of this darkness. I’ve even been exploring hobbies that work with a more low-energy lifestyle: knitting, crocheting, embroidery, writing, reading, and so on. I’m still looking for that genuine top-of-the-world feeling, but realizing I might not find it for while and learning to be okay with that reality has allowed me to savor other moments that had previously gone unnoticed.

The slowed-down nature of my current lifestyle has forced me to search for joy in pockets of my life that might have otherwise been labeled as mundane. I’m learning to savor small pieces of joy, like the sweetness of a ripe, juicy strawberry from my community-supported agriculture produce box, or the low rumble of my cat’s purr as he nestles into my lap for his afternoon snooze. Or the way the sun hits the trees outside my window during golden hour, making them glow like celestial beings. The satisfaction that comes with completing a knitting project, and the pride that comes with wearing something I made with my own two hands—or seeing others wear something I made for them.

I guess my point is that joy can be found anywhere—you just have to want to see it. In the first months of my chronic illness reality, I was so occupied by the devastation that it felt wrong to search for any joy. But as time went on, and my life slowed down, I realized how important joy is for survival, and how abundant it can be if you let it. In a system driven by chaos and pain, joy is an act of resistance.

That same chaos and pain isn’t just something we experience in our own bodies; it is built into the very structures around us. In the next two parts of this series, we will look more closely at how our current system operates. By giving you a sense of what it’s been like to experience a sudden onset of chronic illness in Parts I through IV, I’m hoping you’ll trust me enough to hear me out in the next two parts, where I tie seemingly unrelated pieces together, use my experiences as a lens to examine our current crises, and impart some wisdom regarding how we might build resilience in the face of danger.

To read Part V of this series, click here.

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What if one of the biggest blind spots in economics is that it has no serious framework for understanding how chronic insecurity changes human behaviour?

Economics is usually presented as a technical discipline concerned with growth, inflation, employment, and trade, while trauma is generally discussed in psychology, healthcare, or social work, as though the two fields belong to entirely different worlds. But the separation between them may be one of the defining weaknesses of modern economic thinking.

Across much of the world, people are living under constant pressure. Housing is insecure or unaffordable, debt has become a permanent feature of life, stable employment is increasingly difficult to find, burnout is common, trust in institutions is weakening, and many people feel trapped between rising costs, ecological anxiety, and the sense that long-term stability is slipping further out of reach.

These conditions are often discussed as separate problems, with housing policy sitting in one box, mental health in another, ecological collapse belonging somewhere else, and economic insecurity treated as an unfortunate but manageable side-effect of modern economies. But what if these are not disconnected problems? What if many of our economic systems are now organised around chronic insecurity?

Trauma-informed thinking starts from a simple idea: people adapt to the environments they live in, and when instability becomes a permanent condition rather than a temporary disruption, long-term thinking weakens, trust erodes, and behaviours shaped by stress and survival gradually become normalised.

Someone living with insecure housing, unstable work, rising debt, or constant financial pressure will often make different decisions from someone who feels safe and secure, not because their values or character are fundamentally different, but because instability changes how people relate to time, risk, trust, and survival.

Yet economics often struggles to recognise these dynamics clearly. Many behaviours linked to chronic insecurity are treated as personal failings or cultural decline rather than responses to the systems people inhabit. Burnout becomes an individual resilience problem, short-term decision-making is framed as irresponsibility, distrust is treated as a normal response to a harsh and competitive economic system, and exhaustion becomes normalised.

The language of economics frequently reduces people to consumers, workers, or units of productivity, paying far less attention to the conditions under which human beings remain psychologically, socially, and politically functional over long periods of time.

Seen through the lens of trauma theory, doesn’t the question change entirely? Instead of asking why people are becoming more anxious, distrustful, exhausted, or politically volatile, we can begin asking what kinds of systems repeatedly produce those outcomes and whether instability has become part of how those systems now function. We can also begin asking whether healthier economic systems would depend less upon keeping large parts of the population in conditions of chronic insecurity.

This matters because many modern economies increasingly rely upon forms of instability that generate chronic stress and insecurity. Precarious work creates “flexibility,” housing scarcity pushes up property values, debt keeps consumption going, permanent competition is treated as efficiency, overwork becomes a sign of ambition, and ecological damage is tolerated so long as economic output continues to rise.

These systems can appear successful even while the social foundations underneath them begin to weaken, because GDP doesn’t distinguish between activity that strengthens society and activity that emerges from stress, instability, or crisis.

This creates a dangerous cycle in which stress generates demand, crisis creates industries, and populations gradually adapt to worsening conditions instead of collectively transforming them.

People often argue that competition and insecurity drive innovation and adaptability. But beyond a certain point, persistent instability makes long-term thinking more difficult, weakens trust, fragments communities, and pushes societies toward reactive rather than creative behaviour.

A systems-aware approach would begin by asking what kinds of economic and institutional arrangements allow people and communities to remain stable, secure, and capable of participating meaningfully in social life over time. From this perspective, sufficiency isn’t primarily about reducing excess consumption, but about creating the material conditions under which people are no longer trapped in constant adaptation to threat and instability.

This wouldn’t mean turning economics into therapy. It would mean recognising that human beings are shaped by the conditions in which they live, and that economic systems influence behaviour, trust, cognition, and social relationships in profound ways.

This framework would place far greater emphasis on reducing chronic precarity rather than just managing its consequences after the fact, treating secure housing, ecological stability, strong public institutions, social participation, and access to essential services as foundational conditions for a healthy society rather than secondary concerns.

A housing system shaped by this approach would treat security and stability as core outcomes rather than side-effects of market efficiency. Policies would be judged partly by whether they make housing more secure and stable, rather than simply increasing transaction volume or asset values, while approaches such as long-term rental protections, cost-based housing models, and community land trusts become important because they reduce persistent insecurity rather than merely managing their consequences.

More broadly, policies would be evaluated not only according to output or employment growth, but also according to whether they reduce or intensify chronic insecurity. Labour market policies would be assessed according to whether they reduce precarity or deepen it, and economic success would be tied more closely to long-term social resilience and less to the sheer volume of market activity.

Most importantly, this approach would stop mistaking survival adaptation for flourishing.

Modern societies possess extraordinary productive and technological capacities, yet many people increasingly experience life as exhausting, unstable, and psychologically relentless. That shouldn’t be treated as a side issue because it may reveal something important about the systems themselves.

The crucial mistake is to assume that adaptation proves health. People can become accustomed to chronic insecurity, communities can learn to live with deterioration, institutions can function despite declining trust, and economies can continue operating amid ecological damage. Yet adaptation and flourishing are not the same thing.

A society’s ability to continue functioning should not automatically be taken as evidence that it’s thriving. Sometimes the evidence that a system is working is also evidence that it’s placing increasing strain on the conditions that make long-term wellbeing possible.

In his 1970 treatise on confrontation within organizations and movements, American economist Albert O. Hirschman laid out the three forms of response individuals can employ in the face of a resented power structure. Loyalty is when individuals consign themselves to the whims of the social order, voice is when they confront the social order directly, and exit is when they pull out in search of a more favorable option or build an alternative of their own. Many of us romanticize exiting, dreaming to build systems of living that are free from the demands the social order. The problem is that exit strategies do not occur in a vacuum, and are subject to continual negotiation with the systems they challenge.

Building alternative systems outside of the social order is an important method of change adopted by a range of social and political movements. The United Farm Workers union in California, for example, propelled itself to success by building social services for workers, including a burial fund and by making notaries, translators, and form fillers available to immigrant farmworkers. By offering social services outside of the existing system, they better met the needs of their members while cultivating a sense of mutual solidarity. Such strategies form the bedrock of many mutual aid projects; an ethos of “We’ll just do it ourselves.”

Unfortunately, simply ‘exiting’ the social order is often not an option. Movements attempting to build parallel alternatives may find themselves entangled in the logic of dominant systems, subject to the whims of incumbents and the constraints they force upon us. The forces of conformity, efficiency, and competition all too often denude movements for change of their more radical goals.

Worker cooperatives are a common victim of this ‘regression to the norm’ phenomenon. Attempts to establish novel economic models are often quashed by the homogenizing effect of the market, which compels cooperatives to nullify some of their more radical precepts in order to survive. The famous Mondragón cooperative federation in Spain’s Basque Country initially had a rule that the highest paid employee would make no more than three times the lowest paid employee. This strategy was in keeping with cooperative principles of worker solidarity and to prevent an internal class system from arising.

Unfortunately, the firm eventually found that this policy, along with limits on hiring contractors, stymied their ability to attract and retain talented engineers and leaders who would often leave to pursue higher paid opportunities in the private sector, harming their ability to build a true alternative in the face of brain drain. In response, they changed the pay ratio to 4.5:1 and later to 6:1 to stay competitive. While still far more egalitarian than private companies, this forced betrayal of cooperative values represents an unsavory compromise the Basque cooperative movement has had to make with the forces of capital.

The Californian organic movement is another prime example of accommodation to incumbent systems. Up until the 1990s, organic agriculture in the state was quite radical and incredibly marginal, with organic foods being grown by tiny farms and sold in obscure, locally owned or cooperative grocery stores. These farms adopted truly transformative production methods, integrating crops and livestock to ensure the circulation of nutrients and controlling pests with biological instead of chemical means. The individuals involved in the organic movement were highly values-driven, willing to take a cut in profits to deliver ecologically sound food to their equally principled consumers.

With time, however, the broader market recognized an opportunity for greater profit within this niche. Chain grocers wanted a cut of this higher-margin market, and more conventional farmers began producing organically. Lacking the doctrinal dedication to the philosophy of organic farming, these new farmers adopted an “input substitution” model where, instead of truly transforming the way they farmed, they found nominally organic inputs like Chilean nitrate that allowed them to farm in modes similar to how they farmed before. The rejuvenation of the land and water sought by the organic movement never followed, even as more farmers adopted the label. This denuding of organic farming, brought on by market forces, was further entrenched by the high cost of land in California, which saddled farmers with debt and forced even the ideologically-motivated to cut corners to stay in business. In attempting to build an alternative, organic agriculture was plainly unable to escape the demands for efficiency and maximized production wrought by market forces. The once-revolutionary organic movement was reduced to following the template laid out by conventional agriculture.

In cultivating new economies of sufficiency and wellbeing on the margins of the social order, the process of regression is an essential strategic consideration. No matter how distant a project is from the purview of rationalizing markets, some level of coercion, using financial, legal, and infrastructural mechanisms, will compel those building new institutions and lifestyles to compromise in some way with the demands of the system.

Compromise, however, need not pollute our attempts to transform the world. A strategic understanding of how these forces work and where it is possible to fight against them can ensure continuity between vision and result. When planning a project, understanding how one relies on the system and planning around those issues can help to preserve the project’s mission.

A collective farm, for example, could construct dual supply chains where inputs are created on-farm and purchased through existing supply chains, balancing the need for productivity while maintaining alternative forms of fuel and fertilizer should those supply chains fail. Activist groups, similarly, can build out communications networks through dominant tech platforms to maintain relations with the public and their wider communities while constructing autonomous infrastructures, such as mesh-nets, to ensure secure conversations can still occur and create an off-ramp should censorship intensify.

Pragmatic exit strategies will simultaneously operate within and against the dominant system. The regression phenomena will always be present; studying and planning around it is crucial for forging thriving futures.

Nolan Monaghan is a graduate of the University of Missouri Center for Agroforestry, where he studied the agronomy of perennial polycultures. He writes about agroecology, circular sustainability, and human cooperation on his blog, Headwaters.

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(For english translation see further down)

Puede ser acertado decir, como lo hace un lema reciente de marketing, que Colombia es el “país de la belleza”. Belleza, exuberancia, riqueza de climas, de agua, de vida, de diversidad.

Al tiempo Colombia se ha considerado por momentos un Estado fallido que no logra proteger a sus habitantes de la violencia. Y es que la violencia ha vuelto, a pesar del tratado de paz del 2016 (dirigido a resolver el conflicto armado que tiene lugar desde los años ’60) y sus reconocidos aciertos.

Quiero aquí, con unas cuantas pinceladas, acercarme a la complejidad de ese país “de las soledades” como decía G. García Márquez: un vasto territorio compuesto por zonas y gentes muy diversas, de geografías accidentadas, aisladas o parcamente pobladas.

Algunas particularidades históricas

¿Será que Colombia es un país intrínsecamente violento, como muchos de sus habitantes se preguntan? Bueno, no, la violencia tiene raíces. Más bien se podría decir que se trata de una nación con una brutal historia como “colonia de asentamiento” que nunca curó sus profundas heridas, y que, en conjunto con una complejidad de factores históricos, ha normalizado la violencia. Por ejemplo, la presente tenencia de tierra, una de las más desiguales del mundo, es una continuación del despojo colonial a los habitantes originarios y un factor determinante en la prolongada guerra civil.

La complicada geografía es otro factor a considerar: Históricamente, se formaron ‘archipiélagos de poder’ centrados en la región andina y diferentes zonas perifŕica quedaron abandonadas para beneficio de quien pudiera aprovecharse de ellas, dentro de lógicas colonial/raciales. Hoy, el país, asentado sobre esa estructura, ocupa su lugar como “frontera de extracción “ en el capitalismo globalizado, como he desarrollado en otra parte.

La revolución independentista fue en parte una maniobra de los “criollos” para librarse de las innovaciones que pretendían las reformas borbónicas: Desde España había “una voluntad explícita de desmontar el entramado de redes políticas” que entorpecían el paso a una gobernabilidad moderna (Parecidas al presente “caciquismo” que impregna las “soledades” del golpeado país).

Después de la independencia, los criollos (descendientes de europeos nacidos en América) simplemente suplantaron a los peninsulares, dejando la estructura social colonial intacta. Se entendieron a sí mismos como los únicos capaces de liderar a un país “semi-salvaje” hacia la civilización, en clara distinción de un Otro racializado. Las nociones de ciudadanía que se crearon ignoraron la omnipresente problemática de la raza y del desprecio al Otro, y la nación se forjó en un entramado de relatos hegemónicos propios de la “colonialidad del poder” (A. Quijano).

Esta “carga del hombre blanco” tuvo consecuencias para el modo de entender la democracia: Aquel que difiera de este proyecto de país se ha podido considerar enemigo interno e incluso en ocasiones se ha podido entender como sujeto a ser eliminado.

Espectros políticos

A mi país lo he sentido siempre como habitando a la derecha del espectro político, asentado en una aceptación del status quo. Efectivamente, se dice que en 200 años de vida republicana, Colombia jamás había tenido un gobierno de izquierda, una anomalía que invita a detenernos. Hoy, en tiempos del pensamiento único neoliberal de “no hay alternativa” esto casi parece normal, pero que ésta anomalía ocupe toda la historia republicana de un país, es definitivamente extraño.

Esto es, hasta el gobierno que ahora llega a su fin, el de Gustavo Petro. El filósofo Santiago Castro-Gómez señaló en su momento que el “estallido social” (2021), el preámbulo a la elección de Petro, se dio en parte por a una apertura de los jóvenes hacia el resto del mundo por medio de las redes sociales. Dejaron de leer la realidad según se la presentaba su muy conservador país.

Sí ha habido líderes de izquierda muy importantes que probablemente hubieran sido elegidos si no hubieran sido asesinados, como J.E. Gaitán (en 1948) y L.C. Galán (en 1989). Estos son solo los más salientes de numerosos magnicidios (también los ha habido en la derecha). Además, un partido de izquierda, la Unión Patriótica, fue casi totalmente exterminado, por los cual la Corte Interamericana de Derechos Humanos condenó al Estado en 2023 por violencia sistemática.

Estos hechos dicen mucho sobre lo que ha sido la democracia en Colombia. Todo demócrata, incluso el más conservador, tendría que aceptar que el gobierno de Gustavo Petro constituye un importante quiebre en esta historia de democracia con cojera.

Hoy hay otro espectro importante, un ‘coco’: En muchos ambientes del país suramericano se equipara toda defensa de la izquierda a una apología del “terrorismo”.

El caudillo de derecha, A. Uribe Vélez (presidente 2002-2010), acuñó el término “terroristas” para la guerrilla, activamente suplantando la denominación “guerra” al conflicto armado que azotó al país, opacando las acciones criminales de los otros bandos: (narco-)paramilitares, y militares.

La izquierda (y no la derecha) quedó pertinazmente asociada a la violencia. Curiosamente, y es significativo, la mayoría de los colombianos en general perciben y aseguran que en la guerra interna las guerrillas causaron más muertos que los paramilitares --incluso asegurando que los últimos fueron un ‘mal necesario-- aunque la realidad sea la contraria. Ahí entra una clara injerencia de los medios, del modo en que se narró la guerra y la influencia del uribismo con su modo sui géneris de formar país, con una exacerbación de nacionalismo construído contra un enemigo interno.

Hoy, para las elecciones del 31 de mayo, en la campaña contra la izquierda se aprovecha este rechazo generalizado a las guerrillas (como también se intentó hacer en las pasadas elecciones), por ejemplo con noticias falsas sobre la cercanía de Cepeda, el candidato del partido de Petro, con la guerrilla de las FARC .

Por otra parte, el candidato de la extrema derecha, A. de la Espriella, se posiciona como defensor de “la seguridad”. Éste candidato, el segundo en votos según encuestas, ha dicho de los “señores de la izquierda”: “a esa plaga hay que erradicarla”(!). De nuevo, históricamente otra vez: un llamado al exterminio de la contraparte. Esta horripilante frase ha causado revuelo en el país, pero no el suficiente, pues al mismo tiempo sus seguidores crecen, o sea, consideran aceptable este tipo de llamado al odio y la violencia. De la Espriella es un feroz representante de la alt-right, y hoy la peor pesadilla que enfrenta Colombia, aunque sus votantes no se den cuenta (como los arrepentidos de votar a Trump).

Por otro lado, la patriarcal derecha uribista, hoy a pesar de sí misma coqueteando con ser más inclusiva, con candidata femenina y un candidato a vicepresidente gay, pareciera que se mueve hacia el centro. Allí la ha empujado también el mencionado tumor que brotó a su derecha. En todo caso ambas derechas siembran miedo (”cuatro años más de izquierda arruinará al país”), ese altamente eficiente motor en mover votantes, como ya sucedió cuando los colombianos en ligera mayoría votaron NO al tratado de paz.

El legado de Petro

La izquierda muestra hoy una preocupación por continuar con los programas del tratado de paz, trabajar contra la alarmante desigualdad, y un continuismo ambientalista por ejemplo al defender un No al fracking. También, al igual que hace 4 años, la fórmula vicepresidencial de Cepeda es una líder social de una minoria étnica: Aída Quilcué.

Gustavo Petro ha sido un fenómeno de la izquierda latinoamericana pues en lugar de dedicarse al extractivismo, tuvo un importante enfoque ambientalista. Hay que resaltar la dificultad de que un país en solitario se dedique a “hacerle caso a la ciencia” con la amenaza de dejar al país sin medios, sin inversionistas, y con la fuga de los super-ricos. Y en efecto, el intento de mover el país hacia una transición energética ha estado lleno de reveses y críticas.

Las derechas amplían el miedo de que, al poner trabas al aprovechamiento de combustibles fósiles y alejando inversiones extranjeras, el país caerá en la ruina. Lo cual podría ser un problema real sin un cambio profundo en el sistema global de dependencias (Ver aquí sobre problemas de adoptar ideas Decrecentistas en países periféricos). A Petro le tocó actuar en solitario, y así no se puede...

Pero volvamos al tema democracia y acabemos con otro posible legado que deja el presente gobierno: ¿Podría haber hoy más consciencia de que es lícito y saludable (¡y posible!) que sectores de la sociedad tengan intereses y visiones distintas a las tradicionales de la élite, y que pueda haber un diálogo nacional que permita éstas distintas voces e, incluso, que lleguen a gobernar?

Ésta consciencia sería necesaria para ahondar en procesos democráticos y decoloniales. Algo imprescindible para forjar bienestar para todos en una sociedad tan rica en muchos sentidos pero tan apaleada por su pesada carga colonial-moderna.

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Colombian democracy and other curiosities

Regarding the presidential elections on May 31

It may be accurate to say, as a recent marketing slogan does, that Colombia is the “country of beauty.” Beauty, exuberance, a wealth of climates, water, life, and diversity.

At the same time, Colombia has at times been considered a failed state that has not protected its inhabitants from violence. And indeed, violence has returned, despite the peace treaty of 2016 (geared at solving the armed conflict starting in the 1960’s) and its recognized successes.

Here, with a few brushstrokes, I wish to zoom into the complexity of this country “of solitudes,” as G. García Márquez put it: a vast territory composed of highly diverse regions and peoples, with rugged, isolated, or sparsely populated landscapes.

Some historical peculiarities

Could it be that Colombia is an intrinsically violent country, as some consider? Well, no, violence has roots. One could say that it is a nation with a brutal history, a “settler colony” that never healed its deep wounds, and which, combined with a complex set of historical factors, has normalized violence. The current distribution of land, one of the most unequal in the world, is a continuation of the colonial dispossession of the indigenous peoples and a key factor in the protracted civil war.

The highly complex geography is also a factor to be considered. Historically, “archipelagos of power” were formed centered on the Andean region, while various peripheral areas were left abandoned for the benefit of whoever could exploit them, in accordance with colonial/racial logics. Today, the country, built upon this structure, occupies its place as an “extraction frontier” within globalized capitalism, as I have discussed elsewhere.

The war of independence was in part a maneuver by the “criollos” (descendants of Europeans born in the Americas) to rid themselves of the innovations sought by the Bourbon reforms. From Spain, there was “an explicit desire to dismantle the web of political networks” that hindered a modern governance. (Like present-day “caciquismo” that pervades the “solitudes” of the battered country).

After independence, the criollos simply supplanted the “peninsulares“ (born in Spain), leaving the colonial social structure intact. They saw themselves as the only ones capable of leading a “semi-savage” country toward civilization, in clear distinction from the racialized Other. The notions of citizenship that were created ignored the issues of race and contempt for the Other. Colombia was thus formed inside a web of colonial/modern hegemonic truths and power relations (the “coloniality of power”, A. Quijano).

This “white man’s burden” had consequences for the way democracy was and is perhaps still understood. Anyone who disagrees with the priorities of the elitist civilizatory vision can be regarded as an internal enemy... and, from some sectors, as someone who should be eliminated.

Political Spectra

I have always perceived my country as residing on the right side of the political spectrum, grounded in an acceptance of the status quo. Indeed, it is said that in 200 years of republican history, Colombia has never had a left-wing government—an anomaly that invites us to pause and reflect. Today, in times of neoliberal monolithic thinking, the idea of “there is no alternative” could almost seem normal, but for this anomaly to span the entire republican history of a country is definitely strange.

That is, until the government now coming to its end—that of Gustavo Petro. An analysis by philosopher Santiago Castro-Gómez noted that the “social upheaval” (2021), during the prelude to Petro’s election, occurred in part due to young people’s openness to the rest of the world through social media. They stopped interpreting reality as it was presented to them by their very conservative country.

There have been very important left-wing leaders who probably would have been elected had they not been assassinated, such as J.E. Gaitán (in 1948) and L.C. Galán (in 1989). These are just the most prominent of numerous magnicides (including some on the right). Furthermore, a left-wing party, the Patriotic Union, was almost completely wiped out, for which the Inter-American Court of Human Rights condemned the state in 2023 for systematic violence.

These realities speak volumes about what democracy has been like in Colombia. Every democrat, even the most conservative, would have to accept that Gustavo Petro’s government represents a significant break with this history of a limping democracy.

Today there is another significant specter, a “bogeyman”: in many circles across the South American country, any defense of the left is equated with an apology for “terrorism.”

The right-wing strongman, A. Uribe Vélez (president 2002–2010), coined the term “terrorists” for the guerrillas, actively replacing the term “war” for the armed conflict that ravaged the country, thereby obscuring the criminal actions of the other sides: (narco-)paramilitaries and the military.

The left (and not the right) became stubbornly associated with violence. Curiously, and significantly, most Colombians generally perceive and assert that in the internal war, the guerrillas caused more deaths than the paramilitaries—even claiming that the latter were a “necessary evil”. But the reality is the opposite. This is where there is clear media interference, in the way the war was narrated and the influence of “Uribism” with its unique way of explaining the country, and exacerbating nationalism built against an internal enemy.

Today, for the May 31 elections, the campaign against the left is capitalizing (as it tried to do in the past elections) on the widespread rejection of the guerrillas, for example with fake news about the closeness of Cepeda, the candidate of Petro’s party, to the FARC guerrillas.

On the other hand, the far-right candidate, A. de la Espriella, positions himself as a defender of “security.” This candidate, who is second in the polls, has said of the “gentlemen of the left”: “that plague must be eradicated.” (!) Once again: a call for the extermination of the opposition to the status quo. The statement is horrifying and has caused some uproar, but not enough, because at the same time his followers are growing—in other words, they consider this kind of incitement to hatred and violence to be acceptable. De la Espriella is a fierce representative of the alt-right, and today Colombia’s worst nightmare—even if his voters don’t realize it (much like those who regret voting for Trump).

On the other hand, the patriarchal, traditional ‘Uribista’ right, which today—despite itself—is flirting with being more inclusive, with a female candidate and a gay vice-presidential candidate, would seem to be moving toward the center. It has also been pushed there by the aforementioned tumor that sprouted to its right. In any case, both right-wing factions sow fear, a highly efficient engine for mobilizing voters, as happened when a slight majority of Colombians voted NO to the peace treaty.

Petro’s Legacy

The left today shows a commitment to continuing the peace treaty’s programs, working against the alarming inequality, and environmental continuity—for example, by advocating a “No” to fracking. Also, just as four years ago, Cepeda’s vice-presidential running mate is a social leader from an ethnic minority: Aída Quilcué (3).

Gustavo Petro has been a phenomenon on the Latin American left because, rather than pursuing extractivism, he adopted a strong environmentalist approach. It is important to highlight the difficulty for a single country to commit to “listening to science” when doing so risks leaving the country without resources, without investors, and facing an exodus of the super-rich. And indeed, the attempt to steer the country toward an energy transition has been fraught with setbacks and criticism.

The fear that by hindering the use of fossil fuels and driving away foreign investment, the country will fall into ruin, is of course amplified by the right. And without a profound change in the economic system and global dependencies, the situation is difficult (as are the challenges of adopting degrowth ideas in peripheral countries). Colombia was left to itself during Petro’s tenure, and that is a non-starter...

But let’s return to the topic of democracy and conclude with another possible legacy left by the current government: Could there be greater awareness today that it is legitimate and healthy, (and possible!), for different sectors of society to have other interests and visions than the traditional elite ones, and actually participate in a national discussion and form governments?

This awareness would be necessary to deepen democratic and decolonial processes. It is essential for forging well-being for all in a society so rich in many ways yet so battered by its heavy colonial-modern burden.

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Hello friends of Sufficiency and Wellbeing!

We have launched The Sufficiency and Wellbeing Experience.

What makes life meaningful, emancipatory, and worth living beyond simply “having enough”? The Sufficiency & Wellbeing Experience is a weekly talk show exploring life beyond colonial capitalist ideas of endless exploitation, growth, and productivity. Through informal yet informed conversations on ecology, intersectional politics, wellbeing, bodily integrity, care, joy, love, and resistance, the show asks how we can build truly flourishing futures within planetary boundaries. Speaking from the margins, movements, and spaces of embodied resistance, the show critically engages with inequality, silenced voices, hidden and slow forms of violence, and elite narratives, while understanding hope not as naïve optimism, but as a politics of resistance grounded in place, emotion, vulnerability, critical thinking, and the audacity to imagine liberation despite far-right authoritarianism, fear, and ecological uncertainty.

You can watch our free episodes on YouTube:

https://www.youtube.com/@SufficiencyMedia

You can listen on Spotify and Apple Podcasts.

Members-only episodes can be accessed here:

1. Part I: An introduction to navigating chronic illness and current events

2. Part II: Navigating the workplace as a someone with a chronic illness

3. Part III: Questioning and relearning what it means to take care of the self

4. Part IV: Learning to find joy again

5. Part V: Chronic illness, capitalism, and climate change

6. Part VI: Lessons to help us weather any storm

To read Part II of this series, click here.

Self-Care, Discontinued

Upon hearing that I’d had to quit my job, my friends and family naturally wanted to know what I planned to do next. My answer, although a logical response to a sudden illness, didn’t really hold any meaning for me—or so I’d learn. “I’m going to take this time to rest and care for myself” was the automatic voice message that played whenever anyone asked about my plans. But what didn’t play out was any kind of conversation about what that actually looks like.

And it turns out that I had no idea what self-care looked like.

For decades, consumerist profit-driven industry (particularly in individualist countries like the United States) has slowly dismantled the care networks that exist within close-knit communities and replaced them with marketable “products” that are purported to help you reclaim your youth, joy, and beauty while actually making you lonelier, sadder, and poorer. Maybe it’s not fair to blame everything on industry, after all, many of them are just trying to survive in a cut-throat capitalist system. Perhaps our own ultra-individualist culture is to blame. But either way, the result is a population of people who are desperately trying to heal themselves with products or habits that, at best, do very little, and at worst, actively make things worse.

As the empty days went by, and my bad habits realized they had nowhere to hide, I was able to pick them out, one by one, and realize what was helping—and what wasn’t. I can’t fully credit myself though—a lot of this realization came with the help of experts and professionals—not doctors or medical professionals in the “health”-care industry, but rather a small group of individuals who have been thinking critically about what wellness really looks like.

I happen to follow the Wellbeing Scientist on Instagram. Run by a PhD student who is studying this exact topic, @thewellbeingscientist_ account explores how capitalism, individualism, colonization, racism, and climate change are all connected to our increasing lack of wellbeing. She also explores what true wellness does look like. I’ll give you a hint: it’s not $7 matcha lattes, avocado toast, strict workout routines, and juice cleanses. It turns out that “self care” isn’t really something that you can do by yourself—or rather, that “self care” is perhaps a myth we’ve been taught to believe we need when, in fact, what we actually need is community care.

It doesn’t help that the American healthcare system is actively treating symptoms, but not bothering to question underlying cultural structures and institutions that contribute to the existence of those illnesses in the first place. But of course, the healthcare system exists under the same capitalist pressures as everything else—it’s a trillion-dollar enterprise, and it needs money to survive. Why would the healthcare system treat our illnesses effectively if they can just as easily get us hooked on symptomatic relief that keeps us coming back for more? If they were to invest in actual prevention, there would be little demand for their services.

As I dove into this concept of community care, I moved away from the immediate fear I had felt once I realized that my limited understanding of “self care” was actually a function of the system I existed in, rather than a personal failure. I found many other creators, researchers, experts, and community members who echoed similar sentiments:

Unsurprisingly, many of these experts’ work exist within networks and communities of people who face oppression daily, or who have been experiencing the systematic breakdown of their own communities by the powerful, structural forces of government for decades—and the work came from a place of necessity, of needing to build resilience against the privileged, oppressive systems and people that make up much of the Global North. Instead of failing to fully convey their insights with my own words, I’ll share a couple of my current favorites here (Christabel Mintah-Galloway, Collective Rest, and Mumbi poetry) and encourage you to explore their work.1

But where does all of this leave me in terms of my new circumstances? Unfortunately, it meant that “taking time to rest and recover” was going to be a lot harder than I had anticipated. Because it meant relying on others and strengthening relationships—which would require participation and effort from more than just me. I needed to take inventory of my life, my family, my friends, and figure out which parts could be strengthened, and what needed to be composted—returned to the earth to help sow new and better seeds of the future. But once again, I was faced with a larger issue—my wellness wasn’t fully within my control. It depends on the shape and texture of the place I call home, too.

All of this is true, but it doesn’t mean I can’t work with what I do have. As much as I would like to say it was strength and determination that made me take a deep breath and start developing the community I needed, it was something more akin to necessity. Somewhere along the way, I realized that raging about the circumstances of my poorly-built country (and our lack of communal spaces) wasn’t going to solve anything. And although I may not be able to change much about how the United States functions right now, I can start small, working on building community where and when I can—planting seeds everywhere, composting that which doesn’t serve me, and feeding everything else with love and hope.

If nothing else, it’s clear that in order to truly be well, we need to start rethinking how we shape our institutions and care for each other. Only by taking care of the whole can we take care of the self. And an integral part of taking care of yourself (and your community) is in finding joy. More on that in Part IV…

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الأنظمة العربية مكتملة الوظيفة، شرعيتها لا تستمد من سيادة شعبية، أو من التحرر الوطني أو من الاستقلال الاقتصادي، بل من قدرتها على أداء دورها داخل منظومة التبعية. يمكن تلخيص ركائز هذه الدولة التابعة في ثلاث دعائم أساسية:

أولاً: التبعية البنيوية العضوية للمركز الإمبريالي

تقوم الدولة التابعة على تبعية عضوية للمركز الإمبريالي الغربي سياسيًا وأمنيًا واقتصاديًا، بحيث يصبح استمرار النظام نفسه مشروطًا باستمرار هذه العلاقة مع المركز الغربي. يرفض مهدي عامل فكرة أن الدولة “غير مكتملة” في المجتمعات التابعة، و يؤكد أن الدولة في التشكيلات الكولونيالية جهاز طبقي مكتمل وظيفياً، يعمل بوصفه أداة لإعادة إنتاج التبعية، لا كأداة سيادة وطنية. وينطبق هذا التحليل تماماً على الأنظمة العربية والسلطة الفلسطينية؛ المشكلة لا تكمن في فشلها في تحقيق التحرر، بل في نجاحها البنيوي في أداء وظيفتها المضادة له.

ثانيًا: ضبط الداخل وقمع الجماهير

الركيزة الثانية للدولة التابعة هي ضبط الداخل عبر أجهزة قمع تمنع أي عنف شعبي قد يهدد السلطة. يصف فانون النخب الوطنية الحاكمة في الأنظمة التابعة، وسيط بلا مشروع إنتاجي، يبحث عن دور إداري بيروقراطي داخل البنية الكولونيالية، بدلاً من قيادة مشروع تحرري. وينطبق هذا الوصف تماماً على النخب الحاكمة في الخليج، المغرب، مصر، الأردن أو السلطة الفلسطينية. هذه النخب، كما يوضح فانون، لا ترى في الجماهير قوة تاريخية بل خطراً وجودياً، لأنها تخاف من العنف الشعبي التحرري أكثر مما تخاف من الاستعمار نفسه؛ إذ إن العنف التحرري يهدد وظيفتها وموقعها داخل البنية القائمة.

ويؤكد فانون أنّه إذا لم تنخرط هذه النخب في مشروع تحرري جذري، فهي ستتحول بالضرورة إلى حارس محلي للنظام الاستعماري الامبريالي، مهما رفعت من شعارات السيادة والهوية. يكمل فانون بشرح كيف تتحول النخب الوطنية في هذه الأنظمة إلى وسيط عنيف ضد الطبقات الشعبية. السلطة الفلسطينية مثلاً، ليست مجرد أداة ضبط سياسي، بل جهاز ضبط طبقي داخلي؛ فهي تقمع العمال وسكان المخيمات، تقتل وتعتقل المقاومين، وتحمي مصالح الطبقة المنتفعة من استمرار النظام الاستعماري وتعمل كجهاز لتأمين إستمراره. هذا الدور ليس انحرافاً، بل تعبير مباشر عن بنيتها الطبقية؛ إذ إن أي تغيير حقيقي في وظيفتها يعني تفكيك أجهزتها، خسارة امتيازاتها والدخول في صدام مع الاحتلال، أي نهايتها كنظام. بذلك، تتطابق السلطة مع وظيفتها: جهاز إدارة كولونيالي بواجهة فلسطينية وطبقة مستفيدة من استمراره.

ثالثاً: شيطنة المقاومة وتجريم التضامن

تستكمل الدولة التابعة وظيفتها عبر شيطنة المقاومة وتجريم أي تضامن شعبي معها، بوصفه تهديدًا للأمن والاستقرار. لكنها في الواقع لا تخشى الفوضى، بل تخشى تحوّل التضامن إلى وعي سياسي طبقي يكشف الترابط البنيوي بين قضية فلسطين وبنية الاستبداد والتبعية في المنطقة.

غزة خارج الدولة التابعة

تكشف هذه الركائز أن الدولة التابعة نظام أُنجزت وظيفته التاريخية، لكنه ليس نظامًا محصّنًا. فقد أثبتت غزة أن الجماهير قادرة على تحويل قوتها الشعبية إلى فعل تاريخي تحرري، كاسرة احتكار السلاح والقرار السياسي، وموضعة نفسها فاعلًا مستقلًا خارج مؤسسات النظام الرسمي.

غزة كنموذج مقاوم تهدد احتكار السلطة والسلاح، وتفضح التحالف الطبقي القائم بين النخب الحاكمة والقوى الإمبريالية، كما تكشف زيف السردية الأمنية للأنظمة العربية.

احتكار السلطة والسلاح

تقوم الدولة التابعة، كما حلل مهدي عامل، على احتكار السلطة والسلاح، ليس لمواجهة العدو الصهيوني، بل لحماية التبعية، وضبط الداخل، ومنع أي تحوّل شعبي تحرري. في هذا السياق، ألغت غزة معادلة “السلاح بيد الدولة”، وكَسرت احتكار القرار السياسي، وأعادت تعريف الشرعية بوصفها نابعة من الفعل الشعبي المقاوم لا من الاعتراف الدولي.

يوضح سيف دعنا أن السلطة في هذه الأنظمة ليست فاشلة، بل ناجحة في أداء وظيفتها الأمنية، أي في إعادة إنتاج النخبة وحماية شروط التبعية. وعلى النقيض، أثبتت غزة كيف تتحول الطبقات الشعبية الى فاعل تاريخي، عبر امتلاك السلاح الشعبي، أي حق تقرير المصير.

الأنظمة العربية والنخب الحاكمة لا تخاف من غزة كمساحة جغرافية، بل تخشى أن تتحول غزة الى نموذج يُحتذى به، يُظهر أن الشعب قادر على تقرير مصيره والتحرك السياسي التحرري خارج إطار الأنظمة التابعة.

التحالف الطبقي القائم

في هذا السياق، لا تمثل غزة تهديداً لما يُسمّى “الأمن القومي العربي” فحسب بل تهدد التحالف الطبقي القائم بين النخب الحاكمة العربية، ورأس المال الريعي الكومبرادوري، والمنظومة الإمبريالية العالمية. فهي، خارج اقتصاد الريع والتبعية، على خلاف غالبية الأنظمة العربية، تكشف الخطر الطبقي وتثبت أن التحرر والتحرك السياسي المستقل لا يحتاج إلى طبقة وسيطة تحمي مصالح القوى الامبريالية الخارجية والنخبة المحلية. نموذج غزة المقاوم يشكّل تهديدًا مباشرًا لهذا التحالف، كونه نقطة انكشاف للبنية الطبقية التي تحكم الأنظمة العربية والسلطة الفلسطينية.

والرد على هذا التهديد يأتي إبادياً، فالإبادة في غزة ليست حدثًا منفصلًا عن البنية السياسية العربية، بل هي نقطة انكشاف التحالف الطبقي العربي الإمبريالي والعلاقة العضوية بين الدولة التابعة العربية والنظام الإمبريالي العالمي. ويجب فهم دور هذه الأنظمة في الإبادة بوصفه اختياراً طبقياً واعياً تمارسه الطبقات الحاكمة متحالفة مع الكيان الصهيوني دفاعًا عن مصالحها وشروط بقائها داخل النظام الإمبريالي. تُدار هذه السياسة الإبادية على المستوى الإقليمي، إذ يرتبط استمرار الطبقات الحاكمة العربية عضوياً ببقاء النظام الإمبريالي العالمي ذاته. في المحصلة، يقوم الخليج بتمويل أجهزة الضبط والقمع الضرورية لسحق غزة، إذ لا يرى فيها قضية تحرر، بل تهديدًا بنيويًا للاستقرار الإقليمي الذي يضمن بقاء أنظمته.

إن محميات الخليج تعمل كأطراف فاعلة في إعادة إنتاج التحالف الطبقي الإمبريالي الإقليمي وضمان مصالح النخب الحاكمة العربية على حساب حياة الشعب الفلسطيني. دعمها للإبادة ليس موقفًا عارضًا أو انحرافًا سياسيًا، بل جزء من وظيفة بنيوية تهدف إلى منع أي تجربة مقاومة شعبية، مثل غزّة، من التحول إلى نموذج يُحتذى به على المستوى الإقليمي.

السردية الأمنية للأنظمة العربية

غزة تمثل تحدياً لأنها خارج منطق وحدود كامب دايفيد، أوسلو، وادي عربة، وأبراهام، خارج التنسيق الأمني، وحراسة الحدود. هي النموذج المضاد الذي يثبت أن الشعب قادر على الفعل خارج السلطة. غزة، كفعل ثوري، تكشف زيف الخطاب الإنساني والسياسي للنظام العربي، ولذلك يُرد عليها بعنف إبادي.

الأنظمة العربية والسلطة الفلسطينية ليست مجرد متفرّجة على الإبادة، بل هي جزء من منظومة الإبادة نفسها؛ فهي لا تتدخل لإنقاذ الشعب الفلسطيني في غزة، بل تعمل على استمرارها. دعم الإبادة أو إدارتها عبر خطاب إنساني لا يُعد موقفًا محايدًا، بل يشكّل دفاعًا مباشرًا عن شروط إعادة إنتاج الطبقات الحاكمة ونمط السلطة الذي تمثّله.

معاداة السلطة لغزة ليست بسبب اختلاف سياسي، بل لأنها تفجّر التناقض الطبقي داخل المجتمع الفلسطيني بين من يعيش من أوسلو والتنسيق الأمني ومن يعيش في مواجهته، وهو أخطر ما يمكن أن يحدث لطبقة حاكمة. يوضح سيف دعنا أن السلطة الفلسطينية ليست دولة فاشلة، بل سلطة ناجحة في أداء وظيفتها الأمنية.

خطر غزة لا يكمن في صمودها فقط، بل في كشفها كذبة “العجز” التي تتذرّع بها الأنظمة العربية؛ فهي تظهر أن الجيوش العربية جرى تحييدها وظيفيًا، وأن قرارها لم يعد وطنيًا بل خاضعًا لوظيفة إقليمية ضمن نظام التبعية. الأنظمة العربية لا “تخون” غزة، والسلطة الفلسطينية لا “تنحرف”، بل كل منهما يعمل وفق وظيفته البنيوية.

غزة تهدد شرعية الأنظمة، احتكارها للسلاح، خطابها، بنيتها الطبيقة ووظيفتها الكومبرادورية، تشكل خطراً بنيوياً وتهدد السردية الأمنية للأنظمة العربية أمام شعوبها. لذلك، ممارسات هذه الأنظمة ليس صمتاً، ليس عجزاً، ليس خيانة بل دفاعاً عن وجودها. غزة تمثل تهديدًا وجوديًا للأنظمة العربية لأنها كنموذج يدحض أسس، شرعية وبقاء هذه الأنظمة.

العنف التحرري الشعبي كخيار وجودي

لم يكن ما قاله الشهيد، الناطق باسم الأمة حذيفة الكحلوت، مطالبةً للأنظمة العربية بالتحرك لإنقاذ أهل غزة من الإبادة “لا سمح الله”، بل كان فضحًا لمشاركتهم فيها ولخذلانهم. كان مدركاً أنهم يقومون بوظيفتهم؛ الوظيفة التي ضَمَن الاحتلال تنفيذهم لها على أكمل وجه. فهذه الأنظمة جزءٌ عضويٌّ من آلة الإبادة؛ تؤمّن شروطها، وتحمي مرتكبيها، وتوفّر لها الغطاء السياسي والأمني والإعلامي.

من هنا، يصبح الاستمرار في المناشدة ضرباً من الوهم؛ فالمناشدة تفترض أن هذه الأنظمة أخطأت أو أساءت التقدير، بينما الحقيقة أنها تؤدي وظيفتها كما صمّمت لها. إن السماح لها بالاستمرار يعني القبول بمسح كرامة كل مواطن عربي، وتحويل الشعوب إلى جمهور ينتظر دوره في قائمة الإبادة. فهل ننتظر حتى يحين دورنا؟

لا أمل في أنظمة أُنجزت عبر وظيفتها الكولونيالية، ولا في نخبٍ مستفيدة من موقعها داخل بنية التبعية. الأمل الوحيد يكمن في الشعوب العربية حين تستعيد موقعها الطبيعي في هذا الصراع، لا كجماهير مُستجدية، بل كقوة تاريخية واعية بذاتها. في طبقاتها الشعبية الثورية تحديدًا، بوصفها حاملة الورقة الحاسمة في الصراع: العنف التحرري الشعبي، الورقة التي تُرعب الأنظمة التابعة لأنها تهدّد وجودها ذاته.

فإذا توحّدت هذه الطبقات وتنظّمت سياسياً، تصبح قادرة على كسر التبعية، وانتزاع القرار السياس، والإطاحة بأنظمتها وبالطبقة البرجوازية التابعة التي تتآمر عليها، وتستثمر في قمعها، وتقايض بدمها. هنا فقط تُستعاد السياسة من قبضة السلطة، وتُستعاد الكرامة الانسانية من منطق الإبادة، ويعود الشعب إلى موقعه الطبيعي: صانع التاريخ و التحرر.

Arab regimes are fully functional; their legitimacy does not derive from popular sovereignty, national liberation, or economic independence, but from their ability to perform their role within the dependency system. The pillars of this dependent state can be summarized into three main supports:

First: Organic Structural Dependency on the Imperial Center
The dependent state functions as an organic (structurally embedded, historically produced, and self-reproducing) extension of the Western imperial center in political, military, and economic terms, meaning that its institutions, ruling elites, and key economic flows are deeply integrated into the logic of that center. This renders the regime’s survival conditional upon the continuation of this very relationship with the Western center, rather than on any autonomous or internally self-sustaining foundation.

Lebanese Marxist philosopher Mahdi Amel rejects the notion that states in dependent societies are “incomplete,” emphasizing that in colonial formations, the state is a fully functional class apparatus, operating as a tool for reproducing dependency rather than exercising national sovereignty. This analysis applies fully to Arab regimes and the Palestinian Authority; the problem lies not in their failure to achieve liberation, but in their structural success in performing a counter-liberation function.

Second: Domestic Control and Popular Repression
The second pillar of the dependent state is internal control through repressive apparatuses that prevent any popular action threatening authority. Martiniquan political philosopher Frantz Fanon describes the national elites in such regimes as intermediaries without a productive project, seeking bureaucratic administrative roles within the colonial structure rather than leading a liberation project. This description fits the ruling elites in the Arab Gulf, Morocco, Egypt, Jordan, and the Palestinian Authority. These elites, Fanon explains, perceive the masses not as a historical force but as an existential threat, fearing popular revolutionary violence more than colonial domination itself, because revolutionary violence jeopardizes their function and position within the existing structure.

Fanon also stresses that unless these elites join a radical liberation project, they inevitably become local guardians of the imperial-colonial system, regardless of slogans about sovereignty and identity. He further explains how national elites in these regimes transform into violent intermediaries against popular classes. The Palestinian Authority, for example, is not merely a tool for political control but a class-control apparatus: it represses workers and camp residents, kills and arrests resistance fighters, protects the interests of the class that benefits from the continuation of the colonial system, and functions to ensure its persistence. This role is not a deviation but a direct expression of the class structure of the authority: any genuine change in its function would entail dismantling its structure, losing privileges, and confronting the occupation, effectively ending the system. Thus, the Authority’s operations align precisely with its function: a colonial administrative apparatus with a Palestinian facade, and a beneficiary class tied to its continuity.

Third: Demonizing Resistance and Criminalizing Solidarity
The dependent state completes its function by demonizing resistance and criminalizing popular solidarity, framing it as a threat to security and stability. In reality, it does not fear chaos but fears the possibility that solidarity will transform into class-based political consciousness, revealing the structural link between the Palestinian cause and the system of authoritarianism and dependency in the region.

Gaza Outside the Dependent State

These pillars reveal that the dependent state is historically functional but not invulnerable. Gaza has proven that the masses can convert their popular power into emancipatory historical action, breaking the monopoly on arms and political decision-making and positioning itself as an independent actor outside official institutions.

As a resistance model, Gaza threatens the monopoly over authority and arms, exposes the class alliance between ruling elites and imperial powers, and unveils the falsity of Arab regimes’ security narrative.

Monopoly over Authority and Arms

As Mahdi Amel analyzed, the dependent state monopolizes authority and arms, not to confront the Zionist enemy but to maintain dependency, control the domestic population, and prevent any emancipatory popular transformation. Gaza with it’s resistance however, broke the “arms in the state’s hands” paradigm, shattering the monopoly over political decision-making and redefining legitimacy as stemming from popular resistance, not international recognition.

Palestinian professor of sociology and international studies Saif Da’na demonstrates that these regimes are not failed states; they are successful in fulfilling their security function, reproducing elites and maintaining dependency conditions. Conversely, Gaza shows how popular classes can become historical actors through popular arms, exercising the right to self-determination. Arab regimes and ruling elites fear Gaza not as a geographic space but as a model demonstrating that people can determine their political path independently of dependent regimes.

The Existing Class Alliance

Gaza threatens not only so-called “Arab national security” but also the class alliance linking Arab ruling elites, rentier-comprador capital, and the global imperial system. Operating outside the rentier economy and dependency framework, Gaza reveals structural class danger and proves that emancipation and independent political action do not require a mediating class to protect foreign imperialist interests or local elites. Gaza’s resistance constitutes a direct threat to this alliance, exposing the class foundations governing Arab regimes and the Palestinian Authority.

The genocide in Gaza is not an isolated event but a point of exposure for the Arab-imperial class alliance and the organic relationship between dependent Arab states and the global imperial system. The role of these regimes in the genocide must be understood as a conscious class choice executed by ruling elites in alliance with the Zionist entity, defending their interests and their position within the imperial system.

This genocidal policy operates regionally, as the survival of Arab ruling classes is organically tied to the persistence of the global imperial system itself. The Gulf funds the necessary repressive apparatuses to crush Gaza, viewing Gaza not as a cause of liberation but as a structural threat to the regional stability that guarantees the survival of their regimes. Gulf protectorates act as agents by reproducing the imperial-class alliance regionally and securing ruling elites’ interests at the expense of Palestinian lives. Their support for the genocide is not accidental, nor is it a political deviation--it is the response required by the very structure of these regimes. By design, they must e prevent any popular resistance experience, such as Gaza, from becoming a regional model, or else risk their own collapse.

Arab Regimes’ Security Narrative

Gaza represents a challenge because it operates outside the logic and borders of Camp David, Oslo, Wadi Araba, and Abraham, outside security coordination and border control, a counter-model that proves that people can act independently of authority. Gaza, as a revolutionary act, exposes the falsity of humanitarian and political discourse within the Arab regime, eliciting genocidal violence in response.

Arab regimes and the Palestinian Authority are not mere spectators of genocide; they are part of the system itself. Their non-intervention sustains the genocide. Supporting or managing it under humanitarian discourse is not neutral; it constitutes direct defense of the conditions for reproducing ruling classes and the pattern of authority they embody.

The Authority’s hostility toward Gaza is not a matter of political difference, it is a response to Gaza’s exposure of class contradictions within Palestinian society, between those subsisting under Oslo and coordination policies with the occupation and those resisting them, a scenario most threatening to a ruling class. Saif Da’na notes that the Palestinian Authority is not a failed state but a successful security apparatus.

Gaza is dangerous not only becuase of its resilience, but also because it reveals the “incapacity” myth that regimes invoke; it demonstrates that Arab armies have been functionally neutralized and that their decisions are no longer national but subordinate to regional dependency within the imperial system. Arab regimes do not “betray” Gaza, and the Palestinian Authority does not “deviate”; each functions according to its structural role.

Gaza threatens the regimes’ legitimacy, their monopoly on arms, discourse, class structure, and comprador function, constituting a structural danger to the Arab regimes’ security narrative before their populations. Hence, their practices are not silence, incapacity, or betrayal but self-preservation. Gaza represents an existential threat as a model undermining the very foundations, legitimacy, and survival of these regimes.

Popular Emancipatory Violence as an Existential Choice

The martyr, the spokesman of the nation Hudhayfah al-Kahlout, did not call on Arab regimes to intervene to save Gaza from genocide. Rather, he exposed their participation and abandonment. He was aware that they were carrying out their function, the very function that the occupation had ensured they would perform to the fullest extent. These regimes are an organic extention of the machinery of annihilation; they secure its conditions, protect its perpetrators, and provide political, security, and media cover.

Appeals for intervention are illusory, presuming these regimes erred or misjudged, when in fact they are performing the function for which they were designed. Allowing them to continue means accepting the erasure of every Arab citizen’s dignity and transforming populations into an audience awaiting their turn on the genocide list. So do we wait until it is our turn?

There is no hope in regimes constructed through their colonial function or elites benefiting from their position within the dependency structure. The only hope lies in Arab peoples reclaiming their natural place in this struggle, not as passive masses, but as a historically conscious force. Within their revolutionary popular classes, they hold the decisive tool in the struggle: popular emancipatory violence, which terrifies dependent regimes because it threatens their very existence.

If these classes unite and organize politically, they can break dependency, seize political decision-making, overthrow their regimes and the dependent bourgeoisie conspiring against them, investing in their repression and trading in their blood. Only here are politics wrested from the grip of authority, human dignity reclaimed from the logic of annihilation, and the people restored to their natural role: the makers of history and liberation.

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Spain has a mosaic of left-wing groups reflecting the different sensibilities of its nations within a nation. Yet many are struggling to stay relevant at state level. The current coalition government of social democrats may look like a beacon of hope to observers in a Europe dominated by racism, austerity politics, military Keynesianism, and servitude to Washington. But it falls far short of what the country needs and what the majority wants. Spain’s parliament permits personal freedoms around sexuality and gender — yet does not hesitate when forced to choose between profit and human rights.

Seven years of “the most progressive government since the dictatorship” have delivered macroeconomic growth and investment returns for capital — alongside precarious work and an affordability crisis without modern precedent. The home our grandparents could buy in under a decade on one salary now cannot be paid off in five decades on two, despite GDP per capita being at least three times larger than in the 1980s. Instead of asking where all this wealth has gone, media and public discourse blame young people for laziness and idealism.

Those approaching retirement with paid-off mortgages seem unwilling to acknowledge that younger generations are right to refuse these conditions — to resist working for such poor returns, and to be almost universally anti-Zionist and anti-imperialist. A section of mostly working-class young men is drifting toward far-right rhetoric and toxic masculinity, but the broader picture is clear: younger generations reject genocide and colonialism as economic systems, even if that means the imperial standard of living will never reach them.

In this context of generational and class conflict — between property owners and renters paying impossible rents — the left has failed to demonstrate the necessity and feasibility of public and collective solutions to the housing crisis, or to make the case for affordable healthcare, energy, food, and water.

The heterogeneous left is trapped between moralism without management and a false realism that refuses to challenge power structures that are both socially and environmentally unsustainable. Dysfunctional party dynamics and a lack of internal democracy divorce political processes from everyday problems. Leaders sound more like priests reciting mantras from books nobody reads, descending into spirals of abstract purism. Language has displaced material reality; social media has become the marketplace of political relevance.

As a result, more and more people retreat toward the only things they feel they can trust: work, family, and money. Face-to-face solidarity has vanished from core political strategy. Who is stopping the eviction of vulnerable families? Attending to the homeless? Providing nutritious food to children? Supporting people fighting depression, eating disorders, sleep deprivation, drug abuse, and screen addiction? The left comforts itself with systems critique, sheltering in a vacuum of perfect morality that provides neither bread nor entertainment.

This was not always the case, and it doesn’t have to be. Genuinely progressive politics must stop cataloguing only the evils of capitalism and start solving people’s immediate needs and fears. That means:

• Supporting farmers pushed to destroy the very soil they depend on, as they transition to regenerative agriculture

• Offering pivot plans that give hope and security to burnt-out small businesses on the verge of closure

• Making housing affordable, and making the future irresistible — so young people look forward to it instead of escaping into screen addiction

Show solidarity and integrity first. Ask for a vote later. Practice the radical pragmatism of what actually needs to be done to meet our goals — explaining what parliament can and cannot deliver, and what global capital will and will not allow — instead of promising what parliament alone can never provide.

Where to start? Give legal and practical support to migrants. Offer time and holistic care to the homeless. Provide safe shelter for women facing male violence. Stop ships, military bases, and companies supporting genocide. Work with — don’t just talk about — the economic alternatives that need to be scaled up and wide.

Being radical means solving problems at their roots:

• Fix, and not only punish, broken men who direct violence at those they love

• Economically support those who repair homes, tend gardens, and steward life-supporting systems

• Resist and stop violence — with force when necessary and with courage when risks are real

There is an entire world of under-resourced social spaces waiting to be reclaimed: festivals, music, arts, sport, travel. Why is the left no longer present in them? Let’s show that a life of joy, safety, freedom, and solidarity is not only possible — it is being built.

Real solidarity is material, not symbolic. It changes lives, not just narratives. It rebuilds social fabric. It creates living experiences of ecosocialism, not texts — restoring the relationships that let people smell, hear, and feel utopia. Push down energy bills. Repair homes. Protect children. Return water to dry landscapes. Cool overheated cities. Handle conflict and guarantee safety. Do not hide from racism: confront it, repair the relationship, dissolve the fear. Safety and solidarity erase racism and fascism far more effectively than moral lecturing.

We need a left that shows up. One that walks the talk on the everyday problems of the working class. Politics is an act of service — not a top-down architecture designed by intellectuals who cannot wire a socket or mend a broken chair. A revolutionary is committed to victory, not purity: victory meaning the end of human and material deprivation through relations of regeneration, not extraction for the few.

Names and words matter less than outcomes. We will be judged by our capacity to end artificial scarcity, oppression, genocide, and ecocide. It is time to choose: make history, or hand it to the monsters behind capitalism.

Gisela Ruiseco: Neha, in the first part of our conversation you have brought the discussion around the understanding of “work” and the re-centering of care to the concrete situation of necessity. This is important, as in our disturbing, devastating present we have to face the concrete: how to rebuild.

You have conveyed how it is precisely the time of transition and crisis which opens up questions and possibilities about the meaning of “work”. Particularly at these turning points, there is not only the chance to re-imagine, but also, to restore dignity to what is already there and has been invisibilized/ devalued, as you well say! Particularly, the reproductive work done by women, which sustains the extractivist system.

At many levels in the Global South, it is difficult to revalue these types of work, as they go against the grain of a still hegemonic “development”, in which subsistence and informal economies are only considered as something to be “solved” and done away with.

Question: Devaluation corrodes the possibilities of transformation. How can we start to dig deep enough in our concepts to start re-imagining, and re-valuing certain types of work, to form care-centered societies? How can we move towards “giving communities a choice” about how to work and live?

Neha Saigal: To imagine a different future for these regions, we first need to understand how the present came to be. The story of coal in central and eastern India begins not with independence, but with colonialism and it is a story of land taken, forests destroyed, and communities pushed to the margins of an energy economy that was never built for them.

The coal regions of central and eastern India have a history of extraction that goes back well before independence in the age of British imperial power. In the late nineteenth century, a coal boom transformed the upland plateau from a largely agrarian region into a key site of a growing global fossil fuel economy. Eastern Indian coal was shipped westward across the subcontinent and exported as far as Southeast Asia and the Arabian Peninsula. This expansion was built on dispossession. The East India Company had long granted regional landlords or zamindars control over land and its revenues. During the coal boom, this system was used to strip Adivasi and under-privileged caste and farming communities of their land, forests, and livelihoods. Colonial courts then gave this dispossession legal permanence, recognising landlord rights over what lay beneath the ground. Settlements were cleared, forests destroyed, and the commons that sustained Adivasi life were swallowed up by mines, railway lines, and company towns. The deep social and ecological crisis visible in these regions today has its roots in this colonial period.

This history matters for how we think about just transition now!

The communities that paid the heaviest price for coal’s expansion Scheduled Tribe and Scheduled Caste groups, and especially women within these communities were never its beneficiaries. That exclusion did not end with colonialism; it has been repeated with each new wave of coal expansion in independent India.

Coal in India has a deeply gendered history, one that is inseparable from the country’s colonial past and its subsequent political economy. As Lahiri-Dutt (2020) notes, coal represented colonial modernity in India, and within this industrial formation, women were not absent; they were integral. In the early decades of the twentieth century, women worked alongside men in the collieries, their most common role being that of loader: carrying and stacking the coal cut by their male partners fathers, brothers, or husbands. This was physically demanding, essential labour, yet it remained largely unacknowledged as skilled work. Crucially, the women who performed it were predominantly from lower-caste, poorer-class, and indigenous communities, meaning that their eventual exclusion from the formal mining sector was not simply an economic or technological outcome, but one shaped by pre-existing social hierarchies of caste, class, and gender.

The post-nationalisation period marked a decisive turning point in women’s participation in Indian coal mining. The introduction of new technologies like draglines and shovels for open-cast mines, longwall systems for underground operations reorganised the labour process in ways that systematically displaced women. Since operating these machines was classified as “skilled” work, women were either encouraged to retire or simply not recruited. Those who remained in employment were typically assigned to tasks coded as unskilled and domestic in nature: sweeping floors, making tea, or guarding office gates. As Ghosh (1984, cited in Lahiri-Dutt 2020) argued, women did not simply disappear from the industry they were made redundant within it. The near-absence of any serious effort to train or upskill women workers meant that technological change became an instrument of exclusion rather than opportunity, entrenching their marginalisation within an industry they had helped build.

When one reflects on the deeply problematic history of fossil fuels in India, a just transition is not simply about switching from one fuel to another. It requires honestly confronting this history who bore its costs, who was displaced, whose land was taken and whose labour was made invisible and making a deliberate choice to put the voices, land rights, and livelihoods of the most excluded at its centre.

This confrontation necessarily brings us to the question of work itself: what it looks like, who performs it, and how it is valued. A just transition must grapple not only with what work people will move to, but with whether we are willing to fundamentally reimagine what counts as work in the first place. This includes care work, subsistence labour, and the vast ecosystem of informal and self-employed work that has long been the invisible engine of economic life. The ILO (2020) documents that between 55 and 88 percent of the workforce in low, middle, and upper-middle income countries across Asia, Africa, and Latin America is informally employed or self-employed. This is not a marginal footnote. This is the economy. The so-called formal economy sits atop this foundation and could not function without it.

And yet, this foundation has been systematically devalued, treated as a problem to be solved, a stepping stone to be left behind, rather than a form of organising life and livelihood that carries its own dignity, knowledge, and logic. The binary of productive versus reproductive work, formal versus informal, has functioned less as a description of reality and more as a hierarchy. Informal work in India whether waste collection, farm labour, sanitation, food vending, or domestic work is the backbone of the economy. Any conception of just transition that allows this work to remain at the bottom of the pyramid has not actually troubled the existing order. It has simply reproduced it.

This is where listening becomes a form of political practice. In the specific context of Eastern India, where I have been engaging with women on the cusp of this transition, one of the most generative things one can do is to create the conditions for their imagination of work to be heard not as a courtesy, but as an epistemic resource. These women have situated knowledge: they know what the land can sustain, what local markets can absorb, what is ecologically feasible and socially viable. When top-down templates propose fish ponds in the shadow of closed mines, these women can tell you why that won’t work and that mushroom cultivation might be a more viable option. That is not a small detail. It is a reminder that transition planning without this knowledge will simply reproduce the paternalism of the extractive economy it claims to replace.

A just transition, then, is also a challenge to the hierarchy of who counts as a knowledge producer and whose knowledge of work, ecology, and livelihood counts as expertise. It is a moment to insist that all work is dignified not as a rhetorical gesture, but as a structural commitment and to refuse the reproduction of hierarchies among workers based on gender, caste, and class. If the transition does not disturb those hierarchies, it is not just.

It is here, at the intersection of these crises, that the question of paradigm becomes unavoidable. The failures we are living through ecological, economic, social are not isolated malfunctions of an otherwise sound system. They are the predictable outcomes of a system organised around extraction: of land, of labour, of care, of futures. A just transition cannot simply be a better-managed version of the same logic. It has to be a rupture.

Gisela: Neha, you are actually starting right now a new project, which relates intimately to the themes we have been discussing. Could you tell us about this project?

Neha: It was this recognition that the old systems have not merely failed but are incapable of the repair they promise that led my colleague and I to co-found Intertidal Lab and I am co-building the Climate & Care Collective with a friend in India. We were sitting with a set of questions that didn’t have institutional homes: What does it mean for genuinely new things to emerge as the old structures break down? What does it take to build not just alternatives, but a different paradigm altogether, one that moves from extraction to care, that holds the inner and outer dimensions of change together, and that builds resilient communities precisely at the fractures of collapse and emergence?

The intertidal zone, the space between tides, neither fully sea nor fully land is generative precisely because of its instability. It is one of the most biodiverse zones on earth, and it exists because of the dynamic tension it inhabits. That is the sensibility we are trying to work from. Rather than waiting for stability, we are learning to build in the in-between, understanding care as a way of being in relationship with other humans, with non-human life, with land, and with time. Care as political practice means attending to what is being harmed and by whom, and organising to change it. Care as economic reimagination means asking what it would look like to organise production and distribution around sustaining life rather than accumulating capital. Care as future-making means sitting with communities, particularly the women at the cusp of transition in eastern India, the waste workers, the sanitation workers, the farmers, and asking not “how do we manage your transition?” but “what world are you trying to build, and what do you need from us?”

The old paradigm is not simply failing; it is being actively unmade by the communities it has most harmed, in ways that rarely make it into transition plans or policy briefs. The work is to make that unmaking legible and visible, to resource it, and to refuse to let it be folded back into the logic of extraction under new names.

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Illustration: From the Intertidal website. Artist: Rama Aldakkak