“And then what?”
Then what? A woman soldier shouted:
Is that you again? Didn’t I kill you?
I said: You killed me ... and I forgot, like you, to die.
Mahmoud Darwish - “In Jerusalem”.
These are awful times. Everything seems to be falling apart. Capitalism, in its most destructive version, takes more and more space in our lives.
The promise of social media as a tool to bring us together — to be a resource of information — turned out to be a huge disappointment. The enshittification promoted by capitalism is, after all, the inverse of Midas’s touch: everything gets worse. I know: I’m also affected by it, and at the same time I must be there to advertise my work.
But this newsletter is about hope, not despair. Despite being bombarded daily by thousands of pieces of bad news, there is still resistance. We are rising. We are fighting. We are forgetting to die. The poem by Mahmoud Darwish expresses his (our) will to create, to be free. And literature has this power of allowing us to imagine better worlds, to envision a post-capitalist world where everyone is actually free.
As Ursula Le Guin, a famous science fiction and fantasy writer, once said:
“We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art, and very often in our art, the art of words.”
That’s what I intend to bring to this newsletter. There are already so many newsletters keeping you informed about the misery of the world, and though the uplifting sort of newsletter is also nothing new, they're not as prevalent as ones about doom. Stories of hope and resistance — fictional or not — have been buried under the piles of debris from infinite wars and destruction.
This idea arose from the book “We Will Rise Again” — an anthology of speculative stories and essays edited by Karen Lord, Annalee Newitz, and Malka Older, and the essay “I forgot to die” written by Tithi Batthacharya on the occasion of Israel’s invasion of Gaza and its consecutive genocide against its people. I was — and I am — desperately in need of hope, of strength, of power. The feeling of powerlessness that Gaza’s genocide and destruction brought have led me to rethink how can I contribute to the fight against fascism and colonization. I’m no soldier, nor am I a big shot lecturer who can travel to bring light to what was (is) happening in Gaza (like the great Francesca Albanese, who despite all odds, threats, and boycotts continued to promote the truth about this massacre). I am but a poor trans neuroatypical academic who is trying to survive this world.
So, having acknowledged my limitations, my anxiety and desperation towards Gaza’s genocide had only built up to a point where I could not watch any more news. And I felt guilty. Guilty of being alive, guilty of having a place to sleep, food to eat, a family to come back to.
I felt guilty of being in a country where war is just a distant concept (for now), a country where my culture is not threatened by the colonizer’s wrath. But my guilt will not protect me, and my guilt will not protect anyone — silence will not protect you.
That’s why I decided to write this newsletter. Not about the horrors of the world - there is plenty of material about that, as I said. But about the good things that are happening, the things that the media will not cover, things that stay in the ellipsis amidst the shitstorm of bad news.
And today I will start with how indigenous people in Brazil won against the government and a powerful lobby of the agriculture and construction sectors - that intended to privatize a river.
Yes, you read right: the powerful lobby of the billionaire class tried to privatize a river that is, among other things, the livelihood of indigenous people of Brazil. But they fought back. And won.
“Indigenous peoples occupy Cargill’s barge on the Tapajós River against waterway privatization.
Nearly a month after occupying the cargo terminal of multinational Cargill at the port of Santarém (PA - State of Pará), around 400 Indigenous people intercepted and occupied one of the company’s grain barges on the Tapajós River on Thursday (19).
During the action, the group displayed banners against Decree 12.600/2025, which paves the way for the privatization of waterways in the Amazon, including the Tapajós, Madeira, and Tocantins rivers.
The occupation is part of a broader mobilization that began on January 22 and is included in the protest against granting Amazonian waterways to private operators.
Indigenous movements and civil society organizations denounce the lack of free, prior, and informed consultation with communities potentially affected by the Tapajós waterway — a right guaranteed by Convention 169 of the International Labour Organization (ILO) — and demand the revocation of the decree. According to Indigenous leaders, the projects threaten territories, ways of life, and the environmental balance of the region, especially with the expansion of large‑scale navigation for grain transport.
Dredging and rock removal from the riverbed may stir up tons of mercury and pesticide residues accumulated at the bottom of the Tapajós, contaminating the water and endangering the health of local populations. Another concern is the impact on Alter do Chão, whose white‑sand beaches may be affected by erosion caused by heavy barge traffic.
Mobilization
Since January 22, thousands of Indigenous people and members of social movements have led a historic mobilization in Santarém (PA) against the project to privatize and dredge the Tapajós River, which threatens biodiversity and traditional territories.
The mobilization measures also include strategic occupations at Cargill’s port facilities, protest boat caravans and the shutdown of the local airport. The demonstration has gained support from the local population, Indigenous peoples from other regions, and state and federal lawmakers.
The peoples of the lower Tapajós, who occupied Cargill’s port in Santarém for 34 days, are vacating the site this Thursday, the 26th. After the decree’s revocation on Tuesday, the occupation turned into a celebration. A ritual that was taking place at the moment the news arrived was filled with the energy of this Indigenous victory.”
As you can see, the mobilization of indigenous people was capable of defeating the giant multinational Cargill, and forcing the government to go back on its decision to privatize rivers. When we fight, when we mobilize, we win. We must not let the media, the right-wing parties and governments to say otherwise and to make us believe there’s no alternative. We can — and we must — defeat capitalism. You’re not alone. Don’t lose hope of better days and don’t stop dreaming of a world without the horrors of this destructive system.
See you soon,
Hailey.