Since this performance, Lal has been prolific: aside from his collaborations with Rajna Swaminathan, Ganavya, and others, he released raga shorts “Shuddha Sarang” in 2021 and “Bhairav” in 2024, as well as the EP “Raga Bhimpalasi” this August. | Live · INTERACTIVE Live · Brooklyn Between Notes: An Improvisational Set Since this performance, Lal has been prolific: aside from his collaborations with Rajna Swaminathan, Ganavya, and others, he released raga shorts “Shuddha Sarang” in 2021 and “Bhairav” in 2024, as well as the EP “Raga Bhimpalasi” this August. Follow our YouTube channel for updates from past or future events. As part of SAAG's live event In Grief, In Solidarity on June 5th, 2021, the raga and jazz pianist and composer Utsav Lal performed a set that kicked off the proceedings. With his quick-fingered approach, glimmering with deep pauses leading to swift digressions that slide through and between notes, Lal—who has been called “ the Phil Coulter of raga ” —began the event by offering a set that was at once meditative and immersive. Lal has performed solo at the Carnegie Hall, Southbank Centre, Kennedy Center, and Steinway Hall, among others, and has been honored as a Young Steinway Artist, amongst others. He has seven solo records, including a historic world’s first album on the microtonal Fluid Piano (2016). In 2023, Lal performed for SAAG's Volume 2 launch event as part of the “ Vagabonds Trio, ” which includes himself, Rajna Swaminathan, and Ganavya Doraiswamy. The performance heralded both a new volume of SAAG and Rajna Swaminathan's latest album, Apertures . Buy Lal's latest release, Raga Bhimpalasi: Indian Classical Music on the Piano, here . SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Live Brooklyn Raga Jazz Piano Music Performance Live Performance Improvisation Rajna Swaminathan Ganavya Carnegie Hall Fluid Piano Vagabonds Trio Raga Bhimpalasi Classical Music Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 5th Jun 2021 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

In the Kashmir Valley, the spirit of "Kashmiriyat"—a philosophy of inclusion and coexistence—remains strong. However, the struggle for the region's autonomy, known as Tehreek-e-Azadi, can sometimes overshadow the diverse identities that coexist there, whether religious or sexual. In this complex context, how can one live and assert their identities in a place where even the majority identity struggles to thrive under New Delhi’s control? The Vertical collected stories of everyday resilience, offering a glimpse into the lives of those who continue to navigate existence in a region where the broader independence movement can sometimes obscure the more intimate and plural realities of its minorities. · FEATURES Photo Essay · Kashmir In the Kashmir Valley, the spirit of "Kashmiriyat"—a philosophy of inclusion and coexistence—remains strong. However, the struggle for the region's autonomy, known as Tehreek-e-Azadi, can sometimes overshadow the diverse identities that coexist there, whether religious or sexual. In this complex context, how can one live and assert their identities in a place where even the majority identity struggles to thrive under New Delhi’s control? The Vertical collected stories of everyday resilience, offering a glimpse into the lives of those who continue to navigate existence in a region where the broader independence movement can sometimes obscure the more intimate and plural realities of its minorities. "The Long Bloom (the figure in white)" (2020), graphite on watercolour paper, courtesy of Moses Tan. Existing in Kashmir T he sun has disappeared behind the Pir Panjal range of the Himalayas, which encircles the Kashmir Valley. Administered under the Indian union territory of Jammu and Kashmir, the Valley is a Muslim-majority region, situated on the border with Pakistan. It has remained at the heart of a territorial conflict since 1947. At night, Suthsoo—a rural village near Srinagar, the summer state capital—is alive with men advancing along the main street, chanting slogans and religious hymns while rhythmically beating their chests. It is Eid al-Ghadir, a Shia festival commemorating Prophet Muhammad’s appointment of his son-in-law Ali as his successor in 632 AD, a moment that began the ongoing split between Sunni and Shia Muslims. The men gather in front of the mosque, raising their voices before entering; the women take a staircase to observe the celebrations from the first floor, which is reserved for them. Songs and speeches follow one another under a portrait of Ayatollah Khomeini, the founder of the Islamic Republic of Iran. Rohan, a young queer influencer, is one of the performers that evening, singing under the eyes of his family who have come to listen to him. The 29-year-old TikToker regularly visits a "cruising park" in central Srinagar to meet his partners. With its 1.7 million inhabitants, Srinagar is often seen as a more liberal space compared to the rest of the valley, offering sexual minorities a partial escape from cultural and religious pressures. "My village is very conservative," Rohan laments. "That's why I prefer the city centre." In Srinagar, Rohan enjoys the relative anonymity of urban areas. Members of the LGBTQ community interviewed by The Vertical regularly visit mosques and the sacred sites of Kashmir, such as the Hazratbal Shrine, which houses a relic of the Prophet Muhammad. "At the mosque, you pray for yourself," explains Zia*, a bisexual son of a police officer, "no one pays attention to us or judges us." Mahnoor*, 21, who identifies as a transgender woman and works part-time at a beauty salon in Srinagar, adds: "Allah gave me a body that I respect. I won't undergo gender reassignment surgery." Like her, many transgender women in Kashmir choose not to undergo surgery, partly to ensure they can have Muslim funeral rites. "Living in a region under Indian military occupation—where Kashmiri identity is constantly challenged—triggers a defensive reaction that leads sexual minorities to prioritise their Kashmiri and Muslim identities," explains Sadiya, a queer activist from New Delhi and a transgender woman. "Similarly, local politicians often subordinate all other demands to the cause of Azadi , seen as the absolute priority over social and individual issues." In this region, one of the most militarised in the world with nearly half a million Indian soldiers stationed, minority identities can sometimes be overshadowed by the independence movement, often viewed as the primary collective cause. Furthermore, Kashmiri society places great value on marriage and family formation, making the acceptance of relationships outside of marriage, whether heterosexual or homosexual, difficult. Under a chinar tree, a symbol of the region, Rohan shares: "My family is putting a lot of pressure on me to marry soon." Although the colonial-era law criminalising homosexuality was repealed in 2018, the subject remains taboo in the valley, as does transgender identity, despite the Indian Supreme Court’s official recognition of a third gender in 2014. Queer and transgender individuals are often forced to hide their sexual and gender identities from their families to protect their reputations. "In New Delhi, I wear crop tops and get compliments every day. In Srinagar, I don't dare dress as a woman or shave my beard," reveals Mahnoor*. Discrimination against sexual minorities sometimes takes tragic turns. Sadiya explains: “Sexual minorities live in constant fear in the Kashmir Valley. Some parents do not hesitate to resort to violence, even murder, when they discover that their child is queer. For lesbian women, the situation is even more distressing, as they face both homophobia and misogyny.” Faisal*, a 17-year-old gay man, was raped by two police officers in a police station in Srinagar. "Making a complaint would be pointless," he confides. Zia* speaks of the pervasive denial that exists within families: "My family does not want to acknowledge my sexuality. We never talk about it." In 2015, he received threats from masked and armed men who burst into his home. Following this incident, he decided to give up dancing, which he had pursued at a professional level. He now resides in New Delhi, where it is easier to perform his sexuality and find job opportunities, which have become even scarcer since the abrogation of the state's autonomy in 2019. Sadiya, who dreams of one day opening a queer artist residency in Srinagar, laments: "There is still much to be done regarding the rights of sexual minorities in Kashmir, where the queer community is poorly structured. Those who can leave the valley, where they suffocate." Furthermore, the revocation of Article 370 of the Indian Constitution, combined with the internet shutdowns and mobility restrictions that followed, has further intensified the isolation of sexual minority members, depriving them of essential means of communication and support networks. Additionally, some local activists denounce the Indian state’s "pinkwashing," accusing New Delhi of instrumentalising the rights of sexual minorities to position itself as a defender against a Muslim population perceived as homophobic. The discourse from New Delhi, highlighting the defence of LGBTQ rights in Kashmir to justify the abrogation of Article 370, has generated increasing distrust towards local LGBTQ activists, who are sometimes seen as colluding with the central government. Similarly, New Delhi seeks to exploit religious divides. LIVING AS A SHIITE IN KASHMIR At the Zadibaal Imambara, preparations for the evening majlis are in full swing. In front of the building, shop stalls overflow with various items related to Shia rituals, alongside flags bearing the image of Ibrahim Raisi, the former Iranian president who tragically died in a helicopter crash last May. Inside the Imambara, workers hang red and black banners. Women come to pray. On a patchwork of multicoloured carpets, idle workers sip their noon chai , the traditional Kashmiri tea, which is pink and salty. The papier-mâché ceiling fans, a source of pride for the faithful, help to dispel the heat. Daylight filters through the stained-glass windows made of wood. A devotee tests the microphone: "Ya Ali, ya Hussain." The Zadibal Imambara houses a relic: a hair of the third Imam, Hussain. According to legend, this hair turns red during Ashura, the day of commemoration of Imam Hussain’s martyrdom at the Battle of Karbala in 680. Located in a predominantly Shia neighbourhood of Srinagar, it has suffered no fewer than twelve arson attacks since its construction in the 16th century, reflecting the recurring outbreaks of intercommunal violence. Nevertheless, the imambara has not been set on fire since 1872 and intercommunal relations have improved. Author and art historian Hakim Sameer Hamdani attributes the easing of intercommunal tensions to two events. Firstly, a 1907 memorandum addressed to the Viceroy of India, Lord Minto, signed by leaders of both sects, presenting their traditions as part of a single integrated Muslim community. Secondly, the Ashura processions of 1923, which took place for the first time during the day, defying established routines. The Twelver Shiite minority constitutes about 10% of the population of Kashmir, which has been predominantly Sunni since its Islamisation in the 14th century. They are spread throughout the region, primarily in Srinagar, as well as in the districts of Baramulla and Budgam. This community has long remained marginalised from local political life. Kashmiri academic Dr. Siddiq Wahid, an expert in international relations and governance issues, explains that the limited involvement of Shiites in the armed movement of the 1990s, which was largely dominated by Sunni Islam, may have led to a certain mistrust towards them. Sameera, a seventy-year-old resident of the affluent Rajbagh neighbourhood, offers a nuanced perspective, recalling that many Shiites supported the independence cause by hiding militants and taking up arms. “In the valley, identities intertwine and overlap like Russian dolls,” explains Dr. Siddiq Wahid, highlighting a complexity that goes beyond apparent divides. During the recent Indian general elections, the first since the revocation of Kashmir's autonomy in 2019, one of the strategies employed by the Indian central government was to exploit divisions between Sunnis and Shiites. However, this strategy did not succeed in Kashmir, where the population remains united against New Delhi: the residents of the valley came together against the local parties allied with the BJP. Cleric Agha Rahullah, from the influential Shiite Agha clan of Budgam, even won one of the seats in Srinagar on the National Conference ticket, a historic local party that secured two of the three seats in the Kashmir district. This victory has instilled pride within the Shiite community. Enayat, a Shiite resident of Srinagar, expressed his "great pride in seeing a member of his community represent Kashmir as a whole," noting that his election would not have been possible without the support of Sunni voters. CONNECTING MINORITIES BEYOND ETHNIC OR RELIGIOUS BOUNDARIES Despite the challenges of breaking the taboo around sexual minorities and advancing their rights — issues often overshadowed by the region’s political uncertainty — some NGOs are engaging in grassroots efforts. The People's Social and Cultural Society (PSCS), active since 2008, is dedicated to the sexual health of transgender individuals and men who have sex with men (MSM). It provides HIV testing, distributes condoms, lubricants, and antibiotics free of charge. A true "safe place" in the heart of Srinagar, the PSCS premises offer a refuge where everyone is welcome. "The people who come here feel supported and find a haven here. Many things have changed in the valley. Ignorance about HIV was once widespread, but thanks to nurse training nurses and prevention campaigns, attitudes have evolved," explains Dr. Rafi Razaqi, the director of PSCS. In this building, tucked away at the end of a quiet courtyard, bonds of solidarity transcend divisions, and struggles intersect. A visibly religious man jokes with visitors and social workers at the centre. This is Mustafa*, who works in the NGO’s branch that provides support for drug users. Sadiya, who also works as a tour guide, is organising an upcoming five-day inclusive trip to Srinagar for members of the LGBTQ community from New Delhi. She intends to take the group to PSCS to help them build networks with the local LGBTQ community and to meet a Kashmiri Hijra guru, who will share personal experience from the 1990s insurgency. “This programme aims to raise awareness about the realities faced by sexual minorities in Kashmir while showcasing the rich Islamic heritage of Srinagar, including its Shiite legacy, and fostering connections across ethnic and religious boundaries,” she explains. “The goal is to challenge the Kashmiriphobia and Islamophobia that persist among some queer activists in India,” she adds, referring to the controversy during Mumbai Pride 2020, where certain members of the organising committee distanced themselves from slogans supporting Kashmiri independence. She concludes: “this trip offers a unique opportunity to engage directly with Kashmiris. After all, isn’t it the essence of humanity to seek understanding of what is unfamiliar?”∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Photo Essay Kashmir Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 24th Oct 2025 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

WRITER, CURATOR Pramodha Weerasekera PRAMODHA WEERASEKERA is an art writer and curator based in Sri Lanka. She writes regularly about feminist artistic practices and occasionally about art books from South Asia. Her writing has appeared in e-flux , Art Review, Hyperallergic , BOMB , and several exhibition publications. Her curatorial projects have been presented at the Khoj International Artists Association in New Delhi, the Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Sri Lanka, and the Ceylon Literary and Arts Festival in Colombo. She is the Assistant Curator of Edition 9 of Colomboscope. WRITER, CURATOR WEBSITE INSTAGRAM TWITTER Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 LOAD MORE

Author Chaitali Sen in conversation with Fiction Editor Hananah Zaheer. | · COMMUNITY Interview · Literary Solidarity Nation-State Constraints on Identity & Intimacy Author Chaitali Sen in conversation with Fiction Editor Hananah Zaheer. Watch the interview on YouTube or IGTV I fight for a world without borders, but they're borders wrenched in reaction to colonialism, and fortified against the spread of English. It's interesting how capitalism homogenizes while making people want to put up walls. RECOMMENDED: A New Race of Men from Heaven: Stories (Sarabande, 2023) by Chaitali Sen SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Interview Literary Solidarity Bengali Internationalist Solidarity Black Solidarities Satyajit Ray Statelessness Colonialism Language South Asian Women's Creative Collective South Asians Against Police Brutality Abner Louima Anthony Baez Literature & Liberation Diaspora Identity Community Building Post-George Floyd Moment Immigration Race & Genre Short Stories Fiction Avant-Garde Form Avant-Garde Traditions Emancipatory Politics Experimental Methods Rabindranath Tagore Mrinal Sen Separatism Tamil Separatists Punjabi Separatists Rajiv Gandhi Separatist Movements in India Indian Diaspora Syria Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 17th Dec 2020 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

ADVISORY EDITOR, EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR Aditya Desai ADITYA DESAI is the Program Officer of literary programming at Maryland Humanities, as well as a teacher of English and writing. His stories and essays have appeared in B O D Y, Barrelhouse, The Rumpus , The Margins and others. He is based in Baltimore. ADVISORY EDITOR, EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR WEBSITE INSTAGRAM TWITTER Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 LOAD MORE

The acclaimed artist-activist Jaishri Abichandani's glimpse into the history of South Asian-American feminist art and activism, particularly with the South Asian Women's Creative Collective, speaks to the labor and creative organizing of feminist artists starting in the 1990s. INTERACTIVE FLUX · Jaishri Abichandani's Guided Studio Tour Jaishri Abichandani The acclaimed artist-activist Jaishri Abichandani's glimpse into the history of South Asian-American feminist art and activism, particularly with the South Asian Women's Creative Collective, speaks to the labor and creative organizing of feminist artists starting in the 1990s. FLUX: An Evening in Dissent As part of Flux: An Evening in Dissent, Abeer Hoque took a guided tour with the acclaimed artist-activist Jaishri Abichandani who showed us her famous Feminist Wall, replete with its history of feminist activists and activism. She also gave us an exclusive look at the piece Kamala's Inheritance (2021 Sculpture Wire, foil, epoxy, MDF, stone and paint). Tarfia Faizullah: Poetry Reading Kshama Sawant & Nikil Saval: A panel on US left electoralism, COVID19, recent victories, & lasting problems. Natasha Noorani's Live Performance of "Choro" Bhavik Lathia & Jaya Sundaresh: A panel on the US Left & its relationship with media in the wake of Bernie Sanders' loss. Rajiv Mohabir: Poetry Reading SAAG, So Far: A Panel with the Editors DJ Kiran: A Celebratory Set ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Watch the event in full on IGTV. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Live Brooklyn FLUX Art Practice Feminist Art Practice Sculpture Asia Pacific Arts Initiative Painting Swati Khurana South Asian Women's Creative Collective Ceramics Art Activism Art History Politics of Art Feminist Spaces Feminist Organizing Mimi Mondal Yashica Dutt Prachi Patankar Dalit Feminist Activists South Asia Solidarity Initiative SASI SAWCC Rage Kidvai Thanu Yakupitiyage Bad Brown Aunties Section 377 Menaka Guruswamy LGBTQ Movement Pramila Jayapal Nayomi Munaweera Personal History Portraits ACT UP Ismat Chughtai Mahasweta Devi Breast Stories The Quilt Lihaaf Abortion Goddess Abortion Speaking about Abortion Bodily Autonomy Indus Valley Artifacts JAISHRI ABICHANDANI has intertwined studio and social practice, art and activism in her career, founding the South Asian Women’s Creative Collective (SAWCC) in New York (1997) and London (2004). Abichandani has exhibited internationally including at P.S.1/MoMA, the Queens Museum of Art, and Asia Society in New York, 798 Beijing Biennial and Guangzhou Triennial in China, IVAM in Valencia, Spain, and the House of World Cultures in Berlin. She served as the founding Director of Public Events and Projects from 2003-06 at the Queens Museum of Art, where she organized Fatal Love: South Asian American Art Now, Queens International 2006: Everything All at Once , and curated Her Stories: Fifteen Years of SAWCC . In 2017, Abichandani engineered a collaboration between the Smithsonian Asian Pacific American Center, Asia Society and the Queens Museum to organize a three-day national convening of South Asian American artists, academics and curators; along with the exhibition Lucid Dreams and Distant Visions , in which she was a co-curator and a participating artist. In 2019, Abichandani organized a trilogy of exhibitions to inaugurate the Ford Foundation Gallery: Perilous Bodies, Radical Love, and Utopian Imagination centered the visions of BIPOC artists. Abichandani’s work is in the Burger Collection, Asia Art Archive Collection, and Saatchi Collection. She has been a resident of LMCC’s Process Space residency and an honoree of the Brooklyn Arts Council and ASHA for Women. She was awarded grants by the FST Studio Projects fund and the Foundation for Contemporary Art in 2021. Live Brooklyn 5th Dec 2020 On That Note: Heading 5 23rd OCT Heading 5 23rd Oct Heading 5 23rd Oct

And what if they're union-busting but still paying really well? | · BOOKS & ARTS Comic · Freelancing A Freelancer's Guide to Decision-Making And what if they're union-busting but still paying really well? Not enough "choose your own adventure" content? Leave us an angry note & we will oblige. SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Comic Freelancing Gig Work Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 22nd Feb 2023 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

MUSIC LABEL Symbolic Records SYMBOLIC RECORDS is the first hip-hop music label in the Maldives. MUSIC LABEL WEBSITE INSTAGRAM TWITTER Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 LOAD MORE

A great debate is raging between progressives and the Democratic establishment in public autopsies of Election 2024. Pundits and politicians alike call the results from November 5th an indictment of the Democratic Party's anti-politics. While critiques of the centre are now ubiquitous, what of the left? A great debate is raging between progressives and the Democratic establishment in public autopsies of Election 2024. Pundits and politicians alike call the results from November 5th an indictment of the Democratic Party's anti-politics. While critiques of the centre are now ubiquitous, what of the left? Nazish Chunara Untitled (2018) watercolor and ink on paper Artist · THE VERTICAL REPORTAGE · LOCATION Coalition of the Willing LOCATION AUTHOR . AUTHOR . AUTHOR . 15 Nov 2024 th . Letter from our columnist . In an election that has left the American commentariat reeling, perhaps the most significant voice in the chorus of criticism faced by Kamala Harris and the Democratic Party this week has been none other than Senator Bernie Sanders, once regarded as the left’s answer to Donald Trump. Sanders does not mince his words in a statement published to X, asking, “will (the Democratic Party) understand the pain and political alienation that tens of millions of Americans are experiencing?” He answers a sentence later, “probably not.” Other voices on the ‘Bernie left’—a broad church coalition of disaffected Democrats and frustrated independents, fed up with America’s political duopoly and interested in progressive socio-economic policy—have echoed Sanders’ cynicism. These voices, ranging from prominent alternative media figures to former Sanders aides, place the blame squarely on the Democratic establishment whose antipathy towards their ‘political revolution’ foreclosed any chance of a populist challenge to Trump. The problem, however, is that this very coalition has been at the helm of enthusiastic support for Democratic candidates, year after year. Bernie himself recently referred to Biden as “the strongest, most progressive President in my lifetime.” Members of the “ squad ” echoed the sentiment, with Rep. Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez referring to Biden as “one of the most successful presidents in modern American history” while Rep. Ilhan Omar called him “the best president of my lifetime.” This occurred after both women accused Biden of complicity in genocide. Prominent voices in left media have also repeated the "best president of my lifetime" trope, operating on a hermeneutics of faith, quick to find silver lines and disburse credit. YouTubers like Krystal Ball and Kyle Kulinski , both of whom command subscriptions of over 1 million respectively, have frequently commented on how Biden has “ surprised ” them and that, between Barack Obama and Biden, it isn't even close—“Biden is way better. ” American progressives and self-proclaimed socialists continue to do and say things that leave fellow travellers scratching their heads. Progressives are correct to say that the Democratic Party is out of touch with everyday Americans. However, the Bernie left is similarly out of touch with the rich and longstanding political tradition it purports to subscribe to. Many on the left in the United States unwittingly perpetuate the American exceptionalism they claim to denounce. This version of American exceptionalism involves the practice of a de-linked progressive politics, existing outside the historical context and cultural milieu of international socialist struggle. Whether it be former Sanders’ surrogate, Ro Khanna’s vote on a bill “ denouncing the horrors of socialism,” Jamaal Bowman’s vote to fund Israel’s Iron Dome, or Ilhan Omar calling Margaret Thatcher a role model for her “internal sense of equality” (whatever that means), American progressives and self-proclaimed socialists continue to do and say things that leave fellow travellers scratching their heads. There are several foundational principles that any genuinely left political formation or movement should adhere to in its struggle to change the status quo, principles many members of the Bernie left actively ignored or carelessly dismissed. For the purposes of provoking reflection and debate, I will highlight three. First, a recognition that the push and pull of antagonistic class forces moves history, rendering any snapshot of the present an illustration of the prevailing balance of class forces. Barack Obama and Joe Biden were presidents of two very different countries. One led a country that choked on the very word “ socialist, ” and the other was almost dethroned by one. Biden’s policies should be framed by the left not as “ surprising victories ” but as fragments of a weak class compromise, token gestures to placate post-Occupy Movement progressives while continuing to serve the interests of big donors. Like Kamala Harris herself said , “you exist in the context of all in which you live and what came before you.” Biden was, in many ways, the first Democratic president after the end of the long 1990s. To judge his record against politicians basking in the glory of the fall of the Berlin Wall is disingenuous at worst, misleading at best. Second, the necessity of a ruthless critique of imperialism. It is true that left media and members of The squad have been the more outspoken critics of Biden’s complicity in Gaza. This has been positive to see. But the criticism led nowhere: verbal condemnations were followed briskly by pledges of allegiance. A large contingent of the Bernie coalition has treated genocide and other policy issues as equal considerations amongst many, conducting cost-benefit analyses with wonky incrementalism on one side and crimes against humanity on the other. The only red lines are those drawn by Republicans—everything else goes. You cannot trade the lives of innocents for personal freedoms and leave with your political conscience intact. Third, a clear understanding of the role of electoral politics in pushing a left agenda. Winning an election is not the only goal when the left decides to partake in the electoral process. Elections act as venues for cementing working-class consciousness, building broader-based coalitions, pushing class struggle and popularising left platforms. Imagine if Sanders had published his statement critiquing the Democratic establishment before campaigning began for 2024. Think of the debates it would have engendered, the demystification of political rhetoric it could have produced, the birth or consolidation of left formations it could have inspired. Rather, we saw Bernie, the squad, and much of the left media clamouring to back Harris hours after she announced her run. And as quickly as the endorsements came, so did promises to “push Kamala left” once she was elected. This approach of delaying politics means forsaking the opportunities elections provide to highlight ideological alternatives to the political duopolies that litter liberal democracies around the world. A mass party of labour, a genuine left political program, is put off to tomorrow—but tomorrow never comes. Of course, there are those rooted in radical political traditions who made political calculations to support Sanders as a speedbump for neoliberalism and imperialism. Had progressives been clearer about the principles above, we may have had an election that actually mattered. Some may argue that the “the Bernie left” is too vague a construction to conduct a robust postmortem, to which I say, you know exactly who I am talking about . Of course, there are those rooted in radical political traditions who made political calculations to support Sanders as a speedbump for neoliberalism and imperialism. They are mostly excluded from the critique. And if there is still confusion about who, or what, the Bernie left is—well, therein lies the problem. In Sanders’ post-election statement, he concludes, “in the coming weeks and months, those of us concerned about grassroots democracy and economic justice need to have some very serious political discussions.” I agree and can only hope that critical questions will be asked of him and the movement he has spearheaded for nearly a decade. ∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. 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Opinion United States Elections Electoral Politics Progressivism Progressive Politics Democratic Party Leftism The Disillusionment of the Left Socialism Democracy Bernie Sanders The Squad Status Quo Imperialism Policy Republican Party Foreign Policy Marxism Radical Politics Grassroots Movements Coalition Neoliberalism Working Class Culture American Exceptionalism Independent Media Democratic Establishment Democratic Elites Liberalism Joe Biden Kamala Harris Ilhan Omar Jamaal Brown Ro Khanna Barack Obama Gaza Israel Krystal Ball Kyle Kulinski Populism Donald Trump Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez Electioneering Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

ARTIST Sana Ahmad SANA AHMAD is a graphic designer and artist residing in Karachi, Pakistan. She majored in Communication Studies and Design and has been working on various projects in both fields for the past two years. Her work has been displayed internationally at Sharjah Art Foundation for Focal Point 2019 and for Art Book Depot 2019 in Jaipur by Farside Collective , as well as various local group exhibitions throughout the country. She currently works as a Content Executive for Unilever Pakistan, and is based in Karachi. ARTIST WEBSITE INSTAGRAM TWITTER Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 LOAD MORE

Aruna D’Souza’s latest book, Imperfect Solidarities, asserts that despite alliances, relations, or understanding, solidarity can remain imperfect and imbalanced; however, if pursued collectively, it’s worth fighting for. BOOKS & ARTS Provocations on Empathy Aruna D’Souza’s latest book, Imperfect Solidarities, asserts that despite alliances, relations, or understanding, solidarity can remain imperfect and imbalanced; however, if pursued collectively, it’s worth fighting for. Clare Patrick Near the end of Imperfect Solidarities (Floating Opera Press, 2024), Aruna D’Souza quotes her child’s frank question: “How can you not end up loving something that you have to take care of?” In D’Souza’s latest book, presented as a collection of essays on art and literature, the writer and art historian contemplates these prescient and recurring questions through formal and contextual analysis. Reflecting on the now and fairly recent past, she navigates the reader through buzzwords and emotional sinkholes while offering reflections “developed from looking.” Almost journal-like, this collection halts, pokes, and condemns as much as it seeks, weeps, and oscillates. D’Souza calls forth iterations of solidarity found in the work of artists including Felix Gonzalez-Torres and Stephanie Syjuco, as well as writers such as Amitav Ghosh, Dylan Robinson, and Édouard Glissant. She further positions contemporary instances of conflict, specifically her remote witnessing of the genocide in Gaza, as impetus for critical engagement, grounding it in her practice of art critique. Is it possible, today, to not consume and be consumed by the fraught tensions playing out on almost every continent? Beneath a fingertip lies a deluge of information, horror, so-called “debate”, and virtue signalling. While Palestine's ongoing oppression has long been and continues to be discussed, the events since 7 October 2023 rightly encourage renewed thinking. When newsfeeds are ceaselessly refreshing and every new story hangs like a heavy shadow, D’Souza articulates the stuffy stagnation of being on this side of witnessing. Yet, with her text, she encourages recognition and reckoning. In the face of overwhelm, she motivates critique as a strategy of response: “My horror gives way to analysis, not only of the geopolitical situation itself, but of the way ordinary people are responding to what is unfolding.” Imperfect Solidarities is, as she offers, “a tentative gesture” towards how global solidarities can be invoked to compel care and action, however imperfectly. But how could anyone write, now ? What more can be said? Why isn’t what has been said enough? In the collection’s first essay, “Grief, Fear, and Palestine, or Why Now?”, D'Souza condemns complacency as a byproduct of familiarity. Outlining the co-dependence of the US and Israel, she acknowledges, “as a US taxpayer, I am funding the atrocities happening in Gaza every day.” By this admission, to invoke solidarity must, therefore, definitively be enacted despite and because of this entanglement. If silence is taken as implicit acceptance, then surely it is to actively encourage, too. To take time, to write, and to analyze, becomes D’Souza’s method of engagement. Sitting with her pages, the familiar formula of visual analysis and exhibition reviewing is strangely comforting. Using examples in art and literature, she outlines strategies for refusal found in creative output, exploring how others have contemplated empathy through conflict. Through this structure, she is able to draw out parallels that highlight how art(work) can model different strategies of solidarity. This focus is significant to Gaza, because, as historian and critic TJ Demos points out, “by targeting the cultural infrastructure of Palestinian identity, this violence [by Israel], which could be termed aestheticide, destroys collective ways of knowing and feeling, breaks connections between generations, history, and nationhood, and thus contributes to Israel’s genocidal project of complete erasure.” Teju Cole, attempting to contend with this loss after his visit to Palestine in 2014, also draws throughlines back to creation: “Photography cannot capture this sorrow, but it can perhaps relay back the facts on the ground. It can make visible graves, olive trees, refuse, roofs, concrete, barricades, and the bodies of people. And what is described by the camera can be an opening to what else this ground has endured, and to what its situation demands.” Although neither Gaza’s artists nor its cultural histories are the core focus of the book, the titular motif of an imperfect solidarity is often returned to with Gaza implied. Thinking in dialogue, D’Souza uses other, perhaps more familiar, examples for readers to find a cultural grounding around her core thesis of solidarity across conflicts. While loss spirals and genocidal powers contort themselves in new ways to evade complicity, she encourages the reader not to turn inwards to the point of inaction, but to continue, perhaps also creatively—despite imperfections or imbalanced alliances. “I dream of a world in which we act not from love,” she declares, “but from something much more difficult: an obligation to care for each other whether or not we empathize with them.” The essay “Mistranslation and Revolution” invites reflection on language as a site of resistance. While D’Souza acknowledges that “sitting with incomprehension is an uncomfortable act”, she offers obfuscation as a methodology for solidarity, levity, and perhaps solace. Incorporating an analysis of Amitav Ghosh’s vast novel Sea of Poppies (2008) — a historical saga on colonial resistance in India—she notes how language is employed in establishing power through (mis)translation and (mis)understanding. This is particularly evident in how character relationships are set out. Language is central to the navigation of relating between characters, so much so that Ghosh describes, through his narrator, how new dialects are evolved through use and how understanding transcends commonality. Showing her reader exactly how Ghosh achieves this, she quotes the book’s narrator, who describes: “a motley tongue, spoken nowhere but on the water, whose words were as varied as the port’s traffic, an anarchic medley of Portuguese calaluzes and Kerala pattimars, Arab booms and Bengal paunch-ways, Malay proas and Tamil catamarans, Hindusthani pulwars and English snows—yet beneath the surface of this farrago of sound, meaning flowed as freely as the currents beneath the crowded press of boats.” In the gaps and improvisations resulting from (mis)communication, Ghosh demonstrates a freedom in the space which finding (un)commonality creates. Thinking through the construction of language through its structures, D’Souza acknowledges its leakiness, and how comprehension and connection often require transcending direct translation. In her analysis of Ghosh’s text, she draws on how language can be an imperfect access point or even a protective barrier across differences. Pushing this point home, she offers: “Communication through the thicket of mistranslation is an act of generosity.” And yet, I pause on certain words D’Souza uses—‘siege’, ‘negligence’, ‘allies’, ‘incomprehension’, ‘unruliness’—and struggle to get beyond how language has still felt so futile as of late. In an article titled “ Acts of Language ”, author Isabella Hammad discusses the weaponizing of words through the increasingly contentious topic of ‘free speech’ in the USA . Warning against essentialism, she reminds us that: “Bombs were not made of language, and they certainly were not metaphors.” Yet, what of language that is weaponized, where certain realities are overruled, classified away, filed, and manoeuvred around within documents, as in the case of the numerous ICJ rulings or green card removals? What of legal terminologies and judicial standards that are warped and bent to persecute a manufactured villain? Focusing on the difficult and thorny work of comprehending the ‘now’, personal interpretation is central to the work of this book. By incorporating Ghosh’s strategies for communication across and in spite of differences, D’Souza reminds the reader of the fallibility of language. Invoking its futility, she encourages that “to be able to act together without full comprehension, is to be able to float on the seas of change.” Similarly instructive is artist and writer Fargo Nissim Tbakhi’s essay “Notes on Craft: Writing in the Hour of Genocide”, where he acknowledges the importance of writing as a way to make sense of traumatic events. Despite being in “the long middle of revolution”, writing becomes a tool for action; a way to witness and begin the process of comprehension. Courtesy of the author. Although Imperfect Solidarities offers a broad focus on art too, decidedly few illustrations are presented alongside the text . As a result, D’Souza makes room for thinking about imagery without a continuous re-posting of images. One artwork included is a still from Stephanie Syjuco’s video work, Block Out the Sun (Shield) (2019). The work is captioned as a photographic intervention and included in the essay ‘Connecting through Opacity’, in which D’Souza summons Glissant’s seminal text ‘On Opacity’ from his book Poetics of Relation (1990). In this text, Glissant makes a case for abstraction and the opaque as a mode of engagement. D’Souza applies this concept to artworks where artists refuse to make themselves, or their work, understandable to the hegemonic (white) gaze. D’Souza’s reading of Syjuco’s work emphasizes how disrupting colonial documentation can be an act of care. The work connects Western tropes of looking-as-learning with an expectation of access—like textbook botanical drawings, anatomy models, and the extremes of restitution debates on human remains trapped in European museum vaults. The included still from Syjuco’s five-minute video shows an archival black-and-white group portrait, covered by the artist’s hands. The photograph follows a typical format of colonial documenting: an assembly of people posed stiffly before a foreign gaze. While enough of the figures can be seen, locating the image as ethnographic objectification, Syjuco’s hands perform a critical intervention of care. The artist challenges the use of photography to dehumanise—a technique Teju Cole neatly articulates as ‘weaponized’—through colonial methods of recording, categorizing, and labeling. By discussing this work in relation to opacity, D’Souza links Syjuco’s intervention as creating a reparative barrier. Through contextual analysis, D’Souza further examines how Syjuco affirms opacity through masking, in the present, against archival record. By covering “unwilling subjects’ faces and bodies, [Syjuco is] shielding them from our prying looks.” Bringing the act of repair into the present, D’Souza emphasizes the implication of complicity ( our looking), and the act of interception as shielding or abstraction. She shows how Syjuco’s work is a visual recalibration—where critical analysis can draw out space to think through new solidarities across past and present interactions. D’Souza brings in two more creative works which specifically utilize what she terms ‘ungraspable’—intentionally obscuring direct comprehension using abstraction—to explore opacity as resistance. The first is Felix Gonzales-Torres’ quietly heart-wrenching, replenishable installations from the 1994 exhibition Travelling , created as the artist was nearing the end of his life in his battle with AIDs. Visitors were allowed to both consume and even take the works in this exhibition, activating the cycle of loss and return through objects acting as metaphor. The restraint and simplicity of these pieces encompass the methods of opaque meaning-making Gonzales-Torres is so cherished for. The second work is Dylan Robinson’s text Hungry Listening: Resonant Theory for Indigenous Sound Studies , in which Robinson instructs “the non-Indigenous, settler, ally, or xwelítem readers to stop reading” at precise points, in order to retain Indigenous sovereignty and sanctity of ritual. Noting a number of devices that reinforce opacity in Robinson’s work, D’Souza highlights that even with the text’s title, “Robinson positions settler forms of listening, too, as a kind of voracious demand for transparency”. Both Gonzales-Torres’ and Robinson’s productions of opacity exemplify a mode of refusal—for Gonzales-Torres, using objects as symbolic placeholders, and for Robinson, using instructional writing to challenge entitlement and expectation. D’Souza includes opacity as a proposition for solidarity without the expectation of empathy, wondering “what sort of solidarities and alliances we might form on the basis of such mutual respect, one in which we acknowledge our right not to translate ourselves into terms that another may understand.” Through engaging artworks, she weaves in questions of agency, autonomy, and perspective in self-presentation for a public gaze. Syjuco’s and Robinson’s works invoke opacity through restriction, which D’Souza then uses to discuss who can engage, how engagement is possible, and who works should be for. D’Souza explores a number of other artworks in the book, ranging across themes of revolution, whiteness, connection, and difference. Her discussions centre creativity and its resulting forms—novels, video art, installation, exhibition curation—to explore different manifestations or strategies of empathy and solidarity. In doing so, she invites readers to view the creative act as a method to temper anxieties.. Reading Imperfect Solidarities in dialogue with Tbakhi’s ‘long middle’ situates it within the now. When D’Souza asks, “Are there ways to sit with the unknowability?”, she continually embeds encouragement for collective thought, to work through provocations on knowledge and access. She further highlights the potential for new interpretations of them by re-looking through the lens of seeking solidarity. Especially today, while it may often feel easier to fall into overwhelm, this collection is a reminder of the critical work which exists, and many ongoing, bolstering conversations that can be revisited. By gathering work for analysis in Imperfect Solidarities , the book seeks out strategies for ongoing engagement—from finding playful gaps in language to creating protective opacities. In ‘Coda’, D’Souza returns finally to the question of care. Taking a cue from her child—who learns to ‘care’ through the repeated actions required of looking after their pet (feeding, cleaning, playing)—she asserts that by caring, love can be fostered in time. But, she states: “care must come before love.” Cautioning against idealism, she reminds us that “care is [still] infinitely harder than love, because it often requires us to act in spite of our empathy, rather than because of it”. This is a deliberate and telling final note. Imperfect Solidarities ultimately asserts that despite our alliances, relations or understandings of and with each other, solidarity will always remain somewhat imperfect and imbalanced. But, if it is continued to be sought collectively, it’s worth fighting for.∎ Near the end of Imperfect Solidarities (Floating Opera Press, 2024), Aruna D’Souza quotes her child’s frank question: “How can you not end up loving something that you have to take care of?” In D’Souza’s latest book, presented as a collection of essays on art and literature, the writer and art historian contemplates these prescient and recurring questions through formal and contextual analysis. Reflecting on the now and fairly recent past, she navigates the reader through buzzwords and emotional sinkholes while offering reflections “developed from looking.” Almost journal-like, this collection halts, pokes, and condemns as much as it seeks, weeps, and oscillates. D’Souza calls forth iterations of solidarity found in the work of artists including Felix Gonzalez-Torres and Stephanie Syjuco, as well as writers such as Amitav Ghosh, Dylan Robinson, and Édouard Glissant. She further positions contemporary instances of conflict, specifically her remote witnessing of the genocide in Gaza, as impetus for critical engagement, grounding it in her practice of art critique. Is it possible, today, to not consume and be consumed by the fraught tensions playing out on almost every continent? Beneath a fingertip lies a deluge of information, horror, so-called “debate”, and virtue signalling. While Palestine's ongoing oppression has long been and continues to be discussed, the events since 7 October 2023 rightly encourage renewed thinking. When newsfeeds are ceaselessly refreshing and every new story hangs like a heavy shadow, D’Souza articulates the stuffy stagnation of being on this side of witnessing. Yet, with her text, she encourages recognition and reckoning. In the face of overwhelm, she motivates critique as a strategy of response: “My horror gives way to analysis, not only of the geopolitical situation itself, but of the way ordinary people are responding to what is unfolding.” Imperfect Solidarities is, as she offers, “a tentative gesture” towards how global solidarities can be invoked to compel care and action, however imperfectly. But how could anyone write, now ? What more can be said? Why isn’t what has been said enough? In the collection’s first essay, “Grief, Fear, and Palestine, or Why Now?”, D'Souza condemns complacency as a byproduct of familiarity. Outlining the co-dependence of the US and Israel, she acknowledges, “as a US taxpayer, I am funding the atrocities happening in Gaza every day.” By this admission, to invoke solidarity must, therefore, definitively be enacted despite and because of this entanglement. If silence is taken as implicit acceptance, then surely it is to actively encourage, too. To take time, to write, and to analyze, becomes D’Souza’s method of engagement. Sitting with her pages, the familiar formula of visual analysis and exhibition reviewing is strangely comforting. Using examples in art and literature, she outlines strategies for refusal found in creative output, exploring how others have contemplated empathy through conflict. Through this structure, she is able to draw out parallels that highlight how art(work) can model different strategies of solidarity. This focus is significant to Gaza, because, as historian and critic TJ Demos points out, “by targeting the cultural infrastructure of Palestinian identity, this violence [by Israel], which could be termed aestheticide, destroys collective ways of knowing and feeling, breaks connections between generations, history, and nationhood, and thus contributes to Israel’s genocidal project of complete erasure.” Teju Cole, attempting to contend with this loss after his visit to Palestine in 2014, also draws throughlines back to creation: “Photography cannot capture this sorrow, but it can perhaps relay back the facts on the ground. It can make visible graves, olive trees, refuse, roofs, concrete, barricades, and the bodies of people. And what is described by the camera can be an opening to what else this ground has endured, and to what its situation demands.” Although neither Gaza’s artists nor its cultural histories are the core focus of the book, the titular motif of an imperfect solidarity is often returned to with Gaza implied. Thinking in dialogue, D’Souza uses other, perhaps more familiar, examples for readers to find a cultural grounding around her core thesis of solidarity across conflicts. While loss spirals and genocidal powers contort themselves in new ways to evade complicity, she encourages the reader not to turn inwards to the point of inaction, but to continue, perhaps also creatively—despite imperfections or imbalanced alliances. “I dream of a world in which we act not from love,” she declares, “but from something much more difficult: an obligation to care for each other whether or not we empathize with them.” The essay “Mistranslation and Revolution” invites reflection on language as a site of resistance. While D’Souza acknowledges that “sitting with incomprehension is an uncomfortable act”, she offers obfuscation as a methodology for solidarity, levity, and perhaps solace. Incorporating an analysis of Amitav Ghosh’s vast novel Sea of Poppies (2008) — a historical saga on colonial resistance in India—she notes how language is employed in establishing power through (mis)translation and (mis)understanding. This is particularly evident in how character relationships are set out. Language is central to the navigation of relating between characters, so much so that Ghosh describes, through his narrator, how new dialects are evolved through use and how understanding transcends commonality. Showing her reader exactly how Ghosh achieves this, she quotes the book’s narrator, who describes: “a motley tongue, spoken nowhere but on the water, whose words were as varied as the port’s traffic, an anarchic medley of Portuguese calaluzes and Kerala pattimars, Arab booms and Bengal paunch-ways, Malay proas and Tamil catamarans, Hindusthani pulwars and English snows—yet beneath the surface of this farrago of sound, meaning flowed as freely as the currents beneath the crowded press of boats.” In the gaps and improvisations resulting from (mis)communication, Ghosh demonstrates a freedom in the space which finding (un)commonality creates. Thinking through the construction of language through its structures, D’Souza acknowledges its leakiness, and how comprehension and connection often require transcending direct translation. In her analysis of Ghosh’s text, she draws on how language can be an imperfect access point or even a protective barrier across differences. Pushing this point home, she offers: “Communication through the thicket of mistranslation is an act of generosity.” And yet, I pause on certain words D’Souza uses—‘siege’, ‘negligence’, ‘allies’, ‘incomprehension’, ‘unruliness’—and struggle to get beyond how language has still felt so futile as of late. In an article titled “ Acts of Language ”, author Isabella Hammad discusses the weaponizing of words through the increasingly contentious topic of ‘free speech’ in the USA . Warning against essentialism, she reminds us that: “Bombs were not made of language, and they certainly were not metaphors.” Yet, what of language that is weaponized, where certain realities are overruled, classified away, filed, and manoeuvred around within documents, as in the case of the numerous ICJ rulings or green card removals? What of legal terminologies and judicial standards that are warped and bent to persecute a manufactured villain? Focusing on the difficult and thorny work of comprehending the ‘now’, personal interpretation is central to the work of this book. By incorporating Ghosh’s strategies for communication across and in spite of differences, D’Souza reminds the reader of the fallibility of language. Invoking its futility, she encourages that “to be able to act together without full comprehension, is to be able to float on the seas of change.” Similarly instructive is artist and writer Fargo Nissim Tbakhi’s essay “Notes on Craft: Writing in the Hour of Genocide”, where he acknowledges the importance of writing as a way to make sense of traumatic events. Despite being in “the long middle of revolution”, writing becomes a tool for action; a way to witness and begin the process of comprehension. Courtesy of the author. Although Imperfect Solidarities offers a broad focus on art too, decidedly few illustrations are presented alongside the text . As a result, D’Souza makes room for thinking about imagery without a continuous re-posting of images. One artwork included is a still from Stephanie Syjuco’s video work, Block Out the Sun (Shield) (2019). The work is captioned as a photographic intervention and included in the essay ‘Connecting through Opacity’, in which D’Souza summons Glissant’s seminal text ‘On Opacity’ from his book Poetics of Relation (1990). In this text, Glissant makes a case for abstraction and the opaque as a mode of engagement. D’Souza applies this concept to artworks where artists refuse to make themselves, or their work, understandable to the hegemonic (white) gaze. D’Souza’s reading of Syjuco’s work emphasizes how disrupting colonial documentation can be an act of care. The work connects Western tropes of looking-as-learning with an expectation of access—like textbook botanical drawings, anatomy models, and the extremes of restitution debates on human remains trapped in European museum vaults. The included still from Syjuco’s five-minute video shows an archival black-and-white group portrait, covered by the artist’s hands. The photograph follows a typical format of colonial documenting: an assembly of people posed stiffly before a foreign gaze. While enough of the figures can be seen, locating the image as ethnographic objectification, Syjuco’s hands perform a critical intervention of care. The artist challenges the use of photography to dehumanise—a technique Teju Cole neatly articulates as ‘weaponized’—through colonial methods of recording, categorizing, and labeling. By discussing this work in relation to opacity, D’Souza links Syjuco’s intervention as creating a reparative barrier. Through contextual analysis, D’Souza further examines how Syjuco affirms opacity through masking, in the present, against archival record. By covering “unwilling subjects’ faces and bodies, [Syjuco is] shielding them from our prying looks.” Bringing the act of repair into the present, D’Souza emphasizes the implication of complicity ( our looking), and the act of interception as shielding or abstraction. She shows how Syjuco’s work is a visual recalibration—where critical analysis can draw out space to think through new solidarities across past and present interactions. D’Souza brings in two more creative works which specifically utilize what she terms ‘ungraspable’—intentionally obscuring direct comprehension using abstraction—to explore opacity as resistance. The first is Felix Gonzales-Torres’ quietly heart-wrenching, replenishable installations from the 1994 exhibition Travelling , created as the artist was nearing the end of his life in his battle with AIDs. Visitors were allowed to both consume and even take the works in this exhibition, activating the cycle of loss and return through objects acting as metaphor. The restraint and simplicity of these pieces encompass the methods of opaque meaning-making Gonzales-Torres is so cherished for. The second work is Dylan Robinson’s text Hungry Listening: Resonant Theory for Indigenous Sound Studies , in which Robinson instructs “the non-Indigenous, settler, ally, or xwelítem readers to stop reading” at precise points, in order to retain Indigenous sovereignty and sanctity of ritual. Noting a number of devices that reinforce opacity in Robinson’s work, D’Souza highlights that even with the text’s title, “Robinson positions settler forms of listening, too, as a kind of voracious demand for transparency”. Both Gonzales-Torres’ and Robinson’s productions of opacity exemplify a mode of refusal—for Gonzales-Torres, using objects as symbolic placeholders, and for Robinson, using instructional writing to challenge entitlement and expectation. D’Souza includes opacity as a proposition for solidarity without the expectation of empathy, wondering “what sort of solidarities and alliances we might form on the basis of such mutual respect, one in which we acknowledge our right not to translate ourselves into terms that another may understand.” Through engaging artworks, she weaves in questions of agency, autonomy, and perspective in self-presentation for a public gaze. Syjuco’s and Robinson’s works invoke opacity through restriction, which D’Souza then uses to discuss who can engage, how engagement is possible, and who works should be for. D’Souza explores a number of other artworks in the book, ranging across themes of revolution, whiteness, connection, and difference. Her discussions centre creativity and its resulting forms—novels, video art, installation, exhibition curation—to explore different manifestations or strategies of empathy and solidarity. In doing so, she invites readers to view the creative act as a method to temper anxieties.. Reading Imperfect Solidarities in dialogue with Tbakhi’s ‘long middle’ situates it within the now. When D’Souza asks, “Are there ways to sit with the unknowability?”, she continually embeds encouragement for collective thought, to work through provocations on knowledge and access. She further highlights the potential for new interpretations of them by re-looking through the lens of seeking solidarity. Especially today, while it may often feel easier to fall into overwhelm, this collection is a reminder of the critical work which exists, and many ongoing, bolstering conversations that can be revisited. By gathering work for analysis in Imperfect Solidarities , the book seeks out strategies for ongoing engagement—from finding playful gaps in language to creating protective opacities. In ‘Coda’, D’Souza returns finally to the question of care. Taking a cue from her child—who learns to ‘care’ through the repeated actions required of looking after their pet (feeding, cleaning, playing)—she asserts that by caring, love can be fostered in time. But, she states: “care must come before love.” Cautioning against idealism, she reminds us that “care is [still] infinitely harder than love, because it often requires us to act in spite of our empathy, rather than because of it”. This is a deliberate and telling final note. Imperfect Solidarities ultimately asserts that despite our alliances, relations or understandings of and with each other, solidarity will always remain somewhat imperfect and imbalanced. But, if it is continued to be sought collectively, it’s worth fighting for.∎ SUB-HEAD ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: Clare Patrick (Our) Worlds and (Plant) Wisdoms Kareen Adam · Nazish Chunara A Dhivehi Artists Showcase "Rug" (2018), Silkscreen printing and unraveling on silk, courtesy of Areen. SHARE Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Review Paris Grief Depictions of Grief In Grief In Solidarity Palestine The Urgent Call of Palestine Mistranslation and Revolution photography Archival Practice Archives Ethnography ethnographic objectification Colonialism On Opacity Art Activism Movement Strategy Activist Media Unknowability Doubt Felix Gonzales-Torres Teju Cole Art as Solidarity Strategies of Solidarity Colonial Documentation Stephanie Syjuco Fargo Nissim Tbakhi Isabella Hammad Improvisation Resistance Language as Resistance Imagery TJ Demos Aestheticide Édouard Glissant Essay Essayistic Practice Care Work CLARE PATRICK is an independent curator and writer who hails from Cape Town. Formerly at NXTHVN , the Norval Foundation , and the Paris College of Art , she currently works at Atelier 11 Paris and No! Wahala Magazine . Her work has been featured in Art Throb , Contemporary And , Vogue , and The New York Times . 13 Aug 2025 Review Paris 13th Aug 2025 AREEN is a Palestinian textile artist currently living in Dubai. She earned her bachelor's degree in Textile Design and Art in 2018. Drawing on embroidery as a tradition from the Levant region, Areen plays with technologies and multimedia to experiment with the idea of transparency and reversing the function of a material. Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

Beatrice Wangui's quest to challenge Kenya’s punitive seed laws tells a larger story about the nature of indigenous knowledge and preservation, as well as that of agrarian labour, situated in a longer history of the public and private approaches to agriculture that are promulgated under the guise of modernization. | · THE VERTICAL Profile · Kenya Beatrice Wangui's Fight for Seed Sovereignty in Kenya Beatrice Wangui's quest to challenge Kenya’s punitive seed laws tells a larger story about the nature of indigenous knowledge and preservation, as well as that of agrarian labour, situated in a longer history of the public and private approaches to agriculture that are promulgated under the guise of modernization. Rise by Ian Njuguna. Farming has always been a bonding point between my father and me. When I ventured into agriculture, I only understood food systems from the point of small-scale farming. As a way of learning, my father would often bring some seeds and cuttings when he went somewhere new. This was one of the ways we introduced new foods to our small farm and onto our plates. In 2012, the Kenyan government enacted a law that made seed saving and exchange illegal, thereby posing a threat to an indigenous system of seed exchange that has persisted for eons. When I arrived at Beatrice Wangui’s house she was showing farmers how to build a vertical garden. Her home is an oasis in the dry Gilgil area and a large group of farmers, local and from other countries, stood around her as she showed them how to make a blend of manure, charcoal dust, and soil to grow vegetables in. This is a regular activity on her small but well-sectioned agricultural island. One side of her farm is a thriving bunch of vertical gardens teeming with leafy greens. Corners on the ground spot herbs like mint and rosemary. There is a short spread of beds hosting at least six varieties of managu (black nightshade ) , terere (Amaranth ) , mitoo (slenderleaf) and saget (spider plant). Now 59 years old, Beatrice has been an organic farmer for many years as well as champion of seed sovereignty. Indigenous communities in Kenya have had to work around the systemic effects and hurdles in the way of corporate capture of seeds, promulgated in the form of millions of US dollars by international seed companies to monopolize the seed sectors in Africa. I wanted to dive into the world of seed saving to see how people responded to or worked around the law that criminalized these traditions. Beatrice training a group of visitors on creating vertical gardens. Photo courtesy of the author. Seed sovereignty upholds the farmer’s right to save, use, exchange, and sell his or her own seeds. Seed regulation in Kenya began in 1972, ten years after the country gained independence. The Seed and Plant Varieties Act of 1972 entered into force in 1975, was promulgated in 1991, and later amended in 1994. While Kenya joined the World Trade Organization (WTO) in 1995, the country had already enacted its own unique (sui generis) law on Plant Breeders' Rights (PBRs). However, this PBR law did not take effect until 1999 after Kenya ratified the 1978 Act of the International Union for the Protection of New Varieties of Plants (UPOV). In 2012, Kenya updated its PBR law through the Seeds and Plant Varieties (Amendment) Act . Then, in 2015, the country furthered its commitment to UPOV by ratifying the 1991 UPOV Convention, which outlines stronger protections for new plant varieties. Today, seed saving is an essential part of Kenyan livelihoods, especially in rural parts of the country. In Kenya, 70 percent of the rural population is dependent on agriculture. As a child, I remember when my parents would return from visiting new places with some form of seed propagation. They could be suckers for a new vegetable, vines, or a handful of seeds – all a means to grow the crops that caught my parents’ interest. This was how I came to know and love a vegetable called rhubarb. In many rural homes across Kenya, kitchens are not only a space to prepare food. Hanging on walls, under the traditional fire racks near the fireplace are seeds tied up in leaves along with calabashes. The warmth from the fire dries them out and the smoke makes them nearly pest-proof. Smoking is one of the most traditional modes of seed saving. In many communities, other methods such as diatomite, cow dung, soot, and ash are used. This is a tradition for most, if not all the communities in Kenya. Slenderleaf pods at Beatrice’s farm. Photo courtesy of the author. Punitive Seed Laws The Seed and Plant Varieties Act of 2012 criminalizes farmers from “selling, sharing and exchanging” unregistered or uncertified seeds. Farmers who break the law risk a prison sentence of up to two years or a fine of up to a million Kenyan shillings. Beatrice says she refused to keep silent in the face of laws that promote corporate greed over the lives and livelihoods of communities across the country. She joined other farmers and civil society organizations as a petitioner in a case against the law prohibiting seed saving. The alliance of farmers and activists has courageously spoken up against the laws, arguing for the rights of small-scale farmers to save, exchange, and use their seeds freely. Their persistence and hard work has inspired farmers across Kenya to join their cause. They hold seed exchange fairs to fight for the right to cultivate indigenously obtained and retained seeds. Apart from them, fifteen other small land-holding farmers have filed a petition to the court to amend the law. Speaking to Beatrice feels like a plunge in a well of seed preservation knowledge. On a tour of her seed-saving facility, she pointed out the strategic use of all the materials she had on hand. She explained how each element played a role in ensuring the survival of seeds for up to years in glass bottles. Even though her village has no piped water, the facility carries stacks of jerry cans filled with water. The water helps keep the temperature low which reduces heat damage. The room is also low and near the ground. Beatrice at her community seed bank. Courtesy of Gregory Onyango As custodian of the community seed bank, Beatrice is tasked with ensuring that the seeds are in tip-top shape by the time farmers come to collect them. “Farmers bring in their seeds after drying them,” she says. “And they must wait at least a season before they come to get seeds. A farmer cannot take all the seeds at the same time. There was a year we had two failed rainy seasons and only the last batch of the seeds made it.” It begins with inspecting the seeds for moisture content. If the seeds do not pass this test, the farmer is required to take them back and reduce the moisture content to the required level. The next step is to check out the seed's germination percentage. "This is done by picking about 10 seeds, placing them in a bowl, and covering them with a wet tissue. In about 5 days, we observe how many out of the ten have germinated," Beatrice explains. If three or fewer seeds germinate, it means the germination percentage is low and the seeds are not of good quality and cannot be stored. Depending on the quantity of seeds, some are stored in airtight glass bottles while others are stored in buckets. A film of ash from special trees and bushes is spread over the seeds to keep both moisture and pests off. With help from organizations such as The Seed Savers Network , Beatrice has been able to increase her knowledge and capacity for seed saving. The Seed Savers Network was registered in 2009 and to date, has helped establish more than 52 community seed banks, including one that Beatrice looks after. The Seed Savers Network, she says, taught them seed characterization which is a process they follow from when they plant a seed to when they harvest it. Beatrice Wangui in her garden. Courtesy of Gregory Onyango Beatrice is keen on passing on this knowledge to her children and grandchildren. Her granddaughter who is named after her and attends a local secondary school, is very hands-on with the project. She has grown up around her grandmother and has learned how to tell different varieties apart and how to preserve each of them. “When she is around and I have visitors, she teaches them just as well as I can. She understands how to handle seeds and crops alike,” she shares. For Beatrice and others like her, awareness of such methods and passing on their teaching is an integral part of the process without which indigenous knowledge would disappear. With help from organizations such as The Seed Savers Network, Beatrice can meet other seed savers from across Kenya and the world. As she shows me around, explaining varieties of maize, beans, tomatoes, and vegetables she hopes the indigenous knowledge, varieties, and preservation are not stifled by punitive seed laws. As she fights for indigenous seeds through the law and by practicing traditional methods, she hopes her cross-generational efforts pay off and the indigenous crop varieties stand the test. Beatrice is one of many people and organizations working to maintain the s tate of seed sovereignty . Despite the immense challenges posed by the corporate consolidation of the seed industry, the movement for seed sovereignty continues to gain momentum around the world. From seed libraries and seed swaps to on-the-ground breeding projects, countless individuals and communities are taking steps to reclaim their ancestral seed heritage and maintain biodiversity. By resisting the privatization of this vital common resource, seed savers stand as stewards of food security and biodiversity for present and future generations. Though the battle is an uphill one, the remarkable resilience and creative cross-pollination within the seed sovereignty movement offer a path toward a more regenerative, equitable, and sustainable food system. ∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Profile Kenya Climate Seed Sovereignty Agriculture Farming Beatrice Wangui Seed Saving Indigeneity Indigenous Seed Exchange Seed and Plant Varieties Act Agrarian Economy Rural Farmers Seed Savers Network Seed Banks Community Building Gilgil Nakuru County Sustainability Food Systems Organic Farming Environment Climate Change Agricultural Labor Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 22nd Apr 2024 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note: