As Donald Trump’s victory in the 2024 US elections continues to reverberate both domestically and internationally, it is essential to confront the complex web of authoritarian politics, resurgent racism and nativism, technological power, and so-called “anarcho-capitalism” that the second Trump administration is bringing into public view. In this context, many observers have noted that key figures such as Elon Musk and Peter Thiel have deep roots in South Africa, suggesting that their influence on this new wave of authoritarianism may represent a new chapter in the story of South African apartheid.

Exploring a city as a tourist can be a vastly different experience from doing so as a local. Though I was born and raised in Neiva, Colombia, it was not until my foreign friend visited that I realized how the resistance against state violence and corruption is vividly illustrated in my hometown's public spaces, leaving no room to turn a blind eye. Her amazement at the art, phrases, and graffiti covering a small city like Neiva sparked a conversation about the country’s political landscape at the time.

How do you take care of community gardens in a war zone? How do you educate communities about the importance of protecting non-human animal rights while you hear machine guns firing in the distance? For those who live in countries that have the privilege of peace, these conditions might be hard to imagine. However, the Initiative pour le Progrès et la Protection de l'Environnement (IPPE), or the Initiative for Environmental Progress and Protection, has become all too familiar with realities of running an environmental nonprofit amidst waves of mineral extraction-fueled wars.

Even a simple thing like taking a stroll around a Danish city can tell you about this country's deep commitment to combating climate change and supporting the welfare of its people. Copenhagen's approach to sustainability quickly stood out to me; even the smallest details on the streets—like the city’s trash bins—have a deeper meaning and purpose than what meets the eye.

Time is human, time is ever-changing, never the same, time is unexpected, time is ruthless, and time is everything.

Everything can go so right in a matter of seconds, and in a matter of seconds, all hell can break loose.

I remember the exact time when everything went so wrong and so right.

One of the first places I visited during my semester in Copenhagen was not

only a beautiful park, but also a graveyard. Located in the heart of Nørrebro, this

multipurpose space—Assistens Kirkegård—is both a cemetery and a park. While the cemetery still serves its original purpose as a burial ground, it has evolved into a recreational space. For some locals, this is the area where they jog five kilometers every morning; for others, it is a place to meditate. For the busy bikers, this is the scenic street that they whizz down on their way to work in the city; and for the guides facilitating cemetery tours, this space is a source of income.

The result of the recent US elections provides further confirmation that what we are witnessing in much of the world is the consolidation of a 21st century form of fascist authoritarianism grounded in the rising power of Big Tech as well as resurgent forms of racism, misogyny, and xenophobia. But it is also an elite project of meeting present and future climate crisis, with all of its horrifying ripple effects, through mass violence (including genocide) and mass manipulation. What does such a moment mean for those of us who work in grassroots and independent media? What does it demand of us?

Haiti faces immense challenges, including political instability, gang violence, and barriers to healthcare, especially for expectant mothers. These issues are vividly portrayed in N'AP Boule, a short film featuring a young couple navigating protests and dangerous streets in a bid to reach a hospital before the birth of their first child. In this interview, filmmaker Alexandrine Benjamin shares the inspiration behind N'AP Boule and her mission to shed light on the maternal health crisis in Haiti. The film’s powerful message aims to move viewers to support Haitians’ struggles and push for change.

I live in Salt Lake City, which lies between the Wasatch Mountains and Great Salt Lake, on the ancestral lands of the Ute, Goshute, and Shoshone peoples. My ancestors are Mormon settlers who colonized the Salt Lake Valley in the 1800s. Like many here, I became concerned in the last few years about the drying of Great Salt Lake.

During this year’s annual Carnival festival in Trinidad and Tobago’s capital city of Port of Spain, a Moko Jumbi – a traditional stilt walker and spirit dancer – paraded the streets representing Palestine and demanding an immediate ceasefire in Gaza. In Trinbagonian culture, the Moko Jumbie represents a spirit walking over and protecting the souls of all those who were massacred and lost during the transatlantic slave trade. This year, its mission was extended to solidarity with the Palestinian people.

Steve Peraza speaks with James J. Coughlin, a public historian and author of the 2023 zine, City of Distant Neighbors: The Proliferation and Entrenchment of Residential Segregation in Buffalo, New York (1934 to 1961).

At 7:00 a.m. on September 14, 2024, dozens of people in colorful skirts and dress pants begin gathering around a small brick duplex at the Michigan/Wisconsin state line in the westernmost Upper Peninsula, just down the road from a series of budget strip clubs and adult video stores. This may seem like a strange place for a Native American ceremony, but not so: just beneath the bridge flows the Montreal River, and anywhere with Nibi is sacred.

My family’s journey through war-ravaged Gaza started last October, the very day after our Gaza City home was bombed — with us inside — killing my oldest cousin, Mohammed. We knew we had to move. Leaflets fell from the sky, urging us to flee southwest. So began a journey that took us through the Jabaliya refugee camp, Deir Al-Balah, Khan Younis, Al-Nusirat, Al-Qarara, and Rafah. Each stop marked a milestone in a trip punctuated by evacuation orders and displacements. I’ve lost count of the number of times we were told to move, but it’s at least a dozen.

One of the great joys of being an academic is watching people go from beginner to trailblazer in a field of study. As a writer for Weave News, not only do I get to watch emerging rock stars like Ms. Song Lee ‘do their thing’, but I get to share their voices with the world. In this Interweaving conversation, I am pleased to introduce you to Ms. Song Lee, High Road Fellow and Child Care Community Advocate.

The province of North Kivu, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), is home to a vibrant tapestry of mountain rain forests and savannas, woven together by the rivers that feed Lake Edwards and Lake Kivu. It is also a region that is torn apart by war. The interests of neighboring countries and international economic forces have fueled the violence that has displaced more than 2.8 million people and is devastating the local ecosystems. Amidst the ongoing chaos, however, water and earth guardians continue to work to create a better future for their communities and their more-than-human neighbors. One of these brave humans is Justin Lumoo Paluku, who works with the Initiative pour le Progrès et la Protection de l'Environnement (IPPE), or the Initiative for Environmental Progress and Protection.

Suffocated by the accumulated heat of the day, the night became long. The smell of smoke woke us up. At that moment we thought that some neighbor was burning garbage. We soon realized that the smell was different. It smelled more like burnt wood.

To learn more about the first encampment in Valencia, I reached out to Dr. Jorge Ramos Tolosa, who teaches contemporary history at UV. In addition to his scholarship and teaching, he is a longtime activist with BDS Valencia and the Red Solidaria contra la Ocupación de Palestina (RESCOP), a network of Spanish organizations working in solidarity with Palestine.

My name is Fousani Hamidou, and I am a senior at St Lawrence University (Canton, NY, USA), majoring in Global Studies with a minor in African Studies. Last semester, I studied abroad in Kenya and had the opportunity to travel to Arusha, Tanzania, as a part of my program. We lived for a week alongside the Hadzabe tribe, one of the last surviving hunter-gathering tribes in the country. Throughout the week, we hunted hyraxes and made arrows with the Hadzabe men, and we gathered tubas (a tree root) and made beads with the Hadza women. On the last night, we all gathered with members of the tribe on a large rock by the camp to discuss their lifestyle, the Tanzanian government, education, and forced assimilation.

'We have two options now: dying or dying.'

This was a text message that Salahaldin (Salah) Eleyan received from his brother from Northern Gaza, Palestine.