Revolutionary Hope

“Hope is essential to any political struggle for radical change when the overall social climate promotes disillusionment and despair.” –Bell Hooks

In the last few years, the COVID-19 pandemic, climate change, economic devastation, conflicts and wars have been some of the myriad challenges we have faced. It has been an increasingly difficult time with interlocking crises calling for resilience, care, kindness, change, action and empathy. At times like these, it seems even more challenging to be exuberant, optimistic and hopeful. As we navigate what often seems like a desolate landscape, calling on positivity as a way of being may feel futile.

Increasingly, we have had to acknowledge that it is difficult to cling to hope in the face of persisting challenges and adversity. But perhaps the challenge lies in traditional framings of hope which define it as an optimism based on the expectation of a positive outcome. I admit that I too have been guilty of this narrow framing. Rebecca Solnit asserts that hope is not necessarily the belief that everything was, is, or will be fine. The evidence of tremendous suffering and destruction is all around us after all. Instead, Solnit speaks of hope that draws on broad perspectives with specific possibilities, ones that invite or demand that we act. In other words, it is not a sunny everything-is-getting-better narrative, though it may be a counter to the everything-is-getting-worse one. This assertion is reinforced by the framing of hope in a radical form that persists even in the face of significant challenges or adversity.

Engaging with hope that is more nuanced invites us to embrace uncertainty and acknowledge the unknown, believing in the possibility of positive change despite overwhelming odds or difficult circumstances. In other words, from a political perspective, there is power in the fact that hope ends up being a gift we do not have to surrender. This in itself reinforces our autonomy and agency, and as Solnit claims, though hope can be an act of defiance, defiance isn’t enough reason to hope. For hope to remain alive, we do not have to deny some of the devastating realities in our worlds. Rather it means facing them while also remembering the many remarkable gains achieved by movements for change. In other words, when we activate hope we do so to find inspiration and motivation for our collective efforts to achieve change. While rooted in our grief and rage, it is also based on our deep belief that despite it, we can continue to move towards our vision and dreams. In this scenario, our grief and hope coexist.

Instead of feeling powerless in the face of uncertainty, we can continue to remind ourselves of our power to influence, to resist, to act – thus our ability to influence the ultimate outcomes of things. We do not allow ourselves to drown in the knowledge of our not knowing how things will turn out. Instead, we embrace it. The act of maintaining hope is defiant in that it counters the mainstream narratives that may zoom in on our victimhood or powerlessness.

For example, in South Africa, the extremely strict COVID-19 lockdown created and revealed dire social problems. These problems – hunger, unemployment, homelessness, lack of access to health resources, sanitation and physical space – were issues that had been present in communities before COVID-19 but were exacerbated by the suddenness of a lockdown that instantly limited access to physical, emotional and mental resources. Instead of merely amplifying government failures to respond quickly or effectively, a small group of people – doctors, activists and concerned citizens – came together across Cape Town to mobilise over 15,000 volunteers and more than 150 Community Action Networks, in a networked community-led response to the crises. Such a response centres the reality that, despite poor response by decision-makers, we are resourceful and creative and can come together to respond in ways that harness our interdependence and collective humanity. Focusing on responses that shine the light on our collective agency, as opposed to despair, allows us to sustain hope; particularly if we look for examples in the past and present that illuminate not only cruelties and injustice but also examples of our individual and collective power. In other words, defiantly sustaining and nurturing hope allows us to remind ourselves that things will change. Even when it is not all good, we have the power to influence it as well as our response to change.

Anne Lamott speaks of hope beginning “in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come… You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up.”

Hope as revolutionary patience

Hope as revolutionary patience provides us with the gravitas and inspiration to dig deep and remain connected to our experience, and show up fully for ourselves. The concept of hope as “revolutionary patience” (a term coined by feminist writer Dorothee Soelle) has a welcome ring of rebellion to it, particularly as an act of claiming patience while we experience so much uncertainty and often volatility in our different contexts. As noted by James Baldwin, the hope of the world lies in what one demands, not of others, but of oneself.

As we move through our experience we can learn to embrace the discomfort of the current moment and consciously make the choice to refuse to drown in despair. The practice of hope as revolutionary patience means that we resist the pressure to squash our hope, respond to the pressure to go faster and react due to our loss of control. These ways of reacting tire us out, and so revolutionary patience means slowing down, sitting with the pain and despair, while also being willing to allow ourselves to surrender to the process. After all, hope is not always about an end result, rather it is about who we become in the process of waiting. Sometimes it is in this enduring that we become ready to receive, whether it is inspiration, energy or just a sense of calm as we connect to our power.

Find solidarity in solace and connect to what inspires you

In practising hope as revolutionary patience, we are also able to make space to connect to others. As we share our stories and connect our experiences, we can increase our stories of hope for those times when it feels hardest to practice hope. Together we can find solace, and also identify ways to navigate hopelessness and strengthen our capacities to be alive to life and each other, connected to our collective emotional tenderness and our tenacities. Perhaps COVID’s great gift has been this connectedness we’ve felt to one another’s suffering and our desperate need for survival. My dear friend, Liepollo Pheko refers to this as solidarity in solace, a place that allows us to deepen the practice of holding each other’s pain without explanations and reserve, without self-censorship, mirroring pain in each other, recognising and validating it.

At the collective level, this has indeed helped. However, each of us has to find a well to draw on to keep going, to refresh and to replenish. We need to dig deep to maintain our hope and our ability to show up and find the discipline, focus and time to withdraw to be with our dreams and fears. We cannot continue to merely push on and hope that things will work out. Instead, we need to step into explorations that allow us to hold the urgency of transforming unjust systems while also making time for joy, rest and relationships. We do so by remembering what inspires us and that what we are waiting for and working towards is worth it. It is often darkest before dawn so we should not quit now.

Revolutionary hope teaches us to take the time out to connect with others to celebrate small victories before getting back to work. Joy shared is joy doubled. Revolutionary hope is a practice done with others, not just in our movements but also in our personal lives – like holding the hands of a struggling friend or celebrating a long-awaited graduation with a family member. Revolutionary hope is never satisfied with the status quo. Yet it also takes the time to celebrate even partial and flawed victories with the people we love, admire and who inspire us. In our collectivity, it is a way for us to source and speak of our collective hope together. We need to ask, ‘What does hope look like in this place, right now?

Continuing to act keeps hope alive

To hope is to gamble. It’s to bet on your future, on your desires, on the possibility that an open heart and uncertainty are better than gloom and safety. To hope is dangerous. Yet it is the opposite of fear, for to live is to risk. Hope just means another world might be possible, not promised, not guaranteed. Hope calls for action. (Rebecca Solnit)

In this process, we can’t, however, just hope that our values will somehow take shape without our efforts. We have to give them hands and feet. Continuing to act is how we keep hope alive and create transformation. We can’t simply wish that things will get better. Embodying our values means taking small consistent steps towards our dreams. Right now is one of those exceptional times when our hope needs to be intentional. We need to nurture, grow and speak of it – together. Hope inspires us to dig deep and remain connected to our experience and show up fully for ourselves and each other. In those moments when we wish to withdraw, when we wish to abandon or jump ship, hope is that beacon that keeps us focused. As simple as it sounds, the practice of hope requires all of our faculties, but it is so worth it.

How can we ground ourselves in hope?

1. Build your hope muscle.

Each day, take at least five minutes to connect to what you feel hopeful about. Hope does not happen all by itself. You need to carve out space and time to build the muscles that allow you to tune into hope effortlessly. If hope is to become an embodied practice, you need to build up your body, mind and heart’s resilience in a life-affirming way, rather than merely pushing through and enduring. Grounding practices invite us into a resilience of joy, rest, reflection and nurturing rather than merely the capacity to endure that props us up to keep serving an unjust system

2. Read or watch inspirational stories.

Inspiration is the fuel of hope. Connecting to the stories of change, transformation and resilience keeps us inspired. Inspiration enables us to keep going as we continue our work of transforming our worlds and our lives.

3. Don’t give up.

Continuing to act is how we keep hope alive and create transformation. You can’t simply desire that things will get better while turning a blind eye to injustice. If you need a timeout or a break, take it. But when you are ready again, get back into action. Embodying hope means taking small consistent steps even when we do not see the results immediately.

4. Celebrate small victories.

Revolutionary hope teaches us to take the time out to connect with others to celebrate small victories. Joy shared is joy doubled.

5. Build a hopeful community.

Just as we need a village to raise a child, we need a community to help us embody change and sustain hope while doing so. Revolutionary hope is a practice done with others, not just in our movements but also in our relationships with loved ones, friends and family, supporting them in their pain and achievements. Can we find ways, as communities, to speak of our collective hope together?