Somewhere in a hidden cranny in Barcelona, I learnt the importance of mouthpieces. In a political climate thick with radical scepticism, I wondered: where do we draw the line for defeat? From my position—through my skin and gender—I realised there’s no winning against a system designed to consume me whole.
Conformation? No. It’s about the importance of acceptance. Most of us, I think, carry an inherent desire to fight injustice. But I don’t believe in the myth of the one man theory or the butterfly effect. At best, we make an impact—a ripple, not a revolution.
This scepticism is grounded in a postmodern understanding of power: grand narratives of singular heroes and universal solutions crumble under the weight of lived reality. The systemic machinery of oppression cannot be dismantled by individual acts of defiance alone. Critical theory teaches us that to challenge these entrenched power structures, we must first unmask them, yet even this knowledge doesn’t guarantee change. When the system is designed to siphon your energy, your resolve, even your identity, is it truly weakness to prioritise self-preservation?
Feminism offers a lens through which I can understand my place in this struggle. Intersectionality reveals that my experience of oppression is not singular but layered, shaped by the intersections of race, gender, and class. It’s a constant negotiation of survival within a system that was never built for people like me. In that quiet corner of Barcelona, amid the hum of life and distant echoes of protests, I began to see the paradox of survival. To fight, one must first endure. And endurance sometimes means stepping away from the battlefield, not out of fear, but from a profound understanding of one’s limits.
We idolise the martyr who gives everything for the cause, but rarely do we celebrate the quiet resisters, the ones who persist, adapt, and endure. They are the unseen roots, holding the ground steady for others to rise. Acceptance, then, is not submission. It’s a recalibration of effort, a recognition that change is neither linear nor immediate. Sometimes, the loudest revolutions are born in silence, in the deep work of self-healing and quiet resistance.
So, I stopped searching for grand gestures or singular acts to shift the tide. Instead, I turned inward, cultivating a strength that bends but does not break. Because being selfless is for the strong. I've learned that strength is a spectrum, and mine is quietly, stubbornly, my own
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