Informed Anger

By Julia Steinberger

As a climate scientist and activist, I never had much time for the whole “hope/optimism vs despair/pessimism” debate. Hope and despair, optimism and pessimism are personal states – personal assessments of our surrounding reality. They have an individual focus, looking inward to oneself, rather than outward to others. This individual lens itself is a symptom of a much deeper problem, inextricably entangled with the origin story of the climate crisis: the rise of neoliberal ideology.

Neoliberalism is the ideology of market fundamentalism, established to protect the “freedom” (read: power) of private corporations within our democracies. A core pillar of this ideology is the anti-scientific insistence that community and cooperation are nothing, that “there’s no such thing as society” (to quote Margaret Thatcher), and that our only mode of action is as greedy individuals interacting selfishly in markets. The fact that neoliberalism’s baseless ideas have dominated our politics for decades, accelerating inequality, social precarity, and ecological crises, should make us more than upset. It should make us angry.

Anger, as an emotion, is exciting, dangerous, infectious, and incendiary. It is a collective response to injustice, and right now, is also logical and salutary. Anger is logical because we find ourselves under attack: our very planet, the living world that sustains us, is under a violent onslaught that is threatening humanity’s life support systems. Our democracies and social fabric are also under attack, with social safety nets shredded and fascism on the rise.

Informed anger focuses our minds and actions: on the things most precious to us, which we need to protect, and the entities that threaten them, which we must band together to defeat. What is most precious? Life, health, children’s life chances, the living world that sustains us. These values we share with the vast majority of humanity; indeed, they are almost a defining characteristic of being human. Who is threatening them? The industries and fortunes that have built up power, via lobbying, state-capture, propaganda, and climate denial.

These facts should make us all very angry. Angry enough to tell our friends, neighbours, and colleagues. Angry enough to come together and organise to counter neoliberal destruction. And angry enough to fight back for all that we hold dear.

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Joyous Resistance

By Sophia Vitrierat NG

Between 2011 and 2014, Hong Kong became a hub of creative protest amid political unrest. Activist organisation People Power transformed traditional demonstrations into joyful gatherings, thus introducing the idea of “joyous resistance”. One example of this was the “Hitting Villains” event (2011), at which participants expressed their discontent by beating paper effigies of the villains in question with their shoes. At another event in 2012, participants led by People Power expressed their anger at what they saw as interference in local elections by playing with Chinese toys such as yo-yos together. These joyful demonstrations attracted thousands of people, thereby promoting a sense of community and fostering political engagement.

Prior to the 2019 Anti-Extradition Law Amendment Bill Movement – which marked a pivot towards more radical strategies – joyous resistance was a key part of Hong Kong’s pro-democracy landscape. People Power’s strategy of integrating joy into resistance appealed to a wide range of participants and helped maintain the movement’s momentum. It also helped People Power achieve unexpected success in the 2012 Legislative Council election, giving the movement influence on the Hong Kong government. With the emergence of the Occupy Central with Love and Peace movement in 2014 (which was later renamed the Umbrella Movement), elements of joyous resistance continued to be present. The Umbrella Movement used art and creative expression to voice out its political demands, and even established study areas in protest zones to encourage peaceful community engagement.

The tactics employed by People Power were consistent with the creative resistance displayed elsewhere in Asia. The candlelight rallies in South Korea (starting in the 1990s) and the G0v movement for open government in Taiwan (from 2012) also successfully balanced serious political objectives with festive elements. These movements illustrated how joy can attract supporters and sustain long-term engagement, particularly in environments where traditional protest methods are significantly restricted.

Although joyous resistance provided obvious advantages, including reducing participant burnout, minimising political risks, and strengthening collective identities, this strategy also encountered criticism from those who questioned the effectiveness of playful protests in delivering serious political messages. Nevertheless, the experiences of People Power and similar movements show that using joy strategically can effectively maintain political mobilisation while building enduring communities that drive social change.

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Nostalgia

By Sven Schreurs

Nostalgia is not simply a “yearning for bygone days” but an emotion that wields considerable political power. It can mobilise individuals and collectives by framing the past as a lost ideal, offering certainty amidst the currents of rapid change. Politicians and social movements have long harnessed nostalgia to (re)shape collective identity, legitimise authority, and resist – or promote – transformation.

At its core, nostalgia politicises memory. To use the late cultural theorist Svetlana Boym’s terminology, this ranges from innocuous, even ironic “reflective” modes of nostalgia to “restorative” manifestations that justify radical, oftentimes violent action to revive a glorious past – epitomised in the fascist promise of “national rebirth”. More often, as political scientist Michael Kenny points out, nostalgia in our contemporary societies is simply “banal”, selectively remembering a version of the past – real or imagined – that evokes feelings of security, community, and simplicity.

By invoking these memories, political actors appeal to deep-seated emotions, creating a sense of belonging and moral certainty. Powerful slogans such as “Make America Great Again” (Donald Trump), “Take Back Control” (Brexit), and “The Netherlands Ours Again” (Geert Wilders) evoke a nostalgic past to rally support for nationalist and authoritarian agendas. These appeals to a “golden age” resonate with those disillusioned by globalisation, economic insecurity, or cultural change, reinforcing widespread sentiments of “nostalgic deprivation” and downward mobility.

However, nostalgia is not confined to conservative movements. Progressive politics can recall instances of solidarity, such as historical victories in the struggle for social rights and justice, to inspire collective action. Yet this is a double-edged sword. The imagery of the “post-war golden age of the welfare state” can, for instance, be a source of mobilisation for leftwing causes. At the same time, however, it unduly idealises a harmonious past that never quite existed, glossing over its (gendered) inequalities and neglecting the reliance on what historians Stefan Couperus and Stephen Milder have called “grey democracy”: economic growth and prosperity predicated on ecologically unsustainable consumerism and fossil fuel combustion.

The power of nostalgia resides in its ability to frame change – for good or ill. In times of social and economic dislocation, the comforting narratives of nostalgia can offer people not just a sense of what has been lost but also a vision of what might be reclaimed and thereby shape public imagination and action. Still, while being mindful of its potential, progressive politicians would be wise to tread carefully in the morass of historical memory.