The pace of activism in an online world

Our lives — and all the conveniences we need to live them well — have never moved at a faster pace. If my eyeliner runs out, I can have a stranger drop off a new one at my door within the hour. If I wanted to, I could have my facial features altered in a 30-minute appointment. An AI chatbot can write an essay for me in seconds. I get annoyed when the circle spins more than once on my HBO Max app. And I’m not the only one. We have successfully been conditioned by capitalism and the attention economy to expect rapid results.

But if we look at history, we’ll recognize that major societal change has always moved slowly (spanning multiple lifetimes) and it has always been followed by periods of intense backlash. Organizers of the civil rights movement expressed the belief that they would never live long enough to see the changes they were fighting for. Progress is a gradual, deliberate process that requires our long-term engagement. We do ourselves, and future generations, a huge disservice when we pretend otherwise. We’re going to be fighting these fights for a long time - it’s a marathon, not a sprint. And we need to conserve our energy so we can stay in the race.

I grew up in a family that has been politically and socially engaged for generations. My grandmother organized letter writing campaigns for Amnesty International. Before Roe, when abortion was illegal in Massachusetts and my dad was a student at Harvard, he drove people who needed care into New York. As a child, my mom took me to political protests and shelters to prepare and serve meals. It’s just part of our family culture: if you’re able to help others, you should. As a Black transracial adoptee, I have an added layer of cognizance. There are so many privileges we take for granted, but it’s harder to do so when we open our eyes to the experiences of the people around us.

Online activism has its place in the movement for equity and liberation. I’m grateful that it exists as a tool and access point for folks who may not otherwise have become civically engaged. I appreciate when someone shares content in solidarity with a marginalized group. I like to know that the people I follow and engage with online actually care about what’s going on in the world. And a recent review of the literature concluded that, “the Internet has a positive effect on offline mobilization.” However, as a Black woman, I have also seen more than my fair share of performative activism online. We notice when the posts you share don’t align with how you show up in the world. 

Mariame Kaba — abolitionist, organizer, educator, activist, and curator — popularized the phrase, “hope is a discipline.” In the face of the countless sociopolitical crises we’re fighting (and the access the internet gives us to these crises), I believe that reframing the concept of hope is essential. It’s so easy to slide into hopelessness and despair. The 24-hour news cycle, ragebait, and colossal void of nuance online certainly don’t help. We have to resist the constant temptation to tune out, distract ourselves, and just wait for someone else to do something. But when we make the decision to cultivate hope, we empower ourselves to act. And the research has repeatedly shown that we’re happiest when we’re helping others.

I’ve found that hope and action create a feedback loop. When I feel depressed about the state of the world, I first ground myself with my breathwork practice and self-care. Then I find a way to engage at a grassroots level locally. On Christmas Day this past year, I volunteered with the Lost Angels organization. Their motto “no one gets left behind” is the ethos of mutual aid. When I looked around at the number of people who showed up at sunrise, on a holiday, to share their time, energy, and resources and connect with our unhoused neighbors, I felt some faith in humanity restored. We are wired to be in community with each other as UCLA neuroscientist Matthew Lieberman says, “the need to connect socially with others is as basic as our need for food, water and shelter.”

That’s only one of many examples of how working at a local level can have a positive impact, individually and collectively. This inspiring video by organizer and author Dean Spade explains the necessity and possibilities of mutual aid. Redistributing resources is one form of mutual aid, but there are countless roles to play in the movement, as illustrated by organizer Deepa Iyer’s Social Change Map. Whether you recognize yourself as a caregiver, frontline responder, storyteller or guide, there are hands-on ways to get involved. We don’t have to fill every role, every day, but we all can fill at least one. Via the Internet, I’ve been able to connect with others who share my passion for certain causes and find opportunities to volunteer. You can search for community fridges and gardens, shelters, and grassroots organizations in your area. Many regularly post on Instagram and Eventbrite.

There are so many organizations that are out here doing the work responding to various crises, day in and day out. Whatever issue is keeping you up at night, I bet there is someone in your area responding to it. When you’ve asked yourself what your role might be and the level of commitment you have the capacity for, I encourage you to find a group and plug in. As one of my idols and the first Black woman elected to Congress Shirley Chisholm said, “Service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on earth.” The opportunities are endless, and it may take some trial and error before you find where you’re most comfortable and where you can have the most positive impact. It’s definitely been an ongoing process for me.

Before the pandemic, I collected food and supplies and drove down to Tijuana as part of Border Angels’ bi-weekly caravan of love. They continue to support 16 different migrant shelters in the area and run a Water Drop program, where volunteers hike out into the desert and leave gallons of water decorated with messages of support and love. Folks who are privileged enough to order delivery (which, guilty!) often don’t realize how impactful it is to donate and/or prepare food for others.

Other organizations I’ve been involved with include the LA chapter of Black Lives Matter. They organize a variety of local actions, including days of service. I’ve attended protests, made calls, signed petitions, donated to bail funds, and shown up for digital actions. Since 2018, I’ve been part of This Is About Humanity, a female-founded non-profit raising awareness about the humanitarian crisis at the border. I’ve painted shelters and murals, organized events for separated and reunited families and children, and helped get wishlists filled for caregivers. I also love the work Imagine LA is doing; they prevent homelessness by equipping families with stable housing and long-term support. And the incredible Estefanía Rebellón, who I now consider a friend, co-founded Yes We Can Mobile Schools to make sure migrant children at the border have access to quality education. 

Through my advocacy, I’ve come to the understanding that individual healing is necessary for collective healing. Our wellbeing is inextricably linked to the wellbeing of our neighbors. And we can’t take any action when we’re depleted. I found breathwork through my own years-long process of trauma healing. The practice, in tandem with therapy, has helped me show up more fully in every area of my life, including my activism. My work as a trauma-informed breathwork facilitator has allowed me to step into Iyer’s role of healer, as I hold space for the emotions and experiences of fellow marginalized people. It’s an honor and a privilege. As much as I urge you to get involved in your community, I equally want to emphasize the importance of taking care of yourself. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. Especially since we’re in this together, for the long haul.

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Dylan Keese-Forster is an activist, writer, breathwork facilitator, and founder of Radical Breath. On her substack, hyperaware, she discusses the wellness-industrial complex, adoption, and pop culture.