Hope In The Dark: The Untold History of People Power

On January 1, 1994, revolutionary fervor began in the shadows when a guerrilla group of Indigenous people from the Lacandon Jungle area in Mexico followed Emiliano Zapata to protest the North American Free Trade agreement, which was “an economic death sentence for hundreds of thousands of small-scale Mexican farmers and, with them, something of rural and traditional life” (40). The Zapatistas were important because they affirmed the power of communal power, not wanting to take power from themselves but to restore it to civil society after its seizure by authorities. They spread their message not through violence but through encuentros—encounters or conversations with others who might want to emulate them. The Zapatistas’ spokesperson, Subcomandante Marcos, further spread their message via the internet.

Hope is a key theme in Marcos’ speeches, as on January 1, 1996, when he argued that “the lie of the defeat of hope” (45) was being sold as history and that capitalism was being pushed as a replacement for the dignity of hope. He argues that raising an “‘International of Hope’” (45) is the only way to defeat this form of oppression. Solnit thinks this type of grassroots hope movement will have repercussions far beyond its origin.

On November 30, 1999, Solnit was in Seattle outside the World Trade Organization protesting the ideology of corporate globalization and its stringent defense of free trade between nations. She argues, “Much of what free trade has brought about is what gets called ‘the race to the bottom,’ the quest for the cheapest possible wages or agricultural production, with consequent losses on countless fronts” (47). Thus, while global corporations maximize their profits, local workers see their wages and standard of living fall. In many protests of globalization—and globalized terrors such as the use of harmful pesticides—the protesters face police brutality, whereas the perpetrators of harmful policies get away with everything. Solnit regards Seattle as seminal to waking up the media, which had slept through the protests of the 1980s and 1990s and was now taking the protesters and their concerns seriously.

Solnit retrospectively reflects that 1999 was a year in which the critique of capitalism was possible as “these more complex and long-term issues had not been overshadowed by the imperial belligerence of the so-called War on Terror” (52). However, it was also the dawn of a cross-cultural movement against corporate globalization. In September 2003, a group led by Mexican campesinos and Korean farmers protested outside Cancun’s WTO, as poor nations stood up to rich nations, insisting that the developed world’s policy of agricultural subsidies be redressed. Solnit views this as a success for the poor and the nonviolent form of protest, as it represented a shift in power from the rich to the poor.

While Solnit agrees that the bombing of the twin towers on 9/11 was a tragedy, she thinks that the mood of solidarity immediately following the attack could have given birth to a new, more collaborative America, instead of one wedded to capitalist individualism. Solnit observes how in the face of disasters people forget their petty, selfish concerns and seek connection with others. However, even in other times, some volunteers “don’t wait until disaster comes home” (55) and engage with issues that don’t directly affect them.

Solnit thinks that President George W. Bush’s mandate to “eliminate evil” soon after the bombing seemed to imply “that the goodness that filled us would not be necessary in the future, a future in which we could return to preoccupation with our private lives” (56). He turned the conversation away from the oil politics that contributed to the attack and asked people to spend money and monitor each other instead. To Solnit, Bush seemed to do everything in his power to suppress the possibility for the radical change that might have resulted from 9/11 and to use it as an excuse for carrying out “existing agendas of imperial expansion and domestic repression” (56).

Solnit speculates that a moment of solidarity came out of 9/11 on February 15, 2003, when millions marched in protest of the Iraq war. She writes, “What was most remarkable about the huge peace marches in San Francisco was the sense of ebullience and exhilaration, as though people had finally found something they’d long craved—a chance to speak out, to participate, to see that others shared their beliefs” (57). Although the war still happened, the moment was seminal as “a global, visible, public, viable, open dialogue and conversation about the very legitimacy of war” (59). Solnit wants to cherish this new political environment and allow it to emerge from the forces that aim to obscure it.

Many activists expect a quick return on their protesting and thus become disappointed and give up. However, not all success is instant or immediately visible. Solnit adds that “effects are not proportionate to causes—not only because huge causes sometimes seem to have little effect, but because tiny ones occasionally have huge consequences” (60).

Solnit likens activism to the weather, ever-changing and continuous. Similarly, activism is an ongoing process, given the constant change in the world, and thus things like endangered species can’t be saved but can be protected. Even victories can’t be abandoned, as like human infants they’re “still in need of protection and encouragement” (62). Stubborn activists who don’t go home have achieved previously unthinkable things, such as restoring the concrete ditch that was the Los Angeles River into a flowing, watery habitat.

Solnit argues that the term direct action is misleading because although activism can be confrontational when occupying the streets, you don’t know when such actions will bear fruit. She writes, “Every act is an act of faith, because you don’t know what will happen” (64).

This is especially true of Solnit’s trade as a writer who composes her manifestos in solitude and can’t be certain of when her words will have an effect. Likewise, it’s been true of seminal texts throughout history; writers and others must be content with not knowing the full consequences of their actions. However, in 1940, German-Jewish essayist Walter Benjamin made a case for writing and publishing regardless of the uncertainty of the future, because of “‘victory wrenched from the powers of darkness’” (69).

Walter Benjamin conceived his famous Angel of History during Hilter’s Third Reich, which condemned him for being Jewish. Understandably, the Angel is a pessimistic creature who sees disaster upon disaster occurring and views himself as “a being to whom things happen” (70).

Solnit conceived of a different type of angel—an Angel of Alternative History—when she was a board member on Nevada’s environmental and antinuclear group and wrote a fundraising proposal based on the Frank Capra movie It’s a Wonderful Life. In the movie, the angel Clarence shows the hero how the world would be if he’d never existed. Likewise, Solnit’s proposal showed what Nevada might look like if the antinuclear group had never existed. She points out that “most environmental victories look like nothing happened; the land wasn’t annexed by the army, the mine didn’t open […] the factory didn’t spew effluents that didn’t give asthma to the children who didn’t wheeze and panic and stay indoors on beautiful days” (71). Thus, storytelling is essential to make an invisible triumph visible.

While Benjamin’s Angel of History is a passive harbinger of doom, Solnit’s angel draws attention to how things could be worse and helps provide the impetus for activists to continue their efforts.