News from the Collective

Minor Compositions Podcast Season 2 Episode 2 Jazz is My Religion, Ted Joans is My Perspective  In this episode of the Minor Compositions, we are joined by Steven Belletto and Grégory Pierrot, in order to discuss Steven’s book Black Surrealist. The Legend of Ted Joans. Together we explore Joans as Beat Generation insider, jazz trumpeter, […]

By Floriana Cerniglia and Francesco Saraceno

In a context marked by economic and geopolitical tensions, the European Union is called upon to make energy a pillar of its strategic autonomy. Accelerating on the adoption of renewables is essential not only to meet environmental commitments, but also to address the productivity gap with the United States and reduce dependence on fossil fuels, which exposes the EU to supply shocks and geopolitical blackmailing. Lower reliance on fossil fuel means lower energy costs and less import dependency, with positive effects not only on the environment but also on productivity and economic security: the transition is not just an environmental choice, but a lever for economic sovereignty and strategic autonomy.

According to this perspective, energy policy cannot be separated from the new industrial policy invoked by the Draghi Report. Leaving the structural transformation of the EU economy to markets alone is not enough: it is necessary to facilitate it by reshaping and shortening supply chains, eliminating bottlenecks in strategic sectors, shifting resources toward high-value-added activities, and developing active labor market policies.

These themes are the focus of the sixth Outlook on Public Investment in Europe (More with More: Investing in the Energy Transition. 2025 European Public Investment Outlook). The Outlook highlights, on the one hand, how the EU continues to move in a scattered way; on the other hand, more fundamentally, both public and private investment is insufficient. EU Member states have different sources of energy and often have divergent interests, stemming from specific industrial histories and unequal resource endowments. Consequently – as noted in the first part of the Outlook – the decarbonization is certainly progressing in France, Germany, Italy, and Spain, but with strong differences in industrial policies, regulatory frameworks, and incentives. The difficulty of building a truly common and adequately financed energy policy emerges, for example, in the chapter written by our colleagues from the EIB.

In the few years since the introduction of the Green Deal in 2019, the context has become significantly more complicated. The Green Deal's main objective was reducing emissions, with an eye on the consequences for distribution and welfare. Today, the EU must juggle several, at times competing, objectives: decarbonizing; reviving an industry that has moved late and is now under pressure from the green transition and from competition from the United States and China; ensuring supply- and value-chain security in an unstable geopolitical environment; and mitigating the distributional impact of industrial restructuring. The second part of the Outlook links the energy transition to horizontal themes such as mission-orientedpolicies for industrial competitiveness, research and innovation, and vertical policies on green hydrogen, grid infrastructure, and access to critical raw materials. In a situation of tighter budget constraints and new spending priorities (particularly defence), and without proactive policies for fair distribution of costs and benefits, public consensus for the transition risks weakening; to avoid this, focus on local energy communities and equitable use of carbon resources are of paramount importance.

The Outlook's chapters are written by authors from different backgrounds and institutions, but the thread that links them is clear: without strong European coordination and stable public investment, the energy transition risks slowing down and weighing on the economy precisely when it should instead accelerate and act as a driver for sustained and sustainable growth.

European institutions do not seem equipped to support a genuine common energy and industrial policy. Following the short COVID-19-related parenthesis of Next Generation EU, the return to "frugal" positions by several EU actors and the limited ambition of the new Multiannual Financial Framework make an EU-wide push for industrial and energy policy unlikely. The necessary investments will therefore have to be carried out by Member States, which, however, are constrained by the Stability and Growth Pact.

For this reason, in our introduction, we propose an Augmented Golden Rule that would exclude investment, both tangible and intangible, from the 3% deficit limit of the Stability Pact. The logic would not be very different from the recent decision to exempt defence spending from the Pact's limits, in the framework of the SAFE initiative. However, unlike that measure, it would be institutionalized, to become the outcome of a democratic process regarding the EU’s investment priorities: the Council and Parliament would periodically (for example when approving the EU budget) reach an agreement on priority sectors in which there is the need to increase the stock of (tangible and/or intangible) capital; national governments could then finance these priorities through debt, in exemption from the Pact.

To prevent market pressure on individual countries, the Augmented Golden Rule should be accompanied by a European Debt Agency that would issue Eurobonds and lend to national countries to finance the commonly agreed investment priorities. The modulation of interest rates on these loans would ensure fiscal discipline, while protecting governments from undue market pressure.

Without a rethinking of the EU economic governance, a strategy that integrates the energy transition, competitiveness, and security will inevitably remain incomplete.

Access this book and others in the series.

Introduction to the Interview by Natalie Mariko

Like many, I spend a lot of time lost in rot. I wonder how many days I have stared, almost numb, into the endless stream of other people’s memories, while scenes of train cars, café chairs, and beds blur together. It’s been at least a few weeks.

Mind control is real, and we’re more disconnected than ever. Lost in a digital world, we feel pressure to join in on social media. In this space, time has no clear shape.

Simone Weil saw attention and presence as a form of prayer. In the ‘attention economy,’ focus splits into isolated pockets, and presence suffers, interrupted by constant notifications and the noise of daily life. Every place has its own soundtrack: trap music blasts at the corner shop, thunder cracks, and vehicles fill the streets. Athens moves with sound. Cities can be seen as fields of interpretation, mapped by inattention and layered with loss. Moments lost to digital distraction reflect, in religious terms, the turning inward that limits outward possibility.

Copies of ‘realities’ give the illusion of presence and progress, forming chaotic mixes of personal moments. When art maintains a chaotic presence instead of dissolving into bland or moralising forms, it keeps traces of earlier times alive. This is most clear in performance. Performance strips away screen voyeurism, revealing its lack of real experience.

Simply put, you can’t experience a performance without attention, and random online content lacks emotional connection. Political content uses exaggerated emotions to drive repetition and turns suffering into products. In contrast, performance requires presence. If performance becomes only a screen spectacle, it loses emotional impact, and presence becomes meaningless.

Rosanna McLaughlin’s essay Against Morality describes the trend in the 2010s of replacing lack of artistic emotion with moral purity, which she calls ‘liberal realism.’ When art plays the moral judge in a closed world and forgets its power to affect reality, its transformative impact is reduced to slogans. Ironically, this makes such art easy to dismiss or even a tool for fascist ideas. To achieve meaningful change, alternative mythologies that are not easily consumed are needed. Even imperfect performance that resists moral rules reopens the possibility more than rigid commentary.

The title of MIRA新伝統’s new work, Mythoplaxy, combines mythology and praxis. It questions illusions and embraces performing mythology as a revolutionary act. The effectiveness of this gesture and the music is subjective. Still, it points in a direction I support. Political and technological changes separate individuals from the universal context. Federico Campagna explains that this creates ‘dividuals,’ categorized and separated from possibility. The body, when freed from strict definition and given to a living audience, takes on a collective shape of time.

—

Natalie Mariko: Laura Tripaldi’s book, Parallel Minds, engages with Karen Barad’s notion of intra-action. Tripaldi writes that subjectivities exist in objects in the world, and consciousness is not a precondition for the existence of thought.

Rafael Leray: It deals with the idea of an object having a cognition or material memory.

NM: These objects are shaped by my objectivity toward them. It’s more than colliding in space; we and the objects co-define each other through our relationship. Your work as MIRA新伝統 seems similarly rooted in intra-active relationships with one another and with your chosen spaces. What are you both reading now?

RL: I hoard books. I’m finishing Federico Campagna’s Prophetic Culture and bought a book on cyberpunk for its cover. I recently read Philip K. Dick’s VALIS Trilogy, which was challenging for its lack of narrative shape. Reading’s been hard since moving to Athens. In Tokyo, I’d take a book to the sento for one or two hours, three or four times a week.

Honami Leray: Lately, before bed, I’ve been reading Ancient Magic in Greece and Rome, which I found at my favorite Athens bookstore. It also helps me study English, so I read it slowly, one chapter at a time. Here, magic isn’t supernatural but part of the everyday—a way to reconnect with the world. The book describes actual ritual sites, which feel like lingering residues.

The second book I’m into is Vermis I by Plastiboo. I found it by chance at a Paris indie bookstore and was genuinely happy to discover such a striking book. Presenting it as an official guide for a non-existent game stirs the imagination.

NM: Tripaldi explains that some technologies’ intelligence comes from rigidity. The ideal physical building material, symbolizing progress, becomes incrementally harder—from adobe to graphene. But she notes that weaving fabric is technologically more complex than making ultra-durable metal. Soft technologies, such as fabrics, are more adaptable to change.

Tech oligarchs equate optimization with technological perfection, valuing obedient machines, aligning with emerging fascism. The environment must adapt to the structure of technology. Campagna calls this Technic’s absolute language.

Your work mixes technology and ritual performance. When you relate to technology, how does ritual either oppose or reinforce the violent elements within the technological? Cyberpunk is a good example, as much of modern tech seems to be influenced by precisely this.

RL: Cyberpunk is extremely violent. It’s also dystopian. Almost all of these stories feature a totalitarian government that people are fighting against. But the precondition of that totalitarianism is technology itself.

I have a love-hate relationship with cyberpunk. I think it’s wonderful. It’s, in some ways, my childhood. But what I’ve been looking for recently are adaptable fictions. Octavia E. Butler, for instance. Bloodchild was something we both read when we arrived in Athens. Soft SF, as they call it. I found it much more interesting.

Using a computer for rituals may seem paradoxical, but you work with what you have. When I started making this music, I realized analog tools cost more. For those from middle-class backgrounds, computers are accessible, but the ritual doesn’t have to be tech-based.

The first Freemasons were doing their rituals with chalk. There wasn’t even an object. They painted the object with chalk on the ground—and that’s it. That’s the ritual. What needs to be understood is the meaning behind the symbols. Once you integrate this into yourself, then in any case – during war, during really hard times – you can recreate this ritual with other people using your imagination alone. The ritual superimposes pretty much anything, be it hard technology or non-technical layers.

NM: It’s adaptable. A soft technology.

RL: And unreadable by capital. Whatever material condition you are in, you can still manage to practice it.

And you can’t practice it if there is nobody else in the room. There is a lot of personal ritual, self-care advertising out there, but I don’t think that qualifies. There has to be a common sense of what is going on, and that common sense is creating a community. Then, through that circuit of common knowledge, you can circulate your values, exchange them and create an independent society from it.

HL: Technology is inseparable from contemporary life. That’s precisely why we deliberately bring it into parts of our performances. On stage, we don’t use technology as an extension of the self. We use it to evoke the struggle against the way it tries to shape us into its systems of measurement.

For me, those moments are a practice of bracketing the speed and efficiency of technology, in order to return, for a moment, to the body.

I picked up this book on ancient magic because I’m interested in why people choose particular objects, and how, in a pre-rational era, those objects came to exceed their practical or decorative roles and shape everyday spiritual life. I feel something similar in my choreography. A costume or prop is never just decoration; it powerfully alters my movement and presence. The symbolism in our shows isn’t so much there to explain a message as to recondition the body in space, redirect the flow of movement and posture, and create a different state of being.

NM: What was your first contact with ritual?

HL: My grandmother’s funeral.

During Japanese funerals, the family spends the final night in the same room as the deceased, watching through the night to ensure that the candles and incense never go out. No one speaks; they simply continue to share the space together. The air feels slightly cold, and time seems to move differently than usual. When sounds fade in the middle of the night, breathing becomes more noticeable, and the body quiets itself. Without words, you think of the deceased. Everyone’s attention gathers there. It felt like a particular ‘shape of time’ meant to allow the acceptance of loss.

NM: To what extent does the illusion of ritual enactment really exist in the world? And how does that change you? How do you hope it changes the audience?

HL: I hope it would be like after seeing an inspiring movie, staying with you aesthetically and emotionally. It changes you, digs deep inside you and then something else comes as a result.

RL: Which is something you experienced as a child as well, right? When you’re creating the world as you go through it, it influences your decisions before they solidify into a specific form.

Before thinking of our performances as a very serious concert, when we do them in a club, some audiences can be rude, but it’s really fun because a lot of people are ready to dive super deep into what’s behind the show, their own interpretations, and so on. That’s a real-life aspect of this illusion being more than just a moment in time on stage.

HL: But I feel it’s not really measurable; there isn’t a sense of completion to look forward to in illusion.

Just the fact that this moment existed for people during the performance is precious enough. Most likely, some people will encounter echoes of this moment, either on that same night or years later.

I don’t expect the audience to understand something specific or to change. I think it’s enough if the sense of having coexisted in that space remains, without turning into words. I try to incorporate actions that dissolve the boundary between the stage, the symbolism and the audience during the performance. Depending on the night’s vibes, it sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. A recent performance we had in Manchester had this feeling of gentle merging. After the show, a kid approached me, visibly emotional and simply said, “I was moved.” This is when you know it worked.

RL: The moment in history we’re living through is really a recognition that fiction has been shaping our society in deeper ways than we thought. Cyberpunk offers us only one vision of an inescapable dystopian future, and tech billionaires love it. We need to build alternative choices carefully because they’re self-determining. There is an apparatus of control managed with fictions. And we cannot just say, “Ah, it’s affect. It doesn’t relate to dialectical materialism.” It affects people and their adherence to an ideology. Some fictions are destructive. Terminator, The Matrix, or cyberpunk Blade Runner aesthetics are surely good, but within that is a kind of dystopian pornography.

I recently discovered ‘arcology’, a synthesis of architecture and ecology as the philosophy of democratic society, an idea developed by Paolo Soleri. I’ve been trying to develop my architectural knowledge and looking at similar approaches, such as Pascal Häusermann’s modular habitats in the forest. It was interesting to see how space can completely change how a society functions.

NM: When it comes to music, performance and movement, to what extent is it important that people comprehend the force behind it all, the theoretical or even just the emotive background of what you guys are trying to do?

HL/RL: It’s not important to us.

RL: It’s much more important to convey emotions in the moment. The truth is, when you make music or when you decide which choreography or which ritual to perform, there is always the (distinct) moment of actually starting to do it. If you are aware of the process when it happens, there is always a little snap. You black out. You enter a black box where nothing is in control. I could get academic, but for most people, that’s not the point. It’s more spontaneous. That spontaneity betrays the concept you’ve been preparing in your head.

When I was working in my [Freemason] lodge on the use of ritual, I initially assumed that modern rationality and science had made rituals — and magical thinking and superstitions — disappear. I later realised that rituals aren’t primarily magical or superstitious customs, but are rather synergetic protocols within communities, helping them to become more than the sum of their parts. It might seem counterintuitive, but I think beliefs and superstitions are interchangeable components of rituals, not their foundation.

I have little in common with my neighbor, yet we share a minimal set of ritual practices: solstitial ceremonies, knowing the proper dance movements for matsuri and so on. What is truly eroding ritual is capitalism’s encoding and commodification of social life. Which is, to some degree, intentional, aiming to produce a society of individuals rather than communities. Even the mall, one of the saddest forms of communal sub-ritual, is being replaced by delivery apps and warehouses. People are becoming strangers to one another, leaving them vulnerable to oppression and increasing dependence on techno-capital.

HL: For me as well, intellectual understanding is not important. Understanding may come later, or it may not come at all. If someone wants to know more, they can explore it themselves and make it their own. Wherever you live, spontaneous movements and rhythms can emerge, gradually expanding into larger circles until they reach a ritualistic state. The narrative or belief system is often formed and expressed afterwards, sometimes with little or no connection to the initial impulse.

NM: Since you are operating on intuition, how has that intuition changed over the years? How is it especially different on Mythoplaxy?

RL: What other people do impacts me now—openly. I like to be close to people whose work I actually appreciate. And I’m completely okay with being influenced. But also, I’m less and less obsessed with seeing a single narrative. Especially after this album. I’m thinking more and more about architecture right now, about spaces and sound as spaces. If you compare this with our first EP, which was recorded in a tiny space. It’s isolated, almost claustrophobic. Mythoplaxy is a bit more free-roaming, which is pretty logical given our travel.

HL: Our early stuff was less ritualistic and more focused on having a catharsis on stage because it was relating to sexual abuse. It was scripted, but very lightly, a minimal script creating the space to release emotions. Now, I’m more focused on creating a space in itself through movement and undulation, rather than being the main character.

It’s less about displaying raw personal emotions and struggles to an audience, and more about projecting both the audience and ourselves into the future, imagining alternative times and places where things could be better for everyone—narrative territories where dreaming of a better future becomes possible again, even if these projections are not escapist and fully acknowledge that they would take shape in the ruins of a world order that has failed.

RL: The idea is to create a space, and if possible, to give the audience a sense that they are part of this space. And you’re part of the audience while you are creating the thing, which works differently depending on the space you’re in. So we’re more careful about where we accept to play and under which conditions.

NM: The way I would read that is going from individuation to indivisibility.

RL: That’s the way I feel. I think Nami is the same. Moving from being an individual to being a part of everything.

—

Natalie Mariko is the author of HATE POEMS (no more poetry, AUS 2023), managing editor of the annual arts, sciences and fashion magazine CODE and a junior contributing writer for CLOT.

My Chemical Romance fans are speculating about new music after the band wiped their X account clean and wrapped up the Latin America leg of their tour this month. Whether another album is on the way or not, MCR’s magnum opus – The Black Parade – continues to endure two decades later. The sound now resonates through MCR’s commentary on fascism, critiquing the nation while holding the crowd accountable for our participation or passivity.

As the band tours The Black Parade for its 20th anniversary, the members have rejected nostalgia in favor of a new storyline, playing alter-ego characters who have been conditioned to perform for a dictator. The plot, slightly shifting night to night, encourages fans to follow along.

In the first run of the tour, each concert paused midway for an “election.” Four hooded figures walked out to the center stage. Nearby, an army official watched. Singer Gerard Way asked the audience to vote: Support these candidates or reject them? Each person in the crowd had a sign. One side: YEA. The other side: NAY.

“Now we need to hear you,” Way says. The audience roars, jeering and cheering.

No matter the spectators’ will, the result is the same: execution.

The warped election – and the sound of The Black Parade – reflects the absurdism of authoritarianism. Here is a democracy that ends in death, regardless of how you vote. Viewers log into livestreams to watch the fanfare repeat.

MCR’s commentary echoes the ramping authoritarianism and upheaval in the United States:

• The Supreme Court cleared the way for immigration agents to use race as a reason to stop and check someone’s citizenship documents. Daily ICE arrests reached a decade high last year. 2025 also marked the deadliest year for people in ICE custody in two decades.
• Protests have swept the nation, with outrage further increasing after federal agents killed two Minneapolis demonstrators this January.
• Cuts and changes to Medicaid and SNAP are on their way. The longest government shutdown also ended without extending subsidies for health care.
• The Epstein files were released, showing ties between powerful leaders and sex offender Jeffrey Epstein.
• The Department of Governmental Efficiency, named after an outdated Internet meme (DOGE), has resulted in the elimination of at least 290,000 jobs.
• The U.S. withdrew from the Paris Agreement and World Health Organization. The country also pulled out of 66 international organizations.
• Trump continues to enact steep tariffs after a Supreme Court ruling against his policy.
• Layoffs soared past 1.1 million job cuts in 2025, the highest since 2020’s COVID-19 shutdown.

This list represents a fraction of stories and executive orders in 2025; a “flood the zone” strategy overwhelmed the news cycle. Despite censorship efforts – such as the federal defunding of NPR and PBS – much of this information is available to us at the click of a button. State-sanctioned propaganda even encourages the spectacle. Just take a look at footage of ICE raids on the WhiteHouse’s TikTok account, set to songs and images of pop stars:

@whitehouse

PSA: If you’re a criminal illegal, you WILL be arrested & deported.

♬ original sound – The White House

Yet fatigue and fearmongering keep many complacent; looming economic crises also draw our attention and time. I do not mean to diminish people’s efforts of resistance. But I am interested in the way technology has expanded our potential to witness violence, without ever requiring us to act – as well as the power of entertainment to distract.

So I turn back to MCR’s spectacle, which twists and mirrors this descent into fascism. Up against the tour’s faux-executions, the boos and the cheers of the crowd collapse into a cacophony. I locate the sound of our times within these screams, where dissent seems to go unheard and melds into the chorus of support.

The Black Parade is full of these bombastic wails, but the most intense of them are in “Mama,” a song that balloons into an extended eight-minute performance in the Long Live the Black Parade Tour. Within “Mama,” I try to make some sense of these screams, finding queer resonance with the present moment.

With my analysis, I ask: How might we hold fascist figures to account without squirming out of our own role in the daily exchange of authoritarianism? I argue My Chemical Romance’s 2025-2026 performance of “Mama” highlights structures of violence but also criticizes our participation within them.

In “Mama,” the indulgence of sin is contagious. It’s loud. It’s repeated: “Mama, we all go to hell.” This refrain, set to a polka beat, creates an abject intimacy around our shared fate. Queer listeners have interpreted this song as an angry anthem against the rejection we face from our families and dogmatic religion. For those of us who have heard, “You’re going to hell,” the response, “We all go to hell,” serves as a relief. Verses like “You should’ve raised a baby girl, I should’ve been a better son” have been reclaimed by transgender fans.

Other fans have taken issue with these interpretations, arguing queer attachments distract from the “true” meaning of the song. Indeed, “Mama” tells the story of a soldier writing from the trenches of war, while his mother judges him from afar. But I argue that by placing a queer reading in tandem with the canonical narrative, generative meanings emerge. Queer theory provides tools to understand the role of the mother here. Mama is the title of the song. Mama is pervasive. Mama is mean. Mama is on his mind. But she is also almost entirely absent, avoiding accountability for her son’s violence and instead blaming him: “She said, ‘You ain’t no son of mine.’”

The soldier finds that the trenches are not just his domain, but also his mama’s: “Mama, we’re all full of lies…And right now, they’re building a coffin your size.” His plea to his mother helps us wonder: What about the culture that birthed this violence? In this metaphor, critiquing the mother extends to critiquing the nation.

At the climax of the song, these sentiments come through screams: 30 seconds of an extended, “AHHHHHH” and a crying out of, “Mama, Mama, Mama.” In these wails, I find a soldier begging to share responsibility with his motherland, even as he contends with his own role in the violence. The cries puncture the polka, demonstrating “Mama” is not a celebration, after all.

Mama only sings one line back, through the voice of theater icon Liza Minnelli: “And if you would call me a sweetheart/I’d maybe then sing you a song.” Minnelli’s voice connects the song’s sound to her role in Cabaret, a musical which mixes together queer aesthetics and indulgent decadence with a foreboding rise of fascism. This allusion to Cabaret, as well as the tour performance, serve as a reminder: pleasure and entertainment does not always equal resistance.

In the extended version of “Mama” on tour, these lines are sung by an opera singer, whose voice, too, serves the dictator. Preceding her performance, the song briefly opens up a space for resistance. A new section of the song, debuted on the tour, includes the lyrics:

A dagger, a dagger

Please fetch me a dagger

A tool for our treasonous needs…

With tears in our eyes we collapse on the crosses

And said death be the son of us all

This war is the son of us all.

Even as Gerard Way’s character plots treason against the dictator, these new lyrics make clear: this “death” and “war” is “the son of us all.” Though we might want to pin fascism on one figure, many Americans have participated in the creation of this “death/war.” There are fatal consequences for our collective actions – or our passivity.

Ultimately, the dramatics of this song, delivered like a sinister weapon, critique violence, while ironically trapping us in its pleasures. If prayer is crying out to our father who art in heaven, “Mama” is yelling back at our mother to bring her to where she belongs: the hell in which we both exist. Given the stakes of our political moment, I argue we need to scream louder, with purpose and strategy, against our motherland.

—

Featured Image: “My Chemical Romance Live at T-Mobile Park 6/11/25,” Image by Flickr User Laura Smith CC BY-ND 4.0

—

Max Lubbers (he/she) is a first-year PhD student in the American Studies and Ethnicity department at the University of Southern California. His research centers on transgender affects and sounds. Max earned a bachelor’s degree in Journalism and Gender and Sexuality Studies from Northwestern University, with a senior thesis on butch affect. She previously worked as a journalist, with pieces in Chicago’s NPR station, Colorado Public Radio, and Windy City Times.

—

REWIND!…If you liked this post, check out:

The Sounds of Equality: Reciting Resilience, Singing Revolutions–Mukesh Kulriya

Vocal Anguish, Disinformation, and the Politics of Eurovision 2016–Maria Sonevytsky

“To Unprotect and Subserve:” King Britt Samples the Sonic Archive of Police Violence —Alex Werth

Interview with Jader Gama. 

The introduction of Digital Tribulations, a series of intellectual interviews on the developments of digital sovereignty in Latin America, can be read here.

As I write these words of introduction, I cannot help but feel a profound saudade for my time in the Amazon with Gama. I arrived in Belém the week after COP30 had ended, just as prices were returning to normal. I have always been drawn to places not yet uniformed by the dictates of capital and consumer culture—like rural India—and the Amazon is one of them. Stripped of the myths and exotic fantasies that so often reach the Global North, I found a place that felt radically different, yet deeply welcoming and unexpectedly familiar.

Let’s begin with the food. A variety of long, white-fleshed fish I had never heard of, pulled from river waters sixty meters deep. And then açaí, the fruit of a local palm with extraordinary antioxidant properties, which has long been the staple of the regional diet. Because it spoils so quickly, it is usually exported as frozen pulp for ice cream; here, however, it is eaten fresh in a bowl. It looks like thick purple yogurt but tastes earthy and bitter, and it is served with sugar and small pearls of tapioca. Life, it seems, revolves around açaí: you quickly become addicted to it, as it accompanies literally any meal. In the morning, you must buy it early before it runs out, and you learn to look for the grossa (beware of vendors who dilute it with water!). If a restaurant runs out of it, people react with the stunned gaze one reserves for when a basic human right is missing.

After spending a few days in a hostel in Belém and then on the island of Cotijuba, a tropical paradise with a painful history as a former site of incarceration and slavery, I went to visit Gama at his home on the island of São João do Outeiro (Ilha de Caratateua). I had received his contact from Flynn, a friend in São Paulo. From the very first moment, Gama was extraordinarily kind. He invited me to lunch with his family—fried tucunaré and açaí—and I gave him a copy of my book. I spent the night at his place, browsing his library and resting in a hammock, an essential fixture of Amazonian life.

One evening, we attended the inauguration of a terreiro of the Candomblé religion, a vibrant Afro-Brazilian faith, the result of a syncretism between various African traditions and Catholicism. For a long time, it was marginalized and persecuted; before the landmark law proposed by the writer Jorge Amado in 1946, which guaranteed religious freedom, its practices were often criminalized and dismissed as sorcery. 

Later, after spending 5 days going up the Amazon river on a boat while sleeping on a hammock, I reached Santarém, where I met Gama’s sister, Judith. She was equally generous and welcoming. We spoke at length about the myth of the boto, the pink Amazonian dolphin. In local folklore, the boto is a shapeshifter who transforms into a handsome, well-dressed man in a white hat to seduce women, often leaving them pregnant. Beyond its mystical allure, the myth has historically served as a social narrative to explain pregnancies outside of marriage or to protect the identity of fathers in the riverine society.

I unfortunately missed the Yemanjá celebration—the great festival for the Queen of the Sea—on the beach, but we walked along the shore until we reached the astonishing Sumaúma tree, the symbol of the island. At low tide, its massive roots, the sapopemas, are exposed, creating the surreal spectacle of a giant tree that appears to float above the sand. The health of the Sumaúma depends on the richness of the soil beneath it; in a way, it embodies the very idea of terra preta, the fertile black earth created through ancestral technique, which later reappears in Gama’s project of cultivating a sovereign digital territory. 

Before the interview, Gama confided in me that he enjoys taking video calls with Europe from the beach, intentionally turning on his camera at the end to provoke a little envy. He also showed me a large building on the Praia do Amor that he hopes to acquire and transform into a center for the projects we discuss in this interview. We had planned to record the interview on the sand after a swim, but the wind was too strong for proper audio. Instead, we sat at his table and began discussing indigenous digital sovereignty and the digital citizenship initiatives he is involved in. 

What I found particularly intriguing throughout our conversations is how counter-colonial and indigenous thinkers like Nego Bispo, with notions such as the colonization of the imaginary, intersect with continental philosophy of technology. Concepts like technical alienation, which Gama mobilizes in dialogue with Paulo Freire and Álvaro Vieira Pinto, are integrated with Gilbert Simondon’s philosophy of individuation and technical objects. Here the struggle for digital sovereignty, from being framed as a technical or infrastructural problem, becomes cultural, epistemic, and ontological: a question of how to cultivate a digital territory rooted in ancestral knowledge while engaging critically with global technological systems.

It is from that table, with the sound of the wind still echoing in the background and the sea only a few metres away, that the interview begins.

***

What is your trajectory and why are you interested in digital sovereignty?

I was always raised near the river. I was born in a city called Santarém, which is a city located halfway between Belém and Manaus. I like to say it is the oldest city in the Amazon, which even before colonization was a great center of culture and economy in the region. A crossroads of rivers: three great rivers meet there, the Arapiuns, the Tapajós, and the Amazonas. Arapiun and Tapajó are names of indigenous peoples, and Amazonas is a colonized name they gave to this river that cuts through the entire great Pindoramic basin, today called the Amazonian basin.

I have always studied in public schools. I did my undergraduate degree at a public university in data processing and a specialization in technologies in education. My training is grounded in the construction of critical thinking. When I arrived at the university, I began to encounter technology and started thinking about it as: for what and for whom? I ended up seeking an interdisciplinary path because I saw that just the digital technology part, the engineering, did not answer social or economic problems. Later, I went to study development planning. My master’s degree was at the Núcleo de Altos Estudos Amazônicos [Center for Advanced Amazonian Studies] of the UFPA, here in Belém.

My doctorate was also at this same center. However, I changed my research line: I went to study economy and regional development. While in my master’s I studied public transparency, social participation, and electronic government, I then went on to study surveillance capitalism, data colonialism, and the knowledge economy. Now I am doing a post-doctorate that mixes a bit of all this, from the perspective of a project for territorial governance oriented toward data and traditional wisdom. It is a step toward that.

Digital sovereignty is a contested word: what is the best sense, the sense that you use?

I have debated this concept of sovereignty for a long time, from a perspective of autonomy and, primarily, counter-colonization. Sovereignty is very much a term from political science. It is a term of world geopolitics. For a country to be sovereign, it must have territory, people, and the power of command—the power to use violence to maintain peace. There are many problems regarding this because, as much as it is said that Brazil is a sovereign country, Brazil is a country trapped in a dependency on the Global North. Now it is somewhat seeking, from the perspective of this multipolarity, a path toward China. But even so, from my point of view, it is a process of dependency.

But, as an Amazonian inhabitant and having contact with comunidades ribeirinhas [riverside communities], quilombolas [descendants of escaped enslaved people], indigenous and ancestral peoples, I seek to think of sovereignty starting from a technical autonomy grounded in the territory. So, the peoples I mentioned to you just now—the Tupaiu people, who are from the Tapajós community, the Arapiuns people—they have sovereignty in their territory because they are the local populations. Even though they are under the Brazilian State, they are populations and have sovereignty over their territory. So much so that when you demarcate an indigenous area, you are giving power to those people to self-determine in that territory. For me, this issue of sovereignty is closely linked to the capacity that peoples and ancestral communities have to self-determine in the territory where they act. It is this perspective that I seek to be inspired by.

For me, this issue is very important because while my colleagues speak of an origin of technology with the arrival of computers, the internet, and data processing, I prefer to think from the perspective of the origin of técnica [technique/craft], of how the populations that lived here developed techniques adapted to their cultures to solve their daily problems. This issue of inspiration in ancestral technique, for us to think about the digital today, leads me to think of a perspective of a digital sovereignty situated and grounded in the territory.

What projects are being developed here in this sense?

First, I want to tell you about the context, because that is where the projects begin for me. I started this whole story back in Santarém; I am one of the founders of a collective called Puraqué. The puraquê is an electric fish from the Amazon, an eel, a one-and-a-half-meter eel capable of knocking down an ox, paralyzing an alligator, or killing a person. According to biologists, it is a kind of environmental thermometer. Where the ecosystem is preserved, it inhabits. When this system begins to suffer environmental impacts, it is one of the first animals to disappear, to go elsewhere.

I participated in a group called GAEPA, which is the Grupo de Adolescentes Estudando o Pará [Group of Adolescents Studying Pará]. It was formed within the ideological, philosophical, and religious principles of base ecclesial communities, which worked from what became known as Liberation Theology. I was raised within this environment of popular organization. I participated in children’s groups, adolescent groups, and youth groups. I was mentored by a religious woman named Eunice Sena and a religious man named Leon Kenneth Bruni, an American. It was with them that I began to have access to reading, to learn what geopolitics, capitalism, communism, and socialism are. I began to study the life of Jesus Christ and see how there would only be an opportunity to transform my reality through unity in the territory where I lived.

We did many projects at that time. The issue of Eco 92 was very strong. Just as this COP 30 thing is present now, at the time of Eco 92 we gave lectures in schools, and one of the emblematic things we did was an environmental preservation campaign for a lake near the community where we lived. This woman and this priest were among the first people to have electronic typewriters. The first notebook I saw in my life was at their house. They had an office for project development and research typing called Puraqué.

One of my friends who participated in this group died in childbirth. The daughter survived, but she had eclampsia and passed away. That was a profound shock to our community. Her brother, who is a very close friend of mine, decided to return from Manaus to Santarém and was trying to find a new direction. It was in this context of grief and collective reorganization that the idea arose to transform our indignation into action. I said to him: “Let’s do a digital citizenship and digital inclusion project here in the neighborhood.” We lived in a territory marked by conflicts between adolescents, gangs, and violent disputes. The proposal was to create a space for training and belonging. We started assembling meta-recycled computers, true Frankensteins made from reused parts, and structuring computer rooms in the early 2000s. There, a process of digital literacy and digital culture was born that was, at the same time, technological re-appropriation and community reconstruction.

The Puraqué project became very well known in the city. We started spreading it to other cities in the Lower Amazon: Alenquer, Óbidos, Oriximiná. We began taking these initiatives to those places. When Gilberto Gil became Minister of Culture, he created a project called Digital Culture Action. I had a friend from Santarém who was married to the current Minister of Health of Brazil, Alexandre Padilha. She was very well-connected and said: “There’s going to be a meeting in Belém, a meeting of free knowledge, and I want you to come to meet people from a new project that is starting.” I went to this meeting, Tarcísio and I—this friend with whom we created Puraqué. When we arrived here, those people who were in the national debate experienced a recognition between us: what they were doing, we were also doing in some way back in Santarém. But it was something very endogenous because there was no internet like there is today. So we created our own êmicos emic, internal concepts regarding digital culture.

We didn’t call it a telecenter or an infocenter. We called it a lake, a “digital lake,” which was where the puraquês, the fish, were. And we worked with meta-recycling and environmental issues. There was a project called Reciclique as well, where people did selective waste collection. I gave an interview at this meeting. The meeting had workshops on shared management, audio-video editing, electronic publishing, and installing operating systems, all with free software. In this interview, the person who interviewed me needed to make a presentation to the Minister of Culture, evaluating the first semester of the project. He put together a 15-minute video and included a clip of me speaking for about a minute. I only spoke for a minute, but I said a lot. In the end, Gilberto Gil liked it very much and said: “And that boy from the Amazon, is he on our team yet?” The coordinator, Cláudio Prado, replied: “Not yet, but he will be.” A few days later he called me. We spent about four hours on the phone, with him wanting me to work with them. I asked: “Yes, Cláudio, but effectively, what do you want me to do?” And he said: “I want you to keep doing what you’re doing. Only now I’m going to pay you.” And so I joined the Ação Cultura Digital.

I started organizing free knowledge meetings here in the Amazon. But people from the South and Southeast were coming to do the workshops here in the Amazon. A friend of mine who coordinated the Ação Cultura Digital, named Chico Caminatti, got into a master’s program and had to leave the coordination. The team came to me and said they wanted me to coordinate the action here in the Amazon. I replied that I needed to assemble my own team, with people from here. Because it makes no sense for us to keep spending money bringing people from São Paulo, Rio Grande do Sul, or Rio de Janeiro here to do the training if the people here were already qualified to do it too.

I took all the people from Puraqué who worked with me and we formed the team; there were about eight people. We started doing these trainings in the Amazon, and we became the main reference in the Amazon for this thing of hacktivism, digital culture, and free software. Today, Puraqué no longer has the effectiveness it once had because, during the Dilma government, we realized there would no longer be government funding for these actions. We thought that the only place where people like us would thrive would be in universities. So we all went to do master’s and doctorates. In fact, from that group, there are three doctors and four masters. Everyone did their undergraduate degrees. Today we are somewhat like this: we meet to think about strategies and things, but Puraqué no longer effectively exists as a physical collective. But it is on the platform.

What is happening now here is a project called Terra Preta Digital [Digital Black Soil]. Terra Preta Digital is an initiative I thought in partnership with Guilherme Gitahy, and today it conducts digital citizenship training in the states of Amazonas, Roraima, Amapá, and Pará. These meetings are spaces for animation, mobilization, and training, and are part of a methodology built by many hands, with important contributions from partners like Luiz Sanches, especially in structuring the ecosystem of digital platforms, and Nara Pessoa, who plays a fundamental role in the digital citizenship meetings linked to Infovia 02. We developed a methodology based on virtual welcoming meetings, face-to-face meetings, and remote training, articulating technology, community organization, and popular education.

In this project, we created the Ecossistema Terra Preta [Terra Preta Ecosystem], inspired by the ancestral technique of cultivating what anthropologists and archaeologists call Indian black earth, a millenary technique created by the peoples who lived in this territory for soil enrichment and forest cultivation. This black earth does not occur only naturally: it is a direct result of the interaction between humans and the environment. Where there was intense and careful human action, a very rich black soil emerged which, according to biologists, houses some of the highest biodiversity indices on the planet.

This work also dialogues with the implementation of the programa Norte Conectado [Connected North program], conducted by the EAF—the state company responsible for installing sub-fluvial fiber optic cables that will bring high-speed internet to 92 cities along the Amazon riverbed. From my point of view, it is currently the main digital sovereignty project underway in Latin America, as it creates the material infrastructure necessary for local technological autonomy initiatives to flourish.

Inspired by the thought of Nego Bispo, a philosopher from here, regarding the category he created of counter-coloniality and the perspective of counter-colonization of the imaginary, we thought: just as our ancestors, thousands of years ago, created a technique to cultivate the territory, to organize the territory, we are in a historical moment where we need, in defense of our autonomy and the sovereignty of our bodies and our territory, to also cultivate our own digital territory. The way we are finding to cultivate this digital territory in a sovereign and interdependent way—because free software is that, participating in a global community—is to cultivate platforms for the organization of popular movements in the Amazon.

We have a PeerTube, called tvterrapreta.org.br. We have a WordPress that creates sites for organizations, terrapreta.org. We have an audio streaming system for setting up web radios, radio.terrapreta.org, where today we have 10 web radios in the Amazon, and our idea is to increase that. We are also starting a space called viveiro.terrapreta.org.br, which is a Nextcloud, a “drive” to organize our information, files, and the information flow of the project, so that each person on the team knows what everyone else is doing.

Additionally, we have a partnership with the Coletivo Digital from São Paulo, where we use a Jitsi instance called rede.sasikse.jitsi/terrapreta, which is our videoconferencing tool for virtual meetings.

Are digital platforms being developed here?

Yes, because these actions are organized within a space of collaborative governance, a common good that was also developed by us, not in this project, but in the previous project, called Plantaformas.org. Plantaformas is a platform for popular organization, aimed at movements, collectives, organizations, research groups, and also government organizations, as a space for the exchange of collectives, the sharing of experiences, the construction of common projects, and the organization of the work of these entities.

You can organize your meetings, encounters, conduct polls, research, and account for projects. The platform, I would say, is the communicative backbone of these initiatives, and it is similar to Decidim in Barcelona. Today, our main project underway is this. From Terra Preta, we held a meeting here on the Ilha de Caratateua, which was the 4th Digital Citizenship Meeting. From the meeting of forty-some organizations from this territory, a Forum for Innovation, Technology, and Culture of the insular region emerged.

I am also doing work on articulation and fundraising because our idea is to create a technological pole here on the island. Today it is basically that. Beyond my activism and my academic life, I also have a company, Nomade Tecnologias, specialized in the implementation of these platforms. Our focus is really on Decidim and Liane, which is another digital marketing tool that uses Meta’s API for data collection and organization of information, campaigns, and political mobilization movements.

Are there specificities of Big Tech colonization here in the Amazon? Is it different from the rest of Brazil?

I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s different from Brazil, or Europe, or anywhere in the world, because, from the point of view of domination, we are all in a process of colonization. Now, here there is a specific aspect. And I won’t even talk about digital addiction or gambling addiction. I won’t even talk about an aspect that everyone knows: that we are under a system, a business that is based on capturing people’s attention and data.

But the impact it has here in the Amazon is, for me, from the perspective of environmental colonization. This is a differentiating point that occurs in the Pan-Amazon and also in Africa, because of the dispute over critical minerals, rare earths, but mainly lithium—lithium in Bolivia and gold in the Amazon. Gold is also at the base of the world’s technology chain.

Another aspect that draws attention, regarding the actions of Big Techs in the Amazon, is the use of digital infrastructures that end up being appropriated by networks linked to environmental crimes—illegal miners, loggers, land grabbers—who use, for example, low-orbit satellites to communicate and organize their strategies.

There is also the process of cognitive plunder related to the biological data of the beings of the Amazon. There is a very well-constructed process of plundering biological data and knowledge from the Amazon, often camouflaged in the form of “international cooperation.” The amount of projects here collecting data on the plant and animal life of the Amazon is very large. This resource that comes from these Big Techs, which comes from the Global North, is very rooted in the higher education institutions of the Amazon. So it is the same process of manipulation, modulation, technical alienation, and cognitive and data plundering that is normally used anywhere else in the world, but here it has a special aggravating factor. Why? This data should be safeguarded.

This information, this knowledge, this saber about the Amazon, has the safeguard of ancestral peoples. And you see a process of biological data plundering and cognitive plunder without any benefit for these populations. This is also a differentiator of this face of data colonialism, of Big Techs acting here in the Amazon. At COP30 you saw this in a very blatant way.

What did you think of the COP30?

A space for political, economic, and geopolitical lobbying. A space where there was little structured listening to Amazonian voices. But I think it was good because many people came here, mainly from Latin America, but at COP30 itself, we had a very limited, very small impact. For me, the Peoples’ Summit was much more interesting, where I had an active role, met many people, managed to make articulations, and I think it strengthened our network as a network of people who think, just like our ancestors, in technical systems of life generation, and not death generation.

The terra preta of the indigenous peoples was a technical system of life generation. The technique from the Global North that arrives here, which also works on the issue of productivity and food production, is a technique guided by a productivist logic that ignores life cycles, necropolitics, that will use pesticides, chemical products, genetic manipulation—in short, all that you already know, technique used for an enhancement that, as Nego Bispo would say, is synthetic.

Who is Nego Bispo?

He is a philosopher, a quilombola sage who wrote several books showing how colonialism, monoculture, and also Christianity are elements of colonization of our imaginary and end up taking away our capacity for self-determination and uprooting us from our territories. In this place where you are sitting, Nego Bispo has already sat eating piracuí, a kind of dehydrated fish flour, an ancestral technique of the peoples who lived here. Nego Bispo is one of the founding thoughts of what I told you, because he leads us to understand that, to counter-colonize our imaginary, we need to engage in a war of denominations. And what is the war of denominations? It is calling things by the name that we have, that we give. That is what I have been telling you from the beginning.

Today, Big Techs determine all relationships, including the relationships of social movements. Social movements have lost their capacity, their technical autonomy to organize, communicate, and mobilize, because today they have to adapt to the standards of Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.

This also depends on the fact that when social networks arrived, which became famous in 2010, there was the whole narrative of emancipation—such as the Arab Spring, against powers—and decentralization, which turned out to be completely false.

A Trojan horse, right? Nego Bispo always placed himself in this position. It is a position very linked to other thinkers, like Paulo Freire, or Álvaro Vieira Pinto, who is a Brazilian philosopher of technology. He, along with Paulo Freire, created the term naive consciousness. I articulate this with the war of denominations, Nego Bispo’s counter-colonial movement, and the thought of Gilbert Simondon, where one of the categories I use most is that of technical alienation.

When you join technical alienation with naive consciousness, that is exactly what happens: the social movement, starting from this technical alienation, builds a naive consciousness and does not realize that it hands over the entire strategy, the entire form of political articulation and training of its bases to these corporations. People think this is natural. I see it as if we were in the dictatorship, with a training and study group, and an undercover Army agent came, stayed here talking to us, and captured all the information of what we are discussing.

For me, when I arrive at the debate with social movements, popular organizations, and NGOs interested in this subject, I don’t start by talking about digital sovereignty. I start by talking about information security, about information organization, about self-determination regarding data. Any serious company today does not put its knowledge inside these infrastructures. No matter how expensive it is, they pay to have sovereignty over their data. I think this is a fundamental point, and I perceive that this will, more and more, create an environment of criticality regarding digital technologies, because people are starting to become aware that there is data plundering, the sickening of the population, issues related to addictions, and how the design of these platforms determines people’s behavior.

This is my work today: through digital citizenship, digital literacy, and digital sovereignty, to lead people to understand that information is important, that the data generating this information is important, and that this information, when worked on, generates knowledge. And that this knowledge, from this collected data, can help think about improving the quality of life in the territories where we inhabit.

From my point of view, this action of critical digital literacy strengthens even community processes and democracy in local environments. I know there are many criticisms of democratic processes here in Brazil. It is terrible to see our Congress today, represented by conservative sectors strongly linked to specific economic interests. Most are clientelist and self-serving deputies who are there working for themselves and not for the people. However, I think that democracy is still the best path we can have. And only from a formation, a popular education in the territories, can we lead people to have critical thinking regarding their experience. This critical thinking can lead to the strengthening of democracy and the organization of civic movements, where we can have other types of candidates—male, female, and non-binary—who lead to political diversity in our country. As you must have noticed, we live in an environment of extremely high polarization in Brazil, as in every part of the world.

Concretely, how can platforms like Plantaformas help in popular organization?

I think the main contribution is the understanding of spaces like these as common goods. You take responsibility for that digital territory. Just like the physical territory, the digital territory demands responsibility. Another point is that these tools are more appropriate for popular organization. Today I see, for example, large-scale movements in Brazil that organize within WhatsApp groups. This tends to generate more noise than structured organization. There is a perspective of a design that helps in the organization of information, in the promotion of more direct participation, where people can send proposals, vote, document meetings, and visualize maps of their actions. I think that is a real contribution.

The other is the process of technical de-alienation. Because it needs people who understand computational infrastructure, systems analysis, software development, communication, community animation, community management, event organization, data science—it needs a large amount of saberes and knowledge. When you have this in a shared digital environment, you end up creating a culture of collaboration.

Projects have already been registered on the platform, meetings have already been held. I still don’t have a way to measure this with precision, but I am sure that, in projects alone, in these three years, at least 10 million reais have already passed through the Plantaformas, among the people who joined. For example, today we were meeting with the Irmãs da Horta [Sisters of the Garden], with the people from Slow Food, which is an international network. Plantaformas was the locus of this meeting, and whoever was absent will be able to view them. It is documented. I think that to generate trust, transparency is necessary, and the platform is a place for that.

And at the government level, what do you think of the development of public digital infrastructure in Brazil and the discourse of digital sovereignty?

Honestly speaking, either there is a structural technical alienation, or there are economic interests that hinder this debate. Because, for me, these contracts with Big Techs compromise the informational sovereignty of the country. Besides handing over the personal data of Brazilian citizens to these infrastructures, we pay billionaire contracts. This resource could be being invested in Brazil, in Brazilian companies, generating work here and, mainly, in the network of universities and federal institutes—there are more than 500 institutions, counting universities and institutes, not to mention the state ones.

There would be conditions in Brazil, even, to create a sovereign and federated network that would provide support for Latin America, because Brazil has the largest infrastructure. This network of universities would have to reinvent itself, because today the university is technically alienated, cultivating a naive consciousness regarding the knowledge economy.

In the government, in the same way. If you follow the international geopolitical debate in the last six months, the word President Lula spoke most was sovereignty. Do you know how many times he spoke about digital sovereignty? Very few. Because the theme still does not occupy the centrality it should in the government’s strategic advisory, or because there is a very heavy lobby that prevents this debate from coming to the agenda.

But this debate will come to the agenda, especially from the perspective of digital citizenship and the organization of information in the territories. I don’t believe in any other model than from the bottom up. If we can’t organize this at the base, it won’t ascend to the central infrastructure of the government, because there is no space to debate it. We have in Brazil a front for digital sovereignty. But we haven’t managed to have an impact on the federal government because the contracts are already made.

But is Pix a path to improve the situation?

Certainly, certainly. I make a point of using Pix for everything. For me, that is counter-colonial policy. But it is not seen that way: it is seen as a technical solution, not as a techno-political solution. I’ll give you an example: when you don’t politicize public policies, you end up alienating the people. There are Black people against the quota policy of federal universities, and these people graduated because they studied thanks to the quotas. When you don’t politicize public policies—when you don’t say “people, Pix is this”; when you don’t say “quotas are a historical reparation for a historical debt that this country has”—you end up creating people who form their consciousness from meritocratic thinking, believing they won in life on their own.

For me, digital policies should be politicized. Have a debate with the population, say: “People, Pix exists because American Big Techs, with every purchase you make, capture a fraction of that payment; now imagine what that represents when we are talking about billions of transactions per year. With Pix, we are going to free ourselves from part of this economic drain.” This fight between the United States and Brazil has, yes, a part of raw material plundering, cognitive plundering, biological plundering, but also the maintenance of these colonial resource suckers, like credit card corporations.

It was very good that you said that whenever a new technology comes, it appears disguised as salvation. It is fundamental to understand the intentionality of each technology because they all have interests. I think Pix is a great example that countries in the Global South have the conditions, human and technological, to create instruments of self-determination and economic and digital sovereignty, as is the case with Pix.

What are the pragmatic steps in the coming years to develop digital sovereignty? 

For me, it is about taking the debate to popular classes. It is taking advantage of the public policy of digital literacy, the computational thinking that is being implemented throughout the country, and bringing critical digital literacy to teachers. This is the main path, so that in the next 5, 10 years, we begin to change this positioning. Why? The dominant thought of the colonizer tells us, and especially the teachers, that there is only one way to do things. That is a big lie. There are other ways to do people’s digital training. There are even “unplugged” techniques, where you teach the digital without a computer and without a cell phone.

I think it is fundamental to think of strategies that bring critical thinking regarding technology to the population. Today, my neighbors here are being run over by these platforms, especially by what they call, for marketing purposes, “artificial intelligence.” They are going to be run over by this technology and won’t even know what happened because they are outside the possibility of thinking critically about the use of information technology. So, this point is fundamental to be done. Pragmatically, it is training.

 

 

Welcome to our Annual Report!

We hope this newsletter finds you well as the festive month of December begins. We write with a big announcement about our new individual membership programme, news of recent publications, and a review of some of the highlights of our year.

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Global Geographical Statistics & Annual Readership by Measure Report

Global Geographical Readership Statistics

We collect and display detailed readership statistics—also known as usage data or metrics—on each book’s home page. There, you can see how often a book has been downloaded or read online across multiple platforms, including our website, the OAPEN Library, and Google Books. Some geographical data is also available, showing where books have been accessed. Further down this page, you can find more information on how we collect and aggregate this data for each title.

Below are our global readership statistics for 2025, highlighting engagement with our titles across countries, states, and territories worldwide—a testament to the truly global reach of our publications.

In 2025, readership was distributed across continents as follows:

• North America: 41.17%
• Europe: 30.95%
• Asia: 17.91%
• Africa: 6.06%
• Latin America and the Caribbean: 2%
• Oceania: 1.90%

Annual Readership by Measure Report

This year, our books have been accessed 3,984,028 times across various platforms. Below are the top 10 countries by readership:

• United States of America 51.52%
• United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland 7.82%
• Singapore 3.96%
• Italy 3.51%
• China 3.40%
• Spain 2.35%
• Germany 2.31%
• France 2.14%
• India 2.09%
• Brazil 1.55%
• Others 19.35%

Please note that access to our books in HTML format was tracked only until July 2023, as the platform previously used is no longer available. Our developers at OBP are actively working on new solutions. We continue to record usage across some platforms, tracking metrics such as:

• Access frequency and format
• Geographic distribution (where available)
• Specific domains (helpful for Library Members monitoring student and staff engagement)

These data are partial. Many hosting platforms do not provide usage information, and geographic data may be limited by platform restrictions or user privacy settings. Once a file is downloaded, we cannot track its further use or sharing—similar to print or ebook sales figures.

For more information on how we collect and process readership statistics, please visit Our Reach.

Thank you for reading, sharing, and supporting our publications. With the help of our readers, member libraries, and authors, we continue working toward a fairer and more accessible publishing landscape.

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Support OBP: new membership programme!

We’re excited to share that our new individual membership programme is now live on Patreon—and we’d love for you to join us! Making high-quality, peer-reviewed academic research freely available has never mattered more. This year alone, we’ve released more than sixty open access books without charging authors mandatory fees.

If you’d like to support our work, you can now join one of our five new monthly membership tiers—ranging from £1 to £50. Members enjoy great perks: including free EPUBs of our latest books, discounts on print editions, access to our annual online conference, updates on open access developments, and invitations to exclusive conversations with our publishing team.

Most importantly, you’ll be helping to fuel our open access mission—just like the libraries in our library membership programme—making high-quality scholarly research freely available to readers everywhere.

Find out more and join our individual membership programme.

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Thank you: to our peer reviewers and our volunteers

Every year, our publications are made possible thanks to the committed and generous work of the referees who review the manuscripts we receive. This includes those manuscripts we ultimately do not publish, as well as those whose release is announced in these newsletters. This year, an incredible 150 experts peer-reviewed our book manuscripts, and we thank all of our referees for their invaluable contributions. Some of our referees choose to be named, and we then share their names with the relevant author and include them in the published book. Since May of this year, we have begun recording their names on our website and you can view them there.

We also sincerely thank the five volunteers who have helped us with a range of editorial, production and marketing tasks in 2025: Hannah Bergin, Sophia Bursey; Tricia De Souza; Lila Fierek; and Elisabeth Pitts. We are very grateful to them for their work. You can view their names on our website along with those of volunteers from previous years.

Warm thanks to them all!

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Three new series partnerships!

The recently published Grammar of Etulo: A Niger-Congo (Idomoid) Language by Chikelu I. Ezenwafor-Afuecheta is the first book in our Publications of the Philological Society series, published in partnership with the Philological Society (PhilSoc), the oldest learned society in Great Britain devoted to the scholarly study of language and languages.

This is one of three new series partnerships we announced this year: the other two are Papers of the British School at Rome in partnership with the British School at Rome, which will showcase original research and creative work on Italy from prehistory to the present; and Politics & Fiction in partnership with the CAPONEU Consortium, a multilingual series that will explore what ‘politics’ and the ‘political’ mean in relation to fictions as found in literature, theatre, performance, poetry, film and visual art, and cultural production as a whole.

We are immensely proud to begin bringing this work to a global audience via open access. If you want to know more about partnering with us to publish a series, you can find out more on our website or contact our Managing Director, Dr Alessandra Tosi.

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Prize awards & nominations for our books

Kayvan Tahmasebian and Rebecca Ruth Gould were awarded the 2025 Nineteenth-Century Studies Association Article Prize for their chapter, 'The Translatability of Love: The Romance Genre and the Prismatic Reception of Jane Eyre in Twentieth-Century Iran' in Prismatic Jane Eyre, edited by Matthew Reynolds, which shows how Iranian readers incorporated Bronte's novel into their understandings of love.

This year, three of our authors were shortlisted for the ACLS Open Access Book Prizes and Arcadia Open Access Publishing Awards in the Environmental Humanities and Literary Studies categories. They were:

Kathryn M. Rudy, Image, Knife, and Gluepot: Early Assemblage in Manuscript and Print traces the birth, life and afterlife of a Netherlandish book of hours made in 1500, dismembered in the nineteenth century & now reconstructed via Rudy's research.

Joanna Page, Decolonial Ecologies: The Reinvention of Natural History in Latin American Art shows how contemporary artists in Latin America reinvent older methods of collecting and displaying nature to create new aesthetic and political perspectives.

Jan M. Ziolkowski, The Juggler of Notre Dame and the Medievalizing of Modernity, a 6-volume study exploring a single, electrifying story from its first incarnation in a medieval French poem to its prolific rebirth in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

Michael Hughes was shortlisted for the James Tait Black Biography prize for his book, Feliks Volkhovskii: A Revolutionary Life, a biography of a hitherto neglected Russian revolutionary figure.

Luke Clossey received an honourable mention from the judges of the Phyllis Goodheart Gordon book prize for the best book in Renaissance Studies for his work, Jesus and the Making of the Modern Mind, 1380-1520, a sweeping and unconventional investigation of Jesus across one hundred forty years of social, cultural, and intellectual history.

And finally Sandra Abegglen and her co-editors were nominated for an OEGlobal Open Education Award for Stories of Hope: Reimagining Education, a collection of essays that challenge the status quo and offer glimpses of a more humane and inspiring educational future.

Enormous congratulations to these authors for this recognition of their fine research and writing. We are proud to publish and celebrate their work, and we are also delighted that through these awards and nominations we could fly the flag for independent open access presses: we are honoured to represent this growing community.

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Building open access networks & infrastructures in 2025

Highlights from the Open Access Books Network (OABN), which we coordinate in partnership with OAPEN, Sparc Europe and OPERAS, included: The OABN published an FAQ and blog post based on an expert webinar that focused on including third-party materials in open access books; Three authors who received ERC grants shared their experiences of publishing open access books and series; The OABN held an expert webinar on good metadata practice for open access publishers; It held two events focused on policymaking for open access books, including services for policymaking and a community event on contributing to the PALOMERA Knowledge Base. Highlights from the Copim Open Book Futures project, building non-commercial infrastructure to develop open access book publishing, included: Thoth Open Metadata was nominated for the 2025 ALPSP Innovation Award and is set to release a significant upgrade early next year; Copim's Accessibility work package released its accessibility guide for open access book publishers, including a section on accessibility for librarians; Copim Compass was released, drawing together a comprehensive suite of resources to support open access book publishing; Copim is planning a conference on 26-27 February to explore: What's next for community-led open access book publishing? Sign up for free in person or online. Other highlights: Our Co-Director Rupert Gatti wrote 'Beyond "No Fee": Why Diamond Open Access Is Much More Than Just a Business Model' with Pierre Mounier and Johan Rooryck in Current Trends in Open Science: Will Open Science Change the World? (Ledzioni LediPublishing, 2025); Our senior editor and outreach coordinator Lucy Barnes wrote 'How Should Diamond Open Access Work for Books?'with Iva Melinščak Zlodi, Vanessa Proudman, Ursula Rabar and Niels Stern, published in Katina;  We published important blog posts on the topics of academic freedom—including a contribution from author Ash Lierman—and open licensing; Our series editor Geoffrey Khan has released a case study about publishing the Semitic Languages and Cultures series in open access; We have also given various talks this year, on topics including AI in open access publishing and fostering a culture of open access book publishing beyond mandates.

Open Book Publishers is now on Instagram! Follow us!

If you are too, please follow us there! We'll be sharing information about new books, conversations with authors, and glimpses 'behind the curtain' at the publishing process...

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OBP is a 'Top 100 UK social enterprise' for the fifth year in a row!

We are thrilled to announce that we are once again on this year's SE100 list! For more information, and to see the other excellent organisations who have been selected, see this webpage.

On February 10, 2026, I took part in an event at Spui25 that explored digital culture and the self through the lens of Alexander Douglas’ book Against Identity. The book takes on the ‘uncomfortable’ topic of identity and decides to play against it, drawing on the philosophies of three very different figures: Zhuangzi, Benedict de Spinoza, and René Girard. Douglas argues that we, as humans, have no true identity that comes from within, yet we act as if we did. This is because we have all fallen victim to the romantic lie: that you can become yourself ex nihilo. Obsessed with finding our identities, we look to external models and begin unconsciously imitating them. But of course, this does not fill the identity void; we find that we still feel empty and keep reaching for more models. This constant identity-chasing loop leads to rivalry, violence, and, essentially, the fall of humanity. The three philosophers, whose voices Douglas attempts to speak through, all show that identity is a hoax. Instead, their philosophies offer ways in which we can keep becoming, unselfing, and living against identity.

For the Amsterdam book event, Douglas’ philosophy was placed in a different context: the Australian philosopher, with a background in music, film, and engineering, took on the New Media program of the University of Amsterdam’s Media Studies department. As respondents, Jernej Markelj and I were asked to react to Douglas’ book from the perspective of digital researchers. Practicing the digital-researcher gaze is usually a bit goofy: jumping between memes, self-deprecating humor, and Theory with a capital T. Either way, we confronted Douglas with some web-embedded ways of selfing and unselfing, in order to consider the position of identity within our platform era.

As Douglas pointed out in his talk, the internet brought about certain promises:

1. To discover who we are
2. To invent who we are

He omitted another central promise: anonymity and with it, the possibility to be no one at all. The first phase of the internet was marked by frivolity and play; we went online to cosplay a little. That was quickly shattered when anonymity became equated with danger under Web 2.0 (heavily influenced by the post-9/11 paradigm shift). Your personal information now had to correspond perfectly to your profile, and everything quickly became personalized. The internet was turned into a highly disciplined and centralized space under the guise of improving user experience and getting rid of all the fakers and scammers So what about the right to identity or to its absence in today’s web? Moderator Geert Lovink pointed out that soon we may need to get through a ten-step authentication procedure requiring us to show our passports when trying to enter any online service. The situation seems doomed.

Identity holds less and less promises for meaningful action or solidarity and instead seems to only trigger visions of tightened control and governability. I’m wondering then, if going against identity can really bring about radical change in today’s power? How central an issue is it in the current reality? The idea of a stable self seems to matter less and less in a political climate where truth and fact are outdated concepts. Will having a true identity matter in fifty years? Or will we all become more similar to chatbots that speak through an interconnected, scattered hyper-brain? Is identity truly our main opponent?

It increasingly feels as though it no longer matters what or who we are, and perhaps we no longer truly believe in being one thing. It’s about vibes, not truths. It’s about momentary dopamine kicks, not a harmonious self. To keep up with the algorithm, to keep up with the platform, we must change constantly—take up different trends, looks, political stances—based on what is trending right now. Nothing really sticks anymore: politicians make outrageous statements only to contradict themselves moments later; those who were canceled in 2019 are SO back; last month’s viral moment is next month’s history. Thus, while we are still definitely engaging in mimetic desire, those desires operate at an ever-accelerating pace, interrupted before they can even run their course, replaced by the next trend, the next signal, the next model.

This made me think of modes of being suited to this hyper-mediated, brain-rot, NPC-forward, AI-slop, kawaii environment. My question for Alexander Douglas had to be, inevitably, about the Girl. This is what I read during my response:

Douglas proposes that, to pull away from our toxic mode of identity, to go against it, we should move toward communion in a shared identitylessness. I wanted to explore another tactic against identity, one not grounded in the male philosopher, but in the figure of the girl. When I say ‘girl’, I am not talking about people with a specific physical body, but about all those participating in a set of cultural, mostly online, trends.

In recent years, the internet has become girlified. We’ve seen an explosion of girl memes (girl dinner, girl math, girl brain) alongside a broader affective desire: to be baby. These memes should be read as symptoms of a larger cultural condition.

 

 

We are living through extreme political and economic precarity. Stable incomes are harder to come by, home ownership is out of reach for the young generations, and everything that once was tangible is now a subscription. Nothing is owned; everything is rented, streamed, or stored in the cloud. You are always aspiring, but never quite able to actualise desire. Such is the capitalist design; always chasing, never reaching, stuck in an infinite libido loop that is never allowed to run its course. When being a financially stable, authentic, secure adult becomes increasingly impossible, it makes sense that online we pose as cute animals or silly girls.

Throughout the book, Douglas shows us that identity is never born out of a true self, but from an unconscious mimesis of the models around us. At one point, he notes that imitation itself is not necessarily the problem, but rather the fact that it happens unconsciously. What we can see happening online is a conscious and tactical play with models of identity. The girls take the external model they are meant to comply with, that of gender, and play into it as an identity tactic. The patriarchy has deemed girls passive, innocent, and not capable of anything at all, and so the girls have started weaponizing this presumed incompetence. They perform the ridiculousness of essentialist notions of girlhood in order to show that these models are inherently ridiculous.

This is what is going on online. We can see it as a certain identity tactic used against identity. But can we push our analysis of the girl even further and consider her a mode of identitylessness?

Girlhood scholars suggest understanding girlhood as a state of mobility preceding the fixity of womanhood, implying an unfinished process of personal development. It is a state defined by unfinishedness and unfixity.

The French writing collective, Tiqqun, already theorised this condition in the 1990s through the figure of the Young-Girl. For them, this late capitalist creation, the young-girl, is not always young and increasingly not always a girl but rather “the figure of total integration into a disintegrating social whole.” She is simultaneously consumer and commodity: optimised, easily manipulated, endlessly transformable, and without (yet) a stable sense of self. When placed in the virtual sphere, this becomes even clearer.

As Alex Quicho argues, we are all girls online. Online participation requires the flattening and emptying of the self. We maneuver ourselves as images, constantly recalibrating how we show up, each day flooded by a sea of new trends, news, and viral hashtags. To keep up with this environment, we must remain adaptable and moldable. The platform does not want a strong notion of an innate self; it wants a flexible, changeable subject. The ongoing becoming and unfixity that mark girlhood make it the perfect condition for interacting with the platform.

Amy Ireland and Maya B. Kronic, in Cute Accelerationism, connect the girl’s malleability to that of the cute object. The girl becomes and unbecomes through cuteness. Cuteness demands a giving-in: de-subjectivizing, becoming blobby, soft, collective. A cute object cannot be cute on its own; it becomes cute through interaction with its surroundings, inviting squeezing, hugging, or sighs of awwwww. For Ireland and Kronic, cuteness aspires toward meltdown into the egg: a state open to all forms and possibilities, requiring constant rebirth into something other. Cuteness as a process of the self shatters any possibility of fixed interiority, as it always grows outward and never reaches a climax.

These examples show how the girl can function as a mode of identitylessness, one that makes no claim to any true identity, has no self to lose, but instead flows through a continuous becoming that never reaches a final form.

What I’m interested in is how Douglas’ project relates to modes of identitylessness that we can see online, as shown here through the condition of the girl.  When identitylessness is already being lived and monetised online, how do we prevent the move against identity from collapsing into a condition that capitalism and platforms actively require? One thing is certain: accelerating into the total girl would definitely put an end to this male-coded need for a true self. Girls are everything and nothing all at once, they are fans of following the Dao.