I belong to two activist drum ensembles in Peru: Yemayá and Bomba Cuir. As artivists, our racialized, non-normative, undervalued bodies, sensitivities, creativities, and skills are our main tool of resistance, while outrage, anger, fear, and hope are the fuel that mobilizes us. In oppressive, anti-democratic, and volatile contexts like Peru, where our safety and our right to protest is not guaranteed, we raise awareness of ideologies and actions that threaten our existence and well-being as women, people of color, indigenous people, queer, non-binary and trans people, working class citizens, immigrants, and people with different abilities. In marches, sit-ins, and demonstrations, we walk and dance while carrying and playing drums. Our bodies take on an additional weight and volume that in moments of hostility and confusion severely limit our capacity for response. To deal with risks, we must care for ourselves and others; we must protect our bodies and minds or else we’ll have nothing to resist with.
Our interventions are not spontaneous or improvised. To perform effectively and move others to action, we must organize, create, and rehearse. We must also innovate, often under pressure, in response to constant and renewed attacks on democracy, freedom, and dignity. Under these circumstances, how do we practice self and collective care? Is it possible to establish and hold safe spaces? How do we manage conflicts, misunderstandings, and risks? In this article, I explore these questions so that our experience may contribute to the conversation on the importance of being careful/caring in artivism, especially for those who seek to partner with art practitioners from non-Western, “marginal” contexts. Although most of the ideas here have arisen from my/our experience, some also stem from a recent conversation within a series of talks titled “Partners In or Off the Ship” organized by the International Theater Institute.
Carol Gilligan (1982) emphasized the moral significance of caring relationships and the interdependence of individuals, challenging the notion that moral decision-making is solely about justice and abstract principles, and arguing that care, empathy, and relationality are equally essential moral concerns. She pointed to the importance of everyone using their voice freely and listening to each other carefully and attentively. These ideas are relevant in our context, where the relationships we form and the care we extend can make the difference between a thriving movement and one that collapses under the weight of external pressures.
Similarly, Toni Morrison (1993) highlighted the political dimension, contending that care is not only a personal or interpersonal issue, but a way to resist dehumanization. To care for oneself and others is to assert one's humanity when confronted with forces that seek to erode it. In Peru, where we often face dehumanizing physical and psychological violence from state and non-state actors, and were public protest is criminalized, care is a radical act.
In South America, the concept of Buen Vivir (Santos et al., 2019), loosely translated as “good living”, and the related ecofeminist, indigenous, communitarian, and de/postcolonial feminist views, have also informed our conception of care, as they interrogate the hegemonic Western, neoliberal, colonial view of “development” as the driving force of human advancement. For us, both human life and nature are valuable in their own right, and not in relation to their potentially exploitable, economic value. We reaffirm that we are not labor machines, that our value doesn’t depend on our productivity, and that collectivism is healing, as opposed to individualism, which breeds indifference towards injustice and inequity. We see care as a human right.
Activism inevitably causes emotional and physical wear and tear. We need time to rest, heal, and connect with others, and privilege often determines who can do this. Those with economic stability, social connections, and access to education can take a break and contribute to collective care efforts, while the economically marginalized feel the urgency to continue resisting, even at the expense of their well-being. Conversely, those who can take time off work because they enjoy a better life-work balance can dedicate more time to activism, while those who must work long hours daily to ensure their and their families’ subsistence cannot participate in the struggle. In an inequitable society like Peru, this disparity within activist communities can cause tensions, as some may inadvertently reinforce existing inequalities by dominating resources or decision-making processes. To address these disparities, we must redistribute resources and power, which can involve creating more inclusive decision-making structures, ensuring that marginalized voices are heard and respected, and actively dismantling the hierarchies that privilege some individuals or groups. In our drum ensemble, for example, decisions are made collectively, everyone’s voice is valued equally, but our differences in skills, experience, education, ability, financial resources, and effort are also considered.
Privilege, however, cannot be entirely eliminated. Some will always have more access to resources or power than others. The challenge is to manage differences in a way that doesn’t perpetuate inequality but rather uses privilege to support and uplift the marginalized. The privileged can take on more risk or responsibility, be more visible, and use their resources to create opportunities for others. For example, members with higher formal education can participate in academic discussions and events that shed light on the community’s struggles, and those who can buy musical instruments and learn to play them later impart this knowledge to the collective.
Creating a culture of collective care permeates every aspect of our work: how we organize activities, make decisions, and respond to challenges. During demonstrations, we move as a unit and watch out for each other's safety and well-being. We prepare ourselves for assaults: we create action plans, change the dates, times, and places of our interventions, and assign roles. We organize and make contingency plans: where to evacuate, what to do with our instruments, where to meet afterwards, who to rely on for assistance, how to protect ourselves from tear gas and flying debris, how to care for the most vulnerable members, what to do in case of arrest, etc. However, collective care is not always enough. Sometimes we rely on external support, such as legal assistance or solidarity from international organizations. Again, those with access to legal resources, international networks, or media platforms can better navigate the risks and amplify their voices in the face of repression.
Fostering interconnectedness is essential in collective care, so we share experiences and projects that strengthen us. Giving workshops, for example, fills us with hope, especially when we see children or young people getting involved, discovering a love for music and art, and opening their eyes to social struggles. Working with other collectives is another example. In Arequipa, we’ve collaborated with other groups to carry out performances and to paint murals in commemoration of those killed by police repression. Thus, we reaffirm that our struggles are just, valuable and necessary, and we know tacitly that we are united by our common struggle.
We also practice collective care through joy and celebration: dancing, singing, laughing, drinking and eating together; evoking joy collectively allows us to enjoy the struggle. Group cohesion is fundamental because building trust assures us that we won’t abandon each other in a crisis. Besides, nothing annoys our oppressors more than to see us performing and playing cheerfully, happily, and joyfully. When we dance and smile in their presence, we show them that their hatred can’t break us or force us to back down.
Finally, reciprocity is critical to sustaining our effort and maintaining motivation. Some people might invest more time and effort in trying to make things work, which is not fair. Relying only on a few leaders is a recipe for disaster. If we don’t contribute equally, we replicate patriarchal and hierarchical practices that can cause implosion. Each member can take the initiative to help and become involved beyond simply showing up to rehearsals or demonstrations or expecting to be instructed.
Safe spaces are essential, as those of us advocating for women's and LGBTQI+ rights are often targets of harassment, intimidation, and violence. In these spaces, we can express ourselves freely without fear of derision, violence, discrimination, or reprisal, and to establish them, we’ve developed rules and regulations. First, only those whose worldview, principles, and attitudes align with the collective’s are allowed to join, and for this we have a procedure: we talk to others who know them personally, we check their background, social media, etc. We also use gender-neutral, inclusive language, and honor chosen pronouns and identities.
Aganza Kisaka from Uganda, who took part in the talk “Practices of Care” with me, described some strategies that we also implement in Peru: (1) We hold meetings where everyone seats/stands in a circle. We check in to see how everyone is feeling and if there are any issues to be addressed. Everyone can voice opinions and concerns in turn, within the same amount of time, unless more time is required due to medical/physical/cognitive issues. (2) We acknowledge both the positive and the negative, recognizing each other’s hard work, creativity, and contributions, as not doing so can foster resentment and frustration. (3) When we enter the creative space, we attempt to leave our personal issues outside. Since the personal is political, we do incorporate aspects of our personal experience into our creative work if these have a connection with the oppressive, inequitable system, but we try not to use the creative space as group therapy to work on our mental health.
Sadly, attacks on our well-being and integrity can sometimes come from within our communities, as internalized LGBTQphobia, racism, sexism, and classism can materialize in microaggressions or attitudes that can reproduce power imbalances and be triggering for some. If this occurs, we quickly expel the aggressor, regardless of their seniority or function. We’ve had some cases of sexual/romantic involvement between members and there have been instances of gender-based violence. These have had painful consequences, ending up with one or more members leaving and with some of us taking sides. To avoid this, we strongly discourage sexual/romantic involvement between members. Evidently, we can’t prohibit relationships, but we find that it’s better to speak about the implications when someone new joins the group. Having said this, perfect consistency between ideology and action is very rare and we can all inadvertently reproduce oppressive behaviors and attitudes. Therefore, depending on the severity of the aggression, we also try to exercise compassion and forgiveness, and give each other second chances to make up for our faults and to work on self-improvement.
Clearly, creating and maintaining safe spaces is challenging, as not everyone has access to the necessary resources. Moreover, the concept of safety itself is complex and multifaceted. What feels safe for one person might not for another, particularly when individuals have different experiences and vulnerabilities, so the creation of safe spaces must be an ongoing, dynamic process involving continuous dialogue and adaptation.
Patriarchy has constructed the human experience in dichotomies: body/mind, objectivity/subjectivity, passivity/activity, emotion/reason. These are directly linked to a gender hierarchy that is also a duality: male/female or masculine/feminine, the first element of which is often considered superior. The masculine is strong, fearless, rational, and uncontrolled by emotions, whereas emotionality has been assigned to otherness: to women, to non-European ethnicities, to LGTBQ+ people, in order to delegitimize our right to be visible and heard. We are indoctrinated in the idea that fear is pathological and we must repress it because it’s contagious and paralyzing. Neumann (2017) wrote that “only a fearless man [sic] can decide in freedom,” and Spinoza (2002) argued that emotions like rage, fear, and even hope reduce the ability to think, act, and make reasonable decisions. This perspective is oppressive, paternalistic, and condescending, as it sees the oppressed as fear-dominated, passive, and easily manipulated. It also assumes that “negative” emotions like fear can’t coexist with “positive” ones such as joy. As artivists, we know this is false, as we have all danced, played, and enjoyed ourselves while simultaneously experiencing fear.
Although it is true that fear demobilizes many people, we channel it into action. Fear is a resource, as Audre Lorde (2017) put it. Shame becomes pride, fear turns into anger, hopelessness begets hope, and helplessness sparks energy. Emotions/feelings are a form of knowledge, and political and social awareness often begins with the recognition that something in society bothers us. Bodies mobilized by fear and rage can catalyze resistance and change. Therefore, to care for each other and ourselves, we must concede fear and doubt, and although we can decide to step away from the action, we can also embrace these feelings and march forward.
Conflicts and misunderstandings are inevitable, but by maintaining a commitment to understanding and addressing underlying needs and concerns, we can find resolutions that strengthen us. The goal is not to determine who’s right or wrong but to find a way forward that respects and honors individual and collective needs. This requires listening deeply, acknowledging the validity of different perspectives, and making compromises or adjustments to accommodate these.
However, we must also recognize that not all conflicts can be resolved. Sometimes, deep-seated differences or structural inequalities hinder a mutually satisfactory resolution, so it may be necessary to accept that the issue will remain unresolved, at least in the short term. The challenge, then, is to find ways to continue collaborating despite these differences, and not to undermine the overall goals of the movement.
Care is a necessity, particularly for those who are most vulnerable to the risks and demands of activism. Although privilege plays a significant role in determining who has access to care, we must create networks of support and solidarity, even in the most difficult circumstances. The challenges of establishing safe spaces, managing conflict, and navigating risks are significant but surmountable. A commitment to care, empathy, and relationality can help build stronger, robust movements capable of withstanding oppression and advancing justice. In the end, caring is not just about surviving; it’s about creating a foundation of strength, resilience, and courage that can sustain our movements for the long haul.
Gilligan, C. (1982). In a different voice: Psychological theory and women’s development. Harvard University Press.
Lorde, A. (2017). A burst of light: And other essays. Courier Dover Publications.
Morrison, T. (1993). Playing in the dark: Whiteness and the literary imagination. Vintage.
Neumann, F. L. (2017). Anxiety and politics. tripleC: Communication, Capitalism & Critique. Open Access Journal for a Global Sustainable Information Society, 15(2), 612-636.
Santos, L. G., Castañeda, J. C. J., Martínez, A. R., & Álvarez, M. S. (2019). Aportes del feminismo indígena decolonial al Buen Vivir: Un acercamiento de estudio en México. Argumentos Estudios críticos de la sociedad, 219-236.
Spinoza. 2002. Ethics. In Spinoza: Complete Works, trans. Shirley. Indianapolis: Hackett.
Alex D. Loo is an activist for women’s and LGBTQI+ rights in Peru. She is co-founder of AFFIDARE (Association of Independent and Diverse Feminists of Arequipa), and of the artivist drum ensemble Bomba Cuir. Her work challenges the pervasive hetero-cisnormativity, sexism, and colonialism in Peruvian society through courses, workshops, and artistic interventions in the public space that denounce human rights violations and systemic oppression. Alex D. Loo obtained a Master of Arts in Applied Linguistics with the University of Leicester, UK, and has also studied cultural anthropology and education.
