My temporary withdrawal from social media!

Following the announcement I made yesterday on my page informing my community of my decision to temporarily withdraw from Facebook for personal reasons, messages of support, encouragement, and also inquiries continue to pour in, especially from people I don't know but who have been reading me for years. I can only thank this community for the kindness and solidarity.

My decision to inform everyone before closing this page is motivated by the respect I have for the people who follow me closely and whom I know will be concerned about my "sudden disappearance" and might even imagine that my page has been suspended or that the worst has happened. Therefore, I chose to inform this virtual family so that they can be reassured that this absence is a choice and to let them know the reasons, however superficial they may be.

I'm not writing this note to justify myself, far from it, but I want to write this post so that other activists like me can also learn from it. Among the many messages I received, some reminded me of "my obligations" as a Pan-African activist, while others expressed contempt for my decision, telling me that only the weak and cowardly abandon the fight.

If I had read these messages five years ago, the venom of the cruel cobra that I am would have suffocated them from their screens where they write to me in the comfort of their insolence. But the Farida that I have become has learned even more about humans to understand that ignorance and lack of education justify the positions of many people on certain subjects.

Yesterday, I announced that I had lost 6 people from my circle and that I needed time to mourn. The majority of these people were not members of my biological family. They were (5 out of 6) members of my political family. They were invisible individuals I worked with, learned from, and drew inspiration from, who were pillars of my engagement and who contributed in one way or another to my political, ideological, and intellectual development. They were all individuals two or three times older than me, the age of my parents or even my grandparents. They were people who lived for justice, freedom, and the rights of others, whose lives were fulfilled and accomplished. The pain of their departure doesn't come from the fact that they were too young, but from the fact that I have to learn to move forward without them.

Many are often surprised to learn that I am from the 90s, but the political maturity attributed to me comes from the chance I had to be in the presence of elders early on and to have a political family that lived and fought for decades before my birth, from whom I freely benefited from their knowledge. So, my convictions are not easily shaken, but my methods are fluid and can change according to circumstances, and I have also learned this from them.

Returning to the message I wanted to leave for political activist comrades, especially those who fight against extremely violent, highly militarized, and vicious regimes and systems. I have had the great opportunity to interact with activists from all continents, and in my personal network (meaning people I can call at any time for help or advice), I can honestly count about fifty individuals from at least 20 countries in Africa, Latin America, Eastern Europe, and the Middle East. Having spent time with activists (and I don't mean just meeting them at one or two events), I have learned a lot about why many activists die young or end up as "beggars" (without intending to offend).

Society tends to turn activists into heroes, individuals with above-average intelligence, spectacular resilience, unwavering principles and values, and unshakable health. Activists are seen as beings who can withstand any blow, endure any form of persecution without flinching, live in the most abject poverty, and defy the most painful illnesses. And yet, an activist is a human being like any other, with physical, psychological, intellectual, and moral weaknesses. An activist is simply someone who advocates for a cause, and it is not the ability to endure suffering or withstand abuse that makes a militant a hero; it is simply their courage and determination.

Among the activists I know and interact with, the vast majority are living in very difficult conditions. Some are seriously ill but hide it, others can no longer work due to their political involvement and the persecution they face. Some struggle even to feed themselves, many have lost their families, some have fallen into alcohol and drug abuse, many suffer from severe depression and mental illnesses due to the traumas they are exposed to. Some develop personality and sleep disorders, but they never ask for help. They hide their suffering even from their comrades because showing that one is sick, shaken, or exhausted is seen as weakness and cowardice in a society that feeds on violence and normalizes it.

Bravery is not measured by the ability to endure violence, and this is something that more activists need to understand. Withdrawing when necessary to rebuild oneself is a necessity because a wounded soldier who hides their wounds and continues to fight alongside the able-bodied does not serve themselves or their comrades; they can even become dangerous. Asking for help when needed is acknowledging one's humanity. As a friend and activist from Nigeria once said during a conversation among activists, "Just because I fight to end the suffering of others doesn't mean I have to suffer myself." We all laughed at that phrase at the time, but in hindsight, he was absolutely right.

Resistance is a marathon, not a sprint. And taking the time to heal, recover, reflect, and evaluate one's work is part of the struggle.

Comrades, greetings!
Farida Bemba Nabourema
Disillusioned African Citizen!