From Colonialism to Revolution: The Feminist Lens of the Global South

An Interview with Souad Souilem on Feminism, Colonialism, and Western Hegemony in the Global South

March 8 is widely recognized as International Women’s Day. Yet its global celebration is largely orchestrated by imperialist and colonial institutions, often erasing the struggles of revolutionary and anti-colonial feminist movements in the Global South.

Feminist critiques of patriarchal violence remain incomplete if they do not also address the intertwined systems of colonialism and imperialism that shape the lives of marginalized and colonized communities—systems that Western feminist frameworks have, directly or indirectly, historically reinforced.

We spoke with Souad Souilem, a member of the Feminist Consciousness collective founded by Sahrawi women to unite anti-colonial, anti-patriarchal, and anti-capitalist analyses.

In this interview, we explore the impact of Western colonialism and imperialism on revolutionary and feminist movements in the Global South, examining not only the historical context but also the present realities and the revolutionary possibilities for anti-colonial liberation.

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[comra]: Could you please introduce yourself and tell us about your work?

Souad Souilem: My name is Souad Souilem, and I’m from occupied Western Sahara. I'm a social sciences researcher and a founding member of the group “Feminist Consciousness,” and I’m also a member of the All-African People’s Revolutionary Party. My work focuses primarily on analyses from an anti-colonial, anti-capitalist, and anti-patriarchal perspective.

[comra]: What motivated the founding of Feminist Consciousness?

Souad Souilem: The idea arose from the need to create a work that unites anti-colonial, anti-patriarchal, and anti-capitalist perspectives, fostering bridges of solidarity between us in Western Sahara and the grassroots feminist movement in the region.

There was a feminist and political gap for young Sahrawi women, given the dispersal of the Sahrawi people across three areas: the occupied territories, refugee camps, and the diaspora. Young women, especially those born in recent decades, needed new feminist approaches. There is a grassroots structure in the Sahrawi national liberation movement focused on women’s issues, but the lens tends to focus mainly on patriarchal colonial violence and on the violence perpetuated by the occupation against Sahrawi women. However, a feminist lens was largely missing.

So the idea emerged from this political gap—a need not exactly for formal organization, but for a space that could serve as a starting point for discussing, framing, and analyzing our reality as women and as Sahrawi people, and the intersecting oppressions we experience. Discussions among women began around feminism and what feminism means, especially to us as people living in a reality shaped by the intersection of colonialism, patriarchy, and capitalism.

The discussions grew, including our need to engage with regional feminist movements and learn from experienced activists. Over time, we realized that the feminist movement in the Arabic-speaking region is somewhat centralized, and not open to so-called “geographically marginalized areas.” This led us to explore the revolutionary possibilities of feminism: Could we revolutionize this movement to include our voices, especially since the Western Sahara issue is a discourse completely absent from the Arabic-speaking region?

We tried to be part of feminist discourse rather than at its margins, to frame our voices instead of just repeating existing concepts and analytical lenses. We explored analytical tools that fit our reality of colonialism. This naturally oriented us toward anti-colonial feminism: Our analytical lens always calls for anti-colonial critique and analyses of capitalist systems and their relation to patriarchy, rather than focusing solely on gender or patriarchal violence.

Our content in Arabic spread across the Arabic-speaking world. Many women in different parts of the Arabic-speaking region found themselves in this discourse, because it was not academic. It was produced by ordinary young women on social media, who created their own feminist discourse. We didn’t focus on aesthetics or linguistic perfection; the peculiarity of the content was that it was posted as-is.

Over time, many comrades contacted us from Sudan, Somalia, Chad, Kuwaiti Bedouins, Saudi Arabia, Oman, Palestine, and other parts of the Arabic-speaking region. The platform became open for writing, analysis, and expressing outrage. We tried to maintain a feminist discourse rooted in anti-colonial perspectives and deconstructive of geographic, ethnic, and class hierarchies within the feminist movement.

However, every project that aims to last must be popular and resourceful. Currently, we are on pause; I don’t know for how long. Still, it was an experience that allowed us to root anti-colonial feminism in the Arabic-speaking feminist movements in a meaningful way.

[comra]: Reflecting on the development of your work as an anti-colonial feminist group, how do you define feminism?

Souad Souilem: In truth, feminism meant one thing to me initially and came to mean something different over time. At the beginning of my feminist activity, we were young and exploring many questions about patriarchal domination in society—where it comes from, how hierarchies and discrimination operate. The beginnings were always exciting and full of passion. Feminism meant almost everything to us. It helped me discover cross-border comradery, especially in our region, where we share more than what divides us.

Feminism gave me the critical lens to read the ruling institutions and to understand the necessary distance that we must take as women—perhaps as a kind of fortress—against attempts at absorption, especially within political movements and national liberation movements. Over time, the feminist lens no longer meant everything to me, but it remains the critical perspective through which I view the world. I try to complement it with other lenses: anti-colonialism, exploring our history as a people who have resisted this brutal system for centuries, and anti-capitalism. Feminism alone is not sufficient. It must be framed within a larger context, especially for peoples still living under colonial domination. The feminist lens alone cannot be the only tool to read this world, if we want to understand how to struggle and imagine the world we want.

[comra]: Did the West have an impact on feminism in the Global South? If so, to what extent?

Souad Souilem: Feminism is one of the many tools that have been used by the oppressed. Feminism was co-opted during the period in which the colonial capitalist system reasserted itself after the national liberation revolutions, and after the radical stages that the oppressed peoples had experienced, combining anti-colonialism with the emergence of radical feminist currents.

This feminism was completely different from the feminism that emerged in the West, which addressed women’s liberation only from the perspective of patriarchal oppression. It was therefore inevitable for this colonial capitalist system to devise ways to co-opt the liberation movements, whether through the assassinations of leaders and symbols of national liberation movements, or later through the establishment of neo-colonial models in Africa and Asia in order to curb the outcomes of the national liberation revolutions.

However, it also needed to go further. It required ideological work because colonialism cannot rely solely on direct intervention or political violence; it must also penetrate the ideological structures of peoples in order to control them and restrain their momentum.

Feminism, along with social and economic liberation movements, was among the movements that were affected by neoliberal policies—through the co-optation of the concept of civil society, engagement with funding mechanisms, top-down agendas, and attempts to render these feminist movements toothless. Naturally, we are talking about the feminist movement in the Global South.

Feminism in the region adopted, as a result of the neoliberal policies imposed upon it, a Western feminist model. This Western feminism, which emerged in the West, was a product of its environment—it reflected the type of society in which it developed. Even the demands it raised and the issues it addressed were one-sided, focusing on women with racial and class privileges. Naturally, its lens was limited and incomplete.

It’s important to note that this feminism, which emerged in the West, also rejected the ideological frameworks of colonialism, especially when it was exported to the colonies. It focused on the critique of patriarchy and on gender equality, and it helped the colonial structure control societies in the Global South by leading feminist movements to focus only on internal issues, without expanding their political work and their impact on societies. By consequence, the feminist movement’s co-optation by neoliberal policies has led to its isolation from its social environment and from its popular base.

The version of feminism that has become entrenched within the Arabic-speaking feminist movement over the past decades is centered around colonial and capitalist ideology. Consequently, one of the stated objectives of this movement has been the struggle for gender equality. However, in contexts marked by different layers of oppression—where colonial and capitalist structures permeate every aspect of life—it is impossible to discuss gender equality in isolation.

The aim of making the feminist movement in the Arabic-speaking region replicate this colonial feminist model—which places gender equality at the center of feminist struggle—was to sever the feminist movement from its political potential. When such a version of feminism is exported to movements in regions experiencing the brutality of colonialism and capitalist policies implemented by neo-colonial systems—systems that are, of course, imposed against the interests of these peoples—its objectives naturally become the marginalization of a small elite group of women, presenting them as the “ideal version” of women, the standard that colonized women are expected to emulate. Meanwhile, this effectively erases the historical struggles of colonized women, their contributions to resistance, and their role in feminist political action.

This version of feminism aims to make the feminist movement appear as a kind of “rescue” for women—targeting women who are politically excluded, who are not engaged in resistance, and offering them protection as if to lift them out of the realities they live in. This is one of the main goals of colonial feminism: to repackage invasion, occupation, and economic and social dependency under the guise of “saving women.” We have witnessed this in multiple cases, such as the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan, and particularly after October 7, where feminist propaganda from well-established feminist organizations framed the destruction of Gaza as “rescuing” Palestinian women from the hands of violent men of the resistance. This is among the most dangerous aims of colonial feminism: it seeks to disguise legitimate issues—whether sexual assault or broader oppression of women—within the ideology of colonialism, presenting them as legitimate feminist causes.

The essence of this feminism is to isolate radical feminist bases from their broader social and historical roots, from the resistance of their peoples, and from the legacy of their ancestors. All of us in the Global South descend from a lineage of resistant women, women who have fought against brutal systems—shaped by colonialism and capitalism—that have attempted and continue to attempt to annihilate their existence. We come from a lineage of women who do not need saving; rather, they need to reclaim their political potential and revive feminist political action within our popular communities.

For me, especially after October 7, this marked a clear distinction between the feminism we seek to embrace in the Global South and colonial feminism. Colonial feminism now reveals its objectives openly, and it hides nothing of its colonial ideology.

[comra]: In one of your articles, you mention the impact of Western self-imposed centrality on the history and struggles of the Global South. Could you elaborate on this further?

Souad Souilem: The history of Western societies has primarily focused on their own centrality in relation to the rest of the world and other peoples. As we recall, Hegel also pointed out that Europe is considered “history itself,” while Africa is considered “outside history.” These are statements that reflect a longstanding philosophy in Western civilization across various domains—philosophical, intellectual, political, and even in the collective consciousness of Western peoples.

There has always been a form of centrality, and we see it in the way history has been recorded—the history of tragedy, the history of worship, the history of feminism, the history of philosophy—the West has consistently positioned itself at the center. This centrality has been reinforced by capitalism and colonialism, granting the brutal system the authority to treat other peoples as subordinate and beholden.

In Aimé Césaire’s analysis of fascism, he highlights a critical point: the violent acts experienced by white Europeans—when they themselves became victims of their own ideas and crimes—were historically framed as exceptional events. The rise of Nazism and fascism was treated as a sudden, extraordinary, and brutal occurrence in history because its victims were white peoples. Unlike previous historical atrocities, these events did not target African peoples, who had been enslaved, transported across continents, and forced to work on cotton and rice plantations in the Americas or in British factories. Nor did they target peoples in Asia, who were also subjected to colonial violence. This time, the victims were white Europeans, which presents a significant paradox for us, as people from the Global South.

We must remain cautious in how we interpret what emanates from this Western center because the intellectual colonialism imposed on our peoples has allowed this centrality to infiltrate our perspectives. For instance, when researching the history of feminism, we find that almost all recorded accounts begin with the emergence of the movement in the US colonies and Europe, framing history around first, second, and third waves. Naturally, the struggles and intellectual contributions of women in the colonies, and of women from oppressed communities in the imperial center—such as Black women and Indigenous women—are summarized merely as reactions, often confined to the third wave. The intellectual, political, and activist contributions of colonized women from the eighteenth century onward have largely been ignored.

In reality, women in the Global South engaged with political organizations, forming the cores of political action against colonialism, fighting class oppression, and participating as unionists, writers, and thinkers. Meanwhile, the contributions of Black women in the eighteenth century were systematically neglected, and history focused almost exclusively on the white suffragist movement. Entire histories of struggle and intellectual contributions were erased, along with the privileges white women enjoyed, which allowed them to dedicate themselves to intellectual production against the patriarchal system in the mid-twentieth century. In contrast, Black women were still engaged in open struggles against apartheid, and colonized women were still fighting openly against colonialism. All these struggles were erased in favor of a singular, dominant narrative.

Similarly, today, this concept resurfaces prominently when discussing fascism, particularly in relation to the new imperialist system led by the current US Empire. The history of fascism is often recorded in isolation, disconnected from its roots and from its relationship to colonialism. The question remains: how can we critically engage with a concept so deeply rooted in colonial traditions without taking into account its impact on colonized societies?

We continue to suffer from the centrality of the West, both in terms of the historical recording of revolutionary movements and of the atrocities experienced. For example, when examining the genocide in Gaza, comparisons are often made to the Holocaust, as if it were the universal reference point for atrocities—a standard of suffering and genocide represented by subjects living within imperial institutions.

[comra]: What does March 8, International Women’s Day, represent for you today?

Souad Souilem: Naturally, at some stage, March 8 had a certain meaning for me. But today, I consider it perhaps a trap that confines the feminist movement to a specific moment or historical framework, reducing struggle, discussion, and anger to a single day. I think this is a feeling shared by many comrades.

History before October 7 is not the same as after. This moment somehow sharpened our revolutionary imagination and affected how we engage with global commemorations, as well as how we record feminist resistance in ways that are more specific to us as peoples of the Global South.

March 8 was historically connected to the struggles of working-class women in Europe. It began as a significant historical moment for international feminist history. But can we, as feminist movements in the Global South, adopt dates produced outside our contexts and claim them as days to express our anger, our hopes, to honor the sacrifices, issues, and symbols that shaped our movements in all their contradictions?

I am not speaking only of revolutionary figures, but also of women who were victims of male betrayal—women killed by their families or men in society, ordinary women imprisoned in their homes, workers, the impoverished, and women resisting occupation. Can a day created outside these histories and contexts carry the political significance we need as women in this region? I don’t think so.

Many in the Global South have their own feminist commemorations. For instance, Josina Machel’s birthday is celebrated as a national day for women in Mozambique. Sahrawi women commemorate February 18 as a day to honor Sahrawi women who fell during the Sahrawi revolution under Moroccan phosphorous and napalm bombs during the Moroccan invasion. Palestinian women also have their own dates. The Global South contains many historical moments that can serve as commemorative or memorial stations.

If the purpose of March 8 is to inspire resistance among feminists or to politically frame the wider base that feminism addresses, then March 8 currently means nothing to me—it represents no historical struggle that can evoke anger, pain, or necessary memories for personal commemoration. We have many alternative dates that could replace this day.

Moreover, the essential truth is that March 8 has been emptied of its militant meaning, appropriated by dominant systems, and transformed into a carnival. The UN celebrates it, colonial powers celebrate it. How can a victim celebrate with their oppressor? This day for me has become a tragedy for the feminist movement. The best response is to boycott any political activities on March 8 as a political reaction to its appropriation by colonial and capitalist powers, and to explore our own dates as women of the Global South. On an international level, we might also question the value of dedicating one day to feminist political action, especially in a sensitive historical moment where imperialism presents itself in an entirely new form, with the capitalist system’s brutality spreading genocide and imperialist proxy wars while we remain in the same region.

We must think strategically: Should we commemorate a day while still in the struggle? I think commemoration should come after victory or achieving concrete results, not amidst ongoing bloodshed and suffering. So, March 8 currently holds no significance for me.

[comra]: Is there a political call to action would you like to share with the peoples of the Global South?

Souad Souilem: Honestly, I don’t think I am in a position to give advice to our peoples who face all these tragedies, but I will treat this as an invitation. This is not directed at peoples living under direct occupation, because these peoples create their revolutionary possibilities every day, demand the impossible daily, and resist in multiple ways. The peoples living under direct occupation—from Palestine to Western Sahara—are the only hope for humanity, so to speak.

However, this is an invitation to the peoples of the Global South, particularly to the Arab-speaking peoples of the region, to recognize that what has been exported over past decades—policies of political isolation, national chauvinism, leading individuals or peoples in this region to believe they can survive alone—is a purely colonial strategy, implemented by the hands of client regimes serving colonial interests in the area.

My call is based on a historical truth: Our fate is shared, and our survival is also shared. No people can pride themselves on a nationalism built on chauvinism, backwardness, isolation, and the oppression of neighboring peoples. Our peoples, both in the region and across the Global South, cannot achieve a moment of peace, security, or stability through isolated protest events that aim to change superficial aspects of the system.

What we need is a kind of political cohesion, revolutionary solidarity, and emotional connection. I am not talking here about national, religious, or linguistic bonds, because these have proven over the past decades to be fragile and can quickly turn into highly hostile divisions. We are speaking of a region that shares blood ties, kinship, and culture, linguistic and religious connections. Yet colonial powers have successfully incited these peoples against one another.

These peoples—not those under direct occupation, but those living under the new forms of colonialism—are, in one way or another, contributing to the prolongation of colonial domination.

My invitation is for these peoples, particularly the political forces within them—national liberation movements, feminist movements, leftist movements—to reflect critically on themselves, to look beyond traditional strategies and narratives, and to anticipate the dangers ahead. The new colonial systems are not present merely to maintain the status quo; they aim to push these peoples toward what is being prepared for them in the near future.

The statements and actions of the US officials cannot be ignored. For instance, I once read letters from General Smuts, the first Prime Minister of South Africa during apartheid, in which he and a British leader discussed the importance of expanding imperial dominance—from Palestine to the Gulf and surrounding countries. This project did not die; it is still alive. It not only targets Palestine or neighboring areas but has expanded to include all of Africa.

The current penetration of the Zionist entity in Africa, its involvement in the looting of Congo, in the arming of armed groups in Congo, collaboration with the UAE in proxy wars in Sudan, involvement with the Moroccan occupation in Western Sahara, constant infiltration in Mauritania, and attempts to penetrate Algeria—all these events are interconnected.

Thus, my call is for us as peoples to understand that colonialism targets us because this colonial project cannot survive unless it expands its influence. Likewise, we as peoples cannot survive unless we act collectively, engaging in a shared political action, believing that our survival is truly vital and collective.

[comra]: Can feminism function as an analytical and practical tool within the framework of anti-colonial resistance?

Souad Souilem: I believe it absolutely can. Feminism is one of several intellectual frameworks that emerge from different ideological backgrounds. If we consider anti-colonial feminism or Southern feminism—which combines an analysis of colonialism, capitalism, and racism while situating them within the historical formation of patriarchal systems or the institutionalization of patriarchy—it becomes a very powerful analytical tool. This is because it does not treat colonialism or capitalism as isolated systems; rather, it sees them as systems that continuously use patriarchy to dominate the women of colonized societies and maintain control over their populations. Even in the imperial center, colonialism and capitalism reinforce patriarchal hierarchies and perpetuate patriarchal violence.

Patriarchal violence spreads throughout society, creating a dynamic where individuals are pitted against one another in order to protect the system itself. Feminism, when employed as an analytical lens, allows us to examine patriarchy not as an isolated structure but as part of a broader, evolving system. Patriarchy is not static; it has undergone multiple phases in history, which have shaped its mechanisms and forms of violence. Today, in what is often called “new imperialism,” patriarchy has become somewhat globalized. It permeates technological systems and combines traditional misogyny, masculine violence, and stereotypes with a hybrid mix of religious, traditional, Western-centric, and colonial ideas—forming a highly dangerous, constantly erupting system, including forms of digital violence.

What is often overlooked is that this new form of patriarchy is directly linked to the type of system we live in. As the imperial capitalist system evolves, so too do the methods and forms of patriarchal violence. Feminism can therefore serve as a crucial analytical lens, especially for national liberation movements, helping to prevent the repetition of past mistakes and abuses. In the mid-20th century, some liberation movements attempted to marginalize the question of women’s emancipation or integrate it superficially in ways that reinforced patriarchal control. The result was a revolutionary backlash that did not affect women alone but impacted the liberation movements as a whole. There was a profound loss in society and abandonment of revolutionary values and ideas.

This occurred because the frameworks used by these movements treated colonialism and capitalism as isolated systems, ignoring the pre-existing patriarchal and regressive social structures that could be manipulated to maintain control.

Moreover, feminism is not only an analytical tool. It can be a vital instrument for political organization. When we speak of organizing women as politically active forces, we recognize that revolutions cannot succeed if women are treated merely as symbolic leaders rather than as fully engaged political actors. Feminism, when anti-colonial and revolutionary in the broadest sense, ensures that women participate as active agents in shaping political strategy and action.

It allows participants—especially women—to recognize and harness their political capacities, making transformative change both possible and comprehensive. There is still hope.

[comra]: When analyzing how the West has historically depicted colonized peoples, the term “victim” often arises. Do you think this label accurately reflects the experiences of colonized peoples?

Souad Souilem: Of course not. This image was produced during a specific historical moment. Returning to the post-national liberation period, colonial powers were in crisis. Capitalism, and its most dazzling result—imperialism—was also in crisis. When revolutionary bases were absent and unable to seize the moment to direct this crisis to their advantage, the system reshaped itself, reproducing itself through a set of ideas, concepts, and ideological frameworks.

For instance, at the outset of colonialism, colonized peoples were depicted as savage, barbaric, and backward, and the colonizers claimed to bring civilization and “rescue” them from their own “barbarity.” This portrayal persisted in official writings, colonial studies, and even in social sciences, which today, some researchers still consider the very essence of objectivity—a form of objectivity produced in the imperial center. Anthropology and sociology, among these disciplines, also perpetuated the image of colonized peoples as backward and barbaric.

National liberation movements shattered this image—not only in the minds of colonizers but also by confronting the colonizer’s assumptions directly. Suddenly, the colonizer faced politically organized peoples with progressive agendas and a vision for changing the world.

Consequently, the colonizer found itself in an ideological crisis and had to reinvent itself after the national liberation revolutions—though I wouldn’t call it a defeat. This colonial system began to reshape itself, but this time as the “savior” of the poor, victimized peoples, claiming it would save them from hunger. Our peoples were no longer depicted as barbaric or backward—they were now portrayed as poor, starving, and devastated by civil wars, with proxy wars framed as mere internal conflicts.

This image has been imposed since the 1980s up to the present. If you observe, most national liberation movements adopted the narrative of non-violence, civil resistance, and that Gandhian-style activism represents the purest form of revolution. For this narrative to succeed from the perspective of colonial powers, the affected peoples had to embody this image: weak, dependent, hungry, begging the colonizer for salvation.

But this portrayal is neither logical nor accurate. Our peoples are resilient; they always rise from the ashes, fierce and politically active throughout history. Without this resilience, colonial powers would have erased these peoples from the start.

One can stage images of naked, impoverished, hungry children, and some movements may appeal emotionally to the colonizer—but the peoples of the Global South, in reality, are not victims in the sense the colonizer claims. They are victims of colonialism, yes—but not stripped of agency. They resist despite oppression.

Take, for example, the Cuban people, who resisted for 60 years under the US blockade. Are they victims of imperial siege, of an imperial conspiracy aimed at subjugation? Yes. But are they victims deprived of agency? No. They continued to survive, despite lacking medicine, food, and fuel. This suffocating, deadly blockade has not stopped them—they persist across generations, asserting today that they will not submit to US domination and will resist imperialist injustice.

So, yes, we are victims of colonial violence and domination—but not entirely powerless.

Also, when we look at Gaza today, for example, and we say “the majority of people killed were women and children,” we inadvertently reinforce the narrative that killing Palestinian men is legitimate for the colonizer. This shapes the political identity of feminist and human rights movements, whether in the diaspora or the Arab region, as a discourse that must conform, renounce acts of resistance, and disown those carrying out armed struggle.

Women and children in Gaza resist too—but the narrative seeks to reduce them to mere victims, denying their agency as political actors, as resistors, as partners, mothers, and sisters of resistors. This constitutes one of the most dangerous forms of colonial ideology, into which many fall. There is also complicity in this narrative.

If we want to mourn Gaza’s martyrs, we cannot ignore any social identity, especially men heavily targeted by the colonial system. Remember: men of colonized peoples remain the greatest threat to colonialism. Therefore, those commemorating martyrs must break this pattern. Normalizing the colonial narrative prolongs its influence. If this normalization is not challenged, it will continue.

[comra]: Who are the political figures or thinkers that have had the greatest impact on your political perspective?

Souad Souilem: I think that, as individuals coming from colonized peoples, our political ideologies also emerge from our own context and personal histories. I certainly come from a people whose figures, like Al-Wali Mustafa Al-Sayed, have shaped our consciousness. He was a young man who was martyred at the age of 28, a communist whose dreams exceeded his years, killed by French Jaguar aircraft, with the complicity of the new colonial systems in Mauritania and Morocco, as he was martyred in Mauritania. This, for me, represents both a point of outrage and a spark of determination.

I always remember Al-Wali Mustafa Al-Sayed, along with the refugees in my family, the martyrs, and those who clung to the idea of liberation from colonialism. Our people’s history of resistance goes back to the 16th century, when Dutch and Portuguese ships began docking on the shores of Western Sahara. I think that the Sahrawi character—a bit stubborn, unwilling to submit—shaped the obstacles faced by new colonial projects, prompting the intervention of colonial powers. Spain initiated this tragedy, which continues to this day. And of course, in the background, we cannot forget that the United States orchestrated the occupation of Western Sahara. Through Henry Kissinger, the US masterminded the Madrid Agreement, which divided Western Sahara between Morocco and Mauritania. Many Arabic-speaking commentators mistakenly frame the Western Sahara issue as a matter of separatism.

The Sahrawi people resisted Spanish colonialism. When they refused to accept the equation of “land for resources”—because their revolution had radical and even communist characteristics—the US intervened. I think this also explains the deep-rooted anti-US sentiment in the region. When the US is your enemy, it’s impossible to adopt an ideology that does not challenge and resist US domination.

The US caused the division of Western Sahara between the ruling systems of Morocco and Mauritania. When Mauritania withdrew, Morocco remained, and the narrative was largely shaped in its favor. This historical context does not allow us—or our people—to see ourselves as less than what our ancestors were.

Naturally, I also sought theoretical and ideological frameworks to explain what I am experiencing today. How can revolutionary action be possible without being tied to anti-colonial ideology—not just opposing colonialism, but analyzing it, deconstructing it, and providing tools we can develop in the future? From the start, I gravitated toward Marxism-Leninism because of its global legacy. I also kept a wide awareness of Arab Marxism-Leninism. Mao’s influence was significant as well. But I think a turning point came when I began reading African leaders—Thomas Sankara, Kwame Nkrumah, Kwame Ture—and exploring Africa’s revolutionary history. That’s when I realized we could ignite our revolutionary consciousness by drawing on the experiences of revolutionary struggles throughout the Global South.

This is an ongoing journey; it’s not a phase that once passed is over. It’s a continuous process of exploration and learning. Naturally, we owe much to the liberation struggles of the Global South and to all those who theorized, taught, and clarified ideas, because what we know today builds on their work—we are not creating something entirely new, but advancing on what has been consolidated.