Sustaining A Revolution: Why Joy Is a Weapon for Activists Fighting the System

We are living in a time of global crisis. Scroll through social media, and you’ll see it:,genocide unfolding in Palestine and Sudan, political unrest rising across the globe, youth in Kenya gathering for an anti-government protest on June 25th, and ICE raids disrupting families. For many activists, the burden is more than physical—it’s spiritual. Burnout is rampant, not just from the work itself, but from the grief of witnessing unrelenting injustice. Activists are protesting climate change and rallying to support injustices locally and issues across continents. We’re tired, grieving, angry, and still fighting for collective liberation. But somewhere along the way, joy got labeled a luxury. Historically, Indigenous tribes and later organizations recognized the importance of maintaining community morale to sustain a revolution, as exemplified by the Black Panther Party, which saw joy as a form of resistance. It’s time for modern activism to reclaim joy, play, and pleasure as essential survival tools. Not after the revolution but during it, to sustain momentum in the movement. Today, organizers, healers, and community leaders use ritual, rest, art, movement, and laughter to stay resourced in a collapsing world. From herbal allies to dance circles to ancestral practices of collective care, we need a blueprint for sustainable resistance, where joy is not a distraction but a strategy for resilience. 

Colonization devastated Indigenous cultures across the globe and continues to impact the long-term well-being of tribal communities. Christopher Columbus, alongside institutions like the British Crown and the Catholic Church, built their empires through genocide, forced conversions, and cultural erasure. Still, colonization could not extinguish the spirit of Indigenous peoples, who continue to resist and reclaim their traditions. In the United States, for example, from 1884 until the mid-1930s, it was illegal for Native Americans to participate in ceremonial life, banning sacred dances, spiritual items, and communal feasts. In defiance, many gathered on the 4th of July to conduct ceremonies in secret, disguising their traditions as celebrations of Independence Day. “Our ancestors knew joy, and even during colonization, when joy was made harder to access, they still found their way back to it. Through song, through dance, through ceremony, they stayed rooted in remembrance,” says Alicia Pahtecatl, herbalist, healer, community care worker, and founder of Pachamama Remedies. 

As a medicine woman and Counseling Psychology Ph.D. Dra Rocío Rosales Meza affirms, “Joy is medicine… and it is also a portal,” to the worlds our ancestors dreamed of and the ones we’re still building. I first heard the phrase “joy as medicine” in 2016 from my spiritual herbal teacher, Karen M. Rose of Sacred Vibes Apothecary in Brooklyn. I later witnessed its healing power in ayahuasca ceremonies with the Huni Kuin tribe of Brazil, who center “só alegria” or “only joy” as a vital pillar of their cultural resilience. Indigenous communities around the world continue to resist through ceremony, ritual, and collective celebration. Dra. Rocío, who comes from Q’ero Inca and Mexican ancestry, reminds us, “To decolonize means to return to our original template, to return to our wholeness, to return to our connection with the spiritual and natural world. And to remember that we are more than what we produce.” Decolonization begins in the nervous system and requires us to rewire our relationship with oppressive systems. 

The Black Panther Party (BPP) is often remembered for its militancy, but behind the leather jackets and raised fists was a profound emphasis on community care, creativity, and joy. They weren’t just marching, they were throwing block parties, feeding children with free breakfast programs, running health clinics, teaching political education, and building cultural programming. The BPP created safe spaces where people could smile, dance, eat, and imagine something beyond state violence. Founders Huey Newton and Bobby Seale understood that encouraging community pride was not a distraction in the fight for liberation, but a tactic for success. They knew that survival alone wasn’t enough; it was about thriving, laughing, and loving in the face of systemic oppression. As author and activist Adrienne Maree Brown reminds us, “Pleasure is a measure of freedom.” 

The Panthers embodied this, creating a culture of care in a country that sought to erase them. By embedding revolutionary joy into their activism, the BPP taught us that resistance isn’t sustained by anger alone. It requires community love, care and healing. Dra. Rocío encourages us to remember that, “We are worthy of joy. We are worthy of rest. We are worthy of seeing the beauty in life, and this is particularly important for black indigenous peoples… under a colonial empire, made to feel that those are luxuries. Made to feel that we’re not deserving of them.” In a society that commodifies our bodies and time, joy becomes a reclamation of our full humanity. “Especially for Black and Indigenous peoples,” Meza continues, “reclaiming joy is part of ancestral healing for us.” This world is built to exhaust and extract us, so taking time for pleasure, rest, and community is an act of rebellion. Black, Brown, and Indigenous organizers are leaning into ancestral traditions like smudging sage at protests to reclaim joy while rallying for change. 

Dra. Rocío Rosales Meza shares, “Joy becomes particularly important for us in these times where there is so much violence because it is something that nurtures our spirit.” In her barrio, where ICE raids have filled the air with fear, music has become a symbol of defiance. “In the last few days, I hear and see music being played in the barrio… it was this sign that let us know that we’re still here… Joy cultivates our resilience.” Dra. Rocío’s practices are deeply rooted in Earth connection and ancestral reverence. She suggests dancing outside with music, explaining, “Drumming for many black, African, indigenous cultures is medicine. Feeling the drum as the heartbeat of Mother Earth.” Meza recommends, “Joy-centered rituals or simple practices. Giving offerings to our Earth Mother as a foundation,” like flowers and songs. Adding, “Introduce yourself to her from your heart.” From sound baths to somatic healing and spiritual rituals, wellness is no longer about individual escape. It’s about collective endurance as activists taking on global injustices. 

Alicia has a few tips for fellow activists: “Start your mornings with sunlight and a warm herbal tea. Connect with the Earth and release what’s out of your control. Let yourself feel good, take conscious breaths throughout the day, and remember, joy is a ritual, too!” She helps build community spaces dedicated to connection and care. Alicia supports activists by “Hosting medicine circles, making [herbal] bundles together, and showing up as street medics at protests.” These rituals help us stay resourced even in crisis. Pahtecatl believes, “People really feel the shift when together in community.” Alicia recommends herbal allies to support activists, “Passionflower is my go-to. Both the leaves and flowers help calm the mind and soothe the nervous system. It can bring a soft sense of ease when the world or mind feels too loud.” Joy, rest, and healing are not separate from the revolution. They’re solutions for making it sustainable. Movements like The Nap Ministry, founded by Tricia Hersey, echo this truth in Rest Is Resistance: A Manifesto: “We must believe we are worthy of rest. We don’t have to earn it. It is our birthright. It is one of our most ancient and primal needs.”

In a world drowning in grief, genocide, and survival mode, Black and Indigenous joy is a radical act of resistance and way to honor our resilience. We have a long journey ahead of us as activists, so let’s remember the power of joy as a weapon from our ancestors to create generational change. Joy doesn’t mean ignoring genocide or injustice. It means remembering why we fight. It means fueling the revolution with something stronger than rage, something centered in love. Our ancestors understood this. Indigenous nations carried songs and stories even as their lands were stolen. Pahtecatl reminds us that, “Even when the world feels heavy, joy reconnects us to what’s sacred and worth protecting. We’re not here just to survive harm, we’re here to birth new worlds. And that requires joy!” We are in this for the long haul, and the road to liberation is not a sprint; it’s a marathon. Which means we need practices that sustain us, not just activate us. We need spaces where grief can be held, rage can be released, and joy can be reclaimed. As Audre Lorde once wrote, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation and that is an act of political warfare.”