The corporate city-state movement is experiencing an unexpected surge in momentum. For years, its proponents have advocated for the controversial idea that affluent, tax-averse individuals should establish their own high-tech enclaves, whether as new nations on artificial islands in international waters—a concept known as “seasteading”—or as ultra-capitalistic “freedom cities” like Próspera, which merges the features of a fortified community with those of a wellness resort on a Honduran island.
Despite the financial backing of influential venture capitalists like Peter Thiel and Marc Andreessen, these extreme libertarian visions have struggled to gain traction. Many wealthy individuals prefer not to reside on floating oil platforms, even for the sake of lower taxes, and Próspera, while attractive for vacations or cosmetic enhancements, faces legal challenges regarding its claimed extraterritorial status.
Suddenly, however, this previously niche group of corporate separatists finds itself welcomed into the heart of global power.
The first indication of this shift occurred in 2023 when Donald Trump announced, seemingly out of the blue, a plan to host a competition aimed at establishing ten “freedom cities” on federal land. Initially dismissed amidst a torrent of sensational claims, the proposal re-emerged as the new administration took office, igniting a lobbying effort among aspiring nation-builders eager to make Trump’s vision a reality.
“The atmosphere in Washington is truly charged,” enthused Trey Goff, Próspera’s chief of staff, following a visit to Capitol Hill. He predicts that legislation fostering a new wave of corporate city-states will be finalized by year’s end.
Inspired by political philosopher Albert Hirschman, figures like Goff, Thiel, and author-investor Balaji Srinivasan advocate for what they term “exit”—the belief that affluent individuals have the right to escape civic duties, particularly taxation and cumbersome regulations. Repurposing and rebranding the ambitions of empires, they aspire to fragment governments and create hyper-capitalist zones devoid of democracy, dominated by the ultra-wealthy, safeguarded by private militias, and operated by AI technologies, all funded by cryptocurrencies.
One might find it surprising that Trump, who was elected on a platform emphasizing “America first,” would endorse this vision of sovereign enclaves overseen by billionaire overlords. Tensions many times have arisen between the nationalist Steve Bannon, who has voiced strong populist sentiments, and the billionaire Trump allies he accuses of being “technofeudalists” who disregard the average citizen—much less the nation-state. Nevertheless, the core visions may not be as at odds as they seem.
Proponents of startup nations foresee a future fraught with crises, scarcity, and potential collapse. Their high-tech retreats function as fortified sanctuaries for a select few, providing an array of luxuries and opportunities for self-optimization, ensuring that they—and their progeny—have advantages in a future that appears increasingly tumultuous. In essence, the world’s elite are gearing up for an apocalyptic scenario, unwittingly exacerbating the very threats they wish to escape.
This aligns with a parallel narrative emerging in various parts of the globe, where far-right movements, from Italy to the United States, envision state-run sanctuaries as armed fortresses. In times of endless threat, these groups pursue a brutal agenda of expelling the unwanted, even establishing indefinite internment in extraterritorial penal colonies like Manus Island and Guantánamo Bay, while brutally seizing vital land and resources essential for survival amid looming crises.
Interestingly, as previously secular elites from Silicon Valley find themselves turning to Christianity, both the priority of corporate city-states and the mass-market bunker mentality resonate remarkably with the Christian fundamentalist interpretation of the Rapture: the righteous are believed to ascend to a heavenly city while the damned endure an apocalyptic reckoning on Earth.
To navigate this critical juncture in history, we must confront the reality that our adversaries represent a new breed of authoritarianism. We contend with ideological fascism rooted in apocalyptic visions, emphasizing the annihilation of perceived enemies in a final confrontation.
Reflecting on his experiences under Mussolini, novelist and philosopher Umberto Eco articulated that fascism often carries an “Armageddon complex”—an obsession with defeating enemies in a climactic battle. However, unlike European fascism of the 1930s, which envisioned a serene, golden age following chaos, current manifestations lack such a hopeful horizon.
Attuned to the very real existential threats posed by climate change, nuclear conflict, and rampant inequality—yet financially and ideologically committed to exacerbating these dangers—today’s far-right movements present no viable vision for a hopeful future. The average citizen is offered only nostalgic remixes of a bygone era, coupled with the vengeful satisfaction of dominating an ever-growing list of marginalized groups.
Consequently, the Trump administration continues to disseminate a steady stream of real and AI-generated propaganda crafted to serve these perverse ends. Graphic images of restrained immigrants boarding deportation flights juxtapose with the sounds of clanking chains and clicks of handcuffs, which the official White House X account labeled “ASMR,” a term typically associated with calming audio. Similarly, the announcement of Mahmoud Khalil’s detention—an active participant in Columbia University’s pro-Palestinian demonstrations—was accompanied by the sardonic quip: “SHALOM, MAHMOUD.” The administration also features numerous publicity stunts from Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem, showcasing her atop a horse at the US-Mexico border or posing with a machine gun while arresting immigrants in Arizona.
At the helm of today’s far-right ideology is a disturbing form of supremacist survivalism.
Though terrifying in its malevolence, this perspective holds significant potential for resistance. To wager against a future of this magnitude—to depend on one’s bunker—is to fundamentally betray our responsibilities towards each other, our children, and all living beings with whom we share this planet. This belief system is inherently genocidal and treasonous to the beauty and wonder surrounding us. We are convinced that as awareness increases regarding the extent to which the right has surrendered to the Armageddon complex, more individuals will feel compelled to rise in opposition, recognizing that everything is at stake.
Our adversaries are acutely aware that we are stepping into an age of emergency, yet they respond by indulging in deadly self-serving illusions. Buying into various apartheid fantasies of secure isolation, they willingly allow the planet to burn. Our mission is to construct a broad and deep coalition, as much spiritual as political, robust enough to halt these unhinged brokers of betrayal. This movement must be rooted in unwavering commitment to one another, transcending our differences, and to this miraculous, singular planet we inhabit.
Historically, it was largely religious fundamentalists who greeted apocalyptic signs with eager anticipation regarding the long-awaited Rapture. Trump has placed key positions in his administration in the hands of individuals who hold fast to this doctrine, including several Christian Zionists who interpret Israel’s use of violent means to expand its territory, not as illegal acts, but as welcome signs that the Holy Land is approaching the conditions necessary for the Messiah’s return, promising a celestial kingdom for the faithful.
Mike Huckabee, Trump’s appointed ambassador to Israel, possesses strong ties to Christian Zionist ideology, as does Pete Hegseth, Secretary of Defense. Noem and Russell Vought, the architect behind Project 2025 who now heads the Office of Management and Budget, are staunch advocates of Christian nationalism. Even Thiel, who openly identifies as gay and is notorious for his vibrant nightlife, has been heard contemplating the arrival of the antichrist—spoiler alert: he believes it is Greta Thunberg, more on that later.
However, one need not adhere to biblical literalism or hold religious beliefs to embrace end times fascism. A considerable number of powerful secular individuals have adopted a similar narrative for the future, one in which civilization as we know it collapses and a select few manage to survive in various forms of arks, bunkers, and gated “freedom cities.” A paper from 2019 authored by communication scholars Sarah T Roberts and Mél Hogan, titled *Left Behind: Future Fetishists, Prepping and the Abandonment of Earth*, outlines the yearning for a secular Rapture: “In the accelerationist imaginary, the future is not about harm reduction, limits, or restoration; rather it is a politics driving toward an endgame.”
Elon Musk, who amassed a fortune alongside Thiel at PayPal, embodies this implosive mindset. Gazing at the wonders of the night sky, he appears to discern only opportunities to clutter that vast unknown with his own space debris. While he garnered a reputation warning about the perils of climate change and AI, he and his so-called “Department of Government Efficiency” (Doge) aides now escalate those same risks—and many others—by dismantling not only environmental safeguards but entire regulatory agencies, seemingly in pursuit of replacing government workers with automated systems.
In Musk’s eyes, is there really a need for a functional nation-state when the appeal of outer space—reportedly his sole obsession—beckons? For Musk, Mars has transformed into his version of a secular ark, believed to be crucial for humanity’s survival, potentially through uploaded consciousness into artificial general intelligence. Sci-fi author Kim Stanley Robinson, who penned the Mars Trilogy that has seemingly inspired Musk, bluntly warns about the risks of the billionaire’s fantasies regarding Martian colonization. He claims it represents “a moral hazard that creates the illusion we can ruin Earth and still be okay. It’s entirely false.”
Similar to religious end-timers yearning to escape this physical plane, Musk’s aspiration for humanity to become “multiplanetary” highlights a glaring disinterest in preserving the multispecies richness of our singular home. Clearly disengaged from the extraordinary gift that surrounds him or from the urgency to sustain Earth, Musk instead employs his immense wealth to engineer a future where only a select group of humans and robots struggle to exist on two desolate spheres (a drastically degraded Earth and a terraform Mars). Ironically echoing the Old Testament narrative, Musk and his fellow tech moguls, having seized god-like authority, seem intent on creating the very flood they wish to escape. Today’s right-wing leaders and their affluent allies are not only capitalizing on catastrophes—shock-doctrine and disaster-capitalism style—but are simultaneously instigating and orchestrating them.
But what about the Maga base? Not all supporters are sufficiently devout to genuinely believe in the Rapture, nor do most possess the means to secure a spot in a “freedom city” or even a ticket on a spacecraft. Fear not; end times fascism presents the allure of more accessible arks and bunkers, attainable for lower-tier supporters.
Tune into Steve Bannon’s daily podcast, billed as Maga’s premier media outlet, and you will encounter a singular refrain: the world is descending into chaos, enemies are infiltrating the walls, and an inevitable showdown looms. Be prepared. The prepper ethos becomes distinctly pronounced when Bannon pivots to hawk his sponsors’ wares. Purchase Birch Gold, Bannon urges his audience, as the over-leveraged U.S. economy teeters on the brink and banks are no longer trustworthy. Stock up on ready-to-eat meals from My Patriot Supply. Enhance your target-shooting skills with a laser-guided at-home system. The last thing you want, he reminds listeners (though it’s unsaid: especially now that the Doge boys are privatizing the government) is to rely on the government during a crisis.
Bannon envisions the U.S. as a bunker in its own right, one where ICE agents prowl streets, workplaces, and campuses, detaining those considered adversaries to U.S. interests. This fortified nation is central to the Maga agenda and the very concept of end times fascism. Within its framework, the initial focus is to strengthen national borders and cleanse society of all perceived threats, whether foreign or domestic. This grim task is already in progress, with the Trump administration, supported by the Supreme Court, having enacted the Alien Enemies Act to deport hundreds of Venezuelan immigrants to Cecot, a notorious mega-prison in El Salvador. This facility, which shaves inmates’ heads and crams up to 100 people into a single cell, operates under the civil liberties-eroding “state of exception” declared three years ago by the nation’s crypto-loving, Christian Zionist prime minister, Nayib Bukele.
Bukele has offered to implement the same fee-for-service system for American citizens that the administration aspires to place in a judicial void. “I love that,” Trump remarked recently when asked about the proposal. It’s no surprise; Cecot represents the sinister yet logical extension of the “freedom city” vision—a zone where all is for sale, and due process is suspended. Expect much more of this sadism to persist. In a chillingly frank statement, acting ICE Director Todd Lyons mentioned during the 2025 Border Security Expo that he desires a more “business”-oriented approach to deportations, “like [Amazon] Prime, but with human beings.”
If maintaining the boundaries of the fortified nation is a primary objective of end times fascism, equally critical is the government’s task of asserting control over any resources required by its privileged citizens to endure upcoming challenges. Be it Panama’s canal, Greenland’s melting shipping routes, Ukraine’s essential minerals, or Canada’s fresh water, we should understand this less as traditional imperialism and more as super-sized prepping from a national standpoint. The old colonial pretexts of spreading democracy and divine wisdom have vanished—when Trump surveys the world stage, he is hoarding resources in anticipation of societal collapse.
This bunker mentality also sheds light on JD Vance’s notorious excursions into Catholic theology. The vice president, whose political ascent is largely attributed to the generosity of prominent prepper Thiel, explained to Fox News that under the medieval Christian concept of ordo amoris (translated as both “order of love” and “order of charity”), love is not a given to those outside the protected enclave: “You love your family, then your neighbors, then your community, then your fellow citizens in the country. Eventually, you may consider the global populace.” (Or not, as indicated by the Trump administration’s foreign policy.) In simpler terms, we owe nothing to anyone beyond our bunker.
While this logic builds upon enduring right-wing narratives—justifying exclusion has long thrived under ethno-nationalism—we confront an unprecedentedly zealous apocalyptic ideology in government today. The previous neoliberal bravado of the post-Cold War era is quickly yielding to a conviction that we are indeed experiencing the end of times. The Doge administration may cloak itself in the banner of economic “efficiency,” while Musk’s associates invoke memories of the U.S.-educated “Chicago Boys” who orchestrated economic shock therapy under Augusto Pinochet’s dictatorship, but this is no ordinary marriage of neoliberalism and neoconservatism. It represents a novel, profit-driven millenarian synthesis insisting that we must dismantle bureaucracy and replace humans with bots to eliminate “waste, fraud, and abuse”—or because the bureaucracy is where anti-Trump forces are believed to reside. This fusion of tech entrepreneurs and TheoBros—a faction of hyper-patriarchal Christian supremacists linked to Hegseth and others within the Trump administration—marks a significant convergence.
Fascism, as always, transcends class barriers, forming connections between billionaires and the Maga base. After decades of intensifying economic pressures, coupled with effective messaging that pits workers against each other, many feel hopeless in the face of societal disintegration (despite owning months’ worth of ready-to-eat supplies). However, emotional gratifications abound: one can celebrate the end of affirmative action and diversity initiatives, idolize mass deportation, glorify the denial of gender-affirming care to trans individuals, vilify educators and healthcare professionals, and revel in the erosion of economic and environmental regulations as a means of “owning the libs.” End times fascism constitutes a grimly festive fatalism—a terminal refuge for those who prefer the celebration of destruction over a vision of existence absent supremacy.
It also creates a self-perpetuating downward spiral: Trump’s vehement assaults on every institution established to safeguard public health, food safety, and disaster preparation—along with the capacity to signal impending disasters—bolster the rationale for prepping at both the elite and grassroots levels, fostering new avenues for privatization and profit for oligarchs who are rapidly dismantling the social contract and regulatory frameworks.
At the outset of Trump’s first term, the *New Yorker* explored a phenomenon identified as “doomsday prepping for the ultra-wealthy.” It was already evident then that within Silicon Valley and Wall Street, serious high-end survivalists were mitigating risks associated with climate disruption and societal collapse by acquiring positions in custom-designed underground bunkers or building evacuation homes on elevated terrains in locations such as Hawaii (where Mark Zuckerberg downplayed his 5,000 sq ft underground shelter as merely a “small refuge”) and New Zealand (where Thiel’s plans to establish an opulent survivalist compound were thwarted by local authorities rejecting his proposal as visually unappealing).
This millenarian ethos is intertwined with a myriad of other trends emanating from Silicon Valley, all underpinned by a doomsday-inspired belief in humanity’s impending cataclysm and the necessity to make grave decisions about which segments of society deserve to be saved. Transhumanism encapsulates one such ideology, ranging from minor human-machine enhancements to the ambition to upload human cognition into an often-elusive artificial general intelligence. Effective altruism and longtermism represent alternatives that prioritize performance metrics over immediate redistributive strategies for aiding the needy, focusing instead on long-term benefits.
While seemingly innocuous at first glance, these philosophies are steeped in grave racial, ableist, and gender prejudices regarding which segments of humanity merit enhancement and salvation—and which could be sacrificed in pursuit of collective welfare. They additionally share a marked disregard for urgently addressing the underlying causes of collapse, a responsible and rational goal actively evaded by an increasing number of individuals. Far from effective altruism, Mar-a-Lago figures like Andreessen endorse “effective accelerationism,” or the intentional propulsion of technological advancement without any constraints.
Simultaneously, even more sinister ideologies are gaining traction, such as the neoreactionary pro-monarchy diatribes of coder Curtis Yarvin (another intellectual mentor for Thiel), and the “pro-natalism” movement fixated on sharply elevating the birth rates of “Western” infants (a fixation shared by Musk) as well as Srinivasan’s concept of a “tech zionist” San Francisco that collaborates with law enforcement to expunge liberals and establish a networked apartheid state.
As AI researchers Timnit Gebru and Émile P Torres have noted, while the approaches may vary, this “bundle” of ideological currents is a direct continuation of early eugenics, wherein a restricted segment of humanity determines which aspects of society warrant continuation and which must be phased out, eliminated, or extinguished. Until recently, attention on such trends was minimal. Much like Próspera, where members are already experimenting with human-machine integrated ecosystems such as implanting Tesla keys into their hands, these intellectual trends seemed like niche interests of a few affluent individuals with the luxury to indulge. This is no longer the case.
Three recent developments have intensified the apocalyptic allure of end times fascism. The first is the climate crisis. While some high-profile individuals may still publicly downplay or reject the threat, global elites—whose waterfront properties and data centers are acutely vulnerable to rising sea levels and temperature extremes—are well-acquainted with the cascading dangers posed by a warming planet. The second factor is Covid-19: epidemiological models had long forecast the looming possibility of a pandemic wreaking havoc on our interconnected world; the actual emergence of one has been interpreted by many influential figures as a clear indication that we have entered what U.S. military strategists have deemed “the Age of Consequences.” The third element is the swift progress and integration of AI technologies, which have long been associated with dystopian fears of machines turning against their creators with brutal efficiency—fears voiced most vocally by those actually developing these innovations. Each of these existential threats compounds against the backdrop of escalating tensions among nuclear-armed states.
This should not be dismissed as paranoia. Numerous people perceive the proximity of impending breakdown so intensely that they resort to fantasizing about scenarios where they exist in post-apocalyptic bunkers, binge-watching shows like Apple’s *Silo* or Hulu’s *Paradise*. As Richard Seymour notes in his recent book, *Disaster Nationalism*: “The apocalypse is no mere fantasy. We are already living through it, from deadly pandemics to soil degradation, economic turmoil, and geopolitical chaos.”
Trump 2.0’s economic agenda reflects a hybridization of the sectors driving these threats—fossil fuels, weapons, and resource-driven cryptocurrency and AI. Those involved in these realms are acutely aware that constructing the artificial mirror world promised by AI cannot occur without sacrificing the actual world—these technologies deplete energy resources, crucial minerals, and water at rates that preclude coexistence in any balanced framework. Recently, Eric Schmidt, former Google executive, acknowledged before Congress that AI’s “profound” energy demands will triple in the coming years, mainly sourced from fossil fuels, as nuclear energy cannot be implemented rapidly enough. This planet-consuming consumption is deemed necessary to facilitate the emergence of an intelligence “above” humanity, a digital divinity rising amid the ashes of our forsaken world.
And they harbor fears—not regarding the legitimate dangers they are unleashing. What torments the leaders of these interconnected sectors is the possibility of a civilizational awakening—a concerted, international response aimed at restraining their rogue operations before it becomes too late. From their perspective, the apocalypse is not collapse—it is regulation.
Their profits derive from planetary destruction, which elucidates why the rhetoric of benevolence among the elite is rapidly giving way to open disdain for the idea that we owe each other anything based on our shared human experience. Silicon Valley has moved beyond altruism, regardless of its effectiveness. Meta’s Mark Zuckerberg longs for a culture that embraces “aggressiveness.” Alex Karp, Thiel’s partner at the surveillance entity Palantir Technologies, chastises the “losing” mentality of “self-flagellation” among those questioning American exceptionalism and the merits of autonomous weaponry (and, hence, the lucrative military contracts that have enriched Karp’s fortune). Musk informs Joe Rogan that empathy represents “the fundamental flaw of Western civilization,” and he laments, after a failed attempt to influence a Supreme Court election in Wisconsin: “It appears that humanity is merely a biological bootloader for digital superintelligence.” Implying we are nothing more than fodder for Grok, the AI service in which he holds ownership. (He did indicate he was “dark Maga”—and he is not alone.)
In drought-stricken and climate-stressed Spain, a group advocating for a moratorium on new data centers refers to themselves as Tu Nube Seca Mi Río—Spanish for “your cloud is draining my river.” This name holds significance beyond its immediate context.
An unspeakably dismal choice is unfolding in plain sight and without our consent: prioritizing machines over humans, the inanimate over the living, profits above all else. Rapidly, mega-corporations have reversed their net-zero commitments and aligned themselves with Trump, intent on sacrificing the earth’s irreplaceable resources and creativity at the altar of a predatory, virtual existence. This represents the final grand theft, as they prepare to weather the storms they themselves have conjured—while trying to undermine and obliterate anyone who dares to oppose them.
Consider Vance’s recent trip to Europe, where the vice president chastised global leaders for “hand-wringing over safety” in relation to job-killing AI, all while demanding that fascist rhetoric remain unrestrained online. At one point, he even made a revealing joke, anticipating laughter that never materialized: “If American democracy can endure a decade of Greta Thunberg’s admonitions, you guys can tolerate a few months of Elon Musk.”
His statement echoed sentiments shared by his equally humorless benefactor, Thiel. In various interviews focused on the theological basis of his far-right beliefs, Thiel has frequently likened the indefatigable climate activist to the antichrist—a figure he posits was foretold to emerge, carrying a misleading message of “peace and security.” “If Greta manages to get everyone to cycle, it might address climate change, but it carries this essence of leading us from the frying pan into the fire,” Thiel asserted.
Why focus on Thunberg, and why now? In part, it undeniably stems from the apocalyptic dread of regulation threatening their extreme profits: as per Thiel, the science-based climate actions championed by Thunberg and others could only be executed by a “totalitarian state,” which he contends presents a graver menace than climate collapse (most worryingly, the taxes under such regimes would be “significantly high”). There could also be something else that unnerves them about Thunberg: her unwavering dedication to this planet and its myriad forms of life—unlike the simulations created by AI or the hierarchies of those entitled to life and those who are not, or the fantasies of escape offered by end times fascists.
She advocates for staying, while the end times fascists, at least in their conceptualizations, envision leaving this world behind, sheltered in luxury or transcending to the digital realm or Mars.
Following Trump’s re-election, one of us interviewed Anohni, one of the few artists striving to create works that embrace the death drive plaguing our world. When asked about the connection between the powerful’s willingness to let the planet suffer and their drive to restrict bodily autonomy for women and trans individuals like herself, she reflected upon her Irish Catholic heritage: it embodies “an enduring myth we are enacting and living out. This culminates in their Rapture. It symbolizes their escape from the intoxicating cycle of creation. This constitutes their departure from Mother.”
How do we transcend this apocalyptic obsession? Initially, we must assist one another in confronting the depth of degradation gripping the hard right across all nations. To progress with purpose, we must acknowledge this fundamental truth: we face an ideology that has abandoned not only the concept and promise of liberal democracy but also the very viability of our shared world—its beauty, its people, our children, and the living beings around us. The forces we oppose have found contentment in mass death. They are betraying this world and its diverse inhabitants.
Secondly, we must counter their doom-laden narratives with a much more compelling story about how to navigate the challenging times ahead without forsaking anyone. A narrative that drains end times fascism of its dark allure and mobilizes a movement prepared to risk everything for our collective survival. A story that speaks not of apocalypse, but of potential, not of division and supremacy but of interdependence and belonging, not of escape but of connection and commitment to the troubled earthly reality in which we are entwined.
This core sentiment is not new—it forms the foundation of Indigenous cosmologies and lies at the heart of animism. When traced back sufficiently, every culture and faith has cultivated a tradition valuing the sanctity of our existing reality, rather than endlessly seeking a promised land. In Eastern Europe, prior to the annihilations wrought by fascists and Stalinists, Jewish socialists associated with the Labor Bund rallied around the Yiddish concept of Doikayt, or “hereness”. Molly Crabapple, who is penning a forthcoming book on this overlooked history, defines Doikayt as the right to contend for freedom and safety within our own communities, defying those who wish to see us obliterated—instead of being coerced into fleeing to supposed safety in Palestine or the United States. Perhaps there is a necessity for a contemporary universalization of this concept: a commitment to the right to “hereness” of this ailing planet, of our vulnerable bodies, and to the right to live with dignity wherever we find ourselves on this globe, even as inevitable disruptions compel movement. “Hereness” can be a fluid concept, devoid of nationalism, rooted in solidarity, respectful of Indigenous rights, and liberated from the constraints of borders.
This future would necessitate its own apocalypse, a transformative ending and revelation, but of an entirely different kind. Because, as scholar Robyn Maynard observes, “To ensure earthbound survival for our planet, certain elements of this world must conclude.”
We stand at a critical crossroads—not about whether we confront an apocalypse but about what shape it will take. Activist sisters Adrienne Maree and Autumn Brown recently highlighted this on their aptly titled podcast, *How to Survive the End of the World*. In this moment, as end times fascism wages war on countless fronts, the formation of new alliances is essential. Yet rather than asking, “Do we all share the same worldview?” Adrienne encourages us to pose the question: “Is your heart beating and do you intend to live? If so, join us, and we will navigate the rest together on the other side.”
To have any hope of countering the end times fascists, who impose increasingly confining and stifling circles of “ordered love,” we must cultivate a vibrant, heart-centered movement committed to the preservation of this planet, its inhabitants, and the potential for a livable future for all. A movement loyal to the present. Or, to echo Anohni once more, as she refers to the divine being in whom she now places her faith: “Have you considered that this might have been her best intention?”
Spot illustrations by Sophy Hollington
