A Case for Hope

We have seen the end of the world, and we have decided not to accept it. Murrawah Johnson, Indigenous climate activist There is something deeply unsettling and yet profoundly liberating about that sentence. It captures the essence of hope not as wishful thinking or shallow optimism, but as a deliberate refusal to surrender. Hope, in its truest form, is a decision. It is a discipline, a commitment to act even when the odds seem insurmountable. As Paulo Freire reminded us, it is a denunciation of all abuse and injustice. Hope is not the denial of pain, but the stubborn insistence that pain will not have the final word. On a recent long-haul flight from Bengaluru to San Francisco, I found myself immersed in Indrajit Roys Audacious Hope . As I reflected on my two weeks in India and the broader state of the world, a curious sense of comfort settled over me. Amidst the chaos, the impossible traffic, and the contradictions that so vividly define India, there was something oddly reassuring. India fragile, frenetic, yet fiercely alive remains a functioning anarchy. And in that paradox lies its greatest strength. At a time when democracies across the globe seem to falter, India reminds us that ordinary people still rise, often against insurmountable odds, to defend what they hold dear. It is, in its own way, the most compelling argument for hope. One of the most remarkable examples of this spirit was the farmers protest of 20202021. It was an extraordinary act of peaceful resistance that lasted 54 long weeks, far outlasting movements such as Occupy Wall Street, which barely survived two months. In the harsh Delhi winter, amidst the fear of COVID-19, farmers from across the nation lived at the borders of the capital. Over 700 lives were lost not to violence, but to cold, exhaustion, accidents, and illness. And yet, their quiet endurance became their most powerful weapon. On 19 November 2021, in a rare and humbling moment for Indian democracy, Prime Minister Narendra Modi announced the repeal of the three controversial farm laws. Ordinary citizens, through sheer perseverance and nonviolent protest, had compelled the most powerful office in the country to listen. The farmers movement is a reminder: hope is not passive waiting, but a relentless insistence that justice must prevail. The Spirit of Hope Author Kim Stanley Robinson sees hope, not just as an emotion, but as something biological. Think of hunger. When you're hungry, your body is expressing hope: hope for food, for energy. Thats a natural, embodied form of hope your cells needing ATP (adenosine triphosphate), your system seeking fuel. In the same way, our longing for justice, for better systems, is a form of collective hunger, of hope. Its innate. But when our hopes go beyond the personal into the realm of society and politics, they often feel much harder to fulfill. Thats where the sense of helplessness comes in. Philosopher Byung-Chul Han, in a short essay on hope, diagnoses our times with startling clarity. He writes that we live haunted by fear of pandemics, war, climate catastrophe. We are surrounded by images of collapse, and life often feels reduced to survival. And yet, he reminds us, it is precisely in these moments that hope rises like a phoenix. Fear isolates: hope unites. Fear narrows our vision: hope opens horizons. Fear robs life of meaning: hope infuses it with purpose. Hope is what allows us to imagine what does not yet exist, and to act as though it might. Resources of Hope by Raymond Williams Hope as Imagination and Memory Philosopher Ernst Bloch called this the anticipatory consciousness the ability to imagine a better world even when none seems visible. Similarly, Raymond Williams in Resources of Hope reminds us that our shared culture our stories, songs, and struggles are reservoirs of resilience. Perhaps that is why India continues to give me hope; beneath its chaos lies an infinite imagination. But imagination alone is not enough. As David Harvey argues in Spaces of Hope , true hope must be grounded in material realities. It must walk with the oppressed, speak with the silenced, and sit with the grieving. Hope that floats above suffering is hollow. Hope that walks with people is transformative. Mary Grey called this the outrageous pursuit of hope a hope that dares to disrupt our complacency. Sometimes, as anthropologist Hirokazu Miyazaki reminds us, hope is not about progress at all. Sometimes, it is simply holding ground. Sometimes, survival itself is resistance. Journalist Ravish Kumar, when accepting the Ramon Magsaysay Award, put it poignantly: Not all battles are fought for victory. Some are fought simply to tell the world that someone was there on the battlefield. That too, is hope. When Utopia Dies Indrajit Roy, in Audacious Hope , offers a line that lingers: Hope is what remains when Utopia dies. We live in an era where the dream of a perfect world feels not only nave but also dangerous. Yet this is precisely why hope matters more than ever. Not as a fantasy of perfection, but as a tool for action. Bell hooks, in Teaching Community: A Pedagogy of Hope , describes hope as the next step. It is what brings a teacher back to the classroom, an activist to the streets, a parent to a childs bedside. Hope is not sentiment. It is discipline. The late Jos Esteban Muoz in Cruising Utopia reminds us that hope is as much about memory as imagination. We inherit not only despair, but also the legacies of resistance of those who dared to dream when despair seemed inevitable. Radical Hope in Times of Collapse James Bradley, in Radical Hope , describes our cultural fixation on collapse. Every story today feels apocalyptic. And yet, he insists, radical hope is not about denying collapse; it is about noticing the small flames that persist within it: The farmer saving seeds during a drought The young girl insisting on education despite patriarchy The whistleblower speaking truth despite personal cost This is not nave optimism. This is radical hope hope that begins by acknowledging pain, and grows in the fragile space between despair and action. The Spiritual Dimension of Hope In times of despair, many turn to spirituality. Few texts articulate hope as clearly as the Bhagavad Gita. Krishnas counsel to Arjuna is timeless: You have the right to act, but no right over the fruits of your actions. Let not the fruit of action be your motive, nor let your attachment be to inaction. Act, not because victory is assured, but because action itself is righteous. This is hope: not certainty, but courage. The Rope We Must Climb Hope, I once read, is like a rope. Not something to hold, but something to climb. It does not promise ease, nor does it guarantee arrival, but it offers a way out of the pit. It is forged in community, sustained by memory, and animated by the fragile but persistent belief that things can be different. That is the case for hope. Not the hollow kind that denies suffering, but the courageous kind that confronts it. The kind that defends dignity, denounces injustice, and insists, day after day, that giving up is not an option. As the world teeters on the edge, hope remains our most audacious act. Not because it promises salvation, but because it demands our participation. We have seen the end of the world. And we have decided not to accept it.