The quiet and symbolic power of the margins

Today is already the second day of the civil New Year of 2026. In general, life seems calm. In the Northern Hemisphere, I watch the grains of frost slowly melting under the light of a low, comforting sun. The flow of cars and lorries along the avenue is still light, and children are still on their school holidays. The almost full moon invites reflection on what I choose to nurture over the next 15 days, echoing the ‘New Year’s resolutions’ I have made.

In contrast to 2025 — when my (mental) expectations were high about how to occupy my time in the most productive and healthy way — 2026 begins differently. As I write, I think about how I wished that this year I might continue to express myself lovingly and practise radical care. And this says a great deal about how, in a very didactic (and seemingly contradictory) way, my professional trajectory teaches and advocates for a life that is less productive, more tender and more relational.

I have often found myself encountering the work of Antônio Bispo dos Santos and drawing inspiration from his counter-colonial practice. His legacy helps me reflect — from a new perspective — on the power of naming. Going against the norm, Nego Bispo masterfully practised the mystical (not supernatural) act of reconnecting us with the soul of the world through words. Like enchantments, the act of (re)creating names and meanings for disqualifying labels produced by dominant systems is a reclaiming of personal, collective and environmental power.

And at this moment, as I set my intention and direct my energy towards acting more reciprocally on this Earth — so generous and shared with an infinity of beings — I give thanks for the confluences that offered me so much learning over the past year. Among the many journeys I made (and those that came to me) in 2025, I fulfilled long-held dreams and shared the table with deeply loving people — family who will always be part of my story.

On other occasions, I sat in community at O Lugar with people from all over Brazil to meditate and cultivate compassion; a compassion that enabled me to develop a more mature understanding of how and when our actions are beneficial — or not — depending on our intentions. With this community, I travelled to Acre, where once again I demystified the fallacy of borders, as well as the myths of national heroes who place themselves in the service of legalised terrorism against all forms of life that do not serve capital.

In feminist geographies, I engaged in dialogue with peers, presented work in conferences, wrote and published articles, reviewed manuscripts, co-created projects and interviewed colleagues and leading figures in the field. All these encounters not only allowed me to broaden my perspective and lived experience of plural realities, but also helped me to re-signify the meaning of the marginal.

Moa River, Acre (Brazil). Credit: Maria Teresa Braga Bizarria

In physical geography, a riverbank is the meeting place of water and land. In this interstice, there is no clearly defined separation, as the boundary between elements is fluid and constantly changing. In human geography, the margin is the region forcibly separated from the centre, an act usually justified by criminalising views that seek to subjugate these environments and their inhabitants and habitats.

Yet within this same human geography, we have the possibility of seeing beyond the dominant narrative. Since fresh water is fundamental to human life on Earth, in many communities riverbanks are spaces marked by ritual practices, sacred gatherings and moments of contemplation. Figuratively, it is also at the margins of the system that diversity manifests its collaborative, inventive and communal potential.

And it is in this spirit that I begin 2026: celebrating the margins, the ecotones, movement, transitions and impermanence! May all the tensions that arise from encounters between different perspectives, aspirations and cultures be transformed into constructive energy. And when the lessons seem difficult, may looking to the Earth remind us that diversity gives rise to life, while uniformity is an agent of death.

*Among my motivations for writing is the exchange with those who read. So I would like to enter into dialogue. Could you please answer two quick questions?