Anyway, All The Dogs Are Howling a POSSIBLE FUTURES Podcast Exploration 1: Basics Conversation 4: Colonial Fears More on this POSSIBLE FUTURES podcast at https://decolonise.possiblefutures.earth/anyway Anna Denardin: Hi, this is Anna Denardin, and you are a fly on the wall here amongst the POSSIBLE FUTURES Collective. [dogs howling intro] Fear is coloniality’s sharpest weapon, not only the fear born of explicit violence we can easily name, but the quieter kind embedded deep in our emotional reflexes: fear of rejection, irrelevance, instability, invisibility, loss of identity. Colonial power breeds these existential anxieties inside individuals and institutions, which play their roles in a highly coordinated fashion thanks to well-financed, powerfully effective manipulations of fear. It’s a brilliantly cheap business model: weaponize fear, outsource enforcement to the individual. Fear activates threat-and-defense behaviours that compel people to double down on beliefs, identities, and self-stories to avoid “meaning violations”, moments when the stories held about the self no longer add up, exposing inconvenient and often unacceptable truths. In response, individuals tend to disassociate from these fractures and cling to idealised self-images, behaving like wounded egos scrambling to maintain meaning. Any perceived threat to identity, purpose, or legacy triggers compensatory responses designed to restore the narrative, protect the ego, and preserve continuity. The tactic is precise: manufacture fear, then offer the colonial system itself as relief. Better to keep feeding the machine than risk unravelling the very architecture of identity, reputation, and legacy you have invested a lifetime constructing. And that’s precisely how the system sustains itself: not just by controlling the conditions of action, but by influencing the internal scripts individuals and institutions follow. Coloniality doesn't just shape policies and workflows, it choreographs the emotional life of entire sectors. Through behavioral codes, institutional norms, and sanitized notions of “work culture”, it manufactures fears that guide how individuals respond to discomfort, contradiction, or ethical tension. This is the genius of colonial strategy: it no longer needs to monitor behavior when it controls emotion. Fear of rejection fuels hunger for belonging. Fear of irrelevance produces a desperate chase for validation. Fear of instability binds people to toxic ambition. Coloniality persists because it feels safer than whatever might exist beyond it. So we ask: What kinds of fears has coloniality designed to keep itself alive? How do these fears choreograph behaviour differently at the level of the individual and institutions? How are they produced, nurtured, and weaponized across positions of power? How can we tell whether we are reacting from ego and trauma, or acting from integrity? If colonial fears organize our emotional lives so effectively, what strategies can we put in place to emotionally disinvest from the system they uphold? — Luiza Oliveira: Wow Anna, there’s so much in there. And when I think about what you asked, what kinds of fears has coloniality designed to keep itself alive, what comes to my mind is that part when Fanon mentions the abandonment neurosis, present in colonial dynamics and reinforced by coloniality, in Black Skin White Masks, that he described that this kind of neurosis is based on three aspects. The anxiety aroused by any abandonment, the [aggression] to which it gives rise, and the resultant devaluation of self, and how coloniality creates the conditions for this kind of neurosis, in which the figure performing coloniality, with power over somebody else, becomes this absent father figure, trying to give an image of protection and false security, future-faking, and giving breadcrumbs of attention. On an individual but also collective level, this cultivates this lack of self-esteem, fostering insecurities, and the desire to become something else than yourself. To become the other that is being idealised. This dynamic creates more isolation, mistrust, and a sense of need for revenge for the suffering. These fears are maintained by the isolation mining the relationships. This fear is being cultivated to create an attitude that is not about caring for the relationship or for the people whom you’re relating to or with – but it becomes about not being abandoned. If not addressed, this fear can turn into entitlement to be loved. He mentions that in a book in a way that is very clear about this thirst for any kind of reparation that is completely unrealistic. Reparation that needs to be absolute and forever, which becomes a prison. And so I think there is a lot there in thinking about fear and colonial fear, about these narratives that create this false sense of security to profit from desperation. — Samantha Suppiah: Anna mentioned that there is a colonial environment upon which fears operate, including through colonial systems that form the backdrops to our lives, such as institutions and urban design. These are things that are too big and important to be questioned, and therefore we believe that they cannot be changed. Luiza further described the internal workings of coloniality within the self, that has encultured and manipulated us for generations upon generations to prime colonial fears. Colonial hegemony is the result of centuries of violence by European colonisers who have not yet faced nor served justice. This is the world order under which colonial atrocities create histories that turn into our futures. This is the world order under which systemic fears can operate. Without this environment, colonial fears alone wouldn't work -- control would have to be operationalised through police and state violence. This explosion has a short fuse. We see this all the time in civil unrest in the Global North or the Global South. Without colonial hegemony, such systemic fears actually have very limited power to dictate individual and collective beliefs or behaviours. When those limits are reached, the state deploys armed forces and militia, just like they did in the colonies. Today, colonial hegemony is collapsing as the Global North implodes under its own weight. Some say it could not have happened any other way. As it collapses, it desperately consolidates and tightens its grip on power, retreating more and more rapidly into beliefs that make it blind, into insecurities that make it aggressive, into propaganda that has already cycled into insanity. These are the conditions we continue to live within, and so will the coming generations. The carrot and the stick complement each other. Systemic incentivisation doesn't work without systemic punishment. Coloniality manufactures and maintains false identities built upon false securities. Fanon described this as a form of collective narcissism, built upon collective fears, collective insecurities, becoming a system of culture, self-regulated and self-policed, always seeking validation as narcissistic supply, an addict to praise, assurance, and reward. Training a human being is really not very different to training a dog. You don't need these fears to work forever, either. You just need for it to work in those critical moments within which investments in colonial structures are about to happen. These are all about contracts. Contracts designed to manufacture false certainty about futures that cannot ever be predicted or secured. Such as, the moment you get a job offer and must decide whether to go for it, to sign that contract, to become compliant to that employment structure. The moment you get married and must sign the legal paperwork, to become responsible under that governance structure. These contracts embody the mechanisms of control that feed fears and insecurities, that define structures of reward and praise, that create a structure of behavioural compliance in exchange for security within a colonial world order that has caused planetary systems collapse. Those moments of contract-signing are the moments in which we are most exposed to and closest to freedom, in which we are inculcated to pay most attention to our taught fears. — Anna Denardin: Luiza, you talked about false security, and “future faking”, and I think that captures so well how coloniality strengthens itself. It manufactures insecurities, then creates cycles where people chase validation to soothe the very insecurities it created. That’s the toxic cycle coloniality thrives on: It manipulates fears, then manufactures desire to ease that fear. That creates perceived entitlements. You mentioned the fear of abandonment and isolation, which is suppressed by the desire for belonging and recognition. But instead of healing our broken relationships with ourselves and others — which could address the fear at its roots — coloniality manufactures desires that address the fear in ways that won't challenge it. It promotes a false belonging: seeking to prove your worth at every opportunity, encouraging social predation through highly competitive environments, filling the emptiness with consumption instead of connection. And all of this feeds a sense of entitlement, the expectation to be loved or recognized, not because there’s trust or genuine care, but because we have been conditioned to believe we’re owed it. This example of fear of abandonment driving a desire for false belonging – that feeds an entitlement to recognition – is just an example. You can use this logic in any given fear and see where it goes. Samantha, your input on how systemic reward doesn’t work without systemic punishment was spot on. Institutional and individual fears are not so different when we consider that our leaders only became leaders because they learned how to perform well inside the reward-and-punishment game. They have invested years of energy into climbing the ladder, and once they arrive at the top, they’re incentivized to reinforce the same structures that rewarded them. It is a vicious cycle. And this is how fear gets produced, nurtured, and weaponized across all positions of power in a rush for a false sense of safety and stability. And that raises another question: in a collapsing world, what does “safety” even mean? So maybe the starting point is noticing. Noticing your own behaviors and those of the people around you. What is triggering them to act the way they do? What fear or need is behind their actions? How could these needs be addressed in a more healthy way? And in what ways could recognizing how our fears are manipulated, our desires are manufactured, and our entitlements are shaped, help us reclaim our agency back from systems of harm to heal ourselves and our relationships? — Luiza Oliveira: Yes, Anna. This mechanism of weaponising fear in order to manufacture and cultivate colonial desires is what feeds this false sense of belonging. And in my opinion, this is a key understanding of how colonial mechanisms work. Combined with what you said, Samantha, it is only in this colonial environment that these kinds of fear can gain so much power, space and momentum. As you said, only in this monoculture of fragile relationships and egos can these colonial fears develop disproportionate dimensions compromising planetary systems. And, as I listen to you both, the question that keeps coming back to me is, when thinking about these fears, colonial fear that fuels so much confusion and paralysis, what does it mean to start breaking from the cycles? What does it mean to become healthy in this toxic environment? Is it even possible? What does it mean to be safe in the face of collapse? And what does it mean to be healthy in the face of planetary polycrisis? When we go deeper in these questions, I feel that these are the moments when it becomes very clear that the systems that we are a part of, that seem almost impossible to change, are actually built on our individual experiences. And reclaiming our individual choices and experience is a way to reinforce or dismantle the systems. And this is when it becomes clear why the commitment to decolonisation is psychological and political. And it is collective and individual responsibility. It is a personal and professional engagement. Coloniality has invaded all the layers of how we relate, and this is why decolonisation is a continuous work of identifying and dismantling these colonial tentacles. — Samantha Suppiah: Coming back to the questions you posed for us Anna: How can we tell whether we’re reacting from ego and trauma, or acting from integrity? What strategies can help us emotionally disinvest from the system they uphold? Well, I think we learn best from making mistakes. In many ways it's necessary to cross that boundary. But of course, mistakes have consequences. And we don't realise something is a mistake if we are rewarded instead of punished. And so it's also necessary to research, and to build experience. Research is necessary because of coloniality's isolation tactics to divide and conquer. It's not publicised to you mistakes that others have made that you might learn from, for example. Because coloniality doesn't want you to learn. Coloniality doesn't want you to build experience in understanding how to reject coloniality. In order to learn now to do research, how to build experience, and how to take different approaches, we must first muster the maturity to commit. Through our work at POSSIBLE FUTURES, we have seen that many people find this maturity through different routes. Some people find it through their children, or otherwise known as the weight of responsibility of what we leave the next generation. Others find it through having screamed at every brick wall only to realise they have been held this whole time in a proverbial jail cell. Or perhaps folk find it through quitting an addiction or through committing to religion. What's similar about this thread? (The) way I see it, maturity is understanding that we are unwell individuals in a toxic society regulated by a carefully controlled culture that is articulated and manipulated by colonial power structures. This mechanism is so advanced today that we as individuals are no longer even sure if our inner thoughts and habits are original or instituted. In our last conversation I brought up the Orwellian conceptualisation of doublespeak. He also brought up doublethought. The colonial system of control via individual and societal fears and insecurities only works because we allow it to. We have been conditioned, we have been taught. We cannot challenge coloniality on our own as individuals. Yet, we are kept too ignorant, too fragile, too immature, too egotistical, too scared, and too entitled - to organise amongst ourselves. To challenge coloniality is to abolish it within aspects of our lives in which we can create sovereignty and defend that sovereignty. This means working with others who also want to create sovereignty in similar aspects of their lives. It's not possible to work on such projects without being in close geographic proximity to collaborators. It's also not possible to ensure long-term survival of such collaborations without continuously learning together. So, it takes maturity. — Anna Denardin: What Samantha named about experimenting, making mistakes and learning out loud with trusted others is the ground we have to work on, because, as Samantha said, challenging coloniality requires a skillset that, obviously, colonial systems neither teach nor incentivize. The ability to stay with not knowing, to resist the reflex of control on how others think or act; the capacity to recognize the systems of privilege and oppression we’re moving within; the discipline to assess our own coloniality in real time; creating, implementing and iterating strategies to address harm with repair instead of defensiveness… Fostering an environment that builds those skills is a crucial part of collaboration in service of decolonisation and supporting others in caring for themselves. Decolonisation is not just political change. It’s existential demolition. In POSSIBLE FUTURES, we have seen it again and again: when people finally see how deeply coloniality is embedded in themselves, there’s often a meltdown. The collapse of self-stories. The shattering of the “good person” myth. The scaffolding of identity, relational habits, the invisible privileges that have held conceived perceptions of the self together. This is the shedding that has to happen if we are to live without the false promises we have been taught to depend on. It means grieving their loss, embracing the uncertainty beyond them, and retraining our instincts so we act from integrity instead of ego, from care instead of fear. If we don’t break the emotional contract coloniality has written into us, we will rebuild its architecture into every “new” world we imagine. Commitment to decolonisation means refusing to do that, even when the cost is comfort, even when it changes who we think we are. And that is the work. That is the point. That is the commitment. — POSSIBLE FUTURES Crew: This is Samantha Suppiah. This is Luiza Oliveira. This is Anna Denardin. Anyway, all the dogs are howling.