Sustaining Movements: Rethinking Funding Dependence and Solidarity

In conversation with Sophie Otiende 

 

JASS’ Sultana Mapker sat down with Sophie Otiende to have a conversation about her commitment to building and sustaining strong movements in the current climate.  Sophie is the founder and weaver of Collective Threads which is a movement building initiative that mobilises tailored resources to communities worldwide, working to prevent exploitation and ensure human dignity. She was the Chief Executive Officer of the Global Fund to End Modern Slavery. She describes herself as an “African feminist, teacher, poet and survivor advocate for those affected by human trafficking.” A long-time community organiser, she founded Azadi (www.azadikenya.org), an organisation that provides support for integration for survivors of trafficking. She has also worked extensively in philanthropy and funding.

What effects are you seeing with the ongoing US foreign aid funding freeze and shifts in donor priorities, both globally and regionally?

I think one significant realisation is that much of our work is project-based and reliant on specific donor funding. When that funding disappears, critical projects providing essential services to the community often have to shut down.

I’ve seen many survivors and activists who work as consultants suddenly find themselves out of work because their projects have been cancelled. This situation highlights a critical issue: the way development work has historically involved impacted individuals – survivors and activists are often only brought in to advise without any permanent role. When funding cuts occur, they find themselves in vulnerable positions.

Personally, it’s been heartbreaking to see friends and fellow activists lose their jobs, leading some to consider returning to precarious work, like sex work, out of sheer necessity. This situation underscores how dependent our meaningful work is on funding, and witnessing this dependence has been enlightening for me. As for the broader implications for feminist movements, I’ve always been a critic of equating development work with movement work.

I believe that true movement work should not be so heavily influenced by funding. It should be rooted in values, community, and the resources we have rather than those we lack.

Now, as we face these cuts, many are starting to question what work can be done without funding. I see people feeling scattered and losing hope, grappling with the fear of being targeted. From my activist background, I keep asking what people expected when they signed up for this movement. For some, the reality of activism – being targeted and fighting oppression – is a shock, especially when they initially joined during times of joy and community. Many newer activists have not experienced the harsh realities of activism until now, where even sharing certain viewpoints can lead to danger.

This moment calls for a critical re-evaluation of what movements truly means and who is fighting alongside us. While this questioning process can be challenging, I believe it’s ultimately a positive development. It prompts us to rethink the essence of our movements and the solidarity within them.

For instance, organisations are changing their language on their websites and people are starting to question what that means. I was in a meeting where most of the funding for the trafficking space comes from the US government. I kid you not, people were discussing what they were willing to do to accommodate those changes, and it became clear they couldn’t define their boundaries. So I asked, “What changes are you willing to make that could harm the very people you’re supposed to serve?” It was alarming; several folks were willing to compromise the well-being of those they helped to deliver the project.

This highlights a significant difference between projects and movements, which we’ve often conflated. Right now, there’s a growing awareness of who’s delivering projects and who’s genuinely building movements. That revelation can be painful because some individuals you hoped would be part of the movement are just focused on project delivery. Personally, this has led to losing friendships with people I thought were aligned with my values. Suddenly, they start suggesting compromises that go against everything I believe in, and for me, that marks a clear line.

How can we lessen our dependence on donor funding and strengthen more sustainable community-led initiatives?

I think the first thing we need to address is our discussions in feminist spaces about fighting capitalism. We talk about dismantling it and declare it an unviable system, yet our visions for reform often remain within that very framework. For me, a critical step is to reimagine what resources truly are.

What we often overlook is that as long as we depend on donors, we will never win. We will remain in a position of begging and vulnerability if we define resources solely as money. With the current system in place, it’s unlikely we will ever have more financial resources than they do. So far, no one has presented a viable way to change that.

The only way to break free from this dependence is to redefine what we consider resources. Communities have historically demonstrated that meaningful change can occur without money. We need to ask ourselves what actions we can take without relying on donor funds. In many communities, impactful work has happened on a smaller scale, like traditional healers who may have touched the lives of just 10 people. This was enough.

Our longing for growth and the desire to serve huge numbers, claiming we’ve impacted thousands, often drives our need for money in a capitalistic way. If we shift our focus to supporting smaller, community-driven efforts, those communities could thrive and manage their own initiatives without external funding.

What are the risks of donor dependency for community activists and movements? How can they navigate these challenges while maintaining political autonomy?

I think it’s hard, right? As Sankara famously said, “The person who feeds you controls you.” It’s really difficult to be politically autonomous while relying on donor funding. In fact, it’s almost impossible. Donors often control what you say and how projects operate, making it exceedingly hard to pursue genuine activism. This is a reality we often hesitate to acknowledge.

The truth is, very few people are willing to give you money if they believe you might use it to criticise them or challenge their authority. However, I’ve seen some instances where grassroots organisations can achieve a degree of autonomy. When they receive funding and can support activists independently, it creates opportunities for those activists to work more freely. But, to be honest, achieving this autonomy is still incredibly hard – almost impossible – given the current dynamics of donor dependency.

I think the first key element is solidarity! We need to collaborate and work together. Second, we must redefine what resources truly are; not everything requires funding to be effective. Communities have shown us, especially through mutual aid, that we can accomplish important work without relying heavily on money.

We’ve been so dependent on donor funding that we haven’t had the time or capacity to think critically about how movements can exist and thrive beyond financial support. However, with solidarity, we can rethink our approaches. There are movements that are advanced, some just starting, and others still in the conceptual stage. We have resources we can share, so not everyone needs to reinvent the wheel – whether that’s creating manuals or hosting conferences. We can leverage existing tools and knowledge to move forward.

Another important aspect is strategy. If we come together and think through our challenges collaboratively, we can imagine new ways to resource our efforts. The problem is that we’ve often operated as independent organisations or movements, lacking pathways for collaboration and sharing. By establishing these connections, we can utilise what already exists. For example, if you want to create a manual on participation, the women’s rights movement has countless resources you can draw from, eliminating the need for additional funding.

However, we must also acknowledge a harsh reality: many of us are driven by self-preservation. The funding we seek is often tied to our jobs, and the fear of losing those positions can cloud our willingness to have honest conversations about these issues. This isn’t just about funding; it’s about survival—both for individuals and for the legacy of the work we do.

When funding cuts happen, people worry about their jobs, their ability to provide for their families, and the impact on their legacies. This isn’t just a financial problem; it reflects how we’ve built relationships within movements.

True movements care for one another. If someone is facing hardship, we should be asking how we can support them – ensuring their children can go to school, that they aren’t going hungry, and that they aren’t falling into depression. It’s essential to have real conversations about the politics of survival and how we can collectively support one another in times of crisis.

What kind of new funding models could sustain movement work and how can we motivate people to shift away from old ways of doing things?  

To be honest, I don’t think there’s a funding model that truly works unless it comes from the community itself. I believe we need to explore mutual aid more deeply and how it can sustain movements over time. Traditionally, mutual aid has been utilised primarily in emergencies, but what if we didn’t wait for crises to arise? What if we viewed mutual aid not just as an emergency mechanism, but as a mainstream approach to resource sharing?

If we could integrate mutual aid into our regular practices, what would that look like? I see it as a potential strategy that could strengthen movement autonomy. By relying on community resources and support systems, we can build resilience and independence from traditional funding sources.

I believe there are already significant shifts happening. If you aren’t feeling radicalised right now, I’m not sure what it will take for you to feel that way. I remember a moment in June when a young person’s body was found floating in the Nairobi River. Seeing that, I thought, “No more.” The status quo cannot continue. Everyone needs to have their own moment of realisation, a personal awakening where they decide enough is enough.

For those who have already been radicalised, it’s important that we come together and collaborate. However, many people feel isolated and afraid; they don’t know who shares their views or who has reached the same level of radicalisation. This isolation complicates our ability to move forward collectively.

Part of the strategy must involve identifying those who think similarly and building connections with them. Additionally, we should encourage conversations about personal moments of radicalisation, asking people about their own turning points – what made them say, “No more” – can be enlightening and nurture a sense of community.

Given your experience, how can movements strengthen their organising strategies in response to current political shifts and the funding landscape? 

First and foremost, we need to redefine what a movement truly is. Organisations like JASS can help clarify the reality.

Movements are not just about conferences or public events – they involve strategy and a deep understanding of what it takes to fight oppression. For too long, we’ve taught activists that the oppressor simply doesn’t know they’re oppressing and that awareness alone will lead to change. This is a misconception.

We need to be honest about the strategies required to combat oppression. Not all work needs to be public; sometimes, the most impactful strategies happen behind the scenes, away from social media and public attention. Are we willing to engage in that kind of work, especially in a world that often prioritises visibility?

The first step is to shift away from seeking attention and focus on building genuine relationships. We need to create spaces for honest conversations and collaboration reminiscent of how our mothers strategised over kitchen tables. Those relationships are crucial because when one person faces hardship, the community should come together to support them. But right now, many of us don’t know each other well enough to offer that support.

If we want to build solidarity and share resources effectively, we must prioritise relationship-building over mere information dissemination.

Current models often focus on teaching rather than strengthening connections. This needs to change, as building relationships is key to sustaining our movements.

It’s essential to revisit the basics of what a movement entails. Many people today mistakenly believe they are signing up for a job rather than a cause. Unfortunately, many in our space lack clarity about their cause. We need to engage in conversations about values and draw clear lines that define our commitment. This isn’t just about funding; it’s about nurturing a profound understanding of our mission and the sacrifices we’re willing to make for it.

I think we don’t talk enough about the importance of relationships. For example, I founded Azadi because many survivors of trafficking returned to communities where they faced stigma. They had no friends or support systems. For me, the most critical aspect of Azadi was creating a space where survivors could build community, love one another, and find friendship.

One of our founding members was diagnosed with stage four cancer. The medical system here is often inadequate, but both she and her daughter, who are members of Azadi because they are both survivors, found support in our community. It was powerful to see people who weren’t related come together to support her through her two-year battle with cancer. They organised her burial and ensured her daughter was taken care of. This was not a project; it was a genuine community response.

Many people think that strategies need to be grand or complex, but that’s a misconception. The system often leads us to believe we need intricate solutions when, in fact, the answers are often simple. The support they provided was beyond financial help; they contributed to her chemotherapy and radiotherapy costs. After she passed, the community set up a roster for a 40-day mourning period, ensuring her daughter and the other children were never alone. No donor can replicate that kind of support.

Skills are a valuable resource too. As a teacher, I’ve seen that after-school programs were once funded by donors, but community members provided these services for free. If we organise our skills collaboratively, we can create educational opportunities without needing external funding.

We also have land and food as resources. We can share food without needing someone to mandate it. Additionally, think about the toolkits and resources we’ve developed; we can use those collaboratively instead of relying on donors to create new ones.

We need to map out what resources we have – skills, land, mutual aid, and even connections to people in positions of power. Often, we focus too much on building extensive advocacy programs instead of leveraging our existing allies. If we took the time to connect over coffee or in casual settings, we might achieve more than through formal advocacy campaigns.

If we think creatively and collaboratively, we can sustain our efforts without solely depending on funding. My grandmother ran a shelter without any donor support; she simply opened her home to women in need.

Ultimately, the current climate aims to isolate us and make us feel that our individual actions are insignificant. We need to resist that narrative and recognise the power of collective action.

By building relationships and supporting one another, we can effect real change.

What would a liberated future look like for movements and people?

For me, it would mean a world where movements are no longer necessary. A liberated future is one where we have already achieved the better things we fight for, rendering movements obsolete. We wouldn’t need to imagine better futures because those futures would already be our reality.