Kavaya Manifesto

How does Kavaya actively reject white supremacy culture and the Four I's of Oppression. How do you color outside the lines

After immersing myself in Octavia Butler's "Parable of the Sower," I was prompted to critically examine the environmental landscape at Georgetown University. I questioned the prevalent lack of diversity in the voices and faces of environmentalism, despite their profound connection to the land through ancestral knowledge and being those most affected by environmental crises. Recognizing this disconnect among students, staff, and faculty of color who shared a passion for environmentalism, I took the initiative to establish Kavaya: The Earthseed Collective at Georgetown.

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Kavaya: The Earthseed Collective means, a multi-generational collective for Georgetown University students, staff, alumni, and faculty of the global majority to explore space, sustainability, and self. Kavaya was founded in response to interpersonal and institutional oppression at Georgetown University, a PWI (Predominantly White Institution). The authority, capital, and expertise of environmental stewardship has been historically bestowed to the white and wealthy despite the Global Majority’s ancient and ever-present connection to the land – as a site of their oppression and triumph. By age, Kavaya’s oldest member is 70 and youngest is 17, the beauty of our leader-full multi-generational community feels like the circles on the bark of a tree, challenging the vertical, hierarchical, rigid, exclusive spaces on Georgetown University’s campus. 

Kavaya is a word meaning circle in Sinhala, my mother language. A word resembling kaavya (poetry or lyrical music) and kavya (sending a message through a messenger). We sit in the beautiful duality of using language to decolonize language, including recognizing the expansiveness of the world’s ways of communicating and how that relates to accessibility. Over the last year, our community has embodied these ideas – of offering, sharing, conversing, and gifting in a generous, circular way. In-person activations and exhibitions are foundational to thinking beyond the English language and other western logocentric ways of expressing. Kavaya has and will continue to sing, dance, chant, and play, challenging linear, colonial, ideological oppression. 

Since Kavaya’s founding, we have been intentional with our language. Kavaya is a collective for the Global Majority. By this, we mean Kavaya is a space for people who are Black, Brown, Asian, Indigenous, dual-heritage, multi-ethnic, and/or with an ancestral connection to the Global South. We are a group consisting of what some have called "ethnic minorities." But we are not a minority. We are the majority. And there is power in challenging our internalized oppression and the normative vocabulary that marginalizes our ways of thinking and lived experiences.

The collective aspires to transcend one university, evolving into a global pulse for environmental literature and edutainment. Kavaya Press is our organic next step, a slow publishing house that aims to rewrite the narrative of environmental justice through Global Majority perspectives. We seek to make cultivating healthy relationships with local places and the global planet as accessible as possible. In contrast to historically white media, publishing, and education industries, Kavaya Press endeavors to foster solidarity, conspire with the environment, and empower individuals through art spanning poetry, prose, photography, and plays. Kavaya Press is one iteration of Kavaya’s potential, already having grown from book club to affinity space, from reading-centered to creating-centered, from including non-global majority members to transitioning their roles to allies and supporters. We reject both the pressure of perfectionism and urgency. Despite being a community of over 20 active members in just a year we welcome the boldness of our ideas alongside the gentleness of our growth as an organization. 

We recognize that conflict is a spiritual part of growth – growing pains. Kavaya has come together out of common belonging to the Global Majority and care for Mother Nature; it is also vibrant and brings together people from all years, stories, and ancestral walks. So we’ve asked: how can we co-exist with one another even when we disagree? How can we call each other in when we feel offended or hurt by another member of the community? How can we practice deep and embodied listening? Discomfort is a natural part of the world. Mother Nature herself can make you feel unfamiliar, scared, off-kilter, or spooked. Similarly, in our Gatherings as a group, through our discussions of literature, it is natural for us to experience discomfort, and some of us already have — for example, confronting relational boundaries between students, staff, and alumni, or how we choose to gather socially.

Through art, dialogue, and safe spaces we grow and rewild through oppressive spaces and intergenerational curses that are characteristics of white supremacy (e.g. right to comfort, fear of open conflict, defensiveness, individualism, paternalism, and power hoarding). Each member of the collective is empowered as a leader – to take responsibility for one another, organize gatherings, lead book discussions, host meals, and more. We iterate that as founders we are here to offer guidance not permission. However, we also recognize that leadership is labor which is why fiscal sponsorship is particularly crucial. So that we can pay Hasini Shyamsundar (recent alum, grad student, staff) for not only their countless beautiful graphics such as this one, but their time and energy in sending and replying to emails and their tea supplies. So that we can pay Ollie Henry (senior) for their yoga and movement classes, Kendall Bryant (recent alum) for their event performances, Sivagami Subbaraman’s consultation (faculty) from her 30 years of experience in higher education, Madhura Shambekar’s (sophomore) journalism, and Mélisande Short-Colomb’s (GU272 descendant, student, staff) cooking. 

In conclusion, Kavaya: The Earthseed Collective is a living testament to the transformative power of unity, resilience, and intentional action. From its roots in Georgetown University, this multi-generational community challenges the status quo, embracing a leader-full model that defies hierarchy. Through intentional language reclamation and the creation of Kavaya Press, we have set forth on a global journey to rewrite the narrative of environmental justice from Global Majority perspectives. As Kavaya continues to navigate conflicts with grace, embracing discomfort as an essential part of growth, it serves as a beacon of hope and inspiration. In a world often marked by division, Kavaya stands as a shining example of how collective empowerment, inclusive leadership, and a commitment to change can pave the way for a more harmonious and just future.

on survival and play

In May this year I played the prompt-based card game We’re Not Really Strangers with two new friends. We landed on the question “What is something about me that surprised you?” and one of them said to me “Your love for sports, especially because you don’t look athletic.” The other agreed. And I was fucking hurt. 

Since then we’ve had many debates both silly and serious about what it means to look and be athletic but it stings every time. I’m definitely fitter than both of them, why did I care so much how I looked? 

I have been an athlete since I was 4 years old, I started with dancing, tennis, and swimming, then basketball, netball, and long distance running. I competed my whole life, (including in Model United Nations and Debating at very high levels), and when I started university at 18 that all stopped. I didn’t want to compete anymore. 

During the pandemic, my brother introduced me to a personal trainer he was enjoying working with and Ashan was the most impressive educator I had met in a long time. From our first consultation and assessment he taught me countless things about my body, how it has learned to move, and how it has the potential to move – happier and healthier. Ashan’s expertise is in postural adjustment so training with him has felt like learning the alphabet to my body, the absolute fundamentals. Anatomy, kinetic chains, muscle-mind connection, breathing, stability, mobility, and strength are all part of the language. 

But the language to what? What was I learning to express? 

I’m now realizing, at 23, its the language of survival. 

Towards the end of the summer my brother got married (an endeavor demanding of your energy and liver), I got 2 tattoos, a belly button piercing, and lasik surgery. It was a lot to put my body through but my recovery impressed me. I had trained hard all summer – lifting, playing basketball, learning to box, stretching. I was strengthening my body but also my mind and heart’s understanding of what I am capable of; demonstrating over and over again to myself that I can feel better. So by survival, yes fight or flight, I am more confident in my ability to chop it up if I need to, but also recovery. I felt like a 5 ft tall battery and I was super charged. 

Since reading Parable of the Sower I’ve been trying to optimize my chances at survival in the wild. In a way, its the same thing my mother did, and women have done for aeons, consider their chances at survival aboveall. So, if there’s one thing anybody is inheriting from me it better be some fit genes. 

Hanging out with my two dogs this summer was profound. Ruby is a 1 year old labrador who wants to play all the time and Izzy is a 7 year old rescue who wants to cuddle and nap all the time. Ruby really pushed me to play the last couple months, to catch, throw and kick balls, run and hide, dodge and jump. And in doing so I got to spend quality time with her and learn so much from her. Same with any toddlers I hung out with. Play is the medium of the wise. Also, play is fucking fun. 

I knew a dude in college who constantly mentioned he was a child actor, that’s not how I’m trying to be, claiming glory from my youth sports championships but this comment about not looking athletic has been a slow healing wound for me. Some of it is from a place of vanity and a dissonance of how I see myself versus how others see me, but there’s so much more. I felt I had disappointed my coaches, they believe in me. I also felt I had failed to communicate, I may not be a competitor but I am still a contender – for survival and for play. 

And I guess that’s important to me, for you to know, as my friend, that if we’re in the mean streets or on the playground, I can throw and receive, I can land and fly, I am an athlete.