Finding joy on the frontlines to fuel the resistance

By Ena Taguiam, an advocate for finding joy in social impact work

It is from this passion that we must also dig deep and find joy in what we do because—as history would remind us—resistance doesn’t survive on outrage alone.

In today’s political climate, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to imagine a world where justice and equity are at all possible. Speaking as  a human being working in the development sector and navigating the everyday in what seems to be a bookmarked event for future historians, sometimes joy (and in turn, hope) feels more like a luxury—a luxury not all of us can afford. 

I imagine this is true for many others who have been othered and who have witnessed communities being discriminated against, abused, hurt, and maligned simply for existing. 

Perhaps unwittingly, we have conditioned ourselves to believe that the only appropriate response to systemic injustice is a state of perpetual, exhausting outrage. Afterall, we have the right to be angry because we and the people we serve deserve better.

It is from this passion that we must also dig deep and find joy in what we do because—as history would remind us—resistance doesn’t survive on outrage alone. 

Resistance survives—or rather, thrives—on joy. 

Joy as resistance is not a new concept. 

Poet Toi Derricotte wrote about it in her poem, The Telly Cycle: “Joy is an act of resistance.” This simple line, rooted in Black resistance, subverts the victimhood narrative and instead reclaims joy as an act of resistance. Elaine Nicholes describes Black joy in her article for the National Museum of African-American History and Culture, Black Joy: Resistance, Resilience and Reclamation: “Black Joy is and has been an effective tool that has allowed individuals and groups to shift the impact of negative narratives and events in their favor.” This highlights joy as an important strategy, an effective tool in survival and in thinking about the future.

This line echoes in the rallying cry of queer communities as well. Pride Month started as a call for basic human rights and respect, but it grew because the LGBTQ+ community refused to hide joy, transforming a riot into a vibrant celebration of queer existence. Moreso, it has lived as a practice of minoritized communities in reclaiming dignity and imagining futures beyond marginalisation. 

Joy is more than an emotive action—to have joy is not to deny ourselves the justice we deserve. Rather, it is a strategy, an infrastructure that ensures the longevity of the development sector.

What Joy Looks Like in Fieldwork 

But what does this look like in practice? 

This year was the first time I realized the practice of joy as resistance already exists in the work that we do! There are so many examples of it if one simply takes the time to look around. 

I see it in how the sexual health sector reclaims community and celebrates shared stories to combat isolation. 

The doom and gloom that used to envelope stories of people living with HIV are now being actively rewritten as joyful stories of how love and friendship have helped them manage their condition. The once fear-stricken narratives around sexual health initiatives are now being replaced for holistic purviews of multi-dimensional lives. While these stories do not erase the reality of diagnosis or systemic barriers, they allow us to look at a diagnosis not as the end of joy and belonging, but perhaps as the beginning of a map that allows us to capture a fuller picture of how health systems should work.

I see so much care and bliss coming from community outreach workers when they set up vibrant pop-up stalls in community centres. I met individuals who designed a clitoris keyring, so there’s diversity in the freebies we give on outreach (most of the freebies have traditionally been sperm keyrings). 

I see joy in how peer support networks are facilitated with such warmth to cater a welcoming space for conversations that, until now, usually happen only in hushed tones. 

There is a specific kind of beauty in how peer networks create spaces where people living with HIV can share triumph, humor, and collective care alongside their health journeys. This way the narrative shifts from mere survival to thriving, as a direct counter-strategy to stigma. 

In these settings, joy is not an afterthought. It functions more as the very mechanism through which trust, safety, and health equity are built. 

It is easy to get stuck in the doomsday narrative of the current health landscape. However, isolation brought on by stigma remains one of the largest drivers of health inequity. When a health initiative leads with warmth, shared stories, and genuine connection rather than clinical detachment or deficit-focused narratives, it quietly dismantles the very stigma that has burdened minoritized communities for generations. 

Replacing Deficit Narratives with Shared Humanity 

Grassroots work is frequently celebrated for what it achieves with communities, but far less attention is paid to how those relationships are built. Real trust rests on authentic human connection, which can sometimes be as simple as talking about a dish you grew up eating and finding instant connection in the spices your mothers used. It is about identifying that shared thread to tie a collective cause together.

This ethos extends directly into development research, where joy manifests in methodologies that look beyond deficit models and toward a complete reimagining of the sector. By embedding creative, participatory frameworks, data collection ceases to feel like an extractive exercise. Instead, it becomes a collaborative space where communities co-design solutions to systemic challenges. More importantly, when we use such frameworks, we recognize that, more often than not, the answers already exist within the community itself.

Contrary to what some might believe, making space for joy on the frontlines does not ignore the gravity of systemic issues we fight. Nor does it replace the necessary anger we need to sustain the movement. 

We do have the right to outrage given how things are going right now. But perhaps, rooting our work in joy can be an active resistance to what is happening, and an acknowledgement that our lives, our communities, and our movements deserve to be defined by more than just our suffering.