Ironically, it is in this very bleak landscape that I have found a trace of hope. This feeling is rooted in a reverence for postapocalyptic beings, especially those ripped from ancestral homelands: Who am I to despair when my ancestors and the ancestors of my loved ones fought so hard to survive? Who am I to resign myself to some abstracted “end of times,” when people have been struggling against colonialism and genocide for hundreds of years?
