Things are very bad in the world right now – there’s no other way to put it. Even calling the death, violence and injustice of recent years ‘bad’ feels sad and lacking, a true understatement of the crisis we’re living through. At the time of writing, Israel has killed 65,283 people since October 7, 2023, including at least 19,424 children, and injured or disabled at least 166,575 more. I have written different variations of this sentence on this site since that date, watching the numbers rise beyond comprehension. Even as Israel subjects Gazans to what UN officials describe as “forced starvation,” the UK government has “not concluded” that Israel is committing genocide.

Meanwhile, in the UK, anti-immigrant sentiment is surging. Over 110,000 people attended Tommy Robinson’s far-right Unite the Kingdom protest in London earlier this month, while protests outside asylum hotels continue. In the US, the murder of right-wing activist Charlie Kirk has become a pretext for Republican opportunism and the demonisation of transgender people (the FBI is reportedly preparing to classify transgender people as “nihilistic violent extremists”). This comes alongside the Trump administration’s removal of slavery exhibits from national parks, cuts to Planned Parenthood, ongoing ICE abductions of civilians, and much more.

In this context – and all the other horrifying ones I haven’t mentioned – it’s hard to feel any hope about the world we live in. So much of what we are taught as children has turned out to be untrue: that good defeats evil, that human life is valued, that truth will prevail against all odds. In her New Yorker essay ‘My Brain Finally Broke’, Jia Tolentino describes how the ongoing horrors manifest in her body: “a chill sets in at some point, then a grimness, then a detachment.” It captures how many of us feel as we scroll through our phones like zombies, watching children die from systematic starvation, while right-wing pundits dox and push for the firing of anyone unwilling to turn Kirk into a martyr. 

As the world descends further into chaos, we are left each day with the chilling realisation that, against all odds, we are still here, and may remain on this earth for a long time. So how do we endure this? Where do we find the strength to keep going? And what, if anything, keeps us hopeful?

For 18-year-old Ella, hope comes from just one figure: Zohran Mamdani, the Democratic nominee for mayor of New York City. “I can’t think of anything else,” she tells Dazed. The 33-year-old democratic socialist beat Andrew Cuomo and eight other candidates to secure the nomination this past June. His viral campaign wasn’t built on gimmicks but on clear, direct messaging about improving the material conditions of New Yorkers. Before the election, he told our US editor, Laura Pitcher, about his plans to make the city affordable: “From the very first day of this campaign, I said we would fight to make New York a city New Yorkers could afford. We would do this by freezing rents for more than two million tenants, making the slowest buses in the nation fast and free, and delivering universal childcare to every New York family.”

His bluntness about Israel’s ongoing genocide in Gaza has also inspired confidence among young people who have watched politicians justify the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians. “When I’ve spoken up for Palestinian human rights, I’ve done so out of a belief that if you do not extend that universality to the people most in need of it, then you tear apart the very essence of what it means to believe in one thing for all,” he says. “I’ve received phone calls, voicemails, emails and even death threats, but it is nothing compared to the cost of silence.” That said, his stance on Palestine is not perfect, and serves as a reminder that while politicians can inspire hope, they are not our friends or individuals you ‘stan’. They are representatives who must be scrutinised and held accountable by their base when they stray from their promises.

For 27-year-old Marian, hope comes from reading revolutionary texts, watching films and working with young people. Sorrell, also 27, shares this sentiment, finding joy in “talking to young children about how they see the world, the possibilities of exploring new planets within this lifetime… beautiful natural spots being preserved with love, and so much more.” For 26-year-old Pictoria, it’s the small acts of kindness and community that make daily chaos bearable, though they admit that their hope is mostly derived from “pure delusion.” When pressed on this, Pictoria explains that “hope feels delusional because despair feels like the ‘truth’ to me. I know it’s partly because of my own disposition and depression, but the ongoing genocide abroad and declining quality of life in the states are contributing factors.” 

‘Delusion’ has become a popular word amongst Gen-Z and millennials over the last few years, with the phrase ‘delulu is the solulu’ gaining prominence on TikTok, and invading our everyday language. The phrase, as the Guardian’s Alaina Demopoulos explains, is all about gaslighting yourself into being confident about your situation, in order to feel hopeful about it. “There’s so much evidence we are powerless against the larger machinery of violence and greed, that public opinion doesn’t change what the government will do, and it feels so bleak,” Pictoria tells Dazed. “Feeling hope is like imagining a world that doesn’t exist. I think it’s why affirmations and memes are so popular right now, because you’re trying to convince yourself to believe something you don’t.”  

Their words echo James Baldwin, who said in a 1978 conversation with German essayist Fritz J. Raddatz: “I live in hope despite knowing better.” It’s clear that Pictoria, and many others who think this way, are delusional, not by choice, but out of necessity. When the world feels unbearably bleak, the only way to endure it is to imagine that things are better than they are, or that they will get better – even if you don’t truly believe it.

There is so much to feel sad and depressed about – but it is important to remember that those in power want us to feel hopeless and destitute. They want us to give up, as they continue to beat us down. But as corny as it sounds, every time they try to beat us down, we need to get up. A powerful example of this resilience is the Freedom Flotilla Coalition. Since 2010, the activist group has attempted to break Israel’s illegal blockade of Gaza. Each attempt has been intercepted, raided or attacked by Israeli forces, with activists detained by the IOF and allegedly assaulted while in detention, but this has not stopped them from continuing on their mission. On September 24, a new wave of civilian ships is sailing from Catania to Gaza, to deliver desperately needed food and medicine to Palestinians. As Baldwin passionately professed in a 1970 interview: “Love has never been a popular movement, and no one’s ever wanted really to be free. But the world is held together, really it is, held together, by the love and passion of a very few people.” While I mostly agree with Baldwin, I’d argue that the world is held together by the love and passion of more people than we realise – or at least, I hope so.