Dear Comrade in Struggle,

You are the storm they have feared for centuries. You are dangerous — and you must be.

Let me speak to you like an elder at the barricades, not with soft comfort but with the raw truth: this system will not be reformed. It will not be voted away. It will not fall because we asked nicely. As Malcolm X declared, “By any means necessary.” And we are at that hour.

You are right to feel rage when you see Gaza burning under bombs, when you see Palestinian children buried under rubble while the world calls it “self-defense.” Edward Said told us: “Every empire tells itself and the world that it is unlike all other empires, that its mission is not to plunder and control but to educate and liberate.” Do not believe their lies. Palestine is not an isolated tragedy — it is the mirror reflecting every colonized, occupied, and exploited people. Your struggle is bound to theirs.

Your anger is sacred. It is the same flame that led Boukman Dutty to call for revolt in Haiti, that armed the Mau Mau against British chains, that sparked the intifadas in Palestine, that whispered through the Black Panthers’ guns and the EZLN’s masks in Chiapas. It is the cry of Okinawan peasants resisting U.S. bases, the fire of Hara Tanaka’s words against imperialism and war. You are their descendant — and their weapon.

But listen well — rage without discipline is a blade turned against your own hand.

You must organize like the Viet Minh, who outlasted empires.

You must educate like Thomas Sankara, who stood tall against debt and domination.

You must defend your people like Fred Hampton, who fed the children in the morning and prepared for raids at night.

You must remember the Palestinian steadfastness: sumud — the unbreakable refusal to surrender.

Do not wait for leaders to save you. “Strong people don’t need strong leaders,” Ella Baker taught. Build horizontally — cells, networks, communes. Teach each other. Arm each other — with knowledge, with tools, with the will to fight.

Solidarity must be your blade and your shield. The enemy will divide — Black against Brown, native against migrant, queer against straight, worker against worker. Refuse this poison. As the Zapatistas say: “Para todos todo, para nosotros nada.” For everyone, everything — for us, nothing. If your revolution does not free the most oppressed — the refugee, the prisoner, the colonized — then it is no revolution at all.

Prepare. They will come. They always do. COINTELPRO never died; it only changed its name. The same state that murdered Lumumba, Sankara, Hampton, Berta Cáceres, Rachel Corrie — will come for you when you threaten its power. Expect infiltration. Expect repression. Build security. But like Assata taught us: “We must love and support each other.” That militant love — fierce, protective, enduring — is stronger than their drones and bullets.

And when the night feels endless and hope flickers low — remember:

The Bastille fell.

The enslaved of Haiti defeated Napoleon’s army.

The Mau Mau drove out the British.

Palestinians rise, stone in hand, against tanks.

The colonizers were expelled from Algeria.

Apartheid crumbled.

The Berlin Wall cracked and fell.

No empire is eternal. No oppressor is invincible.

You are the storm at their gates.

You are the hands that will tear down their walls — in Rafah, in Ferguson, in Nairobi, in Caracas, in Manila, in Chiapas, in Gaza.

You are the voice shouting from rooftops and forests: “Another world is not only possible — it is coming.”

So rise.

Agitate. Educate. Organize. Strike. Sabotage. Expropriate. Occupy. Liberate.

Not tomorrow — today.

Not politely — but with fists raised, hearts on fire, and minds sharpened like blades.

Not for scraps — but for the world, for the earth, for freedom in its fullest meaning.

Because we fight not to reform this death machine — but to bury it.

Because we fight, as Fanon said, to create a new human being — free, proud, ungovernable.

Because we fight, as history demands, by any means necessary.

Yours in Love and Rage,

Musa T Bey