"Our greatest quality, in the resistance,” she said, gently, to me on the front porch of her garden cottage in Kensington, having our morning coffee and smoke, “is our boundless capacity to imagine another world, in spite of how much patriarchal power works to grind us down.” My best friend and I had been up all night, plotting how we would incite the re-imagination of Pride, in Johannesburg, spurned by the collapse of the first and oldest Pride in Africa. She had roped me into my well-designated role as support-staff ahead of a meeting that would launch the Johannesburg People’s Pride movement: JPP.
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