In this Q&A, we speak with Rokhaya Diallo, described by The New York Times as “one of France’s most prominent anti-racism activists.” She is a French journalist, author, filmmaker, and activist whose work powerfully addresses racial, gender, and religious justice.

In November 2024, Unearthodox hosted a Regenerative Futures Retreat, an inspiring gathering of 40 thinkers and doers united by one shared goal: reimagining futures where all forms of life flourish together. Rhokaya was one of these thinkers and doers. Here is our conversation:

You recently participated in the Regenerative Futures retreat and wrote a deeply reflective article about it. What drew you to this gathering, and what were your first impressions when you arrived?

I was interested in many aspects of the gathering, because there's no doubt in my mind that the colonial and enslaving mindset, the one that led some humans to exploit others for profit, is the same mindset driving powerful entities and corporations to continue extracting fossil fuels for energy.

So, for me, with my interest in social justice and through my work, I wanted to be part of a group that was trying to challenge that mindset. That was the main motivation.

When I arrived at night, I was surprised by the setting - the place itself. It was an old castle in Italy. And actually, I even got lost trying to find my room! The atmosphere felt very mystical, almost disorienting.

There was something energetically charged in the air. Not in a negative way, but I definitely sensed something. 

Even though I had received a list of the people who would be attending, I wasn’t sure where everyone stood on the topic, or what kinds of exercises we’d be doing together.

And even for myself,  I’m not an expert in this field. So I questioned whether I really belonged in that space.

Much of the conversation often starts with ecosystems, land or climate, but regeneration also invites us to reflect on our personal connection to the natural world. How would you describe your own relationship with nature, and has it evolved over time, especially through your work in social justice and storytelling?

I’m not really a fan of the idea that nature is on one side and human beings are on the other. That kind of division feels artificial. It’s something deeply rooted in a certain Western mindset. For instance, I’m French, and I come from a culture that tends to value reason over feelings. But I see myself and all humans as part of nature. My relationship with nature is mostly about accepting that I’m just one element amongst many.

Being human doesn’t make me more valuable than other parts of the natural world. When I think about what’s living and what has life, I connect that to social justice. We often overvalue reason and, as a result, certain lives — male lives, white lives, human lives — are seen as more important than others. That mindset has led to the marginalisation of many life forms.

So, my understanding of being part of the world is about inclusion, not just of humans, but of all life. Even though I’ve always lived in urban areas, I don’t feel disconnected from nature. I’m not surrounded by buildings in a way that cuts me off from the natural world.

Through many conversations, I’ve come to understand that regeneration is something rooted within us. It’s not something external that we need to acquire. It comes from knowledge and experiences that have often been erased — especially those belonging to Indigenous peoples, whose wisdom and identities have been suppressed by colonialism.

To me, regeneration means reconnecting with what’s already inside us. It’s about reclaiming common knowledge that has been silenced or diminished over time.

What would a regenerative future, rooted in equity and justice, look like to you in practical terms? / What does truly regenerative innovation/practice look like to you, and how can it challenge dominant narratives and extractive approaches?

I think there are so many things we take for granted that could and should be challenged. For example, I was part of a group that proposed we rethink the structures that shape nation-states. We explored the idea of moving beyond those artificial boundaries towards bioregionalism, organising space around natural elements like rivers and mountains.

The way we currently think about nation-states and national interests actually reinforces extractivism. It’s at the core of how the world is shaped today.

So, governing differently based on natural landscapes rather than political borders would also help us see ourselves differently.

In that future, nature wouldn’t be ruled over — it would be something we live alongside, something we coexist with.

We’ve long had this idea that we can control everything, shape everything to serve us, and place everything at our disposal. But that mindset doesn’t work. It’s not only ineffective, it’s deeply toxic.

Before you came to the retreat, did you feel the way the term “regenerative” was used here differed from how you understood or used it before?  Was there a shift in your understanding—or was it more of an affirmation?

There was definitely a shift in my understanding of the word. But to be honest, I can’t say I really used it before. I still don’t use it that much now — but the idea behind it is much clearer to me.

To answer your question more directly, I’ve always cared about including those kinds of reflections in my writing. I’d say I’ve become more intentional in the way I frame the issues I cover. Yes.

Photo Credit: Diego Diaz Morales

Was there a specific moment or conversation during the retreat that shifted your perspective or sparked something new in you?

I wouldn’t point to a single moment, but rather the collection of individual connections.

Working in small groups allowed me to observe and engage in different ways. Even informal moments like meals or conversations in the restaurant helped me understand why we were there and who was around the table.

Was there anything that struck you about the group of people gathered?

 Oh yes, absolutely.

There were so many women, which reminded me of the role women often take on: caring for everything, even the future of the world. I found myself thinking, “Maybe more men should be involved and take on their share of responsibility.”

I was also pleasantly surprised to see such a strong representation from the Global South. I hadn’t known what to expect in that regard, but it was a relief. I’m used to these kinds of reflections being led by people from the Global North, without fully considering the perspectives of those who live outside the Western world.

What are some of the most difficult questions or tensions you wrestled with during the retreat—and how are you continuing to hold or explore them?

Hmm… I think one of the hardest questions for me is this:

We’re all well-intentioned people, genuinely concerned about the future of the world. But how can we truly have an impact?

That’s the question I keep coming back to. It’s great to be thoughtful and intentional, but will real change come from a group of people gathered in a castle in northern Italy? I’m not sure.

Everyone was sincere, without a doubt. But at the end of the day, so much of what happens in the world depends on those in power—people who, frankly, may not care at all about what we were doing there.

That’s the conflict I’m grappling with. We absolutely need to be informed, challenged, and motivated. But at the same time, there are so many high-stakes issues that feel far beyond our influence.

If you could offer one piece of advice to someone ready to walk a regenerative path—but unsure where to begin - what would it be?

I think it would be to repair the chain of transmission that has been broken—broken by colonialism and by enslavement.

There is so much knowledge that has been lost or erased. Reconnecting with that knowledge would be a powerful first step.

I believe many of the answers we seek already exist in Indigenous knowledge systems.

For instance, I think about something that happened just a few weeks after our retreat. There was a devastating cyclone on Mayotte, a French island in the Indian Ocean.

I spoke with Gaël Musquet, a an expert in creating software to do with the anticipation, forecasting and prevention of natural disasters, who told me that before Mayotte became a French department, the local people had traditional ways of preparing for and responding to such cyclones. But that knowledge has been lost over time.

Now, the island is not only more vulnerable because of colonial neglect — it’s also lost access to the knowledge that once protected it.

To me, regeneration means returning to that path — recognising how much our ancestors knew about living in harmony with the rest of the natural world.

And not just reconnecting — but centring those knowledge systems. It’s not enough to simply revisit them; these communities should be leading the reflections. They should be at the heart of decision-making.

And what would your advice be to someone from the Western world, coming into this work — how can they embrace regeneration from your perspective?

To be humble. To decenter themselves.

That’s the most important thing — to approach this work with humility.

And I include myself in that, as part of the global minority, even if my ancestors come from the global majority.

We all need to decenter ourselves from what we think is right, from what we assume is important. That’s the starting point.

The content of this piece represents the author’s own views and does not necessarily represent the views of Unearthodox or of any of its collaborating institutions.