Taking the floor: Coming to terms with the idea of promoting my work

At the end of September, I had the opportunity to participate in the first Semana de Software Live no Brasil, organized by Movimento Software Livre. Alongside Antonio Coelho, I mediated a discussion about the past, present and future of the software freedom movement in Brazil during a Movimento Software Livre no Brasil meeting — I was invited to facilitate that activity after I'd submitted a proposal for a session to build bridges between generations of activists, contributors, and leaders of the free software movement in Brazil.

I learned about that conference on the fediverse through a post of someone involved with CGI.br; that, alongside the Brazilian Supreme Federal Court decision to ban X in the country, reignited my interest of following the developments of the software freedom movement of Brazil. Some of the reasons why I submitted that proposal were, admittedly, somewhat self-serving — I had very little idea of where the Brazilian software freedom movement currently stands, how it became so fractured, and what prospects it has. I was welcomed by activists of various ages and locations who talked about their stories, worldviews, strategies and tactics, and hopes for the future, and I related to a lot of what was said during our session:

1. The frustration with our public administration and the ever-growing dominance of Alphabet and Microsoft IT solutions in the public sphere;
2. The disconnect between the software freedom movement and the reality of the majority of the Brazilian population;
3. The need and the desire for direct action. The feeling that there's a vacuum in leadership, and that needs to be filled right now.

Points 2 and 3 feel particularly poignant to me at this point in time; I've had several conversations with software freedom activists over the last two months that revolved around the realization that we've been waiting for leaders that will never come — or rather, that it's our time to lead the way, that we are the leaders we’ve been waiting for. That's the sentiment that made me write Make room, and one of the reasons why, 6 years later, I still find it so important to keep investing my time and my energy in Outreachy. I talked about the importance of being a bridge between older and newer generations; sharing what you know, and being open to learn from what they know too. Freeing yourself from ideas of what you think is the "right way to do things", listening to what they have to say, and investing your time in them the same way someone once invested their time in you.

I confess that I kept thinking about how strange it felt to be there with other Brazilian activists; I knew a lot of them by name and/or fame, but I had the feeling very few knew who I was. I don't say that to self-attribute some sort of importance I don't have (like "oh, they didn't know me, but they should"), but as a statement of another realization I had: I, more often than not, shy away from talking about the work I do. I take note of and celebrate other people's work, but I very rarely (and honestly) treat my own work as something worth highlighting.

On that same note, I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about the way Outreachy promotes itself in public: how we speak about our program; what we convey to partners, sponsors, grant makers. We've talked about our history, and here and there about some of the more operational aspects of our program, but we've rarely brought to light some of our most profoundly philosophical motivators and guiding principles, and their direct impact on the success of the program. We've connected those dots in private, but we've never done it so publicly.

I envision our program not as something merely built upon an internship framework established by Google Summer of Code, but as an incubator of technologists, activists, contributors, and leaders — especially those born and living in the Global South (who make up the majority of our applicants, interns, and organizers at this point in time). As a place where an older generation meets a newer one; a place to share our stories and our history, and to create and transform them too. But, again, how good of a vision is that if no one has ever heard about it? What's the use of that vision (as in a vision statement in a strategic plan) if it isn't properly, explicitly stated and then used as a guide, as a source of inspiration?

I wrote Embrace openness to inspire our community to amplify their own voices and write their own stories; I've been working on a talk titled "Anatomy of an open internship program: How we run Outreachy" to do the same for us, organizers. As I get older, I realize that shyness comes from the fact that I spent most of my life stuck in a mentality heavily influenced by a false idea of meritocracy (passed to me by my parents): "If I work hard enough, and if my work is good enough, someone will notice it, recognize it, and reward me for it." That premise is false not only because the very idea of meritocracy is false, but also for the illusion that what's inherently good will manage to be magically noticed within the hellscape of informational chaos that is our life today. The introvert in me was confronted with an uncomfortable truth: we have to scream it. We have to have enough confidence in what we do to articulate it to whoever will hear it, and even to those who won't. We have to be present and seen; that's feels like what makes it something virtual so real.

Obtaining and developing that form of self-confidence (and using it) feels like walking a tightrope between arrogance and assertion; we can call it post-imposter syndrome, a state where you know you're worth something, but you still struggle to assess how much you're worth. It doesn't help that a lot of that value is only truly realized in retrospect; it was the recent ban of X in Brazil that made me understand that fully translating Mastodon into Brazilian Portuguese (and helping facilitate the coordination of a Brazilian community on the fediverse thereafter) is my most influential volunteer contribution to free and open source software to date^[1]. In a very personal way, that's why the erasure of the work and the presence of several Brazilians pre and post-Mastodon on the fediverse in the contemporary narratives built around "alternatives to X" stung. You weren't even there, dude! Give people credit for their work.

That's feels like quite a statement given that my first ever talk at an international conference was about social memory and ephemerality. It then hit me that I wasn't even mentioned in the anglophone Wikipedia article about Outreachy despite being an organizer for 6 years; I've worked (and still work) with several notable people, but I was never considered notable enough to be a part of written Wikipedia history myself^[2]. Don't get me wrong, I understand that I'm still very young — I have under 10 years of experience under my belt —, but I've overseen around 50% of the internships we've offered to date. Doesn't it feel wrong to not mention me?

It does, but everyone's busy, everyone and everything is disputing everyone's attention. And I hate to say it, but as much as I'd like to materialize a fairy godmother that sees me for what I'm worth and offers me all the opportunities I want and I need, I know I will only be remembered if I don't let myself be forgotten^[3].