Working Against the CurrentA Conversation with Joana Martins, UMAR Madeira

People often imagine sustainability in terms of recycling, renewable energy or climate action. Joana Martins starts somewhere else. She starts with people.

As education coordinator of UMAR Madeira—the regional branch of the Portuguese organisation União de Mulheres Alternativa e Resposta, defending women's rights since 1976—her daily work rarely happens in conference rooms or political debates. It happens in classrooms, community centres and conversations with children.

Human rights, gender equality, violence prevention and anti-discrimination are the subjects she returns to again and again, believing that stronger communities are built long before they are measured by statistics.

Since joining UMAR in 2017, her work has expanded through partnerships with ARTE.M and various European projects. Yet activism was never the original plan. She first found her place through craft and the visual arts before education gradually became impossible to separate from social responsibility.

Today, those two worlds still meet. Art remains part of the conversation—not simply as creative expression, but as a way of helping people understand each other, question prejudice and imagine different futures.

When asked how her work has changed over the past few years, Joana answers immediately.

Portugal, she says, is experiencing a setback in rights. Political changes are affecting both funding and education, making it increasingly difficult to discuss subjects that once felt natural in schools.

Every year, the space for conversations around gender, discrimination and equality becomes a little narrower.

UMAR has learned to adapt.If one door closes, another approach must be found.

The message remains the same, even if the language changes.

What surprises her most is that demand has moved in exactly the opposite direction.

"I've been working a lot more in these last years, even though the surrounding issues are getting harder — there are more people wanting our work."

It is, she says, a strange contradiction: more need, but less support.

The pandemic once made Joana believe society might slow down and rethink its priorities.

Instead, she watched the opposite happen. People emerged from lockdowns eager to consume again. Pollution returned almost immediately. Old habits resumed their pace as though nothing had happened.

What could have become a collective moment of reflection disappeared surprisingly quickly. She speaks about it without anger—only disappointment.

Another crisis feels inevitable, she says.

Culture Against Misinformation

When the conversation turns to climate change, Joana doesn't begin with science.

She begins with culture. For her, misinformation has become one of the greatest obstacles to sustainability. Social media allows false narratives about climate change to spread faster than facts, making trust itself increasingly fragile.

Knowledge, she says, is everything.

And culture still has the power to reach people in ways that arguments often cannot.

Exhibitions, workshops, conversations, theatre, visual art—these are spaces where people are less defensive, more curious, more willing to question themselves.

Culture does not simply transmit information.It changes perspectives.

That belief naturally leads to another question.

If culture carries such responsibility, who should be supporting it?

Joana doesn't hesitate. In her view, cultural organisations should not spend most of their energy searching for funding simply to survive. Access to culture should be protected as a fundamental right.

"It should be a fundamental right — the right to culture, the right to access, to do things toward the cultural improvement of society."

For her, this is also sustainability .Not only protecting landscapes. Protecting the social fabric that allows communities to remain open, creative and resilient.

Doing More With Less

When people talk about sustainability, they often picture ambitious environmental programmes or carefully planned climate initiatives.

For UMAR, sustainability rarely begins with a strategy. It begins with necessity.

As public funding becomes increasingly uncertain, the organisation has learned to stretch every available resource.

Cardboard boxes become materials for children's workshops. Fabric scraps are turned into creative projects. Packaging that would otherwise become waste finds a second life through art.

Whenever possible, colleagues share cars to reduce travel costs and fuel consumption. They simply became part of everyday practice.

That same resilience shapes another part of her work.

Some decisions leave almost no time for reflection.

When a journalist calls after a case of domestic violence dominates the news, or when a woman arrives needing immediate support, there is rarely an opportunity to consult colleagues first. As UMAR's spokesperson, Joana often has to respond immediately—not as a private individual, but as the voice of the organisation.

The responsibility is constant.

"I don't have time to ask everyone, 'Do you want to talk?' No—I have to go quickly."

The public usually sees the interview.They rarely see the urgency that comes before it.

Changing Minds Is Slow Work

When asked what prevents deeper social change, Joana mentions funding almost instinctively.

But the conversation quickly moves beyond money. In her experience, society is much more willing to support emergency responses than prevention.

Helping people after violence has happened is visible.Helping prevent violence before it happens is slower, quieter and much harder to measure.

Yet prevention is exactly where UMAR invests most of its energy.

Changing attitudes.Encouraging critical thinking.Helping young people recognise discrimination before it becomes normal.Building healthier relationships before violence appears.

The results are gradual.They cannot be measured in days or even months.

Perhaps that is why prevention so often struggles to attract long-term support.

Joana then shares an idea she knows many people will find controversial.

People who are constantly struggling to survive have less space to think independently, develop their own opinions or question existing systems. They are focused on getting through the day.

It is not an easy observation. Nor does she present it as an absolute truth.

But it is a concern she has developed through years of working with vulnerable communities.

Education Under Pressure

The conversation naturally returns to schools.

This is where Joana feels the political changes most clearly.

She remembers a time when UMAR's educational programmes were supported without significant resistance. Today, uncertainty has become part of everyday work.

One of UMAR's long-running school projects is still waiting for government approval.

The organisation has been asked to narrow its educational programme and focus only on dating and domestic violence prevention.

For Joana, separating violence prevention from human right simply does not make sense.

Violence, discrimination, prejudice and inequality are interconnected.

One cannot be understood without the others.

UMAR chose not to compromise.

Instead, the organisation submitted a new proposal and continues to wait.

"There is no yes, no no," she says.

Only silence.

It is one of the rare moments when frustration becomes visible.

Not anger.Fatigue.The quiet exhaustion of continuing to do necessary work while never knowing whether the support needed to continue will arrive.

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