There are 12,000 species but they are all in one family.
Alone, they are measly things. But together, they move
more earth than any other organism on this planet.
They do not refuse aid. If an ant is hungry and there is no
food, another ant will regurgitate to feed it.
This is not out of sympathy, nor is it a donation. It is action
rooted in the understanding that they are strongest when they
build, survive, and resist together.
The theme of this issue is resistance.
How do we resist? How can resistance
inspire us? How can resistance heal us?
How do we turn day to day resistance
into a movement?
In this movement, we talk a
lot about narrative. Here, we
place ourselves within that
narrative. In some ways, a
movement is just a group of
humans telling a new story.
Here are some of ours.
Contributors: Carolina Arias,
Garrett Blad, Abby Cunniff,
Morgan Curtis, Alexandra
Griffin, Trisha Hautea, Yin
Htin, Maya McDonnell,
Cover art by Sam Ho and
Catherine Walsh. Words by
Web coding and layout by Ben Wiley.
Tell me what los gringos said
at the sight of your hair tangled
with the stories of many years,
when they saw the soil
of our ancestors painted on your nails
and the color of your kitchen
kissing your lips.
What did they think
when the herbs of your medicine
invited Pacha Mama's spirits
to dine with us?
What did they hear
when you opened your mouth
and offered a sea of
a thousand sighing fish?
You are a savage in their eyes,
you touched fear in every cell
and buttered doubt on their skin.
That is why you are caged.
Poor ignorant gringos,
they don't know.
Your power is stronger than bars.
Cuéntame lo que te dijeron los gringos
al ver tu cabello enredado
con las historias de mil años,
cuando vieron la tierra de nuestros
ancestros pintando tus uñas
y los colores de tu cocina
besando tus labios.
¿Qué pensaron cuando
las hierbas de tu medicina
invitaron los espíritus
de la Pacha Mama
a cenar con nosotros?
¿Qué escucharon cuando
abriste tu boca
y se ofreció un mar
de mil peces suspirando?
Te vieron salvaje,
les tocaste terror en cada célula
y les untaste inseguridad
en la piel.
Por eso te enjualaron.
Pobres gringos ignorantes.
No entienden que tu poder
es más fuerte que las barras.
Resistance tastes like dark chocolate,
bitter, strong, but sweetened
with the hope of a just victory.
Resistance is the forest's song,
millions of furiously joyous voices
building a rhythm for the future.
Resistance is a scratch on soft skin,
sharp nail against a white body
dependent on the shade.
Resistance is freedom.
La Resistencia sabe a chocolate oscuro,
amargo, fuerte, pero azucarado
con la espenranza de una victoria justa.
La Resistencia es el canto de un bosque,
mil voces furiosamente alegres,
creando ritmo para el futuro.
La Resistencia es un raguño en piel suave,
uña fuerte contra un cuerpo blanco
acostumbrado a la sombra.
Resistencia es libertad.
Ella's Song by Sweet Honey in the Rock
written by Luke Nephew (Peace Poets) for Flood Wall Street
Umi Selah (Dream Defenders)
King Kunta by Kendrick Lamar
The white boy told me that he should be in front. He told me, "Well we're trying to serve as barriers from the police! We [white allies] should be in the front!
We're protecting people. We need to be in the front!"
I asked him if he didn't realize how problematic that statement was coming from him.
And if he couldn't see his white savior complex perspective. [He wasn't asked to stand in front]
I'm here to save you because you're so helpless. You need me.
The martyr mentality is so prevalent in activist spheres.
There's a way to be an ally without taking the voice away from those who were (and are) actually aggrieved.
Pushing buttons makes one cede their privilege, which is what the so-called "white allies" didn't want.
Classic "have your cake and eat it too" syndrome.
They were afraid of what others would think if they spoke up, so who cares if we push buttons?
Isn't that the point? It's so easy to feel good about yourself and say you're participating yet being able to hide it when it's convenient: being able to say you want to talk about issues and backing away when it comes to truly confronting it.
The issue of race and white privilege may make you upset.
You can show up to protests, or be part of the same type of collective that attempts to talk about the very issue of race.
It won't affect you because the problem isn't in front of you.
You didn't witness or experience violence.
You weren't dehumanized.
You don't have a child who was left to bleed or (unjustly) shot multiple times
Simply because of the color of the skin he was born in.
Your body will never be criminalized.
You haven't seen people you love lose their lives
From unnecessary violence and animosity.
That's not to say that some of us haven't either...but this is an issue that needs to be spoken about because everyone deserves the right to life, equality, and justice.
We need to talk about those who have been forgotten and disregarded as human beings
Who have lost their lives to corruption, hatred, and racism.
We cannot allow it to happen any longer.
We shouldn't be afraid to speak and raise the volume around campuses
About the issues that exist. We cannot be afraid because someone will get their feelings hurt.
You shouldn't give yourself brownie points for being a decent person.
It goes beyond "being aware" of one's privilege. It's about listening. It's about understanding.
Learning to be a proper "ally," standing behind, raising the voices of black people of color, and not allowing your voice to drown out those who need to be heard.
"All lives matter" = "White lives matter"
Society knows this.
We don't need to be reminded.
By Trisha Hautea
Academic direction, a test in surrender
imprints itself on my gender.
Crimson check marks inducing fixed scars,
the elasticity of hegemony keeps resistance in bars.
It seeps in through the cracks of curriculum,
A study in uniformity, capitalism blows mind loopholes on a replay continuum.
We will grow through the breaks,
Opening our souls to buried histories at stake.
implanted in the namelessness of silence, we will unearth violations of being.
We will speak our truths and feel our thoughts freeing.
Our hearts beating,
to the tick tock of a curative repeating.