MSPs have organised an event in order to launch a “Declaration on Women’s Sex-Based Rights,” an unashamedly transphobic document. This declaration has been created by an international lobbyist group known as the Women’s Human Rights Campaign which believes that the rising tide of rights afforded to trans people is a threat to those of cis women…
Reflection on the Body: Metaphorically and Physically
A collaboration project with Rosalind Main and Daisy McConville on reflection and self-image both metaphorically and physically. They use mirrors and statues to create a space where they are part of a reflective exhibition…
The BBC Pay Gap is Back
Just over a year after Carrie Gracie announced she would be resigning as China Editor for the BBC due to the disparities in pay between her and her male equivalents, for which the BBC was forced to apologise, Samira Ahmed has brought a court case against the broadcaster complaining about the disparities in pay between her and her male equivalents…
We’ve all heard of Greta Thunberg, but how many indigenous activists and activists of colour can you name?
We’ve all heard of Greta Thunberg, but how many indigenous activists and activists of colour can you name? On the back of Black History Month, our Environmental Editor Meg McGrath highlights some…
BLACK ICONS IN QUEER HISTORY
Black people have always been a part of the LGBTQ+ rights movement. The struggle for queer liberation has included black people throughout its history, and unfortunately at times their voices have been quieted in favour of white activists (anyone seen the movie about Stonewall?). Luckily, it’s not too late to give thanks to these people that have helped to pave the way for acceptance of queer people, and as such, here are six queer black icons that we should be appreciating more…
What’s Going On With Brexit?
A lot of stuff went down these last couple of weeks, and every other week, in Westminster, and particularly a lot of stuff regarding our exit from the EU. You want specifics? I got them right here…
Extinction Rebellion and the need for Intersectionality
Extinction Rebellion (XR), the environmental movement which employs non-violent civil disobedience to demand action on the climate crisis, will soon be a year old. The group’s second ‘International Rebellion’ took…
Abortion decriminalised in Northern Ireland
Amongst all the carry-on in Westminster, you may have missed that in Northern Ireland this week abortion was decriminalised and same-sex marriage legalised. Admittedly, it was only because a dispute between the DUP and Sinn Fein caused the Stormont Assembly (the devolved legislature with the coolest name) to step out for a whole two years, but we’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth…
Anxiety and Activism
I have sat here for what feels like hours attempting to know how to start this piece, and this in itself sums up what I like to call ‘activism anxiety’….
How do you sleep?
How do you sleep?
Is there room for me there?
Between you and the new girl,
Lying with you,
Does she weep?
You know, even after,
I never told a lie,
I never asked you why.
“He’s honestly a good guy”.
I should have been the one to cry.
To cry rape.
To cry assault.
To cry out.
To cry tears,
to rinse away your unwelcome touch.
I don’t need much more room.
Maybe more today than I did that day, sure.
But who doesn’t grow?
Upwards. Outwards.
I stretch my body.
Pulling it apart like putty.
Moulding it with warm hands,
against its natural will.
Doesn’t that sound familiar?
I pushed it in on the days it felt too big.
Too broad.
Too unending.
I’ll ask you again.
How do you sleep?
Maybe, if you both lie on your sides,
Facing in,
Forcing me to stay in between,
We will still all fit.
We could do. We did,
But, after, you slept.
“I should have watched where I stepped.”
I still haven’t slept.
I still haven’t wept.
Sophie Nankivell
Of battles and wars
Of battles and wars
Of battles we fought inside
Like spiralling whirlpools
Never allowed to spill
Always dripping
Not parched, but never full
Unlike the wars they indulge in
Gushing forth like a tsunami
Washing over battles
For the victory of the war
Of battles that are fought
Over tears shed
For fathers, and brothers, and lovers
Of the wars that they fought
Over the honour
Of what lies between our legs
Of battles fought quietly, demurely
As is expected of our fights
The carnage, our dreams
The spoils, their might
Unlike their wars
Unlike the havoc they wreak
Claiming the laws of the universe
Of the battles we endure
Of all that we ration
As the wars they fight
Steer out of their bastions
The wars they wage
While we salvage
Of all the battles provoked
The ones we did not want to fight
Of the wars we were dragged to
A display of their spite
Of the battles they fought
But claimed were wars
Of our war
The one waged everyday
Against the world
Against us
Against war in itself
Saira Banu
Growing
Growing
When I was four years old
My hair was in pigtails
The pin straight parting line, an indicator
Of the righteous path
I was meant to follow
All the way down
To my eyes stained with kohl
To ward off darkness
Underlining my eyes
Underplaying my achievements
To the crook of my nose
That was religiously massaged
By well-meaning keepers of my sexuality
Who sniffed out solitude
From the arch of my nose
My earlobes pierced
Before I could say the word gender
Branding not just my femininity
But my place in society
Weighed down by its expectations
But still enduring
The fuzz above my lips
Smeared with concoctions
To rid itself of sins
That would mar the image
Of a perfect woman
My lips aching
For lipstick to stain them
The foray into womanhood
Only completed by this rite of passage
But not too dark
Dark means evil
But doesn’t dark ward off evil too?
Saira Banu
Victims
Victims
You made me shatter / and I was in pieces / mirror shards / your shitty protestations staring / back at you from the floor / where you couldn’t help but throw me / like I was nothing / but a plaything to twist / into a victim
So sometimes I take myself back / and pretend like I’m who I was / before I opened my arms to you / but the truth is I’ll never have the / bright eyes you pierced between your fingernails / without care / because you said they were so pretty
But explosions don’t come without aftermath / and the proof will always be where / you left it / because you have never been more wrong / than when you thought you would escape / in your nonchalance
I like to think / I know your guilt
I know the darkest parts of you / and I know my memory still lives / somewhere you don’t want to address / so you’ll act like it’s fine / that I disappeared because you / couldn’t stop blaming me
You will cover your wounds / with plasters too small / and you will tell yourself / you were right all along
Pretence does not prove anything / and that is a promise because / I am not a saint / and I have screwed things up too / but I have changed and I / would let myself collapse / before papering over the cracks / with lies that will only fracture
Let me tell you / you will not stay sane / as long as you cannot grow
I do not search for a sorry / and I do not plead for you / on your knees / but I ask you / learn / do not look to be a hero / before you have been a victim / to your own mistakes
Katie Proctor
Dear Past Me, it is not your job to change his mind
Dear Past Me, You don’t need to change his mind. You don’t need to change the mind of any oppressive man. You do not need to convince him your experience…
Dear Present Me, it is important to notice how gendered the world is…
I have decided to try not to take gender lenses off, but leave them in place, and, rather than trying to eliminate the gender discriminations and differences that appeared, understand them and point them out for other people to realize they are there…
Inked
inked
I trace the draft of
the story you planned to write-
in pencil-
but you wanted it in pen.
maybe I did too.
but I knew life could be brighter
if only you wait.
so waiting is what I did,
afraid you might let go-
if I were too fast or slow-
but no- together,
we took the ink
and brushed the page
with a feathered quill,
and together,
we wrote our story
in permanent ink,
the cursive letters
joining words, alike
to the way our hands
connect. eternally.
with the quill, we
write our story into
motion, and the ink
flows free, creating something
beautiful, even in
the stains left
as the ink blots,
as the heart’s passions explode.
art. the smudged
blends into the paper,
the other threads of the tale
to create our own
kind of beautiful.
Lauren Curr
To steady the pendulum
To steady the pendulum
swinging in the dark,
left to right,
I cannot see my own direction.
disillusioned-
unsure of what’s reality,
unsure of me.
dysphoric,
but of what?
who knows,
who needs to know.
maybe, of me, you see,
of me and who I’ll be.
and one day
I’ll know
that I was just for show
and I can be,
truthfully,
the one my heart does know.
Lauren Curr
Anna Cowan, Girls Against
I first met Anna at a training day for Sexpression, a club which trains volunteers to teach sexual education to teenagers at local secondary schools. When I introduced myself to…