Rice Water - an AARW zine

AN ZINE

Rice Water is a collection of pieces created by individuals of the Asian & Pacific Islander diaspora and organized by the Environmental Justice working group of the Asian American Resource Workshop (AARW), a PanAsian group of progressive organizers in the Boston area.

This zine explores the implications of climate change and environmental damage on our diaspora's identity and well-being. From childhood memories to the present time, the pieces within acknowledge our changing reality and the emotional and physical impact that our environmental surroundings have on us.

Published Fall 2021

Organized and edited by the Asian American Resource Workshop's Environmental Justice Working Group

(Left to Right: Shiliu W, Maria J, Amanda S, Osamu K, Cyatharine A, Alyssa L Not pictured: Liz W, Lily F)

Though a worldwide phenomenon, the human consequences of environmental impact and climate change are not evenly distributed across borders, class, race, gender identity, sexual orientation or species. This collection of art and stories of the Asian and Pacific islander diaspora does not embody the entirety of climate impacts on people of the global majority, but spotlights many of the inequities that do exist.

Our environmental connection is made up of so many different aspects and these pieces span a varied discourse to turn our reflections into action. Some pieces, such as "Reclaim Our Power," outline systemic shortfalls in corporate accountability and current infrastructure while "Shark Fin Soup" questions the validity of longstanding cultural traditions and their effect on non-human life. But every piece resounds with the same truth - we are deeply linked in our collective survival and to the Earth that sustains us.

As an acknowledgement to our local community roots, this zine also features collages created by Boston area residents, along with youth programs in Somerville and Chelsea.

Please direct questions to info@aarw.org with subject line [Rice Water Zine]. Pay our artists here: https://secure.actblue.com/donate/api-ej or scan:

(Left to Right: Liz W, Amanda S, Maria J, Lily F, Osamu K, Cyatharine A

Not pictured: Shiliu W, Alyssa L)

REFLECTION

INTRODUCTION

"We are deeply linked in our collective survival, and to the Earth that sustains us "

1

FOOD

"warming you with stew in winter / that embrace of self-sufficiency"

– Azuré Keahi *

– Charles Espedido

– Liz Wang

6

WATER

"It blesses some with abundance and some with scarcity "

– Kartik Ramkumar *

– Azuré Keahi

– vignesh r

– Nisa Dang

15

THINGS

"We bought and use these things because we were told that this was how one should live in America "

– Ashley Sum Yi Ma

– M T Chu *

– Maria Jiang

23

LOSS

*Excerpted piece

33

"Don’t waste sorrow on my dead / Use my wisdom to break your bread"

– Osamu Kumasaka

– Pheej Lauj

– Rachel C Wahlert*

– Mara Joaquin

EMPATHY

"seeing the broad array of lifestyles and environmental struggles people deal with helped inspire me"

– Audeline Kurniawan *

34

REPRESENTATION

"People who were formerly colonized, and in many ways, are still, are practicing selfdetermination"

– AP

– breeana blalock *

– Kristy Drutman

MOVEMENTS

"With outreach that is community driven "

– Rayna Lo

– Sydney Fang & Chelsea Lee *

38 ACTION

IT'S TRUE

and that is it you draw a line in the soil  observe those on either side of it sprinkle seeds between you and make a truce

you can be buried before flourishing it might take months to germinate but you will emerge

and that is it you can stretch out you can reach out try to touch the sun but don’t get burned let it feed you

you can be exposed and be protected your leaves might curl there may be stunted growth but you will produce

and that is it the paper says you’re poor but your wealth is harvested consumed stored away in your pantry warming you with stew in winter that embrace of self-sufficiency

and that is it.

— February 14, 2018

Charles' dad's home province of Ifugao, in the northern mountains of the Philippines.

IFUGAO TERRACES

Beautiful, right? Some people refer to the terraces as the "Eighth Wonder of the World", but for me, this is where my heart feels at home. The local story is that the rice terraces were hand-built 2000 years ago, though some argue that they were created even earlier.

For me, the terraces are a representation of culture, ingenuity, intelligence, resourcefulness, and the beauty of our Ifugao heritage. In the face of climate change, the rice terraces are a symbol of perseverance. It's a beautiful sight and a strong sense of cultural identity for the Ifugao diaspora, but I also fear the idea of losing these terraces as a consequence of climate change.

I was not born in Ifugao, but my love for the culture holds true which is in large part due to the rice terraces The rice terraces are a reminder for myself on my personal mission to help protect and sustain our planet, just like how my ancestors have maintained strong cultural roots for many generations and beyond.

Charles' grandmother among the terraces.

CULTIVATE

These images were sketched from Growing Chinese Vegetables in Your Own Backyard, a book I stumbled upon at the Boston Public Library with chop suey font and watercolor drawings Each vegetable image is accompanied by a common name in English, romanization in Mandarin and Cantonese (best attempts), written Chinese characters based off of Mandarin, and other names the book may have provided. Big thanks to Pleco Chinese Dictionary's phone app for always being there.

I'm on a journey to cultivate a stronger connection to my heritage, and this is one of my harvests. If I've learned anything from working in the growing season, it is to lean into the process and provide great care instead of focusing on the idyllic outcome. Thanks to working on the land, I was able to shed my perfectionism and share the bounty with you

LESSONS FROM WATER

Water is fascinating. Water is temperamental. Water is fickle. Water can be soft and misting. It can roar loudly spitting upon the earth in angry bursts. It can fill dry riverbeds. It can wash away everything in sight. It can also shape a person’s life.

His earliest memory was of his family well. Krishna remembers staring at the bottom of that deep, cavernous hole. He remembers seeing only muddy water at the bottom and his family frantically trying to find a way to lengthen the well’s life. He realized then that the well was the most important part of the house, celebrated and worshipped as the center of life. He remembers hearing stories of the well flooding into the house. Those were the days of plentiful monsoon rains in India. The well was soon retired, those bountiful rains were no more.

Krishna’s journey with water was with daily walks to the water dispensary station with his family A line forming People jostling for their daily allotment of water He remembers seeing neighbors, friends, extended family fighting over a few drops of precious water. Water that would be used to wash, cook, bathe and clean. He remembers carrying a tiny pail of water, careful not to spill a drop, proud of his contribution to his family. He did not know then of endless water available for drinking or a land where one did not queue at 5:30 AM for 3 liters of water per family per day. He learned then that water was precious, finite.

What confused him most about the United States was the abundance of water. Water flowed endlessly from the tap. It appeared as solid snow and appeared frequently as rain. He had moved to Buffalo, NY and could now witness giant lakes and waterfalls full of fresh water. There were pools in schools and people drank from the tap. Abundant water was a part of daily life and never in doubt. He learned then that water is unequal. It blesses some with abundance and some with scarcity.

Fast forward many years later, Krishna is a fervent climate change supporter, but immersed in American attitudes toward water. He doesn’t think about how much he uses or about running the tap too long. There is no drought where he lives, yet, he hears stories from his native India. Water rationing in Chennai. His family heading back to the same dispensary to pick up their 3 liters again. He feels guilty. After hearing his family stories and recalling his memories, his water use seems like extravagance. How can he send some water thousands of miles away?

Krishna recalls his childhood lessons His journey with water has taught him a great deal. These lessons highlighting water disparity due to climate change can be a way forward. He hopes these stories and lessons can bring everyone to the same well, showcasing how water is truly the center of life around the world. . . . . .

WINTER IN MAHARASHTRA

“Be careful with the candles, don’t burn yourself,” cautioned my mother. It was the middle of the afternoon and the house was dark Rain continued to fall outside with no end in sight. We had lost power earlier that day, like millions of other Mumbaikers. Late afternoon crept into evening, neighbors from the community filtered through, stopping by for a cup of my grandma’s chai, the latest updates on missing family and friends, and some warm company and snacks

Maharashtra winters are known to be hot, humid, and wet; but this was unusual. It had been raining for over a day, and the city came to a standstill as the deluge intensified dumping over 35 inches of rain

The sewers flooded, inundating the streets. Without electricity, the constant drone of the television in our home had faded to the monotony of the raindrops outside.

As we were about to sit for an early dinner, we heard a voice at our front door. My older cousin stood at the doorstep, sopping wet. He told us a tale of how he walked 22 kilometers from where his bus was stranded, to my grandma’s house, helped by rickshaw and bus drivers, street vendors, and

others searching for their way home. It was no small feat, and the dreadful details of the story he described remain crisp in my memory - the deep murky water, the uncovered manholes that sucked people into the sewers, tens of thousands stranded in the streets Over 1,000 people died during the floods, hundreds of flights were cancelled, and billions in damages were caused.

While my family bunkered up and weathered the storm in our home, the most impacted were largely working class and lower caste folks living in improvised settlements in flood plains on the outskirts of the city The roots of slums in Mumbai extend to colonial-era disparities between rural peasants and urbanites, but intensified with economic liberalization (neoliberalism) in the 1990s. Economic policies regressively impacted the poorest while accumulating wealth in the hands of the few (in the name of development, of course), and led to the increasing normalization of poverty and slum-like conditions in both Indian and Western media.

Neil Smith wrote the next year about Hurricane Katrina, “There is no such thing as a natural disaster. ” He may as well have been writing about the 2005 Maharashtra Floods.

In this same period, marshes, swamps, and mangrove forests that once served as a buffer between the land and the sea were replaced with housing megacomplexes, luxury condos, and malls. The Mithi River was channeled and rerouted to accommodate commercial developments, built in low-lying land nearby natural waterways like the Bandra-Kurla Complex. Similarly, the mangrove complex in Gurgaon and Malad was destroyed to make way for Inorbit Mall and the concrete parking lots around H&M, reducing the coastal resilience provided by mangrove ecosystems

Neil Smith wrote the next year about Hurricane Katrina, “There is no such thing as a natural disaster.” He may as well have been writing about the 2005 Maharashtra Floods. By no means is this a denial of the natural process of extreme weather, just an acknowledgement of the man-made effects of the climate crisis happening all around us.

The magnified monsoon season of 2005 was a result of an abnormally warm Arabian Sea, and the period between 1950-2015 saw a three-fold increase in extreme rain events Disasters and crises unfolding, side by side, intensifying the impacts of the floods for the folks displaced across the city without the traditional coastal barriers of mangroves and swamps to protect the sea-facing city.

The 2005 Floods show us that disaster is not a particular moment of upheaval, but rather a culmination of the ongoing conditions of catastrophe in our society. As these crises of ecological devastation and wealth accumulation intensify (not to mention a climate crisis), we will approach a turning point where the existing social relations that allow the crisis cannot exist.

I reminisce about the stories of solidarity, mutuality, and support that my cousin retold about his trek across the city, about the stories of altruism on the streets and of families reuniting on the news for weeks after. Even as I watch hurricanes unfolding on TV and read about gas explosions in the newspaper, I also know that there are untold stories of communities checking in on each other, neighbors housing and feeding each other, and rebuilding together There may be no such thing as an entirely natural disaster, but I do know we will always find a way through together.

WHAT WATER LOOKS LIKE FROM HERE.

I often think about disaster capitalism and the ways that it ravages poor communities. In Naomi Klein’s extensive work documenting natural and man-made disasters, she made a few key observations about how governments respond to these crises After a crisis occurs (or is manufactured), the government takes advantage of the public’s shock and disorientation to suspend some or all democratic norms, awards highly lucrative contracts and critical response work to private companies, and does a really bad fucking job of managing the crisis in a timely manner from there on out.

This is what ran through my mind in 2017 as I sat in a sweltering law office in Djiboutiville, Djibouti, reading up on the cholera outbreak in Yemen. At the time, I was in constant contact with Yemeni migrants who had just made the 18-hour passage across the Bab el-Mandeb, and we’d gotten notice from various state officials that we could expect issues with future immigration because of the increase in the cases of cholera they were seeing. But what I thought was a one-off warning was actually a harbinger for what was coming: the cholera outbreak in Yemen which would quickly become the worst outbreak in history. In 2017 alone, 1.1 million people in Yemen had contracted cholera.

Before I left Djibouti, I did research on how that number - 1 1 million - could be possible in 2017. What I found was that cholera is highly contagious and is spread in areas without clean water or proper sanitation (Doctors Without Borders). In a conflict zone, like Yemen, where the modus operandi was to destroy food and sanitation infrastructure, the disease was given the ground to spread wildly. And it did. Without clean water and without sanitation systems, Yemenis were more likely to come into contact with feces, which carried the disease and contaminated food and water.

Cholera, a disease that I thought had been eradicated to the point of irrelevance, was actually more common than I thought. This realization prompted me to consider the ways that lack of access to clean water and food - things we take for granted in parts of the United States - can pose public health risks and illustrated the myriad ways that environmental injustice often impacts the most vulnerable communities.

I came across this line of thought again in preparation for my trip to Selma, Alabama.

Though I was born and raised in California, my search for historical memory always drew me back to the South. So when I was confronted with the opportunity to visit Selma for work, I leapt at the opportunity. But before I even booked my flights or looked up the numbers of different cab companies to take me from Montgomery to Selma, I did research on the different issues that locals faced in Alabama. In my admittedly limited research, I came across an article covering the visit that the United Nations Special Rapporteur for extreme poverty, Philip Alston, made to Alabama’s Black Belt as part of a 15-day tour of the United States, a tour that Alston hoped would illuminate conditions of this country’s poverty and human rights abuses.

During his visit, Alston met with local activist Aaron Thigpen, who took him on a tour of different counties for his fact-finding mission. One of their first stops was Lowndes County, where 74% of the residents are Black. In Lowndes, modest homes evacuated raw sewage through aging straight pipes, which pumped the refuse from inside the homes into open-air pools that sat above ground Thigpen also took Alston on a tour of Butler County, where he met residents who had busted septic tanks that released sewage above ground, where children played (Sheets, 2017).

Alston was, understandably, shocked For one of the wealthiest nations in the entire world, the United States treats its impoverished population abysmally. In fact, sanitary conditions in Alabama were so bad that residents were contracting hookworm, a disease usually found in poorer countries with underdeveloped sanitation systems (Ballesteros, 2017). The presence of open-air sewage pools, combined with the Black Belt’s heavy rainfall, created an environment where these dangerous parasites can fester.

Like most of my stories, this one begins and ends with my mother I have a distinct memory of her stopping us during one of our walks through her hometown in South Vietnam.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she had said

I remember looking around, confused, wondering where exactly she would be relieving herself. Our surroundings consisted of a wide and rushing river and impenetrable jungle.

My mother answered my unspoken question by slipping off her sandals and bunching her long skirt in front of her knees, then walking to the edge of the river towards a bridge that I hadn’t noticed before. “Bridge” is generous. It was two, thick bamboo trunks woven together, leading to an outhouse that stood poised a few meters from the riverbank, balancing on more bamboo trunks. It looked as strange and out of place as it sounds. My mother, however, was used to using middle-of-the-river outhouses and had no problem walking on the makeshift bridge to use this one

When she was done, she walked back across the bridge, plopped her shoes down in front of me, and slipped them on. We continued the walk, and I later asked her about that river. She told me that some of the poorer neighbors used that river to wash their clothes, or drank from it. This was the first time I really thought about sewage: I remember being appalled that my mother would soil a community’s water supply.

I also remember wondering why people would choose to drink from such an unsanitary source of water.

But what I didn’t realize then is that even though my mother’s familial home at the time was just a collection of dried leaves patched together with mud, our family was lucky. We had a well, which is where our family drew the water that we used to drink, cook, and do laundry. Our well was completely separate from our outhouse, which had to be emptied manuallyI’m assuming in the same river my mom used to relieve herself

Without investment in sanitation infrastructure by the Vietnamese government, poor residents of Vietnam have no choice but to rely on remittance payments from expatriated family members, who make sure to build homes with plumbing systems that, for the most part, eliminate fears about contamination.

This final note about remittance payments strikes me as odd Something as simple as waste removal depended on something as arbitrary as access to wealth - or in the case of Yemen, peace. These three case studies make one thing abundantly clear: poverty is violent. Just as capitalism indubitably ravages what is left of the Earth for all of us to share, its privileged beneficiaries continue to make decisions that make life that much more difficult for the poor.

It seems that, no matter where you live, sanitation infrastructure can be the difference between health and disease And in areas where all the stakeholders are wealthy people who benefit from manufactured disasters - whether through warfare or by creating public health crises - it is the poor who suffer most.

Access to clean, potable water is an irrefutable and unalienable right It is also something that a lot of us take for granted. Unfortunately, cases such as Flint, Michigan, are not that extreme by the United States’ standards, nor are they that uncommon in the rest of the world Where one city might suffer from lead poisoning, which causes Legionnaires Disease, another community thousands of miles away may be infected with hookworms because of its exposure to fecal-contaminated water. And across oceans and seas, thousands of communities battle Industrial Revolution-era diseases, such as cholera.

These circumstances are not random. There is an objective for creating a reality where people are too ill, or disillusioned, or disenfranchised to become involved in world-making. Of course my mother and her community knew that there was something terrible about dumping your waste into someone else’s drinking water But what were the realistic alternatives?

I envision a world where environmental justice is determined not by one’s race, or proximity to wealth or sociopolitical stability, but by one’s humanity. I don’t know how to bring that vision to life. All I know is that I’m in good company. There is a wealth of people who today are working on creating and reimagining systems and infrastructure that facilitate change driven by compassion I only hope that there will be enough of the Earth left to share - and plenty of people to share it with - by the time we figure this out.

FISH GUTS

OceanpollutioninHongKong(withfocusonplasticwasteanddisposal)

I love working in teams and collaborating with a diverse group of people. Having grown up in Hong Kong, yet spending the recent 5 years in the U.S., it is particularly interesting to see differences and similarities across different cultures in lived experiences, and in works of art. I hope to communicate this multicultural experience--hence this piece featuring a traditional Chinese family meal and trash-filled Cantonese steamed soysauce fish--and engage in conversations with other activists/artists to become a better advocate and ally. Ultimately, the medium doesn’t matter as much as the changes that I hope to see enacted in the world. Whether it is in the quality of people’s lives, the preservation of culture and language, or the improvement of the natural world’s condition in the face climate change. Some of my artistic influences are Hayao Miyazaki, Studio Ghibli's general body of work, Cartoon Saloon, Ai WeiWei, Little Thunder, Bong JoonHo, Kim Jonghyun, my artist and activist friends, my family, and past teachers/mentors.

C H R O N I C L E S O F M Y C H I L D H O O D

ACCULTURASIAN OF THE HOME

Growing up as a first-generation Vietnamese American woman, I was inundated by messaging that my body and my home had to look a certain way to be American - that by purchasing THINGS, I could achieve this norm.

My family immigrated to the U.S. in 1992 with very few possessions, and we started to accumulate things - many things. As a child, I internalized this messaging so much that I equated our ability to buy name-brand products like Crest toothpaste and Pantene shampoos as markers of our family's successful integration into U.S. society. I equated Thanksgiving with boxed mashed potatoes and canned cranberry sauce. When I reached working age, I was so excited to finally have my own income and be able to buy things on my own I would go on clothing sprees just for the thrill of deals. I was also finally able to use tampons, which made me feel more of a woman, more American.

The rise in things in our home paralleled the rise in plastics, from bowls, utensils, tupperware, and saran wrap -- things that we heated in the microwave without knowing it was bad for our health. All the products we purchased came in plasticthere were even plasticizers in our nail polish. We bought and used these things because we were told, from friends, co-workers, and TV ads, that this was how one thrives in America.

Little did we know that many of these things were environmental injustices seeping into our homes.Little did we know that they contained toxins that could destroy our minds, bodies, and the health of our future children.

-M.T. Chu Environmental public health researcher | 1 0 Vietnamese American

AIRBAGS

hold your breath as you read this I demand you hold your breath

you’ve been breathing for free? how are you going to pay your debts?

I won’t hold your breath for you it’s for the best that you hold yours

there’s only so much air in the world thief I'm just protecting mine

those stones in your throat? those claws at your chest? that’s not on me I’m not on you

I’m no gargoyle crouched on your back I'm no white tiger knelt on your neck

it might be wildfire crashing your lungs and cutting the sky to shreds

but are you spinning stars? can you see them past the smoke?

did you know most stars are just gas-lights with gravity? you wouldn't know their weight

look at your friends all Blacked out on the asphalt why don’t you share your breath with them why not give what you've got left

don’t you want to save some lives?

ah, I think I’ve figured it out this whole breathing thing why people like you can't

it was the old me I may (I might have) cut you off

but I don’t do that anymore

and by the by me and mine we've been breathing this whole time

PAST & FUTURE

BECOMING

(Emulation of Women by Alice Walker)

Hmoob then My ancestors’ generations

Keen of toil-Stern of Spirit

From the nurturing mountains of Laos, Refugee camps of Thailand

Hmoob then Beat down

The Sun

And stomped on Parched

Garments

With / bare feet

Bleeding

Eroded gravel, native sand

Swish, swish

Hmoob then Carried Mountains on their naked backs

Crawling

Through dense Forests, Drugging infants

Through death-seeking

Waters

True survivors

Seeking / seeked / no longer

America American-ness

Hmong American-ness

Where

Hmoobs became what We, must / become

HmongAmericanHmoob

I'VE GONE CRAZY ONCE OR TWICE

I’ve gone crazy once or twice

I’d rather be crazy than live their lie

I’ve got a brain in my head and scars on my feet Running amok wild and free

I’ve got a chest of gold and feet like lead Diamonds shining between my legs

Oil rigs can’t buy my eggs

I’ve sowed valleys tried and true

loving mother earth the way i know how to

Here I am as I sing this tune Gone from the earth far too soon

They burned our lands they stole our food We ran for the hills ‘til they burned those too

We danced and sang of sorrows and love Looking towards ancestors up above

They’re also sowed in the ground they say Growing in the roots of trees and hay

We ran for the hills and boats afar the fallen and drowned was all i saw

They chained our hands and pierced our feet Left us bones of our lovers to eat

And we sang our songs of sorrow and woe as we had more years and miles to row

They killed my siblings, friends, and foes Watched as they died and the vultures crowed

We ran for the hills and the boats afar With our scars wide open and our wounds run raw

They promised us equality freedom too The blankets they gave us was the clue

We died in our sleep disfigured and blind Roughened pained skin was just one sign

They raped us first and they took our blood Left us to clean up in the mud

Whipped our backs to cry silently Cut out our tongues to stop our screams

I’ve gone crazy once or twice I’d rather go crazy than live their lie

I’ve got two strong legs and arms of might Tree trunk limbs to embrace the night

For our old ways are too feared in the light

they say it’s gone on too long know nothing else but to kill our strong say their soul’s impure nothing but darkness at their core it’s been boiling and churning all the years can’t turn round and see all their fears their ancestors killed us two times over never let us reach the other shore

I'm not pure either so don’t you weep I’ve done enough wrong in my sleep retributions in my mind’s eye killed their whole family- watched them die

It’s not the way- no I know that can’t change it all at the drop of a hat so much pain you can’t kiss away. but i’m grateful for every damned hard day.

If i know one thing that is true. I didn’t make it this far to only love a few.

You reap what you sow. and i’ve sown far and wide. Seen the green on the other side.

I’ve sowed valleys wide and deep Made love to nature; together we weep Tears of joy, anger and dread Life long gone and children unfed

My children say I’m crazy so they’ve said though they’ve fed from my breast and my diaries read

The world is changing so they say But blood’s in roots of the trees and hay

If you build on the forgotten there’s no foundation forgotten all that died for your creation It’ll crumble and fall until you see the rhythms and rhymes in the trees

Run to your rivers see them bleed Run to have scars on your feet

I’ve sowed valleys alongside my mother’s My mother’s and mine alongside one another

We’re interwoven can’t you see My mother’s spirit lives in me

Her courage and pride and resilience too All of these things brought me to you

My mother’s mother had no remorse

She learned from her old mother’s course

Trauma and shame what they want you to believe They try to cheat and to deceive

We’ve got the wisdom of thousands of years I hear them whispering in my ears

I’ve gone crazy once or twice

I’d rather be crazy than live their lie

My mother told me “don’t be afraid” From their sacrifice, I am saved

They taught me the will and the way That for justice and freedom there is no delay

I’ve got a brain in my head and scars on my feet

I’ve won them after battling years of deceit

We ran for the boats and the land afar Knowing all along our souls could not be marred

We have toiled, drowned and died Mourned the dead and humbled our pride

The wisdom and love is in our bones

It cannot be bought or sold for loans

I’ve loved my earth the way I know how This is my final bow

Don’t waste sorrow on my dead Use my wisdom to break your bread

TO THE MOUNTAINS WE CALL HOME PARA SA MGA BUNDOK NA TINATAWAG NATING TAHANAN

"On that mountain, if you're lucky or unlucky, depending on which tale you believe, you may run into Maria Makiling protecting her forests and friends from those who would seek to abuse the mountain and its beauty "

"Mom, again? Seriously, you've told me about the mountain so many times before... "

My mother placed a small cup of hot chocolate, real hot chocolate, melted from the tablets sent by my lola, through my tita, who had just come back from a visit home. She had gone to escape the cold and the commotion of living in the United States, to seek the warmth of friends and family

The chocolate she brought back, wrapped in simple paper without glaring colors or FDA regulations, was something you couldn't find here Just like my mother's stories about diwatas and dwendes, they were carried over from across the sea, so far removed from the tropical tides of the Philippines

Maria Makiling - a forest spirit vindictive deity protective goddess kind-hearted fairy I’m not sure what to call her that would translate appropriately from my mother's native tonguewas a familiar character in my mother’s repertoire of tales She was sometimes described as a vengeful spirit, cursing those foolish enough to take advantage of the forest. In other stories, she was young and in love with a mortal prince who died on the battlefield against invaders. Some said she was a benevolent deity, bringing prosperity to those in the Laguna province.

However, one thing remained the same in all the stories... that her home was on a mountain, shaped like a woman laying down, resting in the fertile forests of the province.

Of course, I didn't believe in fairytales anymore In my world, thirteen was too old for tales of fantasy There were too many things that needed to get done like high school entrance examinations and thinking about just who I wanted to be or not be

I took a little sip of the chocolate, savoring the raw, granular texture and slight bitterness of real cacao in my mouth. I pursed my lips and crinkled my nose, not used to chocolate being so bitter. We had Swiss Miss in the cupboards of the kitchen, but my mother was convinced that convenience was overrated.

Convenience is furthered by modernity, but at the price of experience

That, or convenience is impeded by stubbornness.

"Your auntie said that lola had sent it just for you. She was worried that her granddaughter would forget the taste of home."

Home. Home is here, the place I've been living for seven years.

"Is it still home?" I asked, looking out the window at the frosted edges against the glass. The chill across the Midwest was creeping against the panes of the house, reminding us of the impending winter. As the scenery shifted to monotone and grayscale, the prospect of warmer times or warmer places seemed so far out of reach.

"It is if you want it to be," my mother said, leaning against the ledge of the laminate counter, slowly tucking a stray strand of raven hair behind her ear as though she was tucking a memory away in the back of her mind, "But for me, home is there, where Maria lived ""You talk as though you knew her that she's real," I said and took another sip, "But either way, we're here now. You said so before... you wanted a better life, so that's why we came here,." I countered, not daring to peer up from my cup.

A land of opportunity. There was more magic in that than some stupid fairytale.

"I gave it up for our family... for you," she said quietly as she placed the remaining chocolate in a small container, "We came here for a better life, that is true... but not to forget the life left behind. Life there isn't bad, you know... there are more struggles there, but just as much joy."

She then began to get ready for work, a three to eleven shift at the nursing home. As she put her jacket over her brightly colored scrubs, my mother glanced over to where I was sitting once more.

"One day, I hope you will see just how much you have missed "

"We came here for a better life, that is true... but not to forget the life left behind. Life there isn't bad, you know... there are more struggles there, but just as much joy."

Ten years later...

I clutched onto my automatic hand-held fan, wondering just how much longer of this trek I could take. The whirring of the fan droned on as my uncle and I drove past rice fields and forests on dirt roads. I felt like I was going to melt into the leather car seat, a poor choice of material to use in a tropical climate.

I had been in the Philippines for two weeks, staying with an uncle I hadn’t seen for almost two decades, per directive of my mother. My uncle was almost a stranger to me, but I had never felt the strangeness of unfamiliarity around him. He welcomed me to his home and he became my tour guide as I visited family across the provinces.

My uncle spared a side glance away down the road for a moment and laughed jovially, his leathery face crinkling at the corners from lines so used to smiling, "You're not used to the heat anymore "

"I can take heat," I sighed, placing the fan closer to my face in a futile effort to cool down, "But not like this."

"You're here in March. It's one of the hottest months of the year... especially over the past few years. Global warming and all..."

The Philippines is always hot. That, I could remember clearly. However, it wasn't like this when I left. The heat wasn't this intense.

"Right," I murmured.

However, what caught my eye along the road ahead made me momentarily forget my concerns about the blasted, nearly damning heat.

"Oh... it's..."

It's real Mount Makiling.

It was right there, a few miles down the road, past a town proper and a few houses on the side of the road.

It was a place I had only seen in pictures or painted in my mind through stories. It had this almost fairytale-like quality in my recollection, like tales of Rapunzel or Sleeping Beauty, edged in gold leaf and dog- eared in the corner pages of my mind. It had been the kingdom faraway from me for so long...

And now, it was here, in vibrant green against the crystal blue of the Philippine sky.

Mount Makiling, in all her slopes and curves, was laid before me. Green, forests full of life... she was thriving. She was here.

People claim she looked like a hopeful lover, waiting for her beloved to come back to her after he was killed in a war. Others said she was a sleeping giant who would rise up against those who would defile her forests.

To me, she looked like a woman lying down, gazing at the sky in wonder.

"She's beautiful," I murmured to, enamored by the sight.

My uncle stopped his truck near the entrance of the reserve, a mile or so from the foot of the mountain, talking to a crossing guard in rapid fire Tagalog. I understood as much as I could, but couldn't understand it all I hadn't bothered to before and regretted I hadn't bothered to at all

He then turned to me and sighed, "Unfortunately, this is as close as we can get. The mountain is closed right now."

"How can they close an entire mountain?"

How could they even do that? It's an entire mountain... and there didn't seem to be anything wrong with her. Nothing at all. No one could own a mountain...

"Too many people throwing trash on the camping grounds or defacing the rock surfaces. Plus, there are concerns of erosion and unsafe areas along the hiking path."

I sighed, looking at Maria, probably with a despondent look on my face, because my uncle then turned the car on once more and turned us around, back into one of the towns we passed by

"Come on let's not waste our journey I know a place "

We drove for a few minutes, past small, makeshift houses with linoleum roofs and boarded sides. The children played along the dirt roads, laughing and hitting cans or running to catch makeshift balls with flip flops or no shoes on. Men and women sold their wares in street vendor stalls, chatting leisurely as they waited for customers to buy fresh fruits and fish. They didn't even mind my uncle's truck as he parked his car at the side of the road and climbed out the car.

I climbed out after him and followed his lead into a small, open air stall, still unsure what he was doing. "Here, have a seat," He gestured to a plastic chair next to a table covered with a checkered plastic cloth. The woman behind a counter smiled at us as she got up to busy herself around the small makeshift kitchen, flies buzzing about as the other store clerk shooed them away from the prepared food.

"What are we doing here, Tito?" I asked, not entirely sure if this was a safe place to eat, but before he could respond, the elderly lady brought out a glass of cold gulaman and a plate of fried tokeneng. The gulaman looked refreshing and the food...

I suppose it had been a while.

I thanked her clumsily in Tagalog before turning to my uncle. However, he was looking straight ahead, smiling.

I turned to look at what he was gazing at and gasped in surprise While the mountain was beautiful in the distance, the best view was from this stall, with it's opening facing the visage of the mountain.

"I used to come here when I was your age and sit, thinking about life... through tough decisions and happy coincidences... and though we don't have a lot of money most of the time, and life is hard, I am thankful for the mountain... and for the joys of home."

I sipped my gulaman, staring off into the distance, the sounds of happy children and happy parents... of just happiness all around.

Life wasn't perfect, but... it was as close to happily ever after as anyone could get.

"Convenience is furthered by modernity, but at the price of experience," I said to my uncle as we shared our meal, wishing I could extend my stay so I could prolong the warmth and cherish these moments... where life stood still. I wondered if this was the kind of life I could have had... the kind of life I missed out on.

"I'll have to come back to see the mountain again some day... I'll be back to share the experience of trekking there with you some day… and I want to come back… to help the mountain… to help her."

My uncle nodded, raising his glass towards me.

"Yes... she'll be here, waiting for you to come home."

I smiled at him, taking a glance at the mountain once more and at the land of these people, my mother, my uncle... my land... the land Maria Makiling cherished.

I raised mine as well, in silent thanks and wordless agreement

"Home... I like the sound of that."

This story is dedicated to my uncle, Francisco "Lou" Joaquin, who passed away on November 4, 2019. Miss na miss kita, Uncle Lou.

W h i t e g e l m a r k e r o n b l a c k p a p e r .

b r o a d a r r a y o f l i f e s t y l e s a n d e n v i r o n m e n t a l s t r u g g l e s p e o p l e d e a l w i t h h e l p e d i n s p i r e m e t o c h o o s e

A m e r i c a , w h e r e I w a s b o r n a n d r a i s e d . H a v i n g t r a v e l l e d t o m a n y o t h e r c o u n t r i e s a s w e l l , s e e i n g t h e

t h e r e . I s a w e n o r m o u s d i f f e r e n c e s b e t w e e n t h e t h i r d w o r l d c o u n t r y m y p a r e n t s a r e f r o m a n d

B e i n g o f I n d o n e s i a n d e s c e n t , w e u s e d t o t r a v e l t o I n d o n e s i a o f t e n t o v i s i t t h e r e s t o f m y f a m i l y l i v i n g

t h e d e g r e e I a m p u r s u i n g t o d a y . P i e c e b y A u d e l i n e K u r n i a w a n .

D I S / A P P E A R

C h a n g e i s h a p p e n i n g t o a l l a s p e c t s o f w o r k i n g i n t h e o u t d o o r s r i g h t n o w , i n m a n y d i f f e r e n t w a y s . F i n d i n g w a y s t o e x a m i n e t h e i m p a c t s w e h a v e o n t h e w o r l d a n d o n e a c h o t h e r i s a c h a l l e n g i n g , r e w a r d i n g , a n d n e c e s s a r y c o n v e r s a t i o n w e a s a c o m m u n i t y m u s t h a v e .

PACIFIC ISLANDER SOLIDARITY WITH KANAKA MAOLI'S (NATIVE HAWAIIANS)

Pacific Islanders are neither new to experiencing climate change nor is their connection to the land and sea something new. More and more stories, images, reports, documentaries, and awareness, in general, are being shared about the devastating effects to the Pacific Islands by Global North countries. Peoples who were formerly colonized (and in many ways, are still) are beginning/increasing to practice self-determination and return to living with the land and sea while passing down this knowledge to the younger generation. I don’t feel myself to be part of the younger generation, but am definitely someone who has been learning more about my Palauan culture/roots. I am mixed white and pacific islander with family from Palau. Palau is East of the Philippines, Southwest of Guam, West of Micronesia, and North of Indonesia. Palau has had changes to its environment physically as well as culturally. Beaches are eroding, hotels are being built for tourists, and immigrants are relocating to Palau from neighboring lands, etc.

Two years ago, I was able to visit and learn about part of my family’s culture and history and current practices; it was such a gift I cried when the plane landed, and when I got outside to the Earth I bent down and kissed it and cried It was an overwhelming experience that I am so grateful for, it created a stronger feeling of Islander solidarity. There is growing diversity in Pacific Islands, and we all make each other stronger by welcoming fellow islanders and ensuring that our cultural practices and theirs remain strong and a part of daily life. The anger and fight is not within our island communities but from outside colonizing forces. Pacific Islanders need to stand together, to support each other to protect sacred cultural practices, lands, mountains, waters, animals, the very people and continue to demonstrate we support the Kanaka Maoli and their fight to protect Mauna Kea.

I cried when the plane landed, and when I got outside to the Earth I bent down and kissed it and cried. It was an overwhelming experience that I am so grateful for, it created a stronger feeling of Islander solidarity.

Right now, Kanaka Maoli voices are being ignored and invalidated by supporters of a thirty meter telescope (TMT) proposed on the top of Mauna Kea, a sacred mountain to Kanaka Maolis. Native Hawaiians and the members of Pacific Island communities are diverse in culture, but united in the value of protecting the planet and its sacred lands. It is vital for Pacific Islanders to stand in solidarity, across oceans, across lands, with Kanaka Maolis in the fight to protect the sacred land of Mauna Kea.

While doing some research on how to help support Kanaka Maolis I found these on facebook:

Get educated on this issue, but again listen to what Kanaka Maolis say, trust they have evaluated and looked at every cost-benefit analysis possible and found it lacking.

Donate airline miles to send someone to the Mauna: https://docs.google.com/…/1FAIpQLSfWPYq1G5my8y6VqU…/viewform

The legal fund to assist with strategy to ensure all constitutional rights and laws are upheld: (KAHEA: The Hawaiian-Environmental Alliance has been working on this issue for 20+ years) https://org.salsalabs.com/…/donate …/aloha-ainasupport-fund

Bail for those who may be arrested:

http://hawaiicommunitybailfund.org/

Healers dedicated to protecting the Protectors of Mauna Kea: Mauna Medic Healers Hui

AF3IRm Hawai’i: “ 4th wave of feminism, a multi-ethnic, multi-class organization led by women of color engaged in transnational feminism, anti-imperialist activism.” www.af3irm.org

Pu’uhonua o Pu’uhuluhulu Maunakea: Mauna Kea protectors on the ground. www.puuhuluhulu.com

BROWN GIRL GREEN

As a mixed-race (or as she likes to call herself, a Jew-pina) environmentalist, Kristy is constantly striving to push for greater representation of women of color in environmental media and activism. She is the host of Brown Girl Green, her brand, podcast, and media series dedicated to critical conversations around building an environmentally just society Kristy interviews environmental rights leaders and activists who want to share their stories and talk about why workplace and member diversity and inclusiveness are important for environmental advocacy groups Using her platform, Kristy is inspired to change the image of what it means to be an environmentalist in the 21st century. Currently, she is an Assistant Lecturer at UC Berkeley’s Haas School of Business for a course entitled, Social Media and Social Movements. She is guiding students through a real-world, projectbased program where she teaches them how to support a non-profit’s digital content strategy, web development, and performance marketing for campaign success.

SHARK FIN SOUP

Ensuring we have a future to pass along rich cultures to is equally important As I dig deeper into preserving my culture, I find myself challenging certain traditional practices as well My goal is to use my artistic voice as a vehicle for preservation and change, especially for traditions that are unsustainable.

I am working full-time artist. After dedicating 10+ years to the pharmaceutical industry, I left in 2019 to pursue preserving the arts and to develop my identity as an artist.

ANIMAL LIFE

P i e c e s b y Z i n e M a k i n g P a r t i c i p a n t s .

RECLAIM OUR POWER

P i e c e s b y S y d n e y F a n g & C h e l s e a L e e .

MEET THE CREATIVES

AP - she/her

AP is a half-Asian book-lover who splits her time between working in the outdoors and working in rooms with no windows Her outdoor gig is up in Maine, where she leads wilderness trips for young people; her windowless rooms are technical theater gigs in the Boston area, where she puts sets up, takes them down, and makes things move up and down. Besides spending extended amounts of time in traditionally white spaces, AP lion dances with the Asian women's troupe Gund Kwok here in Boston.

Ashley Sum Yi Ma - she/her

My name is Ashley Sum Yi Ma, i'm a Hong Kong born and raised visual artist, currently residing in Los Angeles After graduating from Loyola Marymount University with a B A in Animation, I am currently working in animation production, helping to coordinate cool projects! My body of work spans many mediums, from short film, illustration, to small web-comics My ultimate goal is to share stories that showcase common humanity, shine a light on social/environmental concerns, and convey hope and humor in the little things of life. In this, I enjoy deep dives, podcasts, and learning more about the different issues that the world faces. The question i'm always pursuing is how I can better use my art to help those around me, and the world at large.

https://instagram.com/suumyi.ma

Audeline Kurniawan - she/her/hers

I am currently a graduate student at the University of Michigan studying Landscape Architecture and Conservation Ecology under the School for Environment and Sustainability I studied Biology and Psychology during undergraduate I aim to continue incorporating creativity into my studies and future projects, as well as learning over a wide scope of subjects to make my design decisions as informed as possible I am still exploring the possibilities of communicating these messages in innovative ways, and intend to make an impact on observers and/or users of a designed space, hopefully encouraging people to slow down and think about the consequences of our actions today. I also hope that this will inspire action to really make the necessary changes.

http://audelinekurniawan.wixsite.com/audikportfolio

Azuré Kauikeolani Keahi - she/her

I am a person off-color a mixed race, Native Hawaiian mother of two, toiling in the post-industrial soils of Troy, New York. My self-exploration is materialized through wordplay, earth work, and assembly of my nest. Built from strands of racial, eco, food, and birth justice, I find shelter in the creative opportunity of this entanglement.

mixedraceemotions.com/ instagram.com/azukea

breeana blalock - she/her

Breeana is mixed Palauan/white queer with strong water barnacles and land roots Breeana is currently living on occupied Duwamish territory in the Pacific Northwest with her mixed breed dog Nakita She is honored to be a part of this zine and bring awareness and celebration to Pacific Islander lives and cultures Please research ways you can be involved in supporting the work Pacific Islanders are doing

Pu’uhonua o Pu’uhuluhulu Maunakea: Mauna Kea protectors on the ground. www.puuhuluhulu.com

Chelsea Lee - she/they

Chelsea Lee (she/they) is currently pursuing a Master in Urban Planning degree at the Harvard Graduate School of Design (GSD) Previously, she received a B A in International Affairs from the University of Nevada, Reno Before coming to the GSD, Chelsea served as a Legislative Aide to California State Senator Carol Liu and as a Principal Consultant to the California Legislative LGBT Caucus, advising members on local, national, and global policy issues Chelsea’s general planning interests include issues affecting older adults and the LGBTQ community, in addition to affordable housing, social equity, water and sanitation, and sustainable “green” development, and placemaking initiatives.

Chelsea's work reflects her passion for advocacy and systemic change that strives towards advancing equity for marginalized communities of color, particularly in the realm of climate justice.

Charles Espedido (commonly known as Charlie) serves as a Program Coordinator for the Roger Arliner Young (RAY) Clean Energy Diversity Fellowship. Charlie is driven by his love for mentorship and increasing diversity in the environmental movement. As a RAY Program Coordinator, he leads the day-to-day responsibilities of the fellowship which aims to facilitate energy efficiency and renewable energy-related career pathways for emerging leaders of color.

Charlie holds a bachelor’s degree from the Loyola University Chicago studying Environmental Science: Public Health and is based in Chicago, Illinois. He is passionate about the intersections of diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) in the environmental movement by participating on various DEI committees at NRDC, his involvement with the Environmentalists of Color network, and building up an advocacy group called the Chicago Asian Americans for Environmental Justice (CAAEJ). Being 1.5 generation Filipino-American and his Ifugao ancestral roots from his dad and Grandmother have heavily influenced his love and appreciation for the environment and hopes to inspire others to love and appreciate the world around us through our diverse identities In his spare time, you’ll find him either taking a hip-hop dance class, working on his aerial/circus skills, or on the quest to find the best iced mocha

Kartik Ramkumar - he/him

My name is Kartik Ramkumar and I am South Asian American, specifically IndianAmerican Over the last few years, I have been trying to understand what it means to be Asian American, specifically how the issues facing us in the US today uniquely affect me and my race My method to explore these themes is through storytelling either by performing theatre and improv or by writing stories and poetry

Working with SAAPRI (the South Asian American Policy & Research Institute) has allowed me to put some of these explored themes into action by turning challenges into opportunities for activism. By educating South Asians on the census, voting, environmental and civic issues have allowed me to share my art widely and to fulfill my passion for activating the South Asian community.

https://www.facebook.com/SAAPRIChicago/

Kristy Drutman - she/her

Kristy Drutman (she/ her) is a proactive and innovative digital media strategist with a passion for environmental education and advocacy. Based in Oakland, CA, she holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in Urban Studies and a Bachelor of Science degree in Society and Environment from the University of California, Berkeley. As a youth climate activist for the past 6 years, Kristy speaks on numerous climate justice panels and trains other youth climate activists on how to leverage digital platforms for grassroots organizing. She also designs and facilitates workshops nationwide focused on the intersections of cultural identity, climate change, and effective digital storytelling.

www instagram com/browngirl green browngirlgreen org

https://www.patreon.com/browngirlgreen

Liz

Wang - she/hers

My name is Liz, and I am a first generation Chinese American who was born in Toronto and raised in Central Florida. After some years of food-related education and volunteering, I transitioned to urban farming to dive into the ways food simultaneously addresses our physical, emotional, environmental, and spiritual needs. Growing food has the potential to root those who are uprooted, claim our belonging to lands, and heal in abundance. I seek to learn about multicultural crops -- influenced by my fading knowledge of Chinese culture and history, my South Asian and Southeast Asian neighbors, the experiences of former food pantry clients, all those who wish to heal and nourish

M.T. Chu - she/hers 16

In 1992, at the age of 5, my family and I immigrated from the city of Bien Hoa, Viet Nam to the Springfield, MA, United States. We came here through the Humanitarian Program for Former Political Detainees that allowed South Viet Nam veterans, like my dad, and their families to immigrate to the US. Heavily supported by tình bạn hữu đông phương (friendship of countrymen) and the generosity of US-born friends, our family of five secured the basic needs and financial footing to integrate into the “American” way of life At the same time, we made our new place “home” by tightly holding onto our culture and faith, and being active in our Vietnamese parish and community These early experiences have shaped me and my desire to continue uplifting người Việt Nam đồng hướng, especially those marginalized by discrimination, language and/or socioeconomic barriers

Currently I am a public health doctoral candidate invested in environmental and housing justice research within immigrant, and particularly AAPI, communities. Also, as a member with Dorchester Not for Sale, I advocate for housing equity and anti-displacement of residents in Boston. My experiences in community settings have reiterated to me the power of organizing and the importance of preserving and uplifting my ethnic roots, amidst constant pressures to assimilate and accept the status quo I find joy in my partner, my faith, nature walks, fall foliage, spicy foods, and being in community

Mara Joaquin - she/her

When I immigrated to the United States from the Philippines as a child, one of the things that tethered me to the motherland was my parents recounting of the myths and legends they learned from their parents My identity as being both Filipino and American has colored my experience and shaped my personal story I write fiction, primarily short stories, about many topics and interests that fascinate me, but I always find myself drawn back to the land and people I came from.

This particular story is dedicated to my uncle, who passed away last year in November. Many of my fondest memories of the Philippines are ones I shared with him during my stay there. He showed me the beauty of the mountains, lakes, rivers, fields, cities, and even volcanoes. :)

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7225431.Mara Joaquin

Maria Jiang - she/her

Maria is a second generation Taiwanese-American from Reading, Pennsylvania "Made In " was partly inspired by a video at the Museum of Capitalism featuring an incarcerated woman tearing apart an American flag she is paid to create for only 65 cents / hour Maria questions the changed relative monetary worth of her own life if she was born just across the Pacific Ocean and how we perpetuate continuous cycles of extraction in the style of demonstrating self worth and through boasting wealth retention through seeking "deals "

Nisa Dang – she/they

Nisa Dang is a queer Black Amerasian writer, political strategist, and digital organizer. Currently based in Boston, Nisa creates content to make political education more accessible. Much of this work has looked like grounding complex political ideas through storytelling. As a second generation Black Amerasian, Nisa feels called not only to tell their own story, but the stories of their parents wherever possible and permitted

Nisa's interest in storytelling began when they were a teen writing Harry Potter fanfiction on the internet Over time, they decided that the best stories to tell were ones that created a feeling of conflict in readers Ultimately, Nisa hopes to bring emergent ideas – like the impact of climate disaster – into every day discussions so that people with no "formal" (i e academic and elitist) training can lead conversations about the complex issues that affect all of us – some more than others.

They hope for more opportunities to tie seemingly insignificant events (like their mom's toilet story) into major systemic phenomena to highlight the inequalities our communities feel so acutely Most recently, this storytelling has taken place on their website, which they launched earlier this year

Currently I am a public health doctoral candidate invested in environmental and housing justice research within immigrant, and particularly AAPI, communities Also, as a member with Dorchester Not for Sale, I advocate for housing equity and anti-displacement of residents in Boston My experiences in community settings have reiterated to me the power of organizing and the importance of preserving and uplifting my ethnic roots, amidst constant pressures to assimilate and accept the status quo. I find joy in my partner, my faith, nature walks, fall foliage, spicy foods, and being in community.

nisadang.co

Osamu

11

Instagram:@nisadangco

I am yonsei, a fourth-generation Japanese-American planner and facilitator from northern Arizona. My father's side has roots on the West Coast in the fishing village of Terminal Island near Long Beach, though they dispersed all over the US after being interned in camps during WWII. I grew up in Chinle, AZ, on the Navajo Nation and just off the reservation in Flagstaff during the longest drought in the recent history of the region. One year, over 15,000 acres in the mountains behind my home burned in the Schultz Fire, followed by flash flooding in my friends' neighborhood.

My experiences in the Southwest have led me to conclude that helping people who have been made vulnerable to climate change due to centuries of neglect, persecution, and exploitation is my life's work. I am a proud member of a progressive and pan-Asian community in the Boston area who are working towards racial, environmental, and housing justice.

Stories, humor, and poetry are ways I grapple with the grief and rage I feel about climate change My piece was written during the pandemic-isolation summer of 2020 in a week when the internet was awash with the video of George Floyd's murder and photos of migrant workers in California laboring under a sky orange with wildfire smoke For me, it became abundantly clear that being able to breath is a privilege that not everyone gets to experience The poem is satirically written from the perspective of one who does not realize their own privileges and at whose cost that comes.

Twitter: @kumasnax

Pheej Lauj - he/him/his

Hi and nyob zoo! My name is Pheej Lauj and I am from Fresno, CA. I also identify as a proud and queer Hmong-American. From grassroots organizing to conservation and environmental justice-related work and aspirations, I find my writing grounded in sentiments and reflections on hxstories, acceptance and identities, and both recognizing and healing intergenerational and intrapersonal trauma in accordance to complex environments.

As a child of refugees and immigrants there are many voids in my own and my parents' lives as our Hmong-American lives and identities transcend into present realities that have become both rewarding and confusing. Story sharing and witnessing are practices I aspire to further embrace to become a better me and a better ally in this ever-evolving universe.

https://sites.google.com/view/pheej/home

Rachel C Wahlert - she/her

I am Asian and White My mom is Chinese; my dad is White I figure that’s important to establish for where I stand in this poem I wrote it because the words were spilling out of me and I couldn’t sleep one night There are acknowledgements of pain that have been forgotten in history; I hope you look them up or ask me about them. I was inspired by Maya Angelou, my grandmothers, ecologies of resilience, and I could name so many things/people/events. Some purposes of this poem are to connect the tragedies in the past, to learn from them, unite with one another, acknowledge the wisdom of elders, and to remain true to one’s self and people in the face of gaslighting and adversity.

I’m sorry if my poem hurt anyone. I realize that impact is more important than intent. I am sorry.

Rayna Lo - she/her

My name is Rayna and I am an artist living in Boston, Massachusetts, USA. I am a calligrapher, illustrator, and educator.

I was born in Chicago, Illinois from parents that had emigrated from Taiwan With a strong desire to connect more to my Taiwanese heritage and develop my artistic voice, I immersed myself in traditional Chinese calligraphy (Traditional Chinese is the main writing system that is practiced in Taiwan and a handful of other Asian countries) In a world where the simplified Chinese writing system is dominant, I wanted to strengthen my Taiwanese identity and artistic expression through practicing traditional Chinese calligraphy My goal is to ensure my inherited culture does not stop with me; if fact, I want my culture to thrive while living far away from the motherland.

Sydney Fang - she/her & they/them

Sydney Fang (she/her, they/them) grew up in Santa Rosa, CA, where her family endured the impacts of the recent Tubbs and Kincaid Wildfires. She is the daughter of an immigrant from China and a refugee from Vietnam, a nail salon worker and a factory worker. A first-generation college graduate, Fang is the product of U.S. refugee resettlement programs, public housing, reduced school lunches, K-12 public schools, and the University of California system. She is a candidate for Masters in Public Policy and Masters in Urban Planning degrees at Harvard University. She has spent the past ten years advancing grassroots organizing and policy campaigns for racial, gender, and environmental justice, which most recently includes her tenure as a part of the Bay Area-based Asian Pacific Environmental Network (APEN)

Instagram & Twitter: @sydneyhfang

vignesh r - he/him

I am a savarna South Asian climate justice organizer currently living in Massachusetts. I was first politicized as an activist at a Palestine solidarity rally in my hometown during the War on Gaza As an organizer, I know that when people are in relation with each other and the world around us, we can weather any storm that comes our way It's this hope that gives me inspiration to write, organize, and live

Twitter: @ viggy

Zine Making Participants

Throughout our time together as an Environmental Justice Working Group, we took part in several local events where we provided zine making stations for our community. Participants of all ages and backgrounds across the Boston area contributed their thoughts and creativity We have selected a few pieces made by these participants to feature in our zine

www raynalo com Instagram: @rayna lo