From the Future Issue 1

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from the future


c o f n o t e e l n b ts a t editor's note..............................................2 issue no. 1 contributors...........................3 art by beni benyei....................................5 8-30-20.....................................................11 the lone bamboo.....................................13 life's a peach............................................15 art by sélina farzaei................................17 why did the happiness stop...................21 abstract....................................................22 biased.......................................................27 blunt & shapeless...................................28 jared's art.................................................29 i almost killed my dreams.....................31 airport......................................................33 lost in timezone......................................35 the brain..................................................37 breaking the cycle..................................38 electro electra.........................................42 chaleureux et stable...............................43 antisemitic hate crimes at an all time high in america.......................................45 problematic podcast..............................49 slayer leia EP...........................................51 1


' thank you so much to everyone who submitted work to our very first issue of From the Future Magazine! this zine was created as an effort to highlight the creative works of young people passionate about making change. this platform serves a purpose to shed light on important issues around the world that need to be addressed. From the Future was created in late november of 2020 due to the sudden explosion of activism on social media. i found that an online magazine meshing my interests in art and social/environmental justice was a project i was ready and excited to take on. with the help of the homegirl project and all contributing artists of issue one, thank you for making efforts to prosper towards a better future! -pat 2


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featuring work from...


contribut 1 . o n e o u r s s s i Lia Ponciano-Diaz

SaraJane Devereaux

Beni Benyei

Tola Aluko

Evie Lee

Mariam Elias-

Shivi Dixit

Danjuma

Zainab Bari

Sarah Hertzfeld

Sélina Farzaei

Prachi Patel

Luisa Curtis

Pooja Kann

Katyayini Shukla

Alana Leia

Srijani Roy Jared Schwartz Samina Parveen

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e b n i y n e e i b United States, he/they

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@beni_loves_art

@beni_loves_art 6


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i am standing naked in this empty house with the door and windows open overlooking the neighbor’s yards in apathy. i don’t care. in this moment i think that maybe my body is just an illusion. and if my neighbors were to see, they wouldn’t be able to comprehend the abstract concept they were looking at. yesterday, me and my sister bathed in the pool and the neighbor’s minded their business. the pool turned black with dirt and decomposing leaves but yet we still dipped our heads under the water to wash our hair and i wondered if this was just an ironic, complicated metaphor for classism. because, you know, when the hurricanes hit, trailer parks are blown into oblivion, but here, in the suburbs, we still have our pools to bathe in. go into the bathroom and turn the shower faucet on cold. it makes deep guttural groans and hisses before running dry. i don’t know why i even bothered to try. i think to myself, if my body is an illusion i wouldn’t be trying so hard to clean it. if my body is just an illusion i wouldn’t have to pour bottled water over my bare body to keep my skin from sizzling in the heat when i sleep. if my body is just an illusion this skin wouldn’t feel heat at all. but really, it’s 90 degrees and the hot louisiana sun bakes my body till am cooked through. i think that closing these doors and these windows in an act of

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modesty is the same as closing an oven door on myself. so i don't. i avoid looking at my reflection in the mirror so i look out the window instead. three trees lay like skeletons in the yard. they are upside down like they were hung by the feet and their roots are touching the heavens as they march in funeral progression. i think maybe there is something poetic about the uprooting of one’s own body. maybe there is nothing poetic about something dying at all. i think, if my body is an illusion, dying is just an illusion too. i think about how two nights ago a fourteen year old girl died under the neck of a fallen tree. two nights ago that girl was still alive. two nights ago her body was tangible. her body was flesh and bones and blood. i think, when a tree falls in the bedroom of a fourteen year old girl it does make a sound. even if everyone in the city is evacuated and gone, we still can still hear it crack before it falls. when i am done scrubbing my skin red, washcloth in one hand and bottled water in the other, i sit on the couch and i watch the blank tv. i eat canned pears and drink the syrup that it’s soaked in. i think, if my body is an illusion, it wouldn’t be so mechanical. i chew twenty times before swallowing to distract myself from the heat. i empty the can into my mouth


tand let sugar run down the side of my face. i start crying because i’ve been trying so hard to clean my body but now it’s sticky again with newfound sweat and syrup dripping down my chin and now i’m sobbing on the floor of this empty house because my body has never known such intense heat as this and my head pounds and my body aches and it hurts it hurts it hurts. i think to myself, i wish my body was an illusion and i tell myself to shutupshutupshutup. i remind myself that i am just a pathetic naked girl in an empty room cleaning herself with bottled water and a dirty washcloth. i am a pathetic naked girl who can still call herself flesh and bones and blood. i am a pathetic naked girl whose body isn’t crushed by the neck of a tree. i am a pathetic naked girl who is alive. pick up the empty can of canned pears and, instead of throwing it in the trash, i put it on the counter. it reminds me of school lunches. it reminds me that the world stopped five months ago, and that when the world stopped, we all stopped living too. the thing is, just some of us are still considered alive.

evie lee United States 17, she/her "This poem is about when Hurricane Laura hit Louisiana in late August of this year. It is important to me because I currently live in Louisiana and had to evacuate two hurricanes this year and was out of power and water for a month. This unprecedented hurricane season is a direct effect of climate change which is a major global issue." 12


b a e m n o b l o e o h t Kept alone on a rack was the lone bamboo. Its stem had a tiny crack and green leaves bore dew. Then its leaves wilted, and cracks deepened before time. Today it’s dead. But yesterday, it looked just fine.

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shivi dixit 16, India she/her


the lone bamboo's meaning "The lone bamboo is a short poem that makes use of allegory to convey the feeling of loneliness and how ignorant we get. The bamboo that looks fine with its flaws just like any human; has been kept as a showpiece on a rack. The onlooker doesn't care to acknowledge its presence until one day when it's already dead. According to them, it looked just fine the other day."

- shivi dixit @shivi____dixit14


LIFE'S A PEACH by zainab bari

My grandfather used to call me Peachee. It

I spent my afternoons outside – biking and

was one thing I loved – amongst the

swimming and running around with friends,

memories of sullen silences, strictly

until I would return home at Maghrib,

regimented days, and the threats of

exhausted and content. The Middle Eastern

burning off my fingertips for my constant

sun was relentless, and I turned the colour

nail biting - this was the one thing I held

of almonds. Not so peachy anymore.

onto as a token of genuine affection. An expression of love from a man who was

At sixteen, my changing body was the

found most often with a scowl on his face,

subject of constant scrutiny. Sharp eyes

the deep furrows in his forehead

and razor tongues shredded my shallow

perpetually crumpled into a frown.

self-esteem to confetti; wisps that clung to me just enough to maintain my façade of

My grandmother always had a delicate

being a self-assured young woman. “Don’t

beauty. Her vanity was tucked into a nook

go out without sunscreen,” my grandmother

in her bedroom; a secret until you

cautioned. “You don’t want to spoil your

happened upon it, just like the jewellery

rosy complexion. And besides, you know I

drawer hidden inconspicuously in her

like to show you off.” She tucked a stray

wardrobe. She had other secrets too – like

curl behind my ear, feeding my starving ego

the pale pink tube of “Fair & Lovely” she

the tiniest morsel. It was what I craved. So

kept on a bathroom shelf. It was “to even

I did what I was told, even though her eyes

out her complexion,” she said. She would

betrayed the truth each time I caught her

gently powder her face to a perfect lily-

looking me up and down.

white. Like porcelain: exquisite and fragile. I was seventeen, and my mother mentioned

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I would use baby powder after I showered

that my cousins still weren’t married, fast

till I was eleven years old – a puff down

moving out of the age bracket of

my front before perfume was ever part of

desirability in Desi communities. “They’re

my reality. Then I began using it on my

slim, pretty and well-educated, so it must

face each day before school; smoothing it

be because they’re dark,” she said.

out so it wouldn’t be too apparent, with

“Unfortunately, people still care about that

fingers tipped with nails bitten almost to

kind of thing.” I inwardly breathed a sigh of

the quick. Until the day I was caught,

relief. Whatever I was, at least I was gori. At

flour-handed, by my mother, who frowned

least that was one thing I had going for me.

and told me not to do it anymore.

It was a poisonous form of liberation, one I

“Because that stuff isn’t for your face. And

could taste mingled with the self loathing

you’re too young for this anyway.”

burning at the back of my throat.


We went to the beach when our practice

When my grandfather passed away, my

exams were over, relishing the brief

mourning was confused. I wanted to

respite before the real ones rolled around

remember the good – and so I did. I

in the summer term. My friend and I

remembered the miniature wooden

retreated to the changing rooms, every

fireplace he carved for me and dug it out

hour like clockwork, carefully massaging

from boxes in the basement. I ran my

sunscreen onto any exposed skin. We

fingers along its smooth edges and

shared a name, a background, and a

fingered the delicate woodwork. Turning it

desire not to tan in the sun the way our

over, I found the inscription: For my

white friends did. We dutifully slathered

Peachee. I wanted this to be

on our protection – both from UV rays and the disapproval of aunties and their

uncomplicated, just a term of endearment I could cherish. But it never was.

ilk. I had thought it was simply derived from I thought university was my escape, but it

the peach flush of my cherubic face in

turns out breaking free of the shackles of

childhood, but this was a man the colour

a colonized mindset is much harder in

of cocoa. If I felt the impact of colourism

practice than in theory. It was the

with my fair skin, how could he not? He,

dormant beast I unwittingly kept locked

whose wife had skin pale as jasmine; he,

behind my ribcage; one that reared its

who faithfully used the same tube of “Fair

ugly head at the most inopportune times

& Lovely” for years, but to no avail. He,

and set my world aflame. Like when I

whose son, my father, still sometimes slips

would take it as a compliment when

up and calls himself too dark after

someone said that I didn’t look Pakistani,

countless discussions about how to

or when I’d be more flattered by the

dismantle our internalized racism and

attentions of a white boy than those of

colourism. Was it relief he felt, when he

someone else. I knew enough for a sharp

saw that his son’s eldest child was lighter

sear of guilt to slash across my

than them both? Light enough to be

conscience, but I was desperate and

white-passing in certain situations? Or

pathetic; I craved white affirmation the same way my ancestors did. This

was it pride that his descendants were closer in appearance to the people who

unfortunate tradition remains

colonized his country before the Partition

unblemished by the passing of time, as

and Independence? Can you be proud of

our communities continue to practice it

something like that?

feverishly, eager to do so, but on some level, also terrified of losing what little

And what of my younger brother, the

standing we have, if we dare stop.

darkest amongst all four members of my

Canada she/her

immediate family? I only remembered later – my grandfather never gave him a nickname.

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f a a r z n i a l e é i s @wackography

Canada she/they "As my love for everything creation-related grew, I also became more conscious of the impacts I have on the environment. I started to pay more attention to what I toss out, the waste I produce - and it became a goal of mine to create and consume in a more ethical manner. I am strongly inspired by nature, hence another reason to protect it. My favourite places for materials include flea markets, thrift stores and my partner's recycling bin. It gets very cold here in winter, so as soon as warmer days come by, I'm out chasing garage sales. Glass jars and bottles, fabrics, used books, frames... everything deserves a second chance.Since, I've learned how to pack and ship my orders responsibly, make homemade recycled paper, diy clay, natural dyes and that's just to name a few." 17

https://www.wackography.com/shop-1


sélina farzaei

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sélina farzaei


sélina farzaei

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why did the happiness stop Luisa Curtis

maybe it’s being stuck at home controlled and restricted rules upon rules the dos the don’ts the yesses and the nos maybe it’s them controlling and restricting thoughts upon thoughts the doubts the memories the love the hate or maybe it’s both taking over my mind taking over me

15, England he/she/they 21


katyayini shukla 17, India she/they 22


katyayini shukla 17, India she/they 23


katyayini shukla 17, India she/they 24


katyayini shukla 17, India she/they 25


katyayini shukla 17, India she/they 26


The biased culture I reside in, Insists me on the way; To walk across the path, That have got their own feet hurt. A dozen times they would repeat, To dress me up like a wrapped up gift box, Then beware of assaults because, in their rule book, Exposure is strictly restricted. Half a dozen times, They would force me to marry; The man next door, who's currently forty, But holds a lot of riches; And a couple of boys, His dead wife left him with. Biased them would suggest you things to do in bed, With the stranger in grey hair; On the day of the wedding you met. Biased culture, biased them, list them all roughly, To throw it out from your head. Enough of blindness, see through things, Because they would never save you; When rates are high in risks. Biased them are themselves wrapped; Don't fall prey to the grave, You were never destined for. Embrace what's yours, Defend what doesn't suit; Yet never surrender to the turbid debark that kills you from inside.

Srijani Roy, India she/her

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N T U & L B

SHAPELESS Acceptance confronted on it's way hindrance, Cause my curves weren't appealing; That I could be turned into a soul. I wonder the intensity of the excuses, I received, And it made me end up things there; Where I realised that it could be a start, To the journey of mine. Embracing and owning those every blunt edges, No longer am I afraid of being 'me'. Their smiles at me proof them incompetent, While I stand strong with the Shapeless structure. Where, inside within resides the purer soul, I would exult every time, I look at the mirror. I can make my own rhythm, And in it's every strain, it will be my body; Being able to dance with it's heart's content. I won't break down what I've built, Neither will I fall to the ground on my knees; But, everytime it will be my head and voice, Rising higher and towards.

Srijani Roy, India she/her 28


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"Willful ignorance has become a global threat and my hope is that my artwork makes it clear exactly who we need to be standing up to in order to make the world a better, safer, healthier and happier place."

United States 30


I almost killed my dreams One day a storm called society showed up at my door Knock knock, is this the address of dreams. I peeped out through the hole. They had ax to chop of my wings. Bleed my dreams, kill them, and kill them. They have been trying to kill it for years But every time, we escape. I decorated my dreams in a golden basket. Hide it underneath the paper mache. Ornamental paper, shiny glitter. I blew my blood into it. For years and years, I sewed each part of its body. Stayed up nights till my work is done. Shimmering candles and shining hopes. My tears were pearls that shone in the darkness, melted snow pieces. Every sweat was like springʼs rain. I headed into my room and packed them The suitcase was empty, restless filled in this air, For a second, I felt I canʼt live here Itʼs hard to breathe and once I throw it out of the window 31


I will never see my dreams again

I can't let them kill my dreams.

So I grabbed my dreams along with the handle and opened the door. The society and I got into a dispute, I am still trying to escape from the crowd, Cacophony of words dissolve in my ears, but I cried blasphemy, surviving this catastrophe. But I am crying beads of bliss, Thank goodness, I didnʼt kill my dreams

Samina Parveen Saudi Arabia she/her

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I rushed into the airport gate. My chest was stiff, no don’t turn back. I slipped my hand into my purse and I put on my sunglasses. There was no sun, but there was a reason that my eyes are dipped in sorrow, but silence is the only luggage I own. I felt his presence. But I didn't want to say good bye. I said to him to look for the good, in goodbye. I boarded the plane. The attendant gave us emergency escape instructions. Well is there an emergency exit for my heart to jump off the plane? All I wondered was The airport is the place where families meet, and where melancholy 33


S E E P S into the air-conditioned rooms. Tears flow from clouds to the moisture on my plane window. As I Sank into it. Hoping to see tiny you lost in the miniature city. When my tears couldn't find a way to escape. I looked at the clouds. We were dancing with rain, but memories are a double-edged sword. You cherish them, but then they hurt you. Plane landed I got down the plane, trying to think of the future this new place holds.

Samina Parveen Saudi Arabia she/her

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When the plane landed, I gasped Slowly opening my closed eyes to the world I left behind. Smelling the wet mud which is still alive, oh petrichor When the air hostess greets me with a namaste, it's a feeling of belongingness. The rain greets me and the wind dances whirling me around It's all lost in a timezone Delhi airport, when I roll my eyes to check if anything has changed in the years. It gives me chills to see the vending machine filled with kurkure, an Indian flavor of lays. It's all lost in the time zone. When I see the nine mudras on the walls of terminal three. That's when I get reassurance. that this is my land. Skillfully posing unique Indian architecture reminds me of the missing ingredients of my life. Time Zones strain me, my friends go to bed earlier than me, That’s when I feel empty, overwhelmed. When the sun rises before you rise, and nights are deeper than my plight. 35


It’s a pleasure to see them at the airport when we live At the same time zones. Virtual hugs and profound cuts Can’t heal when all I find is time, a time we could talk, Stuck in my timezone which was on a neverending loop

It’s a delight to see the narrow streets, hawkers selling sweet When I shout shotgun, it’s always astonishing to see the driver’s seat on the right I'll be yawning, it’s insane with jet lags. The aroma of kulcha, masalas roasted with ghee making it irresistible to resist. As the car moves casually along the modern roads, grey pavements have turned black, the whole place seems to be new. Buildings rise, trees die. It’s all lost in timezones.

Samina Parveen Saudi Arabia she/her 36


The brain is complex. It works fast, or slow. It takes in information we cannot remember without it. It works for us. The brain is smart. The brain is generous. The brain is a home for our memories. But the brain does not know how to let go.

SaraJane Devereaux 16, United States she/her

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k a i n e g r b

th e

e l cyc

I used to drink coca cola religiously; I loved it. However, when I drank coca cola, I gained weight. When I stopped drinking it, I lost weight. But I still craved it. I craved being able to open it and hear the fizz. I craved being so close to it that I could feel the bubbles popping on my face. And when it burned as it cascaded down my throat, it was a state of euphoria for me. Then it gets empty and I'm left with nothing but an empty bottle of what I used to have. When I chased people who didn’t value me, I suffered not only physically but emotionally. My self image changed and of course my weight spiked. It was constant fighting. Old drama. New drama. The coke had gone flat, but I still wanted to drink it. Until the coke was thrown away and we weren’t friends, and I was somewhat fine, I was thinking of trying something new. Until I let

the cravings creep in. Until I imagined the bubbles popping again. Until I fantasized about that burning sensation, again. I felt bad because I was told it was my fault that the coke was flat and I believed them. So I wanted to make things right. I wanted their attention again; because they would give me one small sliver of their coca cola that would keep me satisfied, for a little while. They would throw me away like an empty coca cola bottle because of something I said, something I did, something they didn’t like about me. I apologized. I changed my whole persona for them. I gave them my small drop of coca cola, when it was all I had to give. They gave me a sip of coca cola, when they had a full bottle. I chased after that burning sensation for 9 straight months and always came up empty. Always came up with an unquenched thirst from that

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little bit of attention that I used to get. Until an early morning when I was finally satisfied. They told me they wanted to be friends again. That they realized I was there for them. That they miss our friendship. I did too. I’ve known them for years. Why would I want to let that go? Why would I want to let something that was so important go? They dangled that coca cola bottle right in front of me, knowing I was thirsty. I was 9 months thirsty, my throat was so dry. I longed for some coca cola so bad I could taste it on the tip of my tongue; but it burns, it burns every time. After they said they wanted to be friends again, I didn’t hesitate to open that coca cola bottle and drink what they allowed. Then they got mad at me again and the coca cola bottle was dwindling. I was growing thirstier, yearning for a taste of that detrimental acid, even though I knew there wasn’t enough for me. Even though I knew it was getting flat and I shouldn't be drinking it. Then they started to ignore me, they put a lid on that coca cola bottle as my tongue bathed in dehydration. They were preparing to throw me away like trash, again. I stepped on the scale just to find my weight had gone up, again. My clothes were tight, again. They were mad at me. Blaming me for all the problems with the coca cola and I almost believed it. Until they dangled that now irreparable, broken bottle of coca cola in my face.

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The acid had eaten its way through. The same acid that I thought was good and was burning my throat, broke through that glass coca cola bottle. Something changed, something had to give. I knew drinking from that bottle would cut me. I knew drinking from that bottle would burn me. I knew despite all that, if I drank from that bottle, I would be thirsty again. No! I don’t want to go down this road. No! I’ve been doing it for years. No! I’ve thrown myself away for them. I’ve done everything for only a drop of coca cola; but it wasn’t enough and truth be told it never will be. The problem wasn’t me. It was the fact that they’re thirsty. They call me at 7 am in the morning when they know that no one else will answer. They keep me on the phone for 15 hours, with their issues, because they know that no one else will do that. They come crying to me for all my coke when people only give them the same pitiful amount that they gave me. I’d soothe them with my coca cola. I’d give them all of mine to get some of theirs; but I let them hinder me. I let them get into my head. I became conditioned to only want their coca cola. When another bottle was dangled in my face. I turned my head away. I wanted to be their friends, no one could quench my thirst like they did. No one could spend nights in my head, rent free, like they did. Why did they want to be friends with everyone but me? What was wrong with me? What did I do for them to throw me away… again?’ Yet, it wasn’t me.


It was that addictive temporarily thirst quenching coca cola that they gave me. I had never had better and I wasn't willing to try. I wasn’t willing to throw away what I thought was years of strong friendship. Which was actually years of toxicity. We hadn’t even been friends for half of those ‘years’! I had been conditioned since before I was a teenager to think that the burning sensation was okay. I knew I was a good friend to them but they weren’t to me. I wanted so desperately to be their friends but they didn’t want to be mine. The information that took me 2+ years to share with them, took me weeks to share with another after tasting from a different bottle. I was confusing the length of the friendship for the strength of the friendship. It was time to throw away all broken coca cola bottles and move on. Give true friendship another chance when I didn't just have that abysmal coke in my mouth. It was time to break the cycle… and I did.

"This story is a true experience of how I was in a toxic friendship with 2 girls for years. They treated me awfully. The way I view the world is, treat people the way they treat you, but don't allow someone to treat you awfully. If you do, it becomes a cycle that's hard to break."

15, United States, she/her

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mariam elias-danjuma 15, United States, she/her

my pieces which are dueled together to create “chaleureux et stable” which translates in french to “warm and steady” is based on our outlook onto the world and how we help it and how it helps us. pictured, you can see the globe in the puffer jacket, with the jacket substantially keeping the world warm, and letting it rotate, move freely, and continue on as it should. while the globe is being kept warm, the globe is helping my posture and adding even more color to the picture. it reminds me of a quote my mother always says, “it’s not what the world can do for you, it’s what you can do for the world.” if you can bring your energy, your kindness, your FLARE to the world, there are many things the world can do for you.

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electro electra

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chaleureux

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et stable

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ANTISEMITIC HATE CRIMES AT AN ALL TIME HIGH IN AMERICA sarah United

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hertzfeld

States,

she/her


4 Perps hit Hassidic Jew on head with glass bottle - Williamsburg, Brooklyn, November 11th

Man released without bail after shooting up kosher market - New York, November 10th

Man stabbed for being Jewish - Crown Heights, Brooklyn, November 10th

Men hanging fliers with swastikas on them around Sumter - South Carolina, November 10th

Antisemitic fliers claiming that jews control the world hung up around neighbourhood - San Antonio, Texas, November 8th

While celebrating Biden’s victory, man harass’s Hassidic Jew Williamsburg, Brooklyn, November 7th

Lt. Governor elect accuses jews of controlling the media - North Carolina, November 7th

Man trespasses on property of Jewish school blasting a song about killing jews - Livingston, NJ - November 3rd

Jewish cemetery vandalized - Grand Rapids, MI - November 2nd

Woman hits Jew in face with metal object - New York, November 2nd

Multiple Mezuzahs and apartment doors vandalized - Williamsburg, Brooklyn, November 2nd

MASS SHOOTING ON JEWISH SYNAGOGUE AND KOSHER MARKET IN VIENNA - NOVEMBER 2ND

Swastika painted in Jewish community - Woodcliff, NJ - October 31st

Chabad House burnt down - Delaware, October 30th

Store sells masks and phone cases with Hitler’s face saying “Kentucky Fried Jews” - New York, October 29th

Neo-Nazi’s hold celebration for second anniversary of mass shooting at Pittsburgh synagogue - October 28th

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Jewish men attending a BLM protest get yelled at to leave, get told they are part of the “synagogue of satan” and attacked by fellow protestors - Philadelphia, October 28th

C.E.O of Twitter declares that spreading holocaust denial does not qualifiy as “misinformation” according to twitter policy - October 28th

Antisemitic posters hung up around Ithaca - Ithaca, New York, October 27th

Jewish small business owners get harassed about covid violations while store was closed to customers - New York, October 28th

Hassidic Jews assaulted - Williamsburg, Brooklyn - October 26th

NYC Government targets empty Yeshivot and writes them up for “not following covid protocols” - when completely empty no violations New York - October 26th

Jewish small business owners get harassed about covid violations while store was closed to customers - New York, October 26th

Campaign poster of Jewish Senate candidate gets vandalized with swastikas - Arizona, October 26th

Woman pepper sprays jewish family including young children while they were sitting in their car - New York, October 25th

Police go to private residential property owned by Jews to harass them about covid - New York, October 23rd

Spotify refuses to remove extremely antisemitic songs off site because “music deserves to be heard as the artist intended it” - October 23rd

Lady repeatedly harassed and spat on Hassidic Jew - Williamsburg, Brooklyn, October 22nd

Staffer for a Brooklyn state Senator tweeted “Hitler was right then and it applies today” - October 22nd

Graffiti saying Jew’s deserve death spotted in Jewish neighbourhood Brooklyn, October 22nd

Holocaust denier who called jews “sleazy thieves” speaks at Georgetown University - Washington DC, October 18th

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Posters spread around saying jews control the world - Newport Beach, CA, October 17th

Kosher restaurant burnt down - Paris, October 16th

Neo-Nazi pleads guilty in plot to bomb one of Colorado’s oldest synagogues - Colorado, October 16th

NYC Gov. sent agents to take pictures of synagogues to make sure nobody is praying - New York, October 15th

Twitter suspends user for having a profile picture of a magen david October 15th

Professor at Brown showed pictures depicting Jews as apes to her class - October 15th

NYC Inspectors fined two Yeshivot for red zone COVID violations despite the schools being in yellow zones and the inspectors never setting foot inside - Queens, New York - October 15th

News Reporter called Jewish Mayor of Anchorage, Alaska a “jewish piece of fucking living shit” - Alaska, October 14th

Man threatens to kill jews and says he is willing to die to get rid of jews as it is a “good cause” - Bronx, New York - October 11th

How many of these did you hear about?

This is one months worth. This is not all instances that happened within this month.

FIGHT AGAINST ANTISEMITISM 48


pr a chi Uni te d S t a t es 16, s h e / h e r

pooja Uni te d S t a t es 16, s h e / h e r

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the

podcast

"if you know me personally, you know that i love talking about issues in our current society and bringing awareness to them. i want more people to look outside of their small bubble and see the world's good and bad. that's why i decided to co-

"this podcast helps prachi and i bring light to topics that we find very important and could have an impact on somebody's life." -pooja

host, because every topic we speak about is so close to me." -prachi

available on spotify 50


"I was in a relationship with someone for 2 1/2 years. The entire time I was with him I had writers block. Then we broke up and this album fell out of me in days. Every emotion I had been feeling that I didn't know how to express came to me through music. This album has heavy, distorted guitar, but it can be poetic and soft at times. If you love rock and roll this album is for you. If you've ever lost someone you love this album is for you. If you love to listen to girls screaming in frustration this album is for you. I promise you, no matter who you are or what you've gone through, this album is for you. I hope you find as much comfort in it as I do." 51

alana leia 18, California she/her


available on spotify & apple music 52


issue no.1