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How are you doing? Are you alright? In non-pandemic times these questions would be trite, banal, asked with dull formality and answered in the same style, a part of the awkward social rituals we all dutifully performed. But current - seemingly unending - circumstances have put new emphasis on this cliched inquiry, slanting the verb in italics - ‘no really, how are you?’ It is now asked in genuine terms, because, this time, we care – not that we didn’t always before, but the unique crisis we are all enduring has reverted the question back to its roots, concentrated it to its purpose. The expected answer is no longer taken for granted. Because we are probably not all right, not all right at all. And so, I put the question to you, reader: how are you?

How are you feeling? Are you coping alright?

As always, it’s totally fine if you aren’t. It’s been tough. The healing process from trauma (and the last year has been traumatic and then some) can be arduous, and often we’re not adept at acknowledging we need to heal. Of all the cliched phrases, one always sticks out - time is the greatest healer. And despite its hackneyed reputation, it’s true - even if time as a concept has seemingly been chucked into the air along with everything else. We always complained we needed more time, and then bam! For some of us, here it was, acres of it, stretching far off into the horizon. But it hasn’t been time to go to the gym, or time to spend with friends. It has just been time, blank and impersonal, a lump sum. We have been forced to take time on its own terms. At the beginning, there was a dishonest rhetoric of using all this time to ‘improve’ ourselves: to get on top of mental or physical health, to pick up that new hobby. And it was utilised by many, myself included. But trying to ‘heal’ in a period of intense global sickness is the most striking of contradictions; it is the juxtaposition of two opposite realities which cannot coexist. As a long-term depressive, attempting to magically heal my mental difficulties in a period of isolation was never going to work. It was all subliminal distraction, more than anything, and it was one not all are afforded. The key workers, the sick, and the grieving were never given the option to use this time for such.

Healing is not about time as substance, it’s about time as process. Having countless free hours will not fast forward healing: it takes time in its natural, undiluted form. It’s about moving forward through time, not being static within its confines. Trauma has many facets, and despite the severity of individual problems many of us have been facing, it’s fair to say the last year has also been a time of collective political trauma. And how do you heal politically? If we think back to last May, the Black Lives Matter demonstrations and protests in the wake of the murder of George Floyd brought attention to a deep societal wound that had never been allowed to heal. The mood was one of fury and exhaustion – if the world can pull together to fight a physical sickness, why can’t there be the same efforts against the sickness of injustice, prejudice, and systematic racism? Perhaps the most potent healing energies come from a desire for, and being part of, tangible change.

The desire to change, to heal, has become universal. It has spread to environmental and global issues. We have been given more time to read, educate ourselves, and reflect. And it’s safe to say, everyone is tired. Taking agency in national or individual regeneration will undoubtedly be taxing. At the time of writing, however, there are invigorating signs of progress. The result of the recent US election has culminated with the removal of one of modern politics’ most toxic figureheads. And, finally, a vaccine is here - working to our knowledge, at least. There was a palpable euphoria on the days these glimmers of optimism were announced, a collective sigh of: ‘finally’. It showed that we have the power to instigate change, regeneration, and metamorphosis, if we can truly pool our resources. National conversations feel reenergised, forward-looking.

But these material factors will only go so far towards a global, collective, spiritual healing. I think, now, no one wants to go back to how things were before. Healing in the biological sense is the replacement of damaged tissue with an entirely new layer of cells. So, the process of spiritual healing is not about a reclamation of the old, pre-trauma self, but the constitution and the acceptance of newness. If we just return it will erase our experience, the very material of our metaphorical tissues. Think of the stages of grieving: acceptance is the final, almost transcendent, step. Healing is individual and temporal, and we need to allow ourselves to grieve before we can accept. It will come in its own time. So, what to do with all the exhaustion, the pain, the anger? Accept it. We can’t ignore it, or make it go away, so our only choice is to accept its reality. Scar tissue is stronger, after all. It’s not something we can force on ourselves in all circumstances, but acknowledging the need for its presence - is vital. We are moving towards a ‘new normal’, as they say, but I think that phrase has become detached from its origins now. We’ve found ourselves untethered: we don’t know what we’re moving towards, and it certainly doesn’t seem normal.

We have the power to instigate change, regeneration, and metamorphosis, if we can truly pool our resources

Trying to ‘heal’ in a period of intense global sickness is the most striking of contradictions; it is the juxtaposition of two opposite realities which cannot coexist

During these long months, music has become a solace. One album from countless that has caught my attention is Titanic Rising by Weyes Blood. On one beautiful track, Wild Time, it sums up not only practically everything I’ve been feeling, but also what healing truly offers to us all. She sings, ‘Turn around, it’s time for you to slowly let these changes make you more holy and true... it’s a wild time to be alive’. And isn’t it just.

SUNRISE, SUNSET:

reclaiming my Judaism in the advent of the alt-rightWORDS Julia Hegele (she/her)

CW: Discussions of anti-Semitism

Jewish by blood, suburban by my parent’s decision, I had lived my life in relative distance from my ancestral community. With the exception of lengthy seders and early memories under palm fronded sukkahs, my experience as a Jew has been parched by the evangelical draught of cultural deprivation endemic to the urban sprawl of Denver, Colorado. With the exception of my annual escape to a summer camp where I could exist blissfully in Jewish space, my relationship to my people was born out of self preservation and silence. I was bonded to the Torah not by communal recitation but by self taught Hebrew; major holidays were spent in a high school surrounded by four different churches; even family recipes went flavorless when consumed alone. Demographically I was a Jew, but my identity was compromised by inaccess, shame, and isolation. Although my family kept in touch with cultural practices, we stayed out of synagogue and essentially forgot the ancient spiritualism we were indebted to. The practice I was most familiar with was struggle - the ancient unifier of a people who have been persecuted since the dawn of Judaism. I had resigned myself to a second hand knowledge: stories of practice with none of my own to connect through, watching my religion through documentaries, statistics, and the pages of books. Revival - Spring Issue

When swastikas descended on Charlottesville, I expected to feel the same dull ache that comes when you familiarise yourself with the extent of anti-Semitism, but I felt something different. I was wracked with such a pang of devastation that I couldn’t sleep for days, a breaking that felt older than my soul. Yet I felt I didn’t deserve to grieve. I wasn’t practicing. I wasn’t active. My Judaism was all hypothetical, dormant. It was this unbearable and unspeakable guilt that I bore with me from the mountain west across the sea to the UK in the autumn of that same year. I never expected a break in anti-Semitism, but I was unpleasantly surprised by the normalcy surrounding anti Jewish rhetoric in my new home - a grounding of prejudice that was made more painful by an even sparser community of Jews. In my first day alone in Glasgow I took to the streets, crawling up hills and panting down long stretches of motorway until I reached the pinnacle of Garnethill. Through trees and light washed sandstone I was jolted out of my daydream by a Star of David. I had passed churches, Finnieston’s gurdwara, mosques to the north and south, and here joining them was the most charming synagogue I’d ever seen. Standing in its courtyard I felt a pull of something deeper than want or need. I was at home. The place before me was not claimed by my city friends, or my religion teacher, or even my mother and her worn, golden menorah. This was a place entirely I had resigned myself to a second my own, free to explore and free to falter in. I don’t think I truly felt G-d until that moment - and not the defined, personified hand knowledge: G-d of contemporary imagery, no white flowing beard or halo, but the G-d who stories of practice with none of my appeared to Elijah as a still, small voice after fire and flame. own to connect through, watching my religion through The same day I found G-d, extremists gathered in Berlin to commemorate the hanging of Rudolph Hess. documentaries, A month later I spent my first High statistics, and the pages of books Holiday in my beloved new home, sharing the motion, the kindredness, the language of my people in communal prayer for the first time. I saw a swastika keyed into a wall on my walk home. Two months after that I had my Star of David ripped off my neck in a student union. I watched my activist idols refuse to denounce anti-Semitism, from Alice Walker to the leaders of the Women’s March. I wept at reports of vandalism, violence, normalized beatings of my people around the world. I nodded as people told me sweetly, ‘You don’t look Jewish’, asked my opinion on Israel, and proceeded to entreat me to theirs. But I also lived with humility and cognisance, respect for others and kindness - not merely in theory but in practice. I incorporated prayer and reading into my daily routine. I taught my friends to make hamantaschen, I bundled my own spices for havdalah, I lit candles and hid my eyes from their holiness.

I DON'T THINK I TRULY FELT G-D UNTIL THAT MOMENT - AND NOT THE DEFINED, PERSONIFIED G-D OF CONTEMPORARY IMAGERY, NO WHITE FLOWING BEARD OR HALO, BUT THE G-D WHO APPEARED TO ELIJAH AS A STILL, SMALL VOICE AFTER FIRE AND FLAME

A year after I first attended services, I watched 11 worshipers die in a synagogue. I felt the same rage, the same pang, that same endless reverberation of anguish that came to me after Charlottesville. But this time there was no numbness, no disconnection, no confusion as to my place. As I had been rebuilding my connections to my people, the antithesis to our existence had been rallying with the same strength. But it is now, as the alt-right spills further into our streets, our timelines, and our governments, that I see with clarity the brilliance of my people. Our unparalleled commitment to living through circumstances that deny our place on this planet, our reliance on community in times of peril - these are the things that I was missing, that needed revived from deep inside me. As those who oppress us grow in strength, so must those they seek to diminish. There is no ‘good’ time to come into one’s Judaism: prejudice is a great constant of our identity. However now I am not resigned to numbness, but rather I am compelled with the agency of thousands of years to do what the newly radicalized right would hate the most: grieve, recover, and live.

When two celestial bodies are enlightened, the one that burns brighter will eclipse the other for a moment. But it is the one that burns steadily that will engulf the weakened, rasping husk of the exacerbated star. It is a stolid, warm, existence that - despite burns - will always shine through the violence of the universe.

THE TIME FOR TALK IS OVER

CW: mental illness, discussions of race, queerphobia, and transphobia

WORDS Monique Joy Raranga (she/her) ART Rosie Stobbie (she/her)

When reflecting on the status of mental health advocacy, it’s easy to conclude that we’re doing much better than 20 years ago. And, in a way, it’s true. Long-term movements are steadily changing public attitudes towards mental health – last year, the Time to Change campaign reported a 12.7% improvement in attitudes towards mental ill-health since 2007. And in the unprecedented (sigh) age of lockdowns and self-isolation, protecting public mental health is on the minds of many. If we couldn’t before, we can safely say now that people are at least talking about mental health more than ever. Amidst this growing crescendo, however, there are vital details being ignored - to the detriment of long-term mental wellbeing. Current strategies - whether from governments or grassroots movements - often centre around de-stigmatisation and ‘speaking out’. This combats the all too common culture of dismissal, disbelief of mental illness, and fear of the mental ‘abnormal’ which pushes sufferers into the margins. Yet, while it is vital to cultivate a compassionate culture, there is a downside to this hyperfixation on a singular step within a much longer journey. Too often mainstream movements homogenise those suffering from poor mental health - failing to investigate the innumerable factors which lead individuals to require help in the first place. Consequently, a clear and personalised map for navigating recovery is not determined. Once people do speak out, self-care practices like ‘staying hydrated’ and ‘journaling’ are among the first to be recommended by peers and professionals alike. But, while valuable, there’s a limit to what your Chilly’s bottle and the notes app can do. It’s fantastic that more people are overcoming stigmas, speaking out, and asking for help, but are those in power - the ones who are supposed to be listening - actually doing anything? Does mental health advocacy as we know it go deep enough? Combatting systems of oppression, such as classism, racism, and queerphobia, have an underestimated impact on the deterioration of our mental health. The WHO’s definition of health specifies ‘physical, mental, and social wellbeing’ – it’s essential to see these three avenues of wellbeing as both individually important and interwoven. But the very causes of societal ill-health are often side-lined in the It's fantastic that more people are mental health discussion, especially in the traditional ‘objectivity’ of science and medicine. Apolitical strategies are not overcoming stigmas, speaking out, and enough: oppression must be addressed as a public health concern. For one, the far-reaching effects of asking for help, but are those in power capitalistic ideals are a clear impairment to our collective mental health. The central theme of profit-over-person necessitates - the ones who are supposed to be the diminishment of the worker to an expendable machine, condemned to fulfil corporate expectations for survival. listening - actually doing anything? A system which relies on the threat of withheld access to basic necessities will grind away the mental stability of anyone - especially those with a depleting bank balance. Capitalism thrives not only at the expense of mental health, but directly off the back of it. Anxieties surrounding job insecurity - and the cascade of homelessness, starvation, and poverty that can follow - allows for exploitation of the workforce through lower wages and longer hours. This reality is criticised by political theorist Chomsky, and cited by economist Greenspan as the reason for US economic success. Profit-oriented systems are fundamentally incompatible with the social, physical, and mental welfare of communities. Can simply speaking about the resulting mental turmoil and engaging in self-care practices truly help in a system that breeds and feeds off such habits?

13 Prejudices against racial and queer identities, amongst others, also have an indisputable mental toll. Systemic violence against those who aren’t white, PROFIT-ORIENTED SYSTEMS ARE FUNDAMENTALLY heterosexual, and cisgender pose a danger to all aspects of health, mental health being no exception. To scratch the surface, Stonewall have found tragically INCOMPATIBLE WITH THE SOCIAL, PHYSICAL, AND MENTAL WELFARE high rates of mental ill-health amongst LGBTQ+ people, with OF COMMUNITIES over half experiencing depression in 2018. These issues also persist manifestations of depression? Talking about as marginalised individuals navigate treatment: these experiences and helping each other for one, Black men are 17 times more likely understand their cause will always be essential to be diagnosed with a serious mental health to mental health justice. Acts of self-care, condition than their white counterparts. while easy to write off, often provide critical The ‘neutrality’ of medicine, be it biomedical solace to those who might struggle to do research or applied healthcare, is ignorant to the ‘more’. Self-care practices can even be seen as a unconscious biases ingrained in our systems; radical act in themselves. Black queer activist, and it is this ignorance which facilitates its Audre Lorde, poignantly defined them as ‘not violent disregard of those experiences which self-indulgence’ but ‘self-preservation’ and ‘an stray from the privileged norm. It’s important act of political warfare’. Indeed, the value of to interrogate the motivations behind our taking walks or drinking water should not be research and the providers of medical training dismissed, but, of course, such practices are not – who are they really looking out for while the be-all-and-end-all. Our self-care must be ignoring the voices of marginalised groups? more than skin deep; there is little a Lush bath It’s critical that we take an intersectional bomb can do to stop systemic oppression. approach in all discussions surrounding the The value of speaking out should forces breeding mental ill-health. Coined by not be dismissed, but true wellbeing cannot Kimberlé Crenshaw, intersectionality refers be achieved while oppressive forces remain to the interconnectedness of traditionally integral to our society’s structure. The demands separated identities and how their overlap of mental health campaigns need to centre not influences our experiences. Yes, we need an just around de-stigmatisation and self-care, understanding of how transphobia, racism, and but around broader social justice. So, on whom wealth (or lack thereof) impact transgender should these responsibilities fall? We all have people, people of colour, and the working our role to play, through our own learning and class, respectively, but to treat these injustices unlearning, but fundamentally these demands as separate factors would be to invalidate must be directed at those with the resources to and oversimplify the violence experienced by overhaul systemic failings: the governments we working-class Black trans people. elect and the corporations we fund. We’re in a These criticisms of current strategies position today where more people are speaking should not fuel a wave of cynicism. Stigma out about their mental health – it’s now time continues to isolate victims, particularly those to speak out about what’s hurting us and what conditions demonised by popular culture, help we need, and it’s down to those in power such as schizophrenia. Even conditions we to respond. consider widely understood remain, well, widely misunderstood: how often do we hear judgement of poor hygiene or social withdrawal, forgetting that these are possible