2024 Fall Submissions
September 2024
Reproductive Justice and Autonomy in recognition of International Safe Abortion Day.
Latin American views of abortion remain controversial. Nonetheless, we will keep our heads raised as the fight for bodily autonomy continues; we will not stop until everyone has access to safe and legal abortion.
-Fernanda.
International Safe Abortion Day Celebration
We hosted an International Safe Abortion Day Celebration on September 26 alongside UVic’s Antiviolence Project. Check out some videos and pictures of how it went!
Tiresias (Excerpt from developing play.)
Link Bechtold (he/they)
This piece belongs to a longer (in progress) play, which is a modern adaptation of the myth of Tiresias retold through a trans lens. The play is structured like a Greek Tragedy, with a Chorus of transgender figures from Greek myths. These scenes are from the beginning of the play, setting the stage before Tiresias’s entrance. The purpose of the longer work is to decontextualize gender identity from gender expression, revealing the many pathways transitioning can take, and emphasizing that there is No Right Way To Be Any Specific Gender.
THE PROLOGUE
A spotlight on an office chair. It spins around slowly to reveal CAENEUS, a book held in his hand.
CAENEUS: I have read another story, much like ones I’ve read before
What’s meant to be a celebration but somehow still becomes a war
And none of what I thought had mattered is given any precedence
For pain and suffering reign sovereign, and joy is seen as decadent
In this tome is my discomfort, reflected back and back at me
It hides and twists inside my grasp, yet here laid plain for all to see
This is the story I have seen, time and time and time again
Of innate knowledge learned young, and medicants my only friend
Of rigid rules and faithless friends, of families lost and few loves gained
The harshest slurs, the hardest knocks,
These stories haunt me like the pox,
Because
Hold on
Here’s something new
(Caeneus pulls his other hand from behind the book, revealing a raised middle finger)
A total and complete FUCK YOU
FUCK the pain and
FUCK the hate
FUCK teaching those who don’t hold space
FUCK those who tell our stories for us
Now it’s time to meet the Chorus.
Lights up on the rest of the stage to reveal SIPROITES, MESTRA, LEUCIPPUS, and IPHUS, all likewise sitting in chairs. Together they form the CHORUS. They are set in a V formation, opening up towards the upstage, with Caeneus as the point. The following is set to movement, sometimes utilizing the rolling chairs, sometimes not.
CHORUS: It starts as a drop.
SIPROITES: A seed.
LEUCIPPUS: A moment.
MESTRA: A quiet realization.
IPHUS: A new growth blossoming inside your soul.
CAENUS: It starts as a flood.
LEUCIPPUS: A wildfire.
SIPROITES: An earthquake.
MESTRA: Shattering the world you once knew –
IPHUS: All window panes and door frames and fences –
CAENEUS: A rubble of your previous life –
LEUCIPPUS: And showing before you –
CHORUS: Fields.
MESTRA: The new growth slowly unfolding –
CAENEUS: The sharp sting of sunlight in your eyes –
IPHUS: The roots burrowing deep and strong, latching –
SIPROITES: A soft breeze, clean and fresh –
LEUCIPPUS: The slow, continuous push towards the light –
CAENEUS: The angled architecture, gone –
MESTRA: Just fertile earth, a new path –
CHORUS: You’re not in Kansas anymore.
LEUCIPPUS: It’s climbing out of the cave –
SIPROITES: Recognizing the shadows on the wall as just that –
MESTRA: Just shadows.
IPHUS: Out of the tunnel, and up, up –
CAENEUS: It’s knowing that you can never go back, not now, not to the deep dark of not knowing.
LEUCIPPUS: It’s safe in the dark.
SIPROITES: Comfortable.
CAENEUS: Ignorant.
MESTRA: But you’re here. In the light.
CHORUS: You can never go back.
IPHUS: Those shadows are just shadows now.
LEUCIPPUS: And you have become so much more.
SIPROITES: You no longer fit into their world of shadows.
MESTRA: But the real question is –
CHORUS: Would you want to?
Beat.
MESTRA: Living dissatisfied.
LEUCIPPUS: Disillusioned.
IPHUS: Dysphoric.
CAENEUS: It’s dangerous. (Beat) It’s dangerous. It’s so fucking dangerous, living the way I do.
SIPROITES: I do.
MESTRA, IPHUS, LEUCIPPUS: We do.
CAENEUS: It’s so dangerous and scary, and sometimes I wish I wasn’t. I wish I had never been disillusioned. I wish I never escaped the cave and found the sun, answered the gnawing itch in my bones, let it fester and live with it. It would have been easier to be quiet. To have ignored it. So why didn’t I? Why didn’t I? (Beat) Why didn’t I?
And then I think about it. What could have been. What it would have been like. And then I think about the life I have now. And I compare them. And I realize, of course, I couldn’t be satisfied with that other life.
CHORUS: Because that wouldn’t be me.
Artist Statement
Link Bechtold (he/they) is an actor, playwright, and visual artist. They enjoy pushing the bounds of what can be theatre, and placing the erotic and sensual onstage. Link is currently writing a modern trans retelling of Tiresias and a play in which a man falls in love with the sea. When he is not engaged with schoolwork or art, Link can be found bouldering, taking long walks, and playing his ukulele.
October 2024
The last days of October and the early days of November hold a particular spiritual energy that allows me to move forward and feel more like myself. In a world that never permits you to stop, these few days feel longer and more intentional, and so I find myself reflecting and, frankly, just existing. It’s a good change of pace. To all my ancestors, I hope you have a wonderful time traversing through this plane of existence.
-Fernanda.
A Second Dance
Kate Sandoval (she/her)
While on a routine haunting investigation, Georgia’s best paranormal expert begins to fall in love with the ghost she was tasked to expel.
CHARACTER LIST
Jenna – 32, a paranormal investigator with an aristocratic American Southern accent, wearing a short skirt, driving gloves, and a shirt with a blazer. She carries a large duffle bag filled with ghost hunting equipment.
Emma – 30, the ghost of a woman with a formal blue gown who reeks of sadness and loss, and who unless otherwise specified, speaks only through Jenna’s Spirit box. Jenna will never look directly at her, as she is invisible to her.
SETTING
2004, the American South. Nighttime. A rotting house that was flooded by water that has since receded.
SET
The living room of a formerly elegant plantation style house, now rotted by floods past. Most traces of the previous occupants’ opulence are only left on the upper parts of the wall, in the forms of expensive paintings and now useless crystal light fixtures. Part of the ceiling has collapsed into the room, with the rotting boards visible. the furniture that remains sits at odd angles and has sustained major water damage. The walls retain some of their original maroon paint, though much of it has been washed away.
Scene One
Lights up the set as JENNA lights up a lantern, looking around the dim room. She gently places the lantern on the coffee table, before pulling out an E.M.F. reader from her bag. The E.M.F. reader begins to beep.
JENNA: This is the right place. It certainly looks it.
Jenna lays the E.M.F. reader down on the table, which causes it to quiet down. She takes off her gloves and gingerly places them next to the lantern.
JENNA: My name is Jenna, your mama asked me to come here. She’s close to dyin’. Old age. And that ain’t me tugging heart strings, it’s the truth. She wants to know you’re okay before she goes. I’m here to help you, okay?
Jenna pulls out a spirit box from her bag and turns it on. It makes the sound of static radio, which quickly gets quieter until it is at a comfortable volume.
JENNA: Emma Tackett, are you with us?
Jenna wanders around the room, holding the spirit box at different angles.
JENNA: Emma, your mama isn’t mad at you. She knows this wasn’t your fault.
Jenna sighs and places the spirit box on the coffee table.
JENNA: Your mama had a gift for ya. She felt mighty bad ‘bout missing your birthday. I got it right here.
Jenna pulls out a portable cassette player, with a cassette in it, attached to a little modern speaker.
JENNA: I understand if you’re shy, Emma. But all the same, I’d like to talk to you before I leave.
Jenna stands in silence for a long moment. She sighs again and begins unpacking a small sleeping bag from her bag. She lays it out on the floor.
JENNA: I’m gonna make myself at home, ‘kay? You decide you wanna pop in and say hello, y’all do that. Take your time, I’m gonna be here for a while.
Jenna walks over to the lantern and turns it down. The lights dim slightly. She lays down on the sleeping bag and goes to sleep.
A long pause.
EMMA slowly enters the stage from the right. She walks around the room, inspecting the damaged room. She runs her hands over the walls and furniture with a lingering sentimentality. The floorboards creak and moan as Emma passes over them.
Jenna tosses in her sleep, and Emma turns at the noise to face her.
Emma walks towards Jenna, standing over her. She walks over to the table, then bends down to look at the portable cassette player. She reaches her hand out to touch it.
The E.M.F. reader begins to beep loudly for a moment, before quieting down. Emma steps back in alarm. Jenna rapidly stands up and looks around the room, fixating on nothing in particular. She turns on the light on the lantern back up and picks up the spirit box off the table.
JENNA: Gotcha! Emma, can you hear me?
Pause.
EMMA: Yes.
JENNA: My name is—
EMMA: Jenna. Pretty name.
Jenna smiles.
JENNA: Thank you, Emma. You have a lovely name yourself. Do you know why I’m here?
Emma walks up to Jenna, the latter of which does not acknowledge her, turned slightly away, looking past her.
EMMA: Want me. To. Go away.
JENNA: No hun, I want ya to be at peace. I’ve helped many people like you before. I’m gonna help ya too, okay?
EMMA: No peace. Flood. Only water. Everywhere. In my. Lungs.
JENNA: Emma, stay with me. I’m right here.
EMMA: Can’t. Get my. Head. Above.
Emma makes choking noises.
JENNA: It’s not real, hun. Look at me.
EMMA: Help! Me!
JENNA: Emma, I’m right here. Focus on me. You are not trapped here. You can leave that moment, that memory. Just look at me.
Emma reaches out and touches Jenna’s shoulder. The loud sound of rushing water is head. Jenna collapses to her knees, gasping, and coughing.
JENNA: Emma! I can’t Breathe!
Emma stops choking and recoils in alarm. She begins frantically looking around the room. Jenna falls backwards, hands on her neck, continuing to imitate drowning. Emma backs into a wall, accidentally touching a painting, and causing it to fall with a loud crash. Jenna flinches at the sound, and stops gasping, her arms falling to her sides, breathing heavily as the sound of the water fades out. Emma kneels down behind her.
EMMA: Sorry. Didn’t mean to.
JENNA: I know, hun.
Beat.
EMMA: Are you. Okay?
JENNA: Ain’t my first rodeo. But that one kicked like an angry mule. Must ‘a been some flood.
EMMA: Glad. You are. Alive. Sorry. Don’t. Want you. To. Be like. Me.
JENNA: No, no, hun. There’s no shame here. There’s nothing wrong with being who you are. Or what you are for that matter. We all got somethin’ ‘s outta our control.
Beat.
EMMA: Jenna. You. Are. Kind.
JENNA: You’re a doll yourself. Would ya like my help, hun?
EMMA: Yes. Sorry.
JENNA: (with a slight chuckle) S’all good. I’m gonna grab something from my car, okay? I am not running from ya, Emma, I am coming back.
EMMA: Okay. Don’t. Take too. Long.
Jenna exits to the left. Emma paces around, holding her arm. Jenna re-enters, carrying a tray with a teapot, two cups, a sugar bowl, a bowl with lemon slices and sprigs of mint, and some spoons.
JENNA: If I’m gonna help ya, I gotta know ya. Your mama told me you liked— like tea. Was she right? Not faulting ya if she’s wrong, I’ve lied to my momma more times than I can count.
EMMA: You are. Right. Like. Tea.
JENNA: Good, because all this talk has got me mighty parched.
Jenna chuckles, putting the tea tray on the floor and sitting down. Emma sits down on the other side of the tray.
EMMA: Can I. Show you. How. To make it.
JENNA: (Playfully sarcastic) Please do. I have never made tea in my life. ‘Got no clue what I’m doing, Emma.
EMMA: Pour. First.
Emma touches the teapot, rattling but not moving it.
EMMA: Close. Can almost. Move it.
JENNA: Let me get that for ya, hun. I’m gonna give it a big ‘ol pour.
Jenna pours tea into each of the two glasses.
JENNA: You should be proud, by the by. Every ghost wants ‘t be able to move things. Most can’t.
EMMA: Lemon. Only one. Slice.
Emma lifts up the lemon, but it falls out of her hands and back down before she can bring it over the cup.
JENNA: Wanna know a secret?
EMMA: Yes.
JENNA: I’mma give you a little lesson on ghosts work. And don’t go and feel bad on me, ‘kay hun? They don’t teach you it.
EMMA: Will it. Help me. Fade. Away.
JENNA: Y’all don’t fade away, that’s a myth. You gotta be in touch with this world ‘n order to leave it. But I gotta ask ya to do somethin’ first. I need you promise you won’t get angry. Lotta ghosts and spirits get real mad when they remember that they used to be alive.
Beat.
EMMA: I. Only. Feel. Sad.
JENNA: Sadness ‘s better than anger. I promise you.
Jenna picks up the fallen lemon and squeezes it into the teacup. She gingerly discards the lemon on the tray.
JENNA: See that mint? It’s real light. Try to pick it up, it’ll be easier. Think about it this way, everything’s heavier than you remember. Just try real hard, ‘kay?
Emma slowly picks up a sprig of mint and holds it in the air for a long moment, looking up at it and rotating it.
JENNA: Emma, that is downright amazing. You’re pickin’ it up real fast.
EMMA: I can. Feel. It. Coarse. Delicate.
JENNA: You can feel it? Now you’re teachin’ me somethin’ hun. ‘N here I thought everthin’ felt smooth to y’all.
Emma slowly and gently places the sprig of mint into the cup.
JENNA: You are makin’ one mighty fine tea. But just how much sugar do you put in it? My mama taught me never ‘t put more than a single scoop.
Emma picks up the sugar spoon and slowly takes a spoonful of sugar and deposits it in the cup. She does this a second time, but faster.
JENNA: Look at you!
Emma reaches out and touches Jenna, placing her hand on Jenna’s arm.
EMMA: (her voice is now heard without the spirt box for the duration of the play) I put two scoops of sugar in. That’s the secret.
Emma lets go of Jenna.
Jenna straightens out in shock, and quickly turns off the spirit box.
JENNA: No. No way, s’ not possible. Say that again Emma.
EMMA: (Slowly, with hesitation) I put two scoops of sugar in. That’s my secret.
Jenna breathes heavily.
JENNA: I can. . . hear you. I love your voice, darling. Reminds me of bluebells flowering in my garden back home in Georgia.
EMMA: (taken back) Thank you. . . you have a cute accent. Can you see me?
Jenna looks around, unfocused.
JENNA: No. Sorry hun.
EMMA: Then just listen to my voice. Jenna, no one has ever heard me before. You must be special. I can feel it, somehow.
JENNA: This has never happened to me before. I think you’re the special one ‘tween the two of us.
EMMA: Your idea worked. I feel closer to. . . I wonder, can I try something?
JENNA: You can try anything, hun. I’m right here with ya.
Jenna watches as Emma picks up Jenna’s gloves and puts them on.
EMMA: (sad) It was my birthday when I. . . died. The water came out of nowhere, there was no warning.
JENNA: It’s never anyone’s time, Emma. For what’s it worth, I’m sorry.
Jenna walks over to her and takes Emma’s hand for a lingering moment before letting go.
EMMA: I had just asked a woman to dance, and she never got the chance to say yes. I don’t even know if she would have. The last thing I remember, the man I turned down called me a dyke. He yelled it.
Emma begins crying. Jenna puts a hand on one of Emma’s gloves.
EMMA: (distraught) Why did he have to say that? Why couldn’t the water have come sooner? I just. . . wanted to dance with her.
JENNA: (She speaks with tones of both anger, and sadness) That’s downright awful. He had no right. If it makes ya feel better hun, I’ve been called that too, in my own time.
Emma grasps Jenna’s hand with her free hand.
JENNA: I’m fine telling ya that, truth be told. I know y’all ghosts don’t judge. That’s what we living do with all that time we have to waste.
Emma stops crying, and Jenna looks up in her direction.
EMMA: Do you want to dance with me?
JENNA: I would love to. Let me do this right for you.
Jenna walks up to the portable cassette player and presses a button. The player begins to play a ballroom dancing song, and Jenna approaches Emma the music warms up.
EMMA: My mother told you about this song, didn’t she?
JENNA: Sure did. First record ya ever got.
EMMA: And my favorite, too.
Jenna takes both of Emma’s hands and stands facing her.
JENNA: May I have this dance, Emma?
EMMA: (Holding back tears) Yes! You may.
Jenna and Emma dance a slow ballroom style dance in a small circle for a minute. When the song ends, they stop dancing, but neither woman moves.
EMMA: Thank you. I know I need to move on. But Jenna, I wish I could fall in love with you.
JENNA: I, gosh hun, I can’t believe myself, but I think I am falling for ya.
Pause.
JENNA: Emma?
EMMA: Yes?
JENNA: (Sadly) Do you want to go?
Emma lets go of Jenna.
A long, drawn out pause.
EMMA: No.
JENNA: (excitedly) I don’t want you to either. Come with me, let me try to give ya a second chance.
EMMA: I want to. But how can you?
JENNA: This is what I do. I’ll find a way Emma, I promise you.
Emma takes one of Jenna’s hands.
EMMA: I want to be with you.
Emma lets go of Jenna’s hand.
JENNA: Oh, Emma, I do too.
Emma hugs Jenna, who puts her hands up in shock. Jenna slowly wraps her arms around Emma, feeling around a bit before finding a comfortable position. The two stand for some time in each other’s arms.
Blackout.
Artist Statement
Kate is an upper year UVic student with a passion for writing. Her experience being queer and transitioning empowers her storytelling, and she is committed to sharing both the joys and struggles that come with life as a queer woman.
On Intuition
Thalia (she/they)
In this essay/memoir, Thalia explores feminist perspectives on intuition while sharing her experiences with intuition and the times she wishes she had listened to what her body was telling her.
As a witch, I often reflect on my relationship with intuition. Listening to one’s intuition is a subtle, yet powerful magic that can reveal truths from our subconscious mind and keep us safe in moments of danger or uncertainty. Strengthening it may seem daunting, but all you have to do is listen. It takes a while to discover what your intuition feels like in your body. For me, sometimes it’s the warmth of knowing all is well in life, or some spark of genius lighting up the mind. Other times, it’s my inner child grabbing my wrist when she’s scared.
Another way to think about our intuition is as what we call our inner knowing (Lorde 1984, Estes 1992, Doyle 2020). In Aubre Lorde’s classic essay Uses of the Erotic (1984), she discusses how women’s inner knowledge, particularly connected to emotions and intuition, is a source of power that has been historically suppressed in patriarchal societies (pp. 87-88). Intuition remains an untapped resource for all genders. Those in power exploit our doubts, so learning to trust our instincts is crucial for challenging systemic oppression. If intuition were regarded as foundational knowledge, suffering might be reduced. Trusting our intuition empowers us to set boundaries and reconnects us with our true selves through bodily messages. Our bodies play a vital role in conveying intuitive insights, helping us discern what feels right or wrong.
Clarissa Pinkola Estés, in Women Who Run With the Wolves (1992), furthers this idea, using the figure of La Loba/The One Who Knows (pp. 23-30) to symbolize the recovery of lost knowledge. Estés reminds us that the instinctual Self—our deep intuition—is something we must reclaim from the buried parts of ourselves. Similarly, Glennon Doyle’s memoir Untamed (2020) speaks of intuition as one’s “inner knowing” (pp. 55-61). Doyle’s journey to trusting herself and discovering her inner knowing has profoundly influenced my relationship with intuition. As a queer woman, Doyle’s book guided me in exploring my sapphic identity and coming to terms with my experiences as a comp-het lesbian.
I find it fascinating how Lorde, Estés, and Doyle all describe intuition similarly as a lost knowledge that must be recovered and learned to trust again. I can relate to this, as my own relationship with intuition has also been quite rocky. There have been moments in my life where not listening to my intuition has gotten me in trouble. But the more I listen to her, the stronger she becomes, and the stronger I become. And I think the best way to mend our relationship moving forward is to write her an apology:
Dear Intuition,
I didn’t know who you were until it was too late, when the lessons were already learned. I could have saved myself the heartache had I recognized you sooner. It was you, whispering through my body—the bouts of illness, loss of appetite, words catching in my throat, feelings of confliction, disgust—but I didn’t listen.
I brushed you off, thinking I was just afraid, not realizing you were my wisdom, my deepest knowing, trying to protect me. Especially from boys who never deserved the air I breathed. I didn’t know who I was. But you did. You knew all along, and I’m grateful that you never gave up on me. For now I know who the fuck I am. A powerful witch, and a lesbian.
You, dear one, have many names: inner knowing, gut feeling, witch’s sight, sixth sense. I’ve called you many things, but the one I regret most is fear. I’m sorry I ever mistook you for something to be avoided, when really, you were the one guiding me to my power.
I thank you for your patience. For staying with me, even when I doubted you. I’m listening now. And I will never forget.
With love and reverence,
Thal.
References (APA 7th ed.):
Lorde, A. (1984). Uses of the Erotic. Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches. Crossing Press, Trumansburg, New York. (pp 87-91). Accessed 2024: https://uk.sagepub.com/sites/default/files/upm-binaries/11881_Chapter_5.pdf
Estés, C., P. (1992). The Howl: Resurrection of the Wild Woman. Women Who Run with the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype. Ballantine Books, New York City, New York. (pp. 23-30). Accessed 2024: https://static.fnac-static.com/multimedia/PT/pdf/9781846046940.pdf
Doyle, G. (2020). Chapter 13 – Know. Untamed. The Dial Press, New York. (pp.55-61). ISBN-13: 9781984801258
Artist Statement
Thalia is a queer, sapphic, wlw witch and seerer. For this month’s magazine, Thalia chose to reflect on their experiences with intuition. As someone who grew up in a Christian household, it has taken them a long time to stop feeling self-conscious about their spiritual abilities as obviously they didn’t see this growing up in the church. It has taken them listening to other women’s experiences with gender, spirituality, and neurodivergency, to embrace themselves as how truly they are. They love women, and they are grateful for the choice and freedom to share our stories.
Loving the Unloved
Georgia de Souza (she/her)
An essay describing how Halloween can be liberating for allowing us to love the unloved, but how our love shouldn’t be limited to Halloween.
As someone who has always had peculiar interests, Halloween feels like liberation. I remember being around 8 when I first realized it was the only night when monsters could be celebrated, and though that thought empowered me at that time, it led me to heartbreaking awareness later on. It turns out, there are many unloved things in this world.
After all this time, October still feels like the only time of the year when I’m allowed to openly enjoy things that most people seem repulsed by; things people usually want to hide under a huge metaphorical carpet to pretend they are not there. But the carpet being a metaphor doesn’t make it less real. There are many cruel and very concrete ways in which the Other is rejected and put out of sight for people to keep their peace. Bugs are murdered for being small and not aesthetically pleasing; criminals are thrown in prisons and treated like they’re not even human; bullets and bombs are thrown for the most ridiculous excuses; sex workers are used and abused when convenient, but rejected in any other context; people live and die on the streets…and we just tend to look away.
There are many horrific things we know we are capable of, but simply don’t want to acknowledge. We tend to call people “monsters” when we don’t want to accept their actions as human, even if there’s nothing else those people could ever be but human. People can do unimaginably cruel things sometimes, and we are unavoidably complicit to many horrible things happening in the world. But we don’t like to talk about it. It is considered socially awkward or even inappropriate to do so. And so, a barrier of ignorance is created.
Then Halloween comes. Ghostface, Hannibal Lecter, Michael Myers, Pennywise, Freddy Krueger and friends are welcome to walk the streets. They’re costumes, of course, but after all that culture of rejection, why would we still want to dress up as and celebrate monsters, killers, fears, or honestly just innocent hookers? My guess is that, despite all rejections, the Other keeps existing as a part of us. When repressed, it ends up overflowing into usually unhealthy manifestations. Halloween, however, seems like a very healthy way of releasing the freak within and dropping a big amount of repressed load.
You are allowed to love the unloved on Halloween. You are allowed to be the unloved. You are allowed to acknowledge it, and to admit you’re afraid. You are allowed to explore whatever aspect of yourself people would be way more afraid of in any other context, even if you’re not hurting a single creature. Trust me, I showed up dressed as Batgirl on a random day in kindergarten and people were not happy.
I am not saying we should love murder and torture. Whoever knows me is well aware I will protest the murder of a tiny spider. What I mean is that the barriers we build to look away from what scares us do a lot more damage than we think. Rejecting humans and non-humans for not fitting our standards is never going to solve the problem.
I want to end this at the beginning; the time when Halloween was still Samhein, and the Celts believed the veil between realms was thin. And so the dead could come back for a visit, and the recently deceased could say goodbye (Mark, 2019). I see that welcoming attitude as an acknowledgment of death and grief. I see that, beyond our fear of whatever may happen after death, as an acknowledgment that the love is still there, and that we can be welcoming of whatever makes us fearful if there is love.
So, this Halloween, I invite you to extend your love to something new. I challenge you to love something you normally fear or despise. I dare you to find beauty in it. I promise it is not too hard if you keep your mind and heart open. Maybe someday we can all love the unloved together, all year long.
References
Mark, J. (2019). History of halloween. World History Encyclopedia. https://www.worldhistory.org/article/1456/history-of-halloween/?gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQjw4Oe4BhCcARIsADQ0cslNTqKl26njxwYk-AhwDi2110LuZitWBUE8p_4pUIp0AaX5vdrXzkoaApxSEALw_wcB
Artist Statement
Georgia is a very passionate gemlin. As the current work study librarian and archivist at the GEM, she gets to spend a lot of time exploring random documents and trying to make zines and books less lonely (she just organizes them and begs people to read, but let her live her fantasy). In her free time, she likes to read her own books, make her own zines and crafts, dedicate her mortal life to philosophy, and obsess over random things such as Halloween, octopuses, music, literature, art, and life.
November 2024
Nov. 13 – 19 is a week to uplift and celebrate the voices and history of the trans community. This week leads up to Trans Day of Remembrance (TDOR) on Nov. 20, a memorial day to honour those whose lives were lost to transphobic violence.
The Construction of a Trans Cathedral
Archer Nelson (he/him)
“This poem is a reflection of my experiences in leaving the Christian faith path I was born into (and the shame that bound me to it), and finding myself through medical and social transition. In the poem, I, the architect, explain the nature of my trans body to a younger (embodied and afflicted) version of myself. Through the reconstruction of the cathedral, he joins me in the beauty of my new trans body.”
As a body, this is yours.
On holy days, bodies and blood
are consumed within you.
The storm’s end signals your rebeginning.
This is your heart, I tell you
as the altar is laid.
For this you are witnessed,
from here the blood is given.
This is your mouth, I say,
and the pulpit presses down.
From here words are spoken,
from here your value is proven.
These are your lungs,
these arches in your rafters,
they hold the breath of hymnals eternal,
they breathe faith into witnesses below.
These are your eyes, you see.
The glass is pressed into frame.
From coloured glass you watch the world,
the light that dances here illuminates you.
This is your body, cathedral home.
It is rebuilt despite destruction.
The storm changed you,
but your body remains our sanctum.
Artist Statement
My name is Archer, and I have lived and worked on the land of the Kwantlen, Kwikwetlem, Songhees and Esquimalt nations for 20 years. My passions are writing and storytelling, especially in a collaborative setting. I’m currently studying Writing and Medieval Studies at the University of Victoria. My life experience as a disabled, trans, and gay man informs my work to a great degree.
December 2024
This month, we want to honour World AIDS Day! World AIDS Day is a global movement started in 1988 where communities have stood together on December 1st to show strength and solidarity against HIV stigma and to remember lives lost.
My Thoughts on HIV/AIDS
Fernanda Solorza (she/her) GEM Communications Assistant.
Since 1981, when the American Center for Disease Control (CDC) marked the start of the HIV epidemic, there have been multiple misconceptions, discriminating remarks, and stigmatizing labels around the virus and people who live with HIV. The first article talking about HIV “Pneumocystis Pneumonia,” published in the CDC’s Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report described five previously healthy gay men whose immune systems had inexplicably failed. With gay men being the first identified cases, the condition was named, “Gay-Related Immune Deficiency” (GRID).
Just a couple of months later, reports of infected women and heterosexual men prompted the College of American Doctors to change GRID to “Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome” (AIDS), but the damage was done. The harmful label fueled discrimination, mischaracterizing gay people as “dirty” or “promiscuous,” and cemented stereotypes that have shamed HIV-positive individuals for decades.
More than 30 years later, I still hear people mention that HIV is something that only affects queer people, particularly gay men. This label not only has exposed gay men to extenuating discrimination and shaming but has also completely blindsided people from providing help to the actual most affected group: racialized women from developing countries.
Intimate partner violence, misogyny, and the patriarchy are agents of destabilization that restrain women from education, resources, and even fundamental rights. By applying an intersectional lens, we can understand that racialized women from developing countries are at higher risk of acquiring HIV. In the African region, HIV is the main reason for death among adult women.
Ever since 1981, approximately 42.3 million lives have been lost. Although HIV-positive people can now live long, healthy lives thanks to medical advances, not everyone has access to adequate resources. On top of that, stigma often stops people from reaching out for help/treatment. So, what can we do to help in the battle against HIV and the stigma?
While the UK has achieved the “90-90-90” goal set by UNAIDS and has committed to eliminating HIV transmissions entirely, the journey is far from over. This ambitious goal requires continued effort by the UK and even greater efforts globally. In the parts of the world which are the most affected, eliminating HIV transmissions will require addressing systemic barriers such as poverty, gender inequality and violence, and the limited access to healthcare which are usually the direct result of colonialism and white supremacy.
The eradication of HIV is complex and deeply connected to all systems of oppression. While I maintain a positive view of the future, I must acknowledge that the fight against HIV and the stigma requires the participation of all of us. Talk about it, educate your peers and loved ones, and deconstruct your mind from the insidious misconceptions that plague our society.
References.
CANFAR. History of HIV/AIDS. https://canfar.com/awareness/about-hiv-aids/history-of-hiv-aids/
CDC – HIV Stigma. https://www.cdc.gov/stophivtogether/
HIV.gov – History of HIV and AIDS Timeline https://www.hiv.gov/hiv-basics/overview/history/hiv-and-aids-timeline
PMC – HIV/AIDS and Women: A Global Perspective. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC6139900/
The New York Times. “New Homosexual Disorder Worries Health Officials” https://www.nytimes.com/1982/05/11/science/new-homosexual-disorder-worries-health-officials.html
UK Government – Ending New HIV Transmissions by 2030 https://www.gov.uk/government/news/england-on-track-to-end-new-hiv-transmissions-by-2030
UNAIDS. Global HIV & AIDS Statistics. https://www.unaids.org/en/resources/fact-sheet