Who Gets to Belong
Who gets to belong? Who gets to decide? Why belong? What is worth belonging to?
By the time the Olympic torch reaches Rio de Janeiro on August 5, the UK will have decided whether or not to remain in the European Union. This year, the idea of belonging is being brought into the spotlight time and time again — the U.S. presidential elections, the continued Syrian refugee crisis, and North Korea’s missile launches. In this third issue, we undress these questions: Who gets to belong? Who gets to decide? Why belong? What is worth belonging to?
The politics and media of our day are contingent upon our bodies, their localities, and the way the environment receives them. And while one body can be fearful in one place, it is fear-inducing in another. We are directed to feel and behave in certain ways based on our bodies and the way they belong to or agree with the prevailing narrative. Are we, accordingly, beautiful enough, fit enough, normal enough, worthy enough? Are we light enough, dark enough, male enough, female enough? Politics seeps under our skin and into our lives, polarizing our daily decisions. And it determines where we wind up: in the White House, on the streets, behind bars, and on the screen.
If we break down the larger social constructs of a nation’s political rhetoric, we can understand that this is the question that is at the root of all our debates about health care, immigration, gender equality, international relations, and so much more.
The featured image is “Green pine trees” by Matthew Montrone.
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- 3: Who Gets to Belong?
On a family ranch, you have to earn your belonging.
To fight your family’s genetic tendency to become ghosts, you rub makeup on your face so people can see you.
During my first semester of college, I played what I thought was a "fun icebreaker" — a game I called…
Both men made me promises. They said it would be better, that there would be bounty. And space, so much…
I picked the boy out because his picture looked friendly and his profile said that he only had two weeks…
In the summer of 2015, I was working in Spain for a theater project with a Spaniard friend of mine.
i know i will / before holding your hand / before kissing your cheek / in public / and for…
I grew up in a schism. My father came of age in a Jewish family from Massapequa, New York, and…
El Coyote appears before my shack, silhouette illuminated and clear. He removes his fedora and taps it against the wall,…
Floating on the bubbly foam of her extra hot latte is a wilting tulip pattern that looks like the wounded…
My melanin is not enough to hold my culture.
We need new names. / I am that Odum wood / the carpenter saws / for Darling’s bed.
There’s a certain art of being able to navigate failure in order to reach a point of alignment.
I remember completing the initial draft of my first play, Nothing But The Truth, during the summer of 2013; I…