Beyond the Commons: Issue 3

BEYOND THE COMMONS

ISSUE NO. 3: DECEMBER 2018

CONTENTS Issue No. 3: December 2018

ART Art Feature CITY SERIES: HEALING “Haunted on a Bluff” “Nick K Meza” CREATIVE WRITING Creative Writing Features “Expectations” “My Blood as a Current” “Vademecum” “You Can” CULTURE My Body Hair LUNCH BREAK Lunch Break: Featuring Jovan Hill MUSIC Selective Listening -

PHOTOGRAPHY Photography Features POLITICS On Immigration Reform SOCIAL ISSUES Unproblematic People Working With Problematic People 


BEYOND THE COMMONS Editor in Chief: Sarah Harwell Editors: Art Editor: Krista Nguyen Creative Writing Editor: Ellese Castro Culture Editor: Destiny Hodges Music Editor: Joe Fayad Politics Editor: Laura Nguyen Photography Editor: Ethan Vovan Social Issues Editor: Salem Suleiman 

EDITOR’S NOTE

THE GIFT OF THIS This, this whole magazine - this whole community of marginalized individuals that have decided to come together and create a piece of work that each of us could be proud of every month. Every month, every issue, I could not be more proud of. Every single day that I work on this magazine, it feels like a dream; every person I interview, every time I think of this magazine, I see a whole future of bright individuals that have graced me with submitting their art, that have allowed me to open themselves up to me and publish it. I have never asked for a better gift than this. People have great big dreams of what they will accomplish one day in life, what they will change about the world around them. This magazine in itself has been my accomplishment, the thing that I never thought my dreams could possibly live up to. I have met people who inspire me, I have written about the things that I know. I have worked with my best friends, I have made a platform for people to express themselves. This is the gift that keeps on giving - waking up every morning, knowing I have a purpose. Waking up every morning and being excited to work on every little bit of this that brings me so much joy. I love this. Thank you, for giving me such a gift of a successful magazine. Thank you, for giving me purpose.  

ART To intrigue, to enlighten, to inspire.

Art Feature By: Darren Ant

CITY SERIES: HEALING For the love of where we’re from.

“Haunted On a Bluff” By: Madalyn Whitaker Each city that becomes a part of me has a river that I wish I could lay at the bottom of. This city... its river haunts me. It never reflects the color of the sky. On days when the sun is the only thing sitting in the blue of the atmosphere, the river stays black with subtle undertones of green. On days when the sky cannot be seen through a thick blanket of gray clouds, the river still remains the same shade. It never changes, and maybe this is why I find solace in its presence.

I’m pulled to this river every day on my walk to work. Some days, I leave my apartment early so I can sit on the cement steps next to the water or let the grass on the banks entangle me while everyone walks by.

Most people only give the black surface, maybe, one glance. They don’t know that, here - you can whisper your secrets, your sorrows, your fears, your pain, into the current. No matter what is thrown in, the water still runs down stream, bubbles and swirls underneath the sea foam green footbridge, and falls in turmoil over the dam.

This river is why I stand on that green bridge too long, or sit on the bluff even after the water level rose too high the day before. I’ve sat next to this river and cried after a night of drinking too much about the despair that only a severe hangover can bring on. I’ve laid in the grass in the cold spring sun and timed my breath with the sound of the water rushing by. My ears have become in tune to the way the water sounds when it hits cement, compared to when it hits the mud. I like to imagine that I could sit at the bottom and ignore the rubbish that floats by. I could create an oasis of my own on the mushy river floor.

But for now, I wipe the silt from the banks of the river on my face and declare my love to its soulless surface. “Nick K. Meza�

By: Sarah Harwell About thirty miles north of the pristine suburb I reside in lies the city of angels. Los Angeles, the city I loved everything about - the city I could still write pages and pages of prose about. What lies in that city are memories that are now broken, memories I look back on and despise. Places that remind me of that moment I could feel the blood drain from my face with jealousy, places that spark the revelation that gave me a lump in my throat from sadness. I went back to Los Angeles alone, in the hopes of making new memories by myself that I optimistically would attempt to replace the old ones with. There was a certain empowerment in going to a city alone. I gazed at art that brought me to tears downtown, and sat under the sun whilst listening to the vague sounds of ducks at Echo Park. I felt valid, but not healed. I still felt broken, I still had pieces of me that I had yet to put together.

But thirty miles south of Los Angeles lies the suburb I am from - the mere thought of the pretentious hill had always made me scoff with irritation. But still thirty miles south of Los Angeles lies my undenying home, my place of healing - where not only I am from, but that place is from too. Â A place I call bliss, a place I find comfort in. I find it in the warm embrace at the very first sight, the boyish smell that keeps me in, and the ease I feel radiate from head to toe from just one glance. Every worry, any emotion that does not cause the ends of my lips to curve into a smile, each dark idea that I could ever think of, diminishes. To me, your arms are my place of healing. I take solace in your presence and your voice is what I fall asleep to.

My place of healing is not a location, but a person; a person that not only makes me feel significant, but also soft and allows me to be vulnerable yet not weak. I have learned that I can empower myself, I have learned that I can love every broken piece of me, but it’s my place of healing, my person, who has taught me how to put them all back together again. A place that makes me feel whole, makes me be so undoubtedly myself that I can feel again - allowing this place, allowing you, to be a part of me.  

CREATIVE WRITING The art of word.

Creative Writing Feature By: Diana Nguyen you’re all beautiful dear diana’s diary, this is for those who were told it’s not worth your time and money, for those who are discouraged, for those who were told it’s too late, for those who are scared to disappoint, and for those who simply need a little push. being raised in a high standard society with expectations already set for you makes it pretty hard to break the boundary your friends and family have set. being the “rebellious” friend because you don’t have the desire to become a doctor or the “insubordinate” child for not becoming an engineer. you’re constantly faced with enormous pressure, but maybe it’s time to break out of your shell, pursue your dreams, and seize the day. it pains my heart when i hear about children being forced or highly encouraged to pursue science, engineering, accountancy, and other more “marketable” fields because many people still think that arts and humanities are not worthwhile and will not give high salaries. i wish parents would stop discouraging their children from pursuing social sciences and humanities. after all, “medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. but poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.” i remember sitting at our dining table while my father went off about how studying science and

engineering would surely land someone a job right after graduation and i sat there hating myself for failing my math and science classes and wanting to study journalism. i tried to tell him how difficult it is to force yourself to consider something you don’t even love or understand. but i know he only wanted best for me. this is, after all, a problem deeply rooted in the structural ills of the society. this is for the kids whose hearts, bones, and skin become alive at the sight of poetry, painting, novels, theatre; all things beautiful and not-so-beautiful. this is for the kids who have been told that choosing the arts and humanities is not at all practical. this is for the kids whose wings have been so cruelly cut off and whose potentials have been stifled. you’re all beautiful. everyone must see your worth. you turn pain into something beautiful and in more ways than one; you make this world a better place. you’re talented, and your potential is nested deep inside your soul and your heart, and together, we will make this world not just tolerable, but beautiful and breathtaking. pursuing a career in arts, humanities, social science, etc. should be encouraged. these fields and the beautiful people practicing it should stop being set aside in the marginal peripheries. it’s time to take the stage. a big thank you to lucia silva, for inspiring me with some wonderful words of encouragement. i hope this will welcome not only new upcoming beauties but also the ones that needed a reason why. you’re appreciated. love, Diana

self doubt is a bitch dear diana’s diary, does it ever feel like you have to deal with all types of shit in your life than other people do? as if everyone around you is having an easier time of things than you are? you begin to feel sorry for yourself and start believing you aren’t doing enough. you scroll through social media and see everyone romanticizing their life. your best friend is having a baby, your brother is getting married, and your arch-nemesis got a promotion yet you are currently facing a so-called “mid-life crisis”???? you think to yourself, “why am I so unlucky?”. the compound effect by darren hardy taught me the formula for getting lucky was a combination of: preparation (personal growth) + attitude (belief/mindset) + opportunity (a good thing coming your way) + action (doing something about it) = luck majority of my friends are endlessly working towards their goal. whether it’s getting accepted into a program, acing an exam, or simply preparing for an interview, they’re constantly working their ass off. we are all trying so hard to become successful while doing what we love and living in an environment where it seems like everyone has their life pretty much set for them is...intimidating. don’t get me wrong though, i have many extraordinary friends and i’m incredibly happy for them, but it’s tough not to compare yourself to the people around you. you look around and see everything is worked out for them but not for you??

you believe as though you put the same amount of time and energy as they are but get nowhere. you’re not selfish for thinking that. quickly realizing that self-doubt will drag you to the ground is the best thing you can offer yourself. selfdoubt is like that one friend that always tries to one-up you, criticize you, and puts you down — one i would like to call the negative nancy. you ever laid in bed as your mind goes roaming around and next thing you know, you’re going to be unsuccessful, unhappy, and going bald before the age of thirty? self-doubt spreads, gets distorted, exaggerated, and eventually doesn't line up with reality or reasonable expectations. it’s mostly likely what’s keep you from working towards your dreams and goals. but so many great ideas are never published or acknowledged because of self-doubt. i get it. your journey is tough. so work at your own pace. no one is racing against you.

•

don’t take everything so personal

joke around from time to time. laugh at yourself. see that a setback doesn’t mean failure. learn from negative feedback — differentiate between critique and negativity •

work with reality instead of battling it

see your problem and put in the effort to fix them instead of exaggerating a fascination on how things should be. don’t downgrade your dreams to match your reality but rather upgrade your confidence to match your vision.

•

love yourself

spend some time alone. find what relieves your stress. find what makes you happy. encourage yourself. believe that you able to overcome every and any obstacles that you face. instead of comparing yourself to others, compare yourself to yourself and see how far and how much you’ve achieved. love, Diana Creative Writing Feature By: Helena Hollander

Suddenly he stares at me, I know it. There are flies in my wine these days, every single night and it’s like I can never be alone. It seems to me like I have already lost it, my shame of thoughts of people. People are everywhere, and it’s impossible to maintain distance, and nobody could dance like she. Here she is, and has been for a while, yet, all I need is to know that she’s real. If the cut of her shape is round or solid, how she would fit right into my arms, tight, away from all the people. Locked together and her smell would turn liquid upon my face and lips. And we would stand still on the cross walk, just breathing faster taking in the sounds of traffic, sirens, laughter, a loud bass. I wouldn’t mind her hair stuck in my eye, making it hard to focus.

He stares at me still and I can’t drink the wine, when the flies are all over. They disgust me. Even though he’s so gentle and kind, and he apologizes for the rain. The kisses are hollow, and I hate it when he buys me drinks. Deep and red. (the glass has the shape of she.) Solid.

(capacity pt. 1) We all agreed this could not be true happiness IT IS FAKE she screamed, drinking the last carton of cream, choked on life’s joy. But no one has ever died from pouring cream into their open throat. No one.

Lately, we have been laughing over this same stupid joke, made to put perspective on us, on the way we treat our bodies, our selves, our communication the joke is on us, until we stop force-feeding the mind with half-way-happiness these kids suddenly got very patient with life. How is that? This passive way of saying the perfect life has already been lived I think the concept of time has gotten way too present in the minds of young people, afraid they will ever turn 30 the anticipation that day was striking and not a single soul spoke up when she started vomiting all over the velvet couch and fell asleep stinking like, well, shit she had taken in what she considered to be true fulfillment, but her stomach couldn’t take it; an example of how no one has the guts to take in the joy of life No one has the capacity. 

(capacity pt. 2)

THIS IS A SHAPE: Love is not. But, sometimes, it feels like it; Cheeks cut sharp. Bones sticking out into my mouth. Is soft a shape?

Right underneath, round, leading the hands on, no effort made Tailored habits, pants made to slim and perfect for holding around, keep tight, standing on the sidewalk holding two waists together. I love them together, they fit, and I am not tall, so I will stretch my feet to reach

Perfect triangles, trimmed. She takes care of them, I know Painted mouths, in all sorts of forms. Yours can turn into anything, truly I do not tend to strive for certain shapes, I just caress them differently None of the random strokes were by accident, you know? Yes. I hope you payed attention Don’t cut you hair, I like how it lives in our eyes when you don’t have time to bend it

Creative Writing Feature By: Shaily Yashar dressing Rows of metal hooks, to hang up dresses Mom found.

I hope one of them will fit, so I don’t end up crying.

Panels of reflective glass, to examine cellulite on my thighs.

It’s not enough to live in this skin; I have to see it all around me, too.

Seat of plastic wood, so I can plop down on it.

Make fists with my meaty hands, beat back falling tears.

I am eight years old, But I weight like I’m eighteen. the earth he tried to move He was an earthquake— Intrusive. Unexpected.

Knocking over prized possessions.

Moral. Values. Dignity.

Judgmental eyes flashing, Like I’d wasted his time.

A deep sigh like the wind, Breath scorching my cheek.

Calloused hand forced itself Onto my back as I leaned away.

He expected me to kiss him, But I’d only known him two weeks.

He countered my no With a no? question mark.

Angry and unable to comprehend That I didn’t want to be moved.

I almost told him I’m sorry.

But I had nothing to be sorry for, And I wasn’t asking for this.

Thumb rubbed the side of my neck, Rough cuticle grated against my skin.

I heard his request loud and clear, But I wondered if he was deaf.

When I told her about it, My friend lost her jaw.

No one ever says no to him.

You destroyed his ego.

And I’m glad that I did.

The earth doesn’t need more Entitled. Greedy. Natural disasters.

Using force shouldn’t come naturally.

He may be an earthquake, But I can’t be shaken.

starry might I am proof of creation. That on the first day, The night was blessed, and stars were strung.

Stress makes Ursa Major, buccae littered in Orion.

I used to hide the shame with liquid sheets, Drape tarps over stars like one does with art, but That isn’t respectful preservation, that is obliteration Of nature and yes, I have angry, red stars That burst when I’m feeling picky but, Now, I don’t care if they insult your eyes, Because I behold constellations.

This year, I learned how to build A Tower of Babylon and I climbed And I reached the sky and I tore off the sheet And I allowed the stars to breathe.

You may say my face has acne, But I see a sky full of stars.

“Expectations” By: Mark Woinarowicz when I met you I was not looking for anything but myself I swore I would think

reflect on all that had happened it would be good for me to focus on who I was to be when I met you I thought of you only when I was around and nothing more a budding friendship not even I knew I hadn’t a clue when I met you slowly surely, this was happening something was beginning it had no name but it had shape and that shape was you “My Blood as a Current” By: Madalyn Whitaker Swallow two rivers whole The black water, the blue water I’m under water, out From under, my breath

My hands, slick against the banks Climbing up the bluffs of Two towns. One city one town One stuck in my blood, in my bones The other too close to– Too close to static in the Current of the shit, fish, mud Ridden water and yet I still Swallow, and it’s never any cleaner.

Why do you think my veins Are clogged with silt from Sitting down here?

“Vademecum” By: Filippa Kleijn walk with me, said she i couldn’t decline so i went, she was with me for the whole time being i couldn’t say what had been on my mind it’s a real life shame; to become someone like i have you been doing well, asked she i looked away, scared to say, what (i wished for her (to know)) is to see but what does one see if they do not believe

in the doings of their own (i only let out a little moan) stop for a sec, demanded she i did as she said stopped as if my life depended on it and maybe it did i am not sure or willing to know what goes against my whole being or wish to become someone of whom i do not know are you sure about this asked she and to be honest i may have lied but to evoke a feeling of nothing but regret in her why would i do anything to disturb the peace she brings to me tell me what you see (i am tired of writing she) a long lost plebian who died at sea for he did not know when to say stop! and uphold a stillness that could have brought him home is that what you are? i prefer not to discuss but at this time it is not impossible that everything i am has to cease you may have the key to save me (if you’re willing to let me be) “You Can�

By: Natasha Yegereva i know you just can’t be somebody else i know it doesn’t help when you think about it less i know your head is blowing up with these abnormal thoughts you can accept yourself, it will help you lots acceptance is a key in this hard battle i know you can be on the next level life, joy, happiness everything you do stand in front of the mirror and say “you are you” because you’re great, you’re unique you can do anything sit for a minute and deeply strongly think about what i’ve been saying and i’ll say it again you will, you will, you’ll do it you simply can!

CULTURE Stay woke.

My Body Hair By: Sarah Akaaboune I wanted to be white. A small nagging want that transformed into a consuming, cavernous yearn as I got older and the world more complicated. I had blueprints in my mind of the perfect version of me, a name like Kate or Elizabeth, that rolled right off the tongue, it’s letters bonded by privilege and generations of untainted bloodlines. Limp, blond hair, that lay flat against my scalp, rendered greasy after skipping one wash. Cornflower blue eyes and the special type of pale skin that blistered red after just 30 minutes in the sun. For years I tried in vain to assimilate to standards of beauty that did not apply to me, to a culture that did not want me. And ever so stubbornly, my genetic code did not allow for it, my heritage ingrained within the twists and spiraling proteins of my nucleic acids. Because being Muslim was hard enough in a world where knowledge of the Ten Commandments, stained glass mosaics of St. Peter, and Jesus on a gilded cross took precedence; but passing for White in the most fleeting of instances was even harder, there are times when the facade cracks, when the foundation slips off its axis and people begin to ask questions. Questions motivated by innocent curiosity, similar to that of a toddler newly discovering the workings of the universe, others motivated by a morbid fear or hate or ignorance.

Terrorist, ISIS, unamerican, white girls hate you, white boys will never love you, white moms are scared of you, hair straightener at 350 degrees to press away curls into stick straight strands, blue jeans, the Grand Canyon, apple pie and years of correcting the way my father rolled his r’s and snipped his t’s.

A fundamental rule of survival in the United States of America, the easiest way to secure some variation of Norman Rockwell’s American dream, the four bedroom house, the white picket fence, the emerald green lawns, a baseline salary of 80,000 dollars, a golden retriever named Max, and the unvaried calamity of suburban life, was that the lighter the skin, the easier the existence. Dutifully filling out tax

returns, always dropping a quarter in the parking meter, never forgetting your “pleases” and “thank yous”, tipping your college aged waiter with pockmarked skin and the weight of thousands of dollars of student loans resting between his shoulder blades at the local Applebees the customary 15 percent, is not enough. The key, rather, is assimilation - to shed your identity, to strip yourself bare of any hint of culture, imitate the staged candid clean cut models in magazines and billboards; induct your tastebuds to the taste of unseasoned chicken, to dinner before the sun dips below the horizon, and to splicing your ancestry into odd numbered percentages from nondescript Eastern European countries.

There are mostly white women between the glossy, synthetic pages of American Vogue, pages so sharply chiseled that if you were to flip them a smidge too fast, your index finger would be the recipient of a paper cut lasting weeks. They all had perfectly symmetrical faces, not a blemish in sight, dewey skin, noses upturned 30 degrees and no body hair; legs cleanly shaven, upper lips waxed, eyebrows threaded, smooth arms. Body hair on a woman in Western culture is an uncustomary additive of female anatomy, disgusting and unwelcome. Yet I have hair sprouting out of every available square inch of flesh, on my arms, on my legs, a fine dusting on my cheeks on jaw, everywhere where hair is not supposed to be. A fixed part of me that for the longest time, I saw no fault in.

As I reached the cusp of adolescence, the insults began, sharp, biting words that if they were to take physical form, they’d manifest themselves into dark, thick, inky black liquid, cobwebs, and the husks of dead insects. Insults that even today bounce around within the confines of my grey matter. Perperated by young boys on the school bus, boys too young to know any better. Gorilla, monster, was there something terribly wrong with you? One of them, the corners of his mouth crusted with the remnants of a lunch his mother had painstakingly crafted for him the night before, a sandwich cut into triangular halves, sliced fruit and a note telling him she loved him; leaned in close, so close I could feel a hot mist of saliva powdering my face, and told me I was so ugly that no one would ever be able to love me. His words meant nothing more to him than an assortment of consonants and vowels, that would fade into

wisps of a half remembered memory within the hour. But to me, they would dictate how I lived my life, the way I would dress, my mannerisms, my relationship with what I saw in the mirror. Starting at eleven years old, I whittled away my days in the poorly lit guest room bathroom, cheap pink disposable razors slipped between my fingers, gashes on my legs, blood trickling down and pooling into rivulets at my ankles, ironic that something that cheerful and vibrantly colored could cause so much pain. Congealed half peeled wax strips on the chipped formica countertop and crusted to the dirty tiles, empty bottles of strong smelling bleach proven to make your hair 9 shades lighter, but served nothing but reducing my arms into a mismatched checkerboard of alternating black and blonde hairs, my upper lip marred with red scars from pink Nair left on far too past the 10 minute limit.

In a sense, it was more than simple hair removal, but rather a desperate self deprecating attempt to prove my femininity, to those boys on the bus and most importantly to me, to achieve hairless smooth skin only brought me closer to checking off all the boxes that came with white standards of beauty.

Today, I can’t wear t-shirts, even in the most scalding and humid of heat, I’ve got a hair straightener on permanent standby, I’ve forgotten how to read and write Arabic, unable to decipher my own book of faith. I am still coming to terms with my obstinate physical features, and the yearn to be white, while it has dulled and dimmed over the years, it still nags the pit of stomach, unrelenting and evermore present.

“hello girls n gays”

Lunch Break Featuring Jovan Hill

Lunch Break is a monthly segment in which we interview icons, creatives, and influencers from marginalized groups. We ask them to take us to their favorite lunch spot to talk about their background, their creative process, and what it’s like being on the job.

Jovan Hill is a 25 year old Internet personality who has made it his life being on social media, and even dropped out of college for his current lifestyle of livestreaming and tweeting full time. He identifies as a queer black man, and was diagnosed with bipolar manic depression, which he openly talks about on all forms of social media. He originally gained a following through Tumblr as a teenager, and eventually grew to become popular on other platforms. Hill has been making a living off of social media through Patreon, Periscope, and donations from his followers through Venmo and PayPal. Jovan currently lives in Brooklyn, and plans on continuing his lifestyle as a mdicroinfluencer in Los Angeles.

BTC: So how did you start using Twitter and Tumblr?

JH: Tumblr started when I was 15, I would tell my teacher’s stories at school everyday. Everyone started saying that my life was so interesting and I should start a blog, and I never stopped talking since then.

BTC: And when did you start getting so many followers?

JH: When Glee got really popular, I was a Glee stan, so I would get some followers from that. And then season two ended, and it was so terrible, I never watched it again.

BTC: What did you talk about for Glee, like reviews?

JH: I would just talk about Glee! Because being gay, I would say funny and dramatic things like “I would want Finn to fuck me”.

BTC: Did you know your humor was gonna go far?

JH: No, I really didn’t. I didn’t think anybody was really paying an attention to me, I was just posting all day. I didn’t really think anything of it until I hit maybe 50,000, I thought “Why are you following me” because this was just my life, it wasn’t a goal, it was just trolling mostly.

BTC: So your Twitter is always really ironic and selfdeprecating, how does it feel to have a large amount of people feeling the same way that you do?

JH: I makes me feel better on some days, because it makes me feel like I’m not the only one that’s miserable, like “Damn, I feel so depressed and my life isn’t even that bad” and thousands of people agree with me. My feelings are valid at least. Everyone is suffering, no one is happy, so, I’m a little less alone in that now.

BTC: Being gay, that’s such a small part of some people, or a huge part, so what does it mean for you?

JH: For me it’s everything! It’s my favorite part, without it, I would be so boring. I love being gay, I love it so much.

BTC: So living in New York, you said you get to really be yourself, and you get to really be “gay” as compared to living in Texas. Has it made you more openly gay once you moved?

JH: Oh yeah, absolutely. Now I have the blonde hair, I can do pink hair, blue hair, I can do whatever I want. Online, on my Instagram stories, on my Instagram posts, “I want a dick”. Whenever it is, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick. I don’t care, I can do what I want now. Why hide it?

BTC: Does this make you want to stay in a city?

JH: Oh yeah, for sure. But I wouldn’t mind having a cute farm in the future, but for now I’m in the city, absolutely.

BTC: What about the suburbs?

JH: Oh, no. I couldn’t do a suburb it’s too fake. I would become a wine mom.

BTC: That’s exactly how I feel! I’m like, “how am I supposed to stay like this”, I would be so bored.

JH: Me too! I would start drama in my neighborhood or something, I can’t risk it, I’m too messy.

BTC: So in your YouTube videos, you’ve talked about making a community center for LGBTQIA+ individuals in a city. What’s your vision and goal for that?

JH: So my goal is: I want to buy a building in a major city, because when I was a kid, growing up being gay, it was so annoying keeping it a secret and not express myself and this whole part of me that I had to pretend didn’t exist. I would like somewhere where kids wouldn’t have to live in a home where they’re miserable or they can’t be themselves, or get fucked up for trauma. I would have a youth center where kids can live there instead, so at least there’s somewhere to go. It’ll be both live-in and a community center where people can just go. I would hire workers there and everything to help them out.

BTC: So you’ve mentioned mental illness really briefly in your last vlog, has mental health awareness been something that you would like to pursue too?

JH: Not intentionally, like ADHD, I’ve always talked about it, but now I’m an advocate basically for bipolar disorder, so now it’s a big part of my platform where I don’t mind talking about it. It wasn’t intentional at all for mental health to be a part of my platform, and in my opinion, it’s not that big of a deal.

BTC: And using your platform that represents so many different identities - gay, black - that so many people can identify with, what’s your favorite part of being someone’s that’s funny but also relatable for all of these groups?

JH: That I can make the best out of any situation; I’m never really offended, and even on my worst days, I can still make myself laugh, and I’m never really doing that bad. I’ve been doing this for so long, making fun of myself, and my struggles that suck, and still made it funny. For that, I don’t have much pressure or stress from that aspect of it. Sometimes I even have to go out and make my life harder to make content, and that’s what’s weird.

BTC: You have to make your life more complicated on purpose?

JH: My life is chaos, and I think sometimes that if it slows down, then people on Twitter will say that I’m boring, but it’s only because I’m not going crazy! So, I’ll go talk to a boy I shouldn’t talk to or something, or go to bar I shouldn’t go to, and make sure my life goes to hell for a week. With that part, it’s really mentally exhausting because I really have to ruin my life to keep my life going, which is so weird.

BTC: What would you tell your high school self?

JH: Delete. Delete everything. It’s not a lie, they’re gonna Google you. Delete everything. I would never enter the Internet ever again. I would go to college, I would go to law school, I would read, I wouldn’t have done this. I would tell myself to delete it, it’s not worth it.

BTC: And finally, what are future things that are coming up that you’re excited about?

JH: I think my goal now is to make my platform where I don’t have to tweet all day long, like right now.

Right when I’m awake I’m tweeting. So now, I have my YouTube channel where I make content but it’s

not consistent, so I want to make places where I don’t have to use Twitter all the time. Which is hard to do, because I didn’t expect this. Maybe a talk show because that’s what I like do? Just other forms of content mainly.

BTC: Thank you, Jovan!

Interview and photography by Sarah Harwell Photo location: Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles

MUSIC We hear you.

Selective Listening By : Sarah Harwell More often than not, I won’t know the song on the radio. More often than not, I do not know a song with lyrics that oppress women, lament a materialistic society, or are unnecessarily violent. I always called this selective listening, a vow I made to myself about a year and a half ago when I realized, how could I call myself a feminist when I listen to music that refers to women as “bitches”? Or why would I listen to music that supports an already extremely successful artist, when I could be listening to smaller, less popular ones and support them? Or artists that are from marginalized groups?

My mission of inclusion, this goal I keep in mind of supporting those who are like me, who go through the same struggles as I do, is extremely crucial to me and my well-being. To me, music is everything my taste in music defines who I am, down to the way I dress, the things I do, the way I see the world.

Because those well-written words with well timed instrumental are sometimes all I’ll hear during long breaks in between classes, where my only human interaction was with a barista four hours ago.

Surrounding my entire environment with music that speaks to who I am is more important, and the time finding this music makes it all worth the while, if it means the only thing I hear for hours on end is coming from and supports someone like me.

PHOTOGRAPHY An instant out of time.

Photography Feature By: Ava Pucilowski

Photography Feature By: Chloe Loeffler


Photography Feature By: Luke Tumblin

Photography Feature By: Mario Perez 


POLITICS Are you with us?

On Immigration Reform

By Micaela Aragon Everyone has heard the particular story of America being a nation founded by immigrants. In recent years, it has been used to push an agenda. The fact is, America was indeed created by immigrants, by those who came to a land foreign to them in hopes that they would find something better. From the Irish escaping famines to the Germans escaping political tension, the country once opened its doors to those who needed it. Despite the hypocrisy, each wave of immigration post-colonization has also brought about its own repercussions of nativism. Today, we are repeating history in nativist attitudes towards those seeking refuge; however, we are also creating our own history with the harshest regulations and penalties for immigrants. America’s current immigration system is incomprehensive, focused more on keeping foreigners out than on implementing legislature that reflects the so-called American values of freedom and the pursuit of happiness. Our immigration system is in need of a reform that will create a fair system that not only makes immigration an easier process, but prioritizes human rights regardless of nationality or status.

Despite claims and outrage over immigration’s negative effect on the economy, a vast majority of evidence from several organizations can easily debunk that. The idea that immigrants steal jobs from American citizens stems from a belief that the set number of jobs in the country is small enough that it cannot handle the pressure of more competitors. The effect of immigration on the economy in regards to jobs is actually the opposite of depressing. The CATO Institute, a nonpartisan public research organization, has found through statistics that in years when immigration has reached a peak, the unemployment rate of the overall nation has dropped 5.5% lower than on average years. The

relationship is not coincidental at all - its significance is great and only increases when the numbers are narrowed solely to economic migrants. Often working low-wage jobs in the agricultural field, migrant workers contribute heavily to the economy, providing us affordable produce while only making close to $10,000 annually. The positive impact they have on the employment sector of the economy is one reason for us to seek out more immigrants in our country, providing them a system where they can become legal residents and receive protection from underpayment and other forms of exploitation.

Despite the positive impact of immigration on the job sector of the economy, there is one aspect where they are certainly costing Americans far more than we should like. This, however, is not their faults at all. Under the current system, and more specifically under this administration, immigration detention has been the preferred method of settling disputes of legality. American nativists and its hate-fueling leadership have developed a harsh and low tolerance policy that celebrates the detention of immigrants, going as far as separating children from their parents in centers. Although this is seen as a victory by the administration and by many civilians supporting it, it does not come for free. Detention centers have been estimated by Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or ICE, to cost around $126.46 per bed per night. The allotted number of beds is 29,953, and that is simply for adult detention centers. In family detention centers, the nightly bed rate is $161.36 for its 960 beds. The National Immigration Forum has found that even these estimations from ICE should be considered low as they do not account for the payrolls and other operational expenses for ICE. These figures then calculate that the U.S. government was set to spend $3.076 billion on detention centers in the 2018 fiscal year. This cost naturally falls upon taxpayers’ shoulders and such a large amount is detracted from funds that could be used to improve other social issues within the country. Detention centers are not directly to be blamed on however, they are a mere reflection of our incomprehensive and thus unnecessarily expensive system.

There are other alternatives to detention that have proven themselves to have a 95% success rate, while only costing a maximum of $17 a day per immigrant. Even from a pragmatic standpoint, detention centers are the opposite of beneficial to the system. By sticking to our so-called values and not looking

to alternatives outside of detention centers, the United States allows a xenophobic narrative not only to create social problems, but also to affect  taxpayers heavily.

The progressive strides this country has been attempting to take for many years will never truly work until we have a drastic change in our immigration system. Despite the failures previously identified within it, current events are transpiring in ways that worsen the situation. The migrant caravan from Honduras that is now at the Mexican border has received response from the military, not from social workers. They have been tear-gassed rather than spoken to, and the current President has threatened the use of lethal force. Rather than looking to reform in a new and positive light, administrations are looking to set even more barriers and roadblocks, complicating our already broken system further. My first hand experience with the system has given me direct insight into the lengthy and expensive process in place. My father came to the United States before I was born and I did not know him for five years until we were able to come legally. In those five years, my mother, now raising a school aged child and an infant on her own in a third world country, applied for citizenship three separate times. She had no criminal record whatsoever and was working full time for a nonprofit in Peru. Nonetheless, she along with my brother and I, were denied entry all three times. Each application cost $450 in processing fees and took up months simply to be acknowledged. After five years and several attempts to enter the country the legal way, my mother was ready to enter the country with us through the Mexican border.

As plans were being finalized for that, my father’s residence was processed and he could begin to ask for our visa applications to be expedited. In a final attempt, and now with an immediate relative being a permanent resident, we applied again. Within months, we had approval to enter the country and were set to come. It was fortunate for us that my father’s residency was approved with that timing. The majority of immigrants who enter the country undocumented lack the same family connection that turned our three time rejection into an expedited approval. This does not mention how many undocumented immigrants may lack the money to continue to apply again and again, losing close to $500 each time. Needless to say, there are also those in such a desperate state, their situations are time

sensitive and they cannot wait for several years to be considered. There is a clear problem with a system that allows countless individuals to spend hundreds of dollars on an application that then takes months, even years to process to no avail, but then gives unfair advantages to those with a connection.

The United States has prided itself on its constitutional values of liberty and pursuit of happiness for many years. However, the current immigration system fails to reflect either of those, and the penalties are at inhumane levels. America needs a reform that implements a comprehensive immigration system that prioritizes the advancement of people and the importance of human rights for all. A system that prioritizes those values - and reflects us as a nation - will also result in a positive economic impact, all the while ending penalties that cost us billions. Until this reform occurs, the United States cannot move forward.

SOCIAL ISSUES For the sake of society.

Unproblematic People Working With Problematic People By: Liz Lemerand If you search the word “problematic” on Twitter you will find a slew of material regarding celebrities, politicians, and companies that hold offensive or prejudice views on a matter. Most recently, an executive at Victoria’s Secret made comments that transgender models do not belong in their annual fashion show. Despite making crude racially charged statements in the past fashion house, Dolce & Gabbana has been “cancelled” for running an ad in which a Chinese model struggles to eat Italian food with chopsticks. It seems like everyday there’s a new problematic scandal.

A large crop of these problematic individuals have used their status and wealth to engage in non-censual and often aggressive sexual acts. In recent years, movements like Time’s Up and #MeToo have outed these sexual harassment and/or sexual assault instances in the form of exposés. In just one year since the infamous Weinstein piece in October 2017, Bloomberg reports that about 425 people with some sort of status have been accused of some degree of sexual assault or misconduct.

Whether it is racially insensitive comments or sexual assault, the spectrum is vast and we’ve seen individuals disappear into the abyss, i.e. Kevin Spacey, and some bounce back with little resistance, i.e.

Aziz Ansari, who is embarking on a 12-week North American tour with several dates sold out. As these #MeToo allegations grew, many began to struggle with separating the art from the artist. Popular comedian Louis C.K. was one of the first that people had a hard time quickly abandoning. These situations often perfectly mimic the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal. The leader of the free world being accused of a sex scandal with a White House intern was something nobody was prepared for. The

notion that the situation pertained to his personal life and didn’t necessarily affect his duty as President is something that people felt comfortable subscribing to. He remained in office and 20 years later, he is still revered.

If you springboard off the separation of art and artist, a more complicated situation arises. One in which an unproblematic individual engages professionally (or even unprofessionally) with a problematic individual. The question at hand is: is the unproblematic individual now problematic by proxy? Trying to unpack it is difficult. As someone without celebrity status, I know I have plenty of friends and family that have been problematic in the past, but that doesn’t mean they’re “cancelled.”

One salient example of this is Kim Petras, a transgender pop singer on the rise, working with producer Dr. Luke, accused by Kesha in 2014 of sexual assault and abuse. She recently toured with Troye Sivan and has found success with almost every single and the release of her spooky EP, Turn Off The Light, Vol. 1. Her fans are well aware and tend to overlook the partnership tweeting: Kim Petras has never disappointed me!!!! (Except for the fact that she works with Dr. L*ke). Is Petras endorsing a sexual assaulter? It is a question that requires a thorough and delicate answer. As someone who has never experienced sexual abuse, I’m not sure it’s my place to declare what’s right or wrong. What I will say is there are no trans popstars, and the transgender community remains highly underrepresented, so seeing someone like Kim Petras have success and be a voice for that community is incredible.

A big issue for the public seems to be whether or not the unproblematic individual addresses or apologizes for the fact that they’ve engaged with the problematic entity. I mentioned the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show earlier on, in which many models and performers were slammed for their participation in the show. Specifically Halsey, a bisexual individual and an LGBTQIA+ ally, who wasn’t made aware of the transphobic comments until after the taping, took a stand against the brand the day of the show’s airing. On the inverse, Selena Gomez was attacked when she decided to work with Woody

Allen in late 2017. When asked about it in press interviews she expressed she had trouble formulating a answer and ended her response to Billboard with, “I stepped back and thought, ‘Wow, the universe works in interesting ways.'” This only led to more outrage. In 2018, a poorly articulated response is almost worse than silence.

A theory that could boil this concept down a bit is the six degrees of separation, which explains that any person on the planet can be connected to another person within a chain of no more than five individuals. It is quite mind-blowing to consider and when it’s put into terms of smaller associations like celebrities, it’s safe to assume everyone is likely associated on smaller levels of three to four degrees. That along with the 425 accusations made within the year, everyone in the industry has worked and probably is working with someone problematic. This revelation doesn’t make it okay, but it does put into perspective the difficulty of ostracizing everyone that’s made a mistake.

So where does that leave us? First and foremost, it’s important to remember the cliché: nobody’s perfect. People will make mistakes and people can grow and learn from them. Some mistakes are worse than others and are potentially unforgivable. There is a standard for those with celebrity status because they hold influence over their supporters. In a time of social justice warriors highlighting their biggest faux pas, it’s more constructive to focus on the change we can make within ourselves and our community, rather than cancel them and move on. This doesn’t mean I want Harvey Weinstein to see the light of day ever again, but I’d like to see less condemning action of those who have intentionally or unintentionally aligned themselves with a problematic being.

Expecting our favorite brands, stars, and elected officials to be a flawless representation of social decency isn’t reasonable. Of course I’d prefer if Kim Petras worked with a different producer, which she has, but her association with Dr. Luke doesn’t immediately compel me to denounce her, especially given her talent and the doors she’s opening for trans individuals in the music industry. She’s digested

the backlash and my hope is she works with some other producers in the future. Deciding who to support can be an ethical quandary, but if we dove deep into the networks of who is working with who, we’d probably be cancelling entire industries on the daily. In the end, it comes down to personal experience and how affected one feels by the partnership of the individuals.

NEXT BEYOND THE COMMONS ISSUE Issue No. 4: January 2019

Thank you for reading!

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