Mini Zine Spring 2023

BOSSIER MINI-ZINE PRESENTS

HEAR OUR VOICES

Spring 2023

Dear Lovely Readers,

There is a silence to voices.

AN oxymoron, I know, but forcibly true. The silence comes from the chosen deafness of ears who belong to people who refuse to give auditory space to those who they don’t deem worthy. Who don’t look like them, sound like them, or share similar backgrounds. Groups who have been so ignored by his- tory that it is painstakingly easy to continue to do so now.

So when even the most impactful words flow from one person to the next, the wavelengths to the sound frequencies audible enough for those able-bodied to hear, they are ignored. To them, there is nothing but silence. There is no question of “if a tree falls, and no one is around, does it still make a sound?” because there was no

tree, there was no them, or you, or me.

There is silence to voices, but there is a silence to power. To knowledge. To wisdom. To beauty. Because words that hold value don’t need to befall those who are undeserving and too dense to understand the worth of it. A tree doesn’t need to know if it made a sound because it knows its impact. It feels the indent it made on the earth, the act of God it performed. It doesn’t need a mic to highlight its might. To feel its influence. Its grace. Its force.

And I hope you know, that nei- ther do you.

With all my love & more,

Isabela Gomez

Bossier Mini-Zine Director

P.S. I feel your impact. I hear your voice.

*Mini-Zine Team*

A special thank you to the amazing Mini-Zine Team who worked tirelessly to put together the Spring 2023 Mini-Zine!

Photo

Photo by Camille Kelly

Abstract of Hear Our Voices

“Hear Our Voices” came to me during my work with Victoria Chen during a recorded book talk for the Fall 2022 Mini-Zine. Her idea of taking the Bossier space to enter the auditory realm was brilliant, especially as there is something so empowering about hearing voices that, I think, cannot be encapsulated by the written word. e podcast space was perfect for this.

e choice to focus on intersectional feminism was a no-brainer; Bossier is THE intersectional feminist magazine on campus, so why not take the opportunity to take the beautifully written and artistic work published and create nuance to the issues that they address?

Ultimately, “Hear Our Voices” aims to give the space and opportunity for people within the Georgetown community to voice their experiences, knowledge, and wisdom. I hope that whoever listens to the lovely guests learns something new, gains a new perspective, and/or feels supported by members of the GU Community.

Camacho, Alex. Untitled. 2023, Graphite on paper.

Bilquisu Abdullah ~Billie~ “Radical feminist who enjoys rooftops & killjoys.”

~Professor~

Elizabeth Velez is a professional lecturer at Georgetown University in the Deparment of Women & Gender studies where she teaches courses that include The Sixties, Feminist Thought I, and Reading Motherhood. Her first hand experience of events such as the Civil Rights movement, Roe v. Wade, and three different waves of feminism has given her a unique and informative view on feminism, its influence, and what we can expect in the future. Elizabeth also teaches an English course at the Patuxent Prison, and she

Elizabeth Velez

color(ed) or colorless remember my roots or become the best color(ed) or colorless stay true to my roots or choose success color fades quick like leaves in the fall completely there, then nothing at all dye it back, let it bloom again rip it off quick to make a (powerful) friend color(ed) or colorless

i’ll dig out my roots to become the best color(ed) or colorless i’ve lost my roots in the name of success

by anonymous

Photo by Camille Kelly

No Sabo

by Kathleen Felli

I had a handful of phrases that I could say to my grandmother growing up My favorite was “yo quiero pan con queso” to ask for a grilled cheese

Since kindergarten, I had learned the same things over and over: time, food, seasons, days of the week, jobs, parts of the house, family members

I had a world of vocabulary in my head but

it was as if my mind was cut off from my tongue, and I was mute in my mother’s language

I don’t remember the day that I changed, where now my mom is no longer my translator and I write papers in her language within the plaster white walls of the university and see the glimmer in my grandparents’ eyes when I speak to them But

I am afraid to admit that every time I am commanded to speak in my mother’s language, my tongue nearly falls off

Drawing by Susan Rodgers

Coming to Speak by Kaitlyn Murray

The silence does not sustain, it cannot remain. Too many a time, a woman’s words a crime: A rude intrusion, an unwelcome interjection, breeding profound dejection. Her reality – brutally reduced to triviality. Yet, the storm within her is too strong to be forlorn –She can’t take it anymore, not once more. He’s haunting her present and taunting her future, She’s afraid she might lose Her. Away with his dirty secret! Why should she keep it?

What is the value of a reputation built on lies in disguise?

What is the worth of a truth that can never be spoken?

If she were to calculate the worth of her words against the cost of his actions, then surely he would be indebted.

Neglected, inward she turns, Yearns, to discover and create herself, to boldly invent.

Defiantly, she reclaims her power. She owns her opinions and ambitions, This time, she is undeterred from the fury of her word –She is to be heard.

PRODUCING THE VOICES

Thoughts and Prayers

by Serena Barish

Red is the color of murderers Blue is disappointment

And like veins in my arm

There is blood on both your hands

Rejected Language by Isabela Gomez

My mother used to say that my eyes weren’t the windows to my soul

Since there was no house hiding my thoughts

The world could read every expression on my face

Like a billboard sign ostentatiously advertising every word

Begging people to see me

To want me

So when we were standing there

So much unsaid

I willed you to be literate in the language of my face

To hear my eyes screaming for you to stay

And the slight wrinkle in my brow

whispering my love to you

Even when my mouth said otherwise

But you were the first to look away

Leaving the unsaid in its place

And though I couldn’t read it in your face

I knew.

Art by Olivia Lebos-Planas