ENBY Magazine Issue #4: Journeys

ENBY MAGAZINE

Issue #4: Recognizing the many places we have come from, and where we are headed.

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Table of Contents Cover Art Angela Glass Twitter @aaangelacameron

Editor-in-Chief Leif Tobias Gifford (they/he)

NB, Blackness, + Slang: An Op-Ed By: Saint Tawfik

6

The Sydnificance of One Day at a Time By: Finchley Greene (they/them)

7

For my parents and their parents before them By: Maria Munir (they/them) Here: A Portrait Series By: Tristan Crane

8

11

on being enough: an account of racial and queer experiences with imposter syndrome By: L. Zhu 14 Goddess of Space By: Stephanie Fantastic (she/her)

17

Artist Feature: Jess (they/them) of beadsagainstfascism Selected Poetry By: Aiden Feltkamp (they/he)

22

A Path Towards Myself: A Poem By Ida Jouband (they/them) Starlight, A Comic By: michi / chrysanthemumskies (they/them) Douen Face & Spoil Shade By: Kwasi Shade

23 24

26

Getting the X: Opening Day for Non-binary Gender Markers at California’s DMV By: Rain Chamberlain (they/them)

3

32

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We are ENBY Magazine, North America’s independent magazine produced by non-binary people, for nonbinary people of all sizes, races, sexualities, abilities, religions, etc.

We print in bigger font than most magazines so that we’re more accessible. We now also publish a text-based version of ENBY for screen readers. If there’s anything that we can do better, feel free to contact us at leif@boundlessmedia.co.

Issue #4: Journeys This issue honours the diversity of journeys each of us goes through as non-binary people, and how no one experience is the default. From impostor syndrome to portraying images of who we really are, this

issue hopes to showcase a variety of stories and perspectives, relating to one’s journey. It is not always

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Letter from the Editor Dear reader, I love our community. There’s no other way to put it than that. The strength, resilience, passion, and courage I see within it really does warm my heart. Since starting ENBY in 2016, these three years have been a journey for both myself and ENBY and we’re both still here. I have the community to thank for that. Every

single issue, non-binary online and in-person show up and read our magazine however they can. They share our Patreon page and participate in our polls.

One person messaged our Facebook page after visiting Toronto from the States and seeing a copy of ENBY Magazine at our local LGBTQ+ bookstore, Glad Day. They shared with us some opportunities and a connection was made. Another person recommended that their therapist get a set of ENBY copies for their office; so, that therapist reached out to us and placed an order.

I travelled to Halifax and sold copies there, mostly to cis people who wanted to know more about the nonbinary community. ENBY is actively being added into post-secondary curriculum as we speak, and has made it into libraries. We’ve shipped to more than a dozen countries worldwide. Every issue, it reminds me of how much people need to see these stories, and themselves represented. By telling our truths authentically ourselves, for ourselves, we honour not only our journeys but the ones of those who are travelling alongside us.

If Issue #4 accomplishes anything, I sincerely hope that it makes you feel a little less alone.

Yours in community,

Leif Tobias Gifford | they/he | Editor-in-Chief of ENBY Magazine 5

NB, Blackness, + Slang: An Op-Ed By: Saint Tawfik This op-ed responds to the usage of “NB” within the non-binary community as opposed to its original usage as “Non-Black”.

We’re creative as hell. For as long as we’ve

and again through hashtags such as

been using language, Black and brown people have

#BlackLivesMatter and #MeToo.

been utilizing language in a subversive way. This re-

It cannot be overlooked that when these new

sistance to colonial terms and structure of language

words make their way into the mainstream through

is a way of dismantling white supremacy and its

everything from everyday language to commercial

rules. Historically viewed as incorrect or inferior to

usage, it is usually entirely co-opted and used with-

“proper” English, which is an ever-evolving language,

out credit to the original creators. A most notable ex-

Black slang has been changing the language game.

ample is that of Kayla Lewis who coined the term “on

This can readily be seen in what’s known as

fleek” back in 2014, a phrase which meant something

“Black Twitter,” a subsection of social media site

perfected, well-executed, or looking good. Since

Twitter, predominantly consisting of African-American

Lewis’ Vine video, the phrase has taken off, used in

users. Black Twitter allows for a direct transliteration

common language and even found in advertise-

of African American Vernacular English (AAVE) that

ments.

is easily accessible and signals to a user’s Black

Oftentimes, AAVE becomes commonly used

identity. Without the corporeal signifiers of the offline

in queer spaces before it reaches the mainstream.

world, one uses language as a way of identifying

RuPaul’s Drag Race is a vibrant example of Black

themself.

slang used by other communities. Both Black and

Oftentimes the language created by Black

queer communities develop their own languages in-

people on Twitter (or elsewhere) will inevitably find its

ternally to communicate and relate with each other.

way into mainstream media and colloquial speech

AAVE and LGBT Linguistics, respectively. And at the

and even Webster’s Dictionary. From “lit” to “on

intersection of these communities we find even more

fleek” and “woke,” terminology is constantly being

creativity.

created or brought back to life and popularity with

New language is constantly in development to

entirely new meanings. The force with which Black

subvert heteronormative and patriarchal ideologies,

Twitter influences popular language is also seen time

similar to what AAVE invariably does to white su6

premacy. Early feminist movements coined terms

for new language to come into use.

such as ‘womyn’ and ‘wombyn’ in order to re-center

Gender neutral language is increasingly re-

womanhood. Additionally, within queer communities,

placing that which is gendered in order to be as inclu-

new language is constantly being developed to de-

sive as possible, especially in non-binary communi-

scribe various identities. Gender-queer or non-binary

ties. Examples of this include replacing gendered pro-

language takes these early feminist movements an-

nouns with they and them, or more recently invented

other step, exiting the gender binary entirely and cre-

ze and zir or per and pers.

ating space for more identities to be recognized and

The Sydnificance of One Day At A Time

By Finchley Greene (they/them) Syd on the left, Elena on the right from One Day at a Time

Season 3 of One Day At A Time has emerged on

seeing a non-binary character who is funny, relatable

Netflix and is a brilliant continuation of the last two

and so very human, is much needed.

seasons. Following Lupita, the head of a matriarchal

Over the seasons there have been one or two small

Latinx family as she navigates life dealing with a vari-

issues with the handling of Syd’s character, but all

ety of challenges such as PTSD, immigration, color-

these small issues have turned out to be a learning

ism, and importantly, Lupita’s daughter Elena, com-

curve, both for the on-screen characters and audi-

ing out as gay in season 1. By season two, we meet

ence.

Syd, who turns out to be Elena’s love interest.

Syd and the creators of One Day At A Time have

Syd is a non-binary character, and while the show is

held a beacon for the non-binary community where

infamous for addressing difficult topics, Syd’s identity

there wasn’t one before. Guttingly, Netflix have de-

is a needed breath of fresh air for trans and non-

cided to cancel the series- yet another blow for on-

binary identifying people as there is little representa-

screen representation, but with so much outcry and

tion elsewhere. So much misunderstanding, societal

support, I remain hopeful that a vibrant story would

and legal upheaval against trans rights recently, has

be eventually be brought back to life.

meant that trans people have been dehumanised, so 7

For my parents and their parents before them

By Maria Munir (they/them) \ Twitter @Maria_Munir

The truth is simple: I don’t feel like my story is

going to make things better for everyone because I had to.

worth telling.

But it didn’t feel like it was my journey.

This was the journey of my parents, and their parents be-

It feels self-indulgent to write about my journey. I feel like I

fore them.

have an inflated sense of self-importance, but I wonder how much of this is in response to being told to stay in my

My mum grew up as the eldest of two brothers and four

lane. I was assigned a gender at birth that no one was

sisters. She was cheeky, charismatic, and managed to

happy with. Everyone would have found it easier had I

weave her way out of trouble repeatedly. I look at her now,

been born a boy, but my parents embraced me all the

and I can map her face to the fields she ran through; I can

same. I grew up with facial palsy, paralysing half of my

see the creases of laughter where she teased her family

face, and that compounded the burden that nothing was

relentlessly; and I can see the wry eyebrow rising when

expected of me. My journey was not my own; it was al-

she heard something she disagreed with. This is the wom-

ways someone else’s.

an who, when she came to the UK from Pakistan as a 16year-old, went straight to school whilst speaking no Eng-

I went to school, and I excelled. I was no meek or mild

lish and leaving with a qualification in IT, despite her ex-

child by any measure. I miss those days when I bought a

tended family saying it was a waste of time. This is the

Barbie annual from a charity shop. It asked me what I

powerful woman who, when faced with unemployment,

wanted to be when I was older.

marched straight into a care home and refused to leave a ‘Let’s see. On Mondays, I’ll be Prime Minister. On Tues-

board meeting until they gave her a job.

day, I’ll be an actor. On Wednesday, I’ll work for charity.

She got the job, of course. She’s my mum.

On Thursday, I’ll be the BBC News Political Correspondent. On Friday, I’ll work at Superdrug with Khala Uzma, my

I know where she gets it from, though. My mum’s dad

aunt.’

came to this country first and left his family behind in Pakistan. I was lucky to have had 7 years of his adoration. He

The fear of being Too Much didn’t quite strike me until lat-

may have passed on, but I remember so firmly when he

er in life. I joined a political party at seven or eight in oppo-

would say, ‘My Maria will do something, my Maria will

sition to the Iraq Invasion, I took a copy of Great Expecta-

achieve something, just you wait.’ He wanted all of us to

tions into school for quiet reading as a nine-year-old, and

get the education that he’d missed out on. He wanted to

my ‘favourite channel’ was BBC News. I was undefeata-

know it was worth uprooting himself to the other side of the

ble; I was going to be all the things I wanted to be. I was

world without his community. I really hope that he feels it 8

was worth it.

ciation for my human rights work, with a fellow recipient being Malala Yousafzai. Even as I write this, I feel ridicu-

My own dad is not much different. He sacrificed his prom-

lous. I’m not sure that this is exactly what I had in mind five

ising education to help support his siblings and parents.

- or even ten - years ago, but it’s not surprising for the kid

He’s been through so much strife, from country to country,

who walked up to their Member of Parliament as a child

just to try and make ends meet so he could send money

and asked if the MP knew where the weapons of mass

back to his family. Whether that was years in Saudi Arabia

destruction were hidden by Tony Blair. This was not blus-

under working conditions that would make any human

tering confidence. This was a genuine need to challenge

rights campaigner gasp or coming to the fabled land of

authority when lives are thrown into the firing line ‘for us’.

England only to be met with fervent racism, he has done so much to make our lives as comfortable as he can.

Was the harassment and death threats worth it? Have I made a difference? I ask myself this as I write this from the

I respect that, but I wish he hadn’t felt obliged to give up so

pit of depression. I haven’t showered for a week. I go to

much with no guarantee that it would be appreciated. But

work every day and smile otherwise people will be con-

he learnt from his dad, who walked miles and miles for

cerned. I apologise to everyone who emails me to ask me

weeks on end, that appreciation is not what matters; your

to speak at an event; they don’t know that I am not avoid-

family deserve your unconditional love.

ing them. I’m avoiding myself.

Whatever I do, I think of this first and foremost. As a kid, I

There’s something odd about the level of scrutiny I’ve

tried my hardest to be the very best at everything. I had to.

been under. I’m tired of dissecting myself for applause. I

I had to do something to show that everyone’s sacrifices

never walk away feeling compensated, and the temporary

had been worth it. I needed to prove that, despite where

minute increase in my bank account disappears once I

my parents came from, where we were going was so

repair my emotions.

much better. I had to be a lot of things that I couldn’t even name yet.

I’m just some random person from a town called Watford.

My journey is nowhere near worthy of the people whose

I’m 23 years old now. I guess what hasn’t changed is that I

journey came before mine.

am still a lot of things. The difference is that if I listed them all, I’d get in trouble – that’s how you know my journey has

Queer stuff feels superfluous.

some way to go.

Gender euphoria scares me.

I’ve had my weird life of flying to Geneva as an expert for

I never feel euphoric. I never feel dysphoric. I feel the ab-

the United Nations and getting a letter from former Presi-

sence of strong feelings.

dent of the United States, Barack Obama, after coming out

Someone should take away my gender card. Well, some-

to him on live TV and standing up for the rights of non-

one should take gender off my driving license and my

binary people. I even got a medal from the Paris Bar Asso-

passport anyway, but if I had a loyalty card for being a 9

good public enby, I’d have zero stamps.

I can’t win. When the game wasn’t set up for me to play, and the rules change when I’m around, how can I be ex-

Honestly, I have zero stamps left to give. No one is about

pected to win?

to put my face on a stamp. Who cares if I have a Wikipedia page when I struggle to get out of bed in the mornings?

I should have done more by now. That’s my overriding

Who cares about any successful changes I’ve brought

feeling. I’ve let everyone down. I wasted my chances. De-

about through my activism? Who gives a shit?

spite all that I’ve achieved, I live in the constant anxious fear that I’ve somehow misused my opportunities to

I am an imposter. I’m reminded that every day, from being

change the world.

pushed out of queues in supermarkets for being a ‘filthy Paki’, to being slapped with a copy of the Metro on the

That it wasn’t good enough.

tube. Both middle class comforts I could never afford. My

That it wasn’t enough.

queerness isn’t visible except when I put on a hat that says

Maybe I’m wasting my platform. But I see no platform.

‘Queer’, because no one would look at this body and this skin and this face and this religion and believe that it’s

I stare up at the glass ceilings in the skyscraper built

queer.

above me. I know that I’m never going to get to the top.

You can scream your queerness and be called aggressive.

But in my small way, like my parents and their parents be-

You can lower your gaze and be called oppressed. I can’t

fore them, I’ll inch a little bit higher to the summit.

explore my identity in this unnavigable land. This country

It’s a journey I’m finally ready to make.

was not made for people like to me to find ourselves.

There’s no gap year experience on some ‘exotic’ beach that awaits me and my journey of self-discovery.

My journey is curated for me. I don’t look the way people want me to. I’m not skinny, white, androgynous, or edgy. I could strip naked and still my body would be undesirable.

When I am in the spotlight, my narrative is dictated by questions like whether I have a uterus, if I’ve been disowned, or what it’s ‘like’ to be… all that I am.

My message is too jarring, and my reality is unsellable. No one wants to hear about the first-generation immigrant kid who has jumped from manual labourer to UN expert in one smooth story arc. No one wants to hear my story without tragedy.

10

Here: A Portrait Series By: Tristan Crane

Cheyenne She/They/Hers/Them Non-Binary Womxn/ Two-Spirit/ Hard Femme/ Butch/ Fxtch

“Although my lineage has been lost, I hold the title of Two-Spirit close to my heart. I am a warrior that both fights and loves to the fullest.

I am a parent of a Trans / GNC child. My child is the one that taught me how to be my

true self. If it wasn’t for them, I might never have had the ability to see myself.”

Teek

They/Them

Bisexual/Non Binary Human, 67 years old

“I know everything I am is part of a wide spectrum of expres-

sion. That spectrum is not simply feminine on one end and masculine on the other; I don’t claim to know what those terms mean. I’m more familiar with so many other spectrums...

I never know where I’ll be from one moment to another. It’s like dancing, in an eternally liminal space.”

Mateó

queer, they/them

“I am an indigenous qtpoc from Colombia. I come from the Muisca people and we were known for offering our deities (the sun and the moon) art in return for their magic.

Through visual art, I found an outlet to express myself authentically starting at a really young age.

As a nonbinary brown artist, I plan to start a 11

revolución.”

Neve multigender/genderqueer/offgender/femme “Being in my body enough to remember that I want to fight for my right to experience joy and ease, that I want my community to experience joy and ease, is always the goal.

I am a radical political, fairy tale romantic, and frightening adventure of embodiment with you.”

Jude

Ae/Em/Aer

Human transcending gender

“I’m not femme or masc, I’m just who I am, so get your gender off me!

I love being visible trans and knowing that I’m

making a difference just by being me. I want to show other people how fun and freeing it can be to shed societal expectations of how to exist in this weird, wonderful world.”

Llano She/Her, They/Them Genderqueer Femme

“I always knew I was different and it has been quite the journey embracing it. I was already a drag performer and musician, but since then I have talked on stages small and large about growing up queer and my voyage of self discovery.

My hope is that by making my identity more visible I can inspire more people to be their authentic selves and make the world a little bit more accepting.” view the other photos at hereportraits.com 12

on being enough: an account of racial and queer experiences with imposter syndrome By: L. Zhu

“Yes,” she answers, and we never speak of it again.

i.

Mom tries her best to integrate Chinese culture

(Nowadays, I wish we would have.)

into my childhood: language videos, folklore picture books, celebrations of the Lunar New Year with my

iii.

one other Chinese friend in Wisconsin (our mothers,

I still don’t like girls in high school, not when my fa-

each single, both adopted us from China) in the one

vorite cartoon characters are Raven from Teen Ti-

sit-down Chinese family restaurant in town.

tans and Shego from Kim Possible. Not even when I find myself incredibly drawn to the stunning middle-

But she is the only Chinese friend I have, and soon

aged women in my favorite TV shows, wondering

Mom’s attempts fall flat as I lose interest. No one else

what it’d be like to get to be their husbands.

I attend school with has similar interests or traditions, so I fail to see the point in why I should.

And especially not during freshman year when the really pretty sophomore in my geometry honors class

ii.

throws her head back and laughs at some stupid joke

“Do you ever think about girls?” the same friend asks

I made. She tells me I’m really funny and I still don’t

me once, years later when we’re maybe 12 and

like girls when I make it my goal to make her laugh

swinging on the playset in her backyard.

as often as I can, nor when I re-read the blurb she leaves in my yearbook at the end of the year where

“What do you mean?” I ask.

she says that I’m one of the sweetest people she’s met over and over.

“The same way you do boys,” she elaborates. “Like, do you like them?”

I just hold an incredibly high admiration for all of these women. Y’know, girl power and all of that.

“No,” I say, and don’t know how to tell her that I don’t really like boys either. “Do you?”

13

iv.

marvel at our polar opposites in upbringings; I saw

Four years pass and I’m a freshman once again, sit-

more East Asians on campus during my first campus

ting in the mandatory discussion of our assigned

tour the year before than I had in my entire existence

summer reading on the first day of college orienta-

back home.

tion. I can’t stop watching the floormate sitting directly across from me speak, clinging onto her every

I do not understand the meeting’s pop culture refer-

word like she’s a prophet discussing the secrets of

ences and inside jokes of being raised by Asian par-

existence as we know it.

ents; cannot read the Mandarin written on the projection screen or relate to the buzzing excitement of po-

“If you were a fruit, what kind would you be?” she

tential group visits to some of the local boba tea

asks the room, and I’m struck with the desperation to

shops. The gaps between our experiences widen

be the kind she indulges herself in.

and I shake on the unsteady foundation, teetering at the edge of the new crevice.

Each time our eyes meet, it feels like being doused with ice-water; like she’s the first person who has ev-

Exposure to others in this community is a double-

er seen me.

edged sword; I cut my fingers on the razor-sharp sides with my blind eagerness and bleed alienation.

“I think I have a crush on a girl,” I text my best friend from high school immediately after the session is dis-

No longer am I a twinkie (“yellow on the outside,

missed. “I might be gay.”

white on the inside”), as my high school friend once called me; instead, I have transformed into a fortune

“Happens to the best of us,” is his reply.

cookie: Chinese-appearing but truly American. Both are artificial.

v.

A few weeks later, I attend my first meeting for the

My return visits to the student group are few and far

Chinese Students Association.

between, and then they become none.

The table of fellow first-years I sit with are warm and

vi.

welcoming, and discuss their shock at the lack of

“She’s cute,” I comment to my sophomore roommate

Asian population on campus from their hometowns. I

in the fall next year, watching a fellow student across 14

the room at the queer weekend retreat we’re all at-

The last thing I expect is to wake up one morning not

tending.

two months later and realize that I’m not a woman like I had thought myself as for the previous 19

My roommate agrees and I force myself to make

years.

awkward conversation with the girl, pushing past jumbled nerves and inviting her to sit with us through-

My knowledge of non-binarism suddenly becomes

out the weekend. We stargaze one night while every-

much more personal.

one else is playing Never Have I Ever and I lend her my jacket, distracted from the cold of the gravel be-

vii.

low by the warmth of her smile.

Time goes by and my involvement in queer and people of color spaces on campus grows exponentially.

Two weeks later we dive headfirst into a monoga-

The more I involve myself-- the more I become a

mous relationship, me half running on fumes from the

face and voice for different minority groups in the stu-

elation of having my affections explicitly reciprocated

dent body-- the more my fear of inferiority festers,

for the first time. This type of fuel, while powerful, is

unyielding.

not built for sustainability, and when I burn out a couple months later, we crash just as magnificently as

My entire being hovers in a liminal space and it’s ag-

we began.

onizing when I struggle to accept anything unknown.

The places I so desperately wish to belong in height-

vii.

en my unrelenting uncertainty whether I deserve to

Later in the semester, my roommate comes out to

exist there. No matter how often I strive to become

me as non-binary in the middle of a late-night study

more (chopping my hair off and adapting a masculine

session in one of our floor’s study rooms. We’re both

hairstyle, complete with teal highlights, the summer

serving on the executive board for our queer student

after I discovered I was nonbinary; enrolling in as

group, and while I haven’t had any personal experi-

many East Asian culture and history classes as my

ence with the identity, I’ve learned the basics of it by

degree and schedule allows; plastering bi-pride stick-

this point.

ers on my laptop cover) I forever fall short of enough.

“Okay, thanks for telling me,” I say, and we move on.

When my first kiss since my breakup is with a white cis-man two years later, a seed of doubt plants itself 15

inside my soul. Each subsequent kiss with every additional man is a watering to this seed; each time another white man climbs into my bed, more flower buds appear on the stalks. It feels like a betrayal, not only to my queerness but also to my race, despite how my sexual history does not reflect my interests (each time an East Asian man asks me if I prefer white or Asian men, I am left flailing for words). How desperately I want to rip it from the soil and trample it.

Yet it is not a weed. The way it obscures my vision-makes me doubt myself, and selfishly demands so much of my attention-- is ugly like one, though.

ix.

‘Enough’ is a mirage, shimmering in the distance and taunting you to spend every last breath chasing after it even if it does not truly exist. It is a product of imposter syndrome-- for me, of the fear of taking up space I do not deserve.

Imposter syndrome is blinding. It makes you ask the wrong questions. I have spent far too much time wondering if I am enough for others instead of asking if I am enough for myself, when only I know my truth.

x.

My current journey is working towards being able to answer that question with a resounding ‘Yes.’ 16

Art by Stephanie Fantastic, she/her 17

Artist Feature: Jess from beadsagainstfascism Jess (they/them) runs beadsagainstfascism, a crafts-based network of solidarity, using symbols from varying movements. They are Cree from James Bay and Irish. Their work hopes to inspire others to create their traditional crafts, and to make fascists uncomfortable.

How did you begin creating beadwork?

there are folx out here who are actively working to-

I began creating beadwork with my Grandmother,

ward making the world more safe and comfortable for

and I’ve been super crafty my whole life. I grew up

marginalized folx, and there are people who believe

with my dad’s side, but we would visit my mom’s side

in this so deeply that they’ll wear it on display. And if

pretty frequently and each time we did my grandma

they’re a member of any marginalized community, I

taught me at least one new skill. Later on I moved to

hope they’ll be even slightly comforted by this fact.

Toronto for school, which is only an hour away from

When people buy my work

where my grandma lives. I

and wear it, I want them to

got the chance to visit her

know that, especially if

and hang and learn from

they’re an ally/ accomplice

her, which was awesome.

to the community the beadwork supports, they should

This is when I picked back

be actively willing to en-

up on beadwork. I was also

gage with folx on the sub-

very involved with the Cen-

ject of the struggle of that

tre for Aboriginal Student

specific community and

Services at my university, where we did lots of work-

educate anyone who asks or is unfamiliar with the

shops, including beading workshops. Seeing all the

acronym or symbol. It’s a pretty big responsibility,

beautiful work my friends and peers were doing kind

really!

of reignited my interest in this craft.

What do you hope to accomplish with What is the first thing that you want people to know

beadsagainstfascism?

when they’re engaging with your work?

My initial hope with doing this work was to find a way

When people first see it, I want them to know that

to contribute to the causes I believe in, as I was away 18

from my activist communities and hanging out back

an amazing capacity to constantly reinvent ourselves

home with my family and getting my health in order. I

and our cultures including material cultures, and this

have a panic disorder and I was homeless for a bit in

is yet another super cool evolution of that. I’m abso-

Toronto and it put an enormous strain on me so I had

lutely not the first to put such explicitly political con-

to leave and recoup, but I wanted to find a way to re-

tent into a traditional craft, but it's definitely what I do

main engaged with the stuff I was a part of when I

best right now and I plan on running with it!

was in the city. I’d dabbled in political beadwork before that, making Palestinian flag solidarity beadwork

Why is your emphasis on solidarity with other groups

for my friends and comrades, but I decided to take it

and movements, such as Black Lives Matter and sex

another step.

workers, important to your practice?

I opened an Etsy and the rest is history! I was so jazzed to learn people actually wanted this stuff! I really just want marginalized folx to be a little bit more comfortable existing in this world, and I want fascists, racists, white supremacists, homophobes, transphobes, misogynists to be a lot more uncomfortable.

My goal is to have constant reminders that their beliefs and actions are harmful and will not be tolerated, and I want them to be reminded everywhere they go that there are folx willing to fight tooth and nail to take Some of Jess’ pins, such as the Palestinian flag, the

away their platforms and suppress their ability to do

Medicine Wheel, anti-Nazi symbols, and sex work

harm. Make fascists afraid.

solidarity (umbrella) pins.

Are you seeing a community of Indigenous people

Solidarity is super important to me, but it has to be

using traditional craft as activism?

genuine, committed, informed solidarity (no populist

Yes, and it makes me so happy! I’m a believer that

crap!). The vast majority of our movements and

any way that we can reclaim our practices and cul-

struggles and even our own identities have a million

tures and be visible in any space or dimension on our

complex intersections, so trying to section off move-

colonized land is activism, but Indigenous folx have

ments into their own little corners is not an accurate 19

or helpful representation of the world. Each move-

on solidarity. Sometimes it feels like the different

ment is so interconnected with so many others, and

parts of me are all being tugged in different directions

they need to mutually inform each other to ever actu-

and it’s like I’m being told “you can be Indigenous but

ally tackle the real problems we face as the complex

you can’t be a womxn too, pick one! You can be

human beings that we are. There obviously does

queer but you can’t be non-binary too, pick one!” And

need to be dedicated people working toward each

it’s just exhausting and isolating.

specific struggle; I just think the way that each of

I want people to feel like all the parts of who they are

those will be their strongest is by not pretending each

as human beings are fully seen. I think being Indige-

issue exists in a vacuum.

nous specifically and how I was raised and taught to see the world really informed my holistic viewpoint,

Another important aspect is that we’re all human be-

including in regards to politics. We are all WAY more

ings and we need support and we need to prevent

complex than the world gives us credit for and we

ourselves and each other from getting burnt out! Soli-

need to see more accurate representations of that.

darity, and actual physical representations of in-

None of us fit neatly into a little box.

formed, committed, and genuine solidarity like this

beadwork, is basically just being like “hey, I don’t face the things you face but I know and I care and you’re not alone”, and even just that humanizing and personal sort of unspoken statement can be really powerful, and remove a lot of that isolation that we all feel in this neoliberal capitalist hellscape. We really need to be doing a better job of taking care of ourselves and each other.

Some more of Jess’ pins in a container, along with ear-

You are Indigenous, queer, and a non-binary womxn.

rings. Black Lives Matter pins, antifa (antifascist flag),

How do you feel like these identities integrate them-

Medicine Wheel, and a Palestinian flag in a heart.

selves into what you make and the politics that drive a lot of your pieces?

Do you have any advice for others seeing what you

All my different identities lead to me never feeling

and others do, who are interested in pursuing this

fully represented, and it’s partially why I’m so keen

artform?

20

Specifically in regards to our traditional beadwork

and material cultures, I strongly encourage any Indigenous folx to reclaim these practices, and use them however they see fit! Honestly, we all need to just go for it. The first step ain’t easy, and I know I personally felt pretty self-conscious putting myself out there in such a raw way. Any time you create a piece of art and you show anyone, it takes a ton of guts. It’s like

mini representation of at least a part of you as a human and it’s nerve-wracking as heck!

But it never really goes as badly as we expect. In terms of our traditional crafts, honestly y’all, just make your ancestors proud and only use your work and your skills in ways you can be proud of too. In-

tegrity is key, even though it’s hard to maintain sometimes under capitalism. At the end of the day if you can be proud of the work you’ve done and the contribution you’ve made and it aligns with your values and beliefs, you’re doing a real good thing and you should keep it up.

Support Jess’ work!

Follow @beadsagainstfash on Twitter Shop for pins here: https://www.etsy.com/ca/shop/ BeadsAgainstFascism (items are posted in chunks,

Some of Jess’ Pride pin designs. Small and large trans

so favourite their store for updates!)

flags, bisexual flags, and inverted pink triangles.

21

Selected Poetry

By Aiden Feltkamp (they/he)

Zdenka II why give up that purest & dearest segment of you for ungrateful vultures who pull at your kindness

Excavation/Burial

& gnaw at your patience we see the whiteness

I’m accidentally digging myself

of your sacred bones

into your life,

thin scrapes crosshatching

unearthing little pieces of you

the ancient cold cylinders exposed in the heat of the desert

carelessly left behind: scraps of paper between the pages of the book you read, notes scribbled on napkins crushed into the pocket of your jeans, tears suggested by the jagged outline of dried salt on your bathroom sink.

The deeper I dig, the more I find of you and the less I have of me above ground, free of the shallow grave of your memory.

22

A Path Towards Myself: A Poem

By Ida Jouband (they/them) Ida is a non-binary writer, queer jewelry crafter, chaotic witch, and the proud dog parent of the cutest Jack Russell. They can be found on Instagram (@_godsavethequeer_) and Twitter (@sheinicorn).

It doesn't matter where you're going

But Man wasn't either

As long as you keep walking

It felt too cold and harsh She looked into Her eyes

There was a girl once Without many words Girl was not the right one It tasted both sweet and sour

And somewhere a light stared back Just a little melody In a never-ending silence And that day They knew

On the edge of Her lips But Boy wasn't either

It doesn't matter where you're going

It just didn't feel right

As long as you keep walking

She stared at herself And somewhere, someone stared back Just a whisper, a begining Of a symphony yet unwritten

There was a woman once Without many words Woman was not the right one It felt too soft and flickering

23

Starlight, A Comic

Comic by Michi (they/them) 24

@RequiemPluie on Twitter

michiums.bigcartel.com 25

Douen Face & Spoil Shade By: Kwasi Shade

Sometimes when I felt small, I stood guard at the

and then I run up on him and...”

entrance. I arrested the bad memories that

The chandelier was a blur of light dangling in dancing

walked into my mother's little house and tossed

crystal as I woke up walking on slept foot and crowd-

them into the black garden that grew at the back.

ed eyes so tired with ruin. My tears punctured the walls too; the broken tiles and the bloody furniture

Yet there were bad memories that climbed through

cracked and pinched at my feet. I remembered how

the walls and took the same fright that was in me the

he drove the scissors through me, his face was lit,

night I died as legs to stand on. The pain swallowed

vexed at my insistence that there be no drugs in the

me whole and spat me out five sizes larger than the

house. I was loud when I said it.

rooms in which my body grew rotten. I was swollen and my rotting flesh bled like noise against the walls.

He was called the black sheep of the family because

My right foot spread the length of the hallway and my

unlike me and my dark skinned brothers, he was yel-

toes were soaked in the bathroom sink. An eye in my

low. People flocked to the yellow black sheep. He

mother's old room turned with a heavy feeling. I was

was the black sheep with many friends and I was

infected. The particulars of any family was strange to

'different’, 'weird’, 'mad’, ‘had too much and was al-

begin with.

ways messing it up’, lonely and thought to be gay.

“This was where it happen?”

At fifteen my mother diagnosed me mad. I was the second of four boys and what made me strange was

“Yeah, boy. I stab him up and thing cause he too stu-

not like my brothers’ spitting on the floor, dumping of

pid.”

rubbishness in the living room area, pissing in corMy little brother was a known criminal in and around

ners, or their constant yelling about the house de-

Morvant. He was right. I had been stupid. Love was

spite the functionable presence of sinks, bins, a toilet

an indulgence in stupidity. I learned from him that this

and pillows. What my mother found strange was my

pain that had trapped me in my afterlife was some-

quiet.

thing like love. It was how I learned too of the moShe said I was too quiet. She said I read too many

ment I died.

books. I stayed in my bedroom away from everyone

“I just standing they and I say, 'nah, he too schupid!’

26

to avoid criticism. It had the opposite effect.

A bad memory fluttered in my stomach. There was the time he drove a screwdriver across my face.

As a boy I longed for my brothers. I cleaned the spit, piss and rubbish. When they ordered me about I complied. Peace and love I said. I spoke to them. I thought they were angry and I should counsel them.

My mother felt I was a know it all. I was fifteen when I first called her neurotic. I was fifteen when I told her her son was a psychopath. She returned the favor “Something wrong with he.” She told the therapist the first time I was taken to a psychiatric hospital. “He like to read too much.”

They were hard to bear, the memories in this house. I ran away. A child was not taught about the world nor taught how to dismantle its anger as it seethed in

them but I practiced my breath well. When my mother

There was the time he stabbed me in my sleep. The bad memory was a bird. There's always a bird.

There's always something feathered about this house. The hammer that was smeared with my tears swung in my fingers. The bird skipped and sang and turned in my stomach until my throat was choked with noise. Kobi and his friend were dividing a bag of grass. On the dining table there were three guns and a bowl with bullets. I heaved a long breath and the walls were pushed slightly. I wanted to feel small again. I wanted to leave.

“You feel that?”

“Mmm. Help me throw him out.”

first asked if I was gay I had not considered it. I

Here was where I had died. In the dining room area of

lashed out. I ran away from the shame that was in

my mother's crumbling house.

that house. My mother was angry. There were plenty in Morvant who were angry with me too. As a boy I felt I could cure them of it with love but they laughed.

Like my mother. I thought it peculiar. I ran again.

“That not right what you do you brother; is your brother, boy.”

“That bullerman.”

“No, man.”

“Nah Kobi, I not doing that.”

My blood was stained cherry on the walls. The walls that I painted several times in my life was covered in my blood.

Still.

The color of the dining table was changed. Cherry mahogany.

“Nah, nah. He mad. Is,...is he fault.”

It had seeped onto the floor as well. The checkered

“But he dead, Kobi.”

tiles were marbled with cherry. And there were cherry

“What you go do, call the police?”

footprints. My cherry footprints.

27

gait was changed. My breath was damaged. When

Curtis gave Kobi a car and a sum of money. Alison

the ground stopped I didn't know it. Not in any way

rushed to the house on three occasions to ensure

that I could explain.

that Kobi was okay and that he had survived the ordeal. The gossip took. He was defending his life. I

He turned on the pipe and washed his hands over a

was gay.

growing pile of dirty wares. The water dangled crystal when he slapped his hands against the stale air and

I lived my life in a small way. I knew I was different. I

turned off the pipe.

scared people.

“Yeah. Them have to give me thing. Ain, where you

“You sure you want to do this?”

want to take the new car for a spin?”

“You should leave.”

I heard the car ignite and pull away. I exhaled. A gun

“Kwasi, you know you need me.”

was left on the table. The bad memory that danced in

“You mean my art? I don't need nobody.”

my stomach leapt onto the table and simmered

I loved them for who I felt they ought to be not for

around the gun. Another bad memory; her back

who they were. I was guilty too.

turned to me as she left the house. No words were

left between us.

“You don't know me anyway.”

“They not like you.” My wife had said. “You different

A sudden murder, like her last words, will cure any-

from them.”

one of resignation. I felt guilt. Guilt like this made me nostalgic. I remembered how far or long I had lived

“But we is the same people. We have the same

like this. Then I saw it. When the police officers came

name.” I laughed. “Stop saying stupidness.”

on the sixth day after my death my mother came to

“Kwasi, family is a living arrangement. They don't

the house and sat beside Kobi. The officers at first

love you. You different.”

asked the routine introductory questions. The estab-

I was angry with her for giving me the first warning. It

lishing questions. When the officers asked for an ex-

was as she had said, 'an arrangement.’

planation my family said some of the following:

“You're not gay, okay? Just be happy. Be yourself.”

“Is he beat me up. He was pushing and beating me

She said.

up all in the house in the room. He doesn't even do

“I still love you.”

nothing in the house. He don't do nothing. He don't like nobody.”

What a disappointment. Five days after my death 28

The desperate path of cherry footprints that led to the

“Yeah. Is a team, boy. Loyalty.” Kobi skinned through

door where a splotch was altered; a wipe or two of

his teeth.

hands crazy with shock, bloody angels that were now

“Yeah, nah you right. Well, how much you think he

a color like cherry mahogany and peppered with light

go take?”

from the chandelier. I had grown so large I couldn't

“Derrick stupid too ain. We could give him this and he

walk out the front door.

go be normal.”

There were bad memories standing on the door. I

Kobi held up a handful of grass to his friend.

had known love was bad luck but I listened to the

“It smelling sticky too. He go like it.”

fog, that indistinguishable yearning to be with my family, and I had loved my killer so much I had hoped

A sudden murder can cure you of resignation. It can

their love for me was as real.

fill you with a vile thirst for breath, as I was, like that time lost in an earthquake when the fear that gripped

The fog was a bird turning in my stomach too. I was

me was the uncertainty of my condition.

mistaken about the nature of whatever it was among us that broke my heart. I had resigned myself.

“Kwasi? Why you not answering? You gay in truth?”

A pair of socks was rolled up to my knees. I made a

For thirty years I didn't know the ground was moving.

habit of scrubbing my feet before I ran the socks up

I thought it was love. Then one day I stopped or was

the length of each foot so it frustrated me when the

jerked to a sudden conclusion and I was thrown by it.

soles of my left foot itched. I squirmed, rubbing it

The gravity of the earthquake held me hostage. The

against the walls but nothing. My hands were tied to

bad memories flooded into me and a rage took hold

a leak in the kitchen.

of my body. Memories of the many times my blood was spilled in this house boiled my skin.

“Why you does get on so stupid?”

“Strap up. We going and drop this off. You have the

It dried up. I dropped the hammer. Kobi and the

keys?”

pearty gangster that was with him grabbed three handfuls of grass each and dumped it into black plas-

“I think you leave it in the kitchen, boy.”

tic bags. They had another bag that was filled with

Alison's face was bent in the photograph that hung

pink and blue dime bags.

on the wall. A year had passed since I stopped and I

“Derrick go want some too, ain't?”

was still thrown. She looked used and old; a platinum blonde wig and a dress one size too small. Kobi's

“Derrick?”

29

“We try to get him help all the time, I don't know what

and a halted demeanor. When I woke up dead I knew

was wrong with Kwasi.”

the problem was that I had forgotten how to dream.

When I slept I remembered my perfection. I remem-

I was born among monsters, a monster then, and I

bered everything. It was how I travelled back in time.

had claimed humanness. Like a fool.

And there I found vague things; a Douen's face, for

A murder foreseen was different. And having traveled

instance, gnashing teeth plunging into my flesh. But

back in time I remembered that Kobi stabbed my

nothing was for certain.

younger brother in his leg, destroyed the BMW Curtis

As Kobi walked back into the house I saw it, the

had given to my younger brother, torn up money that

Douen who ran up the stairs and bit me; a pair of

he felt was not enough, bit a hole in my head and the

scissors undoing my flesh.

list went on. I knew this was coming I remembered. I had seen it coming. I had ignored the signs. I had

My brother was a known criminal in and around

ignored promised death because I had surrendered

Morvant. Bad memories of him grew in the backyard.

my life. I didn't know who I was.

There were thyme and ixora bushes around them. In a fit of selfishness he picked up the furniture in the

I pounded the door. I wanted to move on. She was

house and determined to put them up for sale. It was

still by the door. After Kobi had been rescued from

my eldest brother who warned me.

my death, they celebrated.

It was my mother who called me and said that I was

“Rabbit? Why you call me non binary?”

responsible for her things. That I should 'be a man.’

The extended family was gathered in the living room

They always convinced me that I was a Douen. I be-

walking on the cherry floors. They smoked out the

lieved them.

apartment. They prayed.

I told Kobi as she said. He was not to sell the things

“Kwasi, you know you different, right?”

in the house. We grew loud. He skinned his teeth like

“Sounds like a skill. I just being me. I think. What so

a Douen preparing for flight.

different about me?”

“You stupid, yes.”

“Your brain.”

“Kobi, don't sell nothing. I ain saying it again.”

I slept through most of my childhood hiding in my

I hadn't seen him attempt flight since we were six. It

dreams.

was his expression that haunted me. It gave me a

I had connived sex in my face with elegiac speech

feeling that grew over me like night and made me a 30

coward. I who had this power had resigned to walk-

ing, contentment; living with a family of monsters.

“Boy, what you doing?”

I lingered on the bad memories. The furry gesture of his face as he stood on the landing, the quick approach as he flew up the stairs and kicked the gate repeatedly. His wings were short.

“Boy, you go mash up the gate!”

And the realization that he was at the same time stabbing me, how I bled out; bad memories came to me. As this memory ran through me I grew. My skin burned. My flesh boiled; there was a heat in my blood. My wings came undone. The heat of the moment returned; washing my face with regret.

“You faggot!” He spat.

My little brother killed me and there was nothing I could do.

31

Getting the X: Opening Day for Non-binary Gender Markers at California‘s DMV By: Rain Chamberlain (they/them) On January 2nd 2019, it was freezing at 8:45am

cations were done on the computer. The one part of

when I was sitting in my wheelchair in line outside

the new application that was confusing for this pro-

the Fresno North DMV field office. I had been waiting

cess was that I had to choose between whether I

for this day for a year (or twenty), and non-binary

was correcting or updating my ID, with no clear ex-

gender markers, written as X, were finally available

planation of the difference.

for my state ID. I have been working with Intersex & Genderqueer Recognition Project for a couple of

Turns out the option to press is “update”, because

years to make this possible, and we managed to

the difference is whether you have to pay for it or not,

push SB-179 through with a large joint effort.

and SB-179 does say that people getting their gender markers changed have to pay for the ID change.

A few months ago I got my birth certificate updated,

I have mixed feelings on it being “update” and not

and a some time before that I was the third known

“correct” as far as terminology goes for those of us

person to get a court order that said I was non-binary

changing what the gender markers say, but in the

legally. Now, at least for adults in California, a court

long scheme of things that’s fairly minor. The fee it-

order is not needed to just change one’s gender

self had increased by a dollar, which the website did

marker on their ID.

not reflect.

There are many mixed feelings about that – both in

There was a form that had to be filled out on paper

myself, and from what I’ve heard from others. Most of

specifically for the gender change. It was a fairly sim-

my own feelings (and many of what I’ve heard) can

ple form, but it had to be filled out without errors.

be summed up as ‘I’d rather there not be gender

They didn’t ask for all my usual paperwork (birth cer-

markers on IDs at all, but if there has to be I want

tificate, etc) because I already had a valid ID and

people to have the option to have theirs be accurate.’

was just getting it changed, but I had it there just to

This change meant some protection in that, but it al-

be safe, and I recommend that others do as well.

so meant there would be no more chances to not bring my gender up in situations that required my ID.

So far it was all going pretty well overall - the biggest problem being my hat hair. But when I was at the

I arrived at the DMV thinking I was prepared, to find

window, doing everything I had done before when I

out that more things had changed than just the gen-

had changed my name and my gender on the binary,

der marker options. I don’t know if this was new this

my memory got jogged to something horrible that

year or just since I had been there last, but the appli-

had happened last time. My anxiety rose, and I 32

asked the employee “You’re not going to destroy my

the area until a supervisor came and talked to me,

ID, are you?”

parking my wheelchair obnoxiously in the way of the line so that they couldn’t just ignore me. A second

They said that they’d punch a hole through it.

supervisor came out already having heard my story with a sticky note in hand with the number for Issu-

I said, yes, that destroys it and makes it not valid,

ance on it, which is 916-657-7790. They told me that

and that was done to me last time, and I became

I could call that number to see if they could expedite

homeless because of it. They had said that I would

it but they had no idea if that would be possible or

get a temporary one at the photo window, but then

not. So I left the office and went about my day.

the photo window refused to give me a temporary

one saying that they didn’t do that. I was told I would

On the morning of January 4th, I called the Issuance

have to wait the 4-6 weeks to get a new one, only

number. The first few times I called they were so

that 4-6 weeks became 6 months.

busy that the automated system hung up on me and said to call back later. Finally, I got the message that

It turned out the DMV decided that the name and

there were over 50 people in line ahead of me and to

gender change should be flagged for fraud even

hold for an hour. When I got through, the person told

though there was no other reason to do so, only they

me that they only expedite IDs when the person is

neglected to tell me that they were doing so until I

traveling. I told them about the issue of the DMV

spent days on the phone getting shuffled from office

punching holes through the cards, and they said that

to office. I finally had to go back into the field office

it was a matter to take up with policy. They gave me

and start the application again, wait the 4-6 weeks

that number, and this is the one to save to your

again, and finally get my ID.

phones: 916-657-5691.

While I waited, not having an ID disrupted my ability

So I called policy, and got through to a person right

to make financial transactions, which, combined with

away (no automated machine at all). At first, they told

extreme poverty, caused me to lose my apartment,

me the same lines I had heard in the field office –

and for many more devastating things to go wrong..

that it was due to a law and they didn’t have a choice

This was not because I changed my gender; but ra-

but to destroy the old cards, so I would have to re-

ther, it was because of blatant discrimination by the

quest it be changed by way of bill. But they’d look up

DMV.

the law section number for me.

In the meantime, I was having a panic attack in the

I asked why the cards couldn’t be sent to the field

DMV. They insisted on punching the hole in my ID.

offices instead, and we could bring our old cards in to

The people who did it were convinced that the photo

be hole-punched when the new ones arrived. The

window would give me a temporary ID, but the em-

DMV policy person said they have to consider people

ployee at the photo window said that was never done

who cannot get to the DMV easily.

for IDs, only for driver’s licenses. I refused to leave 33

But then they found the section of law and read it,

and realized. Oh. That law only applies to driver’s licenses. Also, the field offices had been instructed to not destroy or confiscate IDs when the nonbinary applications came in, especially at first, because it was a new process and they weren’t sure yet how many bumps would need to be smoothed out. (All of this is paraphrased.) So….the field offices either “didn’t get the memo” or were ignoring it.

And while I can only tell my own story, I had heard similar experiences from others in the past few days, so I know it wasn’t just me.

The employee told me to call the policy office when someone is applying for the non-binary gender marker change, so they can contact the field office on the day of and make sure that they are aware of the policy. The employee seemed to think that I and/or IGRP would be aware of every non-binary person in the state who was doing this, and would have time to intercede each time, which is wrong. There’s no reason that each person who is aware cannot call for themselves.

Having an ID that says X on it in the gender slot now (since yes, it came in) isn't going to be a magic spell

that stops this from ever happening.

But what the ID does help with is the narrative - it allows me to frame my own identity, my own life, in words and labels that are empowering to me as I deal with the discrimination that I would have to deal with either way. And that is not, by far, a cure - but it is powerful.

34

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