illustration credit to @aljahorvatco
issue one: "not worth reading"
wrotewoke(n)
illustration credit to @lillidesigns
a letter from the editors Dear Reader, We are incredibly proud to bring you Issue One of Wrotewoke(n): Not Worth Reading. This magazine is the culmination of weeks of deliberation and discussion, and countless hours of editing. This is the product of extra-caffeinated coffee at unreasonable hours in the early morning. This is the result of frantic midnight phone calls and emotional semibreakdowns. This was difficult, at points, to read. The following stories you will read are real and confronting journeys, emotional experiences that our writers have been incredibly brave to articulate. But more than that, it has been inspiring. We were beyond empowered by the strength, the clarity and the authenticity that shone through all of these submissions, and the raw honesty embedded within the personal voices that wove their way into this magazine. Bringing this magazine to you has been an absolute privilege. Within this magazine, you will read about truth, at its finest. In the age of political fearmongering and #fakenews dominating our media, telling the truth, as it is, is crucial. The following are unfiltered and refreshingly honest stories, straight from the lips and fingertips of those who live them. Thank you to the nine inspirational minds below, without whom this magazine would not be possible. Thank you to the generosity of the international community of artists whose work has been featured. And thank you, reader, for supporting us on every step of the way. Thank you in believing in the power of young minds and voices. Now is the time for young people to rise, and we could not be prouder. Lots of Love, Ella and Melissa Ella Croasdale: Head Editor of WroteWoke(n) Magazine & Creative Director Melissa Li: WroteWoke Editor in Chief & Founder of ProvokeWoke illustration credit to @lillidesigns
behind the name not worth reading. To Whomever Is Reading This: This is not worth reading. No, seriously. It isn't. This is just a bunch of liberal snowflakes and whiny social justice warriors telling their sob stories. This is just a compilation of annoyingly sensitive people who should learn to stay quiet. This is just the product of immigrants trying to play the race card.They should just go back to where they came from. *** In these few short months after the establishment of ProvokeWoke, we have met hundreds of inspiring young people who are unapologetically loud and relentlessly bold. We were moved by their stories, and we began to wonder why these voices weren't appearing in the media, on big screens, and in politics. And we realised it was because multicultural voices in this country are only recognised when they are polite and agreeable. The message is that young people of color don't deserve to be heard unless we bite our tongues and dial down our experiences. We can't ever point their fingers at the people who have peddled toxic narratives about us. We can't offend anybody, even though we are the ones who are offended (to put it lightly). We have to be kind to the people who have not been kind to us. It’s difficult, and frankly, unfair, for us to have to walk the precarious line that tries not to implicate anybody in their role of perpetuating structural racism, whilst trying to express how we genuinely feel. That’s what this magazine aims to change. We are no longer going to be silenced. This magazine is dedicated to authentic voices and unfiltered perspectives; to the unapologetically bold movers, shakers and the change-makers; to the ones who are not content with the world as it is. This is for everyone who has been told that they are not worth listening to. This magazine honors authentic voices and unfiltered stories. We want this to be as inspiring and empowering for you to read, as it was for us to compile. We sincerely hope that you find this worth reading. illustration credit to @lillidesigns
table of contents january : ethnic empowerment jade tan: as easy as abc satara uthayakumaran: cultural fortitude kyla canares: just lunch time
february : controvertial conversations aqeel camal: sorry donald kishen saai prabakara rao: dear white people kasturi pk kunalan: my culture is not your costume
march : identity issues aisha abdu: it's time nosrat fareha: i don’t know who i am minh tran: second generation refugees illustration credit to @lillidesigns
'Prejudice is the child of ignorance.' - William Hazlitt
illustration credit to @lillidesigns
part one: ethnic empowerment
illustration credit to @chloejoyceillustrations
as easy as ABC author: jade tan
the 3 letters of my identity
It’s January 30th 2007, the first day of kindergarten. 21 kids are sitting cross legged on the floor, anxious but excited. . I am like the other kids: nervous smiles, uniforms with too much ‘growing room’
Little do I know that the future ahead
and a backpack bigger than myself. My
holds an endless battle, with racist digs
tummy is churning with butterflies but
marring a rocky road. There will be
my eyes are bright at the prospect of the
unfamiliar territory I will have to do my
road ahead. The teacher walks into the
best to navigate. I will be forced into a
classroom and lessons begins with the
facade of apathy in the face of casual
alphabet.
racism. I will be forced to repeatedly fake a smile that doesn’t quite reach my
The months pass, and soon they turn
eyes, to stop the tears from falling.
into a year. I form precious friendships. We grow up together and we share the
Growing up is inevitable, and I find
same backyard. Australia is our home,
myself no longer a naive 5 year old.
and I never question it. To a 5 year old, racism is as unknown as the foreign
The friends I made in the classroom
school grounds I walked into that very
became the bullies in the playground.
day. illustration credit to @ellacroasdale
I am that ‘Chinese girl’ in the school
My identity is an intricate yet chaotic
play, with the awkward cultural dress
being that is always restless within
and the chopsticks in my hair.
me. It silently broods, lurking in the depths of my conscience, gradually
I am the one that is told “You don’t
closing in on me until I am trapped
belong here” in the playground, by a
within social constraints.
boy who knows no more than I do about the monster of racism, but
As I grow older, and as the people
chooses to voice his animosity
around me in the classroom change,
towards my cultural differences.
this monster of ‘racism’ constantly invades my thoughts. More often
I am the one deeply hurt by my
than not, I am ashamed. Ashamed of
school’s Harmony Day celebrations,
what, I can never seen to articulate.
when all the teachers and students marvel over how ‘exotic’ the food I
This classroom has created a
have everyday is, and how ‘funny’
playground where being Chinese is a
the ‘costumes’ are.
defining characteristic, the aspect that sets me apart from the rest. In
Soon enough, it becomes apparent
their eyes, I am not actually from
to me that I am embroiled in the
Australia; I’ve never tried a meat pie
middle of an internal battle whereby
because that’s ‘not my culture’; I must
my Chinese heritage and Australian
be good at math because ‘Asians are
culture cannot coexist.
smart’; I only ever use chopsticks to eat my ‘stinky’ lunch. In their eyes, Australia has been ‘swamped by Asians’, never mind that Asia is a continent of hundreds of cultures, ethnicities and languages. But I am Australian as the next person who rides their kangaroo to school and eats Vegemite straight out of the jar.
illustration credit to @dempseydoodlesdesign
When did ABC begin to mean
The classroom has created a
Australian-Born Chinese? When did
playground full of restless children,
ABC become a one-size fits all term?
confined to a bubble of cultural
When did ABC start to become a
naivety, whereby words are the
defining, shameful element of my
most dangerous yet powerful tool
identity?
they can ever possess.
With age, we lose our innocence and naivety. From a young age we are
In the end, ABC is just the first three
taught our ABC’s, and that we should
letters of the alphabet.
use our words for good. Why are our ABCs used to hurt and mock others for
Don’t turn it into something else.
their race, beliefs and culture?
about the author: jade tan Jade is a curious young woman whose passion for equity and empowerment drives her to learn more about the injustices within the world through the sharing of stories and experiences. Jade wants to be part of a generation of change makers who want to speak out and make their voices heard.
illustration credit to @aljahorvatco
Ignorance and prejudice are the handmaidens of propaganda. Our mission, therefore, is to confront ignorance with knowledge, bigotry with tolerance, and isolation with the outstretched hand of generosity. Racism can, will, and must be defeated.
- Kofi Annan
illustration credit to @lillidesigns
cultural fortitude author: satara uthayakumaran
One of my greatest fears was
Throughout my life, my ethnicity
that in the real world, I wouldn’t
has influenced my fortitude and
be able to handle ‘real racism’.
ability to speak up. Growing up, my
Growing up in Sydney’s north
parents encouraged learning about
shore, people would often tell
my background and history from a
me that I’m lucky. That I was
young age, through glimpses of Sri
living in a bubble. That I was
Lanka through a few family trips. I am
protected from the problems
one of the few people with a Sri
that most people in the real
Lankan background at school, and it
world face.
gives me great pride to talk about my country of origin. Accepting my
There was probably some truth
history has been an integral factor in
to this. The issues I faced were
discovering who I am.
relatively minor, compared to what others around the world
My strong sense of heritage has
were forced to deal with. And
given me the confidence and the
thus, my fears of stepping into
ability to stand up for myself. My
the real world and out of my so
parents educating me on cultural
called ‘bubble’, were born.
acceptance and my true identity has enabled me to confidently educate
Two years, I got called a racial
others about who I really am and how
slur, and it was a sobering
significant my nationality is to me. My
moment for me. I felt completely
sense of self-awareness has shaped
unprepared to face the harsh
me into a strong minded and
complexities of the real world.
passionate individual, who will refuse to sit quietly in the corner whilst
Now, I know better.
illustration credit to @bluumyn
injustices continue.
Privilege is embedded within much of how I live my life. I have been fortunate enough to never have experienced brutality of the hands of policemen, to never have been hindered from receiving a quality education because of my race, to never have been on the receiving end of unfair incarceration simply because of the way I looked. I’ve realised that there are other people of color who suffer daily under the weight of racism, whether it be in the workplace, the media, or embedded into the foundations of the justice system. My own experiences of facing discrimination, whilst different, still point to the racism that is intrinsic to our society, and they resonate with all multicultural people. My story has ensured that I empathise with other people of color too, because the lives of all diverse communities are accounted for by crucial movements like Black Lives Matter and #DefendDACA.
People who tell me that I’m not ready for the ‘real world’ in an attempt to shelter me don’t know my strength. My privilege doesn’t change anything. I am as prepared as I’ll ever be for the ‘real world’ of racism. I live it every single day, and that is more than enough.
about the author: satara uthayakumaran Satara Uthayakumaran is Year 10 student from Sydney, who is bold and ready to fight back wherever she sees injustice, whether it be in her neighbourhood or in faraway places. Her passion for humanitarian issues drives her to be a voice for those struggling to be heard. She hopes to one day have a voice in world forums, including the United Nations.
illustration credit to @bluumyn
“We need to give each other the space to grow, to be ourselves, to exercise our diversity. We need to give each other space so that we may both give and receive such beautiful things as ideas, openness, dignity, joy, healing, and inclusion.”
— Max de Pree
illustration credit to @aljahorvatco
just lunch time. author: kyla canares
AS A 7-YEAR-OLD MIGRANT KID, I
In the classroom, there was a seating
USED TO DREAD LUNCH TIME.
plan. At lunch, there was none. It wasn’t like everyone collectively decided to
It wasn’t because I couldn’t speak
avoid me; I was just clueless when it
English and it wasn’t because I was
came to making friends. Needless to say,
ashamed of my Filipino lunch either.
I made a habit of anxiously waiting for lunchtime to finish.
In fact, when I was 7, I was quite proud of how many English books I had read
However, there was one thing that I
and I loved having Filipino food for
looked forward to:
lunch.
the actual lunch part of lunchtime.
I dreaded lunch because, like plenty of
Other kids were scolded for leaving their
7 year olds, I had trouble making
lunch unfinished, but I gladly stayed
friends. I was far more comfortable in
behind to eat. My mum would prepare
the classroom than I was in the social
me Filipino lunch every day (bless her)
battlefield everyone called ‘lunchtime’.
and most of the time, my lunch consisted of leftovers from last night’s dinner.
Adobo, Tocino, Spam; my mum liked
My pagkain gave me a sense of
to make a wide variety of meals and
familiarity and support from my mum
she gave a generous serving of rice
while I was at school. It didn’t make me
with each lunch she prepared.
feel as alone.
I remember eating meals from plastic
Growing up, I knew that some of my
containers with plastic cutlery saved
migrant friends were embarrassed about
from our sparse fast food outings. It
their traditional lunch. But lunch was
didn’t matter to me that my food was
never one of the differences I was
cold, or unconventional.
ashamed of. It was actually one of the few differences I was proud of. illustration credit to @nynkelocher
I could have home cooked meals while the other kids had food that was bland and boring. 7year-old me thought, Why have sandwiches when you could have rice? It wouldn’t fill me up like my mum’s cooking could. People find empowerment and comfort in their culture in different ways. Mine was my pagkain. Yet my tale is not a typical one amongst migrant children, and it should be.
If we grow and learn as a society, and we respect these comforts rather than deeming them a source of embarrassment, who knows? It might just make lunchtime a bit more bearable for a 7-year-old girl.
about the author: kyla canares Kyla is your friendly neighbourhood highschool student who loves sparking conversation through speeches and school campaigns. She has previously covered (and is always down to discuss) topics such as culture and class, feminism, and education reform.
illustration credit to @lillidesigns
part two controversial conversations
illustration credit to @chloejoyceillustrations
sorry donald
author: aqeel camal
When the one and only
The worst thing we can do
Or is it the clutches of
Donald Trump described El
is to tarnish our
poverty (often as a
Salvador, Haiti and some
relationships through hatred
consequence of American
African nations as “shithole”
and create environments
colonisation and
countries, it struck a very
built on fear, simply because
paternalistic policies) which
personal chord.
we judge before seeking to
seems to grasp many of
understand our differences.
these nations?
proposal to restore
That is exactly what Trump
Sorry Donald, but none of
protections for immigrants
is afraid of: difference.
these reasons are an
His reaction towards a
from those countries as part
excuse for your ignorance.
of a bipartisan immigration
SO WHAT MAKES THE
deal saddened me. As a
COUNTRIES TRUMP
Have you forgotten that the
second generation
DOESN’T UNDERSTAND,
iconic city of Chicago was
immigrant myself, my roots
“SHITHOLES”?
founded by a Haitian
are from a country not so
immigrant?
different to those that Trump
Is it the tragic natural
attacked.
disasters endured by many
Have you forgotten that
of these countries?
America has had horrific
I see myself and those
natural disasters like
around me as products of
Is it the gruesome and
Hurricane Katrina, but have
our cultural foundations and
dividing civil wars they had
recovered through the
the opportunities that both
to face (often as a result of
support of other nations and
our environments and
American military
many immigrant volunteers
relationships foster.
intervention), waged
on the ground?
throughout decades?
Have you forgotten that perhaps your country is not as 'great' as it seems, with over 40 million living in poverty? Immigrants have shaped your country into what it is today. You take pride in the ‘great’ accomplishments of Americans, yet you forget that immigrants are the ones who have tirelessly, yet quietly, toiled in the background. Your statement is in direct opposition to the essence of your nation, the American Dream, and its values of freedom and opportunity for everybody regardless of their background. We are doctors, lawyers, entrepreneurs, artists, community leaders, and your run-of-the-mill next door neighbors. We are no different to you. It is our differences, and our gift of uniqueness as individuals, that makes us strong as a community. When we embrace each other with kindness, when we examine the world with honesty, empathy and compassion, we progress. We shift attitudes by viewing our differences as gifts, and by building our relationships upon understanding, acceptance and a culture of giving. Hatred only paralyses us; it divides us; we stagnate as individuals and communities. We fear what we don’t understand. We hate those that we fear. And that’s exactly what Donald wants. Well, Donald? Here’s something you should know: You will not divide us.
illustration credit to @emmaleejensen
I am just one young person, one voice that sees potential in every single one of us regardless of the colour of our skin, culture or religion. Imagine what the young people of our world could do, if we all banded together. You have every right to be scared.
“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.” - Margaret Mead
about the author: aqeel camal “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.” (Margaret Mead) So let’s question the words of our leaders, with open minds focussed on listening and understanding each other’s stories. Just imagine if every single one of us talks to someone from a different culture every single day with the intention of understanding before seeking to be understood. Every conversation, every story can be one step closer towards a ‘Trumpless’ future.
illustration credit to @emmaleejensen
dear white people author: kishen saai prabakara rao Dear White People, IF TALKING ABOUT RACISM IS UNCOMFORTABLE FOR YOU, IMAGINE LIVING IT. Racism is alive and well. Denying the fact that it exists does nothing to solve the issue, but instead perpetuates racist behaviour. So don’t. It’s essential to have conversations about the nature of racism in this country, and how we can all be proactive in combatting it, as supporters of the movement towards equality. These conversations may be uncomfortable, but they are crucial, in an increasingly divisive and turbulent political scene. Here are a few tips to get you started: illustration credit to @aljahorvatco
Don’t get offended when people point out that you are the recipient of white privilege. Privilege does not necessarily mean that you have an easy life, that everything has been handed to you or that you are rich. You are not a bad person because you are privileged. You are not automatically racist because you benefit from white privilege. You should not feel guilty for being white and basing your life around the perks that come with your racial identity. But wield this knowledge in creating a more level playing field for all.
2. Listen When I say listen, I don’t mean listening selectively, where you hear what you want to hear, and then discredit what you don’t want to hear. I don’t mean trying to think of
1. Recognise your privilege Part of the privilege associated with whiteness is the luxury of not having to consider your race when you see a policeman, when you shop at a high-end shop, when you enter a Starbucks shop. It is the luxury of not having mothers give you nervous side-eye and try to shield their children from you. It is the luxury of not being unequivocally known as the ‘Muslim terrorist’ or the ‘violent cocaine addict’ or the ‘dole bludger’ even though you, as an individual, have never done anything to warrant that impression of the collective. It is the prospect of not having the obstacles that others will have to face. illustration credit to @aljahorvatco
an intelligent counterargument to every single thing that I say. When I am the one who has lived these experiences, you don’t have the right to try and interpret racism for me. You don’t have the right to debate what I feel, because you have the privilege of never having to feel that way. Not everything is up for debate. I ask that you not silence me by trying to speak over me. I ask that you not shut down the conversation the second racism is brought up, by calling me too ‘sensitive’ or ‘whiny’. Listen, and learn.
3. Embrace the discomfort of not knowing
You falsely assume that emotion and
Resign from a place of comfort. You
distance themselves from their
do not know everything there is to
emotions, for you to even remotely
race, especially when experience is
consider listening to them. When
intrinsic to formulating perspective.
you ask marginalised people to
Your experiences do not encompass
'calm down' and to stop being
the realities of the life people of
'angry', you are selfishly prioritising
color live in a country that does not
your own emotional comfort, over
always value their voices.
the reality of their experiences of
rationality are mutually exclusive. You expect people of color to
discrimination. Recognise that these conversations are uncomfortable for you to hear
So, the next time you’re having a
because you do not know
conversation with someone about
everything there is know, and
their experiences with race, and you
because you are coming from a
begin to feel uncomfortable and ask
position of privilege where you have
them to “TONE it down”, don’t.
never had to consider the multitude of constants in the lives of people of
Expecting marginalised people to
color.
disregard their own emotions to
4. Stop Tone Policing
respect your feelings, when you have not necessarily respected
Stop attempting to detract from the
theirs in the past, is the epitome of
validity of a statement by attacking
entitlement.
its manner rather than focusing on the message. At its core, tone policing is a method of control. By shifting conversations back to your feelings and a place where you feel 'comfortable' and in power, you, communicates to people of color: “Your oppression doesn’t matter. Be quiet.” Additionally, tone policing makes a few false assumptions. illustration credit to @lillidesigns
.
5. Don’t divert from the topic or derail the conversation This is a distraction tactic. Some common forms include: A) Talking about how there are good white people Like the obnoxious #notallmen statement, we know that only a portion of the dominant majority are sexist, homophobic or racist. But the emphasis isn't upon the minority of white people who commit acts of racism. It's about holding institutional racism accountable - the type that is embedded into the very moral fibre and values of Australian society. Racism is not an isolated act committed by an individual on a singular day. It's a whole social institution that has been centuries in the making, with a traumatic and violent history. Yes, there are good individual white people, but we need to examine the issue as a whole and solve it from its very roots. B) Saying how it could be worse. The fact that some people 'have it worse' does not mitigate the seriousness of racial prejudice, and it does not clear your name. It is completely valid to care about more than one issue simultaneously, since all these issues are interconnected. C) Saying you had good intentions It’s about intention versus impact. What you were ‘trying to do’ doesn't matter. What you did or said and how it affected people of color is what's important. There you have it: how to acceptably talk about race and racial prejudice. Yes, it is uncomfortable, because who wants to be alerted of a structural system that benefits them at the expense of others? Don’t live in denial; go out, and act.
about the author: kishen saai prabakara rao Kishen Saai is a student from Perth who believes that having meaningful and honest discussions, accompanied with compassion and respect, is the first step to solving any major issue. He is passionate about topics such as race, inequality, youth empowerment and sports. In his spare time, Kishen enjoys rewatching '95 Leo at his prime, most notably, in the Titanic, and aspires to be the next Tom Hardy. illustration credit to @lillidesigns
my culture is not your costume author: kasturi pk kunalan
when i was 7, My friends would parade a bindi on their head and wear it like a costume. They would ask me to bring some for them to ‘play’ with at school. Apparently all they had learnt on Multicultural Day was how to commercialise age old traditions.
when i was 10,
Australian Fashion Week only made it worse. Among the high fashion designs and couture, I saw a swimsuit with the goddess Lakshmi. This was someone who I prayed to, reduced to a mere medium of exchange, a money maker of sorts.
when i was 13, It was the first time it became apparent that the bindi was no longer specific to my culture. No, it was 'boho chic'. It was the latest trendy fad, the fashion must-have.
when i was 15, it was the first time I was told ‘cultural appropriation wasn’t real’ and I did not know if it was my place to take offence if others deemed it fashion and individuality.
I was told that it was worn with 'good intentions', that it was 'cultural exchange' and 'appreciation', and that I shouldn't be picking a 'pointless fight'. So I didn't.
illustration credit to @simran_sarin
i am 16 now, and i know better. Like every other, my culture is beautiful in all its glory. But this beauty is exoticised. My culture is 'trendy', 'boho-chic'. This isn't 'appreciation'. This is disrespect at its highest. This is the distaste that twinges in my stomach. These are not just worthless adornments, no. Every picture, every jewel, every symbol, means the world to real people just like me.
My culture is not your costume, and I can rely upon the judgement of the world to let you know.
about the author: kasturi pk kunalan Kasturi is a young, strong-willed Year 11 student from Sydney, Australia. She understands the importance of her voice, and is proud to share her views on many issues. She is grateful for any opportunity to do so, and further her journey to be part of all young women making their mark on the world.
illustration credit to @fatemah_baig
part three identity issues
illustration credit to nynke locher - @nynkelocher
magazine exclusive
not just a honey bee
slam poem transcript by aisha abdu
THE HONEY BEE HAS THE POTENTIAL TO BE TWO VERY DIFFERENT THINGS. It can be one of the most productive creatures on the planet when it works together alongside the other honey bees in its hive. And by doing so, produce a multitude of delicious honeys. But here’s the other side of things. When a honey bee sees something it’s afraid of, even if that something isn’t actually dangerous, it is provoked to charge ahead and sting that something. But when it does, it can’t pull the stinger back out. It
illustration credit to nynke locher - @nynkelocher
leaves behind not only the
When some lunatic goes on a rampage,
stinger, but also part of its
It’s senseless, and its gruesome,
abdomen and digestive
Please don't let this, be a Muslim.
tract. This massive
But if it is - why are we all vilified
abdominal rupture kills the bee.
Believe me when I say, Your fears are mine
A muslim, half Egyptian, half Palestinian girl born in
Don’t let the story of 2 billion people
Australia
Be written by
Controversy ridden within
Someone with disturbed thoughts and feelings
the 4 conflicting words of my identity
I can assure you, Violence does not sit at the same table as my faith’s dealings
And each word is twisted with a story A story that shouldn’t define me Because I am not the author And they’re written like this... A terrorist has laid siege on the Lindt Cafe in Sydney, holding numerous people captive and at gunpoint He is armed and he is muslim I am muslim And on the bus ride home that day My eyes burnt from holding back tears The next day at school My friends frantically spoke amongst each other Until I walked closer… and the silence was cruel Again, holding back tears This was one of my biggest fears illustration credit to @lillidesigns
It was brave of my mum to
It accompanies her to work
With Australia
leave the house that day
every day
And now it is sold in almost
Her hijab
Where she serves our hive,
every shopping centre
A tiara sparkling in the face
Our community
of adversity
A history of persecution
But almost everybody she
I know you’re afraid
Flowing deep within his blood
passed
From what you see on TV
And that’s why in history class
Lowered their eyes
It’s inviting and compelling
He gets so fired up
And I want you to ask
Because an affirmation of
yourself why?
your fear is so very reassuring
Textbooks are unfinished
What she wears on her
But before you choose to
story books
head is not meant to be
sting
Newspaper headlines that sell
despised
Also sell our cultures short Ask questions
And make me question
And we will spill our stories
freedom of speech
with gusto
As a liberty
Because storytelling builds
Or an obstacle to equity
empathy not apathy
But remember
The power we hold to share
If you have the right to say
our stories
whatever you like
It’s a choice that makes us
Then I have the right to say
different from the honey bee
that I don’t like what you’re saying
We have no excuse to sting When only half the narrative
Because this is my home too.
has been told
I love Tim Tams and Vegemite
Remember, there is so much
But prefer kebabs over a
untold
sausage sandwich
And the news will never show
I Shop in Woolworths but only eat the halal meat
The refugee parents
But this is still my home
Who ventured far and wide To find a safe place to raise
And it's his home
their son
Were he listens to Eminem on
The most selfless act of love
the radio And is a coach at the local
A family who worked hard and
swimming pool
battled labels and prejudices
To help his mum pay for him
To share their cultural cuisine
to go to a good school
illustration credit to @lillidesigns
But why is it That the hands of policy makers is where the microphone belongs And all too often, they sing our story Wrong But if we sing our song And you find the tune frighteningly unfamiliar Don’t let your first instinct be to whip out your stinger Remember, what follows is your fatal abdominal rupture. So don’t make us both suffer Just know that together, We can create the best song of all time A global anthem Where Every culture and colour And he studies late into the night
Will float to the sky In a beautiful rhyme
So how is it anybody’s right
And It won’t take long
To claim that he is here with an ulterior motive
If we all sing along.
Or say ‘they’re just here to steal the good jobs, everybody knows this’
It’s time that we stop
No I don’t.
Holding our tongues
Don’t let pride and fear give you the audacity
Because too many people
To isolate a hard working honey bee
Have lived their life Suppressing their songs
Listen to them
Into a hum
And you might just hear the pulsing rhythm Of a working hive
I know how it feels
Where the bees you isolate
When each limb of your body
Are only on the rise
Is one part of your identity
So tune your ears for a different type of song
And the blood flowing through them Feels like a foreign entity
Remember there’s more than one concert going
Tampered with by
on
Racism’s sly subtlety
illustration credit to @chloejoyceillustrations
So you start to question Which scars you should show Which tears of joy should be shared What story should I tell?!
But... We shouldn’t be choosing parts of ourselves to conceal! It’s time. It’s time. It’s time. Stop hiding behind a wall only painted on one side Plastered with headlines That we are long over due to rewrite
And the stories written about us, Written by us This time. So don’t be the honey bee Living in fear So it stings what it doesn’t know Join us. We can make this hive grow Because our stories are like honey Sweet and sticky Holding us together.
about the author: aisha abdu Aisha is a young Sydney Sider who feels the injustices occurring across seas as if they were happening in her own backyard. And she cannot stay silent about it. She uses poetry to express her hope for a bigger future. A future with more voices than ever before. illustration credit to @chloejoyceillustrations
i don't know who i am author: nozrat fareha
I DON'T KNOW WHO I AM. ‘You don’t look like you’re from My identity is an intricate yet
New Zealand. Where are your
chaotic being that's always
parents from?’, they ask.
restless within me. Bingo, I am right. When people ask "where are you
And whilst different people ask,
from?" or "what's your
their responses are invariably the
background?" my brain, the most
same.
the most complex organ in the human body, blanks. The organ
‘My parents grew up in
that is single-handedly
Bangladesh but immigrated to
responsible for producing our
New Zealand when they were
every thought, action, memory,
adults. I grew up there, but then I
feeling, just blanks. A tidal wave
moved to Australia. I can relate to
of uncertainty swallows me
being a Kiwi and an Aussie
whole.
because I grew up as both.’ I hope that is enough to satisfy
"I…..I’m from New Zealand", is what
their curiosity, but unfortunately,
I always settle on. And I hate
it never is.
explaining this because the conversation always ends the
"Oh, so you're Bangladeshi!" they
same way no matter who asks.
exclaim. I inwardly sigh.
illustration credit to @hannahraepowell
It's hard when you’re
I didn’t grow up like
trying to figure out who
them. I didn’t watch the
you are and who you’re
same TV shows as them.
meant to be.
I didn't have the same schooling as them. I can’t
It's even worse when
relate to the national
other people feel the
obsession over
need to impose their
vegemite. More often
opinion on a matter that
than not, I fall silent
doesn't concern them.
during conversations about culture because
Sometimes I feel
the childhood that I had
redundant.
is so different to the one that they shared.
I’m not Bengali enough
What am I?
to proudly say that I am
So that makes me a Kiwi,
a Bangladeshi. There's
right?
an apparent cultural
Wrong.
barrier between me, a girl brought up in
My family and friends in
A New Zealander?
Western countries to
New Zealand call me ‘the
An Australian New
that of a Bangladeshi
Aussie’; they don’t regard
Zealander?
citizen. To them I will
me as remotely Kiwi. And
A Bengali-Australian-
always be ‘the foreigner’
why would they? My
New Zealander?
even though I share the
whole adolescent and
same language,
adult life will essentially
‘I don’t really know, to be
traditions and heritage; I
be shaped in Australia.
honest.’ Is what I finally
will always be the
They can’t relate to my
say, my voice tinged
foreigner that just
stories about Australian
with regret and
comes to visit.
high school and all the nefarious bin chickens
disappointment. In Australia, I’m often
that roam around the
I can’t fit in with any of
referred to as ‘the Kiwi’
school grounds. They
them, but I keep my
amongst my classmates
can't relate to going on
mouth shut. I shouldn’t
and friends because
excursions to the
confuse them any
unlike them, I wasn't
harborside and getting
further.
born here.
expensive gelato just because.
illustration credit to @hannahraepowell
They can’t relate to any of that.
Whether it be by race, religion, personality, or sexuality, It's yours
So what am I,
to keep and yours to interpret. Not
if I’m not Bengali enough,
knowing who are you isn’t
I’m not Aussie enough
something to be ashamed about.
and I’m certainly not Kiwi enough?
Everyone has their own journey, and if yours is to discover yourself,
When I wake up every morning and
then why hide it?
I look in the mirror, I am reminded that I don't have the answer.
Embrace self-discovery, embrace self-growth and most importantly,
And it's okay.
embrace self-improvement.
Its okay to be unsure. It's okay to be confused.
I don’t know who I am, and that's okay.
Your identity is yours and yours only. You choose how you define it.
about the author: nosrat fareha Nozrat is a Year 10 student living in Sydney with a passion for humanitarianism, social justice, youth activism and books written by Friedrich Nietzsche. She is a strong advocate of justice and even though she lives in a 'progressive' western country, justice and law seem like two different things in regards to certain 'controversial' topics. Nozrat believes that words have immense power and an even greater influence, and she wants to use them effectively to draw attention to issues that she cares about the most
illustration credit to @hannahraepowell
“Prejudices, it is well known, are most difficult to eradicate from the heart whose soil has never been loosened or fertilised by education: they grow there, firm as weeds among stones.�
- charlotte bronte, jane eyre
illustration credit to @aljahorvatco
second generation refugees author: minh tran thank you, mum. I SIT STILL AND STARE AT MY
when their past was brought up in
MOTHER SLEEPING.
conversation outside of home.
It is Sunday morning and the pale
I recall a time in my mostly white
sunlight is slipping soundlessly
primary school in a discussion
through the living room windows.
about ethnicity, my teacher asks
My mother sleeps with an
the class if anyone’s parents were
unintentional frown on her face,
refugees. No one around me
her expression defining the shape
raises their hands. My eyes stay
of her wrinkles as they run freely
glued to my desk and my arms
through her skin, like rivers, deep
firmly by my side, in an
enough to hide a lifetime of
uncomfortable sense of naïve
emotion and experience.
shame and embarrassment, a feeling which I now regret.
Both of my parents were Vietnamese refugees, “boat
My mother is now in the kitchen
people,” survivors of war. Like
and I am making her a lunchtime
many, they share similar,
coffee. Long gone are the nerves
harrowing stories of escape from
in her fingers. She is able to wrap
a war-torn country and a
a firm grip around the burning
communist regime. In my shallow
coffee mug, the rough skin of her
childhood, there had been an
hands decorated with long
underlying resentment for their
shallow wrinkles; they are creases
thick Vietnamese accents and a
of age, practice and skill.
suppressed, restless discomfort For me, there had always been a illustration credit to @aljahorvatco
lingering sense of guilt and I
could never understand
It rocked above the
I mumble a small “thanks�
why. Perhaps it came
surface of an endless
and do not look at her, for
from my inability to fully
ocean, filled with
my mind is elsewhere.
comprehend the
countless hunched and
Before long, the musky
enormity of their
terrified bodies, all on
smell of the afternoon
sacrifice and their
the same path to
welcomes the cool
readiness to risk their
escape. During the next
breeze of the evening,
lives, for their freedom
few days, the boat will
and the sky above is
and their future, for
reek of vomit; they will
dimming in a quiet
which I now owe my
be robbed of all their
manner, perfect as
freedom, and my future.
food and money by
always.
Or perhaps the feeling
pirates, and my mother
stemmed from the
will sit on the hard
I have grown up in a
comfort of my living,
wooden floor of the
completely westernised
how the problems
boat, praying for
world. My Vietnamese
confined in my small
survival. The light at the
reaches for words and
youthful world were
end of the tunnel will be
phrases lost in the back
beyond immeasurable to
dim.
of my mind, and it fails to
the horrors of theirs.
connect with my elders The air is warm and the
as they struggle to
My mother was only a
sun is setting, casting a
understand my broken
teenager when the
dull orange haze over
sentences painted with
Vietnam War ended. She
the darkening sky. I am
all the wrong tones. My
had fled her country
with my mother on the
English remains a
with two younger nieces
balcony, taking in the
growing bank of words
in the middle of the
washing that is now dry,
and phrases, moulded
night, but by the time
from a lazy day basking
with a thick Australian
the sun’s cold morning
in the Australian sun. As
accent. Not so long ago,
rays had only just
I walk back inside, arms
two refugee parents
filtered through the
submerged in the pile of
struggled to assimilate
clouds, they were
clothes I am holding, my
into the Western culture
crammed onto an old
mother takes a handful
so different to their own,
fishing boat with barely
to lighten the load.
and somehow, their
any room for movement.
illustration credit to @aljahorvatco
daughter managed to
grow up with a green Hills Hoist in her
And I whisper a timeless, aching,
backyard, frequent visits from Santa
“thank you.� It floats from my lips and
Claus and the Tooth Fairy, and a
hovers in the air, like that old wooden
constant supply of Vegemite in the
fishing boat amidst the ocean. And
kitchen.
somehow she knows what my heart sings. I can tell. I can tell from the way
For me, there is still a lingering
she smiles at me, the way her wrinkles
sensitivity surrounding my parents’
on the corner of her eyes tighten,
past but perhaps there will always be. I
creating creases like water running
am a sixteen year old girl, still trying to
through the cracks of concrete. The
find her place in this big world, still
sensation of her smile alone is enough
accepting the differences between two
to mask anything I have ever felt. So I
contrasting cultures, trying to
leave my mother to fall asleep, for she
reconnect with one but also grow and
has to rest, because tomorrow the sun
mature within the other.
will rise, and she will wake up, and she will go to work.
My mother is getting ready for bed. This time I look at her, and all previous
And now I understand, and I am so
conversation is forgotten.
proud.
about the author: minh tran Minh is a free-spirited young woman from Sydney who believes in the immense power of words and individual voice. She believes that both are pivotal in creating a positive change in a world plagued with injustice and inequality. Minh is proud to be a part of the many important conversations that act the stepping stones towards a world that is just.
illustration credit to @ellacroasdale
books worth reading. NON FICTION i can't breathe: matt taibbi a gripping book on the complex black-white race relations in the usa: on the birth of the black lives matter movement and the new fault lines of protest. showcasing the power of people.
FICTION white teeth: zadie smith the intertwined tales of two wartime friends, one english, one bangladeshi, set against the tragic backdrop of britain's relationships with formerly colonised peoples.
POETRY citizen - an american lyric: claudia rankin refreshing honesty on the realities of everyday, casual racism.
NON FICTION white rage - the unspoken truth of our racial divide: carol anderson an urgent call to confront the legacy of structural racism bequeathed by white anger and resentment illustration credit to @aljahorvatco
acknowledgements A huge thank you to our talented artists whose work makes our magazine what it is! To check out more of their work you can see them at @aljahorvatco, @bluumyn, @dempseydoodlesdesign, @fatemah_baig, @nynkelocher, @simran_sarin, @lillidesigns, @chloejoyceillustrations, @emmaleejensen and @hannahraepowell. A massive thank you to all our writers for showcasing the power of their voices! Special thanks to our featured writers; Jade Tan, Kyla Canares, Satara Uthayakumaran, Minh Tran, Kishen saai Prabakara Rao, Aqeel Camal, Aisha Abdu, Nosrat Fareha and Kasturi pk Kunalan. Lastly, thank you for supporting us! We hope you have grown through reading these incredible stories.
illustration credit to @aljahorvatco
DEDICATED TO: the movers the shakers the change makers
illustration credit to @aljahorvatco
magazine formatted and edited by ella croasdale & melissa li
illustration credit to @aljahorvatco