Guest Editor’s Letter

For the past few months, I have been thinking about all the ways that people enact resistance. Before I yarn about this issue, I want to situate this editorial in the context of where we are: we must acknowledge so-called Australia as a white supremacist blueprint. The detention centres we've engineered, the wars this country supports, the ongoing genocide of Blackfullas on our sacred lands, and how our geographic isolation from the rest of the world enables the insidious violence that occurs here—all of this demands recognition. Yet, this country is also home to the most resolute and staunch people from many cultural communities. These communities are a testament to how we find beauty, love, kindness, and strength even in our darkest moments. Our storytelling shines as a light in the dark; to create is to be as our ancestors intended us to be. Our work and practices are our purpose in the ongoing fight for justice.

The purpose of this issue is to amplify the groundswell of voices, experiences, and work that speak to the power of enduring love, kinship, and the agency of Country, collective action and cultural practices in the face of colonial agendas. The transportative soundscapes, poetry, and interviews and writings of Alice Skye, Lamisse Hamouda & Han Reardon-Smith, Lulu Houdini, Hope Huchel, Lucy Norton, Bebe Oliver, Abdaljawad Omar & Bassem Saad, Daley Rangi and Tian Zhang thread together these conversations about resistance—resistance that is both organised and everyday, constant and present. As they walk through the world, their practices an expression of their love, healing, collectivity and care for the ways that we can continue to show up. To write, dance, make music, sing, and create are ways we survive—not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually—especially First Nations and Palestinian peoples.

One of my favourite essays, You Either Die as a Refugee or Live Long Enough to See Yourself Become the Diaspora Writer by Lur Alghurabi, captures the significance of language and words, stating, ‘Resilience is so marketable, so profitable and so attractive. It makes all pain palatable.’² Of course, Lur is speaking to her own experiences as an Iraqi person. Reading her words helped me understand how resilience and resistance carry such contrasting meanings. Resistance exists as an ongoing opposition to colonial harm—within our communities, this strength is sovereignty. I see Lur’s reflections in the way Aboriginal people tell our histories and our family stories; when we speak of resistance, instead of resilience, we are invoking hundreds of thousands of years of connection to Country, to our bloodlines, and to our roles as protectors of our cultures and communities.

Echoing the words of Kuku Yalanji, Waanji, Yidinji and Gugu Yimithirr artist Vernon Ah Kee, ‘Australia is largely a culture of denial.’³ I reflect on how each contributor in this issue honours the way our communities uphold truth-telling as a necessary step toward meaningful change. In the wake of the horrific genocide of Palestinian people and the rising deaths of Aboriginal people—particularly young people—in custody, it is imperative that we hold space to share our anger and grief in the ways our families and communities have done for decades: through art, advocacy, and activism. Through marches, banner-making, poetry spoken on Parliament steps, speaking to and with Country, language whispered in secret, cultural practices passed on under cover of night, and shared across the digital landscape.

The weight of continuing to advocate for our rights feels unending. But we continue on, which is why honouring our everyday persistence—our stories and practices—is so important. I refuse to believe that our smallest actions have no impact. Our fight continues, our numbers will grow, our words will endure, and how we resist will never be taken from us as we weave, work, walk, and create every day for our freedom and our purpose as custodians and guardians of our people's stories. The late Palestinian poet Saleem Al-Naffar captured this best: "Our song sings on."