Photograph by Kerem Yücel

Uncovering the open secret of child labour

Today, in Turkey’s farmlands, industrial zones, cafes, workshops and streets, Syrian refugee children have joined the thousands of minors forced to work to survive. My normal workday involves researching child labour, both at my desk and on the ground, but I still occasionally find myself caught off guard by the stark reality of the issue. […]

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Syrian boy of ambiguous sexuality

‘Syrian boy of ambiguous sexuality’ I met Mahmoud through my uncle my uncle found Mahmoud on the internet Gaydar or Grinder somewhere like that Mahmoud joined us for dinner there was a terrace a 360 view of old istanbul I remember the soft underbellies of seagulls singed orange by city lights and I remember the […]

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Photograph by Şener Yılmaz Aslan/MOKU

Silhouette of a refugee woman: a conversation with Meryem

All Syrian refugees have a unique story, but they share the same patterns of injustice and exploitation. In the case of women, such experiences are multilayered. On one occasion, Meryem explains, “my knee was hurting so I went to the doctor, who asked for my telephone number and added with a sleazy smile that he would like to care for me intimately.”

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“The empty blue sky of space says 'All this comes back to me, then goes again, and comes back again, then goes again, and I don't care, it still belongs to me.”

Jack Kerouac

Inferior

The Battleship Building is located on Harrow Road in Paddington, London. You go there if you need a visa because you are not ‘western’, and so you must negotiate the parameters of your inferiority with private companies hired by ‘developed countries’ to enter their frontiers. It is cold, ugly and uninviting. I wouldn’t blame you if you […]

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take me back to Kingston

‘take me back to Kingston’ hot peppery soul dimmed by short grey days and long grey faces stiff handshakes the absence of an off-beat TAKE ME BACK TO KINGSTON! he cried at the bus as it ran over his cold bare toe. Ivana Popov 2015

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Go Back to Your Country!

The underlining damage of Brexit. A loss of belonging.
Her name is Ansa. She is one of many. Her hair is as blonde as it gets. Her eyes are narrow. Her posture is self assured. For the past ten years, she has been a part of the creme de la creme of England.

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“Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but ... life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.”

Gabriel García Márquez

Those that manage to exist with the ease of a happy ripe mango.

She came back from Guinea-Bissau

She is strong; you can see her sturdy bones protruding from her body. The shape of her skeleton is easy to make out. This makes me chuckle because as students, we would sit on grass across from each other and write the latin names of various parts of our skeleton on pieces of paper. When […]

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Growing out

I don’t know what subconscious confidence lodges itself inside you, when you observe your mother comb the hair of your father with her fingers. I don’t know what that feels like. I don’t know what it feels like to watch your father gently hold your mother’s arm. I don’t know how one feels upon seeing […]

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