Alarms of change sounded in 2024 for the first time in Sri Lanka’s history—the leader of the controversial far-Left JVP was elected President, and the majority coalition in parliament is now led by the Marxist party. But not everyone was sold from the outset, perhaps for reasons manifest now in the current president’s follow-through on promises to the poor and respect for the historically marginalized. THE VERTICAL The Citizen's Vote AUTHOR Alarms of change sounded in 2024 for the first time in Sri Lanka’s history—the leader of the controversial far-Left JVP was elected President, and the majority coalition in parliament is now led by the Marxist party. But not everyone was sold from the outset, perhaps for reasons manifest now in the current president’s follow-through on promises to the poor and respect for the historically marginalized. Sri Lanka finally has a new face at the helm—a man who brands himself as a political outsider, people’s man, and harbinger of change. Anura Kumara Dissanayake, who assumed the presidency in September 2024, is navigating Sri Lanka’s road out of a crippling economic crisis that caused the masses to lose faith in the island’s political dynasties. But Dissanayake’s victory is arguably more about citizens’ disillusionment with the status quo than it is about a real belief in his politics, which are controversial particularly for his party’s history of violent insurgency during the 1970s and 1980s ; it is otherwise difficult to explain a surge in popularity from 3 percent in the 2019 election to 42 percent in the 2024 election . 2024 also marked the first instance of a president failing to claim an outright majority on first-preference votes alone, and the number of spoiled or invalid votes was the highest in history at 300,000 , more than double compared to 2019. Ultimately, all signs of an island, divided in its voting intentions. “We didn’t get anything we hoped for,” said 37-year-old government bank employee Iresha, speaking to SAAG ahead of the election about the political situation of the country over the last five years. “Politicians made empty promises. They didn’t do what they promised they would. They did what they wanted to do. Because of that, right now we are thinking that the JVP is the solution.” Sujeewa Kumari Weerasinghe, Tinted narratives 1 (2018), Mixed media on canvas. The JVP, or Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna, is the political party Dissanayake is the leader of—as well as a member of the National People’s Power (NPP) alliance that claimed victory in September’s presidential elections, as well as a landslide victory in the parliamentary elections that followed two months later. The faith people have in the JVP is significant not just because they have never been in power before, but because they were responsible for two violent Marxist insurrections against the Sri Lankan government in the 1970s and 1980s that led to tens of thousands of deaths and disappearances . “They murdered people, they closed down the shops, they destroyed government property,” said rickshaw driver Chaminda Pushpakumara, explaining why he was unable to support the JVP in the election. “In 1987, it was really tough.” Pushpakumara opted instead to support incumbent Ranil Wickremesinghe, who took the reins of the country in 2022 following a desperate economic crisis caused by an ill-fated fertiliser ban, a decline in tourism amid the COVID-19 pandemic , and financial mismanagement by then-president Gotabaya Rajapaksa. Widespread protests triggered his resignation, and he fled the country. Wickremesinghe was elected in a secret ballot less than two weeks later. He was unpopular with protesters, who saw him as a crony of the Rajapaksas, as he had served as acting Prime Minister just before Rajapaksa’s resignation. Three years after the economic crisis began, some families are still struggling to stay afloat. Auto-rickshaw driver Ajantha Gunadasa said his family sometimes has their electricity cut when they’re unable to pay the bills. “If we eat today, then we have to go to work tomorrow,” he said. “If we pay our light bill and electricity bills, then we don’t have any money for food.” It was this frustration that led him to vote for Dissanayake. Unlike Pushpakumara, he was not put off by the JVP’s past. “Who hasn’t done something bad in this country?” he said, reflecting on the decades of violence inflicted on the Tamil minority by the Sinhalese government—an issue that primary candidates engaged with far less in the most recent election than in previous ones, perhaps because the cost of living was the primary factor in most voters’ minds. “The people who came to power on a racist platform have destroyed the country,” said Gunadasa. Sujeewa Kumari Weerasinghe, Presence of the past iii (2019), oil on canvas. Former president Gotabaya Rajapaksa is one such example—when he was the defence minister, he oversaw the genocide of hundreds of thousands of Tamils in Sri Lanka’s northeast in 2009, during the final stages of the Sri Lankan Civil War. Although Gunadasa voted for Rajapaksa in 2019, like many others, the economic crisis changed his view of the Rajapaksa clan. “When your parents were your age, they would have lived in so much fear in Jaffna,” Gunadasa tells me, after finding out my family is from the island’s north. It’s true. I grew up hearing stories of how my mother had to flee home, fearing for her safety during the Indian Peacekeeping Force’s (IPKF) occupation in 1987 , when her house was shelled by the Sri Lankan Army. Despite his victory, Dissanayake’s electoral campaign did not connect with all voters, especially those from marginalised communities: Electoral maps show that he failed to appeal to Tamil voters in Sri Lanka’s northern, eastern and central provinces especially. This may be in part because of his positions prior to the election on several key issues. He said he would not seek to punish anyone accused of war crimes or human rights violations—including those committed against Tamils. He also campaigned against a ceasefire during Sri Lanka’s civil war in the 2000s, which was harmful to Tamil communities in the country, whose lives were torn apart by the conflict. Since they came into power, his alliance, the NPP, have dismissed the Thirteenth Amendment, which promises devolved powers to the north, as “ not necessary ”. And Dissanayake’s pre-recorded presidential address to the nation did not include subtitles or a translation in Tamil, making it impossible for many to understand, and prompting criticism from Tamils on social media. Tamils instead voted overwhelmingly for Sajith Premadasa in the last election , a two-time presidential hopeful and son of former president Ranasinghe Premadasa. The elder Premadasa served as President from 1989 to 1993 before he was assassinated by a suicide bomber from the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE ), the militant group who fought for an independent homeland in the north and east of Sri Lanka. It might seem like the mood among Tamils has shifted in the months following Dissanayake’s victory, as the NPP swept to power across all the districts in the Tamil homeland in November’s parliamentary elections. Tamil scholar Mario Arulthas argues , however, that this is not symbolic of the death of Tamil nationalism, but rather a hope for a better economy and a frustration with Tamil politicians. And, he points out, Dissanayake’s government has continued to arrest Tamils for participating in memorialisation events for their civil war dead—reneging on election promises and suggesting a continuation of the status quo. Local government elections held in early May showed a swing away from Dissanayake’s NPP alliance once again. Dissanayake’s government is failing to meet election promises made to more groups than just Tamil voters. Dissanayake initially promised to renegotiate the bailout deal Sri Lanka struck with the International Monetary Fund (IMF) under Wickremesinghe, which led to widespread austerity measures that affected the poorest Sri Lankans the most. Dissanayake has since backtracked , claiming the economy “cannot take the slightest shock”. Although the mood in Sri Lanka is hopeful a few months into AKD’s presidency, the working class is yet to be fully convinced. Little has changed in the country’s cost of living, with the poorest citizens facing yet another year of eking out a living. Dissanayake’s government has shown some sympathy, raising minimum wages by TK percent or amount—but it remains to be seen how far these changes will reach. Sujeewa Kumari Weerasinghe, Full bloom (Anatomy) (2022), oil on canvas. Gundasa’s wife was one of the many voters who spoiled her ballot. Ahead of the election, she was emotional as she explained that, as a young person, she was unable to get a job despite completing her education—a fate her children are also experiencing. Her 22-year-old daughter is unable to get a job or afford private education in Sri Lanka, while, the couple says, the children of wealthy politicians are studying at private universities abroad. “I am not voting for anyone,” she says, adding, “that’s my policy.” Corruption and the economy were the backbone of Sri Lanka’s 2024 vote, which represented a landmark shift in the country’s politics. Although Dissanayake’s promises to create a Sri Lanka that treats all its citizens equally still remain far-off goals, particularly for the country’s poorest and minority communities, his first six months in office have so far shown a willingness to shake up the status quo. “I am not a magician, I am a common citizen,” Dissanayake said as he took oath as the president of Sri Lanka. Perhaps those words were said with an awareness that the common citizens of Sri Lanka have power beyond what anybody had previously imagined—power to dismantle the ruling class and put their faith in a man who might just change it all. As for whether he really will, only time will tell. If he doesn’t, the citizens will surely have something to say. Sujeewa Kumari Weerasinghe, Full Bloom (Anatomy iii) (2022), oil on canvas. ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Sujeewa Kumari Weerasinghe, Full bloom (2022), oil on canvas. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Tags Tags Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Tags Tags 23rd Oct 2010 Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 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"The People's Progressive Party in Guyana was a multiracial socialist party with very hopeful beginnings, cognizant of our history as colonized descendants of the enslaved and indentured. But it's a tragic casualty of Cold War politics. We now have two political parties that are essentially racialized." COMMUNITY Indentured Labor & Guyanese Politics "The People's Progressive Party in Guyana was a multiracial socialist party with very hopeful beginnings, cognizant of our history as colonized descendants of the enslaved and indentured. But it's a tragic casualty of Cold War politics. We now have two political parties that are essentially racialized." Vol. 1 FIRST TAG AUTHOR AUTHOR AUTHOR Watch the interview on YouTube or IGTV. ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Watch the interview on YouTube or IGTV. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Tags Tags 23rd Oct 2010 Tags Tags Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. The People's Progressive Party in Guyana was a multiracial socialist party with very hopeful beginnings, cognizant of our history as colonized descendants of the enslaved and indentured. But it's a tragic casualty of Cold War politics. We now have two political parties that are essentially racialized. RECOMMENDED: Coolie Woman: The Odyssey of Indenture by Gaiutra Bahadur. More Fiction & Poetry: Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5

SENIOR EDITOR Naib Mian NAIB MIAN is writer and journalist, currently an editor at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, formerly a producer of interactives and visual stories at the New Yorker where he also led The New Yorker Union. SENIOR EDITOR WEBSITE INSTAGRAM TWITTER Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 LOAD MORE

COO of Fearless Collective, Tehani Ariyaratne, in conversation with Senior Editor Sabika Abbas Naqvi. COMMUNITY Public Art Projects as Feminist Reclamation COO of Fearless Collective, Tehani Ariyaratne, in conversation with Senior Editor Sabika Abbas Naqvi. Tehani Ariyaratne One of our murals in Rawalpindi, is an image of a [khwaja sira], Bubbli Malik, on a bicycle, and she says "I am a creation of Allah." The mural refers not to violence or trauma, but is a radical affirmation of the [khwaja sira] community. One of our murals in Rawalpindi, is an image of a [khwaja sira], Bubbli Malik, on a bicycle, and she says "I am a creation of Allah." The mural refers not to violence or trauma, but is a radical affirmation of the [khwaja sira] community. SUB-HEAD ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: Kareen Adam · Nazish Chunara A Dhivehi Artists Showcase Shebani Rao A Freelancer's Guide to Decision-Making Watch the interview on YouTube or IGTV. SHARE Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Interview Feminist Art Practice Feminist Organizing Mural Public Space Art Practice Public Arts Fearless Collective Fearless Arts Residency Art Activism Fundraising Future Dream Spaces Queerness Queer Spaces Trans Politics Trans Community Wheat Pasting Sri Lanka Pakistan India Internationalist Solidarity Khwaja Siras Bubbli Malik Queer Muslim Project Tehani Ariyaratne is a feminist researcher with ten years of working experience in the human rights and development sectors in Sri Lanka and South Asia. Her research focus areas include women's labor and environmental justice. She is the Chief Operations Officer for Fearless Collective , a South Asia-based public art project with the aim of reclamation and self-representation for women and marginalized people around the world. 29 Nov 2020 Interview Feminist Art Practice 29th Nov 2020 After the March Zoya Rehman 19th Apr Bibi Hajra’s Spaces of Belonging Iman Iftikhar 3rd Jul Protest Art & the Corporate Art World Hit Man Gurung · Isma Gul Hasan · Ikroop Sandhu 5th Jun A State of Perpetual War: Fiction & the Sri Lankan Civil War Shehan Karunatilaka 10th Jan Dissident Kid Lit Saira Mir · Shelly Anand · Vashti Harrison · Simran Jeet Singh 20th Dec On That Note:

“If you truly believe someone is suppressing you, you can end up in jail for 15 years. So is there really a space for citizen journalism? I truly don't have an answer.” COMMUNITY Storytelling in Post-Aragalaya Sri Lanka AUTHOR “If you truly believe someone is suppressing you, you can end up in jail for 15 years. So is there really a space for citizen journalism? I truly don't have an answer.” The SAAG launch event for Vol. 2, Issue 2 in Colombo, on 7th May 2024, began with a panel introduced by Chief Editor Sabika Abbas. The panel, moderated by Andrew Fidel Fernando, discussed whether storytelling is possible in post-aragalaya Sri Lanka. How do artists and writers of all persuasions deal with the disappeared? How do we face a state that refuses to even let remembrance occur, particularly regarding the events of 18th May 2009, or Mullivaikkal Remembrance Day? How did the events of 2022, the aragalaya in all its optimism, and the sharp break that followed affect the nature of reporting, fiction, social media, and the work of youth tech organizations? The panel included: Kanya D'Almeida, an award-winning writer and podcaster Benislos Thushan, a digital storytelling enthusiast and lawyer Darshatha Gamage, a youth empowerment and development specialist Raisa Wickrematunge, Deputy Editor at Himal Southasian We can't even remember our loved ones. Even regarding May 18th, we simply don't have any war memorials for people to go and mourn, and no national initiatives. Before, people at least went to social media. now it specifically says if you use social media, if you talk against the military, guess what? You'll be put into prison for five years—or more. If you truly believe someone is suppressing you, you can end up in jail for 15 years. So is there really a space for citizen journalism? I truly don't have an answer. ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Follow our YouTube channel for updates from past or future events. Artwork courtesy of Hafsa Ashfaq. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Tags Tags Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Tags Tags 23rd Oct 2010 Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. On That Note: Heading 5 23rd OCT Heading 5 23rd Oct Heading 5 23rd Oct

Sudan’s ongoing war, which erupted in April 2023 between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), has devastated the country, displacing millions and crippling public services. Civilian-led groups, particularly the Resistance Committees (RCs) and professional unions, continue to provide humanitarian aid despite severe repression, learning from the rich history of Sudanese unions active since the 20th century. Today, emergency committees and medical unions work tirelessly to support war victims, exemplifying resilience amid chaos. Their struggle highlights a stark contrast between civilian solidarity and military destruction. Sudan’s ongoing war, which erupted in April 2023 between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), has devastated the country, displacing millions and crippling public services. Civilian-led groups, particularly the Resistance Committees (RCs) and professional unions, continue to provide humanitarian aid despite severe repression, learning from the rich history of Sudanese unions active since the 20th century. Today, emergency committees and medical unions work tirelessly to support war victims, exemplifying resilience amid chaos. Their struggle highlights a stark contrast between civilian solidarity and military destruction. Hashim Nasr, Boxed (2022). Digital photograph. Artist LOCATION AUTHOR · AUTHOR · AUTHOR 23 Oct 2010 rd · THE VERTICAL REPORTAGE · LOCATION Through Thick and Thin On April 15, 2023, one of Sudan's most brutal wars erupted between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF). This signaled a collapse of the alliance between two-armed factions. Even before the April fallout and subsequent war, their armed alliance had brought nothing to the Sudanese people but bloodshed and death; the alliance staged the military coup in October 2021 that terminated the civilian-military power-sharing agreement known as the Transitional Government which was installed in the wake of the December Revolution in 2018 . The Transitional Government (2019-2021) was composed of both military and civilians, with a rotating presidency that started with the military. The December Revolution was primarily led by millions of youths, particularly women, called the “Resistance Committees” (RCs). Although lacking in direct organizational links with the existing civilian groups, the RCs coordinated their mass protest actions very closely with them, particularly the Sudanese Professional Association . Remnants of Sudan’s Islamist military dictatorship (1989-2019) comprised two factions that had each previously attempted to seize power in the country. Working together, on June 3rd 2019, they enacted the most heinous massacre . Hundreds of peaceful protesters were brutalized, raped, drowned, and killed. On June 30th, 2019, under the combined leadership of civilian groups, millions of Sudanese took to the streets, demanding accountability for the massacres and a full transfer of power to civilians. The military eventually relented, resulting in the civilian-military power sharing agreement in August 2019. This illegitimate and violent political transformation has led to the ongoing war which has resulted in hundreds of thousands of deaths, over 12 million internally displaced persons (IDPs), and over three million refugees in neighboring countries. As the war has intensified since April 2023, the total repression of civilian activism has destroyed health, education, municipal and other civilian infrastructure, and deepened the economic crisis. In immediate response to the war, Sudan’s Resistance Committees (RCs) have morphed into Emergency Committees (ECs), while abroad, Sudanese communities collectively mobilize resources to save lives and restore livelihoods destroyed by the war. There are now numerous humanitarian, educational, and professional activities, both inside and outside Sudan seeking to help those most affected by war. Although repression inside Sudan and the lack of formal status outside Sudan limits this organizing, the collectives nevertheless strive to implement what they can. They continue to play a major role in organizing assistance and representing the Sudanese people at humanitarian and ceasefire negotiations mediated by international entities. With unwavering determination, the humanitarian aid effort by Sudan’s civilian bodies shines amidst the darkness of this horrific war. With the disintegration of the state apparatus and the collapse of public services, the RCs face highly complex challenges. Attempting to regroup and organize their membership, they continue to provide services to millions of displaced Sudanese people. Thus, a stark contrast emerges. While the military forces continue their war against each other and on the country’s resources, civil forces race to save what can be saved. These civilian forces continue amidst severe repression, killing, forced disappearances, illegal detention, torture, rape, and ethnic cleansing. The History of Trade Unions in Sudan As a central organizing force, political parties, civil society organizations, professional associations, and trade unions draw upon a long tradition of highly active political engagement that started before Sudan’s independence in 1956. Sudan has had union organizations since the early 20th century. In 1908, forest workers under British-Egyptian colonial rule, announced a strike demanding better wages and working conditions. In 1947, the first union of railway workers was established. As a result of the pressure exerted by the union movement, colonial authorities conceded the right to union organization. A labor law was issued in 1948, granting the Sudanese union movement legal status. By becoming a primary force in resisting and changing authoritarian regimes, however, the movement became a target of colonial oppression. One of the earliest decisions in subsequent military coups was the dissolution of existing unions, confiscating their properties and funds. By mobilizing their members, the unions quickly regained their strength and ability to lead. The Front of Associations (a coalition of professional, labor, and farmers' unions) led the October 1964 revolution , dominating a seat majority in the first transitional government, before being overthrown by infighting. Led by the Union Alliance, unions played a prominent role in the April 1985 uprising and the downfall of the Jaafar Nimeiri dictatorship regime. Omer Al-Bashir’s regime in 1989 resisted workers’ attempts at unionization—seeking to dismantle and control them by dismissing employees through the Public Interest Law. The labor movements, however, were ceaseless. Following the successful Sudanese Doctors Union strike of November 1989 , several professional associations organized strikes and protests in 1994 and 1996. They also continued efforts with regional and international organizations to isolate the military regime and its façade of regime-friendly unions. Therefore, during the 30 years of the Islamist military dictatorship, trade unions and associations operated through professional bodies which were strategically founded to counter the regime’s compliant civilian bodies and trade unions. In 2005, following the signing of the Comprehensive Peace Agreement between the military dictatorship and the Sudan People's Liberation Army/Movement (SPLA/M), Sudan witnessed a relative expansion of political space and public sector workers showed increased interest in unionization. Medical bodies inside and outside Sudan organized networking and coordination. Lawyers' organizations confronted repressive laws and defended public freedoms. Journalists exposed and documented violations, defending freedom of expression. Teachers gathered to address wage issues and demanded educational reform. The Sudanese Professionals Association (SPA) served as the unifying platform leading the Revolution for the downfall of the Islamist dictatorship regime, especially when the-then SPA joined political and civil society organizations to create the opposition platform called Forces of Freedom and Change (FFC) . The 2019 post-revolution transitional phase represented a glimmer of hope. Institutions were being rebuilt, preparing the country for a democratic transition . Most professional bodies sought to gain legitimacy by organizing member elections. Some of them, like the Sudanese Journalists' Union (SJU) and the Sudanese Doctors Union (SDU) succeeded in completing free and fair internal elections. Many believe that the October 2021 coup was staged by SAF and RSF precisely due to the rising tide of organized and elected professional associations and trade unions. The Birth of the Sudanese Professionals Association Actual collaboration among opposing union factions began with the rise of popular resistance against the Inqaz or the NCP regime, especially after South Sudan's secession and the 2010 election and following economic collapse. Professional and other civilian groups started organizing their bases to hold democratic grassroot union elections. They also worked to establish effective union alliances to challenge the regime's policies and its monopoly over power and political decisions. This culminated in the formation of what was then known as the Sudanese Professionals Union in 2012 (later called the Sudanese Professionals Association or SPA in 2013) through joint coordination between the Teachers' Committee, the Sudanese Journalists Network, the legitimate Sudanese Doctors' Union, and the Democratic Lawyers' Association. The SPA page on Facebook , which played a crucial role in the December 2018 Revolution, was created towards the end of 2012. Starting approximately in 2016, the professional forces that eventually formed the nucleus of the SPA continued expanding their coalition as an anti-Inqaz political front. They continued to link their presence to specific labor demands, gaining more support. Simultaneously, civilian unrest and discontent with the Inqaz regime was boiling under the surface until it exploded. First, in September 2013 (heavily repressed by the Inqaz/NCP regime) and then, more successfully, between 13 December 2018 and 6 April 2019. Importantly, these peaceful mass protests started by RCs in the city of Mayirno (Sennar State) spread to the RCs in Atbara (River Nile State), Damazin (Blue Nile State), before blazing across Sudan.This rising tide of protests was mutually-synergistic between the SPA and the RCs movements. The SPA and RCs quickly adjusted their demands from merely raising the minimum wage and protesting against the rising cost of living, to instead calling for continuous marches aiming to entirely overthrow the Inqaz/NCP regime. Taking the lead in the December Revolution, the SPA and the RCs participated in developing the charter of the Forces for Freedom and Change (FFC) on 1 January 2019 which adopted the RCs and SPA slogan of “freedom, peace, and justice.” These efforts culminated in the fall of the tyrant Omar al-Bashir on 11 April 2019 and continued throughout the transitional period that followed. Unfortunately, when the SPA’s constituent bodies began union-building processes, their lack of recent practical experience in union work and managing political conflicts, led to the disintegration of the FFC, with disruptive impacts on the SPA and other civilian bodies. The political alliances represented by the FFC began disagreeing on priorities. The RCs wanted to prioritize the creation of the Transitional Legislative Assembly; however, other political parties and professional associations did not see it as a priority. These disagreements deepened and widened, negatively impacting the civilian front. On August 30, 2022, in a historic step, Sudanese Journalist Union announced the successful election of their first post-Inqaz committee, followed by the Sudanese Dramatists Union. The Sudanese Doctors Union was reestablished in March 2023—just weeks before the war broke out mid-April 2023. The Resistance Committees: An Inspiring Experience The initiation and driving force behind the December Revolution is attributed to the most recent type of civilian body in Sudanese politics the RCs which also included the Coordination Committees of IDP camps in Darfur. RCs are unique grassroots organizations formed at the neighborhood level, which expanded to cities and different Sudanese states. They deliberately retain their horizontal nature and firmly reject hierarchical leadership, in order to avoid infiltration by the authorities or political factions. The presence of RCs has played a decisive role in keeping the flame of the revolution alive. The RCs formulated a comprehensive political vision, embodied in the “ People's Power Charter .” The Charter’s first draft was released for discussion in January 2022, underwent public discussions, and was revised in March 2022. Despite prevailing political divisions among FFC’s political forces and the military coup's control of power, the RC’s People’s Power Charter generated a significant amount of debate. The RCs played a more significant role in the political scene, surpassing the leadership of traditional civilian bodies (parties and unions), by supporting but also holding accountable the transitional government, and working within local governance structures. Undermining Inqaz/NCP supporters at the state level, RCs took on the responsibility of monitoring the flow of commodities such as flour, gasoline, diesel, and cooking gas. They contributed to resolving the transportation crisis, power outages, and other artificially created crises. This led to defeating the Inqaz regime’s black marketeers. The War: Massive Responsibilities Throughout the transition period, a widespread civil movement spread—undeterred by the October 2021 coup. Instead, professional unions and RCs regarded themselves as a primary tool of people power in the civil-military conflict. The union bodies, led by the preparatory committee of the newly formed Sudanese Doctors Union (SDU), established Emergency Rooms, communal shelters for IDPs, communal kitchens, and neighborhood mutual aid under the leadership of the RCs. These Emergency Rooms continue to provide life-saving food, water, medicine, and urgent supplies to millions of war-affected people, as well as the millions of IDPs fleeing the war. Similarly, the SPA’s constituent professional unions have intensified their efforts towards denouncing the war, calling for peace, providing basic humanitarian aid, exposing and documenting gross human rights violations and war crimes, defending activists detained in war zones, and organizing campaigns to stop the war and aid those affected, both inside and outside Sudan. Some professional unions have also begun envisioning the required reconstruction, recovery, and reform needed in their respective sectors once the war stops. Civilian Testimonies Shedding light on the experiences of workers’ unionization and the efforts of the medical and humanitarian emergency, offered here are the accounts of two prominent contributors. They reflect the significant efforts exerted by civilian forces amidst the ongoing war. Activist Moez Elzein is a project manager at the Al-Ayam Center for Cultural Studies and Development and a founding contributor to the humanitarian Emergency Rooms (ERs). Elzein is currently based in Kampala, Uganda, where he recently sought refuge from the horrors of the war in Sudan. He explained that since the outbreak of the war and collapse of public services, groups of RC members, professionals, and young men and women, began establishing ERs in war zones across Sudan. Inspired by the concept of “Nafir” (a mobilization call to humanitarian action, significant in Sudanese culture as voluntary and cooperative work during humanitarian disasters), they vowed to keep their work free of political affiliations and biases, which helped the idea to evolve and attract more volunteers. Elzein pointed out that ERs began their work with the idea of mutual aid rather than humanitarian aid. The idea started spontaneously among Sudanese through financial transfers to support those affected by the war, followed by the idea of ERs. Moez's words reveal the organizational capacities and experience these young people possess, developing a Coordination Council for Grassroots Work of ERs which is the largest indigenous civilian coordinating body operating across Sudan since the war began. This Council was formed based on the local governance system of Khartoum State, the most populous state in the country, with approximately eight million inhabitants according to the latest census projections from 2018. Initially, seven central ERs were formed for the seven localities, along with grassroots rooms for residential neighborhoods under them to ensure coordination and networking based on the administrative structure between administrative units, grassroots rooms, local ERs, and central rooms. Elzein indicated that the Council would evolve into a national council after including Sennar, Darfur, and other regions, thereby linking humanitarian intervention to grassroots work and local governance. Elzein describes how the ERs in Khartoum consist of 130 grassroots rooms in neighborhoods, in addition to seven central rooms. In Sennar, there are 15 grassroots rooms in neighborhoods and around seven central rooms, as well as one room in El-Suki. He noted that women's emergency rooms have also started to appear in eastern Sudan, as is the case in Gedaref and Kassala States, and there are 200 grassroots ERs in different Darfur states. Regarding how these rooms fund their activities, Elzein says, “the rooms initially received support from Sudanese people through bank transfers as donations, in addition to support from some international organizations. However, after the decline in capabilities due to the ongoing war and the worsening conditions of millions of Sudanese, the primary reliance now is on donors like the Sudan Humanitarian Fund (SHF).” Sudanese national organizations in turn, distribute funding to ERs, alongside other international organizations. Currently, the ERs depend entirely on funding from foreign organizations. Elzein continues, “there is a disparity in the number of participants in the rooms, depending on the population size in different areas and the level of interaction, even within Khartoum. For example, there are differences in the ability to communicate with various parties. Some rooms can communicate with SAF or RSF commanders in their areas, such as Karari in Omdurman and East Nile, to ensure safe passage of some food supplies needed for central kitchens or to secure the release of detained activists or residents of neighborhoods, while some areas lack this capability due to the hostile nature of the forces in control or due to pre-conceived aversion by grassroot activists to any coordination with neither SAF nor RSF.” For Elzein, one of the most significant challenges facing ERs is the repressive targeting and human rights violations faced by their members at the hands of both RSF and SAF. He adds, “in areas controlled by SAF and RSF, youth workers in emergency rooms have faced repeated arrests and severe human rights violations such as torture and beatings. Three weeks ago, one of the key workers in the emergency rooms in Eastern Nile State was arrested and falsely accused of killing a member of RSF.” Dr Hiba Omar was interviewed within the context of writing this article, to better understand the role of the medical ERs. Omar is the elected President of SDU’s Preparatory Committee and one of the prominent leaders of SPA. She has been repeatedly arrested and displaced. She says, “When the war broke out, the SDU was only a month old, and the Preparatory Committee was elected to perform specific tasks, including drafting a constitution, compiling a membership register, calling for a full general assembly, and holding free and fair union elections. We found ourselves faced with the daunting task of providing medical services to thousands of war victims after many hospitals shut down and were attacked by airstrikes and indiscriminate military attacks on them.” She recounts the details of the first hours after the war broke out, “I went to East Nile Hospital in the Al-Haj Youssef neighborhood in Khartoum and worked there for three consecutive days due to the severe shortage of staff. While we were working inside the hospital, it was bombed by SAF aircraft and then it was evacuated. So, I moved to the Ban Jadeed Hospital in a nearby area, but found it had closed. This situation, along with reports of many hospitals being out of service, prompted us to think about establishing medical ERs. We called on the RCs to support and assist us, and then we formed the first ER at Ban Jadeed Hospital.” She continues, “The war was very intense and was raging in the center of Khartoum State. This war violated all international humanitarian conventions and laws of war, with no regard for the neutrality of medical services and facilities nor protection of health workers. In fact, they were specifically targeted by both sides of the war. The expansion and intensity of the war and the targeting of hospitals, and the use of some health facilities as military platforms led to the loss of the ER’s capacities and the inability of patients to reach them, in addition to the killing of many medical staff and emergency room workers, the evacuation of patients, and the destruction and looting of hospitals.” Omar adds, “There were great difficulties in getting medical staff to hospitals, so most resided inside the hospitals, and we worked to fill the shortage due to the inability of some doctors to reach hospitals by training volunteers from RCs in medical services. The RCs provided oxygen and intravenous fluids in dangerous areas under shelling and bombing, as well as meals for patients and staff, and also transferred patients and the injured to other hospitals.” In her testimony as a doctor who witnessed the horrors of this war, Omar indicates the importance of the civil society organizations to the medical aid effort, “as a union, we contributed alongside Sudanese medical diaspora bodies such as SAPA (Sudanese American Physicians Associations) to securing critical information for the Sudanese Medical Council amid the shelling and battles; first transferring it to Al-Jazirah State and then after clashes broke out there, transferring the equipment containing the information to the Northern State in order to protect the interests of more than 10,000 doctors. The Council is responsible for training, certificates, and appointments of doctors and their specializations.” This major collapse caused by the war led Pmar Hiba, and her SDU colleagues, to work with other union bodies to establish the “Union Front,” and to expand it to include all workers in various fields who have been facing difficult conditions since the outbreak of the war, primarily the suspension of their salaries by the state for over a year and a half. “Addressing all these issues is almost impossible without stopping the war and, therefore, besides our work on professional issues, we continued work with other union bodies to achieve our shared struggle to stop the war, demand accountability, restore the revolution, and collectively defend workers' rights. We represent a broad sector of the Sudanese people together, and our positions express a large base that rejects the war, stands against its crimes, seeks justice, redress for the victims, the restoration of professionals' roles, and the enhancement and improvement of their conditions.” Continuous Work Despite the War After nearly a year and a half of horrific war, amidst the destruction caused by the military and militias allied with warring parties in Sudan, civil revolutionary forces are rising. These forces are working inside the country’s conflict areas as well as outside Sudan, where millions of Sudanese have sought refuge. Many are working to build bridges of communication with similar unions in host countries. Some have successfully traced their members dispersed in different countries as well. Various groups have started organizing training courses to enhance their capacities to deal with the war and its aftermath, while some unions are preparing to assess the scale of the destruction and thinking of how to reestablish a peaceful transition to democracy. Others yet, have begun documenting the violations and war crimes committed against civilians—and legally classifying them. Meanwhile, most unions are quietly working to provide as much assistance and support to their members by facilitating financial donations from Sudanese people worldwide and communicating with organizations that help and support refugees and professional advocacy groups. They are also negotiating with authorities in some asylum countries to ensure their members’ welfare and safety. In conclusion, the Sudanese civilian bodies such as the SPA, Resistance Committees and professional unions continue their decades-old tradition of democratic grassroot organization and advocacy for democratic freedoms despite the war. The collective experience they accumulated during the December Revolution continues to drive their commitment and inform their decision-making. They remain resolute that wars and military coups will never dent their resolve to create a free, peaceful and just. The December Revolution’s slogan, “Freedom, Peace and Justice” remains a beacon of hope for Sudan.∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. 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There's really no shortage of Tamil works to translate, according to N Kalyan Raman, the acclaimed Tamil translator of Perumal Murugan's novel “Poonachi.” On the docket: plays, poems, and works by radical Modernist Tamil literary figures spanning much of the 20th century. INTERACTIVE Chats Ep. 5 · Tamil translation & Perumal Murugan's “Poonachi” AUTHOR There's really no shortage of Tamil works to translate, according to N Kalyan Raman, the acclaimed Tamil translator of Perumal Murugan's novel “Poonachi.” On the docket: plays, poems, and works by radical Modernist Tamil literary figures spanning much of the 20th century. In Episode 5, Aishwarya Kumar had a discussion on Instagram Live on Tamil translation with acclaimed writer and translator N Kalyan Raman, most famously the translator of Perumal Murugan's Poonachi: The Story of a Black Goat , which won the Sahitya Akademi's Translation Award in 2022. Raman discusses the nature of translation, his experience with Murugan's work and the time when he encountered it, as well as seminal Modernist Tamil literary figures, such as Pudhumaipithan, known for his revolutionary and satirical fiction in a radical vein, as well as contemporary poets such as Perundevi. There's no shortage of works to translate, Raman argues convincingly. The Tamil short story, he argues further, is the true peak of Tamil modernist achievement in literature. ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Subscribe to our newsletter for updates on SAAG Chats, an informal series of live events on Instagram. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Tags Tags Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Tags Tags 23rd Oct 2010 Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. On That Note: Heading 5 23rd OCT Heading 5 23rd Oct Heading 5 23rd Oct

“We looked at all these old EMI vinyl album covers. I remember listening to the song and thinking: 'This song is pink.'” INTERACTIVE Natasha Noorani's Retro Aesthetic AUTHOR “We looked at all these old EMI vinyl album covers. I remember listening to the song and thinking: 'This song is pink.'” Natasha Noorani released “Choro,” the first single from her new album, on 24th May 2021. She first performed it unplugged for SAAG's previous online event, FLUX . As part of In Grief, In Solidarity , Noorani discussed what inspired the music video's aesthetic with SAAG advisory editor Senna Ahmad, with whom Noorani collaborated on “Choro.” For both, it was a risk, a labor of love, and a long-awaited collaboration—each of which speaks to how Noorani chooses to provoke and pay homage to Pakistani pop music in equal measure. Watch to hear more about their vision, how the pandemic affected the shoot of the music video, their numerous inspiration boards, their shared love for the music of the eighties and nineties, Urdu typography, and more. ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Follow our YouTube channel for updates from past or future events. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Tags Tags Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Tags Tags 23rd Oct 2010 Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. On That Note: Heading 5 23rd OCT Heading 5 23rd Oct Heading 5 23rd Oct

Mimi Mondal in conversation with Associate Editor Nur Nasreen Ibrahim. COMMUNITY Dalit Legacies in Mythology, Sci-Fi & Fantasy AUTHOR Mimi Mondal in conversation with Associate Editor Nur Nasreen Ibrahim. How are some gods' stories mythology and some folklore? It depends on how much political power they hold. RECOMMENDED: His Footsteps, Through Darkness and Light , a Nebula Award-shortlisted novelette by Mimi Mondal. ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Watch the interview on YouTube or IGTV. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Tags Tags Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Tags Tags 23rd Oct 2010 Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. On That Note: Heading 5 23rd OCT Heading 5 23rd Oct Heading 5 23rd Oct

This essay examines the varied temporalities and intensities of māṭam—a form of ritual mourning in Shia Islam—to show how grief, when dislocated from its centres, takes on different velocities and visual registers. Jaan-e-Haseena offers the work of impassioned cultural organizing around the fabulation of Pakistani transness as a means of disrupting and reconstructing ontologies of indigeneity and survival. This essay examines the varied temporalities and intensities of māṭam—a form of ritual mourning in Shia Islam—to show how grief, when dislocated from its centres, takes on different velocities and visual registers. Jaan-e-Haseena offers the work of impassioned cultural organizing around the fabulation of Pakistani transness as a means of disrupting and reconstructing ontologies of indigeneity and survival. "Nomi G in schizophrenic time I" (2025), photograph, courtesy of the writer. Artist · THE VERTICAL REPORTAGE · LOCATION mourning in schizophrenic time LOCATION AUTHOR . AUTHOR . AUTHOR . 27 Oct 2025 th . Letter from our columnist . I. I n the margins of Shia geographies, ritual is often modulated by proximity to power, risk, and memory. Māṭam, rhythmic chest-beating performed during Muharram, tends to surge with speed, volume, and physical force in Shia-majority zones like Karbala, Qom, and areas of southern Lebanon. But in peripheral or diasporic communities, such as those in Pakistan’s Sunni-majority regions or in Indonesia, māṭam often becomes slower, shaped by local constraints and the need for cautious survival in hostile environments. The tempo of mourning is not just a cultural register, but a geographic one; rhythm marks distance from safety. Abbas Kiarostami's Taste of Cherry sees the protagonist’s quiet unraveling met with dismissal by an Afghan refugee who, invoking deeper trauma, repositions his own survival as the legitimate benchmark for suffering. This exchange does not directly map onto caste, but echoes what Akhil Kang calls upper-caste victimhood : the act of weaponizing one’s suffering to foreclose or delegitimize others’ expressions of pain. In both cases, grief is stratified: some forms are allowed to be loud, fast, and public (like māṭam in Karbala), while others are contained, policed, or rendered excessive. Caste, here, becomes less about origin and more about access to public mourning, about who is allowed to linger in loss and who is asked to move on. In the budding stages of my gender-mutation as a Syed-Shia Zaidi, I found myself drawn to the expanded aesthetic and temporal imaginaries offered by rave scholars like McKenzie Wark and Juliana Huxtable . The conceptual interplay between caste, time, tradition, and the body made intuitive sense. Māṭam for me is no longer just a religious rite but a temporal logic that mirrors how I live and move. In the context of my life, work, and history, it makes sense to cognize māṭam as a kind of sanctioned schizophrenia: a public display of grief for someone never met, a body long dead but made urgently present through sound and pain. It sutures past and present into a single rhythm, collapsing historical time into the immediate now. In this sense, it enacts what Deleuze and Guattari call “ schizo-temporality ”, the refusal of linear time, the refusal to let the past stay in the past. The mourned are always returning. The ritual is a wound that won’t close; a beat that insists and manifests into a cultural practice surviving generational accusations of heresy. The recursive temporality of māṭam, then, finds echoes in the sonic ruptures and visual residues of contemporary trans art in Pakistan. This essay, and the work it contains, are situated in that schizoid rhythm: where mourning is method, illegibility is survival, and art becomes afterlife. This schizophrenic temporality also aligns closely with Black paraontological thought : Frank Wilderson III writes about Blackness occupying a position not simply of exclusion from the category of the human, but of foundational antagonism to it. Blackness is not marginal to ontology, it is the rupture that reveals its limits. Similarly, Pakistani transness, especially as embodied by moorat performers and khwaja-sira rituals, inhabits a space of ontological impossibility. Paraontology, put simply, names the condition of being that which both exists within and disrupts dominant frameworks of existence. This is not about comparing Blackness and transness, nor collapsing them. Rather, Zenaan-Khana (a trans-led, multi-disciplinary art collective) and its work echoes paraontology in the way it renders Pakistani transness as a figure not of lack, but of structural impossibility. It is not a minoritized identity seeking inclusion, but a structural non-being indigenous to this land, struggling to remain. II. Zenaan-Khana’s visual and sonic practice inhabits this paraontological terrain. Our Boiler Room set in 2025 marked a shift, a curated refusal that belonged to a new generation. Rather than reproducing inherited forms of ritual, we set out to disrupt the dominant aesthetics of elite cultural production in Pakistan: event spaces owned by white-collar elites, anti-paindoo (a colloquial Punjabi and Urdu term, often used in urban Pakistan to describe someone from a rural or rustic background. Depending on context, it can carry a pejorative sense of “backward” or “unsophisticated.”). In their politics, ironically in charge of curating multiculturalisms. We channeled the dissonance of Gen-Z moorats: pulsing beats, industrial noise, synthetic rupture. It was less about recognizable grief and more about building a sonic texture of disidentification . Our set cracked open Lahore’s elite space-time by refusing smooth transitions or legible representation. We merged mujra rhythms with underground Black soundscapes, shifting BPMs to mimic breathlessness and collapse. At one moment, a Somali trans artist reinterpreted Islamic devotional terms over a distorted, syncopated beat; in another, I rapped my song Bakwas , a critique of the male gaze on trans bodies, layered over a chopped-and-flipped sample of Rihanna’s Rude Boy . These fragments weren’t meant to cohere. They glitched, tangled, and surged. What emerged was a sonic narrative unraveled by longing, surveillance, ecstasy, and rupture. What we performed was not representation; it was sanctioned schizophrenia staged at the edge of collapse. To truly understand this tactic, one must return to what scholars like Saidiya Hartman and Christina Sharpe describe as the afterlives of structural violence. Hartman’s “ afterlife of slavery ” is not just about historical trauma, it is about ongoing conditions that frame Black life as always already dead. Sharpe’s wake work names how Black existence navigates grief that never ends. Pakistani trans life is also wake work. We are asked to live without lineage, perform without legitimacy or care, and survive without history. Our practice extends beyond sound. The visual work showcased here, developed with Misha Japanwala as the project maidaan-e-jang mein murjha gulaab (wilted roses on a battlefield), is not supplementary to this essay: it is its embodied continuation. This piece emerges from the same conditions of sanctioned schizophrenia: scattered timelines, ontological foreclosure, ritual excess, and aesthetic refusal. But this was not an abstract exercise. A (name redacted), an iconic Lahori trans-femme and longtime collaborator, co-ideated the shoot with me, as well as other designers, friends, and a retired mujra artist deeply connected to many of the muses in our campaign. Together, we sat with the muses, listening to stories of exile, longing, and survival, and asked: what does a fugitive image look like? We staged shots that lingered in the affects of dislocation. This image is not a token of trans life; it is its fragment, its echo, its unfinished utterance. Saidiya Hartman’s idea of “the afterlife of slavery,” posits death not as an event but as a condition. Similarly Zenaan-Khana’s work asks: what does it mean to be a body whose ritualized mourning, whose māṭam, is itself a form of failed ontological recognition? What does it mean to grieve a self that was never legible? What kind of time is this? III. The moorat figure, an Urdu term reclaimed in recent years through movements like the Sindh Moorat March (SMM), carries with it a layered history of religious excess, colonial residue, and social abandonment. Once used ambiguously, even derogatorily, moorat is now being politicized as a counter to Western gender terminology, refusing the flattening translations of “transgender” or “nonbinary.” The moorat performs what might be called a schizophrenic temporality— not in the pathological sense, but in Deleuze and Guattari’s terms: a breaking down of dominant flows of time and coherence. But unlike D&G’s celebration of deterritorialization , here schizophrenia is not freedom. It is a way of enduring dislocation. It is survival in fragmentation. The images in maidaan-e-jang mein murjha gulaab do not seek to explain, they glitch. They fold history into flesh, grief into gesture, rupture into residue. The trans body here does not aim for legibility or inclusion; it mourns its own exclusion from the ontological field. Its visibility is always ephemeral/unstable. Its presence is always partially posthumous. Take, for instance, N (name redacted): a trans woman who runs a house for trans sex workers in Narowal. After surviving a brutal act of violence where her ex-boyfriend shot her leg for leaving him, N now moves through the world with a prosthetic. She is not a symbol of victimhood, but of refusal, of organizing beyond state visibility, of care that persists even when the body is denatured. How does one represent this? Not with clarity, but with tension. Our visual work strives to hold this contradiction: the simultaneous presence of mutilation and resilience. It asks how to archive fugitive ethics, how to remain faithful to their opacity without rendering them legible for the comfort of the viewer. Paraontological realities echo through our work, staging Pakistani transness not as a minoritized identity, but as a structure/fabulation/imagination of non-being, a body whose relation to the visual field is one of misrecognition. In that sense, the visual art accompanying this essay does not close an argument, it opens a wound. It performs what theory can only gesture toward: the feeling of life after the possibility of life. This is how we mark time: holding the ephemeral to extend its impact in this moment of subcontinental psychosis. This is how we remain. This is our proposition: not clarity, but sensation. Not theory for the page, but affect rendered legible through performance and image. Between misrecognition and survival, we find a form. Between ontology and paraontology, we mark presence, not as claim, but as trace. What remains is not always evidence. Sometimes, it’s a psychotic pulse that doesn’t stop. That is where we build a politics. maidaan-e-jang mein murjha gulaab also builds on the legacy of the Moorat March, one of the most disruptive and generative trans political formations in recent years. A movement that directly birthed the incentive that I needed to advocate for a space like Zenaan-Khana in Lahore. SMM is not just protest. It is legacy work. It continues a lineage of trans, queer, Shi’a-oriented and feminist organizing in Pakistan, grounded not in global human rights discourse but in indigenous ethics and moorat epistemologies. It marks a return to gender plurality as cultural inheritance, reviving cosmologies of embodiment that the colonial and postcolonial state sought to erase. Crucially, it is not just symbolic. It is materially disruptive. SMM builds grassroots power in Sindh, cultivates new kinships across class and caste, and challenges the state’s monopoly on gender recognition. It is precisely within this political genealogy that Zenaan-Khana’s current visual collaboration with Misha Japanwala emerges. The images (including the one offered here) do not illustrate the march; they carry its aftershocks. They hold the schizoid time of moorat rebellion: ishq-filled, subversive in their expression of trans-psychosis, glitching in fragmentation. They don’t document, but distort. And in doing so, they uphold a politics of wake, of misrecognition, of remaining. There is no pride in cultural organizing during genocide. But there is grief. There is glitch. There is residue. And sometimes, that’s enough to break something open. ∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Opinion Lahore Pakistan Gender Violence Essay Ceremony Culture Culture work schizo-temporality Shia geographies Shia Matam Mourning performance performance art afterlife wilted roses Sindh Moorat March Zenaan-Khana Cultural organizing solidarities queer and shia beyond symbolism religious rite Karbala reclamation grief victimhood paraontology Pakistani transness Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

Anamitra Bora ANAMITRA BORA teaches feminist and queer theory as an Adjunct Faculty at the Centre for Women’s Studies, Cotton University, Assam. His research explores the sociology of gender and the intersections of queer sexuality, affect theory, and violence, with a focus on the politics of (absent) bodies and the emotional textures of queer life in South Asia. In 2024, he was awarded Best Presenter at the 7th International Conference on Gender and Sexuality in Thailand for his paper “From Sexual Shame to Sexual Pride: Extending Emotions to Homoerotic Connections.” WEBSITE INSTAGRAM TWITTER Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 LOAD MORE

The Delhi-based Kashmiri musician & Ramooz frontman on how growing up in occupied Kashmir shaped his soundscapes through violence, and how genre experimentation and fluidity serve to address grief and trauma. COMMUNITY Kashmiri ProgRock and Experimentation as Privilege The Delhi-based Kashmiri musician & Ramooz frontman on how growing up in occupied Kashmir shaped his soundscapes through violence, and how genre experimentation and fluidity serve to address grief and trauma. Zeeshaan Nabi Living in Kashmir, in an atmosphere so accustomed to murder, rape, disappearances—it's directly affected the way I perceive and interact with sound. A loud thud might be an interesting sound for many. It's traumatizing for me. RECOMMENDED: Imtihan by Zeeshaan Nabi, Qassam Hussain ft. Denis Thomas ( Meerakii Sessions, Season 1, Episode 1, October 2022) Living in Kashmir, in an atmosphere so accustomed to murder, rape, disappearances—it's directly affected the way I perceive and interact with sound. A loud thud might be an interesting sound for many. It's traumatizing for me. RECOMMENDED: Imtihan by Zeeshaan Nabi, Qassam Hussain ft. Denis Thomas ( Meerakii Sessions, Season 1, Episode 1, October 2022) SUB-HEAD ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: Kareen Adam · Nazish Chunara A Dhivehi Artists Showcase Shebani Rao A Freelancer's Guide to Decision-Making Watch the interview on YouTube or IGTV. SHARE Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Interview Progressive Rock Kashmir Music Music Criticism Kashmiri Folk Music Contemporary Music Ramooz Dream Theater John Cage Ahmer Javed Experimental Methods Experimental Music Experimental Electronica Literature & Liberation Literary Solidarity Depictions of Grief Sound Occupation Genre Fluidity Genre Tropes Genre Intentional Audio Community Building New Artists Delhi Indian Fascism Zeeshaan Nabi is a composer, producer, educator, frontman of the band Ramooz, and founder of the label Meerakii Music. He is currently based in Delhi. 21 Dec 2020 Interview Progressive Rock 21st Dec 2020 The Aahvaan Project · Performance Vedi Sinha 5th Jun Nation-State Constraints on Identity & Intimacy Chaitali Sen 17th Dec FLUX · Natasha Noorani Unplugged: "Choro" Natasha Noorani 5th Dec Musical Genre as a Creation of Racial Capitalism Vijay Iyer 8th Nov Syncretism & the Contemporary Ghazal Ali Sethi 14th Oct On That Note: