End of the Year Issue
In the past few years, an increasing number of intrepid content creators are documenting their journeys to places of conflict. They acquire rare visas, hire local tour guides, and point iPhone cameras through the streets as they seek to capture the ‘real’ version of these countries—places whose very essence is often reduced to fearful headlines and apocalyptic imagery. This phenomenon, known as conflict tourism, ranges from visiting historically troubled areas to entering zones of active conflict, and has taken on an entirely new significance in the age of vlogging.
On a tranquil Mentonnais weekend, two weeks before the midterms rush, I boarded a train bound for Antibes. As I wandered through its cobbled streets, the Mediterranean shimmered next to me, breathing light into every corner of the city; a scene not so different from that of my hometown in Alexandria, Egypt. Apparently, this feeling of familiarity with this vast blue sea is nothing new—a feeling shared by many people no matter on which shore one is standing.
When Luffy’s Jolly Roger was hoisted from Nepal’s Singha Durbar palace, it instantly became a symbol of something larger. Over the past few months, a wind of protests has swept across the globe. From Nepal to Madagascar, Kenya to Peru, Indonesia, the Philippines and Morocco: the youth, unwilling to inherit a broken system, have taken to the streets to prove that their future is daring and won’t be silenced.
Dans son ouvrage Arab Cinema : History and Cultural Identity (1998), Viola Shafik affirme que l’Egypte était le premier pays arabe à produire une industrie cinématographique dont la production était supérieure, en quantité, à celui des autres nations arabes.
Des salles de bals étincelantes de Bridgerton à l'aesthetic Regency Core sur les réseaux sociaux, la génération Z semble obnubilée par une période qu’elle n’a jamais vécu. Comment peut-on expliquer cette fascination pour un monde vieux de deux siècles ?
From Shatila to Menton, artist Maryam Samaan turns puppets and knitting into spaces for healing and dialogue.
BRAT was summer. BRAT was coming to terms with your suppressed desires, the hate you bore and the complicated friendships you were a part of. The fun, the ugly and the embarrassing. It was about the euphoria of partying into the light of early summer mornings and the walks of shame back home. Drug abuse, sex, and all other kinds of highs of life was what BRAT encompassed. It encouraged difficult conversations about fertility and friendship, revealing that fame doesn’t equate feelings getting spared or receiving grace.
I have always felt that way because “home”, to me, has always been a patchwork. There’s the place you were born, the one you grew up in, the countries tied to your heritage, and now a campus far away from everything you ever knew. Each one of them feels like “home,” but then again none of them quite do. They overlap and argue with each other—they coexist like siblings fighting over the bigger room.
In Palestine, memory has always been a form of resistance. Today, it lives not only in embroidery and heritage, but on digital screens across the world. Across Gaza, the West Bank, and the Palestinian towns inside Israel, a new generation is documenting life, loss, and love in "real- time" — transforming social media into a living archive of survival.
“If you want to eliminate values from past societies, you have to eliminate the artists.”, reflects Prince Norodom Sirivudh of Cambodia, in the 2014 documentary “Don’t Think I’ve Forgotten: Cambodia’s Lost Rock and Roll”, recounting the systematic erasure of music from Cambodian society under the brutal regime of the Khmer Rouge in the 1970s.
« Le Moyen-Orient. Moyen par rapport à quoi ? Orient de quoi ? Le nom de la région est fondé sur une vision eurocentrée du monde, et cette région a été façonnée par un regard européen ». Tels sont les premiers mots figurant dans le manifeste de la géostratégie publié par Tim Marshall, spécialiste britannique des relations internationales. Prisonnier de la géographie, comme le suggère le titre de son œuvre, le Moyen-Orient l’est aussi de ses frontières tracées au gré des intérêts européens, qui l’ont enfermé dans une spirale de haines et de tensions sans fin.
Sciences Defense
Syria’s road to recovery will likely be a tumultuous one—economic frailty, sectarian violence and external pressures weigh upon the government’s next steps. But for the first time in over a decade, the possibility of Syrian-led reconstruction can be seen as within reach.
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How does watching strangers fall in love on national television reflect the most complicated parts of our emotional lives – dating? The transition from heartful romcoms to dating shows such as Love Island, Love is Blind or Too Hot to Handle perhaps indicate romance has died.
At first glance, Menton appears to be a quaint and peaceful town on the French Riviera—a place of leisure, history, and, of course, lemons. But is Menton truly as fruity as it seems?
Music has a strange sort of power; it can outlive the moments it was originally made for. You’ll Never Walk Alone has transcended Liverpool. Celtic fans sing it in Scotland, as well as Dortmund fans in Germany. It’s been sung in times of crisis—after terrorist attacks, during the pandemic and other acts of remembrance. But it will forever belong to Hillsborough first. It is sacred in the way a national anthem can become sacred, or a funeral hymn. You’ll Never Walk Alone began as a ballad of hope and then a cry for justice.