There is a woman in Somalia
Feature: Amnesty Menton
All of these realities are indisputable, and for many women, especially those living in displacement camps, they shape everyday life. Yet this framing, while alarmingly accurate, is incomplete: it captures what is done to these women, not how they respond to it. It reduces their lived experience to suffering alone, overlooking the many forms of agency they cling to, their organization and leadership that persist even in the most fragile of conditions.
« C'est dans et par le langage que l’homme se constitue comme sujet » affirme Emile Benveniste, linguiste français d’origine syrienne. Le langage est ainsi ce qui nous permet de nous poser comme sujet parlant. On peut prolonger cette idée: si le langage nous permet de dire « je », il nous permet de nous raconter et de construire notre identité. Dans cette optique, le langage marque l’acte fondateur de notre naissance au monde.
Since the beginning of the year, 2026 has been dubbed “the new 2016” across various social media platforms. Young people online seem to be yearning for a resurgence of how life was ten years ago. The rose-tinted social media filter has been revived and 2016 pop music is having its moment, with Zara Larsson’s hit “Lush Life” reentering the Billboard’s Top 100 for the first time in years.
But while Coachella 2026 may have looked like Coachella 2016, it was fundamentally very different.
Images emerge from Iran with unsettling regularity: mothers mourning their children, bodies of Iranian martyrs killed by the IRGC during the crackdown in black bags, and quasi-apocalyptic scenes of explosions in Tehran. And then, just as quickly, they disappear from collective attention. Not because the suffering ends, but because the audience moves on.
Lenka is a trans woman, an activist, a parent, a podcaster with two shows called V Tranzu and TLK–Talkshow with Lenka Králová, a person with an incredible sense of fashion, an artist, former IT developer and a new member of the Czech Pirate Party.
Lenka is a trans woman, an activist, a parent, a podcaster with two shows called V Tranzu and TLK–Talkshow with Lenka Králová, a person with an incredible sense of fashion, an artist, former IT developer and a new member of the Czech Pirate Party.
Palestine is often discussed as a geopolitical conflict. Yet it is fundamentally a feminist issue. Palestinian women face violence due to the genocide Israel is committing, seen through reproductive violence and healthcare deprivation. This leads Palestinian women to be disproportionately affected by different forms of violence fundamentally shaped by the occupation.
War is war. No matter when it starts, where it is or who ends up carrying its weight. I’m usually the first to argue that suffering should never be compared, but in the cases of Sudan and Yemen, comparison becomes almost unavoidable. Not to decide who suffers more nor to rank tragedies, but to confront the world’s selective outrage and the chilling apathetic silence that allows some wars to disappear from collective memory.
To be Algerian-French means learning about your history through the voice of the colonizer. And it is more often than not immensely glorified.
“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.
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.
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.
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.