Editor's Note: Issue 12
Updated: Mar 28
Friends, there's a lot we could say here that would put us wildly out of our depth. As is the case with almost every issue, it seems that we're writing from a completely different world in some cases, while in others, we seem even more deeply entrenched in the world we know so well.
In trying to come up with something to say for this issue, I'm reminded of the words of abolitionist, educator, and activist Mariame Kaba in her interview with The Intercept:
Hope is a discipline . . . It’s work to be hopeful. It’s not like a fuzzy feeling. Like, you have to actually put in energy, time, and you have to be clear-eyed, and you have to hold fast to having a vision. It’s a hard thing to maintain. But it matters to have it, to believe that it’s possible, to change the world. You know, that we don’t live in a predetermined, predestined world where like nothing we do has an impact.
Through Kaba's words, we are reminded not only of mental and emotional work of hope, but the way it manifests in an imperative to act.
Hope is a shadow without action to give it form, and being inundated by atrocity makes it easy to fall into grief. But you, reader, are the only you with the gifts you have to offer, the only one who can offer what you do to our siblings and neighbors in crisis.
You are the only one who can ask yourself how best to lend support and advocacy for our Asian-American and Pacific Islander neighbors experiencing unprecedented spikes of hatred and violence. Or what protecting our trans siblings at all ages means to you. You are the only you who can decide what it means to resist the encroachment of fascism. If there is any benefit to an inundation of atrocity, it's that you only need to choose where to direct your energy, to direct your hope.
For Season 4, we chose the crocodilian, and for our first issue, we chose to represent it through the classic children's story Frog and Toad. By choosing to pair so long-lived an animal with a story of steadfast friendship and community, we hope to remind readers of two things. First: to remind ourselves—and our readers—of our commitment to find beauty and playfulness in the grotesque and odd. Second, and perhaps most importantly: to remind ourselves that a well-disciplined hope is enduring, a thing with teeth.
I hope you enjoy what we've made for you.
-Jacqueline Boucher and the Lammergeier Team