Again, Fanon’s words come to mind: “The town belonging to the colonized people . . . the native town, the Negro village, the medina, the reservation, is a place of ill fame, peopled by men of evil repute. They are born there, it matters little where or how; they die there, it matters not where, nor how.”

In these three poems by academic and poet Mohja Kahf, Syria is written not only as the site of violent … Continue reading "Three Poems by Mohja Kahf"

As we reflect on Syria’s last fifty-three years under the Assad regime and look to the future of the country … Continue reading "Two Poems by Banah el Ghadbanah"

Gaza is the ghost of the world, the persistent presence that, despite all efforts to erase it, to make it disappear, remains and resists. It is Gaza that has shown us the impossible: the horrors of settler colonialism at its most extreme and brutal, the ways in which resistance is possible in the smallest of gestures, and finally, the triumphant acts of return and reunification following the now-broken ceasefire agreement. The ghost of the world has shown us the world for what it is and what must be done, what alliances must be drawn in order to resist it. 

are you a total fucking idiot do you know anything about gunpowder       have you heard a hand grenade detonate have you seen a combat medic amputate eighty legs in one go do you understand what 75% saltpeter 15% charcoal and 10% sulfur can achieve

Subtlety: something I go back and forth worrying about, an oscillation between “not that deep” or “not worth it” to address, but with the knowledge that it is still cutting, cutting, cutting. 

The 2025 AWP Conference & Bookfair takes place March 26–29, 2025 in Los Angeles, California. Join Mizna for a long … Continue reading "Mizna at AWP 2025"

Thunder drummed in jubilation as our tires tangoed with the city’s cobblestones, and we rode like Khalid and Abu Obiedah, banging on the city’s gates, claiming Damascus as our own. We were her boys, and she gently embraced us, pulling the cover of rain over to protect us. Our clothes, drenched and heavy with rain, clung tightly. We were soaked to the last inch of our bodies. We wore soft, innocent smiles. Not a word was uttered.

In the past few decades, as liberal cultural institutions have grown more dastardly effective at co-opting and defanging the political … Continue reading "Uncrafted #2: An Interview with Sarah Aziza"

Should I tell you a secret? I’m afraid of the anguish I hold within me. Do people fear their own anguish?