In the late 1980s and early 1990s, it was never easy for a girl to tell her family that she had been harassed. “A girl is her reputation”, a phrase that summed everything up. The matter was buried, the girl punished with isolation and restriction, expected to obey or face consequences. In my case, I faced the punishment.

Doublethink leads to what is known as cognitive dissonance, a theory proposed by psychologist and sociologist Leon Festinger. It describes a state of psychological tension that arises when behavior contradicts belief. The mind tries to resolve this tension by justifying the behavior or modifying the belief.

The Sa‘idi girl is not seeking a rupture with her traditions, nor surrender to restrictions that erase her presence. She seeks a middle space, broad enough for her voice and image without threatening her identity. That space is not yet fully formed, but it remains the clearest challenge facing an entire generation of Sa‘idi women in the age of social media.

It is no longer a secret that the slogans of justice and humanity have turned into a tragic joke. What was once a right people raised their voices to defend has become a heavy-handed jest no one wishes to hear, not because the words are flawed, but because of those who proclaim them.

Since the emergence of the modern state, controlling collective memory has been an essential tool of political power. Memory is rarely left to unfold spontaneously within societies; instead, it is appropriated by state institutions—curricula, media, museums, and even architecture. These mechanisms act as filters, promoting official narratives of history and events to justify the present and legitimize political futures.

It is said that Picasso spent his life learning how to draw like children. What does that even mean? Perhaps he believed that a child is the first to hold pure freedom of expression, untouched by rules, fear, or judgment. As soon as a child begins to grasp the world, he draws lines no one understands, yet he understands them completely because they flow straight from his inner universe.

In Palestine, art has transformed since the Nakba into an existential weapon against erasure and forgetfulness. The drawings of Naji al-Ali, the Palestinian Liberation Organization’s posters, refugee camp murals, and diaspora songs all built a visual and sonic narrative that never stopped resonating, despite oppression and displacement.

In an era when tyranny and oppression are practiced openly, eyes are drawn toward changing perspectives, while traitors dominate every corner. If you are in the midst of a corner, how can you reach anywhere? The corner can swallow you the moment you try to cross it, and attempts to escape death may lead to exile, so you must not stop trying.

Racism, in all its forms, has been one of humanity’s darkest inventions, and its impact has not faded with the end of slavery or the fall of empires. It remains stitched into laws, economies, identities, beauty standards, borders, and even languages.

I don’t ask, and I doubt anyone does, why our youth, even our children, risk their lives on these boats of death. The reasons are obvious to all of us. The real question is: until when?

In Arab contexts, linguistic bias is intertwined with patriarchal social and religious structures that govern gender relations. Language here is far from neutral, it legitimizes inequality and perpetuates it.

Since humans first inhabited the Earth, migration has been an integral part of their experience. It was never merely a physical move from one place to another but a movement imbued with hopes for salvation, a search for livelihood, or the desire for safety.

Recognizing women’s right to be central voices in memory and justice is not a feminist luxury, it is a condition for survival. For the wombs that have become archives of life and death are the ones telling the world: We are here... and we will not be erased.

I’ve often wondered why the world’s problems seem like an endless maze. When we think about climate change, fear grips us; when we hear about migration, our anxiety deepens. Yet upon reflection, it becomes clear that these issues are not isolated,  they are interwoven threads in a single fabric that shapes our world and challenges us to rethink what social justice truly means.

Irregular migration from the Horn of Africa to Yemen is both a humanitarian and security crisis. Without effective development policies and safe alternatives, migrants will continue to face dangers, and Yemen will continue to bear the burden.

By Shatha Barhoush In a time when pens are asked to paint rainbows, I find myself unable to decorate reality with false colors. I am not...

Why is the Arab Spring absent, the squares filled with chants for freedom, the people who paid with their blood for dignity? Why do we not teach the story of Gaza, writing a new epic every day, or Syria, torn apart by the fangs of Bashar al-Assad’s regime?

Despite all hardships, Gaza’s women remain a source of inspiration. I see them studying, working, finding ways to survive, and helping each other through the harshest moments. Some have lost homes or loved ones, yet they never lose the ability to rise. They teach us that strength does not come from easy circumstances but from a heart full of hope. Each day, they prove they are the true foundation of a cohesive society, and that empowering them is not optional, it is the path

Since the dawn of history, women have been at the heart of civilization-building, yet they have long endured marginalization and deprivation of even the most basic rights.

The Nepalese youth demonstrated that true revolution requires a complete generational and moral break from the past.