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Middle Eastern / North African Tattoo Artists
Queering Tattoo Culture
ARYANA GOODARZI— I can attest that almost every queer person I know has at least one tattoo. It is still rare to find Middle Eastern/North African (MENA) tattoo artists in the states, and for a huge cultural moment to be generated by queer MENA people makes me proud – and its implications go far beyond tattoos. Born in the West and raised in the diaspora, these artists found themselves able to hold the at-onceness of their identities through ink.
As I write this, I can count 15 tattoos on myself, many of which have queer and MENA undertones. I have an overtly sapphic Georgia O’Keefe tattoo, a Botero painting of a man in a dress, and more. I’m currently saving up money to schedule my next tattoo appointment for my current fixation: a sketch of one of Pippa Garner’s art pieces.
The first time I got a tattoo, I was 20. I went to the nearest tattoo shop I could find that took walk ins. I’ve had heavily inked, tough-looking guys tattoo very queer pieces on me, as I’m sure many of us have. I didn’t chitchat with the tattoo artist, as he clearly didn’t seem to care to. After a few more experiences like that, I began to think that the tattoo artist was as important to me as the art itself. I know there are tattoo artists near me that have the artistic skill to give me the tattoo I want. However, I would rather just hold off on until I can get on a queer MENA tattoo artists’ books.
Several years ago, at the New York City Dyke March, amid thousands of people. I spotted someone who, by all indications, appeared to be queer. Then, judging by one of their tattoos, I realized they are also Iranian. That was the first time I saw the established traditional tattoo style colliding with MENA art. Though I yearned for it, I had never been tattooed by another queer MENA person, as I didn’t know any who were tattoo artists. I’ve often fantasized about how our culture could be embodied in traditional tattooing. I’m currently working with an artist on a lady head resting on a roaring black panther’s head as a back piece—a common tattoo flash in American traditional style—but with thick, connected eyebrows, and full, wavy black hair decorated with some ornaments in red ink.

In August 2023, I wanted a piece of art, by a queer Syrian named Yasmin Almokhamad-Sarkisian. If I went to a MENA tattoo artist, they told me, I wouldn’t have to pay them commission. When I put out a call for one, I was introduced to several queer MENA tattoo artists – in New York City, Montréal, and Mexico City.
This goes beyond tattoos; it’s about cultural reclamation. Historically, the experiences of queer and trans people, especially that of MENA diasporas, have been divided, kept apart by a culture that uses shame and repression, hugely influenced by Whiteness’ hold on both queerness and tattooing. There is a new generation queer MENA tattoo artists who are shifting the homogeneity of queer, MENA, and tattoo culture without permission from, or pleading with, Whiteness. These tattoo artists talk about a culture that is both necessary and beautiful for queer MENA people, and what it means to bring tattoos in.
Nassim (Sema) Dayoub, @seem.tattoo, is a trans Arab tattoo artist based in Brooklyn, New York. I spent an afternoon last March in conversation with them as they tattooed me. We spoke further about ink and identity.
Tattoos have provided life-giving moments for me, where artists are not just creators but messengers. On the Nostrand A and G train over to Nassim’s tattoo shop, the reality of the upcoming tattoo and the conversation we would be having was beginning to settle. It was deep in my stomach, where it took root, and a mix of pre-tattoo nerves and excitement grew to my head.
Not every tattoo has to be overtly queer or of MENA influence. For many queer people, tattoos can be a form of gender affirming care. There’s sanitation, there’s some blood, and your body looks different after the process. The experience of agency that tattoos can provide can also help people get to a point to pursue other forms of gender affirmation. It’s a relatively affordable and accessible way to transition.
Alive with the buzzing tattoo machine and the needle’s cat- scratching sensation digging into my skin, Nassim told me about how as soon as they learned what top surgery was, they knew they wanted to get it: “I didn’t grow up with a lot of money and I didn’t have health insurance. I still don’t. I was like, ‘How am I going to [get top surgery]?’ I was saving up for years. While I was saving up, I was experiencing so much gender dysphoria that eventually I decided to just get my whole chest tattooed. My friend Karina did it. That kind of held off some of the gender dysphoria for a few years. Even after I got top surgery, when the bandages came off, I remember I thought, ‘Damn, even if I got top surgery years and years ago, when I first realized it was something I wanted…If I didn’t have tattoos, I would still feel dysphoric.’ The tattoos ground me in my body in a way that’s kind of separate from gender.”
After a break, as I laid back down on my stomach and Nassim dipped the tattoo pen in more red ink, we began talking about how their identity as a trans MENA person informs their relationship with tattooing. Scanning the walls of their tattoo shop for past stencils, they told me that their tattoo style is somewhat American traditional: “I love tattoos that look like tattoos. I like bold lines and bright colors – the technical aspects of a tattoo that make it last a really long time as someone ages. However, there’s a lot I can’t relate to at all. I like the design principles, and then subbing in gay shit. My queerness and Arabness is in imagery.”

I spoke to another tattoo artist, who is based in Montréal. Antar, @grungycorpsetattoo, is Coptic (North African Indigenous), nonbinary, and transmasculine, and has been tattooing for four years. Unable to fly out to them for this interview, I found my hands moving over each of my tattoos as we spoke, like they were a portal to Montréal. Collecting tattoos and the practice of tattooing is more than just art to Antar. 90% of the people they tattoo are queer and/or trans. I hope to be one of the next. They also started getting tattoos before they had access to medical gender affirming care, like testosterone. Unable to control how they were being perceived, Antar pursued tattoos as an alternative avenue of gender affirming care, and the agency it provided allowed them to assert themselves the way they wanted.
I have one of my favorite queer Iranian paintings from the Qajar era tattooed on the back of my upper arm. There was a lot of gender queerness during that time and in many paintings, you cannot tell who the “man” or “woman” is or if it even is a man or woman – perhaps it’s a queer couple. There is a Western hold on queerness that cannot fathom my Iranianness, and a lack of imagination of Iranian identity that made me think I wasn’t as Iranian because I’m queer. We are existing where others once did. There’s a tethering, a pull that the art that is these tattoos honor.
Sema started tattooing eight years ago. “At the time in Chicago, it was more underground tattooing. There were very few queer tattooers that I knew, and definitely no other queer Arab tattooers. That has changed so much in the past eight years, especially in New York – there are my coworkers Haitham, @_sukhmat, and Hassan, @scutttle.butt. It’s been the best thing, and it makes me excited to not be the only [queer Arab tattoo artist]. I’m sure I wasn’t ever the only one, but the only one I knew.”
Ultimately, tattoos and tattoo practices are not going to change the laws; there are at least 600 anti-queer and trans bills being considered across the country, LGBTQ+ people experience higher suicide and targeted homicide rates, and housing and employment discrimination, among many other things. Still, the practices of these queer MENA tattoo artists, and their relationship to tattoos, celebrates the at-onceness of our identities through ink, both archiving our existence and increasing our willfulness.

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Global Echoes of Resistance:
Artists Harnessing Art, Culture, and Ancestry
Yasmin Ali
{
"article":
{
"title" : "Middle Eastern / North African Tattoo Artists: Queering Tattoo Culture",
"author" : "Aryana Goodarzi",
"category" : "essays",
"tags" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/middle-eastern-north-african-artists-queering-tattoo-culture",
"date" : "2025-02-04 15:33:00 -0500",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/queering-tattoo-1.jpg",
"excerpt" : "ARYANA GOODARZI— I can attest that almost every queer person I know has at least one tattoo. It is still rare to find Middle Eastern/North African (MENA) tattoo artists in the states, and for a huge cultural moment to be generated by queer MENA people makes me proud – and its implications go far beyond tattoos. Born in the West and raised in the diaspora, these artists found themselves able to hold the at-onceness of their identities through ink.",
"content" : "ARYANA GOODARZI— I can attest that almost every queer person I know has at least one tattoo. It is still rare to find Middle Eastern/North African (MENA) tattoo artists in the states, and for a huge cultural moment to be generated by queer MENA people makes me proud – and its implications go far beyond tattoos. Born in the West and raised in the diaspora, these artists found themselves able to hold the at-onceness of their identities through ink.As I write this, I can count 15 tattoos on myself, many of which have queer and MENA undertones. I have an overtly sapphic Georgia O’Keefe tattoo, a Botero painting of a man in a dress, and more. I’m currently saving up money to schedule my next tattoo appointment for my current fixation: a sketch of one of Pippa Garner’s art pieces.The first time I got a tattoo, I was 20. I went to the nearest tattoo shop I could find that took walk ins. I’ve had heavily inked, tough-looking guys tattoo very queer pieces on me, as I’m sure many of us have. I didn’t chitchat with the tattoo artist, as he clearly didn’t seem to care to. After a few more experiences like that, I began to think that the tattoo artist was as important to me as the art itself. I know there are tattoo artists near me that have the artistic skill to give me the tattoo I want. However, I would rather just hold off on until I can get on a queer MENA tattoo artists’ books.Several years ago, at the New York City Dyke March, amid thousands of people. I spotted someone who, by all indications, appeared to be queer. Then, judging by one of their tattoos, I realized they are also Iranian. That was the first time I saw the established traditional tattoo style colliding with MENA art. Though I yearned for it, I had never been tattooed by another queer MENA person, as I didn’t know any who were tattoo artists. I’ve often fantasized about how our culture could be embodied in traditional tattooing. I’m currently working with an artist on a lady head resting on a roaring black panther’s head as a back piece—a common tattoo flash in American traditional style—but with thick, connected eyebrows, and full, wavy black hair decorated with some ornaments in red ink.In August 2023, I wanted a piece of art, by a queer Syrian named Yasmin Almokhamad-Sarkisian. If I went to a MENA tattoo artist, they told me, I wouldn’t have to pay them commission. When I put out a call for one, I was introduced to several queer MENA tattoo artists – in New York City, Montréal, and Mexico City.This goes beyond tattoos; it’s about cultural reclamation. Historically, the experiences of queer and trans people, especially that of MENA diasporas, have been divided, kept apart by a culture that uses shame and repression, hugely influenced by Whiteness’ hold on both queerness and tattooing. There is a new generation queer MENA tattoo artists who are shifting the homogeneity of queer, MENA, and tattoo culture without permission from, or pleading with, Whiteness. These tattoo artists talk about a culture that is both necessary and beautiful for queer MENA people, and what it means to bring tattoos in.Nassim (Sema) Dayoub, @seem.tattoo, is a trans Arab tattoo artist based in Brooklyn, New York. I spent an afternoon last March in conversation with them as they tattooed me. We spoke further about ink and identity.Tattoos have provided life-giving moments for me, where artists are not just creators but messengers. On the Nostrand A and G train over to Nassim’s tattoo shop, the reality of the upcoming tattoo and the conversation we would be having was beginning to settle. It was deep in my stomach, where it took root, and a mix of pre-tattoo nerves and excitement grew to my head.Not every tattoo has to be overtly queer or of MENA influence. For many queer people, tattoos can be a form of gender affirming care. There’s sanitation, there’s some blood, and your body looks different after the process. The experience of agency that tattoos can provide can also help people get to a point to pursue other forms of gender affirmation. It’s a relatively affordable and accessible way to transition.Alive with the buzzing tattoo machine and the needle’s cat- scratching sensation digging into my skin, Nassim told me about how as soon as they learned what top surgery was, they knew they wanted to get it: “I didn’t grow up with a lot of money and I didn’t have health insurance. I still don’t. I was like, ‘How am I going to [get top surgery]?’ I was saving up for years. While I was saving up, I was experiencing so much gender dysphoria that eventually I decided to just get my whole chest tattooed. My friend Karina did it. That kind of held off some of the gender dysphoria for a few years. Even after I got top surgery, when the bandages came off, I remember I thought, ‘Damn, even if I got top surgery years and years ago, when I first realized it was something I wanted…If I didn’t have tattoos, I would still feel dysphoric.’ The tattoos ground me in my body in a way that’s kind of separate from gender.”After a break, as I laid back down on my stomach and Nassim dipped the tattoo pen in more red ink, we began talking about how their identity as a trans MENA person informs their relationship with tattooing. Scanning the walls of their tattoo shop for past stencils, they told me that their tattoo style is somewhat American traditional: “I love tattoos that look like tattoos. I like bold lines and bright colors – the technical aspects of a tattoo that make it last a really long time as someone ages. However, there’s a lot I can’t relate to at all. I like the design principles, and then subbing in gay shit. My queerness and Arabness is in imagery.”I spoke to another tattoo artist, who is based in Montréal. Antar, @grungycorpsetattoo, is Coptic (North African Indigenous), nonbinary, and transmasculine, and has been tattooing for four years. Unable to fly out to them for this interview, I found my hands moving over each of my tattoos as we spoke, like they were a portal to Montréal. Collecting tattoos and the practice of tattooing is more than just art to Antar. 90% of the people they tattoo are queer and/or trans. I hope to be one of the next. They also started getting tattoos before they had access to medical gender affirming care, like testosterone. Unable to control how they were being perceived, Antar pursued tattoos as an alternative avenue of gender affirming care, and the agency it provided allowed them to assert themselves the way they wanted.I have one of my favorite queer Iranian paintings from the Qajar era tattooed on the back of my upper arm. There was a lot of gender queerness during that time and in many paintings, you cannot tell who the “man” or “woman” is or if it even is a man or woman – perhaps it’s a queer couple. There is a Western hold on queerness that cannot fathom my Iranianness, and a lack of imagination of Iranian identity that made me think I wasn’t as Iranian because I’m queer. We are existing where others once did. There’s a tethering, a pull that the art that is these tattoos honor.Sema started tattooing eight years ago. “At the time in Chicago, it was more underground tattooing. There were very few queer tattooers that I knew, and definitely no other queer Arab tattooers. That has changed so much in the past eight years, especially in New York – there are my coworkers Haitham, @_sukhmat, and Hassan, @scutttle.butt. It’s been the best thing, and it makes me excited to not be the only [queer Arab tattoo artist]. I’m sure I wasn’t ever the only one, but the only one I knew.”Ultimately, tattoos and tattoo practices are not going to change the laws; there are at least 600 anti-queer and trans bills being considered across the country, LGBTQ+ people experience higher suicide and targeted homicide rates, and housing and employment discrimination, among many other things. Still, the practices of these queer MENA tattoo artists, and their relationship to tattoos, celebrates the at-onceness of our identities through ink, both archiving our existence and increasing our willfulness."
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"title" : "Culture Must Be the Moral Compass That Geopolitics and Economics Will Never Be",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "essays",
"tags" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/culture-must-be-the-moral-compass-that-geopolitics-and-economics-will-never-be",
"date" : "2025-07-15 16:14:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/2025_7_Opposing_Nazism_1.png",
"excerpt" : "The widespread cultural rejection of Nazism in the West did not emerge spontaneously from humanity’s innate sense of right and wrong. It was not simply that people around the world, and especially in the West, were naturally alert and to the moral horror of fascism.",
"content" : "The widespread cultural rejection of Nazism in the West did not emerge spontaneously from humanity’s innate sense of right and wrong. It was not simply that people around the world, and especially in the West, were naturally alert and to the moral horror of fascism.Rather, the transformation of Nazism from a nationalist ideology admired by many Western elites into the universal symbol of evil was a story of narrative engineering and the deliberate construction of collective memory. It is a story that reveals a larger truth: culture has always been the moral compass that geopolitics and economics cannot, and will not, provide on their own.And at this moment, it is crucial to understand and use the power of culture to shift geopolitics, and not the other way around.Understanding this history matters today more than ever. Because if it was possible to turn Nazism into the ultimate taboo, it is equally possible to reposition other violent ideologies and state projects—such as Israel’s ongoing system of apartheid and settler colonialism—as morally indefensible. But to do so requires acknowledging that cultural reckonings don’t simply arrive; they are made.Pre-War Ambivalence: When Fascism Was FashionableContrary to the comforting myth that the world naturally recoiled from Nazism, in the 1920s and 1930s many influential Americans and Europeans viewed Hitler’s Germany with admiration. American industrialists like Henry Ford openly praised Hitler’s economic management and fierce opposition to communism. Ford even funded antisemitic propaganda through his publication, The Dearborn Independent. British aristocrats, including the Duke of Windsor, flirted with Nazi sympathies, seeing Germany as a model of discipline and order.It was only when Hitler’s ambitions clashed with the strategic interests of other nations that fascism became intolerable. And even then, many major US and UK companies maintained their business interests with the Nazis, including Ford, IBM, GM (Opel), Standard Oil (now ExxonMobil), Chase Bank, and of course Coca-Cola, who famously created the brand Fanta so that it could break the boycott and do business with Nazi Germany.This distinction is critical: condemnation of Nazism began not as a moral imperative, but as a political necessity. Germany’s aggression threatened the European balance of power, British imperial security, and eventually, American economic and military interests. The moral narrative would only come later, after the fighting was over.It is important to learn from the past and see that only culture can shift perception, and to use culture to shift the economic realities that would otherwise wait to be shaped by politics.Wartime Shifts: From Enemy State to Symbol of EvilWorld War II did not instantly transform public opinion. For many Americans, the war in Europe remained remote until the bombing of Pearl Harbor in December 1941. Even then, the decision to fight Nazi Germany was entangled with power politics: Hitler declared war on the United States first, effectively forcing Roosevelt’s hand.Nevertheless, the war provided fertile ground for a reframing of Nazism. Wartime propaganda efforts by the Allies recast the Nazi regime as a brutal, alien threat to civilization itself. Hollywood joined in: The Great Dictator (1940) ridiculed Hitler’s delusions of grandeur, while Casablanca (1942) romanticized resistance. Images of goose-stepping soldiers, swastika flags, and shattered cities circulated widely.As the Allies advanced, they encountered the first concrete evidence of the Holocaust: ghettos, mass graves, and emaciated survivors. Yet even then, much of this evidence remained unknown to the general public. It was only after liberation that the full horror became impossible to ignore.Post-War Revelation: The Holocaust and the Cultural BreakThe turning point came in 1945, with the liberation of the camps and the Nuremberg Trials. The images and testimonies from Auschwitz, Dachau, and Bergen-Belsen revealed the industrial scale of genocide. Millions murdered with chilling efficiency. A systematic attempt to erase an entire people. For the first time, the abstract notion of “Nazi evil” was grounded in visceral, visual evidence.Sociologist Jeffrey Alexander describes this phenomenon as the cultural construction of trauma. Atrocities do not automatically generate collective memory; they must be narrated, documented, and ritualized until they become an inescapable moral reference point. The Nuremberg Trials played this role by broadcasting confessions and evidence to a global audience. Schools, museums, and the press reinforced the narrative: Nazism was not simply defeated; it was unmasked as pure, irredeemable evil.Cold War Myth-Making: The Free World Versus FascismThe Cold War further cemented this narrative. To build legitimacy against the Soviet Union, the United States and its allies positioned themselves as the moral victors of World War II, the saviors of Europe from fascism. In reality, many of the same powers—Britain, France, and the United States—continued their own brutal colonial projects and enforced systems of racial hierarchy at home.But the cultural story was powerful: the West stood for freedom; the Nazis had embodied totalitarian darkness. School textbooks, popular films, and Holocaust memorialization institutionalized this story, forging a shared moral identity that could be contrasted against communist “evil.”This process was neither accidental nor purely altruistic. It was a strategic use of culture to consolidate power, project moral authority, and deflect scrutiny of the West’s own violence. The lesson is clear: collective memory is not a neutral mirror of reality. It is built, contested, and leveraged.The Sociological Core: Why Public Opinion ShiftsTo understand how an ideology once admired by many became the universal emblem of inhumanity, we must look beyond military defeat. Several mechanisms combined:Symbolic Association: Nazism transformed from a nationalist experiment into a symbol of mechanized genocide and racial supremacy.Cultural Trauma: The Holocaust became a shared wound that redefined moral frameworks across the West.Visual Storytelling: Images and films, rather than mere text, anchored the horror in the public imagination.State Rebranding: The Allies used anti-Nazism to build a postwar myth of moral superiority, even as they pursued imperial ambitions elsewhere.These insights are not simply historical trivia. They are a roadmap for how cultural shifts happen—and how they can be deliberately engineered.Israel, Palestine, and the Next Cultural ReckoningToday, Israel’s treatment of Palestinians—systematic dispossession, apartheid laws, and repeated military assaults—remains largely protected in Western discourse. Politicians insist on Israel’s right to defend itself. Media narratives default to framing the violence as a “conflict” rather than an occupation. Solidarity with Palestinians is often smeared as antisemitism.Yet history shows that moral consensus is not fixed. With enough sustained exposure, narrative work, and cultural pressure, the global imagination can be reshaped. Just as Nazism’s legitimacy eroded, so too can the idea of Israel as an unassailable “victim-state.”This is not a call to equate the Holocaust with the Nakba—each is historically distinct. It is, however, an argument that the techniques which made Nazism morally intolerable—trauma visualization, reframing language, relentless storytelling—are tools available to any liberation movement.Here is how such a transformation could unfold:1. Narrative InversionIsrael’s founding story must be contextualized: a state born from the trauma of European antisemitism that, in turn, created the dispossession of another people. Exposing this contradiction—survivors becoming occupiers—breaks the simplistic binary of oppressor and victim.2. Visual Culture and TestimonyJust as photographs of emaciated bodies in camps forced an awakening, so too can images of bombed Gazan neighborhoods, amputee children, and anguished families. Digital archives and survivor testimonies can anchor these experiences in collective memory.3. Linguistic ReframingTerms like “apartheid,” “settler colonialism,” and “ethnic cleansing” shift perception from tragic conflict to structural violence. Legal frameworks—UN reports, ICC filings—can fortify these terms with institutional legitimacy.4. Media SaturationBypassing corporate media gatekeepers requires a multi-platform strategy: TikTok clips, Substack essays, livestreamed trials of Israeli policy, viral documentaries. Saturation is what makes denial unsustainable.5. Global RealignmentPositioning Palestine within global struggles—Black liberation, Indigenous sovereignty, anti-colonial movements—expands solidarity. When the Global South embraces Palestinian liberation as part of its own decolonization, moral isolation will deepen.6. Cultural Institutions and EducationJust as Holocaust education became standard in Western curricula, Nakba education can be mainstreamed. Museums, memorials, and fellowships can institutionalize remembrance and scholarship.7. Policy Pressure and Legal ActionPublic consensus is the soil in which policy change grows. Boycotts, divestment, and sanctions, coupled with legal prosecutions of war crimes, transform moral clarity into material consequences.8. Making Occupation a LiabilityWhen supporting Israel becomes politically and financially risky—akin to defending apartheid South Africa—corporate and governmental alliances will fracture. Reputational risk can be a powerful motivator.Conclusion: Cultural Reckonings Are EngineeredIt was not “natural” for the West to reject Nazism. It took defeat, trauma exposure, and decades of cultural labor to enshrine anti-Nazism as a foundational moral principle. Similarly, it is not inevitable that the world will recognize Israel’s oppression of Palestinians as an urgent moral crisis. It will require strategic, sustained, and courageous cultural work.Culture—more than geopolitics or economics—sets the terms of what is morally acceptable. It is the compass that can point humanity toward justice. But only if we are willing to pick it up and use it."
}
,
{
"title" : "Neptune Frost",
"author" : "Saul Williams, Anisia Uzeyman",
"category" : "screenings",
"tags" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/eip-screening-neptune-frost",
"date" : "2025-07-12 16:00:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/netune-frost-movie-poster.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Thank you for all who joined the special screening of Neptune Frost, with exclusive introduction from writer/director Saul Williams. Stay tuned and become a member for our next edition of our EIP monthly screening series.",
"content" : "Thank you for all who joined the special screening of Neptune Frost, with exclusive introduction from writer/director Saul Williams. Stay tuned and become a member for our next edition of our EIP monthly screening series.Multi-hyphenate, multidisciplinary artist Saul Williams brings his unique dynamism to this Afrofuturist vision, a sci-fi punk musical that’s a visually wondrous amalgamation of themes, ideas, and songs that Williams has explored in his work, notably his 2016 album MartyrLoserKing. Co-directed with the Rwandan-born artist and cinematographer Anisia Uzeyman, the film takes place in the hilltops of Burundi, where a group of escaped coltan miners form an anti-colonialist computer hacker collective. From their camp in an otherworldly e-waste dump, they attempt a takeover of the authoritarian regime exploiting the region’s natural resources – and its people. When an intersex runaway and an escaped coltan miner find each other through cosmic forces, their connection sparks glitches within the greater divine circuitry. Set between states of being – past and present, dream and waking life, colonized and free, male and female, memory and prescience – Neptune Frost is an invigorating and empowering direct download to the cerebral cortex and a call to reclaim technology for progressive political ends."
}
,
{
"title" : "Uranus & The Cycle of Liberation",
"author" : "Céline Semaan",
"category" : "",
"tags" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/uranus-and-the-cycle-of-liberation",
"date" : "2025-07-11 16:25:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Uranus.jpg",
"excerpt" : "I’m definitely not an astrologer. I don’t even know where Uranus is in my chart. But I do know how to read systems and translate them to the public. What I’ve learned, through years of designing for social and environmental justice, is that history doesn’t just unfold. It cycles upwards. And if we learn to pay attention to those cycles, we can prepare—not just to resist collapse, but to shape what comes after.",
"content" : "I’m definitely not an astrologer. I don’t even know where Uranus is in my chart. But I do know how to read systems and translate them to the public. What I’ve learned, through years of designing for social and environmental justice, is that history doesn’t just unfold. It cycles upwards. And if we learn to pay attention to those cycles, we can prepare—not just to resist collapse, but to shape what comes after.Even if you don’t care about astrology, the timing of these celestial movements provides us a way to examine macro trends that we can learn from. History may not exactly repeat itself, but it does echo.Uranus—the planet astrologers associated with upheaval, rebellion, and technological transformation—entered Aries in May 2010 and stayed there until 2018. That cycle coincided with a surge in political uprisings, many of which redefined our understanding of mass resistance in the 21st century.The Arab Spring began in late 2010, starting in Tunisia and erupting across the Middle East. It wasn’t just about corrupt regimes—it was about reclaiming voice, land, and dignity after decades of foreign interference, neoliberal decay, and post-colonial repression. From Tahrir Square to Pearl Roundabout, these movements were leaderless, fast, and media-savvy.Occupy Wall Street followed in 2011, challenging the violent inequality embedded in late capitalism. In 2013, Black Lives Matter emerged after the murder of Trayvon Martin, later exploding into a global uprising in 2014 and again in 2020. Standing Rock (2016) reminded the world that Indigenous resistance was not only alive but visionary. #MeToo (2017) became an international reckoning with patriarchy and sexual violence, a reminder that personal testimony is political terrain.Across these years, protests were decentralized, digitized, and visual. Social media moved from a personal tool to a frontline of collective witnessing. Livestreams replaced press conferences. Memes became political language. Design itself became a protest, and Slow Factory built the visual language for it.This was not coincidental but archetypal, because Uranus in Aries, even symbolically, tells the story of radical ignition, collective fire, visionary unrest.And yet, none of it was sustained. What followed was a backlash: fascist resurgence, climate denial, propaganda wars, and intensified state surveillance. We saw mass demobilization, media fatigue, and widespread disinformation. Many of the movements that sparked global hope were either crushed, co-opted, or burned out.So now, as Uranus moves through Taurus (2018–2026), the terrain has shifted. Taurus is about materiality, land, value, and stability. It demands we not only rise up, which is crucial, but to build. We are asked to not only critique systems, but replace them. Not just “burn it all down”, but radically imagine what’s next.This is the political and spiritual context I hold as I continue my work.At Slow Factory, we spent the past decade offering free education, cultural strategy, and ecological design rooted in climate justice and human rights. And with Everything is Political, we’re building an independent media platform not beholden to corporate donors or foundation filters—a place where movement memory, critical analysis, and cultural clarity live. If we don’t design the next phase of liberation, someone else will design it for us.This work isn’t about virality. It’s about continuity. We are here to hold political memory. To protect the intellectual commons. To ensure that the next generation doesn’t forget who stood for truth—and who profited from silence.The ask is to build the very systems we are all looking for, and for that we deserve the time, energy and support to imagine, design and co-create as a community. We can’t delegate our liberation to politicians, and we certainly won’t see startups capitalizing on the changes our society needs. Perhaps we will witness the hyper privatization of every single service our communities need, but we must strategize for during and after collapse. Funding structures will have to be challenged, as they are designed to sustain themselves and uphold status quo. However, we are witnessing the collapse of every industry: media, education, banking, all industries we rely on, will be challenged. We are going to need to rely on our creative skills and our ability to build true solidarity across our communities towards a common goal outside of dogma and division. It’s a cultural moment, and we are here for it.Resistance isn’t just about protest. It’s about imagination. And imagination requires discipline, community, and space.We are creating that space right here. And together we can co-create together if everybody puts in effort and care. For now, we are imagining what systems of mitigation amidst systems collapse will look like. Will we outsource our infrastructure to highly funded Silicon Valley funded platforms feeding off of public data feeding ads markets and Ai learning in real time from our work? Or are we truly invested in building sovereign media? I personally invest in the latter, and hope you all join us. Because we are the majority, and truly if we align we are unstoppable."
}
]
}