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Moz

Who are you as a human being? Outside of the art you do, walk us through your daily habits and interests.
Outside of my art, I’m someone who observes a lot silently. I’m drawn to energies, people’s nuances, and fleeting moments. I try to live slowly even when everything around me moves fast. My days usually start quite late. I’ve always been more of a night thinker than a morning one. I usually go to the gym or run because it helps me ground myself mentally. I listen to a lot of music, from Raï to Reggae, and watch a TON of movies.

If you could reflect on your youth and childhood, what moments have been deeply ingrained in you that have now become or affected a part of your artistic practice?
A lot of it comes from silence, the unspoken thing. Growing up, I was sensitive to tension, to emotion without words. It stayed with me; there’s a beauty in silence.

Do you feel like your art makes political statements? If this is so, have you always approached your work this way?
There are political elements in my work for sure; it’s infused with many battles.
It aims to humanize those who are usually overlooked or stereotyped. That’s political to me. I try to do that through my lens. I’ve always approached my art this way, very subconsciously.
I’m interested in reclaiming narratives, in offering tenderness where there’s usually harshness. There are a lot of untold stories that deserve a visual journey that many can relate to. These stories aren’t often told authentically.

This issue’s theme is “Mother Earth.” How, if at all, does your work address our relationship to the Earth or to the living?
I’d say the way I capture the light is my take on it, the way I aim to capture the stories of all these souls, these humans, through the click of a camera. My approach to places, spaces and our roots is also very much part of that narrative. It’s what grounds all of us, our roots, our relationship to the ground we walk on. It’s this respect for our surroundings, for the environments we’re in, for our human nature, which often contrasts with nature itself. That’s my take.

More from: Moz
Keep reading:
Global Echoes of Resistance:
Artists Harnessing Art, Culture, and Ancestry
Brea Andy
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"title" : "Moz",
"author" : "Moz",
"category" : "interviews",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/moz",
"date" : "2025-05-12 12:48:00 -0400",
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"content" : "Who are you as a human being? Outside of the art you do, walk us through your daily habits and interests.Outside of my art, I’m someone who observes a lot silently. I’m drawn to energies, people’s nuances, and fleeting moments. I try to live slowly even when everything around me moves fast. My days usually start quite late. I’ve always been more of a night thinker than a morning one. I usually go to the gym or run because it helps me ground myself mentally. I listen to a lot of music, from Raï to Reggae, and watch a TON of movies.If you could reflect on your youth and childhood, what moments have been deeply ingrained in you that have now become or affected a part of your artistic practice?A lot of it comes from silence, the unspoken thing. Growing up, I was sensitive to tension, to emotion without words. It stayed with me; there’s a beauty in silence.As a French-Algerian kid growing up in the suburbs, you end up in between cultures, in between worlds, constantly adapting your behavior to the room you’re in. That duality informs my work; it’s about showing what’s often unseen or misread, giving voice to the in-betweens. That space between rejection and adaptability… it’s a defense mechanism perhaps too.Do you feel like your art makes political statements? If this is so, have you always approached your work this way?There are political elements in my work for sure; it’s infused with many battles.It aims to humanize those who are usually overlooked or stereotyped. That’s political to me. I try to do that through my lens. I’ve always approached my art this way, very subconsciously.I’m interested in reclaiming narratives, in offering tenderness where there’s usually harshness. There are a lot of untold stories that deserve a visual journey that many can relate to. These stories aren’t often told authentically.This issue’s theme is “Mother Earth.” How, if at all, does your work address our relationship to the Earth or to the living?I’d say the way I capture the light is my take on it, the way I aim to capture the stories of all these souls, these humans, through the click of a camera. My approach to places, spaces and our roots is also very much part of that narrative. It’s what grounds all of us, our roots, our relationship to the ground we walk on. It’s this respect for our surroundings, for the environments we’re in, for our human nature, which often contrasts with nature itself. That’s my take."
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"author" : "Collis Browne",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/100-years-of-genocidal-intent",
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"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/1920-jerusalem.jpg",
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"content" : "Every single Israeli prime minister, president, and major Zionist leader has voiced clear intent to erase the Palestinian people from their lands, either by forced expulsion, or military violence. From Herzl and Chaim Weizmann to Ben-Gurion to Netanyahu, the record is not ambiguous:{% for person in site.data.genocidalquotes %}{{ person.name }}{% if person.title %}<p class=\"title-xs\">{{ person.title }}</p>{% endif %}{% for quote in person.quotes %}“{{ quote.text }}”{% if quote.source %}— {{ quote.source }}{% endif %}{% endfor %}{% endfor %}"
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{
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"category" : "",
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"content" : "No one expected a generation raised on smartphones and TikTok clips to ignite a spark of protest shaking Morocco’s streets. But Gen Z, the children of the internet and speed, have stepped forward to write a new chapter in the history of uprisings, in their own style.The wave of anger began with everyday struggles that cut deep into young people’s lives: soaring prices, lack of social justice, and the silencing of their voices in politics. They didn’t need traditional leaders or party manifestos; the movement was born out of a single hashtag that spread like wildfire, transforming individual frustration into collective momentum.One of the sharpest contradictions fueling the protests was the billions poured into World Cup-related preparations, while ordinary citizens remained marginalized when it came to healthcare and education.This awareness quickly turned into chants and slogans echoing through the streets: “Dignity begins with schools and hospitals, not with putting on a show for the world.”What set this movement apart was not only its presence on the streets, but also the way it reinvented protest itself:Live filming: Phone cameras revealed events moment by moment, exposing abuses instantly.Memes and satire: A powerful weapon to dismantle authority’s aura, turning complex political discourse into viral, shareable content.Decentralized networks: No leader, no party, just small, fast-moving groups connected online, able to appear and disappear with agility.This generation doesn’t believe in grand speeches or delayed promises. They demand change here and now. Moving seamlessly between the physical and digital realms, they turn the street into a stage of revolt, and Instagram Live into an alternative media outlet.What’s happening in Morocco strongly recalls the Arab Spring of 2011, when young people flooded the streets with the same passion and spontaneity, armed only with belief in their power to spark change. But Gen Z added their own twist, digital tools, meme culture, and the pace of a hyper-connected world.Morocco’s Gen Z uprising is not just another protest, but a living experiment in how a digital generation can redefine politics itself. The spark may fade, but the mark it leaves on young people’s collective consciousness cannot be erased.Photo credits: Mosa’ab Elshamy, Zacaria Garcia, Abdel Majid Bizouat, Marouane Beslem"
}
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{
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"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/a-shutdown-exposes-how-fragile-us-governance-really-is",
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"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Cover_Gov_ShutDown.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Each time the federal government shutters its doors, we hear the same reassurances: essential services will continue, Social Security checks will still arrive, planes won’t fall from the sky. This isn’t the first Governmental shutdown, they’ve happened 22 times since 1976, and their toll is real.",
"content" : "Each time the federal government shutters its doors, we hear the same reassurances: essential services will continue, Social Security checks will still arrive, planes won’t fall from the sky. This isn’t the first Governmental shutdown, they’ve happened 22 times since 1976, and their toll is real.Shutdowns don’t mean the government stops functioning. They mean millions of federal workers are asked to keep the system running without pay. Air traffic controllers, border patrol agents, food inspectors — people whose jobs underpin both public safety and economic life — are told their labor matters, but their livelihoods don’t. People have to pay the price of bad bureaucracy in the world’s most powerful country, if governance is stalled, workers must pay with their salaries and their groceries.In 1995 and 1996, clashes between President Bill Clinton and House Speaker Newt Gingrich triggered two shutdowns totaling 27 days. In 2013, a 16-day standoff over the Affordable Care Act furloughed 850,000 workers. And in 2018–2019, the longest shutdown in U.S. history stretched 35 days, as President Trump refused to reopen the government without funding for a border wall. That impasse left 800,000 federal employees without paychecks and cost the U.S. economy an estimated $11 billion — $3 billion of it permanently lost.More troubling is what happens when crises strike during shutdowns. The United States is living in an age of accelerating climate disasters: historic floods in Vermont, wildfire smoke choking New York, hurricanes pounding Florida. These emergencies do not pause while Congress fights over budgets. Yet a shutdown means furloughed NOAA meteorologists, suspended EPA enforcement, and delayed FEMA programs. In the most climate-vulnerable decade of our lifetimes, we are choosing paralysis over preparedness.This vulnerability didn’t emerge overnight. For decades, the American state has been hollowed out under the logic of austerity and privatization, while military spending has remained sacrosanct. That imbalance is why budgets collapse under the weight of endless resources for war abroad, too few for resilience at home.Shutdowns send a dangerous message. They normalize instability. They tell workers they are disposable. They make clear that in our system, climate resilience and public health aren’t pillars of our democracy but rather insignificant in the face of power and greed. And each time the government closes, it becomes easier to imagine a future where this isn’t the exception but the rule.The United States cannot afford to keep running on shutdown politics. The climate crisis, economic inequality, and the challenges of sustaining democracy itself demand continuity, not collapse. We need a politics that treats stability and resilience not as partisan victories, but as basic commitments to one another. Otherwise, the real shutdown isn’t just of the government — it’s of democracy itself."
}
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