No. 9 The Venting Issue: Anger, Love, Hate, and Hope.

As I sat and listened to many of our members voice their fears for their future, the pain of knowing there is so little I could do in that moment was unbearable. The question of what one group of youth will change, the invalidation I have received from even from my own public school officials, hangs over me as a reminder of the power we lack. And perhaps they are right, we will change nothing. For we are not armed with guns, rather pens and pencils. We are not the wealthy, we are not the “educated”, and we are not made of the comfort they are used to.

However, as we approach a historical election this November 3rd, 2020, I would like to remind everyone that despite what you may think, power, fear, and wealth are not the true drivers of change. You will not find true change in the oval office, or the Senate, or the House.

Rather, change is in our streets and our communities. Our true change begins in the pockets of the penniless, the anger of the voiceless, and the injustice of “justice”. Our true change is painful, angering, and exhausting; our true change is in conviction.

Our country lies in the hands and hearts of each of us, not on the debate floor where our lives become politics and our earth becomes reduced to statistics. And in order to create the justice we seek, we call on all of you to remember. For our aspiring thespians, remember that change comes in the form of retelling the missed narratives of history; as their presence on the stage as BIPOC, LGTBQ+, or Neurodivergent folk. For our painters, we ask them to use the absence of words as their canvas, and when words no longer work, the power of a paintbrush will speak for us. We will our writers to continue the stories of our past, present, and futures, to remind a nation that action is not from the voices of many, but rather the unity of many voices.

America: we will shout in our poetry and prose; we will demand in our brushstrokes; we will grieve in the lyrics of our songs. We must create the future we want to see, and that only begins when you are ready to believe in it.

Remember to tell someone you love them today,

Olivia de Guzman

Founder and President, COATA

By: Taj Gulati

Programmed in C++ then finalized in wolfram programming language (WPL) this is a rendition of a cellular automata using rule 30. Cellular automata are mathematical structures governed through strict rules through which complete arbitrary complexity evolves. The notion of seemingly chaotic structures generated from stable oscillating structures is one that deeply intrigues me; The reason i'm going to lengths to describe cellular automata (instead of relying on famous examples such as conway’s game of life, RIP april 2020) is because I feel as if the automata greatly lies within my personal schema of life and the world around me. In life I try to rationalize and objectify everything I can, it’s one of the things that has helped me deal with my anxiety the most, so when I cannot - I find myself in a state of confusion. It’s in this state of turmoil I find myself to be a person experiencing a series of incidents all simple on their own but when viewed holistically can bring about great orders of chaos, confusion, and anger. Much like a cellular automata I remind myself that even though day by day I may make simple choices governed by simple rules that over time, the chaos of life has a tendency to thrust me into ambiguity and that sometimes, I should be okay with that.

Our Rising Hope

By: Izzy Smith

Does it not scare you? Does it not shake you to your core? Does it not make your chest pang and rattle? Hack through your heart strings and drop down to your stomach? Is the vacancy behind your eyes a practised performance? A semblance of indifference? Is the occasionally present dying flicker nestled in your pupils the end of a fiery ball of what once was empathy and hope? Or is it the dance of the pixels on my screen, creating a merciful mirage of something I hope for?

When I used to look up to you, I saw giants. I saw gods. I saw protectors. leaders. My eyes glazed over with a blurry coating of naivety. I grow. I begin to blink away the haze. I reach your eyes and look in. I see you are human. You remain to see yourself as untouchable and towering. What do you do when you realise protectors and your leaders, don’t protect all of you. Don’t lead for all of you. When you see the people who are suppose to guarantee your future, f*ck it up? horribly. Well, we write it out, bold and clear, leading movements in tandem to your own leadership. We hope an example is made. We grow past your violence.

Our hope is a dangerous thing. Hope, when without restriction, is as lethal as the weapons held in opposition. Hope has the capacity to not only crumble pillars, but disintegrate the foundations they rest on.

Our empathy is a dangerous thing. Empathy can stall the earth’s spin and barters it for more. Empathy allows people to realize they aren’t arbitrary pieces to be burdened with another man’s pain.

Our hope and empathy fuels the fires burrowed in our pupils like gasoline. We turn to you. We have cried till our tears run dry. We plead till our voices grow hoarse. We are placed on a pedestal. We are marketed out to consumers who rush out to hoard it.

We are praised, celebrated, congratulated for being young and proactive. We raise our arms and hold up our hands prepared for you to take it. You clap. You wait for the curtain call and when it doesn’t come, you leave. The consequences of your past actions lay heavy on our shoulders, yet we are unable to shrug.

You want the flame in our eyes to begin to flicker. To suffocate our hope till all that is left is labored breathing. Intercept the trades of empathy, till it is only being sent out without any reply.

How does it not scare you? Does it not fester and fizzle in your throat? Does it not crackle and sizzle in polyphony across your skin? I listen to your speeches, I see the potholes in your promises that others seem to skip over or willfully ignore. But that’s the thing with lying isn’t it? Shroud it with truth and no one can contradict you.

You say you are here to lead? Then lead for all of us. motherf*cker.

Poem by Yoko Cahill

Just because I'm a woman

Doesn't mean I'm gentle

Doesn't mean I'm naive

And doesn't mean I'll stay out of your way

Just because I'm pan

Doesn't mean I hate straight people

Doesn't mean I'm broken

And looking for someone to fix me

Just because I'm Japanese

Doesn't mean I can teach you Japanese

Doesn't mean I'm good at math

And study all day long

Just because I'm a woman

Why should I have to fear the men around me

Why is my value based solely on my appearance

Why am I scolded for voicing my opinions.


By: Cameron Dawson