The history of humanity is a history of movement. As the first humans wandered out of Africa and began to spread across Europe and Asia, and then North America and South America, they became the world’s first immigrants. Just as with those who immigrate today, these mass migrations were made up of hundreds or thousands of individuals and families, each with their own story of how they uprooted themselves from their homes and ventured out into the unknown, encountering unfamiliar environments and searching for a better life. In this month’s issue, we feature a few of these personal stories of immigrants, refugees, and migrants.

Our journey begins with The jaunt, a story by Ashish Mehta about a journey with no obvious destination. Two people leave their home with nothing, one following the other, walking into the unknown with a purpose deeper than understanding.

Like these two people, David Ngaruri Kenney left his home in Kenya for the unknown, fleeing persecution for a U.S. basketball scholarship. In A "little death penalty" case, Scott Kuhagen talks with Philip Schrag about Kenney’s legal struggle for political asylum in the United States.

The pressure to assimilate can weigh heavily on a new immigrant, but nostalgia about what’s been left behind can be stronger. In Feeding the need, Amy Brozio-Andrews reviews Broccoli and Other Tales of Food and Love by Lara Vapnyar, a book of short stories about how familiar food can assuage the loneliness of an unfamiliar country.

Immigrant communities can be another way to ease the pain of transition. Rose Symotiuk, who emigrated from Poland as a young child, grew up in the United States without this sense of community. In Notes from a "white immigrant", she writes of what it feels like to grow up as a "stealth foreigner": someone whose skin color doesn’t advertise her place of birth.

As immigrants settle, they gradually become residents, giving birth to children who call their adopted country home. Ties to the "old country" begin to fade as the generations progress, until eventually a family has little connection to its ancestral lands. Jane Varley, the great granddaughter of Lithuanian immigrants, writes in Where the moon is a hole in the sky of her encounter with her great grandparents’ homeland.

In Scenes from a party in Uganda, Jennifer Lee Johnson gets a taste of a newcomer’s cultural disorientation when she discovers that Ugandan relationships function in a very different manner than American relationships — and realizes that this isn’t a bad thing.

Finally, we turn to Adam Marksteiner, who brings us to San Lucas Tolimán, Guatemala for their Holy Week celebrations in his stunning visual essay Semana Santa.

The movement of people has shaped our world in the past and will continue to do so in the future. While those who leave are shaped by the country they move to, so too is their adoptive home shaped by the culture and traditions they bring with them. Far from diluting the dominant society, the culture immigrants bring with them rather enhances a country, bringing the spices, flavors, and ideas from another part of the world and adding them to the mix. It is this constant flow of people from one part of the world to the other that keeps culture vibrant and alive, a growing entity that is beautiful and strong.

Aaron Richner I am a writer/editor turned web developer. I've served as both Editor-in-chief and Technical Developer of In The Fray Magazine over the past 5 years. I am gainfully employed, writing, editing and developing on the web for a small private college in Duluth, MN. I enjoy both silence and heavy metal, John Milton and Stephen King, sunrise and sunset. Like all of us, I contain multitudes.

Freedom of speech is one of the most basic rights we enjoy in the United States. It is something so deeply engrained into our shared culture that we often forget that there is always a price to be paid for speaking out against injustice. Be it the scorn of others who disagree with one’s activism, or be it governmental censorship and outright oppression, social activists often suffer consequences for their views, words, and actions. In this month’s issue, we share stories of people who make their voices heard (and one who doesn’t) and the cost of such freedom.

We begin with Amy Brozio-Andrews’ review of Janis Hallowell’s novel She Was, in which a 1970s Vietnam War protester crosses the line between activism and terrorism. The consequences of this error in judgment follow her as she builds a new life as a suburban mother and community volunteer.

Often the price of speaking out is the feeling futility. In Will Harlem lose its soul? , William Bredderman talks to Philip Bulgar about Manna’s, the Harlem eatery that’s been serving some of the best soul food New York has to offer for more than 20 years. As gentrification spreads into Harlem, the building that houses Manna’s has been purchased and slated for demolition and redevelopment. Bulgar and the residents of Harlem know that a community landmark is in danger, but their voices seem buried under the voices of the wealthy, who stand to make a fortune from a new shopping plaza on the location.

Tumen Ulzii knows more about the consequences of speaking out than most. In Writer in exile , Ming Holden tells of the Inner Mongolian dissident’s struggles against the Chinese government as he tells the story of the oppression of the Inner Mongolian people.

Sometimes, though, the price we pay for not speaking out is just as high. In Dialects , a poem by Rokshani Chokshi, the white skin of the poem’s subject does all her speaking for her. Marlon Rachquel Moore shares the emotions she bears when she stays silent in the face of a common injustice in her article Confessions of a female boxer .

Whether the consequences are physical and oppressive as with Tumen Ulzii, or internal and psychological, as with Marlon Rachquel Moore, the decision to speak out or remain silent always bears a cost. It is for each of us to determine for ourselves if the price of activism is one that we are willing to pay, or if we can afford to remain silent.

Aaron Richner I am a writer/editor turned web developer. I've served as both Editor-in-chief and Technical Developer of In The Fray Magazine over the past 5 years. I am gainfully employed, writing, editing and developing on the web for a small private college in Duluth, MN. I enjoy both silence and heavy metal, John Milton and Stephen King, sunrise and sunset. Like all of us, I contain multitudes.

    Oil may be the foundation of our economy, but water is the foundation of our lives. The average human can go weeks without food, but just a few days without water can mean death. Yet, like oil, our water resources are shrinking. One in six people today lack access to clean drinking water. While hotels in Las Vegas build fountains in the desert, a child dies of a water-related illness every 15 seconds.
    And things are getting worse, not better. The world’s population grows, living standards rise, and global water usage skyrockets. Middle classes expand, but carbon emissions increase, the earth warms and deserts spread, as the Sahara has over northern Africa. The wars of today may be fought over oil, but the wars of tomorrow will be fought over water.
    As with all of our resource shortages, the solutions to any impending water crisis lie in both conservation and innovation. We must seek to both reduce our consumption and develop technologies to allow fewer resources to serve more people. As is often the case, it makes sense to combine both the conservative approach of saving water or energy with a liberal approach of spending money on technological development. The devil, of course, is in the details. 
    In The Coney Island of Gregory Kiss’s mind, Michael Thomas Tedder writes of how one such innovative technology, photovoltaic glass, is being used at the new Stillwell Avenue Subway Terminal at Coney Island in New York. The architect, Gregory Kiss, uses the project to demonstrate that solar power can be both environmentally and fiscally sound, disproving not only political conservatives, but also traditional progressives, who are also inclined to think of solar power as expensive.
    Conventional wisdom holds that the Democratic Party has a lock on the African American voting bloc. Because of this, both parties write off the group’s vote and consequently ignore African American issues. Keli Goff’s Party Crashing: How the Hip-Hop Generation Declared Political Independence, reviewed by our book editor Amy Brozio-Andrews, explores how conventional wisdom might be wrong.
    A disenfranchised electorate can speak to the frustration inherent in politics. Emma Kat Richardson tells of her frustration in attempting to visit the heart of American politics, Washington, D.C., in her essay District of despair. A self-described "political junkie," Richardson’s love of the political process is palpable in her impassioned account.
    Pris Campbell explores how love is a self-conserving force, staying with us in fragments and images long after a relationship has died, in her series of poems entitled Romance and reminiscence. Her poetry is accompanied by artwork by Mary Hillier. 
    In Streethaiku, An Xiao uses the poetic form to inspire a photo essay that, like its namesake, uses a small part to suggest a larger whole. The images discard what is not necessary and capture the essence of their subject, and nothing more.
    Just as an old love can burn brightly for decades or a political voting bloc can be taken for granted for a generation, the power of conservation can dominate our lives in both positive and negative ways. Conservation can mean preserving something valuable, like oil, water, culture, or tradition, or it can mean clinging to old ideas for no more reason than they are what our parents and grandparents believed. The art of conservation is in determining how to strike a balance that maintains the good aspects of conservation while avoiding the bad.
    We hope that you enjoy this month’s issue. Thanks for reading!

Aaron Richner I am a writer/editor turned web developer. I've served as both Editor-in-chief and Technical Developer of In The Fray Magazine over the past 5 years. I am gainfully employed, writing, editing and developing on the web for a small private college in Duluth, MN. I enjoy both silence and heavy metal, John Milton and Stephen King, sunrise and sunset. Like all of us, I contain multitudes.

There were four of us, and we sat together in a boat on Cass Lake, catching walleyes, Minnesota’s state fish. Cass Lake is located in northern Minnesota, nestled amidst the pine trees of Chippewa National Forest, near the modest headwaters of the Mississippi River. We were having a good night. I landed a 26" walleye, a big fish but not a trophy, and my wife landed a 27" walleye shortly afterwards, both of which we photographed and released. As the sun dipped below the horizon and clouds gathered on the southwestern shore of the lake, we decided to call it a night. Unfortunately for us, the boat had different plans. The engine refused to start. The clouds drew nearer. Lightning flashed from across the lake. We hunkered in and braced ourselves for the impending storm.

As this issue of InTheFray reveals, Kyla Pasha and Sarah Suhail are bracing themselves for a storm of another variety. They are the founders of Chay Magazine, an online publication focusing on sex and sexuality in Pakistani society. Despite the inevitable criticism they expect for addressing such a controversial topic so directly, they’ve already received a host of encouraging responses. In Sex in Pakistan, Sarah Seltzer interviews Kyla Pasha about the magazine and what she’d like it to accomplish.
 
Argentina is no stranger to turmoil, either. In this month’s travel narrative Buenos Aires, ITF contributing news editor Suan Pineda takes us to the Argentinian capital, where locals and tourists alike dance the tango together. As Argentina’s economy booms and high-rise condominiums look out over slums, the clouds of social discord gather on the horizon as they have so many times before. And when the storm does strike, tango will carry Argentinians through the chaos.

In her short story The end of the song, Zdravka Evtimova considers chaos of a time gone by. The story tells the tale of Dono, the brutal chieftain of a clan of carters, and his wife, Vecka. Even as her husband beats her, Vecka draws strength from the song she sings, a song that even Dono is powerless to resist.

The birth and proliferation of the iPod has allowed the rest of us to use music to escape the tempests around us as well, even those of us who can’t sing. In In Tune with the Ipod, Amy Brozio-Andrews reviews The Perfect Thing: How the iPod Shuffles Commerce, Culture, and Coolness. She tells how Steven Levy writes of the iPod and how, far from insulating individuals from culture, the device instead allows audiences to enjoy music, podcasts and blogs on their own terms.

The serene eye at the heart of this month’s stormy issue is Fragments of Dreams, Lianne Milton’s series of photographs shot with a small plastic Holga camera. The cheap construction, simple lens, and many light leaks produce natural vignettes and other unique effects that can’t be duplicated with Photoshop. The result is a series of photos that is both peaceful and surreal.

Just as the gathering clouds or cultural upheaval in Argentina may not portend a disaster, the storm we saw moving across the lake didn’t hold a disaster for us. A friend with a nearby boat towed us to shore, and the storm passed by to the south, sprinkling us with rain, but sparing us its more fearsome elements. Soon, we were seated around a campfire, trading fishing stories, talking and laughing. That is what’s most excruciating about anticipation: one never knows what will happen. The storm clouds that gather on the horizon might wipe out a town, leave a country’s economy in shambles and claim lives. Or they could just as easily pass by, leaving lives, homes, and countries intact. One never knows …

Aaron Richner
Editor
St. Paul, Minnesota

Aaron Richner I am a writer/editor turned web developer. I've served as both Editor-in-chief and Technical Developer of In The Fray Magazine over the past 5 years. I am gainfully employed, writing, editing and developing on the web for a small private college in Duluth, MN. I enjoy both silence and heavy metal, John Milton and Stephen King, sunrise and sunset. Like all of us, I contain multitudes.