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[zohra002]

[agenzproject]

Love above all

It’s been years. Years since I last felt the comfort in her texts.

I thought I could move on. How foolish I was. I find myself chuckling as I recall old me bravely telling her goodbye.

I stare out the window of the car as the quiet uber driver takes me to the hotel I will be staying in. London is exactly as I expected it to be. Gloomy, Grey and rainy.

Staring at the raindrops falling on the window, my mind starts chasing a train of thought. If there’s anything that movies have taught me, it’s that the heart must always be followed. And my heart, it yearns for her.

I haven’t heard from her since I turned sixteen, which was six years ago. I wonder if she still remembers me. I am sure she does not. Yet, I must satisfy this desire within the muscle that dominates my nerves.

We met through text, on a BTS fan account.

I didn’t even know her real name yet, ‘lover’ was enough to know her. We never shared pictures, yet I saw her in my dreams. I had never heard her voice yet; her words were enough to soothe me. I didn’t even know if she was a girl, yet I imagined being with her forever. I didn’t even know if she was real, yet I led myself to find comfort in my moments shared with her.

Was I chasing a dream, or was I going to reunite with the love of my life?

The sudden halt of the uber pulls me out of my thoughts and I look over to see that we have parked in front of the hotel I have a room reserved in.

I smile and thank the driver, to which he responds with an earnest nod. He is a nice man. As I step out, he calls out to me.

“You sure you don’t need an umbrella?”

I look up to see the sky painted Grey, my favorite colour. A smile takes its place on my face and I shake my head. “No, sir, I don’t think that will be necessary. Thank you for offering.”

He nods once again and waits for me to reach the Valet standing at the front door before he drives away.

The valet, a young man in his twenties with blonde hair and brown eyes, bends down in a curt bow upon my arrival and I nod at him.

As I’m about to enter through the sliding doors, I hear yelling and turn to see a man, who I assume is in his thirties, shouting at a girl who is no less than ten for running out onto the road and playing in the rain with her favourite clothes on.

The exchange warms my heart as I watch the girl nod and the father then lead her over to another building, soft yet angry as he does so. It reminds me of my own father. A strong-willed man with a firm hand on things. And it also reminds me of why I have to be in London like this in the first place.

I sigh at the thought, recalling all those nights he yelled at me.

I walk over to the receptionist and smile at the young-looking woman. She offers me a well-practiced smile in return. “How may I help you, miss?”

“I made a reservation under the name Aqsa Malik.” I tell her.

She nods and after seeing proof of my identity, hands me the key to my room on the second floor.

I leave for the elevator after thanking her but before I press the button, I notice two young ladies sitting in the lounge, close to each other. They clearly aren’t English and judging by the curly hair and Arabic written on the bags, I would assume they are from North Africa.

I feel a smile tugging at my lips as I press the elevator button after noticing the two marital silver bands on their ring fingers.

Inside the elevator, I inhale and exhale deeply, happy for those two women, who seemed only a tad bit older than me.

It is a good time to be homosexual. I hope that this works out for me too. I hope that the girl I came to see resonates with me. I hope she agrees that now is the right time. Because six years ago, if you were born a Muslim female, being lesbian always ended in tragedy.

I was hoping this would be an exception as I entered my three-star hotel room, heading straight for the bed, ready for some rest.

Before I slip into my bed-sheets for some sleep, I play a few songs that remind me of her.

Blue and Grey by V is what encouraged me to confess to her.

Rewrite the Stars from the musical, The Greatest Showman, was the song we listened to think of each other.

Talking to the Moon by Bruno Mars was what made me cry every night after we cut communication.

These songs lull me into a peaceful sleep as the soft rain keeps patting my window, giving the room a sense of coolness.       

 

 

He yelled at me. He told me to forget her.

I wished I had just turned the tab off when my father got home, pretending as if nothing had ever happened. But I didn’t, and he ended up reading all of my texts with her, with a long lecture following afterwards.

Being a Muslim with an ex-girlfriend isn’t easy, especially when you’re just fifteen.

“You’re too young to even think about these things!” He yelled. “How can you determine your sexuality at just fifteen! Straight is the natural orientation of a person, drop this lesbian bullshit!”

I hadn’t cried. I didn’t say anything in response. It would have been of no use. Rewa had already broken up with me, albeit she had said she would still like for us to be friends.

I had apologized to my father a few days later and snuck online through another device, from where I was caught later on as well, all of this happening in a span of just two months.

Three months later, I had a friend contact Rewa’s social media and tell her I’m okay.

We both finally had the chance to talk again over Wattpad.

I smiled, satisfied as I texted her a detailed message on how I was planning to meet her, asking her as much details as the online relationship would allow me to.

I promised her that till the day we met, I would sing Blue and Grey every night the moon was visible in the sky. And I did just that.

But then a text appeared on my screen once she had received the message.

‘Aqsa, I think we should break up.’

Confusion filled my insides. Weren’t we already broken up? If she didn’t want to be in a relationship with me, why would she lead me on and sweet talk me like that so much?

I was furious. For a few moments, I had no idea what to say to her.

Then, I did.

‘Wait, aren’t we already broken up?

Did you seriously forget that you broke up with me?

Did you really sweet talk me all that much just to make me go through the worst moment of my life a second time?

Now I know what my dad feels like every time I go up to him with a half-assed apology with no intention of listening to him a second time.

Unless you have anything important to say,

Goodbye, Rewa.’

And that was the last thing I ever said to her. She didn’t answer and I deleted our chats, promising myself to never look back. Oh, how bad I am at sticking to promises.

Maybe I should’ve gone easier on her. She was just thirteen, after all.

 

 

I haven’t sung Blue and Grey to the moon since.

The words come out of my mouth as I stare at the moon, having woken up from my sleep at 3 a.m. My voice comes out deep and heavy, my heart aching with every worse.

Where’s my angel?

I’m sick and tired of everything,

Someone come and save myself,

‘Cuz I am feeling blue and Grey,

 

Everywhere I go, everything I see,

Can you look at me ‘cause I am blue and Grey?

Every time I smile, Every time I cry,

Can you look at me ‘cause I am blue and Grey?

 

Oh, I just wanna be happier,

Baby don’t you let me go,

I feel tired in the winter sky,

I just wanna feel stronger

The tears slip down my cheeks without warning as I sit at the chair, huddling into myself further.

I hope she remembers me when I pay her a surprise visit in the morning.

 

Anxiety is getting the best of me as I stand in front of her college dorm room. Should I knock?

What if her roommate thinks I’m weird? What if Rewa reports me to security? What if she hates me? What if she wants to have nothing to do with me?

I try walking away but then tell myself that I didn’t come all the way from Pakistan just to run away when I am right at her doorstep. I miss her, and whether she does or not, doesn’t matter. I have to see her.

I knock at the door, swallowing down my fear as a shudder runs through my body.

I have to do this. There is no turning back now.

The door opens. A tall, dark skinned, African woman, looks down at me.

It is her.

My breath gets caught in my throat as I stare at her in awe.

It has to be her. Dark skin, curly black hair tied in a pony above her head, and about six feet tall. It is, without a doubt, Olanrewaju, my ex-girlfriend.

Holy shit.

I am not prepared for this.

“Um, can I help you?” She asks, concerned. Her voice is deep, yet smooth as she speaks in a British accent.

I just offer a weak nod, still taking her appearance in for the first time. I try to say hi but it just comes out as a guttural croak. Embarrassing.

“Um, are you okay?” She touches my shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before. What’s your name?”

Upon her touching my shoulder, my body tenses tenfold. She quickly retreats upon noticing my panicked expression.

“I’ll let you inside and give you a glass of water.” She takes a hold of my forearm, and gently walks me into her dorm.

I don’t register my surroundings as I continue to stare at her strong and bold figure. This is the love of my life and she doesn’t even know it.

She sits me down on what I assume is her bed as she walks over to the jug of water on the table. Thankfully, I caught her alone. Roommate isn’t home.

Rewa presses a full glass of water up to my lips and makes sure it all goes down, allowing me to inhale deep breaths, trying to regain my posture.

It takes a few minutes, but I get better.

I nod at her, offering a small smile.

She smiles back. “Now, tell me, what’s your name?”

I stare at her, my gaze piercing hers. “Aqsa.”

There is a flash of something in her eyes that I hope is familiarity and I think I am right when she takes a double take. “What?”

“Aqsa.” I repeat, as if I have no idea what history she might have with that name. “Why?”

She frowns in confusion, her eyes scanning my entire figure before she shakes her head. “Oh, uh, nothing.”

I nod.

“Where’re you from?” She asks. It’s no secret that she’s trying to figure out if I am the Aqsa she knew all those years ago.

“Pakistan.” I tell her.

Her frown deepens. “Where did you grow up?”

I have decided that I’m going to let her figure it out on her own and act as if I’ve never met her. “Why do you ask?”

She shakes her head a bit, then raises her eyebrows. “Middle East?”

She remembers. I nod.

Her breath hitches just a little and she visibly gulps, studying my features carefully.

“Do I know you?” She asks, her voice small and doubtful.

I stare into her big eyes and nod.

She exhales and looks away, leaning back in the chair next to the bed. She folds her arms across her chest, pondering the situation, her expression unreadable. But the tension in her posture can be sensed without having to try twice. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I’d find my way to you, didn’t I?” I tilt my head, a soft smile on my face.

She clenches her jaw and I can feel the heavy emotion in the atmosphere that replaces her prior concern. “You also said goodbye.” Her voice is heavy.

I pursue my lips in a thin line and nod. “That wasn’t a promise. I promised that I would come to you when I could, though.”

“How did you find me?” Her voice is a bit steady, yet forceful.

I smile. “You told me you lived in London. I have connections around the place. I have the internet. I know you wanted to study mechanical engineering so searching in all the good colleges amongst the mechanical engineering students was the best way to go about it.”

She is looking at me now, her dark chocolate eyes searching my face for something. “You remember?” Her voice cracks as the words leave her mouth.

I nod, trying my best to not get teary-eyed five minutes into our reunion.

Rewa clears her throat and tries to regain her steady posture. “And what about you? What are you doing?”

Ah, small talk. I allow myself to relax. “I’m studying medicine. I’m in my third year. Also, I’m writing.”

She nods and points at something behind me. I turn around to see a small wooden shelf nailed to the wall above her bed, all of my books resting on top of it.

A small smile appears on my face and my jaw stings, an indicator that I am about to cry. “That’s all of them.”

“I had two since when you first wrote them four years ago and then I just gave up, trying to forget you.” She tells me. “But then Noah noticed them and bought more books as gifts.”

“Noah?” I turn to look at her, frowning a bit in confusion.

She sighs and sits back once again. “He thought that maybe I like the writer, so got all the books he could find written by her.”

I nod, that not being what I wanted for the answer. “Who’s Noah?”

Rewa sighs again. “Forget him. He’s unimportant.”

I clutch the glass in my hands tighter, my desire for knowing who Noah was increasing. I am a curious person. I try to shrug it off by distracting myself with something else.

“Where’s your roommate?” I ask.

She looks to the side to see an empty bed. “Semester just started, so she’s out with her friends.”

“You got any?”

Rewa nods. “One is at home due to an emergency and another is probably at her job right now.”

“Do you have a job?”

She shakes her head. “My parents are still paying for me, it’s all going smoothly. They say I have to start paying my own fees when third year starts.”

I nod. That sounds reasonable.

“They’re divorced, right?” I remember she mentioned it.

She nods and there’s an emotion on her face I have a little trouble trying to understand. She seems satisfied, yet in pain, as if she wished I didn’t remind her of her parents. But on the other hand, she seems happy that I cared enough to remember.

“How’s your sister?” I ask, recalling that she mentioned having a younger sister.

Rewa’s expression eases a little as she thinks of her sister. “She’s doing great. Last year of high school then college.”

“That’s good.” I nod.

The door to the room opens and we both turn to see a girl about Rewa’s age standing there, studying me with her critical green eyes, attempting to determine who I am. Her white skin is covered in patches of brown, as if she was playing in the mud.

Once she’s established that she doesn’t know me, she turns to Rewa for an explanation. “Ju?” Her voice is an indicator to the fact that she’s sensed something is wrong.

Rewa sighs. “An old friend.” Then she addresses me. “Aqsa, this is my roommate, Jessica.”

Jessica advances towards me in a friendly manner, extending her hand out for me to shake, her thin lips forming a warm smile. “Nice to meet you. You can call me Jess.” She has a Scottish accent.

I smile back and shake her hand, nodding. “Nice to meet you too, Jess.”

She nods, her curly, red hair bobbing as she does so. “Where’re you from?” She lets my hand go.

“Pakistan.” I answer. “You?”

“Scotland.” She laughs. “Anyways, I have to hit the shower. See you later.”

I nod. “See you.”

Once Jessica is gone, I turn back to Rewa. “Wanna go out for a drive?”

“You have a car?”

“I rented it.”

She seems to ponder over the offer for a bit, as if carefully weighing the pros and cons of going on a ride with her ex. Finally, she nods. “I don’t see why I can’t go.”

The walk towards the rented Honda is quiet as Rewa seems to be deep in thought while I take in my surroundings, not feeling too nervous to notice them anymore. It’s still cloudy outside, but I think it won’t rain till late in the evening.

I get into the car parked outside the campus and Rewa hesitates once she’s opened the door to the passenger seat. She bows down and looks at me. “Where are we going?”

“We’re circling the next five blocks until we get tired.” I tell her.

She whips out her phone and I think she texts somebody that. A faint smile appears on my face. This is my Rewa. Wary of everybody, no matter how trustworthy they may seem.

She then enters the car and closes the door, fastening her seatbelt.

I start the car and smile at her. “You really think a bestselling author would try to kidnap you?”

            She gives me a sheepish smile, a little pink creeping up her cheeks. “You only have one bestseller and I don’t want to take any chances.”

I nod, turning forwards, driving onto the road. “You’d probably win in a fight against me anyway.”

At that, she laughs and that is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard in my life. More beautiful than a waterfall splashing into a river below it. I want to be the one who keeps her laughing like that all the time.

Her laugh dies down after some time and we fall quiet.

“Do you still listen to K-pop?” I ask her, breaking the silence.

“Sometimes.”

“BTS?”

“Yeah. They disbanded though.”

“I know that.” I nod. “Can I play a song?”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know…” I think for a minute, observing the wet streets of London. “Spring day?”

She seems to ponder over it too before agreeing to play Spring day. Once the music plays in the car, something… settles within me. I feel… calm. I don’t know if it’s because of the song or because I’m finally meeting Rewa, but I enjoy this feeling.

The song ends in a few minutes and it’s quiet again. But this time, it’s welcome. It’s not awkward, it feels good.

“Can we be friends again?” I ask all of a sudden.

She doesn’t respond for at least two minutes before nodding. “Wont your dad find out?”

“He doesn’t need to know it’s you.” I smile. “Besides, I’ll be independent in two years and have a job, so no worries.”

“Wont he get you married after that?” She asks.

Why does she care about that? I suggested being friends. Maybe… she’s hoping we can be more? My stomach does a flip at that exciting thought.

“I’ll get out of there.” I tell her. “Do a job here, be free of their restricting opinions.”

She doesn’t respond.

“Will you give me another chance?” In the silence, I ask her the question I have been aching to ask for a long time.

“At dating?” She gets right down to the point.

I shrug. “If you want to. I just want to be a part of your life again.”

“So, it doesn’t matter how?” She asks.

I draw in a deep breath. “I just want to make you happy. I still love you. You can decide how I make you happy. I can be whatever you want me to be. My love for you exists beyond any label this world could slap on us.”

There’s silence again. Then she speaks up. “You’re still the same.”

I blink, eyes still on the road. “What?”

“Before, when we used to text,” She says. “You’d always say something that would fluster me so much. You’re still the same.”

At that, I smile, recalling all the many times I would say something cheesy and make her feel butterflies in her stomach. “Glad to know.”

She gives a soft chuckle in response. “I think we can start off fresh, with you as my friend. I still need time getting over Noah, so-“

“Noah was your date?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is quiet.

“What happened?” I ask, concerned. I swear if this Noah hurt her, I might just have to put ‘become a hitwoman’ on my bucket list, not that I haven’t already considered that.

She lets out a puff of breath, hugging herself. “I don’t know, we both wanted very different things from life. He was too serious about it and I wanted to focus on my future.”

“Oh.” That is all I can say. Noah hadn’t hurt her so there was no reason to be mad. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“So, we can be friends?” I smile.

“Of course.”

I feel all giddy on the inside.

I look to my side and smile at her, slowing the car down. She smiles back, both of us sharing eye contact for a swift moment before I turn back to the road.

I go back to the radio on the car and play Seesaw by Suga, a song and artist we both adore to pieces.

And at that moment, as Suga’s soothing voice instills a sense of safety and Rewa at my side awakes a sense of assurance, I feel complete.

Who knows?

Maybe I can make her love me again, we can resume our relationship and maybe even get married.

Live a happy life.

Six years later, standing at the altar, Blue and Grey playing in the background, as I hold Rewa’s hands, I realize just how right I was.

“I love you, Aqsa.”

“I love you so, my love.”

“I declare you married! You may kiss!”

And we do. A beautiful, passionate kiss, marking the beginning of our life together.

Some tales do have happy endings.

A Story by Riley Gray

[cliveshoes1-blog]

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A lot of people over the bridge didn't like me for what I had done

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Biden and Bernie duke it out on war and peace

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Biden and Bernie duke it out on war and peace

Democratic presidential candidate Joe Biden and Bernie Sanders. | Justin Sullivan/Getty Images

Last Saturday in Iowa, the day after an American MQ-9 Reaper dropped its ordnance on Qassem Soleimani in Baghdad, Joe Biden moved quickly to make himself the face of Democratic opposition to Trump’s drone strike. It was early evening at a Des Moines elementary school gymnasium, and despite the dip in temperature and the long lines to get inside, a larger and more engaged audience than the ones he attracted over the summer and fall was waiting for the former vice president.

It was a white-collar crowd—Des Moines-area lawyers and insurance industry professionals and a smattering of D.C. Obama veterans now in town to help Biden in the homestretch. The top lawyer at ICE under the last administration was there, and told me it was the first time he’d ever canvassed Iowa for a candidate.

Iran had heightened the stakes. “#WWIII” was trending online and predictions of an all-out war were commonplace. Trump might now benefit from the halo that glows atop all wartime leaders, at least for a time. And the importance of the outcome of the Democratic primary—to say nothing of the country and the world— had suddenly ballooned. Would voters want an experienced hand whose position on world affairs is basically, “Trust me, I know what I’m doing” (Biden) or would they gravitate toward someone like Bernie Sanders, whose ringing calls to get the U.S. out of Middle East quagmires have the benefit of clarity, but make many a D.C. foreign-policy hand queasy? The answer may help determine who wins over the Democratic base, and perhaps the country, come November.

While waiting for Biden that evening in Des Moines, one of the pre-program speakers led the crowd in singing “God Bless America.” When he arrived, Biden the candidate still winked and shot finger guns at well-wishers and hugged them afterwards, but it was Biden the commander-in-chief that his advisers wanted on display. The former veep pilloried what he viewed as Trump’s recklessness and called for congressional authorization of any further military engagement with Iran. His aides began planning a major speech on the issue in New York for the following Tuesday.

To Biden’s aides, it was their man’s chance to seize the moment.

“The more the world seems in disarray, especially with Trump as an erratic accelerant to that disarray, the more people seem to be looking for some return to normalcy and strong and steady leadership as opposed to erratic leadership,” said a Biden adviser. “There’s now an even greater premium on experience and being ready on Day One to deal with the mess Trump leaves. To state the obvious, that plays to Biden’s strengths.”

But it also plays to some of his weaknesses. A young voter stood up and asked Biden “How could we trust your judgment?” After all, the voter said, he’d gotten two of the biggest questions in recent years wrong: the 2002 Iraq War vote when he was a senator and the 2011 Navy SEAL raid on Osama bin Laden’s hideout in Abbottabad, Pakistan, which Biden, then vice president, counseled Obama against.

Biden was a senator for 36 years and vice president for eight. His response was essentially that the questioner was cherry-picking two decisions and ignoring everything else in his record. What about his role in bringing down Slobodan Milosevic or his advice—ignored by Obama—not to surge troops into Afghanistan in 2009 or his rallying NATO to confront Russia over Ukraine?

On Iraq, Biden gave a familiar answer that Democratic senators who voted for the invasion have been making for 17 years: It was a vote to give President George W. Bush leverage at the United Nations to bolster a weapons inspection regime, not to greenlight an imminent attack. (This is historically accurate, but a bit like arguing you let a college-aged friend borrow your credit card only for buying books for his fraternity and then being surprised about all the pot and booze he added to the bill.)

On the bin Laden raid, Biden, changing his story a bit, insisted that after a larger meeting at which he expressed reservations, he privately told Obama to go for it. (During his lengthy response, at one point, Biden accidentally said Saddam Hussein when he meant Osama bin Laden.)

Despite the tough question, Biden seemed pleased. If the subject is foreign policy, Biden believes he’s winning. He’d rather talk for hours defending his worst foreign policy blunders than spend a minute focusing on, say, busing or bankruptcy reform. “It’s not to suggest I didn’t make mistakes in my career,” he told the young questioner in Des Moines. “But I will put my record against anyone in public life in terms of foreign policy.”

Bernie Sanders was the only rival who seemed to welcome that challenge. While Biden’s strategy is that of a traditional primary frontrunner—ignore your primary opponents and focus on your general election opponent—Sanders has the classic strategy for the person in the No. 2 spot: argue it’s a two-person race.

In Iowa last weekend, where there were dozens of candidate events, Sanders was the only other politician who seemed to relish discussing the confrontation with Iran — and how the Iraq war and the Democrats who supported it helped bring about the current situation.

“What Iran has done is really highlighted both Bernie Sanders and Joe Biden as representatives of two different poles in the Democratic party: one a much more hawkish interventionist arm of the party, which used to be dominant, and then Bernie Sanders, representing a more diplomacy-oriented approach, a more collaborative international approach that is ascendant in the party,” said Jeff Weaver, one of Sanders’s top advisers, who went on to ding Biden for the 2002 Iraq vote.

The common assumption about Democratic base politics has been that the domestic trumps the international, that voters in Dubuque would rather hear about how candidates are going to fix their healthcare than about how they’re going to fix the Middle East.

But that’s not entirely true. Every open Democratic primary since 9/11 has been about war, and the beneficiary of the debate over that issue hasn’t been easy to predict. In 2004, another insurgent Vermonter — Howard Dean — based his entire candidacy on his opposition to Bush’s invasion of Iraq, which was enormously unpopular among Democrats and which John Kerry had voted to authorize. Kerry, after struggling in 2003, when Dean’s antiwar message thrilled liberals and filled stadiums, easily defeated his New England rival when voting began in 2004.

In 2008, Barack Obama’s opposition to the Iraq War was perhaps the single most important argument he made to show voters that, according to the two buzzwords of the primary, his “judgment” was superior to Hillary Clinton’s “experience.” By then, voters had grown tired of the body bags coming home from Baghdad and Kandahar, and the politics of the wars had ricocheted against the Republican Party and hawks like John McCain. But Obama soon made it clear that voting to invade Iraq didn’t disqualify Democrats from governing. He chose Biden, who, like Clinton, voted to authorize the war, as his running mate and made Clinton his secretary of state. In the 2016 Democratic primaries, Sanders was unable to run the same play against Clinton. He frequently highlighted her Iraq vote to no avail.

This election, 2020, seemed like it might be different. But Iran has belatedly forced a serious foreign-policy debate among the major Democratic candidates, with Sanders and Biden representing opposite sides of a basic question that could define the next administration: What do Democrats believe about America’s role in the world? And do they have a national-security message that can defeat Trump’s chest-thumping bravado?

***

Earlier on the same day Biden spoke, Sanders stumped in Grundy Center, about 90 minutes northeast of Des Moines. It was a small working class audience and Sanders, after blasting Biden on Iran for the cameras, returned to health care.

Though the term is not often used nowadays, the Sanders town hall format is what sixties-era activists used to call “consciousness raising.” He prods ordinary people to stand up and describe for their fellow citizens the depravities they’ve experienced in the American healthcare system. Older radicals used the method to make working people aware that they were oppressed, that they weren’t the only ones, and that they could do something about it.

These sessions usually surface so many sad stories that Sanders has a regular joke about how his wife Jane complains that his events are too depressing. He then points to an aide who will be handing out Prozac on the way out.

The Sanders view is that, quite literally, this is how the revolution starts. Raise enough consciousness among regular people about the vagaries of the health insurance industry and eventually people will be organizing together and clamoring to trade in their own insurance plans in favor of Medicare for All. This is not just how Sanders sees healthcare, but it’s how he sees almost every issue, including foreign policy.

“I was mayor of the city of Burlington, Vermont, in the 1980s, when the Soviet Union was our enemy,” he said in a 2017 address at Westminster College, in Missouri. “We established a sister city program with the Russian city of Yaroslavl, a program which still exists today. I will never forget seeing Russian boys and girls visiting Vermont, getting to know American kids, and becoming good friends. Hatred and wars are often based on fear and ignorance. The way to defeat this ignorance and diminish this fear is through meeting with others and understanding the way they see the world. Good foreign policy means building people-to-people relationships.”

But how that commendable insight translates into policy has been a struggle for Sanders to articulate.

Sanders’s foreign-policy views were first shaped by his left-wing activism during the Cold War, when the animating force on the far left was opposition to American adventurism in the name of anti-communism. As the mayor of Vermont’s largest city—a small town of 40,00, really—Sanders actually had a foreign policy. He visited Cuba, he became involved in Latin American politics centered on opposition to anything that smacked of U.S. imperialism, and he and Jane even honeymooned in the Soviet Union in 1988. (This litany of activities is frequently raised by Sanders’ rivals as deeply problematic for a general election against Trump.)

But when he got to Congress in 1991, Sanders spent the next few decades, first as a member of the House and then as a senator, strangely uninterested in foreign policy. When he ran for president in 2016, the old image of Sanders from his mayoral days as a pro-Sandinista Chomskyite is what stuck.

His 2017 speech was meant to address that. For years now, progressives have been debating how to articulate an American foreign policy that rejects what they see as the militarism of liberal internationalists, who make up the Democratic Party establishment, and left-wingers who reject any use of American power in the world as inherently tainted. Arguably, that was something Obama managed to achieve, but many on the left viewed him as just another militarist by the time he left office.

Sanders still peppers his foreign-policy remarks with a long recitation of America’s anti-democratic history, especially in Latin America and the Middle East, during the Cold War, and the worst mistakes of the post-9/11 era. But over time he has gradually shifted from an emphasis on how America has messed up the world in the past to how to confront looming threats to international democracy today.

He has repeatedly praised America’s role in creating the United Nations and expressed deep admiration for the Marshall Plan, which helped rebuild Germany and western Europe after World War II. In 2018, he identified growing authoritarianism as one of the great foreign policy challenges for the United States. It was a turning point for Sanders: The villains in that speech are not Americans meddling in Chile or invading Iraq, but the “the authoritarian axis”—a phrase that echoed Bush’s “axis of evil”—and in Sanders’s telling includes countries like Russia, Saudi Arabia, the Philippines, Turkey and Brazil, where there are “movements led by demagogues who exploit people’s fears, prejudices and grievances to gain and hold on to power” and are also handmaidens to billionaires and oligarchs, more familiar Sanders bogeymen.

While he called for a movement to “combat the forces of global oligarchy and authoritarianism,” the details of how a Sanders administration would use American power to do that have been vague. He had identified what he believed was the threat of our time but he didn’t say how America could counter it.

Meanwhile, Biden, along with most foreign policy centrists in the Democratic Party, has also shifted. As he pointed out in Iowa, Biden was a forceful internal opponent of the Obama surge in Afghanistan. He was deeply skeptical of the Libya intervention, which Obama came to regret, and Biden has recently called for removing most troops from Iraq and Afghanistan. Biden and his ideological kin have recognized that there is almost no constituency left in the Democratic Party for the kind of hawks that dominated in the nineties and early 2000s.

But on the question of American leadership and whether American power can be virtuous, Biden is unequivocal. His campaign is premised on the idea that a President Biden can quickly restore America’s role as a force for good. For progressives that is not comforting. They fear that Biden and his advisers could easily revert to the hawkishness that dominated recent history.

In talking to Democratic foreign policy advisers across the spectrum, I heard people in Biden’s orbit caricature Sanders as a Corbyn-like old leftist who never outgrew his radical roots. And I heard Sanders’ allies describe Biden as a bloodthirsty neoliberal warmonger who will return to militarism once elected. The truth is that Democratic voters have forced both men to shift: Sanders to accept that if he wants to be president he needs to be comfortable with taking the reins of a superpower and Biden with the fact that the legacy of the Iraq War has poisoned the idea of liberal interventionism to an entire generation. (Elizabeth Warren and Pete Buttigieg fit neatly on this continuum, with Warren closer to Sanders and Buttigieg closer to Biden.)

All three—Sanders, Warren and Buttigieg—have tried to articulate an alternative vision to a Biden-style establishment Democratic foreign policy — what Sanders’ advisers call the D.C. “blob.”

And there are notable differences on some key issues. Sanders and Warren are willing to leverage aid to Israel to change the country’s behavior toward the Palestinians, while Biden isn’t. Sanders opposes the recent USMCA trade deal, while Warren and Biden support it. Sanders and Warren would leave almost no footprint behind in Iraq and Afghanistan, while Buttigieg and Biden want some forces to respond to any resurgence of al Qaeda and ISIS.

Progressives have also changed the politics of foreign policy. Democrats across the spectrum no longer believe that a reflexive toughness to international crises is a prerequisite for victory. In 2004 Kerry, who in his youth was most famous for his opposition to the Vietnam war, reinvented himself as a war fighter for the general election. (He lost.)

In 2020 the pressure for Democrats in their response to the killing of Soleimani was to show they would not exaggerate or dwell on his crimes in the Middle East and that they would not say anything that would encourage escalation with Iran. Warren originally tweeted that “Soleimani was a murderer, responsible for the deaths of thousands, including hundreds of Americans.” The next day, in a tweet that focused solely on Trump, she wrote that the president had “assassinated a senior foreign military official.” Gone was any description of Soleimani’s history in the region.

But in the end, the 2020 foreign policy debate among Democrats is likely to play out a lot like the 2020 domestic policy debate among Democrats: with the establishment candidate co-opting just enough of the left’s grievances to snuff out the challenge.

The Sanders wing long ago won the debate about deemphasizing the use of force, ending “forever wars,” prioritizing diplomacy, and bolstering relationships with democracies. But what the progressives have not yet been able to fully articulate—and there’s a vast literature that has tried—is how a President Sanders or Warren or even Buttigieg, who have all identified promoting democracy and curtailing the rise of authoritarianism as major modern priorities, would actually do that.

I asked a top adviser to Sanders about whether there are more details to add to Sanders’ 2018 call to reverse the rising tide of autocrats.

“We’re working on it,” he said.

Read More

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New Post has been published on Vintage Designer Handbags Online | Vintage Preowned Chanel Luxury Designer Brands Bags & Accessories

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Pretty in pink – or navy or red: how teens choose their prom dresses | Fashion

Prom, as seen through the prism of American TV and film, is far more than a night out. It’s the scene of Mean Girls-style drama and epic Footloose dance routines. It’s where transformations are revealed (She’s All That), and where nightmares (Carrie) and happy endings (Pretty in Pink) happen. It’s a significant step on the road into adulthood, with the prom dress crucial to the coming-of-age narrative. For British teenagers, those prom night pop culture dreams have become an end-of-school reality, with proms now standard at most British schools. It has been estimated that proms in the UK cost parents £90m a year, with prom dresses costing an average £220. Of course, it’s not just about the money – these dresses symbolise leaving school behind, the end of an era that doubles as an irresistible Instagram opportunity. We talked to young women across the UK about what prom means to them, why Pretty In Pink remains a reference and how shopping in sheds can lead to a dream dress.

“If I miss prom, I will miss an essential part of my life” – Amna Khan, 18, High Storrs school, Sheffield (above)

I have designed my dress and my mum is making it – it’s nice to have a project together. There’s lots of beadwork and it’s a dusty pink colour with lots of lace. It doesn’t need any frills because the material speaks for itself. Making my first garments was a big achievement for me. Fashion was a hobby and now I am thinking I would like to take it seriously. I have applied for law but I can always switch to fashion design. I want to go to the University of Leeds and they have both.

I like Elie Saab and Ralph & Russo. For year 11 prom, I wore something my mum made me, based on a Zuhair Murad design. I also like Asian designers because I am Pakistani. It was my dad’s idea to fuse western and Asian aesthetics in my design because I have been brought up in two different cultures. My aunty sent the fabric from Pakistan. My go-to colour is black but I throw in colour here and there – and definitely for an event. I like dressing up more for occasions such as prom.

I don’t go out that much generally; I’m a bit of an introvert. I would far rather binge-watch Netflix. A lot of my friends aren’t going – they’re not into loud music. But I want to go and see my classmates for the last time. I will go with four or five friends and see some of them there. I have gone to this school for seven years and the two years at sixth form were the best. If I miss prom, I will miss an essential part of my life. I want to go there and make memories. Afterwards, we’ll go to a dessert bar. I’ll take dessert over alcohol any day. Lately I have been really liking ice-cream sundaes.

“We have a prom passport – you have to do a certain amount of revision to go” – Abigail Turner, 16, Chorlton high school, Manchester

‘I’m a massive Glee fan’ … Abigail Turner wearing her prom dress. Photograph: Jon Super for the Guardian

I decided on my dress based on pricing. I needed enough money to buy some shoes as well and I wanted something that I might wear again. I bought it during exam season so didn’t want to go out shopping. I got it on Asos in the sale. I thought if it’s only £30, and it fits, then great. I like wearing bright colours and a lot of people going are wearing black, maybe because it’s more grown up. I wanted lace because it dresses up really well.

I enjoy makeup. I think I’ll do dark eyes and a glowy face. I don’t want to do a red lip because my dress is red. I want it to be quite chill to focus on the dress. My eyebrows are very light so I do them every day. I’m getting them tinted just before prom.

I follow a lot of shops on Instagram – Urban Outfitters, Topshop – so I get a lot of inspiration from that. I also watch a lot of people on YouTube, like fashion bloggers. It feels a lot more attainable when someone is sitting in their bedroom. They have become rich and famous but before they were pretty normal, with pretty normal incomes.

At our school we have a prom passport and you had to do a certain amount of revision to be able to go. There are about 300 pupils in our year and 200 spots. I’m thinking of it as a thing to say goodbye to high school. There are people I went to primary school with who aren’t going on to college. It’s a nostalgic event. I’m a massive Glee fan and I think there were three proms in six seasons. That’s my idea of what it will be like.

“Last time, one boy hired a green Lamborghini. I don’t know how anyone is going to top that” – Nzinga Banjoko, 18, High Storrs school, Sheffield

‘I saw this off-the-shoulder one and thought, I need that in my life’ … Nzinga Banjoko at home in Sheffield. Photograph: Jon Super for the Guardian

I chose my dress spontaneously. I’ve never been the kind of person to think those things through. My last prom dress, for year 11, was bodycon and navy. I wanted something brighter but pink or red isn’t really me. Blue is my favourite colour – my bedroom is blue. I saw this off-the-shoulder one and thought, “I need that in my life.” Lots of people are wearing maxi dresses and over-the-knee bodycon dresses in different colours. We have a prom page on Facebook so no one buys the same dress as someone else. That would be so awkward. I always keep my dresses, although I only wore the year 11 one for about four hours.

I wasn’t going to go but I talked to my older friends who are at uni and they said they regretted not going. I don’t know what this prom will be like but the school has made a lot of effort. We have a sit down meal and an afterparty. There will be over 100 of us. Last time, some boys went in traditional Asian dress, some in suits. One hired a lime green Lamborghini. I don’t know how anyone is going to top that.

I would describe my day-to-day style as sporty casual. My other favourite colour is grey and I contrast it with a pop of colour on my trainers – sparkly gold trainers, turquoise Vans. I really like Beyoncé’s and Rihanna’s style. Rihanna puts everything together and it works. She wore an off-the-shoulder floral dress and strappy shoes at the Met Gala and that stuck in my head. I will have strappy shoes that tie up my leg and my friend is doing my makeup. It’s the last time everyone will see me. I thought, “This time I’m going to be girly and look presentable.”

“When I put the dress on I thought, ‘I look like a small woman’” – Edie Kench-Andrews, 15, Clapton girls academy, London

‘I’d never seen myself like that before’ … Edie Kench-Andrews. Photograph: Katherine Anne Rose

It was kind of nerve-racking choosing a dress because I am a tomboy. It will be the first time anyone at school has seen me in a dress. I wanted it to be long, like a midi-dress, but at the same time I wanted it to be out there. I think it’s a one-off thing – I’ll see it in the future and think, “That’s what I wore to prom.” I was thinking of Pretty in Pink with my dress – I’m going to be the Andie of my school.

When I put the dress on I thought, ‘I look like a small woman.’ I had never seen myself like that before. I wanted to show people what I would look like as a grownup. I have been wearing it around the house, seeing what it’s like to not wear trousers. I have my shoes – heels from Topshop. I walked for half an hour in the park the other day and I was in so much pain afterwards.

I go to a girls’ school, there are no boys. I think this will be quite emotional, there’s a lot of us who have been talking about how we’ll cry on the night. There are so many teenagers at prom in TV shows that I watch. It’s always the best night of their lives.

A lot of my friends are wearing bodycon dresses, all very short. My friendship group aren’t competitive. My friends think it’s funny because they’re so used to me in trousers. I have been quite stereotypical, using Snapchat and sending pictures of myself to my contacts.

Some girls see it as a competition. They are going more co-ordinated: lots of them are in black and red, which I think is quite sweet. But I wanted my dress to be about expressing myself. I want to look back and think, “Aw, didn’t we look lovely?”

“I’m borrowing shoes from a friend. She said they were expensive so I’m nervous now” – Francesca Milburn, 16, St Andrew’s school, Flitwick, Bedfordshire

‘I got the dress on a shopping trip with my mum and nan’ … Francesca Milburn. Photograph: Katherine Anne Rose

My dress is floor-length and red. I got it on a shopping trip with my mum and my nan in London; it was really nice to go with both of them. I bought the dress straight away, from Phase Eight – it was the first shop we went into. I have my own sort of style, mostly jeans and T-shirts. Topshop is my favourite shop. I love the ripped jeans in there and I’ve just bought a denim skirt with a floral print on it.

I wanted the dress to be special but also a bit different, because a lot of people are wearing navy. I’m wearing the dress with gold shoes that I’m borrowing from my friend. She told me they were really expensive so I’m a bit nervous about that now. I have never worn a long dress or had my hair and makeup done. I am having my hair curled and wearing it half-up and half-down.

I go to a girls’ school and there are only 20 in my year. The prom is mixed with a boys’ school nearby. I’m going with five of my friends. It’s a bit annoying because this year they’re not allowing external guests and my boyfriend goes to a different school.

I don’t think there’s much competition about the dresses beforehand but there will be when we get there. I have a messaging group where we have shown each other our dresses. We’ll take loads of photos because it’s the last time our whole year will be together. There was going to be an afterparty but there’s not now, so I think I’ll go back to my friend’s and watch a film. We’ll probably watch Mean Girls or something, that’s my favourite.

“I’m not usually a last-minute person but I was really picky about my dress” – Nicole Ekwensi, 15, Ousedale school, Milton Keynes

‘I wear lots of different colours but red is good on me’ … Nicole Ekwensi at home in Milton Keynes. Photograph: Linda Nylind for the Guardian

My dress is a long-sleeved, red, maxi length open-back lace dress with a bow at the lower back. I got it from Goddiva, a website I discovered while I was looking for my prom dress. At first I was looking for a navy dress with long sleeves but tried some on in Debenhams and realised the colour didn’t suit me. I wear lots of different colours but red is good on me.

I wanted lace because I saw it on many prom dresses. On Instagram, I’ve seen beautiful lace dresses on different accounts such as Sherri Hill. She’s a designer in America who does a lot of prom dresses. My aunty had a dress from her and I really liked it.

Choosing my dress was quite stressful because we had exams at the same time. I got my dress three weeks before my prom, and I was the last one in my friendship group to get one. I’m not usually a last-minute person but I was really picky about my dress. I have a group chat with my friends – we sent in pictures of our dresses on there. Everyone was saying to each other, “Aw, you’re going to look so good.”

I’m not sure if I will wear the dress again. Maybe at a wedding or something. It’s the first time I have had to think about a dress and what I wanted to wear for a special occasion. When I have been a bridesmaid, they have always picked the dress that I would wear.

I don’t have a particular style – I’ll wear jeans, dresses, anything that looks nice. I really like the Kardashians and their makeup but I also like my mum’s fashion sense. She wears a lot from Zara. I don’t borrow clothes from her, but sometimes her heels. I do borrow clothes from my elder sister. She likes bright colours.

“All the dresses were in a shed in the back garden” – Erin Wells, 16, Ousedale school, Milton Keynes

‘I showed my dress to my friend Emily because we thought we might have bought the same one’ … Erin Wells. Photograph: Katherine Anne Rose

I’ll be wearing a navy fitted dress with a racer top, and silver beading. I saw it on Facebook from a place called Prom Boutique. I went with my mum and it was in a woman’s house, she had all the dresses in a shed in her back garden. I wanted to try a lot on because you hear horror stories that they’re not the right colour, or they don’t fit [when you buy online].

I knew I wanted a fitted dress but not short because it’s prom and I wanted to feel elegant. I saw it and knew it was the one. I said to my mum that whenever I put it on it makes me smile. My friends have all gone for stuff that is totally different. One girl has a baby pink dress, another has turquoise. I don’t know what they’re like because they’re all being quite secretive – I think they want it to be a surprise. I showed mine to my friend Emily because we thought we might have bought the same one. We didn’t, so that’s OK.

I had trials for hair and makeup. I thought I would have a ponytail but now I am going for a bun with bits cascading down so you can see the back of the dress. I feel really pampered when they’re doing it. I’m on Instagram and I follow loads of celebrities. I think Gigi Hadid and Hailey Baldwin are the ones I am inspired by for hair and makeup.

My friends and I all live in different parts of Milton Keynes, so I’ll probably get ready at home and go and meet them. Afterwards, a girl in my year is having a party. I’ll quickly go home and get changed out of my dress into something I normally wear. Prom is where we’ll look nice, the afterparty is for relaxing.

Main photograph: Jon Super for the Guardian

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