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Not a whisper when we arrived, but a roar
there to greet us—two continents rubbing.
To yawn at the sight would have meant scrubbing
oneself from an outcrop along the shore,
we thought, so sure of the power that comes with size
here where enormities are said to collide.
We were being held, and the choice—suicide
or murder—was not ours to make: how one dies
and to what music, in what and whose interests,
can be composed beforehand but not willed.
What, with time, could we have thwarted
at the coast of what, where nothing rests.
The edge framed those who would be killed.
The coast aborted us, we aborted
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The vast hinterlands of the Global South’s cities are generating new solidarities and ideas of what counts as a life worth living.
Protests in China are shining a light not only on the country’s draconian population management but restrictions on workers everywhere.
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