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I was born on December 3rd, 1993, in Caracas’ busiest hospital. I spent my early years in a high-rise apartment at the top of a mountain in Manzanares, living a quiet, ordinary life. Everything changed when Hugo Chávez, once the face of a failed coup, rose to power. My dad saw what was coming, and we eventually left for the United States. Looking back, it's painful to see how the Venezuelan diaspora, my family included, was shaped by those decisions.

It turns out ignorance really can feel like bliss, though I'm still deciding whether that makes me carefree or careless.  I’m Jessy, and five years ago I left my job and moved from London to Amsterdam. As a health and wellness writer with a background in broadcast journalism, I hadn’t realised how constant my exposure to news had become until I changed cities and, unintentionally, stepped away from the relentless churn of headlines.

As I mother my own small children in the UK, I can’t help but think of mothers and children in Gaza. Like thousands of others worldwide, I have been watching the genocide in Gaza unfold over the last two years, literally live-streamed to us through civilians on the ground, from their phones to ours. Watching the most horrific war crimes in real time has been both deeply surreal and gut-wrenching. No human being should have to endure what the citizens of Gaza have, no matt

On 10th October, 2025, the Afghan Embassy hosted a forum with Afghanistan’s Foreign minister Amir Khan Muttaqi in New Delhi, India. The embassy had invited over sixteen journalists, and not a single one of them was a woman, let alone a woman from intersectional identities. In the forum, it was observed by other journalists, how women and foreign media were turned away from the gate of the embassy, and has been widely discussed in the media.  As a young woman journalist, ba

Do you ever think about why you were born where you were born? I was born in France because a border opened. When France granted Tunisia independence in March of 1956, my father crossed the Mediterranean sea along with thousands of others, carrying with him a language, a faith, a culture, and a hope that the new world would be gentler. That decision between a man seeking opportunity and a nation opening its borders shaped my existence before I ever took my first breath.

I’m a Paris-based Russian reporter, and for more than three years I have been covering anti-war resistance in my country. At this point, I should be used to the war in Ukraine.   But when I recently met a Ukrainian artist at a party, something strange happened.   I introduced myself to him in English. But since many people from post-Soviet countries in the room were speaking Russian (which is our common language), he asked: “Do you speak Russian?”.   “Yes,” I responded.