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HackYourFuture In my experience, charities are often seen as far removed from innovation, as fusty organisations preoccupied with the ills of society, putting a damper on the exciting progress being made in other sectors. Hack Your Future Copenhagen and its bright-eyed, dapperly dressed Managing Director Christopher don’t fit this stereotype at all. Instead, as I follow him down the all-white, minimalist corridors lit by the morning sun, Chris embodies the energy of the project he leads, one that teaches refugees, asylum seekers and marginalised groups programming skills in Javascript and front and back end development. At the weekly gathering of HYF’s students (a group from migrant backgrounds including a significant number of refugees and asylum-seekers), Chris leads a stand-up, replicating what many small businesses now do to ensure everyone in a team is on message. HYF’s version, however, struck a different tone. News that one student was granted asylum in Denmark marked the end of the stand-up after another was presented with a Raspberry Pi — a credit-card sized computer which enables people to explore computing and learn coding languages — as a prize for good effort. This is certainly indicative of the blend of business and charity seen at HYF, where migrants aren’t merely given a skill, but introduced to the fresh face of modern, European business culture. Describing his rapid introduction to HYF as a friend of the manager of the Amsterdam branch, Chris says “So I was like ok cool. I’ve got everything, the laptops, students and was like, do you wanna take over now? And they said, Chris, you’re the manager of Copenhagen now!” This sort of speed of development is indicative of a wider trend, where over 15 refugee coding schools have sprung up over the last few years across Europe and North America. Dr Rasmus Jones, a recent optical communication PHD graduate whose named is fantastically representative of the international world he inhabits, has been teaching at HYF in his spare time for the last three years. With obvious passion he speaks about the future potential of programming to influence society, and — at least to my luddite ears — he has a knack for making the technologically complex sound simple. “Let’s try to explain, say, with a hammer and a nail. You have to put two beams together. I got shown a hammer by my dad at some point. Let’s say I’m 22 and have never seen a hammer or a nail. They put a hammer and a nail in front of me, but to me these are abstract things. If they teach programming in school, if my dad showed me how to write a little program when I was five, then when I’m 22 I have different tools. We are humans in an evolutionary process, we learn from experience and exposure.” In light of this, Rasmus explains that if he taught me coding for only a few hours, the random code I see on his computer screen would begin to make vague sense. It isn’t only that we fundamentally adapt to technology in such a manner but that educated migrant groups are suited to fulfilling such roles. “It’s a growing job market. Everyone needs an app and people need those people. On the other side they have a fairly good background because they had a similar education back home, but they don’t have this stamp from society”. Getting their qualifications recognised in host societies is difficult for migrants and, contrary to much of public opinion, many of them are highly educated. Present among those I spoke to at HYF were a former financial analyst, a computer science student from Pakistan and a father of two who’d come over to study in Sweden after completing a Computer Network Engineering BA in Ghana. However, coding represents an opportunity for them to use their previous experience to learn a concrete skill, bypassing the need to gain recognition for past qualifications in a labour market that does not necessarily require a degree. According to both Rasmus and Chris, another important element of coding jobs is that they are less reliant on learning Danish. Chris points out that English — at least in Europe and the US — is very much the lingua franca of coding. Even in a Danish workplace where Danish is spoken most of the time, instructions related to code and the code itself will essentially be in English, and it is highly unlikely that many tech jobs today will purely be Danish-speaking. This stands in contrast to wider debates about English in Denmark, where places are cut on English language university courses and learning Danish is seen as of primary importance on the road to integration. Neither is Danish the easiest of languages to learn. An article in Babel Magazine cited pronunciation as the reason for Danish being the sixth hardest language in the world for an English speaker and both Chris and Rasmus couldn’t avoid dropping comments about the language. HYF is taught in English, so, as well as it allowing for a far larger group of teachers to draw from, it removes the difficulty of learning a new skill in a language one isn’t quite comfortable with.  Despite this, Chris by no means dismisses the overall importance of Danish when living in Denmark. A student of Danish himself, he talks of the need to show a desire to meet the local population, order in a restaurant and generally be able to communicate on a basic level. According to him, it is requiring Danish as a foundation for employment that should in fact be questioned. It is undoubtedly important to learn the language of the nation you adopt (or adopts you), but it is up for debate whether this needs to happen before finding gainful employment and thus avoiding the sense of anomie that often derives from lacking a place in the job market. The work HYF does seems especially prescient when you consider the context it operates within. Our increasingly

We may wonder, what is the issue with a period? Most certainly, either as a man or woman of 21st century coming from any developed country, our adolescent school times were quite similar- hormones burst all around, body and mind transform to adult one, boys turn masculine and girls get their first periods. We all went through some challenging times in relation to the family, friends or teachers, but most importantly, the puberty did not stop the majority of us from attending the school. Especially, girls, we have our cramps and swinging moods, but it was not an excuse to drop out of the school during these messy days. Basic menstrual products, such as tampons and pads are provided by our mothers, family or friends at the very beginnings. Then coming to school, where clean toilets and privacy are secured, so that everybody can take care of their business whenever is needed to. Such a banal thing. Sadly, not every girl and woman has access to the same support and resources.   Period… Unsaid. Unacknowledged. Unknown. Despite the fact that 800 million girls and women worldwide menstruate every day, yet menstruation remains obscured in silence and taboos. This lack of information perpetuates the stigma that´s harming women´s health and education. A recent International Women´s Health Coalition and Clue app survey of 90.000 women from 190 countries found that in some countries, close to half of the respondents felt they did not have sufficient education or information about starting their period. Survey highlights the countries with the highest percentage of respondents who felt they have received adequate education on starting their period: Finland (94%), Denmark (93%), and Japan (92%). In the contrary, countries where participants felt insufficiently informed in this respect: India (61%), Ukraine (41%), Russia (25%).   The survey further revealed, that there are commonly-used slang terms, such as “Aunt Flo”, “Bloody Mary” or “Lady time”. We have over 5,000 euphemisms for the word “period”, but we still can´t talk about it openly? Menstruation continues to prevent girls and women´s participation in school, work and social events. According to this survey, almost a quarter of women participants also said, that they have missed “school, work or a social activity” because they were menstruating. This is in accordance with trends highlighting, that period is a significant barrier to girls education globally. A period should not be an obstacle to education and participation! Why so many girls are missing the school during their period Several studies have described how something as simple as a lack of access to safe, private and clean bathrooms detracts from schoolgirls´ enjoyment and quality of learning. Lack of bathrooms with clean water and soap further exacerbates the discomfort and makes it difficult to stay hygienic and retain a sense of dignity. “I end up using rags,” said Nyanjuma Galoth. Source: UNFPA South Sudan/ Juma Delu “My periods are a nightmare” 20 years old Nyanjuma Galoth told to UNFPA at a civilian protection camp in South Sudan. She said, it is a source of stress “The days I am lucky, I get a few sanitary pads from my friends, while other days, I end up using rags to absorb the blood flow.” She said “ it is like a terrible sickness”, and she is not alone. Too many girls skip school because of a lack of sanitary products. Often, the cost of sanitary products is simply too high, forcing them to stay home to tend their bleeding. The Guardian has reported, in some countries, like Malawi, sanitary pads can even cost the equivalent of an entire day´s salary. In Kenya for example, two-thirds of girls and women can´t afford sanitary pads. In Somaliland, girls and women generally use cloth without underwear to absorb their menstruation. A number of women and girls are unable to afford sanitary pads. They are forced to use pieces of clothes or cotton wool which results in infection and skin irritation. Photograph: Emma Nzioka Conversations for better access to feminine hygiene products have been growing around the world. Even in the United States, when former President Obama expressed that the so-called “tampon tax” (The term “tampon tax” can be mistaken, as it is not specifically targeted at tampons and other feminine hygiene products, but it is simply a part of the sale tax base) does not make sense. He said, “I suspect it´s because men were making the laws when those taxes were passed”. Obama was right. Access to sanitary products should be a basic right, provided for free or at low cost. Countries and states have started steps to repeal the tax. For example, in 2016, public schools in New York introduced free tampons and pads in all secondary schools. Several  African countries like Botswana, Kenya, Zambia, Uganda, are also using free sanitary products as a way to keep girls in schools. Between 2016 and 2018, New York, Nevada, Florida, Illinois and Connecticut eliminated the tax, and many other state introduced to do so. Around the globe, Canada, Malaysia, India and Australia have nixed the tax and Britain is on way to do so once Brexit is settled. Across Europe, the German government plans to reduce the tax on pads and tampons from 19% to 7% in 2020. Hygiene products in other countries are taxed at a lower rate or have even been abolished altogether. This was a move the European parliament encouraged its member states to do so. The fight for accessible menstrual products has started, but it will not be completed until every girl and woman will have the same access to tampons and pads, which are crucial in order to live the healthiest and dignified life. Apart from the cost of menstrual products worldwide, stigma plays a major role in preventing girls from attending school. Period stigma usually comes from entrenched superstitions and narratives that describe women who menstruate as unclean, or impure. The period phenomenon dates back for centuries and is common among numerous different cultures, religions and

  The Danish Institute for International Studies recently hosted an event that focused on the children of foreign fighters who fought for the Islamic State (IS). At stake is the future of at least 7,000 children under 12. This means that some of these children were brought to IS and some were born there. There are at least 30 Danish children in camps. Many states have citizens who traveled to support IS and may of those states are seeking ways to revoke the citizenship of their nationals, prevent their return, and deny citizenship to their children. What is going on here? Do we not live in societies where we believe in rehabilitation or, if a crime is heinous enough, life sentences? The dialogue around this topic centers on the violence these children have been exposed to and the beliefs of their parents. Analysts and politicians worry that allowing the return of these children and their parents pose a security risk. “… they do not belong in Denmark” say political leaders. To these children, I would like to say, welcome home. To those who question their humanity I say, who are you? The children currently live in camps where they have little to no access to education, organized activities, or a sense of a future. Those who previously lived abroad are having their earliest memories overwritten by a sense that the world does not want them. Those which were born into the Islamic State are given no frame of reference to judge against. For both, the lessons of the Islamic State, that they exist to fight against a world that does not want them, are proved true on a daily basis. It does not have to be this way. DIIS researcher Maja Touzari Greenwood has interviewed Danish foreign fighters who traveled to Syria to fight and have now returned. Among her subjects, she identified a need for a meaningful life that drew them to IS. They thought that through their involvement with IS they could achieve “moral transformation and absolution”. The children currently being left to waste away in camps such as Al-Hawl and al-Roj are being left in situations far worse than those Danish environments that produced individuals who viewed their surroundings as so bereft of value or future that they left to join IS. Thus far, Germany and Belgium have taken the lead in this matter and have repatriated a few orphaned children. Denmark has repatriated one 13-year-old who was shot in the leg after their mother granted consent but is attempting to prevent the return of adults. And, despite the recent change in government, there does not seem to be an effort to renegotiate this year’s earlier deal If the world does not want another Islamic State or Boko Haram it should not keep children in these disastrous conditions as possible recruits are literally toddlers and school-age children who are only just beginning to develop a moral compass. As the Danish Social Democrats say, “we need to help more”.

In the first article of this series, I explored the Lebanese educational system, discussing its outward strengths and successes. Yet, despite Lebanon’s extremely high literacy rates (93.9%)[1], the fact remains that this is nothing but a glittering façade distracting us from an unsettling truth: the Lebanese educational system is severely flawed and outdated, no longer catering to the needs of the students and the market that will be receiving them, as is clearly represented by Lebanon’s youth unemployment rate (17.87 in 2018)[2]. Students graduate with the hopes of finding suitable and decent work, but these dreams are actually shattered as they apply for job after job with seemingly no success. The main factor undermining their efforts lies, in fact, in their education: Lebanon’s educational system, outdated and inflexible as it is, has not been providing them with the core life skills, non-formal education, and capacity-building that would foster their development as individuals and give them a competitive advantage in the market. The Lebanese educational system employs curriculums and modules that have not been changed or updated since 1998 at the very least[3]. The courses taught encompass the traditional subjects (sciences, languages, humanities…) with some schools occasionally offering art or other creative courses. The material is taught, however, by inculcation: students are expected to memorize information and score well when tested, regardless of actual comprehension. Moreover, the information given is more often than not useless in the students’ day-to-day lives and careers. For example, the same history lessons have been taught in schools since the 90s, lessons that concern time periods that no longer hold any consequence over the Lebanese society, politics, reality, economy, …etc. These classes fail to mention the Lebanese Civil War, for instance, even though this time period played a significant role in shaping the Lebanon of today. Another flagrant flaw that can be seen in the Lebanese educational system is the lack of core life skills taught. The curriculum falls short of including subjects and skills that develop the students’ minds and personalities, and help them navigate the world they live in. The material taught is strictly academic, and offers little benefit to a student’s character formation. All potential for personal growth is squashed, and necessary life skills such as communication, problem solving, decision making, leadership, goal setting, and presentation, to name a few, are often overlooked. The system focuses more on handing out unified, academic knowledge, disregarding the particularities of every personal case. Individual talents, interests and skills are thus rarely developed within the context of the educational system and formal education. It therefore comes as no surprise that this system also does not offer vocational training. Students who wish to receive such training must seek it outside their schools and educational system, having to choose between either learning a trade, or receiving a formal education, but never both. The Lebanese system does not arm its students with all the skills they would need to decide for themselves and make a career of their own. All students are usually led to pursuing the same careers, with little to no room for diversity and unconventional jobs. While on the topic of training and preparation for future careers, it is worth noting that the Lebanese system does little to offer its students orientation and counseling to guide them in their decision-making process. Students are usually uninformed on the various career options and their specifics, and stumble blindly towards the career that seems the most suitable for them. Most go on to regret their choices later on, eventually working outside their field. One practice that should be implemented in schools is shadowing, an informal way for someone to learn by observation what it is like to perform a particular job at a workplace. The Lebanese educational system is also for the most part formal, lacking non-formal education. Informal and non-formal learning can empower youth in important areas, such as social inclusion, anti-discrimination and active citizenship, as well as contribute to their personal growth. The range of initiatives and programs that fall under non-formal education (NFE) are diverse: they include literacy and basic education for adults and young people, political and trade union education, and programs for school drop outs, among others. The Lebanese system in itself offers little NFE, and most types of non-formal education are usually very exclusive, targeting specific groups such as refugees and minorities, which makes it inaccessible to a large percentage of the Lebanese. Moreover, the unavailability of sustainable and free non-formal education leads children and adolescents to drop out of formal schools to seek employment, with little chance of ever completing their educations. On the surface, all seems well: a large percentage of the Lebanese population has received some form of post-secondary education, with the number of people holding degrees of varying levels increasing. However, often brushed under the carpet are vital issues such as the student debt that is skyrocketing, the underprivileged, illiterate groups that receive no help from the government, and the ongoing brain drain that continues to claim the Lebanese youth. The situation is in dire need of fixing, but that will probably have to wait for another day. Lebanon’s leaders and politicians have more important problems to tend to, namely who gets the biggest slice of the cake. For the time being, they’ve conveniently decided to turn a blind eye to the failures of this country’s educational system, because what matters is that literacy rates are high, which means that on the surface, all seems well, and they get to avoid accountability for one more day. About the author: Lara Makhoul is a translator. She graduated with honors with a BA in Translation from the Lebanese University in 2018. She is currently an MA student in Research and Translation Studies. She occupies the position of Local Programs Officer at Crossing Borders Lebanon CBL, where she is charged with scouting potential opportunities that would help youth build a brighter future. She also works at The Language Platform, a Lebanese company that

The following is a piece of writing I actually submitted for a travel-writing contest, but I thought it was fitting to share with the readers of the Crossing Border’s blog as it is demonstrative of me as a writer crossing a few borders of my own. Writing a piece like this was a transitory experience for me. I’ve never really written creative, narrative-structured non-fiction before, so the experience of discovering how to tell a story in this way was a learning experience. I also got the opportunity to look back on something I’d experienced with my dad and recollect my memories of our trip together, reliving each moment through the writing process. I hope you will enjoy reading the following story as much as I enjoyed living it and then later writing about it. -Maya . . . My grandma mentioned once that my sister and I are incredibly different people. This wasn’t news, but the way she illustrated our differences struck a chord with me. She said if we were to each go on a hike, my sister would be the trailblazer, rushing through to the peak, where, upon arrival, she would ask “what’s next?”. I, on the other hand, would take my time, thoroughly excavating each staggering path, stopping, literally, to smell the flowers. Bearing this in mind, I went on a hike with my dad while we were travelling in Macedonia. Colour-coded trail markers with Macedonian text pointed in different directions; we had no indication of what lay ahead and chose a path at random. The hike started relatively easily but stops for water grew more frequent. At one rest-stop, I found a branch that doubled as a walking stick for which my dad teased me. The hike continued, and the trail markers were becoming less frequent. At times we doubted whether we were still on the right path. The mossy leaf-laden trail – evident of the transitioning Autumn and alluding to the oncoming winter – narrowed and became rockier, less stable, more steep, more unwelcoming to beginner hikers. Sturdy footing no longer a guarantee. Suddenly it was not so stupid to have that walking stick. We didn’t know what lay ahead. Breathtaking views of kaleidoscopic Autumn foliage? Folded layers of hills converging over a glistening lake? We had no clue. I created a small routine to keep my motivation up; I wanted to make sure the journey was just as breathtaking as the destination. So I counted 10 steps at a time. I climbed, walked, and strode, counting 1, 2, 3… 10. I observed each chalky jagged rock underfoot, noticing the thorny branches weaving in and out of my path when suddenly, snap! My makeshift walking stick snapped clean in half as the space between the sloped ground and myself disappeared. For a moment, I saw myself going over the mountain. I hit the ground and slid back down the path. The plants underneath me were dragged along and found themselves broken under my weight. I slid to a stop after desperately grappling at the loose rocks and branches nearby. I looked up to find my dad, who – forging ahead as my sister would’ve – decided to now stop for his daughter. I looked down once more before getting up, and suddenly a wondrously familiar scent wafted up from the torn greenery below me. It smelled like Thanksgiving. It was thyme. I’d never seen it grow wild before, but something about finding a familiar piece of home helped me feel some affection for the nature that had just betrayed me. Pushing forward, we finally made our way to a peak. The cuts and bruises on my arms and knees were long forgotten as the sweeping landscape unfolded before us. It wasn’t rugged or grand as some wilderness is, but it was wild and pure in a humble way. We free-climbed up the steepest parts on the way up and slid strategically close to the ground on the way down, crushing a certifiable Autumn feast underneath us as we crippled thyme coupled with the red- and black-currant berries staining our clothes. All of this was made worthwhile with that view. At the top, we found an abandoned monastery. I couldn’t help but marvel at the faded wall fresco. At the graffiti signed 1989. At the sheer fact that this holy space was here 700 years ago. After lunch and internal speculation, we made our way back down the mountain. I thought about the little discoveries that made this trip worth being a story to tell. I didn’t expect to be blown away by rolling hills when I’d seen massive mountains elsewhere. I didn’t expect to eat soggy sandwiches with my dad in our own little slice of divinity. I didn’t expect to be beaten up by nature and rewarded with humble beauty. All I knew was I wanted to tell people about this place. I wanted to tell them to take it slow, observe your chosen path with intention, and don’t forget to stop and smell the thyme. by Maya

The 294-page document published by the United Kingdom’s government on March 7th 2019 is not the most exciting thing that you will ever read, for the most part it consists of an endless stream of clarifications, annotations, and updates to already existing definitions in UK immigration processes. However, it does introduce one curious term – the ‘start-up migrant’. The start-up migrant replaces the ‘graduate entrepreneur migrant’, someone who comes to the UK on a Tier 1 visa who has been “officially endorsed as having a genuine and credible business idea” and is from outside of the European Economic Area and Switzerland. This visa costs £363 (3164 DKK), with an additional £363 for every dependent that the visa holder wishes to bring with them. This visa does not allow someone to access public funds, or to settle in the UK. Now that we’ve waded through the appreciably dull definition – why does the ‘start-up migrant’ matter? In public discourse about immigration we are usually presented with certain stereotypes about what makes an immigrant ‘good’ or ‘bad’. Bad immigrants are typically people who come to a country to ‘steak jobs’ or to ‘live off of welfare’, they are ‘criminals’ and ‘scroungers. By contrast, good immigrants are investors and bring with them wealth and skills. Effectively these descriptions are placeholders for ideas of class and cultural values, by framing the debate like this we typically exclude people who might be from a lower income background and we glorify people who have had the good fortune to be more socioeconomically privileged. The ‘start-up migrant’ is just another indication of how the British government wishes to differentiate between who is welcome and who is not. The very word ‘start-up’ conjures images of industrious technology companies, it recalls the image of the ideal neo-liberal saviour – a well-dressed and well-educated person with deep pockets who has come to ‘innovate’ and ‘improve’ society. Equally, the obsession with start-ups and worshipping those who are involved in them is just further indicative of an outmoded pattern of thinking about economics which sees perpetual growth, rather than sustainability, as the answer to all problems. Whenever we move countries we are migrants who are starting up something new, and not all of us are able to leap into founding a new business. Mostly, we work from humble beginnings and just take what work we can. We work in bars, kitchens, or coffee shops. Why is that kind of hard-work not so equally valued? Working in the service industry, or in any line of work which does not involve directing a company, does not make you less valuable as a person. The fact that we see fit to distinguish between ‘start-up migrants’ and other migrant workers speaks volumes about how class prejudice intersects with immigration rights. By Simon Fern

When I say Florida, what do you picture? Florida tends to conjure up breezy images of sea shell-laden sandy beaches, with palm trees asway as the sun beams gracefully down on strikingly blue water. Perhaps the mentioning of Florida is suggestive of big cities and their respective landmarks, such as Miami with its Hispanic vibrancy or Orlando with the presence of Disney World. I would like to re-introduce Florida to anyone whose default is one of the above. It is not that those notions are false representations, but Florida is simply more. I would like to express the diversity of Floridians and the Floridian landscape, for better or worse. I’d like to hijack the narrative stating that Florida is the perfect Sunshine State, a paragon for retirement communities, Spring-breakers, and sunburnt Scandinavians wearing floral prints. Florida is so much more than these tropes. Florida is vast. It is truly immense, geographically speaking. Florida is filled with an insane (read: deadly) ecosystem. Florida is diverse in ideologies. The state is essentially fractured and divided into differing cultural regions. You could even say that the state’s inhabitants are dramatically polarized. You can see from the map below that the blue regions voted for Hillary Clinton and the red regions voted for Donald Trump in the 2016 presidential election. This is similarly representative of greater cultural trends found across the state as well. The larger cities and the coastal areas are expressive of a ‘Northern mentality’ and the rural and central areas tend to represent a ‘Southern-like’ culture. Photo from New York Times Election Coverage In essence, North Florida is culturally aligned with the American deep south and South Florida is culturally aligned with that of New England, the Northeast US. North is South and South is North. This might sound confusing, and it is. Florida is confusing. It is chaotic and divergent to a fault. In West Palm Beach there might be a rally for women’s reproductive rights or a demonstration to end gun violence. At the same time, when driving north heading towards Orlando, you’ll see billboards advertising ‘gator jerky, pro-life messages, and the most loathsome, in my opinion, Machine Gun America – which depicts a smiling little girl in a pink tank-top holding up a big black machine gun. The idea that you can take the action of shooting a gun and turn it into a giant spectacle, a glorified family-friendly experience, a way to capitalize on someone’s twisted idea of fun – this, while grim, is so utterly Florida. While these diametrically opposed political and cultural views are not necessarily novel to Florida alone, Florida does offer the unique experience of a deadly tropical environment! Yes, you read that correctly. Growing up in South Florida, it isn’t uncommon to stumble upon an alligator sun-bathing in your backyard. Or a potentially poisonous snake. You actually grow up learning how to deal with these kinds of creatures. I remember learning in elementary school that if you are ever being chased by an alligator, you need to run away in a zig-zag motion, which confuses the animal as its eyes are placed on opposite sides of its head. This way, it won’t know which direction to run in and will become confused. There’s also the well-known phrase for when you see a coral snake, which has red, yellow and black stripes: Red touches black, friend of Jack. Red touches yellow, Jack’s a dead fellow. Catchy rhymes about deadly snakes and gun-glorifying spectacles aside, Florida is my home. It’s many people’s homes. I think this is important to remember when we, as global citizens, cross borders throughout our lives. Where are we going and why? What negative, positive, or neutral impact will I have on the local communities? What can I learn or understand from the nuances of local communities where I’m headed? The key notion here, in my opinion, is not to second-guess our every action but to make choices with informed intention. In doing so, we can open our eyes to more than common tropes. We can go beyond the preconceived notions of a place and begin to dig into what it is about spaces and places that make them special to the communities that inhabit them. By Maya Schwartz

Social inequality is an issue that has been ever present throughout the history of mankind. From the early ages of humanity, the law of the jungle has ruled over civilizations in different types and forms. As far back as the Stone Age, social inequality was observed through the strongest hunter ruling the group and getting privileges accordingly. Fast forward to the Feudal system whereby the selected few owned the means of production and lived in luxury, leaving the rest of their society impoverished and in anguish. Even in the 21st century, social inequality seems to be deep-rooted into our existence.   The richest 10% own approximately 40% of the wealth, income inequality is on the rise in developing countries, and The World Economic Forum claims closing the gender gap in terms of salary and employment would take 217 years. For every dollar in tax revenue, it is estimated that only 4 cents is paid by the wealthy, while in some countries the poorest 10% pay more taxes than the wealthiest 10%. 262 million children do not have access to education, and 10,000 people die every day as a result of inaccessible healthcare. These are just a few examples of how social inequality affects us today, and specifically the most vulnerable. Despite the fact that these issues are often politicized for personal gains, they are far more than a left-right feud by any means; every person is entitled to basic human rights without having to pay in order to access them. It is easy to say healthcare is a privilege when you have healthcare, easy to say that education is a privilege when you can afford one, and easy to say that gender inequality is not an important issue when you have not seen how it is curbing rights or are suffering because of it. We are only as good as our actions, and if we remain inactive, future generations will look back at us in discontent just as we look down on racist people who fought against the civil rights movement in the 1950s and 60s. Future generations will look back at us as we look down on those that have degraded, dehumanized, and preformed genocide on innocent people. If we do not act, we will merely become yet another dark memory in the history of humankind. There are several positives to reducing inequalities; to those suffering from its effects, to those affected by it consequences, and even to those causing them. In my next 3 blog posts, I will be discussing three main aspects to reducing inequality; how it will bring stability to the world, how it will promote a fair and merit-based world, and how it is directly linked to achieving all the other SDGs. About the author: Jad Bou Saleh is an International Affairs and Diplomacy student at Notre Dame University-Louaize. He is currently working as Research Officer for Crossing Borders Lebanon and is a facilitator for the school services programs.

Delving into the topic of gender equality should come second only to actually having basic civil rights. It would be inaccurate to say that the absence of civil codes in Lebanon only affects women negatively, however, they are the demographic that suffers the most. Different women have their respective experiences, and they suffer differently, whether they are of a certain social class, race, religious background… etc. In Lebanon, different women suffer from almost the same issues, regardless of their classification, as they are alienated from their basic rights. No matter how rich or poor you are, if you are a woman in Lebanon, it would be a far-fetched dream to grant your children the Lebanese citizenship, for instance. One of our local NGOs, known as Abaad, still has to fight to abolish archaic laws such as article 522 of the constitution, which allows rapists to escape their punishment by marrying the rape victim. Fortunately, their efforts have been met with popular support which ultimately lead to success. This was one of the very few triumphs Lebanese women have been able to celebrate, but it seems absolutely ridiculous, in our day and age, to celebrate abolishing a legal loophole for rapists and sexual abusers, does it not? At Crossing Borders Lebanon, we aim to join in that initiative of achieving sustainable development goal number five. It is on the top of our list of priorities, and we hope to join in the efforts of all the local NGOs who are lobbying for our family, partners, mothers, sisters, and friends. Six women currently hold seats in the Lebanese parliament. Six seats out of one hundred and twenty eight, are occupied by females. Our minister for women’s affairs is an Armenian man of an age group considered fit for retirement, and he is not the only one. But if we were to discuss the hurdles Lebanon faces, from strikingly old, to strikingly corrupt members of parliament who are often both, we would not be able to allocate any time to discuss the rights of Lebanese women, and that is usually the excuse given by those same MPs when asked about the progress of our basic rights. It’s not all dark and gloomy, though, since there are glimmers of hope just beyond the horizon. We have four female ministers in our newly formed government: Violet Khairallah, Nada Al Bustani, May Chidiac, and Raya Al Hassan. Additionally, activists such as Joumana Haddad and MP Paula Yaacoubian, have constantly taken to the streets, courts, and political arenas, to voice their concerns. They ended up yielding much support and progress, no matter how symbolic it may seem to some opposers. Mrs. Haddad herself was violently stripped of her right to a seat in parliament overnight, during the 2018 elections. By comparison, Lebanon seems to be one the most progressive in the Middle East when it comes to the treatment of its female population. You can hear the echoing choruses of the coopted chant “You can drive! You can wear short skirts!” And that, is the pseudo progression of women’s rights that silences those who are hesitant to object. But, does a woman care if she can drive, if she is driving back home to marital rape, a concept not even recognized by Lebanese law? Doesn’t a young lady think twice before donning that short skirt, in fear of being raped and it being her fault for being so provocative in the first place? These are all cultural advancements that have reached us before their prerequisites, and one cannot help but question, are they on the way? Or are they never coming?   About the author: Tala Tlili holds a BA in International Affairs and Diplomacy. She is the Research Officer for Crossing Borders Lebanon, serves as the current Deputy representative for Lebanon at the IYF, is passionate about tolerance, change, and video games.