Vol. 28, No. 2: Sanctuary

Vol. 28, No. 2: Sanctuary

In our summer 2022 issue, Southern Cultures grapples with the complexities of the South as a place of refuge and possibility.

Respite, Refuge, and Remembering

by Regina N. Bradley

”People are still searching for refuge and peace in the South, and people are still fighting to provide it.”

Walking with Ella Watson

by Jovonna Jones

“The photographs render the walls of the sanctuary permeable, so much so that by sitting with the images and following Watson’s and Parks’s paths through them, we too find ourselves on holy ground.”

Otherwise Possibility

by Ashon Crawley

"I use paint, ink and canvas, paper and other surfaces to visualize that which remains after my body moves to the sound of the music and of praise, to more fully consider residue—lingering—that escapes capture.”

Of Clay and Wonder

by Chérie Rivers Ndaliko

“He listened ravenously to our every answer, listened as if his life depended on it. And that, it turns out, is precisely the thing: it does."

What Love Looks Like in Public

by Sharon P. Holland, Tiz Giordano

"This mutual aid work is mutual. We sustain one another, we stand in intergenerational solidarity, we redistribute wealth beyond capital, and stand fully present to one another.”

A Place to Sigh

by Dawn Williams Boyd, Margaret T. McGehee

“Sanctuary is the place where you are safe, where you are at ease, where you are known and knowing."

Queer Sanctuary on the Borderlands

by Joel Zapata

“Eight hundred miles or so west of the South Texas border, I also found the perfect place for me.”

A Felt Need

by Jajuan S. Johnson

“‘We don’t get where we are without a cost. Freedom is never free. So, we saw the church go up in flames and fall down in ashes.’”

Unearthing the Sacred

by Antonio José Martínez y Miera, Theresa J. Córdova, Karen R. Roybal

“Over four decades later, the existence of this archive allows us to contemplate and discuss what light these resolanas of the past shed on our present. It provides an important opportunity for collective memory to speak."

Inherited

by Gris Muñoz

“I’ve never seen people watch a fire with as much sadness / as my father’s family / when they were celebrating."