Issue 153.5 June 2026

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Editorial: The Heart of Resistance

by Jeanna Cammarano

June 15, 2026

Editorial

We often speak about the elements of resistance. About what is required to create a force for change. What incites that spark? What feeds that fire? We speak about hatred, violence, and oppression: fascist governments, rights stripped, suppression of speech, and the collective suffering of people. It’s easy to argue that resistance stems directly from our suffering.

The antithesis of oppression. An opposing force to counteract the other.

Never in my lifetime has there been such an abundance of suffering or a larger need for change. Maybe it feels like this to every generation at one point or another, but right now, it seems we’re fighting battles on all fronts with no end in sight.

With the continued rise of fascism and authoritarian governments around the world, alongside the ever expanding overt and systemic racism, misogyny, transphobia, homophobia, xenophobia, ableism, and countless other horrifying abuses, the world has no shortage of suffering.

We are facing the brutal unrelenting genocide of the Palestinian people in Gaza, inhumane and deadly detention camps of ICE and DHS in the United States, and acts of war across the globe: the recent bombings of Iran by the United States, Israeli attacks on Lebanon, the civil war in Sudan, continued war and forced displacement in the Democratic Republic of Congo, civil war in Myanmar and genocide of the Rohingya people, and Russia’s war against Ukraine to name only a few of the recent ongoing conflicts. Not to mention the humanitarian cost of each which has reached devastating levels. We’re on the precipice of change, one way or another.

It’s not enough to merely condemn these atrocities. I do, this magazine does, but it has to be more than that. When I first volunteered to spearhead this project, I wanted to do something. I’m not sure I had an exact vision of what this anthology would look like. It was mostly a feeling I wanted to convey. Strength of will maybe. Determination. I wanted to fan the flames or ignite that spark. I wanted to create something to pass on to our readers so they know that, whatever they are up against, they are not alone, that there are things worth fighting for. Throughout this project this feeling coalesced into something more.

It isn’t only the incredible force of will demonstrated within these pages that struck me so intensely, though there absolutely is that—a fire worthy of a revolution—but there is a human element beneath the flames that fuels that action from its core.

Within these stories I found such love and care embedded beneath each courageous act. An element nearly inextricable from the act of resistance itself. Beneath that fire burns compassion and empathy with such warmth it is sure to ignite something within.

In “133rd Live Podcast of the Gourmando Resistance” by Beth Cato, a taste of the past and an ancestor’s connection is worth risking everything for. This story speaks to the importance of connection both personally and collectively. The defiance of this piece is undeniable, but the strength comes from the heart.

Within “In the Name of Those Optimist Iranian Fools” by Pegah Ouji, a sister’s love is a force as strong as gravity bringing our protagonist back to the country she thought she’d left behind. This is a grief story that manifests a profound sense of loss but also an enduring resilience fueled by love.

In “Last Rites” by Cailín Frankland, we see that love and care transcend death and society’s edicts. We see respect and dignity preserved. Honoring a loved one’s wishes in death becomes the ultimate resistance.

Sometimes it is the small resistances that make the largest impact. In “Herself Anodyne” by Emma Burnett, the privilege of one is used to help the many. It is so satisfying to see someone working within the system to help people inherently oppressed by it. It may not be a radical act, but even a small act of kindness can change a life.

In contrast, Myna Chang’s “Null Empathy” explores empathy as a liability. Something to shield themselves from, or arm themselves against, in the name of self-preservation. This story certainly challenges our perception of what it means to be human and serves as a stark reminder of the cost of silence.

But these are only a few facets of what it means to resist. You’ll see both love and resistance reflected in a myriad of ways within the many exceptional stories here. You’ll find resilience of spirit in the face of impossible odds, enduring because it is the only choice. You’ll find resistance imperfect and on its own not enough. Small resistances that add up. Resistance in the form of fighting back and empowerment on a level that is magic itself.

And you’ll see what it looks like to turn away.

I hope this anthology serves as a reminder of our capacity to care and our strength to do something about it. Let these stories be a beacon in the dark, fuel to the fire, and a warning to keep that torch lit.

* * *

Jeanna Cammarano

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133rd Live Podcast of the Gourmando Resistance

by Beth Cato

June 16, 2026

Science Fiction

Claudia had been a devotee of the Gourmando Resistance Podcast since episode 20. She knew what to do as hostess. She knew she may not have much time to do it. Her battery-operated stove burner was assembled, the large pot atop it half full of oil at approximately 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Her dough was mixed. Half of it was loaded into an old plastic device that, oddly enough, was called a gun, though this device extruded dough in various shapes and sizes, dependent on the disc that was loaded into the end.

And most importantly for the podcast, she had on her full synth suit, complete with a gustatory sheath on her tongue. But for the first time, she was going to output data, not receive.

Through the overlay on her enhanced contacts, she stared at the camera mounted above her makeshift kitchen. With the movement of her eyes, she signaled the program to go live.

“Greetings, fellow Gourmet Commandos! Welcome to the 133rd Live Podcast. I’m Claudia.” She showed off the plastic gun with its dough-filled tube. “I’m making a dessert my grandma remembered from her childhood: churros.”

She bit back the urge to nervously babble. She had to get cooking. Nutrition enforcers spied on the Gourmando forums online, and they might be watching her even now. Her face was mostly bare—part of the defiance of the broadcast, and the risk. If she was identified via facial or retinal recognition software, officers could be at her door in minutes.

It was impossible to know how many ‘casters were busted, but very few hosted multiple episodes.

Claudia pulled the trigger on the gun to release a fat, star-shaped tube of dough into the oil. It baffled her that people cooked food in the old days using a method that smelled so awful. Things were so different before the famines and strict caloric monitoring, before daily rations of government-issued AllFood loaves in five flavors.

“This churro dough is simple, just flour, sugar, salt, butter, water, and eggs.” She squirted more dough into the oil. “Thank you to everyone who sent ingredients and tools.”

Gourmandos had contributed supplies, as they always did. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people, tuned in for these broadcasts to experience illicit foods of yore. Everyone stayed anonymous until they volunteered to take a turn at the camera. Each time Claudia had checked her assigned drop box locations around the city in recent weeks, she’d wondered if she’d find ingredients, kitchen implements, or a trap.

“The churros are turning brown fast,” Claudia said. “Oh! I almost forgot.” She set down the gun and touched the dough still in the bowl, letting the sensors in her fingertips share the data with everyone else who wore synth suits. Those people already knew her armpits were getting downright swampy.

In a sudden fit of bravado, she pinched off some dough and brought it near her mouth. She could imagine the horror of many of her viewers. Some might even be ripping the sensor sheaths from their tongues, repulsed by the idea of experiencing raw ingredients, especially eggs.

But she remembered the giddy delight she’d felt when a previous podcaster had shared raw chocolate chip cookie dough. Claudia had thought the dough had tasted even better than the fresh-baked cookies.

The churro dough wasn’t anywhere near as delightful. She almost spit it out, but after a few quick chews, she swallowed.

“I think the churros are done now.” She used a slotted spoon to transfer them to a towel on a plate. Some churros were curved, while others were fairly straight. Strangely enough, the oil smelled good now. She breathed in deeply, allowing the foreign scent to drift through the filters over her nose and to her fellow foodies.

Claudia glanced at the clock. Not even ten minutes had passed. She hesitated, tempted to start more dough in the oil, but no. She needed to finish the first batch. She couldn’t miss the chance to experience what her grandmother had told her about in a creaky voice so full of yearning.

A quick tap confirmed a churro was just cool enough to touch. She tossed it into a prepared bowl mounded with cinnamon and sugar, and rolled the churro around for an immersive baptism. The incredible sweet and spicy scent made her eyes and mouth water.

Claudia brought the completed churro to her lips. After a lifetime of living on AllFood loaves, of vicariously tasting the forbidden through the podcast, she was going to ingest contraband calories for herself.

She bit into the tip of the churro. The coating of sugar and cinnamon dazzled her tongue as her teeth crunched through the outer ridges to find an interior that was soft, chewy, and delightfully hot. She took another bite and wept. Salty tears joined the divine flavors in her mouth.

“I’m eating a churro, Abuelita,” she whispered.

A heavy knock shuddered through the door.

No. No. No—

An instant later, the digital locks were overridden. Officers in armored suits burst in, guns in hand—and these guns weren’t loaded with dough. She froze, overwhelmed. She’d read so many theories about what happened from here: hidden tribunals, imprisonment, prosecution. That rebellious ‘casters were likely stripped of their enhancements, forevermore isolated from the expansive digital world.

But she had experienced churros, and so much more. This had been worth it.

She shoved the rest of the churro in her mouth. “Keep cooking, Gourmandos!” she shouted. Crumbs sprayed from her mouth as she held high a fist that sparkled with sugar. Her head was slammed into the table a second later. Through dizzying pain, she swallowed, and smiled.

* * *

Beth Cato

Originally published in Nature: Futures, September 2018. Reprinted here by permission of the author.

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The stories below are all currently locked. You can unlock them early by supporting us on Patreon. Your contributions help us support the talented authors and artists who contribute each month.

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