Northern Arizona University | Flagstaff, Arizona
LOVE
LETTERS
SPRING 2026 | VOLUME 3 | ISSUE 2
Just say suicide Page 12 An epitaph for missing and murdered Indigenous relatives Page 35
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CONTRIBUTORS
EXECUTIVE BOARD Ava Hiniker, Editor-in-Chief Abbey Sobelman, Managing Editor Yanissa Romo, Director of Digital Content Vivien Volkov, Director of Marketing Saige Steele, Copy Chief Sierra Schafer, Director of Social Media Vanessa Garcia, Co-Director of Print Design Luke Giles, Co-Director of Print Design
EDITORIAL Arria Williams Abbey Sobelman Elliott Stringer Katelyn Magaña Molly Hunter Morgan Felker Lewis Matt Dreher
Marcel Herving Darby Walker Katie Tsoukatos Luke Giles Rosa Pulido Yanissa Romo Vivien Volkov
VISUALS J.L. Arnold III Carter Brayer Grace Copeland Vanessa Garcia Luke Giles Ari Gough Tacey Grant Molly Hunter Forrest King Kiki Kowitz
Nyx Lutes Jason Maggio Diana Ochoa Athena Roberts Yanissa Romo Caiden Snyder Beck Toms Katie Tsoukatos Vivien Volkov Haleigh Williams
Katherine Locke, Faculty Adviser Northern Arizona University sits at the base of the San Francisco Peaks, on homelands sacred to Native Americans throughout the region. We honor their past, present and future generations, who have lived here for millennia and will forever call this place home.
lumberjack@nau.edu © 2026 The Lumberjack P.O. Box 5619 Flagstaff, AZ 86011
Letter from the editor...
I
f you knew, in no uncertain terms, that the next story you tell will be your last, what would you do with your final few words? Would you spotlight the women who dedicate their lives to cataloging the cases of their missing and murdered Indigenous relatives, especially when law enforcement misclassifications and systemic negligence corrode faith in governmental justice? Maybe you would investigate AVA HINIKER the pervasiveness of suicidal EDITOR-IN-CHIEF ideation in the modern day. Bombarded by nationwide crises, maybe you would draft an ode to the revitalizing rap vinyls, cinematic temples and independent political pamphlets that convince you to keep fighting. Our team of brilliant senior reporters, photographers, illustrators and designers did all of this and more for The Lumberjack’s fifth print magazine, “Love Letters.” This issue’s stories embody an unwavering gratitude for the passion, power and connection permeating day-to-day life, even when political and societal shifts make moments of pure, exhilarating triumph seem few and far between. From honoring the nonprofits expanding Flagstaff’s food pantries to describing the rewards and challenges of pursuing an NAU degree as a full-time parent, our team rose to the challenge of unveiling the love in every local journey. To the countless seniors on our staff, this magazine also serves as a fond farewell to their college days, a truth that led a few of our contributors to include a letter to their past selves in the center of this issue. “Love Letters” is not about sugar-coating the raw, unrelenting terrors infesting our communities. Most stories in this magazine do the exact opposite. Instead, this issue demands readers acknowledge their potential to use their words for good, share important stories and take community matters into their own hands. Publishing this issue would not be possible without the teethgritting, stomach-flipping perseverance of every journalist on this paper. Our reporters juggle their contributions with part-time jobs, full-time classes and a slew of personal responsibilities. Placing this magazine into your waiting hands is no easy feat, but it is one we wouldn’t trade for anything. I would especially like to thank the illustration team, led by Haleigh Williams, alongside senior photographer Caiden Snyder, multimedia director Jason Maggio and managing editor Abbey Sobelman for immediately hopping on multiple responsibilities outside of their metaphorical pay grade to ensure our magazine was the best it physically could be. This was also the first semester The Lumberjack had a dedicated design team, comprising the brilliant Vanessa Garcia and Luke Giles. Our beautiful cover and a selection of our mouth-watering spreads come from their masterful visions and artistic aptitudes. As one would expect from the title, this magazine is the epitome of a labor of love. It is one I am extremely grateful to have spearheaded this spring alongside every other journalist on this exhilarating, wonderful newspaper. Enjoy the read!
Cover illustrated by Vanessa Garcia The Lumberjack | Spring 2026 3
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Table of Contents Fighting for a better future: How one NAU student balances midterms and motherhood
6.
‘Chewie, we’re home’: Saluting the silver screen
10.
Just say suicide
12.
God save the zine
16.
The art of immortality
20.
With love,
22.
‘Keep a place for me’: 10 years of ‘Blonde’
27.
Verses and vices: An homage to rap
30.
An epitaph for missing and murdered Indigenous relatives
35.
The people feeding Flagstaff
39.
Fighting for a better future:
How one NAU student balances midterms and motherhood
Story by Arria Williams Illustration by Ari Gough Photos by Jason Maggio and Athena Roberts
T
iny dust clouds rise from beneath the wheels of a 3-year-old boy’s red and silver tricycle as he peddles along a dirt trail. His mom, Alicia Robinson, follows behind and calls out words of encouragement as he speeds ahead during one of their regular walks. The pair explore the Buffalo Park Loop before making one of their multiple weekly commutes to the Navajo Nation, where Robinson’s son stays with his dad and other family. Once back in Flagstaff, Robinson uses the time to work, complete assignments for college and care for herself until she picks him up again. Robinson, 23, is her son’s primary caretaker and raises him while studying strategic communication and journalism at NAU. After she graduates, Robinson said she plans to use her education to advocate for and report on topics important to Indigenous communities. She said her Diné and Lakota ancestry motivates her to do this work. Her role as a parent has deepened her dedication to getting her degree, she said, because it will allow her to secure a more stable future for her family. “Even just going to college in itself while you’re a parent is a huge triumph,” Robinson said. “As a single parent, I think that my biggest struggle is juggling 6 The Lumberjack | Spring 2026
Alicia Robinson sits with her son while he plays with his toy car outside the School of Communication. Jason Maggio/The Lumberjack
things with his dad and school and everything.” Despite the unpredictability of raising a 3-year-old and the frequent changes to their schedule, she said she developed strong self-discipline and a routine. The family starts their morning by making breakfast together. Robinson said her son often accompanies her throughout the day, including to the in-person classes she has four days a week. For her son to stay entertained in the classroom, Robinson packs toys, coloring books and a tablet for him to watch shows. When they are not on campus, the two work as a team to complete necessary tasks. Her son assists with washing dishes and the car, which Robinson said he particularly enjoys because of his love for playing with water. Whenever they are able, Robinson and her son take breaks in nature. In the evening, they wind down by cooking dinner, making art and playing until it is bedtime for Robinson’s son. Robinson said the only time she can focus directly on her school work, besides when her son is with his dad over the weekend in their hometown, is when he falls asleep. With the added constraint of driving over 200 miles round trip to the Navajo Nation multiple times a week, Robinson has limited time to fulfill her responsibilities and must decide what to prioritize.
“I usually choose my time with him as opposed to putting maybe an extra hour into studying. For the most part, I always try to make sure that I’m a mom before anything else.” – Alicia Robinson Robinson predominantly takes online classes to ensure she has time for her son. However, her degree requires her to take some classes that only offer in-person sections. Without access to virtual classes and hybrid learning, Robinson said she would be unable to complete her education in part because of the inaccessibility of affordable child care. Due to high costs, long waiting lists and a limited budget, Robinson does not have access to child care outside of her family. This struggle is not hers alone. ReadyNation, an organization that promotes public policies that support children, reported there is a widespread lack of available highquality and affordable child care, which it calls a “child care crisis.” Parents struggling to afford child care in 2025 lost an annual average of $6,980 per working parent in lost earnings and job search costs, creating a nationwide economic toll. The demand for child care cost assistance in Arizona outpaces the
Alicia Robinson’s son plays with a toy car while he eats his cookies outside the School of Communication. Jason Maggio/The Lumberjack
funding available to families. According to the Arizona Department of Economic Security, 11,070 children and 6,560 families are on a waitlist for the state’s child care assistance program as of Feb. 27. The cost for child care ranges from 48% to 72% of the median rent price in Coconino County, according to data from the National Database for Childcare Prices. Without a scholarship, the cost for a 3-year-old to receive child care at NAU’s Early Learning and Development Center is $995 a month. Private child care centers can be even more expensive. Robinson said her aunt, who has a busy schedule and children of her own, is her only source of child care in Flagstaff. The weekends when her son is with family are the only times when Robinson can work part-time in retail or complete online grocery deliveries. She said she pays her family’s expenses by carefully budgeting the financial aid she receives from scholarships with supplemental support from her child’s father. As a parent and dedicated student, Robinson said she needs extra support from her instructors. She said she found a support system with certain professors after opening up about her life and built relationships that lasted beyond her courses. Rachel Cox, an associate teaching professor in the School of Communication, responded to Robinson’s needs as a student parent with understanding and accommodations. Cox said she did not just tolerate Robinson’s son, she welcomed him. She appreciated that he contributed to the learning environment with a child’s curiosity. “It reminds us what we’re all there for,” Cox said. “It connects us to the world and to the community.”
Alicia Robinson walks and holds hands with her son outside the School of Communication. Jason Maggio/The Lumberjack The Lumberjack | Spring 2026 7
The first time Robinson’s son accompanied her to class was during an outside lesson on observational skills. Cox said students practiced factually describing the environment with metaphors and similes while sitting in a circle under the sun. Every fall, Cox teaches a course on environmental journalism and uses the same outdoor lesson. She said her students provided more thoughtful and imaginative reflections compared to other semesters because Robinson’s son participated. “He was in the circle, and he was running around,” Cox said. “He was looking at everything with those really unique and special child eyes that we all have, but we need to be reminded of it. I think it allowed the students to access that part of themselves, seeing the world in a new way, and it allowed them to create better pieces.” Cox resonated with Robinson’s background as a mom and student commuting back and forth from the Navajo Nation. She said she drove the same routes, and a five-hour round trip can easily turn into a 10-hour struggle if it rains and dirt roads become impassable mud. Cox said Robinson is a brilliant and passionate student while being a uniquely caring and present mother. During their walk at Buffalo Park, Robinson’s son adventures off-trail on his tricycle. After he returns to the path, Robinson carefully removes cactus pieces from the bottoms of his shoes and tires.
“Her love for her son, her love for her work, just radiates out of her.” – Rachel Cox
Alicia Robinson’s son rides his tricycle on the Sinclair Wash Trail. Athena Roberts/The Lumberjack
Emulating the precise movements of his mother, he meticulously extracts another small chunk of cactus and tosses it away from the path before he continues riding. Robinson watches the process and patiently waits, ready to assist if necessary. Patience, calmness and understanding, Robinson said, are the roots of her parenting practice. Her father’s level-headed demeanor and desire to understand his children’s perspectives inspired her approach. “His style of teaching and everything was sitting us down and talking with us and trying to understand where we are coming from, while calmly telling us why we may have done something that wasn’t particularly great,” Robinson said. “Just him parenting us in that way, it tied into everything that I want to be as a parent.” She said her Diné identity influences her parenting in addition to shaping her career aspirations. Diné stories and lessons teach mindfulness and respect for elders and the earth, Robinson said, and she wants to pass them down to her son. “There is a very beautiful way of seeing just life around you and everything in general that is taught to young Diné kids,” Robinson said. “I would like him to see the value in life all around him, as much as I have been taught to see the value of life all around me.” Between classes and the chaos of life, going on walks and spending time in nature are regular practices for her family. Robinson said she loves to spend time outside with her son and watch him use his curiosity to engage with the natural world. Sharing music, watercolor painting and cooking are just a few of the other activities Robinson and her son love to do together. Whenever he can be, she said he is her enthusiastic helper.
Alicia Robinson smiles and poses with her son for a photograph outside the School of Communication. Jason Maggio/The Lumberjack
“He likes to help, and I think that is something that I really enjoy about his little character,” Robinson said. Woven into her day, between the time dedicated to her own education, Robinson engages in and guides her son’s learning and growth. She said she believes children are only as smart as the adults in their lives allow them to be, so she encourages her son experience trial and error. It is an honor and joy, Robinson said, to watch her son develop his own vivacious and kind personality. She said she ends every day happy knowing she is the one guiding his growth.
“I love everything about being a parent, from watching him chase grasshoppers to learning how to trace ‘m’s’ or ‘j’s’ for his name I don’t think there is one thing I dislike about it. Maybe the tantrums, but there’s always a way to work through that.” – Alicia Robinson The Lumberjack | Spring 2026 9
‘Chewie, we’re home’: Saluting the silver screen Story by Abbey Sobelman Photography by Caiden Snyder
Jeremiah Snyder walks to the entrance of Harkins Theatres Flagstaff in a photo illustration. Caiden Snyder/The Lumberjack
O
n a balmy summer night in June, the Harkins Theater in Flagstaff is packed. Chatter fills the foyer as NAU students and city residents wait in long lines to purchase popcorn, soda and candy. Inside the theater, not a seat is left empty. I bump shoulders with an older man to my right when I wave to a classmate I spot coming up the stairs. We are not at the theater to watch a new release; we traveled to the east side for a special anniversary showing of “Brokeback Mountain,” which released 20 years prior in 2005. Almost everyone in the theater knows how the film ends, but audience members still laugh, mummer and sniffle throughout the film. Somewhere behind me, a girl my age sobs into her shirt when Heath Ledger’s character finds his old, bloodied button-up inside Jake Gyllenhaal’s character’s childhood home. Despite claims made in Hollywood that movie theaters are dying, audiences continue to sell out showings in favor of the shared, immersive experiences streaming cannot replicate. In April 2025, Netflix CEO Ted Sarandos told Time magazine editor-in-chief Sam Jacobs he believes audiences prefer watching films at home rather than in the theater. The argument that theaters create communal experiences, he said, is obsolete. “Folks grew up thinking, ‘I want to make movies on a gigantic screen and have strangers watch them [and to have them] play in the theater for two months and people cry and sold-out shows’ … It’s an outdated concept,” Sarandos said. The numbers tell a different story. According to CNBC, the U.S. box office generated roughly $9.2 billion in 2025, a $7 billion increase from 2020. While domestic totals have not returned to prepandemic revenue – including a record-breaking $11.4 billion in 2019 – audience attendance continues to increase year after year. Established franchises like Marvel, Avatar and Star Wars generate much of this revenue and leverage formats like IMAX and 3D, which can cost as much as $20 a ticket, to attract audiences. If audiences actually preferred to stay home, they wouldn’t pay extra 10 The Lumberjack | Spring 2026
for bigger screens or special screenings. In fact, IMAX made $1.28 billion in the global box office in 2025, a record for the company. Meanwhile, the cost of streaming platforms continues to increase. According to Fox News, a subscription to 15 popular streaming services costs $237 – a 49% increase from 2020. The average American subscribes to 4.5 platforms and spends $84 a month, or about $1,008 annually, on streaming services. While Hollywood executives like Sarandos argue for shorter intheater release windows in favor of straight-to-streaming releases, platforms like Netflix are pricing audiences out of these experiences. Across the country, anniversary showings, themed events and other special screenings like Harkins Theater’s Secret Cinema see large turnouts. In 2025, Netflix reserved over 1,700 theaters for special sing-along showings of “KPop Demon Hunters” and sold out 1,100 showings. Audiences are not abandoning the theater, but they are becoming more intentional about how they experience cinema. In 2023, Greta Gerwig’s “Barbie” and Christopher Nolan’s “Oppenheimer” opened the same weekend, the fourth-largest in American box office history. The films generated more than $2 billion combined in the international box office, but their success relied on the cultural experience of “Barbenheimer” – a phenomenon naturally created by fans and not produced by a marketing team. The joke originated online when users pointed out the stark differences between an intense, science-based film about the development of the atomic bomb Harkins movie theater popcorn sits on the counter inside Harkins Theatres Flagstaff, Feb. 21. Kiki Kowitz/The Lumberjack
Jeremiah Snyder poses in front of the box office at Harkins Theatres Flagstaff. Caiden Snyder/The Lumberjack
Movie candy and snacks behind the concession stand glass inside Harkins Theatres Flagstaff. Kiki Kowitz/The Lumberjack
and a lighthearted, bubblegum-pink film about a popular childhood doll. It manifested in people dressing up in bright pink clothing to attend back-to-back screenings of both films. In 2019, “Avengers: Endgame” became the second-highest grossing film in history, fueled in part by Disney pushing fans to see the film before it was spoiled for them, and by the end of a series many people felt attached to. While movie-going is meant to be a quiet, solitary experience, viewings of the final Avengers movie were loud. Fans screamed, cried, cheered and clapped throughout the three-hour runtime. When “Spiderman: No Way Home” released in 2021, fans similarly reacted to the on-screen return of Andrew Garfield and Toby Macguire as Spiderman. Videos online captured in-theater reactions like a sporting event. Even films aimed at younger audiences, including 2021’s “Minions: The Rise of Gru,” saw teenagers and young adults packing theaters dressed in formal clothing to mimic the film’s supervillain. Still, the film industry continues to shift in a different direction. Corporate consolidation, such as the proposed 2026 acquisition between Paramount Skydance and Warner Bros. Discovery, is creating a future in which fewer companies control more content. According to The Guardian, industry analysts warn that a merger such as this could result in thousands of job losses, stifle creative innovation and make it harder to bring overtly political films, like 2026 Oscar winners “One Battle After Another” and “Sinners,” to the big screen. David Dayen, executive editor of The American Prospect magazine, told The Guardian theaters will have difficulty surviving if the merger goes through. “Bringing down the number of studios and subsequently the output – even though Paramount claims that won’t happen, but there’s almost no
way for that to be true – is going to upset the delicate balance that has been already ravaged by the rise of streaming and the collapse of both cable television and the movie-going experience,” Dayen said. Even now, audiences have fewer opportunities to see films on the big screen before they move to streaming or disappear completely. Sarandos told The New York Times in 2024 that “Barbie” and “Oppenheimer” would have been just as culturally important if the films were released on Netflix instead of in theaters. He said his son Anthony Sarandos, a film editor and producer, watched 1962’s “Lawrence of Arabia” on his phone and enjoyed it, and argued that theatrical and streaming experiences are identical. However, films like “Lawrence of Arabia” were designed for scale. Director David Lean and cinematographer Freddie Young used groundbreaking, high-contrast wide shots of the desert in Jordan and Morocco to immerse the viewer in the story. Shot on 65 millimeter Super Panavision 70, “Lawrence of Arabia” is meant to be experienced in a dark theater on a big screen. The emotion in the faces of Peter O’Toole and Omar Sharif can only truly shine in this format. As the credits rolled on “Brokeback Mountain,” audience members lingered in the theater. They wiped their eyes and turned to friends and family to discuss the events of the film, surrounded by strangers who just experienced the same two-hour journey. Sarandos may argue that streaming is more convenient, but convenience has never been why I love cinema. Instead, I return to the theater time and time again because of the agreement between audience members to be fully present and collectively immersed in a story for a shared time. As long as audiences continue to seek these experiences, the communal experience of movie-going will never be outdated.
Movie posters at Harkins Theatres Flagstaff showcase new releases. Kiki Kowitz/The Lumberjack
The Lumberjack | Spring 2026 11
Story by Elliott Stringer Illustration by Tacey Grant
A
manda Zamora was 16 when her father died by suicide. Four days later, she gave birth to her second child. Her resulting emotions came in waves. There were days where she would feel upset and days where she felt nothing at all. Zamora’s younger sister was 13 at the time, and Zamora said any anger she felt was on her sister’s behalf instead of her own. Zamora found herself questioning how to survive as an adult without her dad. She said it was difficult to move forward. “I dove into psychology books,” Zamora said. “I didn’t have a resource. Mental health wasn’t really talked about back then. Going to therapy wasn’t really talked about. So, I went to the library and just dove into psychology books to understand what he was going through. How could you have two grandbabies, two children, and do something like that?” Zamora said she knew she had to break the cycle after she fully processed her father’s death. She wanted to ensure her children would not have to feel the pain she felt. Bunny Huff is Zamora’s daughter and a first-year student at NAU majoring in political science. Huff, who uses feminine and gender-neutral pronouns, said their past with depression began when they were 8 years old. “I had personally attempted suicide at least six times in my lifetime, the first being when I was 13,” Huff said. “I tried to run in front of a car. I didn’t go very far. My brother kind of held me back from running.” Due to undiagnosed ADHD, she said she resorted to drug use. She said self-medicating worked until the lifestyle affected her physical health, but she was unable to stop using substances. Eventually, she resorted to attempting suicide.
Huff said she came close to killing herself several times. Once Zamora noticed Huff’s suicidal ideation and tendencies, she said she could talk more openly about suicide and consider its broader aspects, such as passive suicidal ideation and how suicide can affect family and friends. “I didn’t want to put my kids through that, so that’s definitely shaped how I raised them, how I tried to love them,” Zamora said. “The mistakes were made still, and then later, when my daughter started battling with her own depression and things like that, it made me understand a bit.” Huff became a peer support specialist at The Guidance Center in February 2024. By sharing her personal experiences, she said she encourages people to realize they have a way out of their sadness, just like she did. “The people who were passionate about the field get burned out so quickly,” Huff said. “It really is sad because the people you want to actually be in the field were disillusioned after a few months.” Working in mental health often leads to burnout, according to the National Institutes of Health (NIH). Burnout can be caused by job-related issues like short staffing and long hours or compassion fatigue, experienced by those who help others process trauma over extended periods of time. According to NIH, many mental health organizations do not receive enough funding from national governments, international development organizations and the United Nations, and Huff said limited funding combined with job cuts puts those seeking mental health resources at further risk. She said around 75% of her clients’ issues could be solved if they had money for mental health resources. Cliffard Mayo has worked in behavioral health for about 12 years and runs his own private telehealth practice, Fearless Journey Counseling and Consulting. Throughout his career, Mayo said he formed an intimate relationship with people who experience suicidal ideation or have family members who died by suicide. In one case, a frequent patient of Mayo’s did not show up to his office for days, leading Mayo to believe the patient died by suicide. The Lumberjack | Spring 2026 13
He did everything in his power to make sure the patient was safe and eventually checked on them in person. Mayo said this event almost destroyed his career due to the sheer amount of stress he experienced. “Looking somebody in the eye that tells you that they had attempted suicide, it’s an emotion that draws from deep inside you because in that moment, you look at them, and you know, ‘You had a moment where nobody was there, and I could not help you,’” Mayo said. Mayo left the direct care field twice. While away, he said he felt like he lost part of himself, but returning meant facing more burnout. He learned stepping away is necessary if people want to stay in the behavioral health field long-term. After seeing how his support changed lives, Mayo decided to continue to serve his patients. He said celebrating his patients’ successes as they progress in their mental health journeys is eye-opening. Often, individuals struggling with depression prefer talking with friends, family and romantic partners over a behavioral professional. When people cannot go to their friends without worrying about feeling shut down, embarrassed or judged, Huff said loneliness arises. “We’re using that therapy language now to kind of be like, ‘Oh, well, I have a boundary against talking about suicide,’” Huff said. “It’s becoming a problem. It’s becoming stigmatized again, and it’s making it harder for people who feel those feelings to talk to people, especially their friends. For some reason, now it’s taboo to talk to your friends about how you feel.” People often misuse theraputic language to judge, control or selfvictimize, according to the Counseling and Wellness Center of Pittsburgh. Social media policies frequently prohibit posts with words or phrases referencing suicide and self-harm. Originally, this was to discourage graphic images and the promotion of harmful behaviors, but algorithms began filtering anything related to self-harm and suicide.
Instead of adding a content warning, social media platforms censor the posts fully. To avoid censorship, people write words such as “un@ living,” “SH” and “su!c!de.” “I’m a lot more explicit with it now,” Huff said. “I think it’s important to be explicit with those things, because blocking out the word, like ‘unaliving yourself’ or whatever, it doesn’t sound as impactful as if you say, ‘I wanted to kill myself. I wanted to commit suicide.’” According to Psycology Today, individuals often grow accustomed to their own depression. Mayo said this comfort stems from thinking “nobody wants to hear about it” and there is nothing beyond depression. “People need to feel things,” Mayo said. “It’s when they don’t feel that they realize there’s no reason to be here because, ‘I don’t feel anything anyways.’” Mayo said people need to feel everything, not just happiness and joy; it is healthy to feel sad and angry. If people isolate those feelings, he said they can bottle up their emotions. While people with suicidal ideation exhibit depressive symptoms, according to Mayo Clinic, others may grow happier because they believe suicide will bring them relief from the stress and pressures of life. “I think it’s such a taboo topic that nobody really discusses, and I think it’s something that humans in general, especially now, deal with on a daily basis,” Zamora said. “You could see the happiest person going through the happiest moments of their life, and they’re still battling with some kind of suicide thoughts. And it shouldn’t be censored.” According to the Nevada Division of Public and Behavioral Health, talking about suicide does not increase the likelihood of a suicide attempt. In fact, the opposite is true. When someone feels comfortable acknowledging and discussing their suicidal ideation, the communication can cause corresponding fears to diminish and individuals to seek support. “You’re not meant to carry this much pain alone,” Mayo said. “The world would be very much quieter and dimmer without you in it. You still have a future that you can hold, gently, and with care for yourself, even if you can’t do it from where you’re standing now.”
The Lumberjack | Spring 2026 15
Story by Katelyn Magaña Ilustration by Nyx Lutes Photography by Diana Ochoa
F
ound on tables at Beaver Street Theatre and Cline Library’s MakerLab, student-made zines offer independent, selfpublished perspectives on a range of topics through art, poetry and photography collected from local contributors. According to the University of Texas at Austin, science fiction lovers created some of the first zines, also known as fanzines, in the 1930s to discuss trends and exchange ideas before the creation of the internet. Zines became a vehicle for social and political activism in the 1960s and gained popularity in punk scenes in the 1970s because of their DIY elements. While the artform gained popularity in the late 1900s, zine culture did not fade when the decade ended. Instead, younger generations grew inspired by punk movements, adapting zines to be distributed online, within music scenes and through educational facilities. Zines are a creative and political tool for Serjio Aguirre. He is a sophomore majoring in anthropology and history at NAU, and he displays copies of his “Saw Zines,” composed of art and poetry made by Flagstaff residents, at Beaver Street Theatre. Aguirre said he creates and shares his zines to uplift marginalized voices without seeking profit.
“There’s no one behind this besides me and whoever else works with me, If you have something to write about, I’ll put it in there. I’m not going to edit your words. I’m not going to tell you what to write or how to present it. It’s how you want to show other people.” – Serjio Aguirre
Serjio Aguirre poses with his first two issues of “Saw Zines” at the School of Communication. Diana Ochoa/The Lumberjack
Aguirre said he started “Saw Zines” because of the lack of independent publications in the Flagstaff area. Activist movements have used zines to reject mainstream media and separate themselves from the conglomerates that operated them. In 1983, about 50 companies controlled 90% of U.S. media. Forbes reports this number has since decreased to five as of 2025. Aguirre said he uses this artform to express his feelings surrounding U.S. politics, specifically immigration raids carried out by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). The debut issue of Aguirre’s zine, released in January 2026, features work from locals Bunniebell Hayden and Lexi DeCell. In a compact, black-and-white, eight-page booklet, readers can find a mission statement outlining the topics featured and clarification that the contributions are opinion-based.
Black and white zines are spread around a table for a photo illustration at the MakerLab inside the Cline Library. Diana Ochoa/The Lumberjack
Aguirre’s statement rejects artificial intelligence, ICE, President Donald Trump and the U.S. government. The opening spread features a photoshopped collage of a mohawked rat playing the guitar, created by DeCell. In the corner of the page, a man holds his head in distress and the words “Oh my God, that’s my daughter” accompany the visual. DeCell said the rat represents herself, and the collage reflects the conservative viewpoints she experienced growing up in Houston. Hayden submitted a stream-of-consciousness confession about the emotional distress she faced after a breakup. She addressed the poem to her past lover and described her restlessness, unstable manic state and obsessive jealousy over her lover’s past. The issue closes with a call to action for Aguirre’s readers, encouraging citizens to uphold their constitutional rights and vote in presidential elections. “There’s never a right time to do a single thing besides now,” Aguirre said. “There is no future. There is no past. There’s only now, and that’s how I try to live my life.” Aguirre said the second issue of “Saw Zines,” released on Feb. 8, continues addressing themes of human injustices. One collage features an eyeball staring at a hand holding loose intestines. An accompanying poem suggests ICE agents act without moral awareness. While Aguirre’s work confronts readers with bold imagery and political themes, zines with different styles can be found at Cline Library.
Spread across a MakerLab table, the archival collection features works centered on environmental issues, war, feminism and art. Aaron Kimbrell, assistant librarian at Cline Library, works in the archive and said the collection includes zine projects from the past five years. Kimbrell said he came from a friend group of zine makers and collectors in Los Angeles. The booklets in the archive are mainly created by female, Latiné and LGBTQ+ students. Some zines are sourced from Phoenix and others were made by members of NAU’s NextGen club. Kimbrell plans to expand titles in the archive and add a display to inspire students to submit their own work to the collection. By flipping through the pages, he said students can engage with zines in ways they cannot on digital forums. “Having that physical, material reality and being able to make it with your own hands and then reproduce it is very powerful,” Kimbrell said. “It connects with something that we do miss in some ways.” Shelby Rinke, an assistant professor of visual communication at NAU who uses gender-neutral pronouns, has incorporated zines that focus on graphic design, typography and personal creativity into their curricula to encourage creative freedom and peer interaction. Rinke said they were introduced to zines through a zine-making workshop,
hosted by Wasted Ink Zine Distribution, with a co-worker from Rinke’s creative agency, AWE Collective. The workshop reminded Rinke of their love for creative work and helped them navigate career burnout. Rinke hopes incorporating zines into their courses will encourage students to create zines outside of the classroom and in their professional lives, they said. “It reminds you that creativity can and should have a space to exist outside of capitalism, pulling those pressures away, creating just because you want to create something with the intention of sharing it and not so much profiting off it,” Rinke said. An extensive zine archive covers Rinke’s office desk, including a vibrant spread of booklets containing collage work, writing, comics and art. The collection features covers made of fabric, cardstock and paper, each with a unique texture and style.
Cline Library Assistant Librarian for Experiential Learning Aaron Kimbrell poses with various zines at the School of Communication. Diana Ochoa/The Lumberjack
“When you make something, and then it becomes part of this collection, you and your work are in conversation with the rest of the things in this library.” – Aaron Kimbrell
A scan from “Chronic Rage Vol. 2” by T.B., courtesy of Shelby Rinke.
“It’s a way to share stories, spread information, in a world where it feels increasingly harder to do that.” – Shelby Rinke
Aaron Kimbrell reads the inside page of a zine for a photo illustration at the MakerLab inside the Cline Library. Diana Ochoa/The Lumberjack
Story by Molly Hunter Photos by J.L. Arnold III Photo illustration by Molly Hunter and Grace Copeland
I
n the summer of 1977, NASA launched Voyagers 1 and 2, twin probes designed to capture data as they flew by planetary giants and into interstellar space. The crafts officially exited the heliopause, the boundary of the sun’s influence, in 2012 and 2018, respectively, making them the first and second human-made objects to travel beyond the solar system. While constructing the Voyager probes, a team of scientists and scholars faced the question of what – or who – may lay in the great beyond. In the event the answer was technologically advanced space travelers, the Voyager teams took it upon themselves to make a proper introduction. The Golden Record, an encyclopedic time capsule of humanity on Earth, is a tribute composed of 116 photographs, a 90-minute mixtape and a montage of earthly soundscapes. The gold-plated, aluminum-covered phonograph was designed to survive in space for more than 1 billion years. A time capsule makes idols of its contents. It has a unique ability to sanctify a phonograph, a playing card, an empty coke bottle; to concretize intangible anxieties, ecstasies, triumphs and regrets; to become society’s best hope for an afterlife. Living beings share a universal drive to survive – to stave off death, to reproduce, to see their legacy carried into the future – if not by blood, then by memory. To be forgotten is a frightful existential threat to personal and communal identity. A time capsule, broadly described as a collection of items selected and ceremonially sealed away to be opened at some future date, confronts the fear of impermanence by granting some piece of the present safe passage to an uncertain future. Time capsules are typically commemorative of a particular event, place or community. On some occasions, they may be more encyclopedic or curated to represent entire civilizations. Ideally, when the specified moment arrives, someone will open the capsule. By witnessing its contents, they offer its creator a path to the realm of memory. Creating a time capsule presents confounding challenges. One must 20 The Lumberjack | Spring 2026
curate a meaningful selection of artifacts, create a survivable capsule and, most critically, notify future generations of its existence and purpose. Platt Cline, who was named Flagstaff’s Citizen of the Century in 1994, gave remarks at the 1987 opening of the new Flagstaff Coconino County Public Library. Cline hinged his dedication speech on the auspicious history of an onsite commemorative time capsule. “The past is here,” Cline said, “and so is the future.” The past was contained in an antique copper box. In 1895, Flagstaff residents filled the box with a handful of everyday objects, including Civil War badges and gold coins, sealing them in the cornerstone of the new Emerson High School building on Aspen Avenue. Flagstaff’s own time capsule participates in a tradition with similar predecessors, including the
The Hotel Monte Vista at the corner of Aspen and San Francisco streets. J.L. Arnold III/ The Lumberjack
The entrance to the Flagstaff Federated Community Church outside downtown Flagstaff. J.L. Arnold III/The Lumberjack
The Church of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary Chapel beside the heart of downtown Flagstaff. J.L. Arnold III/The Lumberjack
U.S. centennial safe and the much longer-surviving brass box inlaid in the Massachusetts State House by Americans Revolutionaries in 1795. When Emerson High School was remodeled in 1940, a new generation of Flagstaff citizens opened the time capsule and contributed their own artifacts. By the time the school building was demolished and reconstructed as the Flagstaff Coconino County Public Library in 1986, there were 100 years worth of contributions inside the copper box. The time capsule was preserved and reset in the new library, which Cline celebrates in his May 9 opening address. In celebration of Flagstaff’s 1994 centennial, a committee selected dozens more objects to add to the time capsule, including a letter to future Flagstaff citizens, a postage stamp collection, an aerial photograph of the city, population projections for the next century, a signed photograph of former President Bill Clinton, a Coke bottle and two action figures from Disney’s “The Lion King.” This time, the capsule was sealed until the next centennial in the year 2094. Together, the collection of artifacts represent a continuous narrative of Flagstaff’s first century to be observed at the end of its second. The library time capsule reflects not only the city’s past, but a degree of optimism about its future. When a community preserves its present identity, it also expresses a romantic hope that its successors will care about their past and honor it, carrying pieces with them into a brighter future. The time capsule entrusts present humankind’s memories
A view from the top of North San Francisco Street captures a glimpse of downtown Flagstaff. J.L. Arnold III/ The Lumberjack
A resident’s home faces west beside the Flagstaff Confederated Community Church. J.L. Arnold III/The Lumberjack
to a stranger; the hands sifting through its contents do not yet exist, and the minds endowed with the memories might not be born for generations. The question of who a time capsule is really for – the living or the not-yet living, the inheritors of a material history or the proprietors of a mythologized legacy – depends radically on one’s position in the narrative. Whether it be solar system-wide or local, altruistic or self-important or based in fear or in hope, a time capsule invites reflection on how the present might be represented and remembered long into the future.
A view of downtown Flagstaff with the San Francisco Peaks in the background. J.L. Arnold III/The Lumberjack
A cargo train passes by the Flagstaff Amtrak station. J.L. Arnold III/The Lumberjack
With
Love,
Story by The Lumberjack staff Illustration by Forrest King
E
veryone in life follows a different path. The Lumber jack staff members are no Every writer, editor, pho different. tographer and design tea m member followed a uni road to get to where they que, winding are today. In a moment of individuals detailed this reflection, a handful of the journey in a letter to the se ir younger selves.
Rosa Pulido Dearest Rosebud, I still see your upset look in that baby photo, crying in the sand after a hard fall, with your face red and big eyes glossy. You had just helped pick up trash along the beach, doing something kind before you even knew what kindness meant. That moment holds everything about who you are at the core. You are sensitive and overwhelmed but always willing to care. At 3, you’ll move to Arizona. You’ll grow up Mexican, held by family and warmth, and the Indigenous part of you will stay tucked quietly inside. It is not gone but just hidden beneath layers you were not given the tools to uncover yet. It will surface in its own time, and when you finally find it, it will feel like remembering. Not discovering. Your brothers will move through your life like weather and seasons, embodying loud storms, warm breezes and sudden cold fronts that will shape you in ways they never realized. Like any rose, you’ll learn your softness needs thorns. You will grow them slowly, painfully and necessarily. You will face surgeries, lonely semesters, grief that sits heavy, but you will also find your voice. Keep paying attention. Keep caring. Keep asking for help even when it feels heavy. Stay close to the people who water you, like Mom always does. Be gentle with yourself. You feel everything for a reason. You are blooming, Rosebud. Even when you do not see it. With love,
Rosa a.k.a. Rosebud
Vivien Volkov To Nine,
is how it or doubts. I cannot say that as drawn, no complications ctly to move exa ng be to goi life are my you d , self ecte I always exp ting. To my younger dua gra am I y, Ma of end at the all shook out. Nevertheless, You are 17. at e hom through it, but this is crazy. from y awa er of things and all teens go ord l ura to fit in t nat des the har is r this you try like I know you feel t way. You are going to tha feel to l ma nor is It . it happen going to feel crazy; just let box for us to fit in. w there will never be a perfect kno to d nee you everywhere you want to be. but , ool sch at be curious. That will get you and , box own ng to r you ke ma make more. Also, we are goi Figure out how to cool art, and we are going to of ing great. ton a eth de som ma be we , to ng day goi the At the end of doing your thing. You are p Kee t. tha r ove get not graduate. Seriously, I still can Signed,
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the s about what ally speaks to many question so ve ha u yo ding what re fin e ing I bl ou I am sure tr uch. A big th ill have e for you. future you w achieved so m t e U’s th A bu N n in r io at de ss what is in stor th un pa you think l content und your ta fo ow gi ly di kn I on of t e, or no on ct re For to say you ic growth. d being the di , I’m happy otography an al and academ I know right now you on ph rs in you. However pe ve e lo ud cl ng ements in netheless. on is findi best and t exciting no would menti Other achiev bu k. y, ac rj ar sc be you to do your ve so of um sh L nd pu he ki T is ho , w er ch es ap ou ha newsp ved on ting, whi under you. Y ounded by lo ose to gradua is crumbling rson. , you are surr You are so cl ng re pe hi d tu yt fu an er e ev er th e otograph k, but in ph n it feels lik g he in w az en am ev may feel stuc , an . Don’t give up lf, and you will grow into help you grow yourse e ng lle ha C r. much to offe Sincerely,
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se Your future
Marcel Herving To a real one, You are probably skinning your knees on cracked pavement, have your nose in a book or are plopped in front of your television in the living room of your family’s apartment. Knowin g you, it is to escape the chaos and turmoil of what you call your life. If you are anything like how I remember you, so many thoughts and emotions are bouncing around your head. These feelings – ones of guilt, shame, fear and doubt – do not go away. Keep your chin up, though; you are a fighter. All your life, you have learned how to deal with pressure. You live and breathe it, and yet, you feel alive. That sparkle in your eyes we had as a young Afro-Caribbean kid never dimmed, making us into a great journalist, activist and scholar. All the trials you have faced and people who doubted you were proven wrong. Your humor mixed with your wit, which you used to be so self-conscious about, became your superpower. You have many friends and chosen family who support and think the world of you. I say this because I want you to remember to be kind to yourself. You may not know or understand yet, but you deserve care and love just like everyone else. I know you may not believe me, but I am sitting here writing this to you as living proof. Please take care of yourself. I will be seeing you soon.
All my love,
Mar
Luke Gile
s
Dear youn
ger me,
The world moves so fa over time, st. You are and you w going to g ill learn so do not get much from o through many rou discourag gh patches ed. Keep g it. You wil You have , l have to d oing. many peo o many new but everything will ple who lo figured ou get better and scary ve you and t and never things on wa will. You a clear boun your own, re still figu nt to see you succee daries wit but d. The tru ring stuff hp try a new th is, you out as an a hobby and eople to build your d o d ult who is not have ev confidence get in You becom ab . Your inte erything e someone volved in that schoo rests can ch out to graduate coll successful l w cl h u o b ege. Go se is ange a lot or activity. determined people in t within a fe your field to learn an love for des w years, so and apply d grow in ign? Take go what they your career care, and the world. teach as a graph tell yoursel ic designer f you are w . Who would have . You listen known yo orth it, bec u would d to ause you a With love ev el re op . You deser and care, ve all the lo such a ve in Luke
Elliott Stringer in g our junior year , but we’re finishin re as he st ju be is ll it sti t d bu ul k we wo urnalism, ow you didn’t thin from fantasy to jo blishing kn ed I pu d ov m m an fro , we ve ay , ali re aw re Su ps You’ e just ste b is writing. not worry. We ar e update: Your jo w our job. But do college. Major lif no is t os m d ye jo g you en e worst. You fulfilling. The thin ct, we overcame th r first love. ou rfe pe ten r ot ve rg ne fo is t h n’ e have tal healt our first book. W e you. While men d of and family who lov alone was hard. at th d an , promise I am prou on rs You have friends pe r tte be a e m t any easier, but I ca ge ll be d wi it an t u ou yo lf ise se carried your I cannot prom t seem hard, and n in a way I I know things migh le we’ve helped. op pe art. You are drive e th sm d ly an ib ed ed are cr ish in pl e m you give up, you , and you ar what we have acco shing, because if empathetic person pu d ep an g Ke . rin es ca m , eti nd m You are a ki tion scares me so had we others. The dedica haven’t seen from uld have happened ures awaiting you. nt ve the new ad I wonder what wo all if til you on en un t ev rs ou , he iss rld ot m wo lp to e he going anything in th e you cannot r us fo ca e be lif , is ce th on de r fo lf I would not tra . Focus on yourse th. But forget that chosen another pa love yourself.
Hey kiddo,
Fly high,
EJ
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' Keep a place for me' '
'
years of blonde
Story by ma t t dreher illu s tration by haleig h willia m s
T
he music world was thriving in 2016. Radiohead released “A Moon Shaped Pool,” Beyoncé returned with the triumphant “Lemonade” and David Bowie released his sendoff, “Blackstar.” The one record to outshine all others that year, however, was “Blonde” by Frank Ocean. It is no surprise that this album stands firm in the modern zeitgeist, despite approaching its 10th birthday in August. Ocean’s masterpiece debuted No. 1 on the Billboard 200 and remained on this list for 477 weeks as of March 2026. As a dialogue on universal topics like personal evolution, romance and vulnerability, “Blonde” is a timeless masterclass in audio storytelling that simultaneously explores the inner workings of the man who created it. Four years before “Blonde,” Ocean gained critical acclaim for the release of his debut album, “Channel Orange.” The album was nominated for four Grammys, winning one of its nominations for best urban contemporary album over “Fortune” by Chris Brown and “Kaleidoscope Dream” by Miguel. In the time following the release of the critically acclaimed “Channel Orange,” Ocean opted for one-off appearances on Beyoncé’s self-titled album and John Mayer’s “Paradise Valley.” Then, Ocean vanished from the spotlight. Anticipation mounted through fanbase gossip and leaks of Ocean’s future endeavors. Rumors of an eventual visual album came true with the release of “Endless,” a 140-minute film edited down to 45 minutes of sonically abrasive electronic music. Little did fans know the release was simply a maneuver to exit his label, Def Jam Recordings. The true album came with “Blonde,” just one day later. In 2016, Ocean uploaded a digital letter to his Tumblr addressing the public’s speculation on his sexuality. He confirmed his first love had been a man and ruminated on the “malignant” and hopeless facets of his almost 29 years of life. “Whoever you are, wherever you are,” Ocean wrote, “I’m starting to think we’re a lot alike. Human beings spinning on blackness. All wanting to be seen, touched, heard, paid attention to.” These universal sentiments would later become the heart of Ocean’s magnum opus. “Nikes,” the first song on “Blonde,” is a transcendent introduction to Ocean’s personal life. The slow ballad’s sound evokes imagery of lights
28 The Lumberjack | Spring 2026
beaming in sonic forms as it explores sexual pleasure and hedonism. Ocean’s poetry across the record is sincere and emotional, an auditory door for fans to open and explore. “Nikes” is just scraping the barrel for the vulnerability to come. What follows in “Ivy” and “Pink and White” is sensational. Gone is the nocturnal sensation of “Nikes” as the sound goes in a new direction. The songs provide a sunny landscape, a golden morning, soundtracked by a lush string section and an elaborate choir of collaborators, including Beyoncé and Pharrell Williams. Ocean sings, “You ain’t a kid no more / We’ll never be those kids again” and “This is life, life immortality.” These tracks allow Ocean’s writing to come into full view as he dives into the nostalgia of his failed relationships. Heart-tearing throughlines of youth, love and loss bleed into every syllable. In the pains of heartbreak, Ocean finds solace in past moments, forever gone. “Solo” is a double entendre for being alone, but also “so low.” Ocean reflects on a range of experiences from protests and acid use to claiming similar costs between abortion services and marijuana. The track is lucrative and explosive in its content, quietly delivering some of the album’s most important dialogue. The song is bittersweet and calls on youth to keep their hopes geared toward the future. At this point in the album, Ocean’s vulnerability reaches a peak with “Self Control.” What lies within is rich and some of Ocean’s best writing. Ocean writes, “Sometimes, you’ll miss it / And the sound will make you cry / And some nights, you’re dancing / With tears in your eyes.” A tension between self and external control exists throughout the
record, and Ocean goes deep into the loss and immaturity of a former partner in this song. While the guitar dictates the record’s sound, string sections play a major role in the grand scheme of “Blonde.” The shifting strings become the emotional rollercoaster that the record takes its listeners on. After the interlude, “Good Guy,” comes the album’s halfway point, “Nights.” The first half of “Nights” is a vivid nightlife scene backed by guitar and infused with a psychedelic yearning. Droning guitars rain down as the song enters its other half, serving as a tipping point. Ocean reminisces, “All my night, you’ve been missin’ all my night / Still got some good nights memorized / And the look back’s gettin’ me right.” The first half of “Blonde” is emotionally intense, while the second half is heavier, even more introspective and a total change of sound. At this point, “Blonde” is now fully engulfed in darkness. It is moodier, potent and feels like a one-on-one therapy session. Cinematic and poignant ruminations on life appear in the songs “Pretty Sweet,” “Close To You” and “White Ferrari,” which is the emotional and distinctive peak in quality on the record. “White Ferrari” is songwriting in the purest form, and it will undoubtedly be as revered as the works of Bob Dylan or John Lennon. Permanence is Ocean’s topic of choice, and it feels like a consummation of all the emotions previously discussed on the record. Ocean sings, “I’m sure we’re taller in another dimension / You say we’re small and not worth the mention / You’re tired of movin’, your body’s achin’.” Ocean finds himself in a pool of overwhelming emotion. The need for companionship, in the grand scheme of things, stands over the minuscule, individual human beings Ocean describes.
The only way to go is deeper into the realm of pure sadness, which is what follows in “Seigfried,” a career highlight for Ocean. The song is poetic and inspirational, creating one of the best moments on the album with its bright climax. Ocean writes, “This is not my life / It’s just a fond farewell to a friend.” Interpolating the Elliott Smith song, “A Fond Farewell,” Ocean finds new meaning in the lyrics and shapes them with his discontent with modern society. Wavy guitar and strings dwell in heavy reverb to flow into “Godspeed,” a reflection on all the emotions, tribulations and desires expressed in prior tracks. “Godspeed” was co-written alongside James Blake, who also provides piano on the song. The infusions of gospel make the song stand out among the rest. The final minute is the comedown from all other sounds on the record. A harmonizing choir turns a momentous song into a tearful moment of solace before the end of the album. The song shows that love is everywhere, even in the midst of societal confusion. The album comes to a close with the 10-minute “Futura Free.” “Futura Free” is the song to play as the credits roll and one’s life flashes before their eyes. Before the final downward slide, it replays every defining moment. The final song recalls moments with friends, family and everything in between, as well as the emotions that played a part in developing or breaking those relationships. “Futura Free” is a beautiful and nostalgic tearjerker to end the album.
The Lumberjack | Spring 2026 29
Marcel Herving poses for a portrait while he lays on his bed surrounded by records in his apartment at The Commons at Sawmill. Caiden Snyder/The Lumberjack
Story by Marcel Herving Photography by Caiden Snyder Illustration by Carter Brayer and Vanessa Garcia
surrounding systemic oppression as people of color, we had 16 bars to be carefree, even if the lyrics weren’t to the standards of some of the greatest rappers. Growing up in a Black immigrant family, there was an unspoken hierarchy I was not allowed to deviate from. My parents and the authority figures in my life hammered into me that I was to be seen, not heard. A violent touch, a demeaning word or a look of malice is what I was often met with at any sign of defiance. Battling depression, anxiety and PTSD from my upbringing, it is often difficult for me to cling to aspects of my life that make living worth it. I have cycled through many coping mechanisms; I started drinking alcohol when I was 11, self-harming when I was 12 and smoking marijuana when I was 16. I embodied the mindset of a caged animal, lashing out and developing anger issues to cope with what little control I had in my life. In my eyes, this damaging mentality continued the cycle of harm. I got into fights with my brothers, screaming matches with my mom and surrounded myself with people who condoned my toxic behaviors. In my adolescent brain, it made sense. Everyone and everything had disappointed me in the past. Then, there was rap. I listened to the albums “The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill,” “good kid, m.A.A.d city” and “All Eyez on Me” for the first time between the ages of 7 and 8. The moment I played those records on my stereo system, I was transported into a different world. Whether it be a rapper’s powerful vocals, crafty wordplay or the intentional sampling of magical beats, I was absolutely starry-eyed. Marcel Herving poses for a portrait while he lays on the carpet of his apartment, listens to a record and writes in his journal. Caiden Snyder/The Lumberjack
Marcel Herving poses for a photo as he leans against a railing at his apartment building. Caiden Snyder/The Lumberjack
I
was one of those kids who would gather around a table at lunch period to hear someone freestyle. Even though my middle school mandated uniforms, we all tried to show off our flair with Jordans and snap-back hats without our teachers catching us. Gold and silver earrings, necklaces and bangles adorned our bodies, the roots from our Black and brown families running deep. One kid would make a beat with their hands or some worn down pencils. Another kid would start rhyming. We would all praise each other after each bar, hooting and hollering after someone said anything we thought was revolutionary. If it got real rowdy, a group of kids would stand up and run around, having to be coaxed back to their seats by disgruntled, underpaid lunch aides. The rhymes were juvenile in nature, and the beats were simplistic, but they represented us better than any test we took could. These moments not only let us live out our youths but introduced me to the beauty of rap music. Underneath the pressures from our families, environments and The Lumberjack | Spring 2026 31
I transformed into this confident person with a large as well. bravado, not a meek child who would cower in fear NAU associate professor Rebecca Maniglia teaches a criminology at a loud sound. and criminal justice (CCJ) class titled “Rap, Crime and Justice.” Instead of picking up a bottle or a razor blade, Maniglia has taught the course for a decade, creating it with a former I put some headphones on and listened to my incarcerated man who was involved with drug trafficking. favorite artists rap on a track. Even Unlike other classes taught at NAU surrounding rap, like if it was for five minutes, those “The Genius of Hip-Hop” and “Politicizing Hip-Hop,” Maniglia said five minutes kept me alive. her course hones in on how “the code of the streets,” a method of The way the rappers I listened to in my communication people in the hood use, is passed on through rap music. childhood perfectly captured my life experiences – those “It felt like a way to get CCJ students to understand the realities of filled with abuse, poverty and mental struggles – made life in the hood, the realities of the music and learn to respect the music me feel like I wasn’t alone. Even now, when I listen to rap as primary sources about those experiences,” Maniglia said. music, it resembles It was hard for me a warm hug from a to fully immerse myself friend, reassuring in rap at first. My mom me it is OK and introduced me to the worth it to stay music, having me listen alive if it means to notable East Coast sharing my story. artists like Wu-Tang Clan, So, that’s what DMX and Nas. She swore I did. Granted, I by them, calling them wasn’t nearly as “real rap,” which I charismatic as my never understood. favorite rappers – I This isn’t to demean still can’t reach that these forms of rap, as persona. What I listening to them allowed did have was a way me to find an avenue with words, so I to explore and embody took up writing as masculinity comfortably my niche. I made as a transgender man. But words my weapon, at what point does the channeling all the praise of the cisgender, anger I felt toward heterosexual man veer my upbringing away from paying and systems of homage to these artists oppression into my and toward forgetting the journalistic intuition. equal impacts of others in Black and Latiné rap culture? immigrants brought Many rappers call rap music to the themselves “students of Bronx in the 1970s. the game,” but they fail Rap culture has to recognize the impacts expanded since of women and LGBTQ+ then, with different people in rap. regional touches and Kendrick Lamar and ethnic backgrounds SZA’s song “luther,” creating different which sampled the late subcultures. Luther Vandross’ vocals Rap music has on “If This World Were its own language. Mine,” paid homage to African American Vandross’ legacy not just Marcel Herving sits on a couch covered in snow. Caiden Snyder/The Lumberjack Vernacular English as a talented R&B singer (AAVE) combines but as a gay man. Some of with regional slang from those in low-income neighborhoods to deliver the largest successors to the foundations of rap are queer messages of grit, hope and resilience – something marginalized people people and women like Megan Thee Stallion, Doechii have always fought for. and Tyler, the Creator. This blend of culture and language is harmonious; crafting a rap To audit them from history would be condoning the song involves the marriage of figurative language like metaphors, very settler colonial ideals that rap music was created onomatopoeias and hyperbole with personal experience, taking the to resist. listener into the mind of the rapper. Maniglia said there is nuance to teaching the type Listening to these songs taught me more about the English language of rap she utilizes for this course. Although than any class or assigned reading in high school. Learning these she recognizes the misogyny and homophobia rules and knowing how to break them is a skillset I brought into my present in modern genres like drill and trap rap, journalistic writing. I studied the structure of a great story with the same Maniglia still sees it as a part of the culture that is tools rappers used to craft a great rhyme scheme. important to highlight. To me, rap and journalism are one in the same; both are forms of “The hypermasculinity stuff is real, but the hood communication that elevate the experiences of not just myself but others is hypermasculine,” Maniglia said. “So, it shouldn’t 32 The Lumberjack | Spring 2026
be a surprise that the music is too.” Hearing that comment made me think back on my transition as a Black transgender man. I remember, in my adolescence, I would hear homophobic slurs in English and Jamaican Patois constantly. I recall an instance where my abusive uncle was watching an old Prince performance on our TV. He towered over everyone in our household, 6 feet tall, with a threatening tinge to his voice and permanent scowl on his face – the typical stature of a “real” man. I can’t remember the outfit Prince was wearing, just that it sparkled in the lighting of the stage: shiny and bold, just like Prince. “You think he was gay?” my uncle sneered. “I bet he was. Look at what he’s wearing. He’s got it written all over him.” My uncle did a lot of vile things. He physically, verbally and emotionally harmed women and children – even those who were closely related to him. It’s not shocking he had bigoted ideals, similar to other men from the Caribbean islands who came to America. This single comment was miniscule in comparison to the physical and verbal abuse he inflicted on me, but for my 13-year-old closeted self, it altered my brain. For years in my adolescence, I adopted the toxic view of masculinity that harbored aggression and anger as a form of freedom. I wanted to be a “real” man so bad, I thought being secretive about my transness and queerness guaranteed my safety. Listening to rap allowed me to find security in my identity; both cisgender and transgender rappers fluidly interacted with gender, embracing vulnerability through artful lyricism and emotionally driven instrumental sampling. Only then did I realize how ignorant this heteronormative framework is. I understand a lot of Black and brown people who grew up in the hood didn’t have access to resources to understand emotional intelligence – I am a product of this upbringing. That does not mean we cannot look inward as a culture. The way I view rap, it was built off the care we have for each other. That means going beyond the music and understanding what it means for us. What is considered “real” rap isn’t just flashy jewelry, sick bars or gritty aesthetics. It’s having the tenderness and intellect to ask if a friend is OK, standing up against bigotry and not shying away from one’s emotions. When I play a rap album, I channel that 7-year-old kid in me – but it’s not out of desperation. It comes from hope. The greatest inspirations for my writing – whether it be journalistic, academic or creative – derive from not just the pipe dream to be as impactful as the rappers I idolize but to finally make peace with the things I’ve experienced.
Marcel Herving stands on a stairwell near North El Paso Flagstaff Road. Caiden Snyder/The Lumberjack
The Lumberjack | Spring 2026 33
“Instead of picking up a bottle or a razor blade, I put some headphones on and listened to my favorite artists rap on a track. Even if it was for five minutes, those five minutes kept me alive.” - Marcel Herving
A mural depicting Liv A’ndrea Knoki, executive director of Indigenous rights and MMIWG awareness organization Wingbeat 88, completed by artist and physician Chip Thomas. J.L. Arnold III/The Lumberjack
Written by Darby Walker Illustration by Tacey Grant and Luke Giles Photos by J.L. Arnold III Editor’s note: This story contains mentions of sexual violence, which some readers may find disturbing. Wind howls across the vast Painted Desert highlands, where a blackand-white mural depicting three Diné women has stood since February. The colorful landscape extends southeast from the edge of the Grand Canyon and north from Gray Mountain, with only Highway 89 cutting through it. All three women have a painted handprint covering their mouths, symbolizing decades of violent systemic silencing. The text beside their faces reads, “Stop missing and murdered Indigenous people.”
Indigenous people going missing or being murdered is so widespread it now requires its own series of acronyms. Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women (MMIW) has been joined by Missing and Murdered Diné Relatives (MMDR), Missing and Murdered Indigenous People (MMIP) and Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls (MMIWG). Kayla Yazzie, a Flagstaff resident, registered nurse and activist in MMIWG, smiles kindly while her young daughter energetically pulls at her long, dark brown hair. Yazzie is familiar with how violence disproportionately impacts Indigenous women. The Lumberjack | Spring 2026 35
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“The one that hit a little bit closer for me personally was a girl that I went to elementary school with,” Yazzie said. “Her name was Amanda Webster, and she is from Cameron, Arizona, which is my hometown community where I grew up as a little girl… They found her body in a hotel, and I think that’s where everything just kind of kicked up for me.” Five minutes after the interview begins, Yazzie calmly asks to take a break to bring her child into the other room. A report by the Urban Indian Health Institute (UIHI) indicates there were 54 cases of missing or murdered Indigenous women in Arizona from 1948 to 2018, the year of Amanda Webster’s death. The report specifically notes that cases often go undocumented, stating 5,712 cases of MMIWG were reported in 2016 but only 116 were logged by the Department of Justice. The Murder Accountability Project states 26% of murder cases involving Native people in Arizona remain unsolved since 1976. At least 42 of these cases were left open as of 2017, when the data was gathered. Yazzie participated in prayer runs, protests and candlelight vigils to raise awareness about MMIWG. She said, in her experience, the lack of media attention has been the biggest factor preventing change. “We get no type of news coverage on our missing Indigenous women, or relatives, at all on any type of news source,” Yazzie said. “And if it is on there, it’s probably there for a few months, and then it gets dropped. So, it’s more of awareness and education on realizing that this crisis is preventable.” Since early 2025, three high-profile MMIWG cases devastated the Native people of Arizona; Emily Pike of Arizona’s San Carlos Apache Tribe, 14, was last seen in a Mesa group home on Jan. 27, 2025. Hikers found her a month later, dismembered, more than 100 miles away near the San Carlos Reservation. Challistia “Tia” Colelay, 16, was reported missing by her family to the White Mountain Apache Police Department in October 2025 and police found her deceased in November. Maleeka “Mollie” Boone, 8, went missing in January 2026, and police discovered her body a day later in a field in Coalmine, Arizona. Political art on the west side of the Gray Mountain Painted Desert motel. J.L. Arnold III/The Lumberjack
36 The Lumberjack | Spring 2026
We get no type of news coverage on our missing Indigenous women, or relatives, at all on any type of news source, and if it is on there, it’s probably there for a few months, and then it gets dropped. So, it’s more of awareness and education on realizing that this crisis is preventable. – Kayla Yazzie
A portion of The Painted Desert Project, started by Chip Thomas, raises awareness of Indigenous rights near Cameron, Arizona. J.L. Arnold III/The Lumberjack
To date, in all three cases, no one has been held responsible. “It’s heartbreaking, it really is, to know that Native women are at a higher risk of experiencing violent crimes in their life, 10 times the national average,” Yazzie said. “Sometimes, it’s scary to see because anybody can become a victim of it. Anybody. And, I just feel like providing your family, your friends, your kids with any type of support and just kind of approaching life as being very sacred, it’s very special.” According to California Indian Legal Services, more than half of all Native women experience domestic violence in their lifetime and, on some reservations, Indigenous women are murdered at a rate more than 10 times the national average. The UIHI report states issues like insufficient law enforcement resources and a lack of culturally specific victim support systems, among others, hinder the resolution of the cases. Additionally, in cases where perpetrators were identified, approximately half were non-Native, 83% were male and at least 28% were never found guilty or faced legal consequences. Navajo Nation Delegate and Indigenous rights advocate Eugenia Charles-Newton has extensive experience with MMIWG. Her advocacy work stems from personal experience. Charles-Newton works with the MMDR Task Force to confront violence against Native people through improvements to legislation and
justice systems, data reporting and victim support services. Over the phone, Charles-Newton’s voice cuts out momentarily. She gathers her thoughts and lets out a deep breath. Her voice starts again, shaking occasionally, but purposeful and determined. In 1995, at the age of 17, Charles-Newton was kidnapped, assaulted and held in a shack on the Navajo Nation for nine days. She said tribal police officers questioned her story and refused to investigate the person she identified as her abuser because she could not tell them where she was held. “I remember, I just, I felt so dirty,” Charles-Newton said. “I felt violated all over again. There was no compassion at all.” She said the officers continued to ask invasive questions and make inappropriate comments, including asking if she had a boyfriend and saying she looked older than 17; officers eventually insinuated being sexually active made her story questionable. Charles-Newton said the officers questioned whether or not she gave consent because she could not remember the entire nine-day period she was held against her will. “I don’t know who in their right mind would think that you would agree to having sex and look in the way that I looked,” Charles-Newton said. “My eye was shut, bruises and cuts on my body. I just remember feeling so embarrassed and, in all honesty, I felt like it was my fault.” In the last 30 years, Congress has passed acts intended to address MMIWG, but according to a report by the Library of Congress, data shows a high rate of violence toward Native Americans from 2010 The Lumberjack | Spring 2026 37
to 2020. The Tribal Law and Order Act, enacted in 2010 by former President Barack Obama, requires both the FBI and U.S. Attorney’s Office to report all investigations and prosecutions on tribal land. The Violence Against Women Reauthorization Act, passed in 2013 by Sen. Patrick J. Leahy and implemented in 2015, made it possible for non-Native individuals to be tried in tribal court systems for domestic violence crimes. Most recently, the Missing and Murdered Unit was established as part of the Bureau of Indian Affairs by then-Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland in 2021 to direct interagency cooperation in addressing missing persons cases among American Indians and Alaska Natives. Today, Charles-Newton represents women and their family members who are affected by the same violence. As delegate for Shiprock, New Mexico, she must also represent the man who she said raped and kidnapped her more than 30 years ago, as he is still a registered voter living in her district. “I work with a lot of families of MMDR and, I think one woman, the way that she described it was exactly what I felt,” Charles-Newton said. “She said, ‘It’s the not knowing that kills me.’” The MMDR Task Force is establishing a Tribal Community Response Plan to provide guidelines for law enforcement in missing persons cases, as well as an MMDR Database. The database system is intended to store previously mislabeled and miscategorized data on missing Diné people. The task force holds regular meetings to communicate with the residents of the Navajo Nation and provide resources and education around sex trafficking prevention. Most recently, it hosted a human trafficking awareness training session on Jan. 30, 2026.
Above: A closeup of Chip Thomas’ mural at The Painted Desert Project. J.L. Arnold III/The Lumberjack Below: A mural conveys the importance of water on the Navajo Nation, part of The Painted Desert Project. J.L. Arnold III/The Lumberjack
38 The Lumberjack | Spring 2026
Flagstaff Family Food Center Vice President Ceara Chirovsky poses for a portrait in the Flagstaff Family Food Center warehouse. Beck Toms/The Lumberjack
The people feeding Flagstaff Story by Katie Tsoukatos Photography by Beck Toms, Yanissa Romo and Katie Tsoukatos
A
fter as little as two to three hours without food, a human stomach begins to contract and produce hunger pangs. Blood sugar levels drop just a few hours later, and weakness and fatigue begin setting in. Over time, chronic hunger can increase one’s risk of anxiety, depression and chronic diseases. According to Feeding America, one in seven Arizonans struggle with hunger, despite Arizona producing 12% of the nation’s fruits and vegetables. In Coconino County alone, 14.4% of adult residents did not have enough food to maintain a healthy lifestyle in 2022, exceeding the state and national averages. To combat food insecurity, a selection of local nonprofit organizations make it their mission to cultivate and deliver food to Flagstaff students, employees and families. Flagstaff Family Food Center (FFFC) is one such nonprofit. FFFC has provided hot meals to Coconino County residents through its on-site food bank and drive-through distribution network for more than 30 years. According to FFFC’s 2025 impact report, the organization provided 8.2 million pounds of food to northern Arizonans throughout the year. Inside FFFC’s office, Ceara Chirovsky takes calls and scans client feedback forms. Every sentence she reads will help her tailor the organization’s dining options to its regular clientele. Chirovsky, vice president of FFFC, has worked in the hunger relief field for nearly a decade and within the nonprofit for over a year. She oversees FFFC’s programmatic operations, which includes ensuring the
organization complies with government entities and meets each visitor’s standards. Chirovsky said she became interested in food insecurity during her time working as a lobbyist at the Arizona State Legislature. While doing contractual work for St. Mary’s Food Bank, she discovered how hunger can affect people from every background, not just low-income individuals, and realized she wanted to commit herself to food banking. “Food is such a unifier,” Chirovsky said. “There isn’t a single person who can’t connect with the feeling of hunger or how food can change your day and what your emotions are. It’s a very universal experience.” Healthy food is about 4% more expensive in rural communities than urban areas. Chirovsky said many northern Arizona residents pass through Flagstaff to access food distribution centers and government resources that are not immediately available to them. According to FFFC’s 2024 Food Equity Report, many Coconino County residents struggle to cook food they receive due to being unhoused or living in areas where electricity and clean drinking water are limited. Knowing this, Chirovsky said she coordinates with FFFC’s partners to provide meals that locals can feasibly prepare, regardless of whether they have access to cooking equipment, electricity or transportation. “Everyone needs food every day, no matter who they are,” Chirovsky said. “Being able to help them get food in a way that isn’t making their situation worse or degrading their dignity is something that I’m very passionate about.” The Lumberjack | Spring 2026 39
Chirovsky said she continues coming through FFFC’s doors, even on her most difficult days, by putting herself in her client’s shoes. She is constantly asking herself what she would need if she were walking into FFFC’s kitchen looking for food, and she lets this question guide every delivery she arranges. Flagstaff Foodlink is another nonprofit organization aiming to strengthen the city’s food economy and coordinate educational opportunities for locals to learn to grow their own food. At a Flagstaff Foodlink event, Sara Sprague harvests apples from local orchards, supplying participating volunteers and food pantries with excess fruit that would otherwise go to waste. Sprague is the board president of Flagstaff Foodlink and a Double Up Food Bucks specialist at Pinnacle Prevention. For every dollar customers spend through the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) at Double Up Food Bucks farmers markets or corner stores, they earn an additional dollar to spend on fruits and veggies, dried beans and edible plants and seeds. Sprague began working in hunger relief through farming and gardening on community land, where she provided fresh food to Flagstaff residents who lacked access to healthy, locally grown products. She has stayed in the northern Arizona food equity field for four years. “It brings so much joy having access to food and having choice,” Sprague said, “whether you’re a kid and you’ve never tried a fresh tomato before or you’re getting apples.” Gardening helped Sprague root herself in the land around her. She said she began to understand the importance of growing culturally relevant foods once she began planting. Sprague said she uses her work to limit “food apartheid,” a system of institutional segregation causing people of color to face additional barriers to finding healthy food. “People have been systematically placed in positions, through racism and colonization, to not have access to food,” Sprague said. “Even when they do, it’s not the most nourishing food.” According to a 2024 study from the USDA’s Economic Research Service, 11.1% of U.S. households experienced food insecurity from 2016 to 2021. The numbers vary depending on ethnicity, as 21% of Black households, 16.9% of Hispanic households and 8% of white households faced food insecurity over that time period. Sprague said she believes access to healthy food is a basic human right, and she attempts to dismantle systemic barriers to food and health inequalities by visiting rural, independent and small-scale grocery stores in Flagstaff to set up Double Up Food Bucks programs. The Federal Reserve Bank reports that more than 17,000 Coconino County residents are receiving SNAP benefits as of 2023. However, under President Donald Trump’s One Big Beautiful Bill Act of 2025, SNAP funding will be reduced by approximately $186 billion over the next 10 years, and many Americans who once qualified for SNAP
A Louie’s Cupboard sign outside Sechrist Hall. Katie Tsoukatos/The Lumberjack
Skye Kind holds an apple inside a grocery store. Yanissa Romo/The Lumberjack
benefits are no longer eligible. Sprague said she will continue dedicating her life to hunger relief, no matter the challenges. “I don’t know what else I’d rather be doing than working within the realm of food,” Sprague said. Back at FFFC, Zenya Ledermann coordinates the opening of a food pantry at Coconino High School, contacting students to figure out which food groups they lack at home. Ledermann, project lead at FFFC, has worked at the nonprofit for nearly two years. She said she has also served as a client advocacy assistant and program coordinator for the organization, which gave her hands-on knowledge of the initiatives she now manages. Ledermann studied anthropology, environmental studies and sustainability at Eckerd College and NAU. Each class helped her understand how the different parts of the food system affect one another. “I was starting to really see the intersection that the food system is and how it touches on every aspect of our society,” Ledermann said. “Not only does everyone need food, but food is also political, economic, environmental and cultural. It really was a space where I saw so many of these different areas that I was interested in overlapping.” As a project lead, Ledermann frequently conducts fieldwork with the organization’s partners and clients by attending food distributions, visiting local schools and community centers and recruiting volunteers so FFFC’s kitchen can serve food to more people. This year, she is working on expanding Louie’s Cupboard, a food pantry serving NAU students developed in 2012 that FFFC took over in December 2025. Louie’s Cupboard holds free food distributions for students who may be struggling with college expenses. Ledermann said FFFC is supporting the pantry by supplying it with more food that students enjoy and can easily prepare. “A lot of people live in dorms or apartments, so we want to provide things that are good for students who don’t have a full kitchen available to them all the time,” Ledermann said. Because Flagstaff has a high cost of living, it can also be difficult for students and full-time residents to afford food, Ledermann said. Flagstaff’s cost of living is 19.2% higher than the national average, with a single adult needing a salary of $88,000 to live comfortably in the city. Ledermann said her time at FFFC has expanded her understanding of the people who come to the organization for food, and she wants to continue creating broader safety nets for the Flagstaff residents who need them. “It’s not just a certain demographic that’s coming to us,” Ledermann said. “It’s people from all areas. It’s families. It’s single people. It’s seniors. It’s children. It’s high schoolers. It’s college students. It’s people who are working full-time but still just can’t afford basic things.” People are not meant to be isolated, Ledermann said, and she believes FFFC’s programs allow individuals from different backgrounds to unite in a common goal of supporting the underserved groups who need them most.
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