Let’s try the beginning. Back in February (which, by now, feels like more than a few lifetimes ago), we started work on the latest instalment of Huck. The one you’re reading now.
The working title of the issue was Sanctuary. Over the course of its 100 pages, we collected stories of refuge and resilience: people who’d found solace in a scene, movement or culture; communities who’d come together as one to protect and empower each other. While we’re always proud of the magazines we put out, this one felt special; packed full of hope and possibility.
Then everything fell off a cliff.
In March, as countries across the globe began to shut down, we made the decision to hit pause on the issue. A whole host of reasons – all of them fairly obvious – reinforced that it was the right thing to do. So, with heavy hearts, we left it to one side, all but finished and ready to go.
As the weeks passed, it soon became clear that the landscape we’d be returning to wouldn’t be the same one we’d left. And rightly so. But when those weeks turned into months, with life changing beyond comprehension, it left us at something of a crossroads: at a time of unprecedented fear and unrest, what does sanctuary actually mean?
Which brings us here. When we first compiled these stories five months ago – written and shot by some of the best people currently doing it – we felt they contributed to incredibly important narratives. Today, with everything that’s happened since, we believe that even more strongly.
For that reason, we’ve decided to share Sanctuary in its original form, with only one key change. Before going to print, we handed the magazine back to the people featured within it, for them to annotate, update and transform. You can see th
