By Heather Brandon

Identity is a paradox, appearing to have multiple meanings, nuances and subtle layers, the closer we examine the subject. In the social sciences, we might take it to mean something about how we view ourselves as a discrete entity, separate from others. In math, it might indicate an "equality that holds true" no matter what other variables might attempt to influence it—a kind of pure essence.

Spiritually speaking, some know who they are best when they have others to contrast themselves against. Whereas some people are persistently "themselves" no matter who or what comes their way. (For a bit of self-reflection on who you are, trying taking this 20-question "who am I?" quiz, for meditative purposes only.)

Judgements and prejudices come into play when we try to pinpoint the meaning of the identities of others. We form cliques, or follow others blindly, thinking there must be safety in the herd. If we all dress or behave the same, does that protect us from injustice, or threats from outside the group? And on the other hand, if we separate ourselves from society completely, are we immune?

The very definition of the word "identity" has a Latin root, idem, meaning "the same." More than a definition of individuality—which is often how we tend to think of the notion of an identity, some unique idea of self—identity is, in part, about how one thing is the same as something else, and can thus be grouped together with it.

Take, for instance, an identification card, which we can regard as a document with a person's picture, signifying his or her individuality: no one else has this exact set of facial features, combined with this birth date, this nationality, and this name. But when regarded as a piece of information grouping an individual together with others, the idea of the identification card takes on new meaning. Your identity, understood via the groups you belong to, allows others to figure out where you fit in the world. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. And so much of our struggle against prejudice in today's world is about not wanting to be judged as an individual for belonging to a given group: we want to be seen and appreciated for who we are individually, too. But do we then lose our identity?

Indeed, how does one maintain—or create fresh—an identity in an ever-changing, globally expanding world? If a generation's approach to society no longer seems relevant or meaningful to another generation, how does humanity progress from one century to the next?

Perhaps by forming new ideas of what it means to be a part of a group. And, ever the practical step, by actually forming new groups, ones that are more expansive, diverse and cross-referencing than we have ever seen before.

In this issue of One, we share a few versions of what it might look like to struggle to find, and possibly discover, glimpses behind the veils of identity, whether it is the essence of the human spirit, touched on in Malik Nash's "Black Is, Black Ain't," or the literal veil, tried on by actor Anisa George in Aníse Meccouri's interview with her, "Khouraji."

Also take a look at "Exploding on the Scene," Golriz Landry's interview with up-and-coming South African filmmaker Bita Haidarian, who recently created a second film featuring the theme of a young girl working to figure out who she is amongst men. On a similar note, Kimya Hedayatzadeh offers up a review of 2003's "Whale Rider."