Inconvenient Other

Dear Embur,

As you grow, you will learn how

crippling
your presence can be to others.
I hope that you come to me
to talk—or cry—
about it.
As you learn, you will grow
confident
in your present with others.
I hope that you let me
rave
about it.

We are women, Embur.

We are told to be
soft.
Be soft—if you want—
But be you.
We are women, Embur.
We are the other
of the world.
Be the other.

Be loud,
be proud,
be angry—if you’re angry.
 But most of all—
be the inconvenient
Other.

I chose to write my response to Baldwin as a letter to my niece—just as he wrote his piece as a

letter to his nephew. My niece is not named for me, but for the red-hot center of a fire. I want her
to keep that fire alive and to know that, though she will be inconvenient for half of the world, she
should be proud to be inconvenient. Because that means she is doing something right.
 A Conversation with Marshall Ganz

How long have you been a feminist?

I think I’ve always—
Always?
Well, maybe not always.
So, when? When did it start?
I just remember being treated differently than my brothers.
When?
As a kid. In school. In the military.
How?
I was always—
Always?
Yes, always.
Okay. Go on.
I was always responsible for my brothers. They were never responsible for me.
How does that make you a feminist?
Well, I saw it. Then I reacted to it.
So?
So now I don’t react to it. Now, I draw attention to it.

“We are fish in the water of our own stories” says Marshall Ganz. In Resistance School, people
are taught to coach each other to tell their personal narratives. This is how I imagine it might go
if I were in the situation of the young woman he spoke with initially. He says it’s not an
interrogation if there is empathy behind the questions—if someone cares.
 Olive Trees

She jumped
right into
the pit.
Her father
clapped.
Others
followed.

They care not

for their own lives,
but for the lives of
the olive trees.

Those trees.
They are more than branches and leaves.
They are life.
They are love.
They are everything.

To him
jail
isn’t scary anymore.

To him
jail just happens
when you fight
for what is
just.
To him
those trees
are everything.

To her
those trees
are life.

To them
those trees
are love.

This village
is more than
just people—
These people are
bound by roots.

Those roots are torn

cut
pulled
dragged away.

Still people persist.

They pull trees from the pile

They put trees back in soil
They pack trees in their home
These trees are love.
These trees are life.

They gave these trees

the names of their mothers

In Budrus, villagers rallied around their livelihood—the olive trees. When that was threatened,
they acted—peacefully. Ayed said “we gave these trees the names of our mothers” and I was
struck by just how powerful and connected this community was. They were bound to each other
just as they were bound to the land.
 Manifesto

Be dissatisfied with the way of the world

be unhappy
be unlikeable
be disagreeable

But—

Be an ally
be a friend
be a shoulder
be a comrade

Be unapologetically me
be not sorry
be not caring
be more me than ever

and don’t…

Don’t ever “get over it”

don’t let it go
don’t walk away
don’t suck it up

Be okay
with doing it alone
with being lonely
with being the fun-sucker
 with being the only one yelling

Be okay
with standing on your own
with marching with strangers
with comforting strangers
with being a stranger

Be okay
with fighting my family
with explaining things
with looking up facts
with having an open mind

Be okay
with being a feminist
with being loud
with being proud
with being angry

Sarah Ahmed writes the “Killjoy Manifesto,” and this is mine. The crux of my manifesto is to be
okay—with whatever comes from being a feminist. That may mean fighting with my father or
trying to convince my mother. Maybe trying to teach my brothers and help raise my nieces and
nephew to understand what and who I am. And I have to be okay with that. Whatever that
entails.
 The Tool Kit

I’ve always heard that those who can’t do,

teach.
But can’t we
do
and
teach?

How?
We assemble—as avengers—
our tool kits.

Books
and learn to argue with them.
Life
and the experiences we’ve lived.
Words
and the guts to speak them.
Allies
and the love to help them.
Emotions
and the strength to show them.
Space
and the ability to give it.
Peace
and the self-love to break it.

We give ourselves tools to live in our worlds—

but to live and be
dissatisfied.

This is my tool kit, in response to Sarah Ahmed’s own. I liked the tools she chooses to arm
herself with, and I stole some. But I wanted mine to be simple, yet complex. A feminist, in my
mind, should break the peace that enables harmful behavior, yet give space if it’s needed. She
should be strong but feeling. Empathetic to the struggle of others and be willing to help if she
can. This is my tool kit and others may disagree. And that’s fine. As long as we are all allied.
And dissatisfied.