As a Muslim woman in India, I am quite used to being more politicised than being political. It is commonplace for Muslim women’s political presence to be defined by popular polarizing narratives and everybody’s opinions around the same. Rarely do we walk into a room and ask what Muslim women feel their own issues are, how they define their aspirations, and author their own everyday political and social narratives. This is not a unique issue whatsoever- several fields like that of social justice have long grappled with some people’s ‘voicelessness’ without trying to undo this imposed silence. My feminist conviction also finds its beginnings in this understanding of how some people are perceived as less worthy of raising their own issues and sharing their own stories.
When I applied for the FLL, I was sure I was going to participate as my full self—not as a victim of stereotypical social issues or as a subject of oversold political discourses, but as a feminist leader who was passionate about using her unique positionality and knowledge to bridge the gap between law and social movements. Like everyone else, I wanted to be seen, heard and acknowledged for the work I do. I also wanted to see others with the same curiosity and awe that I wanted to be seen with.
This pursuit worked well for me. Over the past two years, I have realised that there is no other place where we can be seen as fully as in our friendships. In a place like FLL where we were all so diverse and layered, we could not just be friends based on our shared identity. My friendships naturally became sites of curiosity and learning. I began to understand that if we are able to approach diversity with conviction and good faith, it may be possible to scratch the surface of this bigger ideal called solidarity. What’s more, we can actually move towards solidarities of inclusion and center difference as what unites us and not what separates us.
I know this sounds utopian but I like to believe we are living out utopias more commonly than we believe. Our friendships are one such utopia we inhabit. It is one thing to go into the world determined to speak our minds; it is another to know that what we have spoken resonates with truth and compassion. First Munazah, and then later Pavel, were two friends helping me achieve this vision. Very often, they were stretching the conversations of the day into the end of my days, not simply echoing my sentiments but also cross-examining me with a voracity that I could only permit for friends who I know have the best intentions in mind. Establishing such a sense of safety alongside criticality is not an easy feat in a highly polarized world.
Feminist leadership building is not a corporate program designed to facilitate ‘networking’. It is a site of praxis, of world-making, and it takes more than just networks to fully embrace the heavy demands our visions make of us. This is why the best thing that FLL gave me was these friendships that not only reaffirmed me but also inspired me to center joy and inclusion in all my work.
The Joy of Everyday Inclusions in Feminist Work
One of my greatest take-aways from the Labs was to view things structurally, encompassing both visible and invisible aspects. For instance, the setting of a room where everyone gathers is visible, but the exclusion it caused to people with disabilities by virtue of its design and accessibility is not. Similarly, the fact that the lab was bilingual became one of its most significant yet less-visible triumphs.
As someone who tends to work with people who speak my languages, I was curious about how a bilingual lab would unfold. In my mobilizing work, I usually delegate tasks involving people whose language I don’t know to peers who do. It seems logical to focus on what you’re best at and let others do the same. Isn’t it more efficient this way? However, this approach limited me to issues and communities that were familiar/proximate to me. I didn’t realize that my pursuit of efficiency and comfort prevented me from broadening my horizons, taking risks, and learning to bridge gaps that might otherwise become permanent barriers, hindering my understanding of what is often only half-said or lost in translation.
At FLL, instead of relying on a formal translator, almost everyone took turns translating conversations between Hindi and English. This practice naturally slowed the conversation, allowing for more inclusive communication. It made us responsible for each other as a cohort, turning language into a valuable, shared resource. How we used this resource could either be inclusive, with us volunteering as translators for each other, or exclusive, leaving out those who did not share our language from our conversations- the choice was ours.
Watching the FLL cohort act as each other’s amateur translators, I discovered that these everyday exercises of building bridges (through translation or otherwise) need not be sombre or boring. The act of finding words to convey our thoughts and desires is deeply personal. Fumbling for the right words, making mistakes, and slowing down only add value to this journey by allowing us to move away from rigid notions of efficiency. It creates room for fun and laughter, allowing us to adapt to each other’s paces and share the joy of working to move closer to each other.
Confronting Insecurity and Biases to Challenge Exclusions
As one of the youngest members of the 27-member cohort, I am now able to look back and see how diversity can be overwhelming when you are insecure and unsure of yourself. Solidarity-building is a particularly vulnerable and intimate process that involves a certain unravelling of ourselves. It is thus not surprising that we flock together with people who look like us, dress like us, and speak like us, to feel a sense of belonging throughout this unravelling. Unsurprisingly, I, too, chose the safety of exclusion, sticking around people who comforted me, perceiving any challenge as an offence.
I was, however, lucky that friends like Pavel slowly made me more alert to how I was carrying exclusions around with me through my body, my identities, my expectations, and my politics. The time spent working with the larger cohort affirmed what I learned from my friend: that is very much possible to transcend our rigid identities and embrace shared goals and values with our peers. It is very much possible to make inclusion an everyday practice of solidarity-building through simple exercises like translating for each other, looking into each other’s eyes (as we did for a team-building exercise), or simply acknowledging our own fears and hurdles as we try to move towards feminist work centering trust despite difference.
