And What Do We Say to the God of Solidarity?
On my way to work this morning, I thought about the percentage ratio of my friends and family who are religious, and what religion they practice. It came down to roughly 40% Christians, 40% Muslims and 20% undecideds/atheists/agnostics—all of whom I respect equally (until their practices impedes on the rights of others, or is harmful etc.) I was hoping to do a better calculation for this letter when I returned home. Unfortunately, few hours after settling into work, I realized today was Thoughts Day! Yeesh, talk about totally unprepared. We move still.
I’m not sure I have any traditional worshipper friends (which has never really stopped me from respecting traditional worshippers, or say other foreign religions like Buddhism.) I pride myself in being a tolerant person, especially when it comes to differing opinions and ways of life including tribe, sexual orientation and religion.
Why?
Why not? It’s easy to be a bigot in today’s world. I have family members who are [subtly] bigoted against their own Muslim relatives and vice versa. I could have fallen into that pit—people are always directing hate at people’s beliefs and practices (trust me, I’ve tackled and reported enough of them on Twitter to know this)—but you know what, I have chosen to live a life of love, respect and open-mindness. So, as an act of solidarity to my Muslim brothers and sisters, I’d usually fast during the month of Ramadan (Ramadan Mubarak to my Muslim readers!) I recently started doing this during Lent too, giving up a guilty pleasure and regularly fasting as an act of solidarity—I’m also not catholic. I never speak about this, slightly scared of what people might say. Now, I say, who cares?
I’d talk about my beliefs at this point, but I’m not sure where I am at this moment, and I’m realizing that’s okay; It’s okay to question your beliefs, it’s okay to not know. Perhaps, some Thoughts Day soon.
Still on solidarity, this week, I thought about women, the stigmas attached to everything we do, and the way we are unfairly policed. If you’re a fat woman for instance, you’re judged for buying an ice cream. If you’re sexually active, you’re judged for buying a condom or discussing birth control with your doctor. If you have colored hair, wear ankle chains or waist beads, you’re into sex work, or are ‘wayward’. I couldn’t be at the Women’s March in Lagos organised to protest the arrest and abuse of sex workers in Abuja, but I’m standing, even now, in solidarity with them.
Audre Lorde said, “I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are different from my own,” and I totally agree. This is a reflection of my life, and my views.
Speaking of Audre Lorde, I spent time reading her collection of essays published by Penguin and learned so much. In another similar pamphlet by Penguin, I learned about the Suffragettes of the early 20th century and their brutal fight to gain the right to vote—a level of solidarity and anti-patriarchy that I aspire to, and that I believe my generation of feminists will eventually get to, if push comes to shove. I often cite Myra Bradwell as a woman who broke the glass ceiling for women around the world, so that today, they can be lawyers. There are several of such women in history, and in present day, who have made/make it their duty to be a voice: shout out to my Ouida/Book Buzz Ladies and LS, Chimamanda, Damilola Marcus, Ayodeji Osowobi, Karo of Sanitary Aid (@Duchesskk), Wura Abulatan, Deaduramilade Tawak, Fati (@Flawlessmilo) etc. There are a thousand names to mention, but we have to keep this letter short.
In other reads, I recently started reading Manchester Happened by Jennifer Makumbi, Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams by Sylvia Plath, The Woman Who Gave Birth to Rabbits by Emma Donoghue. Ps: An adulting hack is to read compilation of short stories or essays which you don’t have to finish at once, instead of reading full length novels that you’re always too busy to read. Be like Ops. Also, notice how they’re all written by women? Celebrating women doesn’t stop in March. Keep up. Of course, to the wary misogynist reading this letter, I read Tutuola’s Palmwine Drinkard to start the year, Gabriel Garcia Marquez last month, and Nnamdi Ehirim the month before. I’ll also be reading James Baldwin next month. So pls dear. (I’m praying you’re converted to the side of equality, because as you know, I love all my readers.)
No stories/essay links included in this letter even though I read a lot of stuff this week. Hopefully, I’ll curate a few by next Thursday. (Una dey read am self?) Consider all books aforementioned, recommendations. Some are available at Ouida Books in Lagos!
So, to the God of Solidarity, we say, “Yes, Today.” We say:
“Things change. And people sometimes have the power to make that happen, if and when they come together and act.” - Rebecca Solnit.
We tell the God of Solidarity about the joy of solidarity, that the joy is worth something in itself. And just like Albert Einstein said, we say:
“Without deeper reflection, one knows from daily life that one exists for other people — first of all for those upon whose smiles and well-being our own happiness is wholly dependent, and then for the many, unknown to us, to whose destinies we are bound by the ties of sympathy.”
Be sure to think about this, this week and lend a hand to any important, positive cause around you. ❤️