THIS WEEK
Opinion Diverse voices
and in that silence I kept hold of a mental equilibrium. A handful of messages found their way into Mathew’s DMs and he suggested I reconsider my stance on notifica- tions and unsolicited messages. “I’m scared,” I told him. “So are the people trying to reach you,” he replied.
Mohsin Zaidi
A Dutiful Boy author, Mohsin Zaidi, discusses how the publication of underrepresented voices has the potential to transform lives
Power of the platform T
disbelief, followed quickly by this one: “Shit, I am actually going to write this book”. The gravit of my decision to put so deeply private a story into the world—a story unknown even to many of those closest to me, and one which I knew might draw hostile responses, not only to me, but also to my loved ones—began to dawn upon me the following day. It was near-impossible to understand what it might mean to take such a step, and difficult to imagine the long-term consequences. My parents shared my concern but also hoped the book could help others avoid the heartache we had endured. With a preliminary green light from my family, I decided to focus entirely on the writing.
Event horizon
The anxiet about puting so much of my life and my family into the world returned in the weeks before publi- cation, when it became a real event on the horizon, edging closer towards us. My family and friends gave steadfast support and the Penguin team—in particular, Rowan Yapp and Mireille Harper [both editors at Penguin Random House at the time]—helped to guide me through. I decided to turn off all social media notifications, a decision that my partner, Mathew, disagreed with. Although it would of course mute any nonsense, he believed it would also shut out the positivit which, during Covid, would silence the only way to hear what people thought. To begin with, I stuck to my guns—and the deci- sion helped. Turning off notifications silenced everything
TheBookseller.com
o me, people of the book industry are the guardians of one of the oldest and most treasured artforms. This opportunit to speak directly to you all is not one I wish to waste. So instead of adopting a series of compelling points on the moral and ethical arguments for diverse representation, I’d like to tell you a story. When Penguin’s WriteNow team emailed me on 29th November 2017 to offer me a place on the programme, my first thought was
Mixed messages I eventually relented and, predictably, as someone writing about sexualit, faith, race and class in Britain, I received abuse. As determined as I was to keep the small minorit of hostile messages in proportion, there were times when they eclipsed the many positive ones. I knew that my mental equilibrium was slipping as I stood on a train platform a few months ago. My phone alerted me to a message from a stranger and the alert sent me into a spiral. Do I read the message now, alone on this platform, or wait until I’m at home, safe and near Mathew? I took a deep breath and opened the message. It was from a mother who had just finished reading the book. She told me that she came from a devout Christian family and that her son, who was also religious, had come out to her the previous year. When the son told his mother about his sexualit, she had rejected him. She had believed that her son’s connection to God was false, and that man was made for woman. She told me that she felt ashamed that it took reading about someone else’s journey to fully understand her own. Every word she read was one she had lived, and she was regretful for failing to put her son at the centre of her feelings. This mother told me that she now accepted her son, loved him unconditionally and supported his endeavours
Diversity isn’t just about ticking boxes. By giving voices to the you are changing lives in ways none of us will ever fully appreciate
to find a place for himself and others within their Christian communit.
On that train platform I was reminded of my parents’ belief and my hope that sharing our story might help others. The fear and anxiet leſt me and the sense of being able to stop holding my breath, even for a minute, made me cry.
Out of respect for a family’s privacy, I can’t show anyone the message (the details of which have also been altered slightly); I can tell you, the book industry, about it. In so doing, I hope to illustrate the power in the platform you are the guardians of. Diversit isn’t just about ticking boxes. By giving voices to the underrepresented, you are changing lives in ways none of us will ever fully appreciate and, for that, I thank you.
Mohsin Zaidi is a criminal barrister at one of the top chambers in the UK. He is on the board of Stonewall, the UK’s biggest LGBT rights charity, and is a governor of his former secondary school
A Dutiful Boy (Square Peg, £14.99, out now, 9781529110142) is Mohsin Zaidi’s personal journey from denial to acceptance: a revelatory memoir about the power of love and belonging. Growing up in a devout Shia Muslim household, it felt impossible for Zaidi to be gay. Despite the odds, his perseverance led him to become the first person from his school to attend Oxford University, where new experiences and encounters helped him to discover who he truly wanted to be.
11
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44 |
Page 45 |
Page 46 |
Page 47 |
Page 48 |
Page 49 |
Page 50 |
Page 51 |
Page 52
