Letter from the Editor-in-Chief to fellow women of color – The Cauldron
When I graduated high school, my mom gifted me with her Palestine necklace. Photo Credit: Noha Youssef | Through My Lens 828 LLC
I reserve a large sum of my dedication to my fellow Palestinian women all around the world. In Gaza, Falasteen and beyond. To your resilience and unshakeable faith.
Before I penned this love letter, I drafted a scathing opinion piece, infused with resentment and touched with a subtle hurt. Written in the middle of one night during Women’s History Month, I longed to shove my pent-up anger in the face of every condescending jerk with whom I’ve had to put up since taking the helm as editor-in-chief of The Cauldron last August.
I wrote, I screamed into my pillow, I dialed a friend to seek emotional validation, I wrote some more, I cried, I screamed some more, I wrote, and I wrote, and I wrote.
My words, mixed with 3 a.m. tears and a whole lot of unkind language, never saw the light of day and Women’s History Month passed me by. In the wake of April, the latter stretch of Ramadan and impending finals, it wasn’t long before I dismissed my anger as classless and canceled the project altogether to focus on the more pressing, “hard” news of our publication.
Indeed, I moved on. I conducted my work as chief editor as usual, as though my anger was never put to paper. Nothing really changed.
That was what I couldn’t shake. The fact that nothing changed. I conducted my work with an impassioned diligence and competence. Kirsten, our managing editor, and I led our team in propelling coverage across diverse subjects and mediums. We honored Black and Women’s History Months with a myriad of pieces, launched a podcast, covered the essential, and highlighted the special. We delivered.
All that, and I continued to be met with outlandish audacity—namely the audacity of some pretentious peers who instantaneously assumed that I do not know. Because what would Mays know? What would Mays, 5’1, Brown, Palestinian-American, and Woman, know about her job?
What would I, who beat out two white men to succeed another white man as editor-in-chief, know about my job? According to some audacious people, less than a white man.
The plight of women of color is not a singular experience. That being said, I look up to you and every single woman of color in every way. Your work continues to shape a new standard that baffles people and systems that were not designed for us. Your work is a testament to the profound things humankind can do.
The distinct experiences through which we and all the women of color before us have lived—akin to the words of author Prisca Dorcas Mojica Rodríguez—weave dazzling and unyielding threads into the fabric of history—that is, the past, present and future.
To my fellow women of color: we are the standard.
I call on you to remain unafraid and steadfast in your work. Brace yourself and hold on tight to your dignity amid the currents of doubt and mockery that try and throw you off balance. Do not let anyone take anything away from you.
No matter your qualifications or execution, your facial expressions or attitude, there will always be people who dare question your capacity to lead and succeed. There will always be a white man whom society decides performs more effectively than you. Do not be mistaken though. It is these exact people in society who feel threatened by your power—the very power they garner the gall to dispute. Your presence alone is the capacity to revolutionize every part of the status quo that has made life easier for them.
No wonder they’re scared. No wonder they feel the need to question you.
To my fellow women of color: channel that strength at the subject of their fear. Intensify it. Continue to frighten them. Let them hurl condescending remarks in your face. Let them try and offer you unsolicited advice on how to do your job. Let them say, “I could be editor-in-chief, easy.” Let them. At the end of the day, they will not submit an application. Why? Because they do not have the guts nor the goddamn competence to fill your shoes. Laughable, is it not?
Laugh, my women. Do not be overcome with anger. Do not cry. Laugh at their naivety, their disrespect. And continue on with your work. You are brilliance and beauty.
You are the standard.
Everyone else ought to take notes.
Mays Turabi, Palestinian-American and Editor-in-Chief
Disclaimer: This article in no way reflects the views of The Cauldron and its staff. It only reflects the views of the columnist.