Linda Sarsour - We Are Not Here to Be Bystanders: A Memoir of Love and Resistance

An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright 2020 by Linda Sarsour

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Simon & Schuster Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First 37Ink/Simon & Schuster hardcover edition March 2020

37Ink /SIMON & SCHUSTER and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or .

The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

Interior design by Jill Putorti

Jacket design by Jackie Seow

Jacket photographs: (front) by Brad Ogbonna; (back) Courtesy of the Author

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.

ISBN 978-1-9821-0516-7

ISBN 978-1-9821-0518-1 (ebook)

For Basemah Atweh

and those who fight with

every breath, as she did.

For my family, my reason,

the ones who have my back

and hold my heart, always.

What are the tyrannies you swallow day by day and attempt to make your own, until you will sicken and die of them, still in silence? The fact that we are here and that I speak these words is an attempt to break that silence and bridge some of those differences between us, for it is not difference which immobilizes us, but silence. And there are so many silences to be broken.

Audre Lorde, author and revolutionary feminist

by Harry Belafonte

A s my good friend Martin once said, Weve got some difficult days ahead, but it really doesnt matter with me now, because Ive been to the mountaintop Ive seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land.

That quote, spoken by Dr. King less than twenty-four hours before he was assassinated, resonates with me deeply as I contemplate my affection for Linda Sarsour. I have been aware of this tremendous young woman for several years now. I find her to be bold and brilliant and unexpecteda combination of qualities that inspire me. When Linda first crossed my threshold, brought into my midst by Carmen Perez, who runs my social justice organization the Gathering for Justice, I was immediately drawn to her. Quite the spitfire she was, unapologetic and strong. I saw in her a burning fire, and she drew me in. I watched her and her comrades shift the ground and make waves and stop the machine. I delighted in their tenacity, their bold vision for Black and brown liberation, and their radical approach to movement work.

I am no stranger to movement work. It is grueling and gut-wrenching and absolutely necessary. I was twenty-five years old when I met Martin and the folks of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, or SNCC. Martin was twenty-two. There was an undeniable urgency to his message, and his principles of nonviolence fueled the work. While we may not have made it to the Promised Land, my peers and I, my brothers and sisters in liberation can rest easy knowing that the future is in the hands of leaders like Linda Sarsour. I have often said to Linda that she embodies the principle and purpose of another great Muslim leader, brother Malcolm X, who said, If youre not ready to die for it, put the word freedom out of your vocabulary.

And thats another thing about movement workthe sacrifice, the personal assaults, the violence. It wasnt that long ago we lost Martin and Malcolm and Bobby. We lost so many more to assassins bullets, to lynching. When I read the vitriol and vilification directed at Linda and her sisters of the Womens March, I recognize the despair, the isolation, the fear. I also recognize the strength it takes to rise each new day and face an uncertain and dangerous world. We cannot allow the forces of oppression and evil to divide our precious movement. And we cannot sit idly by while these forces try to rewrite our history and co-opt our narratives of peace and justice and equity. We have to celebrate women like Linda and her comrades now, and not allow the ravages of time to silence our sung praises.

I may not make it to the Promised Land with you, but we will get there. I know this because I know Linda Sarsour and I have witnessed her passion, commitment, and determination. This generation of activists and organizers, theyre getting it right. They are building the beloved community with radical intention. And thats all I could hope for our world. How wonderful that you all have the opportunity to read this fine book, and to experience Lindas grace. We are all richer for it.

February 21, 2019

New York City

I n one of my favorite stories from the Hadith, a man asks the beloved Prophet Muhammad: What is the best form of jihad? I have always loved the Prophets answer: A word of truth in front of a tyrant ruler or leader, that is the best form of jihad. For me, this call to peaceful yet courageous action expresses our highest human responsibilityto care for one another by showing up and speaking out for the voiceless among us. Its a call that I believe is especially crucial in these times.

I shared this story when I gave a keynote address at the Islamic Society of North Americas fifty-fourth annual convention in Chicago in July 2017. After recounting for the audience the words of our beloved Prophet (may peace be upon him), I went on to observe that in standing against oppression in our communities, we are struggling against tyrants and rulers not only abroad in the Middle East or on the other side of the world, but here in these United States of America, where you have fascists and white supremacists and Islamophobes reigning in the White House.

As a Palestinian American woman addressing a hotel ballroom full of fellow Muslims, all of whom understood the context and meaning of the story I told, I wasnt trying to be provocative. Standing at that podium, I could sense that my words were resonating, that I was giving the right message to the right people at the right time. The feeling in that room was galvanizing. Speaking truth to power? Yes.

I flew home to Brooklyn the next morning, looking forward to a short hiking trip in Cold Spring, New York, that I planned to take with my three teenage children and my nephew. The following Tuesday was July 4, and I observed our countrys birthday with my extended family, sharing a meal together just like countless other families across America. I finally fell into bed past midnight, putting my cell on do not disturb because texts from a group chat about a local political campaign I was working on kept pinging my phone. Ill catch up in the morning, I thought.

Five hours later I opened my eyes, blinking against the sunlight streaming into my room. The house was quiet, my kids still asleep. I would need to wake them soon, as they all had places to be that morning. I reached for my phone to check the time, and my heart stopped. More than a hundred text messages awaited me, and my WhatsApp and Facebook feeds were blowing up, too. I knew at once that something bad had happened. I feared one of our elders had died.