I struggled for quite awhile with this foreword.
What could I possibly say that isn’t already said so eloquently in this book? The contributions in this anthology have explored and addressed everything I could conceive of saying on the topic of violence against women and the need for equality. One needs only to read Joss Whedon’s essay that inspired us all to know why this book exists—there is little I could add.
I had originally thought this foreword would raise the idea that we’re all in some way Du’a Khalil Aswad, but I don’t want to reduce her to just a symbol. She was a young woman—a human being. She loved and was loved in return. She was an art student. She had hopes and dreams that we’ll never know about.
So this foreword was not easy to write. I’m not an inspiring person; I’m not very good at rallying the troops. But there is one thing I’m really, really good at…making things about me.
And that’s what I’ll now do.
As someone who watched the brutal videos of Du’a’s murder, I feel that the only thing more horrific than people hurling stones at her were the people who watched it happen. The people who recorded it. Who cheered. Who mocked her when she tried to cover up, who expressed gleeful support when she lay there in a pool of her own blood.
I have never felt more useless than when I watched those videos. Nothing I could do would ever be enough to set aside the horror of Du’a’s death. Not every wrong can be righted. And this fact was pointed out to me as I worked on this anthology again…and again…and again. The other organizers and I fought and struggled to put this together for the past year, and every day we have faced growing apathy. The outrage after Du’a’s death faded as the next news story broke. Nearly a year has passed since the video of her "honor" killing surfaced, and women have died the same way, for the same reasons, every day since. I’ve been told over and over that this won’t make a difference—that nothing we could ever do will make a difference. And unless we release this book as a hardback and then hurl them at misogynists, I’d normally be inclined to agree.
But here’s what I figured out recently: this book already has made a difference. There are activists all over the world—regular people, with regular lives—out there fighting for girls like Du’a. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting some of them while putting this book together. They work incredibly hard and few of us notice. It’s a lonely world, facing not only the horror that occurs on this planet, but the fact that the world at large doesn’t seem to care.
Putting together this anthology—this simple book that seems so unimportant—let the people actively working to change the world know that they’re appreciated. That they’re not alone. That people do still care.
I can’t change Du’a’s fate. I can’t punish those responsible for her death. I can’t change the world. But I can make damn sure that at least I don’t slip into apathy—that I keep trying. To do anything else is, in my not-so-humble opinion, immoral. I don’t try to make a difference because I think that I’ll succeed; I try because I couldn’t live with myself otherwise.
So yes, I’ve made this foreword all about me. And I encourage you to do the same: make this fight for equality about you. Don’t start with the world—start with yourself. Start with your apathy. Start with what you are capable of doing to help. Start with your capacity to care.
Everything that you do has the potential to change something, to inspire someone. To remind the people out there fighting the good fight that the work they’re doing has meaning.
The only thing you can ever change is yourself. Have you?
Skyla Dawn Cameron
Head Organizer, Lead Editor, Book Designer