Abdi Nazemian on being congratulated when Like a Love Story was banned
Abdi Nazemian's book, Like a Love Story, is widely banned in the US, and he is here to share what's like to be "congratulated" for this.
It never ceases to amaze me that the most common response I receive from people who hear about my novel Like a Love Story being widely banned in the United States is “Congratulations”. I understand the instinct. Having your work banned immediately puts you in the company of great artists (though so does making art to begin with) and brings renewed attention to your book (though every banned author I’ve spoken to has also noticed the attention comes with a sharp decline in sales). I suspect most people respond with felicitations because anything else would open the door to uncomfortable discussions of what book banning really means: emotionally for the author, and more broadly for our society.
Emotionally, the experience of having my work banned has been heartbreaking. It brings me right back to the homophobic world I came of age in, an era I write about in Like a Love Story. The thought of young queer teens today feeling, as I once did, that their existence is something to be ashamed of breaks my heart. I know too well that shame (especially experienced in our youth) is very hard to shake off. Like all queer people, I’ve lost too many loved ones to suicide and overdose, my first boyfriend among them. I know all too well how hard it is to overcome the stigma of growing up in a world that tells you that your stories shouldn’t be taught, read or celebrated. In short, a world that doesn’t want you to exist. It is my belief that if young people see themselves and their history in storytelling, they won’t be afraid to keep living.
More broadly, the banning of books is a chilling signal of where a society is headed. History teaches us that book bans are a tool of authoritarian regimes in their quest for control. Bans are not cause for celebration, but for grave concern. A society that bans books, as we’ve all seen in today’s United States, is one where the government tries to control higher education, dismantles public health, deports innocent people, turns protest into crime, deploys the military against its own citizens. I could go on. The banning of books is an early sign of a system that wants to crush public debate. If we don’t go beyond applauding banned authors for being rebels and deal with the uncomfortable realities book banning brings up, we lose the chance to collectively fight what’s coming.
To me, Like a Love Story isn’t just a banned book. Isn’t even just a book. It’s a defiant representation of who I am in a world that told me to hide myself. It’s also a novel about the warmth of community, the liberating impact of art, and the power of activists to create change. I wrote it as a way to celebrate the heroes of my childhood, like the activists of ACT UP and the fearless artist Madonna, who stood strong in their values during the worst years of the HIV/AIDS crisis in the United States. I urge us all as a society to look for the similar heroes of today and to celebrate them. Let’s go beyond a quick congratulations to banned authors and shine a light on the educators who bravely include unapologetically queer books on their syllabi despite threats and pushback. Let’s applaud the teens who mobilize within their communities even though they deserve to grow up without this added pressure. Let’s support organizations like Authors Against Book Bans and the ACLU (two of many examples) who are fighting for our freedom of speech. And let’s all try to be our own hero as well, each of us playing our small part in creating a freer world. That’s why I have no plans to stop writing queer books for teens, including my next novel Exquisite Things which is, among other things, a response to book banning.
