The Politics of Rebellion: My Grandmother Was a Survivor

My grandmother never called herself a rebel. She called herself a survivor. Born in the shadows of the Soviet Union, my grandmother’s life was marked by abandonment and displacement, yet she managed to escape the wrath of war-torn villages to build a purpose. She crossed borders with my grandfather, my mother, and my aunt, and nothing else, leaving behind a country and a language because staying didn’t align with survival. Her story was not one to be romanticized. Rebellion was not a choice; it was the only way forward. I grew up with a very different guidebook, a much quieter one. My rules were not enforced by labour camps or political repression, but by discomfort and consequence. As a Black, Jewish daughter of a single mother and immigrant, I learned to become palatable.Society taught these rules relentlessly. My mother worked hard to undo them. She taught me to be loud, outspoken, and to always confront supremacy, even in its most polite disguises. That silence is never neutral. It only protects those already comfortable.With her voice in my head, speaking is not much easier.In academia, silence is often rewarded. It is treated as professionalism, intellectual restraint, and even maturity. There have been many...