To my personal hero…
People always ask me what radicalized me. They expect some deep, an inspirational story about a book, a tragedy, or a sudden awakening. But the truth? My radicalization is a letter of recognition to you. You are my personal hero.
I was raised by a single mom, me and my two brothers. My dad was physically there, but honestly, he was as useless as butt hair. Just taking up space, serving absolutely no purpose. Over the years, he just became more and more of a burden. When we moved from the capital to the south so you could work in a public hospital after closing your clinic, he didn't even send us money. But fuck him. I don't even want to talk about him. He's irrelevant. This story is about you.
Those early years, you wouldn't even let us see you tired. But since it wasn't feasible to leave me and my baby brother alone, you took us with you to the hospital. We slept in the doctor's on-call room. We were living in real poverty. There were mice in the house. Barely any food. We had to eat from the hospital a lot of nights, and some days we barely had enough to buy bread. Zero luxury. But you never let my younger brothers feel the weight of it. You shielded them. You only trusted me with the reality of it, because you always talked to me like an adult.
I never looked at taking care of my brother as a burden. I was the luckiest kid ever. I got to raise my own best friend. I remember everything with him in that room :watching movies, reading stories until we were tired and me re-telling him the stories in own way. I wanted to be your equal, so there were no complaints, no burdens. I just rose up to the responsibility. And that bond with my brother? It's still the strongest one I have in my life.
You saved us from the streets. But back home, you don't fear the neighborhood, you fear the cops. You fear the state. You never let us put ourselves at risk. But you? You were above being intimidated by them. I remember this one incident during the dictatorship. A cop actually grabbed your hand. You just turned around and slapped the living shit out of him. Just like that. You taught me right then that dignity isn't something the state gives you; it's something you demand and fight for.
Then the revolution broke out in 2011. I watched the local police station on fire. I watched the looting. But more than that, I watched my neighbors securing the Houma, protecting each other, sharing food. And you were right in the middle of it. You were organizing with the community, treating sick people for free, washing the tear gas out of people's eyes, cooking food, patrolling. I know people who are only alive today because of you. You broke your body and your spirit just because you knew it was the right thing to do. You never claimed anything. You didn't care about personal glory or wearing the "badge of activist." You just did it for the people.
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There was no exact moment or single incident that radicalized me. It was you. Our conversations were daily. From the smallest chats to full-blown debates, research, and development. You would challenge me to defend my ideas and structure them. You always made me feel responsible. You never hesitated to call me out on my stupid ideas and my shitty takes. You taught me the pride of being a North African. You taught me that dignity comes before comfort, liberation before safety, and community before my own self. That I should grow up and develop to serve my community.
I remember you every time I doubt my stance. Especially in 2021, when I was arrested as a part of a larger police crackdown on activists. You moved mountains for me. When you visited me in jail, I was at the point of breaking down, but you looked at me and told me not to cry. You told me to be strong and trust in you, in my friends, and in our community. I knew you were about to cry seeing me like that, but the pride of a North African woman wouldn't let her crumble, even if she was hurting. You even told me how my little brother was taking on the responsibility, just to make me feel proud in that dark moment.
Look, I admit you're not a perfect person. You have one of the hugest ego I've ever met, you had your own shitty learned survival mechanisms. I'm not idolizing you as some flawless saint. But you're my personal hero. My political radicalization.
Now that you've gotten older, and the years are claiming your health and your mental stability, I need to tell you this. I need to tell you how incredibly proud I am of you, and how grateful I am that you turned me into the man I am.
I'm 30 now. But I'm still that little kid in the doctor's room, doing research just to tell his mom his new theories. I still have stars in my eyes every time we discuss anything. I do what I do now to show you that what you did was not for nothing.
You raised a revolutionary. The son of a doctor, a mother, an activist, a community leader.
To those who work in the daily, the unglamorous, the mundane. To my mom, I love you.
