Joy is Political, So is Anger

A Double Voice Essay on Feminism, Anger, and Joy

Author’s Note
Ayo here: For clarity, my words are in italics and (

BADA Najeebah

) Najeebah’s are in plain text. This post was co-written by both of us.

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Introduction

I almost did not want to write this piece any more, cause what the fuck is actually a joyful feminist? When I told someone that I wanted to do a piece about different points of view of feminism where one person takes the part of a joyful feminist, the first thing the person told me was "Joyful Feminist? Is there anything like being a joyful feminist?" I know you are thinking of the same thing, and you know what? Real.

According to the outline that Ayo sent to me for this piece, this is supposed to be the part where I define feminism as a collective fight for justice and stuff but abeg. If you really need a definition, go to Google. Apart from the fact that I just really like doing what's in my mind, if we still have to define feminism for you. Then what exactly are you here for? Ehn, what are you here for?

But here's the thing, women are not a monolith and neither is feminism. We have different experiences, come from different walks of life, and are just plain... different. So it just adds up that our approach to feminism will differ.

Photo by Alex Padurariu on Unsplash

Najeebah: Confusion, Curiosity, and Innate Understanding

I didn't come into feminism through rage. I came in through confusion and curiosity. Through conversations with myself and with God.

But I was a feminist before I knew I was feminist. Before I knew there was a name for it. Before I understood the theory or the politics. I was feminist before I knew about feminism.

I was feminist before I was sexually assaulted in SS2 by "my gee" and our mutual friends took his side.

I was a feminist before a family friend touched my breasts and when I told the man of the house about it, he acted like he didn't hear and then told me later that he saw what happened, but he just didn't want to say anything.

I was feminist before primary 4 when I started to question why I had to change my surname when I get married even though I really liked when people call me Bada.

I was feminist before my aunties kept trying to make me like eating swallow and soups because "what if my husband likes it?"

I was feminist before I accepted that cooking was not for me, and I did not want to keep forcing myself to do it just because I am a woman even though I do not enjoy it at all (well I actually do hate it so much).

I knew these things did not sit well with me before I knew feminism. When I realized that I didn't want to be quiet just because I was a girl.

I then became drawn through exposure, history, internet, and public figures like Malala, Oprah and Chimamanda. When I started asking questions, even when the answers made people uncomfortable.

For a long time, I did not want to identify as a feminist. The first time someone asked me if I was a feminist, I denied it with all my lifeeeeeeeee. I shouted "Nooooooo! What? Me? Do I look like a feminist? Feminist as how?" The person said to me, you talk like a feminist, your opinions are as intense as feminists. I still do not know what to do with that information (till now) but okay. Sometimes, when someone asked, I'd say "I respect feminists and I think their fight is valid and worth it, but I am not a feminist."

One day I had a conversation with a group of women, some do not like feminism, some hateee feminists, some are feminists, some claim to be allies cause their principles align with feminism, but they just do not want to identify as one (I guess that was my table).

In the very chaotic conversation we had, someone said "If you actually have principles and ideologies that align with feminism, why don't you just be a feminist? If your reason for finding a camouflage is because of the misconceptions about feminism by the media, you have the burden of working towards the misconceptions.

Throwing away the cause of the fight because something that might not be true makes you nothing less of a coward." And that was my turning point.

The lovely Najeebah

Ayo: Shock, Empathy, and Righteous Anger

Whenever I think of myself, I don't think of myself as an 'angry' feminist. Mostly a bitter feminist, but I guess you could argue that it's the same thing. My introduction into feminism was abrupt, shocking too.

I grew up in a very sheltered home and I did not understand a lot of things. My parents didn't treat me differently from my brothers, even though I'm a firstborn daughter.

My family members were generally liberal, at least as far as liberal goes for a Nigerian household. So yeah. It didn't register to me that there were people whose lives weren't like mine.

But then, I got a phone, got on social media, started seeing news of femicide, gender-based violence, and my eyes opened. I'm extremely empathetic, so each time a woman was murdered I'd cry. I even remember breaking down in tears because sisters in the north were being married off as children and being denied education.

But soon those tears hardened my heart. Not in the sense that I'm no longer sad when I hear such news, but in the sense that I began to be filled with hatred.

I heard of the girl that was raped in my school but was covered up, and I became more hateful, and I didn't know how to stop hating.

I saw everything going on in Afghanistan with the Taliban and girls there, and it was like my heart had turned into an abyss. The depth of my hatred could not be measured, and slowly, but surely this hatred turned into anger. Pure, hot, molten rage.

There was no room for joy or optimism, not when my sisters were being mutilated. At least that is what I thought. And so I became more vocal online because my anger is not the anger you keep down. It's the type of anger that consumes you.

The kind that doesn't let you breathe. The kind that molds, creates. And create it did. Some of my best works have been written when I was fuming.

The “raging” Ayo

The Weight and Power of Different Approaches

The Exhaustion of Rage

But my feminism didn't look like what people have. It wasn't always angry and hating towards all the men I know. And for a long time, that made me feel like I wasn't doing it right. As much as I believe that the anger that women feel is extremely justified, I've always wondered if it ever gets too exhausting. Ayo, does it ever get too exhausting?

Yes. Yes It does. No one can be as angry as me without being tired. And not the kind of tiredness that you sleep off. This one is bone deep. It never leaves me. My anger and rage has helped me create beauty and empowered women. But it has also killed parts of my soul.

It's in the way I suspect all men. The way I have no hope left in humanity.

The Power of Joy as Resistance

I made the decision to embrace feminism through joy and optimism, because joy is a radical act in a world that seeks to diminish women. One of the misconceptions that feminists come from sad, bad, broken homes with no one to love them was why I stayed away at first.

But it is wrong. We can laugh and have men in our lives and believe in choices.

And somehow, all that made people assume that being joyful means you're naive and not serious enough. Like being joyful makes me less feminist, like I needed to be constantly burning in order to belong. But the joy doesn't let people off the hook easily, as opposed to what people think.

I still get pissed off when someone romanticizes benevolent misogyny, when someone mentions a triggering experience. Joy and resistance defy expectations while staying firm in the fight.

When this topic came up, I began to reflect: Is there room for softness and peace in my feminism? Seeing Najeebah type "joyful feminist" to me did a number on me.

The questions that ran through my head. How dare she not be angry? Because as a woman living in the world today, why are you smiling? What's funny?

But now I'm beginning to ask: How do you do it? I'm not dumb. I know it takes a certain amount of strength to show up joyfully and with optimism even when the world tries to break your spirit. It must not be easy. To see the state of women in the world and still choose joy, that is a conscious choice.

The False Dichotomy and Finding Middle Ground

There is a symbiotic relationship between anger and joy in activism. Both fire and endurance are needed to thrive in the movement. Because I have learned that feminism does not come in one shade. It does not have one voice, one tone, one mood.

My feminism is joyful because joy itself is resistance. To laugh, to love, to heal in a world that wants women bitter and broken—that is radical.

To be soft and strong at the same time. I believe women should choose. Whether hijab or hot pants, marriage or no marriage, softness or anger. It is not one path, it's a whole highway of choices.

I sometimes get the message that my feminism is too much and that it scares people away.

That they don't want to be a feminist if it means being an angry, non-shaving, radical like me.

But here's the thing: I don't have to make myself palatable for you. I'm not trying to sell you a house, I'm not even trying to sell my own humanity to you. I'm taking back my fucking rights.

So yes, while I do get joy as resistance, I know that there is room for anger and that both can coexist.

And I'm tired of feeling like I have to prove that I'm "angry enough" to be valid. I've seen what rage can do and yes, it is necessary.

But so is joy. So is peace. So is healing. I don't want to shrink my joy to be taken seriously. I don't want to feel less feminist because I don't hate men.

So maybe that's where I am now—somewhere in the middle. Still raging, still bitter, still radical. But also... curious. Curious about what it means to be soft and angry.

To hold space for joy without letting go of my rage. Because maybe feminism doesn't have to be one thing.

Maybe it's not about choosing between fury or hope. Maybe it's about allowing ourselves the full range of emotions that this brutal, beautiful, exhausting fight brings.

Beyond the Binary: Embracing Complexity

And that is why it pains me to see how, in an effort to end the patriarchy, we sometimes end up practicing its longest standing principles—policing women's thoughts, words, actions and bodies, crucifying women for the deeds of men and canceling women for things men get away with every day.

In the effort to create a community, we sometimes end up creating division and alienation. There's honestly no way to dismantle the patriarchy "politely", but we can make a conscious effort to make people feel heard in a world that can be extremely alienating.

And maybe, just maybe, there's power in that too. I'm still angry. I probably always will be.

But I'm learning that anger isn't the only way to resist. Sometimes joy is protest. Sometimes softness is survival. And both are valid. So no, I'm not switching sides. I'm just expanding.

We don't need to look the same to be fighting for the same thing. We just need to keep fighting. In our way. With our voice.

Najeebah: So, are we Good Cop, Bad Cop feminists?

Ayo: More like Yin and Yang.

Najeebah: Of course.

Ayo: Fine. Just don’t ask me to smile while I’m holding the match.

Najeebah: Deal. I’ll bring the confetti.