Dear reader, this interview came about by accident. I was seeking to attend and review the sold-out Reading Between the Lines: “The Mother Wound” by Amani Haydar event. I contacted Amani who kindly informed me that she will not be present at the event itself and instead offered to provide an interview via email.
Amani Haydar is a Lebanese-Australian lawyer, writer, Archibald Prize nominated-artist and human rights advocate. Her memoir, The Mother Wound, was released in 2021, and was longlisted for the Walkley Book Award.
Valerie Chidiac: Hello Amani. Thank you for taking the time to do this interview. I’d like to first discuss your memoir, The Mother Wound. I loved how you delved into moments of strength as well as vulnerability. It is common to legitimise vulnerability as a source of shame, and forget that we undergo a spectrum of emotions, and not always one or the other.
What was the driving factor behind writing and publishing the memoir, especially as it is a time capsule of your past which included witnessing domestic abuse?
Amani Haydar: Writing a memoir can be both daunting and triumphant. It can be daunting because it requires the writer to delve into their most vulnerable and sometimes traumatic experiences in a meaningful and constructive manner. It is a triumph because, where there has been denial, betrayal or silence, the writing process allows both author and reader to revive, acknowledge and reclaim their past and their voice. For me it was important to document my experience of domestic violence from a lived experience perspective which tends to strip away taboos and provides a way for survivors of those experiences to connect.
VC: Did you ever consider writing a fictionalised or anonymised version of your story or was that out of the question due to your father’s crime having already been publicised?
AH: My mum was murdered by my father in 2015 and the murder was front-page news. Whilst it is important that these events are reported on by the media, for witnesses and survivors who are not minors, this can feel very invasive. It is not empowering to experience the worst moments of your life in such a public manner; first in the media and later in court. I thought very briefly about fictionalising my experiences but it didn’t seem to make sense given how much was already on the public record. I wanted to be explicit about cosmetic violence and the law and I wanted to write about my family’s origins. It was also important to me that I include the things I was learning as an advocate, especially in relation to systemic and structural injustices. Nonfiction allows lived experience, analysis and self-reflection to come together in a way that really appeals to me. I still see my memoir as a work of creative nonfiction; I enjoyed blending genres and sharing quirky little details from my world throughout the story.
VC: There is still a long way to go with confronting domestic violence, especially as it has been viewed as a familial issue rather than a societal burden. As a lawyer and individual who has personally encountered the criminal justice system, what do you think is in most need of reform?
AH: I think there are many legal barriers and processes that could be improved especially in relation to the experiences of Aboriginal women, migrant women and women with disabilities. I would love to see legal practitioners adopt a trauma-informed framework when working with victims of violence and an actively anti-racist legal profession. We need to reconsider things like the layout of courtrooms and the weight given to character references in DV-related homicides to make the process more victim-oriented. I would love to see work done to address some of the long term consequences of DV-related homicide including the way homicides of this nature affect property law and deceased estates.
VC: Victim-survivors are consistently told how to grieve or feel angry as long as it does not infringe upon norms of civility. Do you think DV and its psychological impact should be mandatory teaching within the Australian curriculum to aid social prevention efforts?
AH: Absolutely. I think all young people would benefit from a comprehensive education about what healthy relationships look like. We’re seeing a lot of talk about consent education, which is important, but we aren’t hearing as much about where that fits in within a relationship, how relationships can vary across cultural and religious contexts and how young people can identify red flags more effectively. I think education around responding to disclosures and bystander intervention would also be really helpful for young people who often have a sense that something is wrong but aren’t sure what they can do to help.
VC: In your memoir, you also speak at length about your visits to south Lebanon and the loss of your grandmother after an Israeli attack in Lebanon during the 2006 war. Unfortunately, the future (still) seems bleak for Lebanon.
As someone living in the diaspora, how would you break down the current situation to a stranger? I’m sure hearing about the politics of electricity is enough to scratch heads.
AH: As someone who was born and raised in the diaspora, I see my role as one of listening and learning rather than providing answers. However, in my book, I do reflect on things like the way that the establishment of Israel in 1948 depended on the displacement of Palestinians, the depopulation of entire towns, and the establishment of a so-called border that represents an open wound in the landscape for many people. I also write about the 2006 war and the fact that my grandmother was killed in what looks like a clear war crime for which there has never been any accountability. Telling this story allowed me to highlight the parallels between coercive control in interpersonal relationships and state-sanction abuse which also depends on coercively-controlling tactics but just on a larger scale.
VC: I originally wanted to ask you “as a writer, what do you make of the coverage and censorship on social media and in mainstream news regarding Palestine?”. However after 100+ days, I admit this question feels redundant.
Instead, I want to simply ask: how surreal is it viewing a live genocide through social media updates? I don’t think we have had time to truly comprehend and dissect this historical first.
AH: As we watch the current genocide unfolding in Gaza, there is a real sense that something we’ve been contending with for 75 years is growing more and more visible to the rest of the world. Only the weapons have become even more destructive and, thanks to social media, the impunity is more clear. Remarkably, the expressions of solidarity with Palestine are also growing because they are able to tell their stories to us directly and that really challenges the dehumanisation they have been subjected to since the Nakba.
The surreal and nightmarish part is the cyclical nature of this violence and the indifference to it by people who ought to know better, especially those who have built platforms as anti-racists or as social-justice activists. When my own family were targeted in Lebanon in 2006 they were carrying white flags and evacuating their village on instructions to do so. Now we are collectively witnessing so many instances of fleeing civilians being targeted, so many bodies left on roads and so many instances of white flag killings. It is hard to accept that something we have warned of, something we have already tried testifying to, is allowed to happen again so publicly and without stronger intervention.
VC: Your work is also based in trauma, and many students experience traumatic experiences from a young age. What can those unable to access ongoing counselling and therapy services do to undergo the process of healing?
AH: I love conversations around healing but I always preface them with an acknowledgement that we cannot fully heal ourselves if the world around us remains violent and oppressive. My mindset going into therapy after my dad’s trial was that I needed skills to be able to cope with my day-to-day responsibilities and to do my work more effectively as an advocate. These are realistic goals and there are so many types of treatments available to help people achieve them. I really recommend going into the healing journey with a degree of flexibility; not everything works for everyone. I attended a retreat once which I wrote about in an anthology titled Admissions (Upswell Press) and was surprised at how effective it was despite my initial scepticism.
VC: Before this interview, had you read an Honi Soit article? If so, what was your impression of Honi’s student voice?
AH: I recently read the review you wrote about the Live to Tell My Story event I was a part of actually! I think student voices are critical especially as they tend to represent a young demographic that hast yet been inculturated into a particular industry or way of thinking. A radical and critical voice is so important and is a reminder that we are able to change even the most seemingly rigid structures.
VC: If you could go back in time, what would you tell Amani, the university student, to look forward to in the future?
AH: Oh this is a challenging question! I think I would tell her to look forward to feeling free to express herself in creative ways. I always wanted to write and make art but I had certain ideas that shaped what I thought a successful career should involve; I would tell Amani to look forward to unlearning that and following unexpected paths instead.
VC: What would you tell students – feel free to specifically address law students – to look forward to beyond university?
AH: Never feel boxed in by your profession; if you have a multidisciplinary spirit, find ways to combine the things you love. Think about impact rather than just intentions. Quit the corporate job as soon as you find a way.
VC: And as the final question, do you remember a particular interaction with a reader that has reminded you of the power of sharing your story? I know many people, including myself, who often choose to keep their struggles private or feel as if they cannot disclose their experiences to others.
AH: I have so many readers reaching out to share their reflections upon reading The Mother Wound. One of the messages I often remember is one where a woman from the same community as me said she’d never imagined reading anything that so accurately reflected her own life and context. That meant a lot to me because it is easy to write for people who do not know the world you are trying to describe whereas those who are familiar have a frame of reference and can easily detect inauthenticity. It was deeply moving to receive that feedback.
Haydar will be a part of the Australian Society of Authors virtual panel “Crafting memoir: transforming trauma into beautiful stories” on February 23, and facilitate a workshop at the Sydney Muslim Writers Festival on February 25.
