Notes for the Other Side

I went downtown to the main library for an author event, Maggie Smith and Saeed Jones “in conversation with each other.” That is a thing writers do now when they’re on a book tour. Maggie Smith is a Columbus author known for the poem “Good Bones” and her memoir You Could Make This Place Beautiful. Saeed Jones is a poet and memoirist who used to live here and often wrote on social media about how great Columbus is. Last year he moved to Boston, and a few weeks later a group of Nazis marched in his old neighborhood. He didn’t say this, but maybe he is relieved that he moved away.  

The two have a book out called The People’s Project, a collection of essays they solicited from other writers and artists after the last election. I started reading the book in my seat before the writers took the stage, feeling a little anxious in the growing crowd. Going to a thing like this, alone, and downtown on a week night is way out of my comfort zone. I think it’s a leftover fear from the pandemic. 

But when the conversation started, I immediately settled into it. The writers talked about how the book grew out of their initial post-election confusion and despair. How do we navigate through this very divided world—which people are worth teaching and who do we run away from in order to protect ourselves? 

Maggie Smith said she doesn’t like when people say, This isn’t who we are. Or, This isn’t America, whenever something appalling happens. She said, It actually IS who we are. Saeed Jones said there is no polite response to people who are actively trying to harm others, and you will never be able to diminish yourself in a way that will satisfy bullies. He said, the most vulnerable people—trans and gay people, immigrants, Black people have rarely been protected by the system. They know what some of us are just now waking up to. So, please listen to what they have to say. 

He told a story about the protests he saw on his college campus last year and how young and hopeful his students were. He thought they were adorable and he wanted to make sure they had proper winter clothing and were eating nutritious meals. Later, he watched the news and saw how the students were framed as dangerous agitators. He said, But listen, one kid made a garden! They were reading poetry to each other and saying prayers!

While the authors were talking and reading pieces from the book, there was some kind of disturbance going on in the back of the room. A man’s voice talking loudly, and then rising to yelling. I looked back and it was a man having a mental health crisis, the librarians hosting the event, speaking softly, trying to diffuse the situation. 

The crowd got quiet. Saeed Jones and Maggie Smith stopped talking. Some people watched, but I looked away, ashamed. Here we were, these comfortably middle class mostly white people, just minutes before nodding along and feeling hopeful, listening to two authors speak about the broken world and how we could still find joy in it, and now the broken world was in the room with us. 

The man kept yelling. He shouted, You think I’m stupid. He yelled, Don’t mace me. 

Nobody was going to mace him. These are librarians at the Columbus Metropolitan Public Library. I used to work there and I had their de-escalation training. Keep your voice low. Say, What can I do to help? And, I hear you, And, I know, I understand. The man screamed, Fuck you. 

Saeed Jones said, Please don’t call 911. His voice was quiet and sad. It made me want to cry. I was afraid and sweating and feeling myself shut down because I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of people who are broken. Someone is going to be hurt, one way or another. 

But then it was over and the man moved along. The room let out a breath. I assumed the talk would go on and we’d all have to pretend nothing happened. But both writers addressed it. Saeed Jones thanked the staff for treating the man with dignity. He said, That person is drowning and many of us don’t know how to save the drowning without getting pulled under ourselves. He was glad there are people who know what needs to be done to help. 

One of the librarians spoke too. Her voice was shaky when she said thank you to the crowd for holding a calm quiet space while the staff did their jobs. 

The conversation was over and the writers readied themselves for the book signing. But I left. I was still sweaty and feeling sick to my stomach, and now, worried about walking out to my car alone. Which says something about me, I know. 

I made it home and flopped out on the front porch swing, jittery and wrung out. One of the passages Maggie Smith read from the book was from the writer Alexander Chee who talks about how we will celebrate when we make it to the other side. It's a thing people about to go into battle say to each other. Maybe we won’t all make it there, “but what matters is that it is said, and the group decides to do this. To attempt to survive is an act of love.” 

On the porch swing I was drifting off. There’s a fire station at the end of the block and I could hear a firetruck pulling out, sirens blaring. A car horn. The squawk of a crow. Little girls riding their bikes back and forth in front of the house.

One of the girls called out, I love you. The other girl called back, I love you too. Their voices were so bright and happy.