What does it mean to be “bad” or “good” in a world with unequal access to resources? It’s a question poet and author Hanif Abdurraqib reflects on while talking about his life. That life has been marked by housing insecurity and brushes with the law, alongside significant financial success and professional achievement.
“I have to operate against this notion of a ‘bad kid made good’ kind of story that I think people so easily and eagerly want to attach to my life,” Hanif told host Reema Khrais. “I don’t know that I was bad then, I don’t know that I’m good now.”
Hanif is an award-winning poet and author from Columbus, Ohio. He’s written six books, several of which are bestsellers, including his most recent, “There’s Always This Year: On Basketball and Ascension.” His work covers sports, pop culture and the politics of our time, often centering race and class. But no matter the topic, everything is filtered through the lens of his personal life and community, with themes of grief, beauty and love.
Reema sits down with Hanif to chat about the moral judgments we’re quick to make about people’s financial circumstances, notions of success and legacy, and our relationship with home and what it means to invest in it.
Hanif tells Reema, “I have a real interest in living a life that will allow me to go to the grave satisfied. Knowing that if I step back and look at the full body of work of my life — not just my artistic work, my actual living — if I have risen to the occasion where I loved people the best I could, to the best of my ability more often than not, that is a level of satisfaction I can be cool with.”
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This Is Uncomfortable August 22, 2024 Transcript
Note: Marketplace podcasts are meant to be heard, with emphasis, tone and audio elements a transcript can’t capture. Transcripts are generated using a combination of automated software and human transcribers, and may contain errors. Please check the corresponding audio before quoting.
Hanif Abdurraqib: You know, there is a real difference between being broke and being poor. For me to say “I’m broke” means when I was, you know, I had a couple bad days at the diner, I don’t really got it right now, but I’m working on Saturday, and I’m certainly gonna make something, you know?
Reema Khrais: Right.
Hanif: And to be poor, for me when I was like unhoused and it was like, I genuinely do not know… I can maybe get a little bit of a meal today but I don’t know if I can get one tomorrow. That is a prolonged experience, you know what I mean?
Reema Khrais: That’s writer Hanif Abdurraqib. Around the time he was 23, he lost his job and got evicted from his apartment in Columbus, Ohio. He didn’t have anywhere to go, so he had to get creative…
Hanif: When I was evicted, I had enough money to get a storage unit for, like, three months. And I didn’t have much, you know, like it was only what I could carry really, you know? So I took like a nightstand, and I dragged a mattress over, and a lamp, and a box of clothes. And that was what I had. That was all I had.
Reema: Mmhmm.
Hanif: And of course you’re not supposed to sleep in the storage units. Uh, I think it’s illegal? Or it’s illegal in the sense that it puts the storage facility at a, in a position of liability that is…
Reema: Makes them liable, yeah.
Hanif: Yeah, which is understandable, you know what I mean? So I would have to wait until they closed and then I’d have to kind of sneak into my unit, and I would sleep there.
Reema: Well, I’m curious, at that time did the people in your life know or did you keep it a secret?
Hanif: I kept it largely a secret. It was easy to keep secret. You know, in part because my storage unit was right by my old apartment, and so I could just still have people drop me off at my apartment or whatever, and then I would just walk over, uh, to the unit.
Reema: Wow, when they’re like driving away? You would just wait?
Hanif: Yeah, no one really knew. And I still had a gym membership, and so I could shower every now and then, and, you know, um, it made my life a lot more challenging, but it was, I could hide it. There was ways I could hide it and maneuver it.
Reema: Mmhmm.
Hanif: And I think when people talk about eviction, what doesn’t often get talked about is how much it takes to rebuild a life after eviction. It takes a lot to rebuild a life. Um, it takes a lot to say: “I had many things and now I have nothing, and I have to find a way to crawl back towards having things again.” That part is hard; that part is a real challenge.
Reema: Welcome to This Is Uncomfortable. I’m Reema Khrais. On today’s show, a wide-ranging conversation with Hanif Abduraqqib. Hanif is an award-winning poet and author, proudly from Columbus, Ohio. He’s written six books, several of them bestsellers, including his latest book “There’s Always This Year.” In 2021, he was named a MacArthur Fellow, often called the “genius award.”
I’ve spent the last few months reading Hanif’s work, and so much of it has resonated with me, like I found underlining nearly every page. He writes about things like basketball, music, pop culture… but whatever the topic, you’ll usually find themes around grief, beauty, and love. And everything is filtered through the lens of his personal life and community.
On this week’s episode – the first of our tenth season! – I sit down with Hanif to learn more about his life: we chat about the moral judgments we’re quick to make about people’s financial circumstances… his philosophies around giving… and we both get personal about our relationship with home and what it means to invest in it. I took a lot away from our conversation, and I hope you all do, too.
Reema: So can you tell me about what else was going on in your life around the time that you got evicted?
Hanif: Yes. So I spent a lot of my early twenties, and I would say mid-twenties, in and out of Franklin County Corrections. I was, you know, in legal trouble a lot, usually for theft and things associated with theft. And, you know, that was challenging for me because a lot of it was just due to needing resources and needing money. Um, and so my twenties were an infinity loop of this kind of struggle. You know, my earliest issues stemmed from, like, stealing things from the house, you know? And so there was a way where I kind of put myself in a position where my family, you know, there was like excommunication, but it was for their own protection, you know? It was kind of like, “We just can’t have you around if this is how you’re gonna be behaving,” you know? Um, which of course now makes all the sense in the world to me…
Reema: Yeah yeah.
Hanif: Um, but I remember being young, even though I knew that my behavior was, that my behavior was, you know, causing this, I remember being young and feeling like deeply wronged, you know?
Reema: Yeah, of course. Yeah!
Hanif: You know, which is ridiculous in hindsight, but you know, that’s, that’s…
Reema: Well, at the time, what was the story you told yourself about why you were stealing from your family or wherever else?
Hanif: I remember just needing and wanting more things in order to feel, to kind of keep up with my friends. You know, because once I got outside of the realm of my neighborhood, once, you know, once I was 18, 19, these kind of things, and I was outside of the realm of the people I grew up around, I was spending time with a different class of people, who had different access to different things. And I didn’t want to feel left out, you know? Um, all of these things feel foolish now as a 40-year-old…
Reema: Sure, yeah.
Hanif: But as, as a 19-year-old wanting to, like, feeling like you’re on the outside of something and wanting to find the quickest possible way to get on the inside of something.
Reema: That’s real.
Hanif: Um, that, that, you know, and, and knowing that I couldn’t ask my father to buy me, like, a $300 coat or whatever, you know?
Reema: Mm hmm.
Hanif: And so, yeah…
Reema: Is that what would you spend the money on sometimes? Or on, like, things, materialistic stuff?
Hanif: Oh, it’s always materialistic. It’s not like I was saving, you know? It was always, like, materialistic things and, um, just wanting to keep up with, um, with the people around me. Because honestly, I think, I felt left out a lot, and that accelerated in my 20s. And I came up on the punk scene and a lot of my friends, you know, I lost a lot of friends in my early 20s, and, um, you know, a lot of them passed away, and I felt left out, and I just wanted to kind of embed myself in a world where I mattered to some degree. And I think the mistake that I fell into was thinking that – or you know, mistake but also there’s a reality to it – thinking that access to materials was the only way that I could embed myself in a place, in a world that mattered. Yeah.
Reema: Yeah, did it actually lead to any fulfillment? Like, did it fill the need you were craving?
Hanif: Not really, you know… I think in the immediate, sure, but it also led to friendships that were not sustainable. It’s not like I still talk to those friends now, you know? Because when friendships, I think, are governed by material access, that’s just not a sustainable… there’s no emotional connection or attachment. There’s no growth or understanding around who people are. There’s growth and understanding around what you have and what you don’t have. And so, when you begin to not have, you’re kind of not in that orbit anymore. And so, um, yeah, you know, it’s, it’s, it’s interesting.
Reema: Yeah.
Hanif: It’s just a flaw of.. of childhood or youthful thinking. You know, I was, I was…
Reema: Yep.
Hanif: My approach was pretty immature at the time, and, um, and I think that’s, you know, that’s just, that’s where my head was at.
Reema: Yeah. I mean, I relate to that. I feel like I did stupid stuff in my early 20s, too. And it’s, you’re right, it’s like all in pursuit of just getting what you want without thinking of, you know, the consequences or the potential fallout. You’re just trying to get that immediate gratification.
Hanif: Yeah. Yeah.
Reema: Um when did the shift away from that start happening for you? And how did it happen?
Hanif: I don’t, you know, it happens as it happens… You know, you’re just, you’re not like a better person. You’re just a more, for me at least… you know, I think so much of the stuff around this book are people reading it and thinking, “Oh, you were bad and now you’re good” or whatever.
Reema: Right [laugh]
Hanif: But it’s not, that’s not actually how it works. You become more resourced. And um, it puts me in this position where I do have to operate against this notion of a “bad kid made good” kind of story, that I think people so easily and eagerly want to attach to my life. Because, one: that binary fails everyone. But, two: I don’t know that I was “bad” then, I don’t know that I’m “good” now. I think that I have more access to things now. I have more access to resources of all across the entire spectrums now. And that access allows me to live a life that is different than the life I lived when I did not have that access. And if I did not have that access right now, uh, I don’t know what, you know, I don’t know what ends I would go to to acquire that access. Um, here’s the, here’s… the very last time I was ever arrested: I was arrested for stealing deodorant and toothpaste out of a Kroger, right?
Reema: Okay.
Hanif: Now, I was arrested for stealing deodorant and toothpaste out of a Kroger because I had a job interview the next day, and I didn’t have the things I needed to take care of myself to…
Reema: Jeez.
Hanif: You know, and now that arrest for most people would be nothing, but because I had an extensive record at that point it became a thing, right?
Reema: Mmhmm.
Hanif: And what I’m saying is, that was a theft in the pursuit of acquiring necessities that might lead to a drastic changing of my life. There is no telling, if I were unhoused today, and I had a potentially life-changing job interview tomorrow, and I didn’t have access to the things I needed to show up to the interview as my best self in terms of presentation, I very well may go into a store and attempt to walk out with those things again today. Um, so, and I don’t think that makes me a bad person or a good person; I think it makes me a person who is invested in the best possible survival for myself. And I, um, I’m grateful to be significantly more resourced now than I was. Um…
Reema: So when did you start to feel more resourced? Like, was there a point that you reached that it felt like a shift for you? Like, “I never imagined I would make X amount, and now I do and I can breathe a little bit easier”?
Hanif: Um, there was never an amount, I think, but I remember signing my first book deal with Random House, and I don’t, at this point, I don’t even remember what it was for, um, like money-wise, but I remember thinking, gosh, this is like a different experience, you know, to get this much money at once. Um, you know, and it wasn’t huge. It wasn’t like certainly not a million dollar type thing, you know, it wasn’t anything like that. But I remember it was, you know, I think it was like 200,000 or something like that. Um, but I remember I signed it, and I got 50,000 on signing.
Reema: Wow.
Hanif: And I remember thinking, “Oh, wow, this is like all in my bank account at once!”
Reema: That’s a lot of money!
Hanif: Yeah. You know, like I, I, that’s a lot of money at once in a bank account. And of course, you know, for me, I was like, all right, well, taxes and whatnot, whatnot…
Reema: Sure.
Hanif: But it was still, even with that, it was like, this is still a lot of money in my bank account at once. Um, and so, yeah, but I mean, you know, throughout my career, I’ve won things and, um, that… You know, I remember I won the US Artist Grant, which was the first thing I won that had a substantial financial gain, which is also $50,000. And that was another thing where I was like, “Well this is a lot of money in my account at once,” and… And with that 50,000, I gave it all away, except for like five.
Reema: Oh! Wait, tell me about that. Why’d you make that decision?
Hanif: The USA Artist Grant, it’s like funded by certain orgs in some ways, and so my, my grant was funded by a Muslim organization, and a local masjid in Ohio that I knew and had spent time in, its floor had collapsed.
Reema: Mmm.
Hanif: And I, you know, I’m not very religious, to be… You know, I’m Muslim by, I guess I identify as Muslim, but I don’t practice in any substantial way. Um, but…
Reema: We have a similar relationship. I also grew up Muslim.
Hanif: Yeah, you know, I like do Ramadan. I do, you know, I fast and all that, but it’s, um…
Reema: Yeah, same.
Hanif: But it was like, you know, it felt important to me at the time to be like, you know, this money came from a Muslim organization, I would like to just relocate it and get this community’s floor taken care of, so that people can come and pray in here. Like, I’m not gonna go pray in there, probably often at all, but like people should. And so I, I, um, redistributed that money. I kept like 5,000. Um…
Reema: Wow. That’s still…
Hanif: And then I did similar, you know, I got…
Reema: Wait, that’s pretty remarkable though to get that lump sum of money and then decide to give most of it away. Was there like a trade off that you were making? Like, if you didn’t donate that money, how else would you have spent it, do you think?
Hanif: I didn’t have anything in mind at the time, you know. And that was the thing, where it was like, so much of my decision making around how I redistribute money and, um, why and to whom and all this stuff is just really on some baseline stuff where it’s like, what would I be doing with this otherwise? When I got, the second big thing I got was the Lannan Foundation Fellowship, which I don’t remember, I think that was 125,000. And I kind of, I kept more of that, but I broke up a lot of that and, like, redistributed it, large chunks of it to local Columbus organizations that I believed in. BQIC was one of them: Black Queer Intersectional Collective. Um, these organizations that are doing on the ground work, that are uplifting people at the margins. To me, that is more important than like, you know, I don’t really need another pair of sneakers. You know what I mean? Like, at this point, I have more, more sneakers than… you know, like I have a literal sneaker room in my house. So there’s things where it’s like, I, I…
Reema: You’re like, “I’m good!”
Hanif: Yeah! And I found out very early on that, um, especially coming out of a situation where I was unhoused, I just, I don’t really need a lot. The amount that I actually require to survive, even to survive well financially, still leaves me with a lot of eye towards thinking about what my community needs, and how I can make a more equitable community that I feel proud to love and live in, and that everyone has at least the opportunity to attempt to feel proud to love and live in.
Reema: Hmm. I think your philosophy is very common, but I think for someone to actually act on it is a different thing. Because I understand that you have all of your needs fulfilled, but there are plenty of people out there who’d use that disposable income to travel to Bali or Japan or wherever or, um, you know, buy a second home and just build wealth…
Hanif: Yeah! [laugh]
Reema: But, but that doesn’t seem, that doesn’t drive you?
Hanif: Yo, I… No, I be at the house! I like being at the house, I I can’t, you know I…
Reema: You’re like, nope!
Hanif: and I travel substantially for work and so, and I try to make the most of my time when I’m on the road. Um you know, and I don’t, I don’t have a desire for – I absolutely do not want to be responsible for a second home or a second, you know what I mean? Like, yeah, my, my single home, uh, causes me… And you know, I have, I live in like a very, um, I live in like one of the last historically Black neighborhoods in the city. And so the houses are just old, they’re just ancient. And I adore my house, but it’s like, you know, it’s a house from…
Reema: It’s a lot of work, yeah.
Hanif: It’s like 1902, you know, so it’s like…
Reema: Yeah I know, I live in a house that’s old. And it’s too much work.
Hanif: It’s just so much work! And so like, whenever people are like, “You should get like a second home!” And like, do y’all understand?
Reema: How about retirement?
Hanif: Yeah, I mean, I, you know, I save for retirement. I actually recently started saving for retirement, after my first MacArthur year.
Reema: Cause that’s a big chunk of money, right? That award.
Hanif: Yeah, yeah, it’s, and it’s like gradual you get it, like, through five years, but I went to like a financial…
Reema: How much is it?
Hanif: It’s, ah gosh. I don’t know what the total is, but I know that four times a year I get $32,500.
Reema: Wow. That’s amazing.
Hanif: So for five years, so whatever the math on that is. I think it’s like…
Reema: Okay. A lot of money. Yeah.
Hanif: Yeah But I you know, I started saving for retirement, and I don’t know anything about the investment space, and so much of what I hear and understand about investments feels like a little gross to me. Um, and so like all I really need is retirement, and, you know, I still save. It’s not like, I don’t wanna paint it as though I don’t spend money for pleasure, like literally…
Reema: Sure.
Hanif: I mean, people have to understand: like, I literally own like 300 pairs of sneakers, and so you know what I mean, like… [laugh] But for me, it feels important to, instead of saying like, when can I take my next vacation? Or, can I invest in crypto or whatever?
Reema: Yeah, don’t do that.
Hanif: But it’s like what, what are the immediate needs of my community? And, and it’s not even entirely selfless, if I can be real, because I love Columbus, and I want to be in Columbus for my whole life, right? And so, if this community is equitable, and if the people who are at the margins of this community that I love have opportunities to make art and live a little bit more free than they are right now and have the ability to care for themselves, that makes it a more livable city for me, too. You know what I mean?
Reema: Yeah, yeah.
Hanif: Like, if I wanted to look at this in a, in a completely selfish way, um, that makes it a more exciting, more thrilling, more livable city for me, and a city that also inspires me to create more fully. And so, in a way – um, now granted I’m not looking at it like this fully – but in a way, I’m just investing in the future of a place that I want to be in for a long time. I’m just doing it differently than, say, the powers that be might, because the powers that be are like, “Let’s build high rise condos that no one can afford.”
Reema: Yeah, yeah.
Hanif: And that to me is, you know, I have to operate against that, if I have the means to operate against that.
Reema: Hmm. I see. Well, yeah, that’s a big theme in your writing and your reflections, just your investment in your hometown. And I’m curious to hear you talk a little bit more about your decision to stay in Columbus and how it connects to how you define “success” and what it means to quote unquote “make it.” You write in your book that oftentimes people equate leaving a hometown, leaving where you’re from, as making it. And you’re trying to challenge that notion, right?
Hanif: Yeah, I suppose so. You know, it’s funny, my decision to stay in Columbus is really not spectacular. You know, when my marriage ended in 2016, I could have lived anywhere. But I just wanted to come home. I wanted to be in the confines and comforts of this place where I was… And it’s disorienting to go through that magnitude of a heartbreak at that velocity and that volume. And to come home is a way, for me at least, to return to myself.
And so, coming back to Columbus is the only thing that made sense. And staying here has been the only thing that makes sense. And um, you know, buying my house where I bought my house was very intentional: I wanted to live in this neighborhood where Black artists had created art for a great many years before I was even born. Um, you know, the neighborhood I live in has a legacy attached to it and a lineage attached to it.
And so all of these were really distinct decisions that I made to build a life that, the kind of life that I thought I could live in for a long time. And to me, that felt like making it. To have the ability to do that, uh, felt like making it.
Reema: Yeah.
Hanif: And to have the ability to be settled and, and comfortable while, while saying, “I think I’m making the right decision here for these specific reasons.” That felt to me like a form of “making it.”
Reema: Yeah, I appreciate that reflection. I think, for a long time, especially in my twenties, the story I fed myself was that staying in your hometown will dim you. Like, your home is this vortex that’ll sap you of your ambition or of any prospect of successful life, or, you know, whatever that means. And I remember feeling that very distinctly in my early twenties: I lived in D.C. and New York for a bit, and then afterwards the only job I could find was in my home state in North Carolina. And I just remember rolling my suitcase into my childhood bedroom, just sobbing, feeling like I’d reverted. And it took me a while before I started to reframe it, like, “No, this is an opportunity for me” – I mean, not to the degree that you are, but – “to invest in my community and my family, to develop a stronger relationship with my little brother.” Um, and it really did cultivate, I think, a deeper love and curiosity for a place that informs so much of who I am today.
Hanif: Yeah, I think like… Listen, to be, to have a good relationship with your hometown is not promised at all. And, it feels like a privilege to me that I love where I’m from. And even when I’m enraged by it, as I am often, but I think that rage is propelled by a kind of affection. And I would like everyone to have an opportunity to love this place as I love it. Even if they end up not loving it as I do, I would love them to have the opportunity to.
Reema: After the break, Hanif and I talk about community, Gaza, and grief.
[MIDROLL BREAK]
Reema: Hanif Abdurraqib will tell you that he never intended to become a writer. He came into it in his early 20s, during that tough period in his life. He started out journaling, and then found his way to poetry open mics, then landed a writing gig for MTV News. He published his first book in 2016, thinking it would be a one-off… but 5 more followed.
Today, if you walk around his hometown of Columbus, Ohio, you’ll find Hanif’s face on a huge mural downtown. One writer even described him as the “Mr. Rogers of Columbus.” The city shows up a lot in Hanif’s work. It’s a place with a history of racial inequality and also a rich legacy of Black art. I asked Hanif what it was like growing up there…
Hanif: I grew up on the east side of Columbus, which was very much on “the other side of the tracks” from a wealthy and affluent suburb. And that self imposed border made it as though there was a city within a city. It was a city that, um, you know, a corner of the city that was often neglected, by those on the outside of it. Um, but it was, I think what people don’t tend to understand is what then happens in that kind of, uh, container of neglect, if you will, is that the people who remain deeply care for each other. And that is, you know, the earliest way that I understood community was through, um, that neighborhood.
Reema: Yeah, well, no, especially a place that, I think, you write in your book how politicians in the past have characterized the east side of Columbus, where you grew up, as a “war zone.”
Hanif: Yes.
Reema: Can you talk about why it was important for you to write about that and the impact, like, those kinds of statements can have on a community?
Hanif: Well, yeah, because when you, uh, when you name the conditions of war, you can define where it happens. And then when you define where it happens, you are also defining the kind of people who are living among it, as you at least see it. And what is actually happening is, you are, in the eyes of the people who do not live there, are diminishing a place – the actual value of a place, not necessarily material value, but sure material value as well, because what you’re doing is setting a path for gentrification.
Reema: Yep.
Hanif: You’re saying this place is not worthwhile, and wouldn’t it be better if we just made some changes to it? And what’s also happening is, you are diminishing the lived reality of the people who live in that place and love in that place.
When I was growing up, my neighborhood did not seem uniquely violent to me, because we took care of each other. But through one way we took care of each other is we just kept the police out, you know? And that operates as a threat to the state, that operates as a threat… And so that then the place becomes a “war zone” because the police cannot govern it.
It’s also a failure of imagination, because you don’t imagine that the people are governing themselves. Because you don’t imagine that there is an elder on a porch somewhere governing the children running through the street. And there’s an elder two blocks down who’s teaching a lesson on a porch to some kids who have lost their way a bit. That is a type of governance, and it is a governance that is rooted in actual care.
And to extract that from a place where there is deep affection and deep care and deep thoughtfulness and say, “Since the state cannot enter here, it is too dangerous, and this is where war happens, and this place has to be demolished and rebuilt in a different image.” That is treasonous to the realities of affection that really undergird, uh, people living in communities that are insular and that are often neglected until they can be uprooted.
Reema: You know, hearing you talk about this, it’s hard for me to not hear that and think about, um, Gaza.
Hanif: Yeah.
Reema: And, you know, I’ve shared this with our listeners: I’m Palestinian American. My parents grew up in Gaza and immigrated to the States when I was born, but most of our relatives are still there. And, yeah, hearing your reflections, it’s hard, it’s, you know, I’m making these connections of how I think those in power were quick to cast the place as evil or as dangerous, a place devoid of any nuance or texture. And I think to your point, when you attach such uncompromising labels to a place, then, you know, it’s like what you said: that becomes how you describe the people as well. It justifies violence, and those, I think, who survive become the exception. Um, and it’s really just, on a personal level, like maddening, upsetting, um, as someone who spent time in Gaza, someone who, with people I love in Gaza, for it to be perceived in such a crude light. You know, we don’t hear about the joy, about the communion, about their unbelievable generosity, or the beauty of their neighborhoods before they collapsed into rubble.
Hanif: Yeah.
Reema: And I just really appreciate, yeah, I appreciate all of your reflections around this! Because I feel like a theme of your writing has been finding and naming the beauty in places like Gaza or Columbus.
Hanif: You know, well one, thank you for sharing that, and I’m sorry to hear about your family. And I…
Reema: Yeah, thanks.
Hanif: Um, when I was younger, and getting put on to, to just the Palestinian resistance movement and life in Palestine, and Gaza specifically, I got the book, a homie of mine – and this was years and years ago – passed me the book, “Enemy of the Sun,” uh, which is, I don’t, you know, a book of Palestinian resistance poetry, and I remember loving that book because it reframed for me… Yes, it is certainly a book of resistance poetry, for sure, but a lot of those poems are also just, like: “Look at my beautiful neighborhood. Like, I will walk you to the edge of what my neighborhood looked like once.” Or, “How beautiful that I get to wake up and make a meal with someone I love.” It’s this kind of very interiority of a life, right? This interior life that says, things were not always as you imagined them, or things are not always as you witnessed them, and therefore, we are a full people. I think one of the many things that has devastated me in the past several months is the decimation of land that people have cared for. Because when you love a place, you care for it.
Reema: Something that your work has made me think more deeply about is just how these places can live within us, even as the scenery or the architecture changes. You know, in the case of Gaza, despite how many homes and hospitals and schools and places of worship have been demolished, I’ve been thinking about how you can’t destroy a person’s connection to a place. And I think I saw you wrote somewhere that a place wears the legacy of what happened there…
Hanif: Yes, yes.
Reema: Um, that the people who live there wear that legacy, and, um…
Hanif: Yeah.
Reema: I thought that was really beautiful, that the architecture of a place are the people, um, and I’ve been holding on to that idea. I find it very comforting.
Hanif: Yeah, I think people survive even when they don’t survive, you know? Like, there are ways that people survive in a place even when they have been built atop of or erased, or… I think, people survive even when they don’t survive, and I think it is on the living, in some ways, to make sure that people survive even when they don’t. Yes in Gaza, but also everywhere that…
Reema: Mm hmm. Everywhere.
Hanif: Yeah, I think, I think about this. I mean, I’m very much, and of course, I’m not comparing gentrification to, uh, to any…
Reema: No but… yeah.
Hanif: But I’m saying, like, there are ways that I feel responsible in my writing to keep alive the people who either have, who have died or who have been pushed even further to margins that they cannot, you know what I mean, that, that are to the point where they’ve been almost erased. And so, yeah, people have to survive even when they don’t physically survive in a place.
Reema: Yeah.
<<MUSIC>>
Reema: This is a bit of a pivot, but somewhat connected to what we’re talking about, you write a lot about the passage of time and our mortality, which are things that have especially been on my mind lately. And I’m curious how reflecting so deeply… you know, the fact that you reflect so deeply on how our time on this earth is limited, how that impacts your approach to your work?
Hanif: Well, it does imbue it with a real urgency, I think. I love the writer Greg Tate, who I miss dearly. He wrote everything like it was his last thing: every review, every email, every… You know, there was this real understanding of, whether or not you like it, you are operating in a lineage, and so that means that you, as a culture worker, artist, writer, whatever, have a responsibility to someone beyond yourself, and you have a responsibility that will trail behind you, ideally, when you’re gone.
And to me, that’s a, that is a great task to live up to. And I could not live up to that task if I were frivolous or flippant about the passage of time. Instead, I have to tell myself that, you know, any, any day could be the last day, which doesn’t mean that I’m moping around thinking about death all the time, but it does mean that I have a real interest in living a life that will allow me to go to the grave satisfied. Knowing that if I step back and look at the full body of work of my life – not just my artistic work, my actual living – if I have risen to the occasion where I loved people the best I could, to the best of my ability, more often than not, that is a level of satisfaction I can be, I can be cool with.
Reema: Yeah, I think it’s something that’s been on my mind, you know, uh, just experiencing so much grief this last year, um, I think it has shifted a lot within me. I think, you know, anytime you lose people you love, it has the potential to shift your perspective on what matters. I mean, it’s cliché but it’s true. You know, I personally just don’t feel as hungry as I did before to achieve the more conventional markers of success. Like it, it feels more important to me that I’m driven by internal motivators, that I act in a way that are in accordance with my values. Um, I read somewhere that you have an ambivalent relationship with success.
Hanif: Yeah.
Reema: Um, what do you mean by that?
Hanif: I mean, I just don’t think about it a lot. I can’t control how well my books do. I can’t control what jobs come up for me or what jobs don’t come up for me. I can’t control any awards. And to get caught up in that would be, I think, somewhat treasonous to my ability to write freely, to think freely, to really take risks, to take actual risks in my work. You know, I think if I think too heavily about success and I become beholden to these ideas of success, that I think would diminish my ability to connect with people. Um, and so much of my work is, I think, driven towards connecting with people.
Reema: Yeah, that’s what’s important to you.
Hanif: Absolutely.
<<MUSIC>>
Reema: This has been a great conversation. I really appreciate you going to so many different places with me.
Hanif: For sure. Thanks for the time.
Reema: That was poet and writer Hanif Abdurraqib. You should check out his latest book. It’s called “There’s Always This Year.”
Alright, that’s all for our show this week. If you have any thoughts about this story, or just wanna shoot us a note, you can always email me and the team at uncomfortable@marketplace.org, we love hearing from you all. Also don’t forget to sign up for our weekly newsletter if you haven’t already. There’s always great recommendations in there for things to listen to or cook or watch. And this week, I’m writing about what we have in store this season. So be sure to check that out. And we have a special “Defend Your Splurge” from Hanif… on how he budgets a nice treat for himself every month. You can sign up for the newsletter at marketplace.org/comfort
This episode was lead-produced by Zoë Saunders and hosted by me, Reema Khrais. We wrote the script together. The episode got additional support from producer Alice Wilder. Zoë Saunders is our senior producer. Our editor is Jasmine Romero. Sound design and audio engineering by Drew Jostad. Bridget Bodnar is Marketplace’s Director of Podcasts. Caitlin Esch is our Supervising Senior Producer. Francesca Levy is the Executive Director of Digital. Neal Scarbrough is Vice President and general manager of Marketplace. And our theme music is by Wonderly.
All right, I’ll catch you all next week.
Hanif: Yo I be at the house! I like being at the house! I can’t… [laugh]
Reema: You’re like, nope!
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