We need community now more than ever

Amrit Wilson's Finding a Voice was first published in 1978, when the UK was in a period of intense political turmoil. Vicious racism from the mouths of politicians was the norm as the country continued to recover from the recession earlier in the decade, and the post-war boom was a distant memory.

The book tells the stories of South Asian women living in 1970s Britain. Through seven chapters covering family, isolation, employment, immigration, schooling, adolescence and sisterhood, Wilson tells the stories of numerous women, spanning age, ethnicity and faith, charting much of the history of South Asian women in Britain. This new edition is a brilliant example of the value of updating and reissuing a book decades after its original release. Wilson opens her introduction by stating that 'reclaiming our collective past is an act of resistance', a reminder of the need to tell stories, both our own and those of our communities.

I first came across the book in early 2017, a recommendation from one of Amrit's friends. It was out of print, but I managed to get my hands on a worn copy of the third edition, published six years after the original. By this time, the original publishers, Virago, had settled a lawsuit from a then well-known factory owner, unhappy at how his exploitation of workers had been memorialised in the book. It's a reminder of the power he and others like him held over the ability of people of colour to freely tell our stories.

The fortieth-anniversary edition serves as a reminder that, regardless of these barriers, determination and courage can help us reclaim space to construct our narratives. The 2018 edition contains a new chapter with writings from young South Asian women living in Britain today, allowing voices from subsequent generations to explore what the book meant to them and how it impacted their lives. They include stories about the continued resistance to the hostile environment, and insight from Amrit's own daughter on the impact the book had on her; and, for the first time, we hear stories from queer South Asian women. I was privileged to be asked to contribute a piece on my experiences of racism growing up and living in London, and how that has changed over the course of my life.

The purpose of the book was always to tell the stories of South Asian women in Britain, and it never feels like an open call to arms. However, reading about the pain and struggles of women such as Surjeet, a bright university-educated woman pulled into an arranged marriage and desperate to leave it (we never find out how her story ended), or of Zubeida-whose story of acute isolation and loneliness has stayed with me since I first read it-leaves the reader feeling that they have a duty to do more.

In the decades since its publication, the rise of neoliberalism and continued western imperialism has contributed to increased division amongst Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus in the UK, which in recent years has been further exacerbated by right-wing political extremes on the subcontinent. Not only has this resulted in misunderstandings about each other's faiths; it has also impeded solidarity between our interconnected struggles. The cross-faith Asian Youth Movements of Amrit's youth are long forgotten. This point is highlighted by Wilson herself in the new edition, as she ponders whether the women who spoke to her four decades ago would do so today.

Perhaps unintentionally, I think the book sends a powerful message about community and the need for us to take care of each other in a world which is unable and unwilling to do so. The rise of social media and the ability to more easily stay in touch with each other hasn't necessarily led to greater connectedness; many of us are experiencing an erosion of community and an increase in crippling loneliness across generational divides.

Re-reading the book for this review reminded me of some words...