'Hear Us Speak' and Meeting Suzy Kanoo in Bahrain
I was first introduced to Suzan Kanoo at a birthday party while visiting a friend in the Kingdom of Bahrain.
She was introduced to me as “Suzy,” and my first impression was that, in any other room, I might need an appointment to see her — and the wait might be a while.
She had an aura of sharp sophistication that drew no attention to itself. Her outfit was pristine, her makeup on point, and her hair a shiny ebony that caught the light in even the dimmest room.
Nothing about Suzy asked for attention outright, yet there was a sense that she had been in a thousand rooms I had never seen before, and that she had some stories.
I was immediately intrigued.
There was a laser-like assessment in her eyes as she greeted me: A look of no promises and no expectations, but also genuine grace and open-mindedness.
She moved fluidly between national and international topics with a casual ease that made it easy to share insights.
Luckily for me, I got to sit beside Suzy during both tea and the birthday dinner that followed.
There was no seating arrangement at dinner, so I do not know whether it was design or preference that led to all the men eating inside and all the women gathering outside.
Whatever the case, the men sat around the dining room table inside to talk about business and politics, while the women gathered on the patio to talk about whatever came up.
Every woman at my table was fascinating — each of them educated mothers, most with resumes more impressive than mine. One woman wore a hijab, while the rest of us were uncovered, and it was not a big deal. It was simply a respected choice.
We talked for nearly two hours on that patio.
Some conversations included the full table, while others broke into smaller groups, as we talked about the things good friends talk about when they are busy enough not to see each other often.
This was when I asked Suzy a question I asked nearly everyone I spoke to on my trip to Bahrain:
“If you could make a movie about anything and put it up on a screen for all the world to see, what would it be?”
Suzy did not even think long enough to blink.
“I would tell women’s stories.”
Full stop.
“Wow,” I said. “That was a quick answer. Sounds like you have put thought into it.”
“I actually wrote a book on the topic and published it through Forbes Books,” she said. “It’s called Hear Us Speak."
“Congratulations,” I said. “That’s huge. Is it available on Amazon? I’ll buy it and start reading it tonight.”
“Actually...” she said, “would you mind waiting until you get back to America to purchase it? I think purchases and reviews from the U.S. might help with visibility.”
“Of course,” I said, putting my phone away. Then we continued our conversation.
Once I was back in the United States, I had the choice of ordering the book on Kindle or buying a used hardback. I am old school, so I got the hardback, courtesy of the Toledo-Lucas County Public Library.
And while I am grateful to have received their retired copy, after reading Hear Us Speak, I think it rightfully belongs in every county library system.
The book is excellent.
It does something books rarely do: It shows how women of elite privilege and women with no privilege at all can be betrayed by the same system when that system is not designed to see or hear them when things go wrong.
Hear Us Speak asks what becomes visible when Arab women are given room to speak in their own words in a world that is willing to listen.
The heart of the book is a series of short, intimate letters and testimonies, each framed with Kanoo’s introduction and reflection.
The collection opens with a Kuwaiti painter who passed through abuse and healed into a woman who can now help others seeking the kind of support she once needed herself. It closes with a group of Gen Z girls discussing how they see their future in the world they are inheriting.
On a technical level, Forbes did an amazing job with this book.
I have spent years in publishing and launched more than 100 books by first-time authors, so I know what it looks like when a publisher cares and the creative team brings its full attention.
This book feels like that: Like a lot of eyes saw it, a lot of hands touched it, and all of them put a little love into it.
After reading the book, I can see why.
One of the most notable approaches of Hear Us Speak is that it never descends into spectacle or horror to shock the reader with details. It seems to understand empathic exhaustion and lets the stories speak for themselves.
The details are general, and if you get it, you get it.
The point is not to shock or horrify you. The point is to say:
Women are powerful. They can go through the worst life has to offer, still heal, and choose not to become the next perpetrator. Give them rights. See them heal. Then watch what happens next.
The book feels like a signal that change is coming.
And perhaps, if Arab women could say anything to women in the United States and around the world, it would be this:
“Hear us speak. Feel our love and pain, and carry our hope for a brighter tomorrow.”
And I, for one, am listening.
