In The Dispossessed, the people of Annares—a moon colony founded by exiled anarchists—speak a language called Pravic. It is an invented language, created by the first settlers, who one imagines were interested in the ways in which language both circumscribed and made possible different ways of being with one another.

In Pravic, ammar (plural ammari) means “brother” or “sister.” It is genderless, and used to refer to anyone regardless of familial relation; someone related by blood may be ammari, as may a roommate, partner, or stranger. Among the Annarasti, ammari communicates a solidarity, and often a deeply felt one. When Shevek boards the spaceship that will take him to Urras—the first of his people to return to the planet—he meets a doctor who prepares him for the trip:

Just before they strapped in for descent the doctor came to his cabin to check the progress of the various immunizations, the last of which, a plague inoculation, had made Shevek sick and groggy. Kimoe gave him a new pill. “That’ll pep you up for the landing,” he said. Stoic, Shevek swallowed the thing. The doctor fussed with his medical kit and suddenly began to speak very fast “Dr. Shevek, I don’t expect I’ll be allowed to attend you again, though perhaps, but if not I wanted to tell you that it, that I, that it has been a great privilege to me. Not because—but because I have come to respect—to appreciate-that simply as a human being, your kindness, real kindness—”

No more adequate response occurring to Shevek through his headache, he reached out and took Kimoe’s hand, saying, “Then let’s meet again, brother!” Kimoe gave his hand a nervous shake, Urrasti style, and hurried out. After he was gone Shevek realized he had spoken to him in Pravic, called him ammar, brother, in a language Kimoe did not understand.

Le Guin, The Dispossessed, page 17

But the reason the Urrasti doctor cannot understand Shevek is not only because he speaks a different language. It is because the kindness that Kimoe perceives is a consequence of Shevek’s anarchism, of his upbringing in a culture that sees everyone as equals. The doctor’s respect for Shevek—extending to the unnecessary “Dr.” salutation—is still too entangled within his own understanding of hierarchy for him to truly grasp what Shevek means by ammar.

The word ammari contains within it that assertion of equality, of solidarity. It is a lovely word. And perhaps we can learn what Kimoe could not: perhaps we can learn to be ammari to each other.