Nahla shrugged, “Being pretty’s overrated.” “Is that right?” said Mrs. Wright, “ Then what would you rather be?”
“A force to be reckoned with.” ~ Kirsten Miller
The moment we choose to love we begin to move against domination and oppression. The moment we choose to love we begin to move toward freedom, to act in ways that liberate ourselves and others. ~ Bell Hooks
Most people who look at me would not label me a revolutionary, or an activist, or even a rebel. But if you could see inside me, you would see this slow, quiet burn toward rage. Even stronger because of its repression throughout the majority of my life. I may not understand it, but I choose to listen. The part I can understand is my own lived experience, and that is the only part I can speak to. The strange thing is, I think this girl rebel has always been there inside me, through all the devout years. Through all the years of conforming to an overarching belief system. My way has been slow, steady, and filled with small acts of deliberate subversion.
It has been a path of growth away from and out of the dominant, oppressive belief system that I was born into. It has been learning to see what no longer fits with who I am. Chewing the bones, spitting out the meat. The spirit of being a rebel was in me even when I was actively taking part in the 3 + cults I have been a part of during my life. The energy of believing so strongly in something, and then changing my mind. Or rather, learning to think for myself. The power of this journey cannot be underestimated. Sometimes it’s the quiet ones who have the most to say.
This whole movement away from my childhood faith has been a journey of learning to liberate myself. One of my strongest values is, and always has been, freedom. And this goes hand in hand with the desire to see liberation for others. There comes a point when silence is no longer an option. For me, silence is complicity. It would mean the shrinking of my soul. I feel it. I feel all of it. The chaos that is the world right now. And I cannot stay silent. I feel so much anger, and I know that I’ve always felt this anger, but before now, it has been despair, because anger wasn’t a language I was familiar with.
I feel imposter syndrome. I feel my lack of understanding. And I still think it is better to speak up imperfectly, than to not speak up for fear of making a mistake.
I am not the face you see on the frontlines of the major protests and movements in the big cities around the world. I am not the one writing books and rallying people. I am one of the many who care enough to do the work they can, quietly, behind the scenes, in our own hearts, to push the needle closer to love.
Last week I participated in a peaceful protest in my small, rural town. There were about 12 of us. The protest was organized by the local chapter of Queers and Allies. We were protesting a community event that brought in a Christian nationalist speaker whose website’s logo is “Make Canada great again.” Her views are divisive and seem to encompass a problem with pretty much everyone. The LGBTQIA2S+ community, Indigenous, women, Palestinians, immigrants. One woman stopped her car to talk with us and try to convince us that they are good people, who just want what is best for Canada and “the children”.
What baffles me more than anything is the rise of “othering” in the church. I guess it has always been there, maybe I am simply seeing it more clearly now. I grew up in the church. I am intimately familiar with evangelical Christianity. And yes, there are good and loving people in the church. And yes, there are harmful, divisive, and exclusionary beliefs. Both can be true. I was a devout Christian for the first half of my life. I believed things that were harmful to others. And then I left home, and traveled the world, and met many people and had many experiences. I changed my mind. I began to see that some of the beliefs I held were actually hateful, and not in line with my true values. I began to view my “missionary” work as an extension of colonialism. I met gay couples whose love inspired me. And most intimately entwined with my own experience I began to see the overt and subtle oppression of women and girls growing up in the church. Which profoundly impacted who I am today as a woman.
I believed in Jesus. In fact, I’m pretty sure he was my best friend. Even in my most passionate, devout years, I had this feeling that he was pretty radical. A radical feminist who loved all people, especially marginalized people. And there are some churches which have evolved and adapted to become inclusive. It is possible. But the majority of churches show that they are more interested in excluding and othering people that are not like them, which in my humble opinion, is the exact opposite of what Jesus was all about. If we could meet and talk with Jesus today, I’m pretty confident that he would not be espousing harmful and psychologically violent beliefs, excluding and vilifying the LGBTQ+ community, denying the validity of residential schools, policing women’s bodies, and demonizing mental health.
I stand in solidarity with all women. I stand in solidarity with the LGBTQIA2S+ community. I stand in solidarity with Indigenous peoples, specifically the Tsq’escen, whose unceded land I live on and love. I stand in solidarity with Palestinians. I stand in solidarity with all peoples who are marginalized, oppressed, and violently persecuted. I believe in Love. I believe that love will win. But I also believe that it takes work and action, and going inward, and standing with, and holding our seats.
I am not a pretty girl (thank you Ani Di’franco). I am a force to be reckoned with.
Just finished Lula Dean's Little Library of Banned Books - as a person of privilege living in this country I was humbled. As a father of a daughter and a husband to a wife, I am saddened to see our world moving in a direction of censorship and oppression of women's rights and voices. I would love to see a Girl's Guide to Revolution turn into a real book someday - i think you gave it a good head start here!