To my Christian sisters (and anyone else who wants to listen along),
I saw my therapist yesterday. I’m not usually very good at being therapised. Traumatised people are superpowered. When the most horrendous things are done to us we develop superpowers. We can make ourselves invisible and travel through time (for what else is dissociation?), we become superhumanly alert like Spiderman (the fancy name is hypervigilance), and our bodies gift us ways to survive. But psychology and psychiatry are systems which see us as broken, in deficit, they want to fix us. But there’s nothing wrong with us (if you’d like to read my MA dissertation arguing this, you’ll find it HERE). And so I’m not normally one for therapy. But fifteen years after leaving my abusive ex-husband I’m having to contend with a whole new set of traumas.
This has been a horrendous week for women and girls. The public and private abuse of Meghan Markle. Sarah Everard’s abduction and murder. Women bearing their wounds and scars on social media, hoping that this time Things Might Change. I was on a few radio and TV shows over the last couple of days. The onslaught towards me on social media has been unrelenting, as it is to any woman who publicly challenges the status quo.
The Ending Violence Against Women coalition this week launched an anti-racism charter because the women’s sector is institutionally racist. The government demands domestic abuse services bid for contracts, pitting women against other women (as was ever thus under patriarchy). Large white-led women’s organisations hoover up the few contracts for black women’s services and then black and other minoritised women are failed by these services who don’t understand their needs. The dominant white sector pushes for greater criminalisation of offenders, oblivious to the way this will disproportionately affect black men. Sarah Turnridge painstakingly discovered that for all crimes, the Met Police are much more likely to publish a criminals mugshot if they are black. No wonder black women don’t trust the so called “justice system”. As white people, we are so concerned about being accused of racism that we trip up black people, and as they fall on their face, they’re gaslit into wondering whether it was their shoes or how they were walking that caused the problem. It must be exhausting.
Understandably, feminist spaces are not overly welcoming to Christianity and apart from a few lovely sisters without faith, there’s generally some degree of dismissal of my feminism among feminist spaces. The exception has been the Faith and VAWG Coalition with a group of sisters from across different faiths working to make change. One of the last events I attended before COVID shut everything down was their launch event. There’s something extraordinary about being with sisters of different faiths. We start from a place of understanding difference, knowing we are not on the same page about everything, but our experiences as women mean we can centre the ways we are on the same page.
I’ve been doing this work since 2009. Speaking out, challenging men, being a warrior for women who can’t speak out. I feel similarly to Victoria Smith who tweeted that circa 2012, the awful treatment of the girl from Steubenville and Jimmy Saville’s offences were “gamechangers” for women’s rights. Later, others thought that #metoo would change everything. And yet, here we are again, women bearing their souls with the hope things will change. Yesterday, my therapist asked me how I cope with the awfulness. Doing this work, speaking out, the misogynistic backlash. And I thought, dear Christian sisters, that how I keep going may be useful in you keeping going too. (For those reading this with a different faith or no faith, you will have your own ways of making it through, and I honour you in those.)
Sisters, we know this world is not all there is, and death is not the end. Yet, this world and our flesh and blood bodies are so important that God became one of us to change everything for us. I’m a Christian because Jesus saved my life, I’m a feminist because feminism helped make sense of my life. My liberation is caught up in both. I don’t do this work of liberation expecting change. I do it because the Holy Spirit is a fire raging within, demanding I speak out justice and freedom for women. Like the burning bush, the Spirit burns but She never consumes me. I act for change, live for change, but do not expect change. It is not on me to change anyone, that’s on them (and God). But the Spirit roars within and I must speak out, because that is what is required, regardless of the cost.
If our measure of success is whether or not change comes, we will become quickly disheartened and give up. Sisters, seeking liberation for women is a calling from God. My only measure of success will be on the other side of death, if God commends me a good and faithful servant. For that is what this work is, faithfulness to God.
The passage that keeps me going is Jeremiah 17:8, “They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green.” Sisters, we cannot be rooted in the fight or the expectation of change. We must instead root ourselves in God. Those roots must go so deeply into God that whether change comes or does not, we are sustained by the Creator of everything. We must mourn, we must speak, we must continue to fight. But sisters, all of that is underpinned by our rootedness in God; in prayer, spiritual disciplines (mine include running, knitting and journaling), and in worship. It is as I set my eyes and heart on the Creator of everything that I know I can keep fighting. Sisters, this day, let us fix our eyes on what is unseen. In doing so we will be equipped and enabled to fight that which we can see.
This morning, Rend Collective’s Yahweh helped in that rootedness in God, while Porter Gate’s We Will Make No Peace with Oppression continues to spur me on in this fight. I hope they are an encouragement to you also.
Sisters, we can do this!