What Sustains You?

The grassy field spread out in front of us, as we stood underneath a large tree to the side of the field. At the center of the field, a soccer game took place. There we were, existing in the margins, gathered for the Take Back the Night rally, organized against gender-based violence. bell hooks, an author and human rights activist, argues “[marginality] is…the site of radical possibility, a space of resistance” in her book Out There: Marginalization and Contemporary Cultures (341). And that’s what we were and are, that small group of people underneath the tree, taking up a space of resistance, the site of radical possibility.

Within that space under the tree, we learned about local community organizations working against gender-based violence. Some individuals chose to recount their experience as a survivor of sexual violence, and others performed songs or skits as a way to relay their stance on the issue. Morgan Harrington’s mother Gill Harrington, founder of Help Save the Next Girl, spoke about her dedication to raise awareness of gender-based violence through prevention education. Missing teen Alexis Murphy’s aunt Trina Murphy also shared the same sentiments as Gill Harrington in providing information to combat gender-based violence and abductions. The Keynote Speaker at the rally was Gordon Braxton, a 2002 U.Va. alum who is the founder of the blog Allied Thought: A Blog on Manhood and Gendered Violence Prevention. Braxton stated that the focus of his speech was to get more individuals, especially those standing on the “fence” about sexual assault prevention advocacy, involved in advocating for the end of gender-based violence. While trying to get allies to participate in advocacy work, he observed, “If you listen to what is being said, what’s being asked of you aren’t necessarily big things to do.” And isn’t that true? As advocates and activists, we are asking for people to stand on the margins with us, whether it be for a night at the Take Back the Night vigil or belonging to a group on Grounds that promotes sexual assault prevention or telling someone why the rape joke they just made isn’t funny.  Braxton’s view of advocacy resembles a quote I learned while participating in Green Dot, a national bystander intervention program related to power-based violence prevention, “No one has to do everything, but everyone has to do something.”  The smallest action paired with all of the actions taken in an activist movement propels the initiative forward.

Here is one of my friends, Gordon Braxton, and me posing for a picture after the Take Back the Night rally.

Recently, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what sustains me as an advocate. My answer isn’t an easy one nor am I fully sure of it, but I do know that the work I participate in is work I believe in. The work is emotionally draining.  It is tough, not being able to ignore the systems of power in place, not being able to be ignorant. At times, this space of resistance can feel lonely, but then, I remember all of those individuals participating in advocacy work and realize the site of radical possibility in which I stand.  Advocacy work is transformational.

After this academic year at U.Va., I wanted to leave Charlottesville for the summer, I wanted to not focus so much on sexual assault prevention. I wanted space to breathe, time to take a step back. However, I received an opportunity to stay in Charlottesville and work on a project that will digitally archive the history of sexual assault at U.Va. I wanted this opportunity so badly, yet I hesitated when I received the e-mail from the internship director about her interest in hiring me. I thought about the offer I was given to return to Montreat for a third summer, to work with preschool-aged children. With the internship, I knew I would have to stay in Charlottesville, to focus on the history of sexual assault at the University.  And, ultimately, I declined Montreat because I know that the internship opportunity is working toward changing the culture of U.Va., toward setting a precedent for other colleges and universities to own their history and to make sure history does not repeat itself.  After spending my past two summers in Montreat, where I met great friends and incredible families, my decision to decline my contract was difficult, but I know that my choice to stay in Charlottesville is one based on what I want to see happen in the future at the University, on what I see myself working on in the future: gender-based issues.  So, thank you to everyone who has supported me along the way.

Part 3: Are We Out of the Woods Yet?

I closed the door and ran. I ran and ran and ran. Rarely, I stopped to catch my breath and reflect upon why I was running. In all the rush to run, I forgot one thing: to latch the door.

* * *

The week before I returned to Montreat for the College Conference, excitement leapt about my stomach. In anticipation, the thrill of reuniting with friends coursed through my being, as tears of happiness brimmed my eyes and squeals of ecstasy rose from my throat. I even created a “Home” playlist on Spotify, featuring classics like, “Home” by Phillip Phillips, “Coming Home” by Diddy, “Home” by Daughtry, “Come Home” by One Republic, and “Home” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.  Finally, January 2 (the day I traveled with my church group to Montreat) arrived, and I eagerly looked out of the car window, braced with my iPhone camera, as we drove through the stone gate, snapping a few blurry photos from the backseat. I was home.

The first night, I reunited with several friends at a Sam Burchfield concert. The hugs I waited so long for were finally received. A smile etched on my face, as an overwhelming relief took place. For months, my heart yearned to be near these people, and finally, they were right in front of me.

The next morning, I found myself seated in the “older than your grandmother” pews, ready for Keynote.  Alexie Torres-Flemming, the founder of Youth Ministries for Peace and Justice, took the stage. I watched in awe as Alexie discussed social justice. She defined justice as “the idea that we all have the opportunity to be fully alive or fully human,” so when looking for justice, we must first look at the root causes of injustices. She looked out at an audience filled with college students, the people who hold the future in our hands and have the chance and power to positively change history, and pointed us out, calling us to action, which entranced me.  Never before, at least to my memory, had I witnessed someone so directly ask a group of Christians to do something about injustices people in our own country face.

Alexie began her Keynote confidently claiming, “You can find peace in the center of chaos.” By the end of it, she listed lessons to be “peace bound” (the theme of the conference). Of her lessons, I connected with a few of her statements. One was that we will not find our place or peace until we realize we belong to one another. This statement does not mean we are each others’ property, but rather that we need to have empathy and see each other as fellow human beings. Alexie also claimed that we cannot have peace until we live in our purpose. In that moment, I started to realize the importance of my purpose as an advocate, but I still had not fully grappled with my connection to this statement. Finally, Alexie, once again, highlighted the importance of showing up.

I left Keynote feeling empowered and moseyed on over to small group. One of the first questions our leader asked us was, “What did you think of the first time you heard the theme ‘Peace Bound?’” As I racked my brain for an answer, I realized that previous thoughts of the theme had never even formed. In my excitement to go to Montreat to see old friends, I paid very little attention to the most obvious details of the conference. I had little to no expectations, no thoughts, because I had decided to just exist at the conference, putting minimum effort into my participation.

Then, I noticed that during Alexie’s Keynote, I started to not just exist because I saw my purpose within her words. The way she captured my attention with what she was saying; my eyes, ears, and heart opened to something larger. Within her words, I found truths that I needed to hear, truths that I had forgotten, truths that were new, truths that started to help me heal.

The next morning, I awaited the appearance of Jamie Tworkowski, the founder of To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA), on the stage. A tall man wearing a beanie appeared, giving a small wave to the crowd as he appeared out of the depths of backstage, the spotlight focusing on him. He quickly introduced his singer-songwriter friend Josh Moore. When Josh shared his music with us, peace blanketed the room, as a silence hummed about the Auditorium.

When Jamie reappeared, his words presented themselves to me with intentions of reinstating hope. He relayed to us a time in his life that he tried to distance himself from God, but he said the most comforting thing is that he could never run away from God.

For too long, I ran without latching the door, without looking back, and God was always behind me. I so badly wanted to run, to hide from God. And yet, I ran right to God, right into His arms. And when I met God in the Auditorium, I connected the dots. I thought I was at the College Conference to see friends and to have the experience of finally going to one.  But God led me there because He knew the content of the conference, of how much I needed it in my life at that moment.

Jamie Tworkowski of TWLOHA and I standing in the lobby of Anderson Auditorium.

Further along in his speech, Jamie shared that his hope was for the audience to walk away knowing that we don’t have to fake it, that we can feel pain and express it, too. He acknowledged that there are only a few people in our lives that we can be honest with, and that, “We are meant to be loved, to get known, to have relationships where we share [our vulnerability].”

Jamie was speaking to my philosophy on life. Since coming to the University of Virginia, I quickly learned the importance of being vulnerable. Vulnerability educates and creates empathy. Vulnerability lets people truly see you. Jamie claims he found peace “when [he] let someone in and was vulnerable and let somebody love [him].” Those are the moments where I, too, find my peace and my energy, my passions and myself.

Jamie ended with a request to the audience, urging us to “participate in things that matter.”

* * *

When I signed up for College Conference, I was not expecting a healing process to occur, I was not expecting it to be a part of my journey.  More than anything, I needed to retreat to Montreat, but I thought it was just to reconnect with friends, not to reconnect with God. How completely naïve I was. For so long, I told myself that my studies do not connect with God, and I started to separate myself from Him. I know I am filling my passion by studying Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies, in hopes of creating and working toward social change. But maybe God gave me the gift of compassion, and maybe, just maybe, He gave me that gift so He could later call upon me to advocate for others.