A Year of Saturday
by Vahisha Hasan, M.A., Ed.S., M.Div.
My year of resistance began with my best friend and I sobbing together at her house for hours. We were invited to an election night viewing hosted by a local pastor but we chose to stay home. Somehow, we both knew. It was an unspoken dread and sorrow deep within and it lingered there in the air between us until the results were dire enough that we gave ourselves permission to feel the full searing pain of the embodiment of white privilege as the leader of the country of my citizenship. In talks and panels, I usually start my resistance narrative with events post inauguration, but in retrospect I need to start with what it felt like to experience grief in my body through uncontrollable sobbing. I need to honor my emotional self and responses as substantive resistance. This year has taught me to not just dismantle the impact of patriarchy around me, but also in me. My second act of resistance was diffusing lavender and chamomile essential oils and sleeping for days. My next act was to pray and vow to move in faith, engaging both the human and divine.
My bff and I both worked tirelessly on a campaign to prevent this disaster but there we were on November 6, 2016, crying in despair at what we knew was coming. Our new normal comes with 45’s average of 3 lies and 9 ridiculous and distracting Tweets per day and a government majorly run by a group of men who want nothing more than to desperately retain their power and cling to a construct of a world that will not last. It comes with an abandoning of any policy that sought progress of care for humanity. I would go through the list of sweeping changes made by 45’s administration but it could only be a list of national, regional, and local headlines that frankly you should already know. If you do not, look them up. Heartbeats are at stake. My heartbeat is at stake. Unless you are a wealthy Protestant white man, your heartbeat is also most likely at stake.
I knew an attack was imminent and I functioned in a constant state of high alert that I could feel in my body. A full-frontal onslaught against the liberty of the least of these. At the time this sounded extreme to some and maybe for some of you, it still does. Let me demonstrate how resistance presents. Neither your surprise nor disbelief alter my lived experience.
I slowly re-engaged my movement community and went to many and multiple strategy sessions for a modified resistance plan. I organized and agitated alongside anyone willing to denounce the state sanctioned murder of black and brown heartbeats. I sought and embraced a larger circle of faith leaders and faith folk who wanted to both reach for, receive, and offer more than heavenly liberation. I started a non profit project and will protect and defend my community. I have reimagined my neighbor and have found a community of shared trauma and pain, anger and indignation, and hope and active love.
As a black woman, resistance is both heavily offensive, defensive, and at the same time intersectional. I do not get to choose; to specialize. It is exhausting. My brain is tired of scripting the words to justify my humanity. My heart is tired of the expectation of an outpouring of love and forgiveness without being loved and appreciated as my full black female self. Tired of my heart being casually broken because, you know, black women are magic so our healing must be magical. My body is tired of being scrutinized for its black female shape and beyond tired of carrying the pain and responsibility of absolutely freaking everyone.
An account is given of a body both human and divine, crucified on Friday. I wonder if this is how they felt; Jesus’ mother, and those male and female disciples that walked with Him. How many times have I heard and said that Jesus died on Friday but early on Sunday morning He got up with all power in his hands. The foretold savior was dead, and with him, the hope of freedom and victory for those who were long oppressed. I did not have a savior in the 2016 election, but there was a clear enemy. When is our Sunday morning God? We have had a year of Saturdays.
by Vahisha Hasan, M.A., Ed.S., M.Div.
My year of resistance began with my best friend and I sobbing together at her house for hours. We were invited to an election night viewing hosted by a local pastor but we chose to stay home. Somehow, we both knew. It was an unspoken dread and sorrow deep within and it lingered there in the air between us until the results were dire enough that we gave ourselves permission to feel the full searing pain of the embodiment of white privilege as the leader of the country of my citizenship. In talks and panels, I usually start my resistance narrative with events post inauguration, but in retrospect I need to start with what it felt like to experience grief in my body through uncontrollable sobbing. I need to honor my emotional self and responses as substantive resistance. This year has taught me to not just dismantle the impact of patriarchy around me, but also in me. My second act of resistance was diffusing lavender and chamomile essential oils and sleeping for days. My next act was to pray and vow to move in faith, engaging both the human and divine.
My bff and I both worked tirelessly on a campaign to prevent this disaster but there we were on November 6, 2016, crying in despair at what we knew was coming. Our new normal comes with 45’s average of 3 lies and 9 ridiculous and distracting Tweets per day and a government majorly run by a group of men who want nothing more than to desperately retain their power and cling to a construct of a world that will not last. It comes with an abandoning of any policy that sought progress of care for humanity. I would go through the list of sweeping changes made by 45’s administration but it could only be a list of national, regional, and local headlines that frankly you should already know. If you do not, look them up. Heartbeats are at stake. My heartbeat is at stake. Unless you are a wealthy Protestant white man, your heartbeat is also most likely at stake.
I knew an attack was imminent and I functioned in a constant state of high alert that I could feel in my body. A full-frontal onslaught against the liberty of the least of these. At the time this sounded extreme to some and maybe for some of you, it still does. Let me demonstrate how resistance presents. Neither your surprise nor disbelief alter my lived experience.
I slowly re-engaged my movement community and went to many and multiple strategy sessions for a modified resistance plan. I organized and agitated alongside anyone willing to denounce the state sanctioned murder of black and brown heartbeats. I sought and embraced a larger circle of faith leaders and faith folk who wanted to both reach for, receive, and offer more than heavenly liberation. I started a non profit project and will protect and defend my community. I have reimagined my neighbor and have found a community of shared trauma and pain, anger and indignation, and hope and active love.
As a black woman, resistance is both heavily offensive, defensive, and at the same time intersectional. I do not get to choose; to specialize. It is exhausting. My brain is tired of scripting the words to justify my humanity. My heart is tired of the expectation of an outpouring of love and forgiveness without being loved and appreciated as my full black female self. Tired of my heart being casually broken because, you know, black women are magic so our healing must be magical. My body is tired of being scrutinized for its black female shape and beyond tired of carrying the pain and responsibility of absolutely freaking everyone.
An account is given of a body both human and divine, crucified on Friday. I wonder if this is how they felt; Jesus’ mother, and those male and female disciples that walked with Him. How many times have I heard and said that Jesus died on Friday but early on Sunday morning He got up with all power in his hands. The foretold savior was dead, and with him, the hope of freedom and victory for those who were long oppressed. I did not have a savior in the 2016 election, but there was a clear enemy. When is our Sunday morning God? We have had a year of Saturdays.
Bio: Vahisha Hasan is a faith-rooted organizer working at the intersections of faith, social justice, and mental health. She is the Executive Director of Movement in Faith, a project of Transform Network, a 501(c)3 non-profit organization. She is a powerful public speaker, transformative facilitator, and social justice trainer, with a deeply prophetic voice and imagination for how faith communities can be an active part of collective liberation.
She is an Assistant Professor of Human Services at Memphis Center for Urban and Theological Studies (MCUTS) and serves as Director of the Mental Health Advocacy Institute which seeks to destigmatize mental health in faith communities. She is also writing the curriculum for the addition of a bachelor’s degree program in Applied Psychology.
Vahisha holds a dual Master’s of Divinity and Master’s of Mental Health Counseling with an Education Specialist Certification from Gardner-Webb University and a bachelor’s degree in Communications with a concentration in Interpersonal Organization from The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.
Connect with Vahisha!
Facebook: @MovementInFaith
Website: http://transformnetwork.org/movement-in-faith
Email: movementinfaith@gmail.com