Of the many fires that are raging in a woman’s heart, anger is typically the one that is most carefully managed. It is taught that we should be afraid of it, to squash it or make it sound like a shameful scream to avoid being labelled unreliable, insensitive or even unhinged. But what if we’ve got the wrong idea? What if our anger isn’t a defect that needs to be eliminated or a source of power that can be utilised? What if the strongest type of strength isn’t an iron fist, but a warrior’s soul that breaks open, shivers deeply and fights with a compassionate spirit that can change the course of history?
It is not the tale of one woman; it is the story of millions. It’s about the transformation of a righteous rage into a transformative, global power. It’s about learning to fight for justice without sacrificing our humanity.
Righteous Anger as Fuel
For many people, the journey doesn’t start with a shout, but with an unbearable silence. It’s the tenth microaggression you’ve faced at work. It’s the nefarious injustice in a grocery store, the societal bias that says your child is not secure and your body isn’t the only one, and your voice won’t be heard.
This anger can be an indication of anger. It informs us that “This is not right. You have more value. They are worth more.” It’s an emotional as well as a moral obligation that calls for action. However, raw, untempered anger can be quick and hot, leaving only ashes in the aftermath. The first lesson for the warrior is to watch over this fire to make use of its heat, not for destruction, but instead, to forge.
“At first, my anger was a wild thing,” one of the community organisers told me, capturing the memories of it. “It was a flood of tears and banging on doors. It made me exhausted. It was then that I realised that the feeling was an opportunity. It was my passion for my family and my respect for my own dignity, and screaming in my pain. Then I realised. My anger wasn’t something that was in opposition to love; it was love’s strong and protective counterpart. I had to be taught to use it to my advantage and not against me.”
Confronting Systems Without Losing Humanity
The systems we fight against are typically cold, bureaucratic and inhuman. These systems are designed to remove emotion from injustice, treating it as a statistic, a line item, or an account file. The most dangerous thing for a fighter is to be a mirror of the coldness that she faces, and to allow the system she fights to make her heart hard.
The real challenge is then to take on the monolith without turning into an unstoppable monster. It’s about looking into the eyes of your adversary and seeing a person, regardless of their flaws, and refusing to give up on the call for change. This is where the razor’s edge lies. It is the place where a warrior’s heart is examined.
We witness this dazzling harmony in mothers from Latin America, who have turned their unbearable sadness into a never-ending quest for the truth. They parade with photos of their lost loved ones carried high in the air. They do not carry weapons, but rather with memories. Their strength lies in their love for each other, a love that has withstood every attempt to destroy it. They take on generals and presidents and generals, not using the language of hatred but with the undisputed, humanity-based question “?Donde estás?” Where are they? They arm themselves with their maternal love and turn it into an unstoppable force that corrupt systems are unable to compute.
The Power of Strategic Vulnerability
In a world where we associate strength with invulnerability, the notion of vulnerability in a strategic way is an untruth. But the warrior is more brilliant. She recognises that vulnerability isn’t an issue; it’s a matter of being precisely targeted and incredibly effective.
It’s the courage to tell your story, even if your voice shakes, because you know it can make other people feel less lonely. It’s the courage to say to people, “I am hurting,” and, in doing so, reveal the human price of a law that is not fair. It’s the courage to stand with others by joining hands and declare, “We are here, and we will not be moved,” being aware that you could be swept away, but your voice will be seized and inspire a thousand others.
This is the enduring learning from movements such as Black Lives Matter that, although different, have been profoundly affected by the ethos and leadership that Black women embody. These leaders have skillfully presented vulnerability as a source of connections. They’ve asked the world to be a witness to their grief, their fear and their affection for their families as well as their communities. They’ve transformed the grief into a collective crying, turning personal, raw testimony into the foundation of a global call for accountability. This isn’t an appeal; it’s an admission. It demands an honest assessment of morality, which a simple political argument would never be able to provide.
“We march not because we are unafraid,” a young activist told me with her hands resting on the shoulder of a friend. “We marched because we’re more scared of what might happen in silence. Our vulnerability is the evidence. We are the witnesses to the damage. When we display our real faces and our actual tears, it is difficult for people to turn away. It’s easy to dismiss a rant, but it’s much more difficult to discredit a human being suffering.”
Building Movements That Heal, Not Harm
The main goal of a warrior’s heart isn’t to take on an adversary and build an entirely new world. Fighting which leaves everyone wounded – victor and defeated alike is a Pyrrhic victory. The most transformative events can be those based not on the dust of the past, however, but on utilising the fresh material of love, compassion, and healing for each other.
This is akin to the non-violent resistance of women from across India who have been silent in protest for years, and encamped to defend their water and land. They can sustain their protests not only with strategy but also through community. They cook and sing in harmony, and provide for their children. They build a microcosm of the kind of world they wish to live in. One that is founded on the dignity of sustainability, respect for others and collective wellbeing. Their struggle is not against other people, but instead to defend a fundamental principle.
It resembles the Polish women’s strike for reproductive rights, in which the black umbrellas became a symbol for fierce unity. The movement was fuelled by shared anger, but its expression was profoundly united and enthralling. They were able to support each other with practical help as well as shared resources and a strong feeling of sisterhood, which turned individuals’ angst into a force for the whole. They knew that to endure an ongoing battle, it was necessary to build communities that nourish their members, even when they resist.
“Our movement is our sanctuary as much as our battlefield,” one of the organisers from Warsaw informed me. “We gather to rage and fight, but also to support each other. We monitor each other’s mental health. We bring soup. We keep birthdays in mind. If we’re fighting for something, we’ll go out of our minds. If we fight for one another, we create our own glow. We are creating the world we desire right here in the midst of the battle.”
The Warrior’s Heart
The path of a warrior with a heart of empathy is the most difficult one. It demands everything from you. It demands that you feel everything – the anger or grief, affections – and then turn it into action. It’s much easier to be cynical about constructing walls and fighting fire with fire.
The women who are leading these movements worldwide provide us with an effective method. They demonstrate that true revolution is a transformation of the heart. It’s a dedication to justice that cannot be separated from a commitment to each human being, and the most extreme of actions that we oppose, our humanity to those with whom we disagree.
It is not an insignificant, passive force. It is the most powerful and most active force. It’s the ability to be so devoted to your love that you are willing to destroy every system that threatens your passion. It’s the capacity to be compassionate even when confronted with a snide attitude, as you don’t want to be transformed into looking like your oppressor.