#freedom — Blogs — Joy Attmore

A couple of weeks ago, I sat with a group of ten men inside a maximum security prison and talked about what freedom means to them. Every man was in the middle of serving a heavy sentence, some having already done a couple of decades worth of time. Freedom was a concept that resonated deeply, stirring up both hope as well as sorrow, but was a reality that none had physically felt in a long time. Several guys talked about how they felt like they had let freedom down, not recognizing its full value until it was too late. Others had discovered that it meant far more than being physically free, now experiencing great joy and relief in the internal freedom that they had found amidst their incarceration. And yet all agreed in their longing to be released, to be entrusted with another chance at walking into liberty with no bars, locked doors or security guards to hold them back.

Since sitting in that circle and hearing these men talk so honestly and vulnerably about something that I know I take for granted every day, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what it means to be free. Wars have been waged, lives have been given, stories have been passed down over centuries, and songs continue to be sung about this innate desire we all have - freedom.

Recently, Phillip and I went to see the movie ‘Harriet’ which portrays the life of Harriet Tubman, a hero in American history who dedicated her life to the freedom of the slaves. She knew the value of freedom because for many years she had lived without it, and she was willing to give her last breath to set her people free. She was a visionary and her vision was liberty.

“God has shown me the future and my people are free; my people are free!”
- Harriet, the movie

I think it takes great courage to believe in freedom when an aspect of it has been taken away from you. It also takes wisdom to steward it well when you are privileged enough to have it. But before either courage or wisdom are walked out, we need to have a vision for freedom.

“Until our children learn to deal with what is going on inside of them, they simply cannot learn to manage freedom.”
- Danny Silk, ‘Loving Your Kids On Purpose’

I read this line from Danny Silk’s book a couple of days after returning home from being with the men at SCI Frackville. They immediately came to mind again as I read this over and over. How we manage our external freedom is directly connected to how we steward what is going on internally. Hopefully we’ve been raised in an environment that allows us to learn this early on, but many times that is not our story and decades can pass before it is a concept that we are actually able to live out in health.

Right now, Phillip and I are preparing to have our first son in February who we’ve named Freedom Alexander, and as motherhood approaches it has caused me to ponder all of this more seriously. I want our son to be raised not just knowing that he is free, but knowing how to steward that freedom. We all have this deep-seated knowing that it is our right to be free so we demand it with all that we have, but when it’s finally given to us how often do we betray this most divine of gifts? If we’re honest, do we now stand holding onto the remnants of an abused relationship with freedom, or is our gait marked with integrity as we extend our freedom to the benefit of the world around us?

I’ve never not known freedom. From my privileged upbringing being born with white, European skin into a family full of love with parents who believed in me and always championed my dreams, to encountering spiritual freedom at a young age where I came to know a God who loves me and has divinely purposed me for this time in history. Yes I’ve known injustice, pain and betrayal, have had to overcome fear and hurts, anger and lies, but I’ve never not known freedom; I’ve never not had a choice. Even here - in ‘the land of the free and home of the brave’ - I wonder how many people could actually describe their life as being one that is free, for this state of being does not just begin and end with our physical reality but encompasses every part of our beings. As I heard recently in a conversation around prostitution and the sex industry, for many people trapped in that cycle of sexual exploitation, it came about as a choice-less choice. They had no other option.

If we look at our lives honestly, are we stuck in any places simply because we have no other option? Or have we created environments in our relationships or work places where those around us are faced with no other choice because of an element of freedom that we have stripped away from them? Are we championing freedom and managing it well, or are we operating in control and manipulation and abusing the very thing that was created to release us?

The last words that Harriet Tubman uttered were, “I go to prepare a place for you.” She gave her everything in order to see her fellow man live in the freedom which she knew they were created for, and I hear in those words a challenge to all of us: are we going to do the same?

Harriet Tubman, who rescued enslaved people via the Underground Railroad and also led U.S. troops in a raid that freed hundreds during the Civil War.

The truth can be inconvenient, unwanted, in the way, and even avoidable when we want it to be. It can cause us to react in anger, disbelief and disgust, or move us with compassion and propel us to act and seek change, but either way it always warrants a response.

A couple of weekends ago, I woke early and headed downtown in order to gather with hundreds of other abolitionists and participate in A21’s Walk For Freedom. Each year on the same day, multiple cities around the world host local walks in order to have a global impact against human trafficking. The volunteers march in single file and without uttering a word, each holding bold, eye-catching signs that blast the passers-by with the harsh reality of the existence of modern day slavery.

I had chosen to do the walk with a group of friends from my church, Liberty, and a non-profit that I work for, Treasures NYC. After spending several minutes getting registered, lined up and organized along the perimeter of Madison Square Park, we set off down Broadway in the crisp, fall sunshine, our numbers soon stretching out over several blocks in silent protest.

My friend, Damaris, walked in front of me holding aloft a sign with words that wrenched at my heart: ’99% of victims are never rescued.’ As I followed behind her carrying my own sign of, ‘Slavery still exists,’ I ruminated on these statements and the gravity of what we were declaring to the world around us. I felt the tightness of my belly where my son, Freedom, is steadily occupying more and more space, and found tears gathering in my throat, threatening to tumble out. ‘May he never encounter such atrocities,’ I found myself thinking.

I am aware of our audacity in choosing to name our son Freedom. Even in the womb, his life is making proclamations in places of darkness and oppression, but rather than shrinking from that I celebrate what his life represents so loudly with every utterance of his name. The night before this walk, I led a team of female volunteers out to the strip clubs in Manhattan to give out gifts to the women working there. Attached to every gift was not a price tag but a message of affirmation, acceptance and freedom - you are loved, valued and purposed. Every person I met that night and interacted with had an encounter with both Joy and Freedom!

My focus was pulled back to the present as we entered Union Square Market, a massive farmer’s market which takes over the majority of Union Square at the weekends. The whole area was packed with people meandering from stall to stall, enjoying the perfect New York fall weather whilst sampling all the edible goods on display. As our marchers entered the space, neatly cutting the crowds in half, a type of silence uncommon in New York followed us. I watched the faces of those we passed by and took in the human interactions that continued around us, Some people stopped to take in our message, visibly moved by our demonstration and taking photos to capture it all. Others pretended like we didn’t exist, talking over the tops of our heads, clearly inconvenienced by our presence. Children tugged at their parents asking for explanations whilst the adults stumbled over how to respond. All around us people were confronted and for the majority it was visibly uncomfortable and unwelcome. Tears stuck in my throat again the further we stepped into the marketplace as I couldn’t help but make the correlation between our current surroundings and the market we have created for humanity, both historically and presently. I was reminded of the fury of Jesus when he discovered that the temple courts had been turned into a shopping mall, and his display of righteous anger as he called everybody out on their greed and manipulation. Have we not just continued to do the same thing, turning what was created as a gift of intimacy into a product to be openly sold in clubs, street corners, inside dark rooms, on the safety of our computer screens and from the comfort of our living rooms?

The walk continued in silence through Noho, Soho, Little Italy, the outskirts of Chinatown and into Tribeca until we reached our final destination by City Hall. Traffic was halted numerous times along our journey to allow our continuous movement through the city, and each time we were met with a cacophony of blaring car horns, the owners frustrated at their five minute delay. People continued to ignore us or responded in such a way to communicate that we were merely an obstacle they needed to overcome rather than an invitation to pause, if only for a moment. We encountered those who celebrated our presence also, but I was struck by how few and far between they were. In a city that celebrates the activist and prides itself in being progressive and for the people, it felt like the truth was not what many were wanting to receive.

As I made my way home, excited to put my feet up, I mulled over the whole experience. How often have I responded in exactly the same way to someone speaking truth to me, whether about a world issue or an area of personal growth, wanting to stick my head in the sand and pretend I didn’t hear anything? I think if we’re honest we all do it at least some of the time. But we can’t escape the truth. It’s still out there in bold colors, like billboards in the street, when we open our eyes again. So what will our responses be? Will we choose to add our number to the silent march, or blast our car horns in hopes it drowns out the enormity of what we’re being confronted by? Will we be truth tellers, or those who pretend that they are too blind to see, do not feel, and cannot hear the truth?