Can We “Pray the Devil Back to Hell”?
2008 American Documentary film directed by Gini Reticker and produced by Abigail Disney
Seda and I watched a documentary that whipped me into a froth the other night. If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if a nation’s women got tired of suffering, tired of their children dying, tired of running, and only wanted peace, then the film Pray the Devil Back to Hell is for you too.
At the turn of the millennium, the women of Liberia realized their collective power in unprecedented ways, banding together across religious lines and diversity, focusing solely on peace. Watching this film stirred something deep within me, as I contemplated where their power came from and the ways they weilded it. I am convinced that their supernatural capacity to focus on the positive and foster compassion for all is what accounted for their seemingly boundless energy and determination. Where did it lead? To peace. It led to peace.
In 1989, Charles Taylor came to exercise absolute power over the finances of Liberia and the violence he unleashed there spanned decades. Civil war broke out as Islamic warlords, denied a role in Taylor’s government, organized and fought him as the Liberians United for Reconciliation and Democracy (LURD).
As both sides gave boys guns and told them to take whatever they wanted (many sought power in wealth), families lost the contents of their homes, their safety, and their dignity while the feet and hands of civilians were hacked off and girls and women were raped. The women of Liberia packed their families up and walked for miles in an attempt to leave this wretchedness behind. They had less than nothing. They barely qualified as survivors.
And in the heartbreak of this destruction, Leymah Gbowee had a dream that woke her up. She saw herself gathering the women in her Christian church to pray for peace. The ideas kept coming. Asatu Bah Kenneth, Assistant Director for the Liberian National Police, a Muslim herself, had the courage to join them.
“I am the only Muslim in this church,” she told the congregation. “Oh, hallelujah!” they cried. And a sisterhood was born as Kenneth returned to gather her Muslim friends, family, and other connections to join the initiative.
At first “being a follower of Christ and going to work along with the Muslims means they were diluting their faith,” said Vaiba Kebeh Flomo, the Lutheran Church Secretary. “But the message that we took on was, ‘Can the bullet pick and choose? Does the bullet know Christian from Muslim?’”
No doubt the women’s determination for peace shook and cracked the barriers of religion that kept them apart. Their willingness to deconstruct belief systems and bond with one another was a harbinger of greater callings that lay ahead.
Rural villagers converged on the metropolis of Monrovia as their homes were pillaged, and the women organized to do more than pray. They pressured the pastors, bishops, and imams. They used the Catholic radio station to announce a rally, amassing more women who left their jobs (“if there is no peace, there are no jobs”) to sit at the fish market daily, demanding an audience with Taylor. They put away their colorful clothes, donning white t-shirts in peaceful protest and refused to have sex with their husbands in hopes of gaining their partnership.
I am perennially astounded by the creative and practical scope of strategies these women engaged in while attempting to move the needle. I have often heard it said that creativity is possible only when our brains are not in survival mode (fight, flight, freeze or fawn). Yet here was a population who had seen and heard almost every imaginable horror, and still they managed to overcome their past in light of a shared vision of the future. “We were not afraid,” said Flomo. This was no ordinary “tend and befriend” response. It began with a dream and marched its way up the capitol steps. How does this happen? And how can we step into such effectiveness now?
The women focused only on one goal: Peace. “Peace is what matters, Peace is what we need,” read signs in their midst. It appears the women set their differences aside completely. As individuals, they were impoverished. Together, their efforts collected momentum towards a single target -- peace. Eventually, popular support was on the women’s side, and Taylor agreed to attend peace talks.
A contingent of women joined the men of their country at the talks, and when the proceedings stalled, these mothers, grandmothers, and aunties saw the reason: their men enjoyed comfortable beds and fine clothes for as long as the talks drug on. These women weren’t going to have it. Gbowee instructed her companions to link arms around the building. The men would not be allowed out until progress was made. “Today they will feel the hunger of their people,” said Gbowee. It worked.
Want to have your mind blown again? While this smaller group of women attended the talks in Ghana, their families back home texted that they were on lockdown, unable to get to food or go outside. Taylor and the warlords had continued to orchestrate the conflict long distance while engaging in the peace proceedings, and mass graves were being dug for the hundreds killed in Liberia daily.
The Liberian women in Ghana physically held one another up as they broke down in tears, singing while they cried, “Liberia is my home, Oh, land of liberty, sweet Liberia.” These women did not dissolve into depression or become listless. With broken hearts and tear-stained faces, they kept their focus on the dream of what could be. They did not only proclaim their purpose, they sang it like a hymn, priming the pump for what they envisioned.
Gbowee herself reflected on the power of a positive focus. “As I got angrier and more bitter, I realized there was no way I could do the work … no new ideas were coming, because I wasn’t thinking anymore,” she said. Disconnected from love, we are estranged from our own creativity.
On August 3, 2003, peace agreements were signed, and a transitional government moved into place, supported by peacekeeping forces from the UN. But “peace is a process. It is not an event,” one woman narrates. “When the guns are put down, we have to continue to build the peace. We have to accept our combatants into our midst. We cannot hold it against them.”
I’m convinced that the early work these women did in coming together made what came next possible. With their energy free from conflict between factions, these women co-created a new habit amongst themselves – seeing the humanity in one another regardless of differences.
“Sometimes, I’m on the opposite side to forgive these guys. But again, I say to myself, ‘How can we move on if we do not forgive?’ says Vaiba.
“I was angry with the perpetrators. These ex-child soldiers. But when I started working with them [footage shows the young men playing together, many of them missing limbs], I realized that a lot of them were as much victim as we were,” said Leymah, a social worker by trade. The hard-won forgiveness of these women rippled through their ranks quickly – if they nursed their sense of wrong-doing a moment too long, they could miss their opportunity to steward a new beginning.
Again, the women focused. Disarmament was possible only with their support. “We love you, drop your guns,” read one of their signs. After one botched attempt at disarmament, the UN accepted their instruction about what was practical for Liberia’s unique situation. Many of the rebel men talked one-to-one with the women. “They are our mothers,” the rebels said and often gave up their guns directly in this outreach.
The women worked to support a democratic election so peace would be ensured. “We campaigned [even] in the night,” said Vaida. “We campaigned til we forgot that we could even be raped.” Fearless. No energy lost to anger, resistance. Fueled by love alone.
On January 17, 2006, Liberia became the first African country to elect a woman president, Ellen Johnson Sirleaf. “If we had not had different women from different walks of life banding together, we may not have been able to solve the problem,” one woman said. I think this is the crux of it. With hearts broken open, these women bonded across barriers. Together, they focused on a seemingly impossible dream that was their only hope. With the power vested in them as caretakers, they gathered their men and their boys and demanded to be heard. Committed to peace in their hearts, peace in their community, and peace in their country, these women found compassion for all. And in that compassion, an unbelievable new tomorrow was born.
Let this be a lesson to us.