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Nonfiction, Biography, History, Memoir, Politics, Feminism, Africa, Book Club, War, Liberia
Book
Paperback
2011
Beast Books
English
0984295151
0984295151
9780984295159
PDF | EPUB
In the darkest days of Liberia's brutal civil war, when warlords seemed invincible and violence reigned supreme, an unlikely hero emerged. Leymah Gbowee, a trauma counselor and mother of four, transformed her personal pain into a powerful force for peace. Standing fearlessly in the face of unimaginable violence, she united Muslim and Christian women across ethnic divides to demand an end to the bloodshed that had devastated their nation for fourteen years. "We are tired of war," she declared, as thousands of women dressed in white sat for peace day after day under the scorching African sun. Gbowee's journey from an ordinary Liberian girl to Nobel Peace Prize laureate reveals how profound transformation can emerge from the depths of trauma and despair. Her story illuminates the extraordinary power of women's solidarity, the effectiveness of nonviolent resistance, and the potential for grassroots movements to alter the course of history. Through her unflinching courage and strategic vision, Gbowee demonstrates how even the most marginalized voices can become instruments of profound change when they refuse to be silenced. Her life stands as a testament to the possibilities that emerge when ordinary people reclaim their power and demand justice in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.
Leymah Gbowee was born in central Liberia in 1972, into a relatively comfortable middle-class family. Her early childhood was marked by stability and promise. Her father worked as a technician for the National Security Agency, while her mother was a pharmacist. Young Leymah enjoyed the freedoms of a peaceful childhood in Monrovia, playing kickball with neighborhood children and dreaming of becoming a doctor. She was a bright student with high ambitions, attending one of Monrovia's best private schools. "I was the pretty, smart Gbowee daughter, the promising student, the good girl who did everything right," she would later recall of her early years. This world of possibility came crashing down on New Year's Eve 1989, when rebel forces led by Charles Taylor invaded Liberia from neighboring Côte d'Ivoire, igniting what would become one of Africa's most devastating civil wars. Within months, Leymah's family was forced to flee their home as violence engulfed the nation. The conflict would eventually claim over 250,000 lives, displace millions, and reduce much of Liberia's infrastructure to rubble. For Leymah, then just 17, the war disrupted her education and shattered her dreams of attending university. The horrors Leymah witnessed during the conflict would leave deep psychological scars. She saw neighbors murdered, communities destroyed, and experienced the terror of scrambling for safety as mortars fell. "I learned that a whole generation of young men had no idea who they were without a gun in their hands," she reflected. "Several generations of women were widowed, had been raped, seen their daughters and mothers raped, and their children kill and be killed." The experience of living amid such violence fundamentally transformed Leymah's understanding of her country and her place in it. Like many Liberians, Leymah and her family were forced into refugee camps. They escaped to Ghana on an overcrowded Nigerian freighter, enduring a harrowing journey marked by sickness, filth, and desperation. In the Buduburam refugee camp, they struggled with hunger and poverty. To survive, Leymah sold donuts and did whatever work she could find. These experiences of displacement and hardship would later inform her understanding of war's disproportionate impact on women and children. Amid the chaos, Leymah entered into a relationship with an abusive man named Daniel. By age 25, she had four children and was trapped in a cycle of domestic violence and poverty. This personal suffering compounded the trauma of war. Yet even in her darkest moments, something within her refused to surrender hope. "I was learning how to lean and depend on Jesus," she recalls of this period. The seeds of her later activism were being planted through her own experience of vulnerability and resilience in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Despite overwhelming circumstances, Leymah began to rebuild her life. With the support of her mother and sister Geneva, who helped care for her children, she returned to school to study social work. This opportunity to continue her education marked a crucial turning point, offering a path forward amid the ongoing instability. "I loved stretching my mind," she wrote of returning to learning. Education became not just a personal accomplishment but a form of resistance against the destruction that surrounded her.
Leymah's journey from victim to activist began when she started working with the Trauma Healing and Reconciliation Program (THRP) in Liberia. The program aimed to help communities heal from the psychological wounds of war through workshops and community engagement. Initially volunteering to fulfill requirements for her social work degree, she soon discovered her natural gift for connecting with traumatized populations. Her supervisor, Reverend Bartholomew Bioh Colley, quickly recognized her potential and became her mentor, challenging her to think more deeply about the root causes of Liberia's conflict. One of Leymah's most difficult assignments was working with former child soldiers. Many were amputees, traumatized, and ostracized by society. "Taylor's boys," as they were called, had committed terrible atrocities while high on drugs and alcohol. Despite their horrific past, Leymah developed compassion for these young men who had been exploited and discarded. "You couldn't forgive them for all the evil they'd done," she reflected, "but I did come to feel pity and compassion." This work with perpetrators gave her crucial insights into the cycle of violence and the possibility of rehabilitation. A transformative moment came when Leymah facilitated a workshop exclusively for women in Liberia's security forces. When the standard agenda failed to engage participants, she improvised a nighttime session where women could speak freely about their experiences. For five hours, by candlelight, they shared stories of abuse, discrimination, and hardship, often saying, "This is the first time I have ever told this story." Leymah recognized something powerful in this unburdening: "I had found a way for us to squeeze out the trauma that women so often held inside," she later wrote. This approach of creating safe spaces for women to share their pain would become a cornerstone of her future peace activism. Leymah's personal growth paralleled her professional development. After years of abuse, she finally found the courage to leave her relationship with Daniel. With her sister Geneva caring for her children, she rented a small apartment in Monrovia and focused on rebuilding her life. Though she struggled financially, earning just $100 a month at THRP, this independence was vital. "I was happy having my own space," she reflected. Her increased confidence and developing leadership skills began to attract attention from others in the peace-building community. In 2001, Leymah's path converged with Thelma Ekiyor, a Nigerian lawyer who had a vision for a women's peace-building network in West Africa. Their chance meeting at a conference in Ghana proved fateful. Despite their different backgrounds – Thelma was university-educated and sophisticated while Leymah was struggling to complete her associate's degree – they formed an immediate bond. Thelma saw in Leymah a natural leader with untapped potential. "You're using only 50 percent of what you have!" she once told her. Under Thelma's mentorship, Leymah began traveling to regional conferences, developing her knowledge of conflict resolution theory and building connections across West Africa. This period of mentorship and growth culminated when Thelma selected Leymah to coordinate the Liberia chapter of the Women in Peacebuilding Network (WIPNET). Though some established women's rights activists questioned her qualifications, Leymah embraced the opportunity. The appointment marked her transition from social worker to peace activist, from helping victims cope with war's aftermath to organizing women to demand peace itself. "It was like everything was happening so fast, there was no time to sit back and feel any pleasure," she recalled of this period. "Look at what we've done!"
By 2002, Charles Taylor's government was facing renewed rebel attacks, and fighting was once again spreading throughout Liberia. The Women in Peacebuilding Network (WIPNET), under Leymah's leadership, launched a strategic campaign to mobilize Liberian women for peace. Their initial "Peace Outreach Project" was revolutionary in its approach. Three days a week for six months, WIPNET members went to markets, mosques, and churches throughout Monrovia with a simple message: "Liberian women, awake for peace!" They distributed flyers declaring, "WE ARE TIRED! WE ARE TIRED OF OUR CHILDREN BEING KILLED! WE ARE TIRED OF BEING RAPED!" What made Leymah's organizing approach unique was her insistence on inclusivity across religious, ethnic, and class divides. In a country where Muslims and Christians had traditionally remained separate in their activism, she orchestrated an unprecedented alliance. When religious differences threatened unity, Leymah created workshops where women could recognize their shared experiences. "Write your titles on this sheet of paper," she instructed participants. "I am locking them away. We are not lawyers, activists or wives here. We are not Christians or Muslims. We are only women." This approach proved transformative, helping women see beyond religious identity to their common humanity. The movement grew steadily, bolstered by Leymah's natural charisma and strategic thinking. She developed a slogan that resonated deeply: "Does the bullet know Christian from Muslim? Does the bullet pick and choose?" By December 2002, WIPNET shocked Monrovia with a march of two hundred women down the city's main boulevard – Christians in traditional lappa dresses alternating with Muslims in headscarves. This visible display of interfaith solidarity captured public attention and demonstrated the potential power of women's collective action. As violence escalated in early 2003, Leymah's leadership was tested. When fighting broke out near Monrovia, WIPNET women gathered to strategize. They decided to issue a public statement demanding "The women of Liberia want peace now!" Leymah's vision for nonviolent resistance crystallized into what became known as the "Mass Action for Peace." Inspired by a dream in which she heard a voice commanding her to "gather the women to pray for peace," she mobilized women to sit in public protest, dressed in white, on a field near Monrovia's fish market – directly on the route President Taylor traveled daily. The logistics of maintaining a continuous protest were daunting. Women came from displacement camps miles away, many sacrificing their market businesses to participate. They sat in scorching heat and torrential rain, refusing shelter so their suffering would remain visible. "When a battle breaks out," they explained to concerned onlookers, "there's no time to grab an umbrella." Leymah organized committees to handle different aspects of the protest, from transportation to communication, while maintaining strict discipline among participants. Only non-partisan peace messaging was permitted, and Leymah served as the sole spokesperson to ensure consistency. Despite the risks of opposing Taylor's brutal regime, the women persisted. When Taylor finally agreed to meet with them on April 23, 2003, Leymah delivered a powerful statement: "The women of Liberia, including the displaced, we are tired of war. We are tired of running. We are tired of begging for bulgur wheat. We are tired of our children being raped. We are now taking this stand to secure the future of our children." Her words captured the moral authority of women who had suffered immensely yet refused to surrender to despair. Taylor, clearly taken aback, promised to attend peace talks. The women's strategy extended beyond public protest. When peace negotiations were scheduled in Ghana that June, Leymah led a delegation to ensure women's voices would be heard. While they weren't initially invited to participate, they established a constant presence outside the negotiation venue. Their persistence elevated the women's demands on the international stage and placed unprecedented pressure on all parties to reach an agreement. By maintaining their stance for peace without taking political sides, they achieved a moral authority that neither the government nor rebel factions could claim.
The women's peace movement faced enormous challenges beyond the obvious dangers of confronting armed factions. Internal divisions threatened their unity as established women's organizations sometimes viewed WIPNET with suspicion. Some accused Leymah of seeking personal glory rather than collective progress. "This has always been all about you!" one woman shouted during a heated meeting. "You were nobody before this!" These accusations stung deeply, particularly as Leymah sacrificed time with her children to sustain the movement. Yet she persisted, recognizing that the cause transcended individual concerns. Financial struggles constantly threatened to derail their efforts. The daily protests required money for transportation, water, and basic supplies. With little institutional support, the women relied on small donations from community members, even soldiers and government workers who secretly supported their cause. Leymah stretched every dollar, sometimes using her own limited funds to keep the movement afloat. "What most organizations go through in a month, you make last a year," she observed of women's activism. Despite these constraints, their determination never wavered. The personal cost to Leymah was substantial. Her children were living in Ghana with her sister Geneva for safety, and the separation was agonizing. When she called home, she sometimes heard her children playing games she had never witnessed or celebrating achievements she had missed. During one traumatic period, her son Arthur fell and needed stitches; she could hear him screaming in pain over the phone but could not hold him. "If I'd had to do it again, I'm not sure what I could have changed," she later reflected. "I still don't see what other options I had." As the war intensified in mid-2003, the situation became increasingly desperate. Despite a ceasefire agreement signed in Ghana, Taylor's forces clashed with rebels in battles so horrific they became known as "World Wars I, II, and III." Tens of thousands sought shelter in Monrovia's stadiums and public buildings. Disease spread through crowded camps as food supplies dwindled. The women of WIPNET continued their protest through the chaos, though their prayers increasingly shifted from praise to calls for divine retribution against those perpetuating the violence. From Ghana, where peace talks had stalled, Leymah and other WIPNET delegates received frantic calls from home describing unbearable conditions. One morning, news broke that shells had hit the U.S. embassy compound where thousands had sought shelter, killing dozens including children. Seeing footage of the aftermath, Leymah hit her breaking point. "How could I have been so stupid as to think a handful of women could stop a war?" she asked herself. "You fooled me, God." This moment of despair proved transformative, igniting a righteous fury that propelled her toward her most audacious act of resistance. Overcome with rage, Leymah mobilized about 200 women to block the entrance to the conference hall where peace talks were being held. "We are holding these delegates, especially the Liberians, hostage," she declared. "They will feel the pain of what our people are feeling at home." When security threatened to arrest her, she began removing her clothes – invoking a powerful traditional taboo in African culture, where a married or elderly woman deliberately exposing herself is considered a terrible curse. This dramatic action shocked the mediators and negotiators alike. The chief mediator, General Abdulsalami Abubakar, intervened, addressing the warlords: "If you were a real man, you wouldn't be killing your people." This confrontation marked a turning point. The atmosphere at the peace talks shifted from "circus-like to somber," and negotiations proceeded without further delay. While the women's actions weren't the only factor in ending Liberia's war, they undeniably accelerated the process. Within weeks, Charles Taylor resigned and went into exile, rebels ended their siege of Monrovia, and on August 18, 2003, all parties signed the Comprehensive Peace Agreement. When the interim president called Leymah to announce the news, saying "it happened because of you all," she knelt on her hotel room carpet and prayed in gratitude.
The Mass Action for Peace represented a revolutionary approach to civilian peacemaking. While many peace movements throughout history have organized protests, the sustained nature and strategic discipline of the Liberian women's effort distinguished it from most predecessors. Day after day, week after week, month after month, the women maintained their presence on the field near Monrovia's fish market. Their unwavering commitment demonstrated a level of determination that eventually made them impossible to ignore. The movement's success stemmed partly from its sophisticated understanding of Liberian culture and politics. The women deliberately chose white clothing to symbolize peace, creating a powerful visual statement when hundreds gathered together. They employed traditional African taboos and cultural practices as strategic tools, including the threat of a sex strike and, ultimately, Leymah's threatened self-exposure at the peace talks. These culturally resonant actions carried profound symbolic weight that transcended language barriers and commanded attention from both local and international audiences. Religious practice formed the backbone of the protest. Each day began with interfaith prayers, with Christians and Muslims taking turns leading devotions. "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want..." would be followed by "In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful..." This spiritual foundation provided both moral authority and psychological sustenance through months of hardship. Though the women came from different religious traditions, their shared spiritual conviction created a powerful solidarity that transcended doctrinal differences. The Mass Action carefully maintained political neutrality, demanding peace without explicitly supporting or opposing any faction. This stance allowed the movement to maintain moral authority and appeal to a broader constituency. While other civil society organizations were perceived as aligned with particular interests, WIPNET consistently focused on ending violence rather than determining who would hold power afterward. This neutrality protected participants from being labeled as partisan and broadened their base of support across communities. Leadership within the movement balanced centralized decision-making with grassroots participation. Leymah served as the movement's public face and strategic visionary, but implementation relied on committees and local coordinators throughout Monrovia and eventually in other counties. This structure enabled quick adaptation to changing circumstances while maintaining consistency in messaging and tactics. Evening strategy sessions allowed for collective problem-solving and ensured that diverse perspectives informed the movement's direction. Perhaps most remarkably, the women maintained nonviolent discipline throughout their campaign despite facing extreme provocation. When government soldiers killed a man to whom a protester had given rice, the women responded not with violence but with intensified protest. When mortars fell near the field where they sat, they did not flee but remained steadfast. This commitment to nonviolence in the face of brutality underscored the moral contrast between the women and the armed factions, enhancing their legitimacy in the eyes of both Liberians and international observers. The impact of the Mass Action extended far beyond the signing of the peace agreement. By demonstrating women's capacity for effective political action, the movement permanently altered gender dynamics in Liberian public life. Women who had previously seen themselves as powerless victims discovered their collective strength. One participant later reflected, "Before I joined the protest, I thought of myself as nobody – a mother, a children-mother. Now I know I am a provider, a leader, a peacemaker." This transformation in self-perception would fuel women's ongoing involvement in Liberia's reconstruction.
The Accra peace talks represented the international community's fourteenth attempt to negotiate an end to Liberia's civil war. Previous agreements had repeatedly collapsed, leaving Liberians increasingly skeptical that diplomatic efforts could succeed. When the talks began in June 2003, few expected a different outcome. The warlords seemed more interested in jockeying for positions in a future government than in genuinely pursuing peace. As Leymah observed, they treated the negotiations like "a vacation, with the international community paying for it all." Despite not being officially invited, Leymah and a small delegation of women from WIPNET traveled to Ghana determined to influence the proceedings. They established a daily protest outside the meeting venue, maintaining the same discipline and visual symbolism that had characterized their demonstrations in Monrovia. Hundreds of women in white, including many from Ghana's Liberian refugee community, surrounded the hotel where negotiations were taking place. Their signs directly challenged the moral authority of the negotiators: "BUTCHERS AND MURDERERS OF THE LIBERIAN PEOPLE—STOP!" The women developed creative tactics to maintain pressure on the delegates. They established a parallel "Liberian Women's Forum" where they discussed the proceedings and formulated responses. In the evenings, Leymah and other leaders would sit near the warlords on the hotel patio, eavesdropping on their conversations and gaining intelligence about their true intentions. When they learned that one faction leader was demanding a lucrative position as the price for peace, they created new placards reading: "KILLER OF OUR CHILDREN, YOU WILL NEVER GET THE JOB YOU WANT!" A major breakthrough came when the chief mediator, General Abdulsalami Abubakar, recognized the women's moral authority and offered them three seats at the negotiating table. In a strategic decision that surprised many, Leymah declined. "We'll stay outside," she said, explaining later that accepting would have undermined solidarity with the women of MARWOPNET who were already official observers. Instead, she proposed collaboration: MARWOPNET would share information from inside the talks, while WIPNET would use their public protests to pressure delegates who were obstructing progress. This collaboration proved effective when the negotiations stalled following Charles Taylor's indictment by a UN-backed war crimes tribunal. Taylor fled back to Liberia, and fighting intensified in Monrovia. The women in Accra continued receiving desperate calls from home describing bombardment, starvation, and mounting civilian casualties. It was in this context that Leymah led the dramatic action to block the entrance to the negotiating hall, demanding that delegates remain inside until they reached a peace agreement. What made this confrontation particularly powerful was Leymah's authentic fury. "I was so angry, I was out of my mind," she later recalled. Her threatened disrobing was not a calculated tactic but a genuine expression of outrage at the negotiators' indifference to civilian suffering. This raw emotional authenticity penetrated the diplomatic façade, forcing delegates to confront the human consequences of their political maneuvering. General Abubakar himself recognized the moral force of her position, telling the warlords, "I dare you to leave this hall until we have negotiated a peace with these women." The aftermath of this confrontation demonstrated its effectiveness. The peace talks proceeded with new urgency, and within weeks, a comprehensive agreement was signed. Charles Taylor resigned on August 11, going into exile in Nigeria. ECOWAS peacekeepers deployed to Monrovia, joined by American troops. On August 18, all factions signed the Comprehensive Peace Agreement, establishing a transitional government and setting the stage for democratic elections. When interim president Gyude Bryant called to inform Leymah of the breakthrough, he explicitly credited the women's action. The success of the women's intervention at the peace talks represented a validation of civilian peacemaking approaches. While military intervention and elite diplomacy had repeatedly failed to resolve the conflict, ordinary women acting together had provided the moral pressure necessary to break the impasse. Their achievement challenged conventional wisdom about who could effectively participate in peace processes and what methods could succeed in ending entrenched conflicts. As Leymah later observed, "The people who have lived through a terrible conflict may be hungry and desperate, but they're not stupid. They often have very good ideas about how peace can evolve."
In 2011, eight years after helping to end Liberia's civil war, Leymah Gbowee received the Nobel Peace Prize alongside Liberian President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf and Yemeni activist Tawakkol Karman. The Nobel Committee recognized their "non-violent struggle for the safety of women and for women's rights to full participation in peace-building work." For Leymah, this international recognition came after years of continuing activism throughout Africa, where she had expanded her work far beyond Liberia's borders. Following the war, Leymah faced the challenge of transitioning from protest to peace-building. Like many activists who succeed in their immediate goals, she had to determine how to channel the energy of the Mass Action into sustainable change. She chose to focus on preparing women for democratic participation, particularly through voter education. When Liberia held its first post-war elections in 2005, WIPNET launched a campaign to register women voters. Despite initial indifference from international organizations, Leymah and her colleagues documented bringing 7,477 women to register, helping shift the electorate from just 15 percent female to 51 percent. This effort contributed significantly to the historic election of Ellen Johnson Sirleaf as Africa's first female president. Leymah's vision extended beyond electoral politics. Recognizing that grassroots women needed spaces to organize locally, she initiated the "Peace Hut" program, establishing community centers where women could gather, resolve conflicts, and engage with local officials. This network of huts throughout rural Liberia provided an institutional framework for women's continued political participation. By creating physical spaces for women's organizing, Leymah ensured that the momentum of the peace movement would not dissipate once immediate crisis had passed. In 2006, Leymah co-founded the Women Peace and Security Network Africa (WIPSEN) to expand her work continentally. The organization focused on bringing women into security sector reform – addressing the gender dynamics of military, police, and border forces throughout West Africa. WIPSEN also developed programs to prevent conflicts before they erupted, rather than simply responding to crises. Through this organization, Leymah implemented successful interventions in Sierra Leone, Ghana, Nigeria, and other countries, adapting the strategies that had worked in Liberia to new contexts. The documentary "Pray the Devil Back to Hell," released in 2008, brought international attention to Leymah's work. Directed by Gini Reticker and produced by Abigail Disney, the film chronicled the Liberian women's peace movement, introducing their remarkable story to global audiences. The documentary won Best Feature Documentary at the Tribeca Film Festival and was screened worldwide, from Srebrenica to Seoul, often inspiring local women to adapt similar strategies in their own communities. As Leymah traveled with the film, she witnessed how the Liberian example resonated across cultural and political divides. Recognition brought both opportunities and challenges. Awards and speaking invitations flowed in – the John F. Kennedy Profile in Courage Award, Gruber Women's Rights Prize, numerous honorary degrees. These platforms enabled Leymah to advocate for women's inclusion in peace processes worldwide, addressing the United Nations, foreign governments, and international organizations. Yet fame also brought criticism from some former colleagues who resented her visibility. "You love the attention! You were nobody before this!" one woman accused. Leymah struggled to balance her international work with local relationships and family responsibilities. Throughout this period of global recognition, Leymah continued her personal educational journey. She completed a master's degree in conflict transformation at Eastern Mennonite University in just nine months, while supporting her family and continuing her activism. Her academic work deepened her theoretical understanding of the practical approaches she had pioneered. She articulated a philosophy of peace-building centered on addressing root causes, including women at all levels, and creating space for both victims and perpetrators to rebuild broken communities. Today, Leymah's leadership focuses increasingly on preparing the next generation. Through WIPSEN's Peace Girls Leadership Dialogue and other initiatives, she identifies and mentors young women with leadership potential. "We are building a new generation of us," she explains. In 2010, she organized Liberia's first President's Peer Review, bringing women from throughout the country to evaluate President Sirleaf's administration. The unprecedented seven-hour session, where the president simply listened to women's concerns, demonstrated how far Liberian women had come from the days when they were excluded from political discourse. As a global leader, Leymah maintains her straightforward, authentic style. At international conferences, she challenges the diplomatic niceties that often mask inaction. She speaks frankly about the hypocrisy of international institutions that pass resolutions about women's inclusion without providing resources to make it happen. "What most organizations go through in a month, you make last a year," she observes of women's peace work. This willingness to speak truth to power, combined with her practical experience, makes her an influential voice in global peace and security discussions.
Leymah Gbowee's extraordinary journey from trauma to transformation embodies the profound potential of ordinary people to create change through collective action and moral courage. When faced with the devastation of civil war, she transformed her personal pain into a movement that united women across religious and ethnic divides, ultimately helping to end fourteen years of brutal conflict in Liberia. Her approach – combining spiritual practice, strategic nonviolence, and women's solidarity – created a model for civilian peacemaking that continues to inspire movements worldwide. The legacy of Gbowee's work extends far beyond the peace agreement she helped secure. Her insistence that women belong at every table where decisions about peace and security are made has influenced international policy and practice. Through her ongoing leadership, she has demonstrated that effective peace-building must include those most affected by conflict, particularly women, who often bear its heaviest burdens. For those seeking to address seemingly intractable conflicts, Gbowee offers both practical strategies and profound inspiration: create inclusive coalitions, maintain moral clarity and discipline, and persist despite seemingly insurmountable obstacles. As she has often said, "If you have unshakable faith in yourself, in your sisters, and in the possibility of change, you can do almost anything." Her life stands as testament to the truth of these words.
“The person who hurt you--who raped you or killed your family--is also here. If you are still angry at that person, if you haven't been able to forgive, you are chained to him. Everyone could feel the emotional truth of that: When someone offends you and you haven't let go, every time you see him, you grow breathless or your heart skips a beat. If the trauma was really severe, you dream of revenge. Above you, is the Mountain of Peace and Prosperity where we all want to go. But when you try to climb that hill, the person you haven't forgiven weighs you down. It's a personal choice whether or not to let go. No one can tell you how long to mourn a death or rage over a rape. But you can't move forward until you break that chain.” ― Leymah Gbowee, Mighty Be Our Powers: How Sisterhood, Prayer, and Sex Changed a Nation at War
Strengths: The reviewer acknowledges Leymah Gbowee's personal account of the Liberian war, noting the unimaginable atrocities she describes.\nWeaknesses: The review criticizes the book for its lack of depth in exploring major events, instead offering only brief glimpses into numerous memories. The focus on acronyms and program names is seen as detracting from the core narrative. Additionally, the reviewer expresses disappointment in the lack of character development, particularly regarding the people in Gbowee's life and her relationship with her children.\nOverall Sentiment: Critical\nKey Takeaway: The reviewer feels that "Mighty Be Our Powers" lacks depth and focus, with an overemphasis on program details and insufficient exploration of key events and personal relationships, resulting in an unmotivational reading experience.
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By Leymah Gbowee