Resistance

A couple of weeks ago I traveled to New York City to see Anne Frank: The Exhibition at the Center for Jewish History. The exhibit built slowly, culminating in a true-to-life replica of the cramped attic where Anne and seven others lived in hiding for two years. Listening to how Hitler consolidated power within just six months of taking office was sobering. I became anxious as I recognized the parallels to today’s political climate. But Anne never lost hope during those two years. Her act of hiding was itself resistance.  And when the war ended and her diary was discovered, her father Otto Frank carried that resistance forward for the rest of his life, ensuring the world would hear her voice. Her words, have been translated into more than 75 languages. 

Later that day, I went to the Whitney Museum to see the Amy Sherald: Sublime exhibit (the artist who painted Michelle Obama’s official portrait) and fell in love with her again, her work and her powerful message of resistance. Her portraiture which captures the ordinary, yet invisible, lives of African Americans is unapologetic. Each portrait conveys a sense of resilience, strength and dignity. Being seen without compromise. And then, the fact that Sherald has pulled her exhibit from the Smithsonian in protest against censorship, another act of resistance, deepened my admiration. 

I am drawn to stories of resistance. My favorite novel of all time being The Nightingale and my most recent read, A Women of No Importance, about Virgina Hall’s remarkable (and unacknowledged) role in the French resistance during WW II. They remind me of the inner strength it takes to push back against fear, oppression, and silence. The courage it takes to resist.

On the train home I reflected on ways I am resisting. I resist by not giving in to fear. I resist by speaking up. I resist by helping others find their own strength. I resist by making plans and not putting my head in the sand. And I resist through my art, by creating art as a quiet place for myself and a space where others can feel seen and empowered. 

But it does not feel like enough. I need to do more. I need to carry Anne Frank and Amy Sherald with me, not just as inspiration but as daily companions, reminders that resistance is fragile and fierce. I need to remember that resistance is not only about great acts in history, but also about the daily, deliberate choices to hope, to create, to stand, and to keep going. 

And so, I left New York City not only moved but charged, with the sense that my own resistance must grow louder, braver, and more enduring.