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As we mark Easter, we reflect on Jesus’ death and resurrection—and what it means for those of us walking alongside people who have been condemned, cast aside, and confined.
Easter begins in the dark. With silence. With waiting. Between Good Friday and Sunday morning lies a space of deep uncertainty. A place of disorientation. This is liminal space—the in-between.
At Justice Defenders, this is where we live and work. Liminal space isn’t symbolic for our community. It’s real. It’s lived. Every day.
We see it on death row. In classrooms behind bars. We see it in those stripped of freedom, choosing to teach, to defend, to lead. In those the world has condemned, choosing still to hope.
Prison is designed to strip people of authority—the capacity for meaningful action. It imposes vulnerability—exposure to meaningful risk. And yet, in these harsh conditions, we witness flourishing1. Not because circumstances improve, but because people step into suffering with love. They build communities. They serve each other. They lead from within. That’s what we seek to nurture at Justice Defenders: the conditions for life to emerge—even in the hardest places.
I saw it when I first stepped onto death row in Uganda at 18 and witnessed condemned prisoners teaching each other Geography on the stairs by the gallows. I’ve seen it ever since—in law graduates behind bars and in our paralegals who defend others with courage and grace.
Justice Defenders is a community marked by both brokenness and beauty—those who’ve perpetrated injustice and those who hunger for justice. Some of us are imprisoned. Some are free. And yet, we are united by the belief that justice can be defended from the margins. That hope and dignity can rise, even from the gallows.
This is the heart of the Easter story. When all seemed lost, when the world had cast judgment and turned away, Jesus entered into the deepest vulnerability—condemned and mocked on the cross. And from that place of suffering, he rose with ultimate authority—not to dominate, but to redeem.
That is the hope that sustains us: that in the most unlikely places, justice and life can emerge. That in deep division, unity is possible. That in weakness, we find strength.
To all those in liminal space—because of imprisonment, grief, uncertainty, or injustice—we say: we are with you. We wait with you. And we hope with you. Trusting in the promise of resurrection and moving forward—together—toward new life.
Blessed Easter.