Tag: racism

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Politics

Understanding White Privilege

I just read this quote from Maya Angelou: “I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better I do better.”

Sometimes understanding a subject is a long process and requires experience beyond one’s own narrow world. One of those subjects for me is white privilege.

I don’t normally share this much personal information with anyone, but since these are the least normal times I’ve ever lived through, I am sharing my story in the hope that it may help others reach a place of empathy sooner than I did.

My life as a child was not privileged by anyone’s standards. My father left our family when I was ten and my sister was eight. My mother worked 48 hours each week at a local hamburger joint to keep us meagerly clothed and fed. I can remember asking for something that cost fifty cents and my mother replying that seemed like a fortune to her. For perspective, 50 cents went a lot further then than it does now, but even then it was not a huge sum in most people’s budgets.

We lived in a four-room apartment that would have fit into some of the living rooms I’ve had as an adult. The apartment was part of a concrete block building that was built to house military families after World War II. Most families lived there temporarily, just long enough to get back on their feet after their wage earner returned from active duty. We lived there eleven years; I was 17 when we moved out, into another low-rent apartment. Since that one was close to downtown and was a converted house, however, it felt posh by comparison.

So, absentee father–check. Tired, frustrated, angry mother–check. Being socially shunned as the child of a “divorcee” who lived in a neighborhood others hesitated to walk through–check. Never having enough money to feel secure–check.

Doesn’t sound much like a life of privilege. The black kids I knew had intact families and lived in real houses. They could afford to participate in activities I could only dream of affording. Their lives seemed so far above mine that for many years I couldn’t figure out how they could possibly be deemed less privileged than I was.

What I can understand and appreciate now is that when it came time for me to apply for college, my only concern was finding one I could afford, since I’d be paying my own way. Never once did I have to consider that I might be rejected solely on the basis of my skin color. That’s privilege.

As a young adult, I never had to be afraid to shop for a home, apply for a mortgage, or move into a neighborhood because I might be rejected by angry neighbors anxious about what my presence would do to their property values. That’s privilege.

Never once in my life have I been denied admission to a restaurant, theater, museum, restroom, library, or park because I have the wrong skin color. That’s privilege.

As a young mother, I never had to be concerned that my children would be denied admission to any of those places because they had the wrong skin color. That’s privilege.

When my two sons were teenagers, they gave me many reasons to worry, but not once did I worry about their being bullied or brutalized because of their skin color. I never had to fear for their lives because they were wearing hoodies, jogging, playing in a park, taking a walk in our own neighborhood, or driving home from dinner. Now that they’re grown men, I still worry about them a little but never because doing any of these things might cost them their lives. That’s privilege.

When my sons were out late at night and had missed curfew (pretty much every Friday and Saturday), being admittedly a bit of a Nervous Nellie, I usually went straight to visualizing them dead in a ditch somewhere. Not once, however, did I picture them detained by police officers or accused of a crime just because they had the wrong look. That’s privilege.

If one of my sons ever attempts to make a purchase using a counterfeit bill, I may kill him, but I don’t believe a police officer would. Therefore, chances are remote that I will ever have to spend my remaining days with the haunting mental image of my precious son (regardless how flawed) handcuffed, face down on the pavement, while a police officer has a knee on my son’s neck and a smirk on his own despicable face. Never will I live tormented by the sound of my son’s voice echoing in my head “I can’t breathe” and crying out “Mama.” That is blessed, blessed privilege.

I have three white grandsons who will enjoy the same privilege my sons have enjoyed. I and their parents are striving to raise them to understand that privilege, never to take it for granted, and to use their advantage to better the lives of those not so fortunate. That’s privilege.

Privilege is not always determined by financial assets and security. That’s part of it, but it’s not the whole. People of color can be extremely wealthy yet still live with the fact that their skin color will always influence what they can do, where they can go, and in what places they will be accepted.

People of color will always live looking over their shoulders. Honest men of color will know they are feared when in public and will instinctively learn to take measures to protect themselves. Some people of color live with the fear of deportation, never able to settle into a peaceful life.

Mothers with children of color live constantly on tiptoe, wondering whether this will be the moment their lives change forever, because some private citizen or police officer passed judgment on their son or daughter based solely on the amount of melanin in their skin and decided their child’s life was worth less than the need to calm the white person’s cowardly and  irrational fear.

There is no such thing as black privilege. There is no single thing which people of color get to do just because they’re black or brown. Dark skin opens no doors, affords no advantages. If a program such as Affirmative Action gives preference in specific situations to qualified people of color, it’s only because white people have been assholes for so long that something must be done to level the playing field. It’s not just because they’re black.

After the events of the last two weeks–following the murder of George Floyd– no one can claim not to know better. So now that we know, we owe it to the thousands of black men and women, who have been wrongly killed during the 401 years since we abducted them from their homeland and brought them here in chains, to do better. Much better.

BLACK LIVES MATTER.

Categories
Politics

Racist Is as Racist Does

Everyone is familiar with the words of that immortal philosopher Forrest Gump: “Stupid is as stupid does.” My mother had a similar saying which she used any time she felt we were placing too much emphasis on trying to make ourselves physically attractive: “Pretty is as pretty does.” Both sentiments serve to state what seems too obvious even to need saying: what we do is who we are. Talk is cheap. Words can be deceptive. My mother also frequently reminded us “Actions speak louder than words.” Another well-known teacher, Jesus, said it this way: “ You will know them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thorns, or figs from thistles?  In the same way, every good tree bears good fruit, but the bad tree bears bad fruit” (Matthew 7:16-17).

In the current war of words over who is racist and who isn’t, what we’re learning is that in today’s political climate, the word “racist” is more offensive than the racially biased actions are. A person who says racially degrading things may be described as unwise, crude, or careless; but anyone who calls him racist is the real villain. It’s considered racist to call out a prejudiced person and give a name to the person’s actions. We’re lost in a maze of circular reasoning, with no sign of finding our way out any time soon.

One of the reasons we’re not going to find a quick or easy solution to our nation’s polarization is the nature of today’s “conservative” movement.

Donald Trump’s supporters fall into three main categories, as I see it: white nationalists, evangelicals, and the types of people who are most likely to join a cult. As diverse as those three categories may seem, they actually have several common characteristics. Essential to survival for all of them is maintaining an us vs. them mentality. For the white nationalists, it’s white people (specifically white men) vs. everyone of color; for evangelicals, it’s the real Christians (as they see themselves) vs. nonbelievers, Muslims, and Christians who have a different view of Christianity than they have. They are God’s chosen; they are the insiders. For the cultists, it’s the members vs. the outsiders, obviously. But it’s worth enumerating here the characteristics which make people prone to joining cults and the fulfillment they find in membership.

Carolyn Steber (June 21, 2018 on Bustle.com) lists these nine personality traits as the primary markers of those most likely to join cults: wanting to feel validated, seeking an identity, being a follower (as opposed to a leader), seeking meaning, having schizotypal thinking (more on that in a moment), being highly suggestible (falling for conspiracy theories, e.g.), constantly blaming others, having very low self-worth. Important note, Ms. Steber defines “schizotypal thinking” as “walking along the edge of schizophrenia, without actually having the delusions or disconnection from society that’s associated with the disorder”–yet still falling prey to “alien-type,” “conspiracy-type,” or “supernatural-type” beliefs.

I think the cult-like nature of Trump’s base has been well established, but when you add in the characteristics of the people who are attracted to cults, you have a pretty clear picture of who these followers are and the futility of trying to reason with them.

A second distinctive which all three legs of the Trump Base share is reverence for authoritarian leaders. White nationalists, evangelicals, and cult members all exhibit fanatical devotion to their grand exalted leaders, even at times following the leader into their own graves.

A third distinctive, and the one which makes the currently existing critical mass of these types most problematic, is the utter lack of reason in their thinking and their actions. All are taught to accept only what they hear within the group; outsiders are the enemy and are out to steal their brains and deceive them into denying their allegiance to the group. Attempting to present facts or to reason with them has the adverse effect of causing them to cling more fervently to the ideas with which they have been brainwashed. The person attempting to engage them in discourse and expose them to logic becomes the face of the enemy who is trying to lead them astray from the truth. When you consider what’s lost by leaving a cult (one’s identity, validation, meaning, and self-worth), it’s not hard to understand why members cling so frantically to their membership.

A fourth distinctive shared by these three groups is fear: fear of losing their racial majority, fear of going to hell, or fear of being disconnected from the social order. Fear keeps them loyal, keeps them chanting, keeps them deceived, because listening to reason would lead to having to completely revamp their world view and let go of their safety net. And that’s scary for anyone.

All three of these groups, in their fervent devotion to their authoritarian leader, will defend that leader against all critics, no matter how outrageous the leader’s actions. This is how it becomes acceptable for a fascist dictator to tell women of color to go back where they came from, even though they came from here, but not okay to give a name to his statements and his attitudes. Those who do call a spade a spade become the enemy because they have assaulted the untouchable, so they are in fact the ones who are prejudiced.

But racist is as racist does, so here’s what racists do. You may be a racist if . . . Wait, no, you ARE a racist if . . .

. . . you think there are degrees of citizenship.

The United States of America was founded on this premise, written by Thomas Jefferson as the introduction to our declaration that we were claiming our rightful place as an independent nation:

“We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.”

What does it mean for a truth to be self-evident? It means it is or should be obvious; it doesn’t need explanation, justification, or defense. It just is. In other words, Thomas Jefferson was not stating ideas or personal opinions; he was putting into words a fundamental principle: there are no degrees of humanity. Of course, we can’t escape the fact that Jefferson’s definition of “all men” was different from ours. It didn’t include black men, and it didn’t mean all humans; it literally meant men, not women. However, as enlightened citizens a couple of centuries later, when we say “All men are created equal,” we mean all human beings. To believe differently assigns degrees of humanity, and assigning people of color to a lower caste is racist, because racism is a form of prejudice, and prejudice is the prejudgment of people based on a particular characteristic. When that characteristic is race, the judgment is racist.

The rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, according to Jefferson, are given by our Creator (more room for discussion there, but let’s save that for later); they are not given by the government, and because they are “unalienable rights,” they can’t be taken away by the government. Depriving certain people of their God-given rights because of their race is a racist act. Causing certain citizens to feel “less than” because of their race is a racist act; placing certain citizens’ lives in danger because of their race and because your fanatical followers have been so whipped into a frenzy that they say a woman of color “deserves a round” is racist, dangerous, and evil.

. . . you agree with and defend other people’s racist statements.

Spreading dangerous and degrading attitudes requires the cooperation of many people, not all of whom agree with the attitudes being spread but some of whom lack the courage to take a stand against them. We have as a culture too long held the belief that discussing politics in polite company is inappropriate. Conventional wisdom teaches that in social gatherings, at Thanksgiving dinner, in school classrooms, and in church, politics and religion are taboo (with the obvious exception of discussing religion at church). In the 21st century, add social media to that list. Make too many political posts and see what happens to your friends list.

Politics is life; it’s our communal beliefs about how we join ourselves into a civil body, how we relate to each other within that body, and how our government should facilitate our peaceful and harmonious existence. How did those subjects become taboo? They should be discussed frequently, and what better places than with family, friends, faith community, and educational institutions. Why can’t a family have a rational conversation around the Thanksgiving dinner table without its ending in a mashed-potato fight? Why can’t a minister point out ungodly government actions without expecting a tirade from a parishioner as he greets people at the door, an angry Monday-morning phone call, or a letter of notification that some parishioners have found a different congregation where they’re not challenged to think about matters of national importance?

. . . you treat people differently–or excuse their inequitable treatment–depending on their race, color, religion, country of origin, or length of residence in the U. S.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Ayanna Pressley, Rashida Tlaib, and Ilhan Omar are citizens of the United States of America. Representative Ocasio-Cortez was born in the Bronx, New York; her father was also born in the Bronx, and her mother was born in Puerto Rico, which–contrary to Donald Trump’s belief–means she also was born a citizen. Representative Pressley was born in Cincinnati, Ohio, and raised on the north side of Chicago. Does it get more American than that? Representative Tlaib was born in Detroit to Palestinian immigrants, making her the first generation of her family to be born in the U.S. Representative Omar was born in Mogadishu and lived in Somalia until forced to flee to escape the war. The family arrived in New York in 1992 and were granted asylum, when Ms. Omar was ten years old. The family moved around a bit before settling in Minneapolis. Of the four young elected officials who have been the objects of unprecedented vicious attacks by the POTUS, Ms. Omar is the only one who is not native born; she has, however, been a naturalized citizen since 2000, when she was 17 years old. In addition to her skin color and foreign birth making her a target, she also wears the hijab in respect to her Muslim faith.

Donald Trump is only the second generation of Trumps born on American soil. His grandparents migrated here from Germany. On his mother’s side, he is the first generation native born; she was from Scotland. In other words, his roots in this country don’t go deep. He has been married to two immigrants: Ivana from Czechoslovakia (now the Czech Republic) and Melania from Yugoslavia (now Slovenia). Melania, the First Lady of the United States, migrated here in 1996, a mere 23 years ago. She became a citizen in 2006, a mere 13 years ago. A recent Huff Post article points out that Ilhan Omar has been a citizen six years longer than Melania Trump has, yet so far, Donald has not ordered Melania back to where she came from.

When the person who holds the highest office in our land goes on an unprecedented rampage against four young elected officials, the fact that all four are people of color can’t be a coincidence. To say that he is not motivated by racism is to be either mentally deficient (using my nice words) or so blindly devoted as to be incapable of admitting the obvious. Maybe both.

. . . you ignore or reject the legal parameters governing interaction with people of different race and different national origin.

The U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission makes it illegal to discriminate against anyone because of the person’s national origin:

“It is unlawful to harass a person because of his or her national origin. Harassment can include, for example, offensive or derogatory remarks about a person’s national origin, accent or ethnicity. Although the law doesn’t prohibit simple teasing, offhand comments, or isolated incidents that are not very serious, harassment is illegal when it is so frequent or severe that it creates a hostile or offensive work environment or when it results in an adverse employment decision (such as the victim being fired or demoted).

The harasser can be the victim’s supervisor, a supervisor in another area, a co-worker, or someone who is not an employee of the employer, such as a client or customer.”

Based on that definition, Donald Trump’s protracted attacks on those four women would get him fired from Applebee’s, Macy’s, or Walmart. We’ve reached a sad stage in our history when the qualifications for POTUS are lower than for a supervisory position at McDonalds.

We’re in a mess, and we’re not getting out of it any time soon, but complacency is a luxury we can ill afford right now. Truth is our only refuge during troubled times, and we must keep proclaiming it. Silence is complicity.

“We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Wherever men and women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must – at that moment – become the center of the universe.”

Elie Wiesel, Holocaust survivor

Categories
In the News

Don’t Be Fooled by False Narratives

Since long before human beings began to write or even to develop alphabets, they told stories, the earliest of which are recorded in the form of cave drawings. Later, around campfires, oral literature began to be created and transmitted; by the time the written language was ready to record stories for all time, there was already a body of oral literature waiting to be set to paper. Then came the printing press, and then came social media; so now, as things happen to us during the day, we’re already mentally composing our social media story to be sent out as soon as we have a free moment or as soon as the boss isn’t looking.

Story telling is as integral a part of being human as eating, sleeping, and the other necessities of survival. In fact, stories—or narratives—are themselves among the necessities of survival. In addition to fictional narratives in the form of novels, short stories, movies, and TV shows that entertain us and offer a few moments of escape into another world, narratives form the underpinnings of our belief systems and our relationships to our fellow humans. They connect us to our fellow humans and determine how we will relate to them. Every culture has its stories, shared by its members and passed from one generation to the next.

Most countries of the world have a story about children receiving gifts in the month of December; but the character who delivers the gifts, the type of gifts delivered, and the method of transportation for the gift giver vary widely from one culture to another. Our American Santa Claus, as we all know, is a jolly old white-bearded, red-suited guy who circles the globe in a single night, propelled through the sky by eight reindeer, and who goes down every single chimney in the world and leaves gifts for every child. Never mind that such a feat would actually take several years and a team of workers instead of a single night and one overweight guy surviving on cookies, this story has fascinated children for hundreds of years and underlies some of the most cherished memories of all of our childhoods.

In Iceland, thirteen mischievous creatures known as the Yule Lads deliver the gifts. In Norway, Finland, and Sweden, the Tomte are small, gnomish creatures who may travel by sleigh, but the sleigh doesn’t fly; and instead of living at the North Pole, they are said to live in the woods surrounding people’s houses. In Italy, the Befana is a witch-like character who also flies around the world but on a broomstick instead of a sleigh; legend has it that she is a kind character who provided food and shelter to the three wise men on their journey to visit the Baby Jesus. Name the location, and there is yet another legend, and all form part of the fabric of the shared experiences of that culture.

Stories are an important part of our human efforts to explain and make sense of the world we live in. Creation stories attempt to answer questions about how the world came to be and how we came to live here. Stories of gods and goddesses who are always raising a ruckus, engaging in plenty of shenanigans, and acting out their petty disagreements offer primitive explanations of things such as weather, human emotions, and other natural phenomena. Biblical writers used stories to explain and illustrate human relationships and try to steer us toward right relationships with ourselves and others. Family stories unite members and give us a sense of identity and pride in those whose DNA we share and carry on.

In June of this year, a movie was released—The Free State of Jones—about a Civil War story involving my great great grandfather Jasper Collins. He has always been a legend in my family, and now his story—and the story of his comrades—has been told to the whole world. Through reading the book and seeing the movie, I have learned even more about Jasper than I learned from my family; and I have an increased sense of pride in knowing that I am descended from such a great man.

Because stories are such an enormous part of our personal, family, and cultural identity, they’re not easily changed or let go. The Santa Claus story never made a lot of sense; there were always doubts and questions, especially among those of us who didn’t have chimneys. Yet we rationalized and dreamed and held onto that story, even when we began hearing whispers among our classmates at school that Santa was not real. Angrily, we dug in our heels and declared “I believe!” as the evidence continued to mount and the pressure to let go escalated. But if we let go of Santa, what else might we have to let go of? Would the Bunny be next to get the axe? Or what if it was something even more serious? What other parts of our shared lore might also be false?

This is my second post about stories, or narratives, because they are such an integral part of who we are and what we believe. Even though stories are not always factual, they are always part of our truth. Santa Claus, a magical sleigh, eight flying reindeer, and a large toy manufacturer at the North Pole are not facts; but in our childish minds, they were the most sacred truth. And our belief in those things was enough to induce us to be on our best behavior throughout the year so as to avoid ending up on the “naughty list” come Christmas time. Our belief steered our behavior.

What other narratives drive our behavior? What other narratives, not backed by fact, but believed as truth in the deepest parts of our beings, cause us to treat others in inhumane, immoral, and unethical ways? And how do those narratives then justify the wrong we’ve committed?

Throughout history, whenever one people group have wanted to exploit or persecute another, they’ve first had to give themselves permission to do so by creating a narrative that justifies the abuse. Hitler could not have carried out his agenda to create a perfect blonde-haired, blue-eyed Aryan race without attempting to eliminate or weaken the parts of the human race that didn’t fit his plan; and eliminating those unwanted humans required a narrative to justify the action. A passage from his well-known book Mein Kampf, which makes frequent references to the “filthy Jew,”  is quoted on The History Learning Site:

The Jewish youth lies in wait for hours on end . . . spying on the unsuspicious German girl he plans to seduce . . . He wants to contaminate her blood and remove her from the bosom of her own people. The Jew hates the white race and wants to lower its cultural level so that the Jews might dominate. Was there any form of filth or crime . . . without at least one Jew involved in it. If you cut even cautiously into such a sore, you find like a maggot in a rotting body, often dazzled by the sudden light – a Jew.

If that’s the narrative embedded in one’s mind as truth, one could kill a Jewish person as easily as squash a cockroach and feel as little guilt. In fact, the person who killed a Jew could feel he had done the world a great service by ridding it of such a menace. For over half a century, people have wondered how on earth Hitler persuaded so many people to go along with his diabolical plans. He created a persuasive story.

A Reuters/Ipsos poll shows the results of white Americans surveyed on the questions of whether African Americans are equal to whites in their intelligence, work ethic, manners, violence, and lawfulness. The poll rated four groups, divided by the presidential candidate they were supporting during this year’s primary: Clinton, Trump, Cruz, and Kasich. On the matter of intelligence, an average of 22.5% of respondents saw blacks as less intelligent than whites. On work ethic, an average of 26.8% saw blacks as lazier than whites. When asked about manners, an average of 31.1% said blacks are ruder than whites. An average of 32.8% said blacks are more violent, and 33.2% saw blacks as more criminal than whites.

Once again, if this narrative is someone’s “truth,” it’s pretty easy to figure out why whites see people of color as inferior and why police officers might be quicker to pull the trigger on a black person than a white person with all other circumstances being equal. It’s easy to see why some women walk a little faster and avoid eye contact when approached by a black male.

And the narrative works from both sides. One memorable experience of my life happened when I was a 17-year-old newly licensed driver, eagerly volunteering for any errand that involved my getting behind the wheel of the car. My family was visiting my Alabama relatives, and my aunt had a woman who happened to be black doing some light housework for her. The woman needed a ride home, so I drove her. As I slid into the driver’s seat, I glanced over expecting to see her in the passenger’s seat. When she wasn’t there, I looked around to see why she wasn’t in the car yet; and I discovered that she was in the car: in the back seat. I felt so strange, I asked, “Why don’t you come up here?” This thought had obviously never occurred to her, as she replied, “Oh, no! I couldn’t.” I insisted that she could, but there was no persuading her.

That experience lingers in my memory after all these years because I can’t help thinking of the narrative written into that woman’s heart and mind. Her narrative had taught her the truth that she was unworthy to take a position equal to a white person—even when that white person was a 17-year-old girl. What I wish I could say to that woman now is “You are worthy. You have lived. You have been a good, honest person. You do not need to take a back seat to anyone. My 17-year-old self should be learning from you.” Sadly, that is a narrative I feel sure the woman never heard.

The narratives about women, of course, are too numerous to list: they’re the weaker sex, their main goal in life is to get married and have children, they’re suited only for certain types of jobs, they need men to protect them, they want to be complimented more for their beauty than for their brains, they’re not as smart as men—just a small sampling but enough to make it clear why we’re just now seriously considering electing a woman as president.

Cultural narratives also play a huge part in our inability to reduce gun violence. Many gun owners have accepted as truth the NRA narrative that the government is hostile and that their personal stock of weapons is their only defense against police and other law enforcement officials. In spite of the fact that NO president or presidential candidate has ever threatened to confiscate all guns from private citizens, the narrative continues to be told as truth: Obama/Clinton/whoever is coming to get your guns and repeal the Second Amendment. And once again, if the narrative is your truth, you’re going to resist any attempt at placing even the most sensible restrictions on gun ownership.

The history of conflict in the Middle East is long and complex, and telling the whole story would require volumes; it would also require a different story teller, since I don’t claim to understand it all. So for the purpose of this brief article, I just want to look at the effects of narratives on how the rest of the world responds to the violence and turmoil. Those who accept the Zionist narrative that the Jews are simply returning to their homeland to claim God’s promised inheritance interpret any resistance or act of self-defense on the part of the Palestinians as aggression. The Jews who build settlements in Palestinian territory are claiming what is rightfully theirs, and if the Palestinians don’t want to get hurt, they should be a little more cooperative.

But that’s not the only narrative. The other story says that in 1947, the United Nations adopted a Partition Plan, to take effect in 1948, which would create two independent states: Palestine and Israel. Those who accept this narrative as their truth see the continuing conflict as Jewish violation of international law and the building of settlements in land awarded to Palestine as illegal and immoral. In this story, the Jews become the perpetrators rather than the victims, and their offenses against Palestinian human rights amount to apartheid.

Stories drive actions and attitudes. Increasingly, reciting facts to people is futile, since their stories are their truth; and any fact which doesn’t match that truth is obviously incorrect in their minds.

Since our narratives are much of what bind us together with our families, our communities, our tribes, they’re not easy to change or let go of. Many people know what it means to be ostracized from family and community because they’ve adopted a different belief system from the one sanctioned by the tribe. Our narratives are part of our world views, the belief systems that have made sense out of chaos and confusion, that have given us a sense of safety and security in an unstable and frightening world. They’ve been the anchor that’s kept us from going adrift. They’ve given us a sense of belonging, a feeling of being right, a feeling of being good and virtuous. They’ve even influenced our relationship to God. It’s understandable that we’re reluctant to make changes.

But change is necessary; if we’re to survive, the stories must be rewritten. My story is what I will pass on to my children and grandchildren, and it will affect what they pass on to their children and grandchildren. I have to get it right, even when it means making sacrifices and stepping out of my safe territory. Wrong narratives perpetuate injustice. Denouncing and working to eliminate injustice is a human responsibility, and it begins with changing the narratives. Our stories will be told for generations to come. Someone has to be the change.

 

Categories
In the News

Good Cop Bad Cop

Trevor Noah recently made this statement on The Daily Show: “If you’re pro-black lives matter, you’re assumed to be anti-police; and if you’re pro-police, then you surely hate black people. It seems that it’s either pro-cop and anti-black or pro-black and anti-cop when in reality, you can be pro-cop AND pro-black, which is what we should all be.”

It’s been a grueling couple of weeks. Innocent blood has been shed, tears have flowed, protests have abounded. And writers have diligently tried to make sense of it all. Some have defended the police actions which killed Alton Sterling and Philando Castile; some have defended the victims and decried excessive use of force and racism among officers of the law. Some have focused on the families of young black men and the agony they must endure over the unjust loss of their loved ones, while others have spoken just as eloquently of the families of the murdered police officers in Dallas and Baton Rouge and the police departments reeling from tragedy. Black Lives Matter, Blue Lives Matter, All Lives Matter. Friends on social media have declared that they stand with black people and against racism as others stand with the police and support the sacrifice they make as they place themselves in harm’s way every day.

Trevor Noah’s statement is not really all that profound if you think about it. It’s one of those things we all should have known already, but obviously many of us either don’t know it or don’t act like we know it. Why do we always set up these adversarial either-or divisions? Us vs them, blacks vs whites, blacks vs cops, gay vs straight, Christians vs Muslims. Why do we think we must be for one and against the other? Why do we assume that all members of a particular group fit the same description?

As my pastor, the Rev. Dr. Jeffrey DeYoe, said in a recent sermon, we have to stop seeing categories and start seeing individuals. He pointed out that the characters in his text, the parable of the Good Samaritan, acted as individuals. Most people are familiar with the story: a man is robbed, stripped, beaten, and left half dead on the side of the road. A priest sees him and passes by on the other side of the road. Then a levite (also responsible for religious duties in the Jewish culture)  comes by and does the same thing. Finally, a Samaritan man sees him, takes pity on him, performs first aid on his wounds, transports him to an inn, and promises to pay his expenses for the duration of his recovery. As you may know, the Samaritan man’s actions are especially significant because the Samaritans and the Jews hated each other; yet this man sees the victim not as a Jew but as a human being in need, a human being whose life matters. Pastor Jeff pointed out that not every priest would have been so uncaring nor would every levite, and not just any Samaritan would have stopped to help. These people’s actions represent only themselves as individuals, not the categories to which they belong.

I’ve met some really good, caring, dedicated police officers. On July 13, 1997, my daughter (then 15 years old) was involved in a head-on collision in which she and two other young people were severely injured and the 16-year-old boy driving the car in which she was riding died. The first responder to the accident scene was a young officer who went straight to the boy who was pinned in the driver’s seat, since some passing motorists had already removed the three girls from the two vehicles. The young officer spoke soothingly to the boy while trying desperately to extricate him from the burning car. He was unable to do so, and within a few minutes, the boy died. Two weeks later, when my daughter was home from the hospital, the officer made the rounds visiting the three kids who survived the accident. This man showed me the heart and soul which the people who go into harm’s way every day put into their jobs. After visiting with Lisa for a few minutes in our home, he talked to me on the front porch about the agony he’d gone through as he relived that boy’s death over and over; he had even taken a whole week off work to deal with his grief. As we talked, he wept like a baby right there on my front porch. I’ll always remember that incident because it reminds me of all the competent and heroic officers of the law who genuinely want to serve their fellow citizens and make the world better and safer.

I’ve also met a few not-so-competent police officers. About fifteen or so years ago, while I was at work teaching my classes, someone attempted to break into my house. When I came home around noon (it was a summer semester), I reached for the key pad to disarm my security system and noticed the alarm had been activated. I immediately called the security company to find out what had occurred and was told they had attempted to contact me and had dispatched the police when I didn’t pick up the call (I was in class). They asked if I’d like for the officer to come out again and go over what had happened, and I said I would definitely like to know the details. While I waited for the officer to return, I started looking around. Among other things, I found the screen from the window by the front door sitting on the ground, and I found a full set of hand prints–two whole hands!!–on my kitchen window. When the officer arrived, he casually explained what he had seen and assured me nothing was amiss. When I asked about the screen, he said, “Oh, those things fall out.” Huh? Really? When I asked about the hand prints on the window, he was taken back since he obviously hadn’t seen them. He dusted them, and that evidence led to identifying the would-be burglar. Meanwhile, he made up some ridiculous story to try to cover his incompetence. Some time later, I received a bill from the sheriff’s department for a false alarm. Needless to say, I set them straight and didn’t have to pay; but I would not label this officer one of Fort Myers’ finest.

One good cop, one bad cop. Or maybe the bad cop was really a good cop having a bad day. Even good people make bad judgments and have bad days. Saying the officers who killed Alton Sterling and Philando Castile may have made bad judgments does not mean all police officers are bad or that we can’t respect and support them. Everyone’s had a bad day at work. Good surgeons sometimes make serious mistakes in the operating room. Good teachers sometimes make bad calls, unfairly discipline, and give unjust grades. Good hairstylists sometimes give bad haircuts. Good chefs sometimes serve lousy food. The problem is bad haircuts grow out and one lousy meal won’t ruin my whole life, but a mistake in the operating room or in a police confrontation can have permanent consequences. If I decided to change a grade, I could fill out a form and it was done; if a police officer uses unnecessary force and kills someone, that’s final. It’s a heavy weight of responsibility, and I respect those willing to carry that weight; but I don’t think that means we have to overlook tragic misjudgments.

There has to be accountability, and there has to be compassion. We all have a stake in everything that happens in our country. Therefore, we must hold each other to high standards, but we must also have compassion for each other when we fail, as we all do. The hatred, the vitriol, the blaming, the categorizing–these all have to stop if we want to survive.

We can no longer ignore the inequities which are deeply rooted in our culture. Some people have not been served as others have; so although it’s accurate to say “all lives matter,” those who are still waiting for equal status are the ones whose needs must be addressed right now.

I used to teach a Nathaniel Hawthorne short story titled “Young Goodman Brown.” Young Mr. Brown dreams one night of wandering into the heart of the forest where he sees everyone he knows from his village engaged in unseemly activities, and the scene shakes the young man to his core:

“Among them, quivering to and fro between gloom and splendor, appeared faces that would be seen next day at the council board of the province, and others which, Sabbath after Sabbath, looked devoutly heavenward, and benignantly over the crowded pews, from the holiest pulpits in the land. Some affirm that the lady of the governor was there. At least there were high dames well known to her, and wives of honored husbands, and widows, a great multitude, and ancient maidens, all of excellent repute, and fair young girls, who trembled lest their mothers should espy them. . . . he recognized a score of the church members of Salem village famous for their especial sanctity. Good old Deacon Gookin had arrived, and waited at the skirts of that venerable saint, his revered pastor. But, irreverently consorting with these grave, reputable, and pious people, these elders of the church, these chaste dames and dewy virgins, there were men of dissolute lives and women of spotted fame, wretches given over to all mean and filthy vice, and suspected even of horrid crimes. It was strange to see that the good shrank not from the wicked, nor were the sinners abashed by the saints.”

In the village, there were social and moral distinctions; in the heart of the forest, they were all the same. We’re all the same at heart. Why do we try so hard to elevate ourselves above our fellow human beings? We need to stop judging other people on their worst day. We need to stop thinking of people as categories and start seeing who they are as individuals. We need to stop hating and start loving each other, because if one falls we all fall. United we stand.

 

Categories
In the News

All Lives Matter, Except When They Don’t

“I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to know where my son was because I didn’t want him to die alone.”
Those are the haunting words of Philando Castile’s mother on Wednesday, July 6, 2016, when she rushed to the scene of her son’s shooting. But she didn’t reach her son in time to say goodbye or hold her baby one last time as he died; and 24 hours or more after his death, she hadn’t even been granted the human decency of being allowed to see her son’s body.

Only one day earlier, 1200 miles away, Alton Sterling’s family received the same devastating news: your son/father/love of your life has been shot and killed by police.

Black mothers live in fear of having their sons shot down in cold blood. All parents these days live in fear for their own lives and the lives of their children, but white mothers do not have the same fear for their sons that black mothers do; and anyone who says they do is either lying or grossly uninformed or just doesn’t care.

Sterling was the 558th person to be killed by police in the U.S. this year, according to The Guardian’s database, The Counted. Not all of them were black men, but the majority were. So what do we tell black mothers terrified for their sons’ safety? Should we tell them to give us a little more time to work all these things out? In his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” Martin Luther quoted William E. Gladstone: “Justice too long delayed is justice denied.” So if we’re honest, we’ll say, “Sorry, grieving mother, protecting your son’s life just isn’t important enough to be moved to the top of the to-do list.”

King goes on in his own words: “We have waited for more than 340 years for our constitutional and God given rights. . . . Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, ‘Wait.’ But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers . . . when you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society . . . when you are humiliated day in and day out . . . when your first name becomes ‘nigger’. . . when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of ‘nobodiness’–then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair. I hope, sirs, you can understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience.” King wrote those words in 1963, and a half century later, his brothers and sisters are still waiting. And I can only imagine what the impatience level is by now after 393 years of waiting.

Alton Sterling was pinned to the ground and then shot at a range of only a few inches. Why was it necessary to pull the trigger on someone who was already pinned to the ground? Shooting should be the last resort, not the first. They supposedly thought he had a gun, but they didn’t see a gun, his hand was not touching a gun, and as the gun-rights folks love to remind us, “The gun can’t shoot itself.” So exactly how were these officers’ lives in danger? And why was some less extreme action not tried first? Something like, oh, holding Mr. Sterling’s arms above his head if they were so worried that he might pull a weapon out of his pocket? He was already pinned down. Would it have been so difficult to further restrain him? How about snapping on a set of handcuffs? Was that man’s life so expendable, so devoid of value that it was easier and more convenient just to shoot him, like squashing a bug? I think we know what his family’s answer to that question would be.

Philando Castile was driving a car with his girlfriend in the passenger’s seat and her four-year-old child in the back seat when a policeman pulled them over for a broken tail light. Mr. Castile informed the officer he had a gun and a concealed carry permit, but when he reached for his wallet in compliance with the law for traffic stops, the officer shot him in the arm and then proceeded to fire three more shots. I understand police officers’ fears; they get killed, too; and blue lives matter, too. But why is shooting so often the first thing they do instead of the last resort? While both of Mr. Castile’s hands were still visible and free of weapons, couldn’t the officer have given him more clear instructions about how to retrieve his license and registration?

And why, in both cases, was it necessary to fire multiple shots? Both men were shot at close range. IF any shots had to be fired, wouldn’t it have been enough just to temporarily disable them? Did they have to die? Were their lives not worth a little extra caution?

On May 31, 2016, Cincinnati Zoo officials made the call to kill a rare gorilla to save the life of a three-year-old boy who had fallen into the gorilla’s cage. On July 1, 2015, an American dentist shot and killed Cecil the Lion who lived in Zimbabwe, a trophy kill. After both of these incidents, social media lit up with outrage over the senseless murders of these beautiful animals. And I admit I, too, felt some of that outrage. For days on end, the diatribes continued, including death threats against Dr. Walter Palmer.

When Alton Sterling died, the first thing I saw on social media was a post by a repugnant bigot who expressed relief that tax payers of Baton Rouge will now have one less person to support. The next thing I saw was a meme suggesting that black guys would be a lot safer if they’d just wear belts to hold their pants up around their waists and graduate from high school. And then there was the meme showing some unsavory and irrelevant information about Mr. Sterling’s history.

So when a lion or a gorilla is shot to death, the weeping and outrage are heard all over the Internet; but when a 32-year-old or 37-year-old black man is shot and killed, the first responses blame the victim for not listening to the police, for dressing in a way distasteful to some, for dropping out of high school, for unrelated alleged crimes. Stereotypes drive public opinion and feed the fires of hatred and prejudice. Can someone please explain to me the difference between these two incidents and the scene in the current movie The Free State of Jones in which Newt Knight (Matthew McConaughey) finds the beaten and castrated body of “freed” slave Moses Washington (Mahershala Ali) hanging from a tree? The only crime any of these three was guilty of was being a black man.

To the mothers of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile, I’m so sorry for your loss. My heart aches for you and for everyone who loved and cherished your sons. You and your families are in my thoughts and prayers. I’m the mom of a 42-year-old and a 40-year-old son, and although I have my worries and concerns, lying awake at night fearing a phone call informing me my son has been shot to death by police officers is not one of them. I’m ashamed that it is one of yours. You carried and gave birth to your sons just as I did mine; you held them in your arms as I held mine; you loved them and gave them your best just as I loved mine and did the best I could to raise them to be responsible men who can achieve their dreams. You should not have had to live in fear for their lives, you should not have been “plunged into the abyss of despair” by their early deaths, and you should not experience the indignity of victim blaming and the anticipation that justice will once again be denied. And I’m truly sorry, Valerie Castile, that your son had to die without you. I understand your impatience for justice, and I will use my voice as long as I can to speak for real liberty and justice for ALL.

Update: Since I wrote this article, we’ve seen an outpouring of anger and grief all over the country, by people of all ages and races. I woke this morning to read the news that five police officers were shot and killed and six more injured in Dallas. Blue lives matter, too! Violence does not solve violence! Killing people who had nothing to do with killing Alton Sterling and Philando Castile compounds the crime. But let us not forget, the vengeful action of one angry person does not absolve the officers who shot Alton Sterling and Philando Castile. It only leaves five more families to grieve and more people angry. We have to STOP killing each other!

Categories
Film

Have We Learned Nothing?

Friday, June 24, was the date I’d been eagerly and impatiently awaiting for almost a year. The movie Free State of Jones was released, and I could hardly wait to get to the theater and be among the first to see this exciting story about events in Jones County, Mississippi, during the Civil War. I had a special interest in this film because I’d read the book by the same title, written by academic historian Victoria Bynum, and I knew my great great grandfather, Jasper Collins, played a key role in the events. Jasper was portrayed in the movie by Christopher Berry, whose admiration for his character results in Jasper’s appearing as the intelligent, stable, principled, and godly man he was. The leader of the group, Newton (Newt) Knight, was played by Matthew McConaughay.

Having anticipated the release for so many months, I expected great things, and the movie even exceeded my expectations. It is visually beautiful, masterfully acted, and a powerful contradiction of the Lost Cause myth which dominated the historical record of the Civil War for decades. No noble, genteel planters; no gracious magnolia-scented Southern belles; no smiling, happy slaves. In short, none of the romanticized “Gone with the Wind” version of Southern life and what caused the war. Just the raw truth of greedy rich people who bought, sold, and abused other human beings. And the Civil War was fought to protect their right to do all those things, NOT for states’ rights–unless of course you mean the right of states to continue slavery. And it dispels the idea that the South was one solid block. What took place in Jones County is representative of what happened in communities throughout the South.

The movie also takes viewers beyond the Civil War to emancipation and Reconstruction and the brutality and injustice to which people of color continued to be subjected in our country. At the end of my second viewing, I looked at my friend who had watched it with me, we shook our heads sadly, and I asked “What has changed?” We as a country like to believe we’ve conquered our racial prejudice, but I think you’d have to live with a bag over your head to really believe these problems are in the past. There’s simply too much evidence surrounding us every day to allow us the luxury of denying our racist attitudes.

Exhibit One: At least two of the films previewed before our movie began are about the same subject. And then just two days after Free State’s opening, Jesse Williams made his now-viral speech, in which he passionately declared:

Yesterday would have been young Tamir Rice’s 14th birthday so I don’t want to hear anymore about how far we’ve come when paid public servants can pull a drive-by on 12-year-old playing alone in the park in broad daylight, killing him on television and then going home to make a sandwich. Tell Rekia Boyd how it’s so much better than it is to live in 2012 than it is to live in 1612 or 1712. Tell that to Eric Garner. Tell that to Sandra Bland. Tell that to Dorian Hunt. . . . There has been no war that we have not fought and died on the front lines of. There has been no job we haven’t done. There is no tax they haven’t leveed against us – and we’ve paid all of them. But freedom is somehow always conditional here. ‘You’re free,’ they keep telling us. But she would have been alive if she hadn’t acted so… free.

Now, freedom is always coming in the hereafter, but you know what, though, the hereafter is a hustle. We want it now.

That last line is strongly reminiscent of Martin Luther King’s words in his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail”:

We have waited for more than 340 years [this was written in 1963] for our constitutional and God given rights. The nations of Asia and Africa are moving with jetlike speed toward gaining political independence, but we still creep at horse and buggy pace toward gaining a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, ‘Wait.’ But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; . . . when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading ‘white’ and ‘colored’; when your first name becomes ‘nigger,’ your middle name becomes ‘boy’ (however old you are) and your last name becomes ‘John,’ and your wife and mother are never given the respected title ‘Mrs.’; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of ‘nobodiness’–then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair. I hope, sirs, you can understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience.

Dr. King wrote these words in 1963, 100 years after the slaves were “emancipated” and 98 years after the 13th Amendment was added to our Constitution. One would think a whole century would be enough to change the attitudes of the privileged class, but now another half century has passed, and we still haven’t gotten it right. Why, 150 years after “emancipation,” is Jesse Williams still compelled to speak the damning words he delivered at the 2016 BET awards? Why, 150 years after “emancipation,” are my inter-racial couple friends still hesitant to hold hands in public? Why, 150 years after “emancipation,” does my dear long-time black friend tell me he knows where not to stop when he drives through certain Southern states?

Why, 150 years after “emancipation,” do black mothers live in fear of their sons being shot and killed? White mothers don’t live with that same fear; so why, 150 years after “emancipation,” is there still such a difference—such a gulf between the experiences of white families and black families? And how on earth, 150 years after “emancipation,” can it be that an openly racist man—whose ignorant and hateful words have given permission to his supporters to unleash their own repressed racism—won the nomination of one of our major political parties to serve as leader of the free world?

We’re long past due for some honest soul searching! It’s past time for us to drop the blinders and the denial and admit we haven’t learned a damned thing, and then it’s time for us to do something about our stubbornness, indifference, and hatred. We need to be better. We need to leave a better world for all of our children and our grandchildren. As Newt Knight says in Free State of Jones, we need to act “for our children, and their children, and their children’s children.” And we need to do it now.