I Just Need to Write....

I don't know who Meghan Kelly is; "Fox talking head" or "Tamron Hall Replacement" are sufficient for me. She's another white person who, in 2018, championed the use of blackface and lost her job because of it.  Increasing numbers of white folk attribute this to "political correctness," or "black folk making everything about race," or other catchphrases which show they either don't know or don't care why this is such an egregious offense.  The following incident came to mind.

A dear, dear friend is Catholic.  I don't know that they attend Mass regularly; if asked they would likely term themselves more spiritual than religious, but the religious tradition in which they were raised is important to them.  I was visiting them once, and, attempting to bring levity into a stressful situation, told them an old church joke.  It's the one where St. Peter is welcoming a new person into heaven, and they pass by rooms full of different denominations or faith traditions.  Depending on who your audience is, you choose the tradition about whom you will deliver the punchline, "Shh... they think they're the only ones here."  I've told this joke using Christians, Baptists, and Pentecostals as the group who thinks they're the only one;  with my friend, I chose to make it about Catholics.

My. Friend. Exploded.  They took offense, accused me of badmouthing their tradition, a noisy argument ensued, and we probably stopped speaking for several hours.  We're friends and we resolved it, but I was acutely aware that, even though my friend's tradition did not fully accept my Protestant ordination, I could not even make a friendly joke about their tradition.

The stress of the moment, my friend's sensitivity, and their history of growing up as a Catholic minority all contributed to their having taken umbrage at a simple joke.  They saw it as an attack, and it was only when I was able to put myself in their situation that I was able to understand why they felt so strongly.

Similar dynamics are at work in America today.  Blackface has historically been used to degrade and demean people of color.  There is an ugly history behind it, and to use or advocate its use reflects tone deafness at best; in the worst case, it reflects someone who is unwilling or unable to empathize with people who have different experiences, specifically the ugly history of objectifying black people in America.  While I think Meghan Kelly was likely terminated because she is not consistent with the ethos of the network that fired her, I also think that a journalist's inability to look at the world around them without imposing upon it the filter of their own personal experience is a factor.  That Meghan Kelly grew up in an environment where blackface was tolerated is not something to be considered normative, but reflects a background that does not include tolerance of other cultures.  That she somehow thought such a background justified the use of blackface in 2018 shows a lack of objectivity that is not consistent with being a professional journalist.

Many white people in America live in the realization of the best of American ideals:  a land of opportunity where everyone is equal and everyone who works hard gets ahead.  They even elected a person of color as President for two terms, which, they apparently believe, is proof that this country has no problems that some discipline and a return to our religious roots won't solve.

Problem is, that picture is a reality only for white folk.  I've stopped counting the numbers of black and brown people who hold advanced degrees but do menial labor because they can't get a foot in the door; conversely, I know a number of white males who would probably have difficulty navigating the NYC subway system alone, but who have the right name or the right connections and so have never had to do so.  There are lots of people in between those two extremes, of course; my point is that people's lived realities are quite different.  What I see in America is a lack of engagement.  We don't take the time to know people who are different from us, and are content to live with our stereotypical visions  of them.

I'm a case in point:  a few years ago I matriculated into the Ph.D program of a very conservative Christian school.  I dreaded my first stay on campus, having decided that all conservative Christians were hypocritical bumpkins intent on prostituting the Gospel to forward their notions of white supremacy.  Clear that my sole purpose there pursuit of my degree, I tried not to engage.  Thankfully, God had a different plan, and the last few years have afforded me the privilege of meeting some wonderful human beings whose passion for Christ is reflected in every aspect of their lives.  We often have widely divergent views on political and social issues, sort of like the widely divergent theological views that have led to the creation of our various denominations.  Many (not all, but many) of us have created safe spaces in which we can share and exchange those points of view, and it was in those safe spaces where I began to see the humanity in my conservative evangelical Christian siblings, many of whom have spent more time with Africans in Africa than with members of the African diaspora in America.  And while I'm not about to be a token nor a spokesperson for progressive urban Christians of color, I am a reminder that "liberal" is not a dirty word but a descriptor of someone they love and respect.  For some of them, I am the only embodiment of "liberal" they know.

There is so much work yet to be done, and it doesn't start with rhetoric and vitriol.  It starts with a willingness to see human beings rather than stereotypes, and to recognize the Imago Dei, the Image of God,  in every human being.

There's no profound point here, other than I need to write more.

Learned some things in Alabama today....

After my first visit to Birmingham in almost exactly a half century, I am very pleasantly surprised.  I always thought of Alabama as the last bastion of willful ignorance, racism, nationalism, etc.  Yes, they were technically southerners, but displayed none of the gentility I tend to associate with “true” Southerners.  I was wrong.  Like the rest of the South (and the reason I prefer a Southern racist to a northern one), Alabama appears to have dealt with its ugly history of racism.  Has it resolved issues of race?  Of course not, but it has acknowledged the racial terrorism in its past, which is more than most of America does.

Interactions with people were most interesting for me.  I can’t go anywhere directly, and as I wandered around on the way to Selma, I found myself on beautiful backroads, with majestic trees – that would have been great for hanging people.  You could go for miles and not see another car; while I enjoyed it, I was not unaware of the fact that a knucklehead could see me, run me off the road, and disappear me without leaving a trace.  My interactions with people were the exact opposite of that.  I did not meet a single person who did not address me as “Ma’am” (because we’re in the south, not because of my age), and because it’s the South, everybody stopped and made pleasant conversation.  It wasn’t the gruff assembly line interactions you get in NYC.  At one point, as I’m explaining to a woman that I don’t want to buy another battery pack because I have a solar one in the hotel, but the heat is wacking out my battery and I’m concerned I may not make it to Selma, blah, blah, blah – she asks where I’m coming from, I tell her NYC, and her face lit up like a Christmas tree as she told me how she and her husband went there a year ago this week, and how they loved Central Park.  As she’s telling me this, another lady is waiting to tell me about how she went with her son when he was eight (he looks to be a teenager now), and how they had to evacuate the Statue of Liberty for a bomb threat, and how it made the news… Later on I saw a woman with a family, including a young boy with a shirt that said “I can do all things..” I asked if he knew that was part of a Bible verse, and she told me that yes, he knew.  The kid is a big fan of Steph Curry and a big fan of the Bible.  We had a long convo about my friend who idolizes Curry, waited all day for the chance to do one of those half-court contests, MADE the basket, and got to celebrate with Curry!  Then we talked about the young boy and how he’d had some health challenges, had gone through treatment, and she’d gotten him the shirt at the end of treatment.  We also talked about kids, helicopter parenting, the advantages of juicy versus crisp burgers, and the various chain restaurants in Indiana and Kentucy (where she’s from), NYC, and Alabama.

So the people are cool, but the history is amazing.  You fly into Shuttlesworth Airport.  I had no idea who Rev. Shuttlesworth was, but he was an original SJW, and Birmingham has named its Airport after him!! As I sat out to go to Selma, my offline nav system wasn’t updated for the ongoing construction, so as I was driving around in circles, I stopped at the 16^th Street Baptist Church. The City and the State have a long history of civil rights, both abusing them and protecting them. No one is perfect, but what I’ve seen in Birmingham shows a city doing what I thought only my progressive college-centric hometown would do:  confront their past, acknowledge its strengths and weaknesses, build on the former, and eradicate the latter.

Now, one of my profesors share an article about kids from Harvard who met people from the heartland and got to know them.  I assume Alabama was a red state, and I expected everyone here to be a character out of Deliverance.  I couldn’t have been more wrong, while makes me wonder where the disconnect happened that so many of them went to the dark side? I think perhaps labeling people as “deplorables” was not helpful; seems a number of people embraced that moniker and allowed it to define them.  But what about those who were offended, or whose fragile senses of self and self-esteem were fractured with the utterance of such a label?  Not trying to make excuses for them, just trying to figure out what went wrong – everybody that voted for that guy is not an idiot, is not a racist, is not unintelligent – so what went wrong?

It would be nice if those in the political realm could do like the people of Birmingham have done, and say:  we made a real mess here.  Let’s examine it and ourselves, make some changes, and see that it never happens again.  Fellow liberals, we could learn a thing or two from the folk of Alabama…

***Sigh*** and now the people from the conference are returning to the hotel, disrupting the quiet with their hallway banter and conversations. 

Privilege

I talk a lot about injustice in this country.  I write from my point of view as an African American female.  It may, therefore, seem a bit strange for me to write about privilege, but today I got a unique glimpse of it.

If you know me, you know I've been a season ticket holder for the NY Liberty for years.  As I've been able, I've gradually moved my seat up; in their last full season at Madison Square Garden, I sat right behind the MSG announcers and made a game of photobombing their interviews.  Since the move to a much smaller venue up north, I've graduated to feet-on-the-floor, a luxury I could never afford, even for women's ball, at MSG.

Today the team was back at MSG, and my seat was moved up a bit to be beside the announcers instead of behind them.  I got to engage in the old familiar banter with the reporters, the camera people, and all the statisticians who are constantly scurrying to and fro.  Most of them work for MSG and are not assigned up north, so this was the first time this season I've seen some of them.  From sales reps to security guards to people manning the Delta Club, there was a brief feeling of "coming home."

So it wasn't at all unusual that my cameraman friend got me on camera.  That's my normal.  As I left the Garden, I was surprised at the number of people telling me how good I looked on TV, how I was a star, etc, etc.  I think it's because when I'm on camera, I'm calm and waving to everyone, just like the celebrities do.  This is in contrast to the people who get on and engage in wild antics (I used to think they were drunk, but this was a morning game and no alcohol was served), or the kids who are so hyped they literally look like they're on film that's being fast-forwarded.  There are, of course, the shy ones, but there are more of the types who clamor and climb over each other to get on camera, or to get to touch the mascot or to get a player's attention after the game.

I was watching a group today, and was about to be judgemental when I realized my privilege.  No, the players don't know me by name, though many recognize my face, but I'm often on the jumbotron and apparently have been on the screen at the smaller venue -- this isn't uncommon when you sit with feet on the floor.  The mascot plays with you, the cameras are on you, you make sure to move your feet out of the way of the players and the refs -- that,  plus a dedicated catering menu and/or private entrances, are simply part of the package I've bought. I got to 15-18 home games a year, and have done so for several years.  It's not a big deal.  But then I thought about the folk for whom it is a rare privilege to sit anywhere other than in a nosebleed seat at MSG.  I thought about the 20,000 people the stadium can hold, and the fact that only perhaps 20 -- or let's say 50 -- have the chance to have a cameo on the jumbotron.  Of course it's a big deal to them.

That led me to thinking about privilege in society.  Those who "have" or have access to certain privileges may not, without intentionally seeking to do so, understand the environment or perspective of those who live without privilege.  Those who live with privilege may not recognize their own privilege, or may identify more with the effort it took to gain that privilege than with the results of that privilege.  If someone were to call me elitist for entering the Garden through a private entrance, I would explain how much I love basketball and hate crowds, how hard I work, what I sacrifice to pay for the tickets, and how much I need the release, all of which justify my being in the position of privilege.  Unless I'm bringing my clients (who will use donated tickets and to whom we try to give a decent allowance to purchase snacks at the exorbitant MSG prices), unless my clients are attending a game, I'm not very intentional about the fact that I can avail myself of amenities unavailable to others; to me, these seem like perks that I deserve.  In society, when people are said to be privileged, they may be unwilling or unable to see how others live without that privilege.  Privilege in and of itself is not a bad thing; you could, for instance, take your free food and snacks and share with people who have none, and the reason we actually have to wear non-removable wristbands is because Rangers fans used to take their wristbands and give them to their friends (wristbands identify who gets access to what).

One of the benefits of a diverse society is that we are all privileged, in some way, to some extent or the other.  I think it's important for us to begin to recognize the areas in which we exercise both privilege and power.  Perhaps we can share the benefits with one another.  It doesn't mean I have to give up my courtside seats; perhaps it just means that I need to respect the awe, delight, and desire of the folk who don't routinely sit in them.

I'm So Tired.

I’m sooo tired. 

Recently a friend of a friend made a comment to the effect that they “didn’t like to do the racial stuff.”  I may not have the words exact, but believe I’ve captured the gist of the statement.  A bunch of us went back and forth with her, and while I believe her intentions were good, the reality is that she, as a white person, has an option that I as a person of color, simply don’t have. 

White folk can claim they “don’t see color” (a lie from the pit of hell if there ever was one) or refuse to engage in “racial stuff” or wonder why black people “have to make everything about race;” white folk can invoke any number of ways or coping mechanisms to not have to deal with the detritus of the legalized elevation of white people and subordination of all others in this country.  One of the reasons we still have to deal with all the detritus is that as a nation we’ve never dealt with the ugly, nasty, messy, hateful, dehumanizing reality upon which this nation was built.  Americans captured people, treated them as if they were not human, used their labor to create wealth and build their country, propagated laws that kept them economically and physically oppressed, and then, when they could no longer continue that system, repealed some of those laws and pretended everything was alright. 

Saying black people should just “get over” that horrid past is like saying America should just “get over” 9/11.  Instead of “getting over it” or “moving on,” America has created a new governmental department and new protocols in numerous industries, all to ensure that such a heinous act never occurs again.  Additionally, there has been an unprecedented resurgence of xenophobia, islamophobia, and a growing isolationist nationalism, all of which seem to have some sort of genesis in those horrible acts on that Tuesday morning 17 years ago. 

But black people (maybe because we really are magical negroes) are supposed to just “get over” centuries of legalized, institutionalized oppression which, while reluctantly legislated away, has clearly never been removed from the hearts and minds of many of our fellow Americans. If we are spozed to “get over” racism, then how come y’all still got young people in the Klan?  Why, instead of telling black folk not to “be racial” are you not telling young white nationalists not to be racist?  How does a Charlottesville happen?  How come you were never taught about the Tulsa Massacre?  What about the massacres of Native people and Asian people and Black people ALL OVER this country, since its inception?  Get over it?  Isn’t it the American tradition to remember those who lay down their lives for their brothers and sisters?  Did we not just celebrate Memorial Day to commemorate those who sacrificed their lives for this country?  Is the memory of those who were murdered during the growth of this country any less sacred?  Yet their memories are systematically erased from our national consciousness and those of us who attempt to truth tellers are too often labelled troublemakers.

And while it takes a phenomenal amount of spiritual and psychic energy to live in an environment that’s so toxic, most black people in America grow up learning to navigate that world.  Whereas white folk have the option to summarily dismiss all black people as threatening, black people have to learn, very early on, the difference between the white person who could be your ally and the one who could be your assassin.  I grew up in the South, at a time where the end of public segregation was forced upon the population.  Always among the first or the few to integrate formerly white institutions, I learned early on that you can make rules and regulations, but you cannot legislate human hearts.  I could claim a statutory right to an equal education with white kids, but nothing would make them play with me at recess, and only learning to fight boys (well) got them to stop harassing me.  (I guess the teachers were inside not being racial or something).  And I could dominate them physically and intellectually, and I was luckier than many: some of my earliest memories are of friendships with people of different races and cultures, many of which have endured over half a century.  For that I’m grateful, even as I realize that so many people did not have it that way.  So many more people had experiences similar to those mine when I moved out of the progressive college-town cocoons of my youth.  So many more people learned, as I would later, that if you’re with a mixed race group at, say, Tiffany (or even Macy’s), and it’s crowded, just get the black kid to go stand by the register or by the jewelry.  A sales clerk would instantly appear!  You learn as a black adolescent that you can’t do grunge in public – your white friends might be able to do it as a fashion statement, but with you, grunge brought out a whole host of ugly stereotypes.  People of color, people who must navigate the dominant culture but who are “othered” by that culture must of necessity be (at least) bicultural.  We must develop an awareness and sensitivity to people whose ways, standards, and reasoning are not like ours, but upon knowledge of which our survival often depends.  So by the time you’re an adult of color, you’ve developed these chops for navigating other cultures.

And that’s when you see the narrowness and the oft- malicious myopia that is engulfing our nation.  It’s not just islamophobia, it’s not just nationalism, it’s a paucity or meanness of spirit that seems to have infected us.  Its latest manifestation comes in the revival of a caustic, divisive, unamusing harpy who has shown her true colors using the preferred medium of a failed reality tv star with similar characteristics.  It’s hard for me to believe that Americans willingly embrace these deviants; I believe their prominence is simply the manifestation of a demonic spirit that’s overtaken the land.  How else do you explain an assault on decency, the normalization of hatred, the unrest, the lack of tolerance, the meanness, the lack of fidelity, the harshness, and the lack of self-control which now characterize this nation?  When there’s a demon in charge, then what is manifest is the opposite of the Fruit of the Spirit, and that’s what we are seeing now.

I’ve sort of wandered, mostly because I’m tired and am not taking the time to write.  But this is all related.  The racial tension in our nation is but a manifestation of this demonic influence we’re under.  The unwillingness of people to confront the enemy in front of us is evidence that the enemy is roaming and devouring those who were perhaps not as vigilant as they thought, or who, in choosing to call wrong right, inadvertently made a deal with the devil, let it in, and now can’t get rid of it.  I don’t know.  I just know I’m tired of grown people sticking their heads in the sand (or somewhere darker) acting like everything is ok, when the reality is that we are living in a tinderbox.  We’ve seen eruptions here and there, but we cannot continue the systematic oppression of people without consequence. 

Every day it takes more and more effort to not be angry, to not want to seek retribution, to not want to hurt those who hurt me.  It takes effort, and I’m just sooooo tired.