Pentecost - Speaking Truth to Power

The world is on fire, friends. We’re living in a global pandemic. Black men are being kneeled on to their deaths. Our cities are burning. Our economy is crashing. People are hungry. And scared. And angry. This is our reality. The question is not “why can’t we all just get along?” That is a white question. The question is, for us white folks, “what the hell are we gonna do about it?” This is not the time to ask our black brothers and sisters to do our emotional labor. This is a time to stand in between them and the police. This is a time to speak truth to power. If our police are not breaking rules while they stand on black necks, the rules have got to change. Period.

The Holy Spirit is a woman. I’m sure of it. Hell, she’s probably a black woman. Today is the day the Christian church celebrates and worships the Spirit who raised Jesus Christ from the dead. She put little embryo Jesus into young Mary’s womb. She created the world alongside her Trinity partners. She is no slouch. And she is what wells within us when we speak truth to power. She is the Spirit of disruption when systems are unjust. The Holy Spirit of God is not here to placate my white fragility. She is the voice that calls me to question my motives, my fear, my silence.

The events in our country this week, specifically the murder of George Floyd, should cause every white person in this country, especially white Christians who believe in the sanctity of life, to look in the mirror and ask, “What can I do?” “What do I need to learn?” “How am I complicit in his death?” And then GET. TO. WORK.

I decided not to post an image of George’s death. There was a time in my process of looking at my white privilege where I shared images of violence against people of color and forced myself to watch the videos of the deaths of Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, and Philando Castile in order to wake myself up to the reality of the black experience. That is important. If you have not exposed yourself to the material that exists of these moments and find any hesitation within yourself to speak out, watch the videos. You need to. But I also know that black people have seen enough of this footage to hold the trauma in their DNA. Generations, hundreds of years of oppression lives in their very cells. So I will not post that here. It is available for you to see. Instead, I chose to put an image of George when he was alive and healthy. I got it from Shaun King’s Facebook page (he’s a great social media follow if you’re looking to learn).

If you believe in the Holy Spirit and celebrate her power and beauty this year on Pentecost, I ask that you beg her to tell you what to do today in response to George’s life and death.

There is no peace without justice. May we do the work to enjoy the peace we all desire.

Check your Posture

Listen, I consider it to be one of the least appealing parts of my personality, my dislike for being wrong. Even more than being wrong, I hate being called out for in in public. I don't know if it comes from being the youngest of 7 (and therefore the last to learn everything) but I embarrass easily (which is usually a surprise to people because I manifest a lot of public confidence) when put on the spot and corrected. I hate being corrected. I feel a sense of shame. And when my shame voice turns on, the first thing I want to do is point a finger. The defensiveness just is. I don't call it into a situation. It's just there. 

So please take my admonition with this in mind. That I see white fragility through the lens of my own distaste for correction. That shame fills me when I am the recipient of a pointed finger. (As a laughable aside, I find it to be truly one of life's greatest jokes that I share such personal things online with this "stick up my butt" piece of my personality. It's just karmic hilarity at its finest). In order for a white person to identify their own fragility, own it, claim it, learn it and hopefully, in time, keep it in check, one must be willing to make a pretty big ass of oneself. I find white fragility to be both humiliating, repulsive and absolutely innate to my life experience. It was not a choice to be fragile, but rather my reality from birth. 

HOWEVER, as I become more aware of my preciousness, I do get to choose. Do I out myself or do I defend myself? These are the two choices. Be corrected or be an ass. I'm sorry. Both choices suck, am I right? I alluded to this issue in my post almost exactly one year ago (weird) about being a "clumsy advocate" for racial justice. I say stupid things. I'm learning. And when you learn, you look like an idiot at first. Have you ever watched a child learn to walk? Yes, we ooh and ahh, but when an adult does it, we hand them a breathalyzer. It's not as cute. This is the same. When (not if, but when) someone points out your white fragility to you, you might stumble in shame. You might be tempted to defend your position and so many white people have shown you the way. It is so fucking easy. And people will cheer you on because "snowflakes" and "political correctness" are jokes. 

Here's the challenge: can you lean in instead of out? When you perceive a slap, what would it look like for you to lean into it? (I could reference Jesus here but I won't). Is there a lesson in correction? Is it possible that you're not done learning about privilege, fragility and racial injustice, white American? Is it possible? I guarantee I'm not done learning. But I am leaning in to the feedback. And I've stumbled a few less times since I wrote that post a year ago. I'm not a great example. I've got A LONG ROAD ahead of me. But I might be a year or two ahead of you on this life-long road (I'm also light years behind a lot of people) and I highly recommend taking the slap. 

Please check your posture. If you can't listen to negative feedback, even when correct, you will never grow. Your children are watching. Your country needs you. People of color need you to wake up. Not in a white savior kind of way but in a please stop beating innocent people in police department parking lots kind of way. For the love of God, LEAN IN. 

Clumsy Advocacy

One of the things about being a perfectionist is that it's very difficult to do anything you're not naturally good at. None of us are naturally good at everything so this is a terribly impractical trait. But perfectionists are only comfortable when they feel like they know what the hell they're doing. Every once in awhile, we stumble upon something worth making an ass of ourselves over. For me, this is advocacy. I've written in the past about my basic comfort level with advocating for gay rights, given my evangelical background. But #blacklivesmatter has been pushing a national conversation on police violence, specifically against people of color, ever since Michael Brown was shot 2 years ago. And this white girl wants to get involved.

The problem is, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I bought a #blacklivesmatter t-shirt. I've attended a White Allies meeting. I've joined a #blacklivesmatter moms group to determine how we raise our children to understand human dignity among all peoples. I've bought The New Jim Crow (though I'm terrified to read it) and Between the World and Me (just started this one). I've posted many articles on Facebook and moderated conversations advocating for people of color. I've followed a great writer who posts great information multiple times a day (Shawn King of the NY Daily News). As I list this out, it feels like not enough. 

And yet part of this clumsy advocacy process is that it's awkward. I've said stupid stuff trying to advocate for people of color. I've gotten in the way. I've silenced them. I've tried to explain their experiences to them. And here's the grace part - now I know that. And as the beautiful Maya Angelou once said, "When you know better, do better." And that is what I'm doing. I'm learning. I'm stumbling around like a rickety toddler facing my privilege, fearing the truth and trying to learn. It's easy to say that I shouldn't speak until I know the right words. That I shouldn't support a movement when my skin places me as the perpetrator of the oppression. That I need to read more, listen more, learn more. Those things are all true. And yet, there is blood running down our streets. RIGHT NOW. I can't wait to be an expert. And neither can you. 

It's Ok to Start with Me

It's no secret that I feel passionate about social justice. Often this manifests in rights for the LGBTQI community, as seen in my previous post. It's a little easier for me to engage in conversations about gay rights because the usual arguments against them are biblical. I was raised in that world and know how to live outside of the ideology that perpetuates restricting the freedoms of others we don't know and don't understand. Things get a little grittier when I try to advocate for the rights of racial minorities. For one, I grew up very sheltered and very white. So while I think of myself as an ally and care deeply about social justice for racial minorities, I also know that for me to really be an advocate, I must learn and I must listen. 
With gay rights, I don't know what it's like to be gay but I feel I have a good understanding of the mindset of the opposition. In instances of racial injustice, I don't understand either side. I care very deeply and believe undoubtedly that #blacklivesmatter but I am not black. I don't understand what it's like to be black in this country. I'm trying to acknowledge my white privilege and I'm trying to listen when black people (and all racial minorities) tell us what it's like to be them. That is such a huge part of this for me, to listen to the stories people want to tell me. What I'm still surprised by and grieved by is that this attitude of wanting to sit in the reality of my privilege and set aside whatever it takes to level the playing field for everyone is not as common as I assume. I feel like I've had my ass handed to me on racial justice issues of late. Mainly because I've chosen to disengage when it's clear the person is not listening and does not come at these issues in the same way as I do. So when I engage thinking, this person wants to learn, they just need to listen, and they yell and scream a lot of realities that just aren't true, I choose to walk away. It's not because screaming back isn't necessary. I sometimes wonder if I'm failing when I disengage. Such is the culture of online conversation. Whoever rants the most appears on top. 
But I try really hard to keep my emotions in check when I discuss things of social importance online and if I'm screaming, I'm not listening either. Sometimes when I listen to the other side, it's devastating. I'm genuinely depressed and disgusted by the things I've heard lately. I'm really surprised that people want to believe that white privilege, racism and police brutality are media tricks and old news. I'm truly baffled. More so, my rose-colored glasses approach (assigning positive intent, giving information with respect, assuming people want to learn) is really not working here. At this point, I want to acknowledge the victory I've had in choosing to disengage and not scream back. But I'm really sad. And even saying that I'm surprised by the level of racism around me is evidence of my privilege. It is not new information to the many who have fought on the front lines for a lifetime. For me, engaging in this fight is a choice, a passion that I could walk away from at any time (theoretically). That is not possible for anyone who physically presents as a minority. That is enough for me to allow my anger to reinforce the necessity of these conversations and to know that it's not up to me to change people's minds. I can start with me. That'll have to be enough for now.