March

On  a Saturday in January I, along with 250,000 new friends, took to the streets of Chicago to march.  We joined 600 other marches here in the U.S. and around the world.  The response was overwhelming.  In Chicago and a few other places, there were so many more people in attendance than anticipated that the actual march portion of the morning had to be cancelled; there were too many people to safely take to the streets.

It was an unbelievably beautiful day for a January in Chicago.  The sun shone for the first time in what felt like an eternity and there was a warmth in the air we hadn’t felt in a while.  As we waited in our suburban train station I was surprised at just how many people were also waiting.  I’d sort of assumed there would just be a few of us, mostly young women or hipster guys.  Instead there was a pretty large group of people already gathered, carrying signs, wearing pink, sharing stories about why they were standing there on a Saturday morning, ready to March.  And it wasn’t just young people.  I was surprised to see how many people my mom’s age were there too.

After our stop the train was deemed full and went express, another train coming behind us to pick up the rest.  As we blew through stop after stop I saw so many people patiently waiting, signs in hand, pink hats on.  This was going to be bigger than I thought.

My friend Charity and I met up with our friends in the city, watching as train after train arrived and people flooded into the station.  There was an energy and excitement in the air as the sheer number of people buoyed energy to one another.  We started making our way with the masses towards the place where the march was to gather.

On of our friends had brought her parents.  Her sweet father was so excited to be marching.  He kept saying, “We are all activists now.”  Indeed.

The signs ranged from hilarious (one of my favorites: “I can’t believe I still have to protest this shit”) to poignant (“‘My humanity is bound up in yours, for only together can we be truly human’ Hope Wanted”) and it each one reminded me why it mattered that I was there.

For me, and I think many others, this wasn’t sour grapes about an election that went to the other guy.  And I certainly wasn’t protesting the GOP or republicans (my beloved father was an elected republican and many people I love most dearly claim that party’s allegiance.  I cannot or will not hate republicans).  But after a year and a half of watching the very worst in humanity play out I needed to be with others who felt angry and inspired to action.  

If I’m being honest my heart has always been drawn towards the fight for justice; my very favorite books growing up were the ones that centered on this theme. Maybe it started in third grade with my teacher Mrs. Gibson, who captivated me with her stories of marching with Martin Luther King, Jr.  Or maybe that was just how I was created: to care deeply for the marginalized and oppressed.  Years ago, in college, I took women’s studies and African American studies courses where my eyes were opened wide to the depth racism, sexism, prejudice, oppression and injustice that still existed in the world. I have been drawn to understanding and fighting this ever since.

There was something I learned during those African American courses in college that I was reminded of again and again during the course of 2016.  When you start to pay attention to racism, sexism, prejudice, and oppression, you start to see it everywhere, sometimes in the most unlikely places.  It’s scary and ugly and quite frankly can make a person a little overwhelmed and despondent.  As a person who comes from a place of privilege (and we need to be honest here when we say that all white people in the United States hold some level of privilege that is not afforded to everyone) there will come a point during this period of discovery that you will want to stop looking.  It will be so hard, you will feel so terrible and guilty and bad about yourself as a person whose race had and continues to perpetuate so much injustice, that you will just want to stick your head in the sand and return to what is comfortable.  

It is at this point, as a person of privilege that you will be afforded a choice.  You can ignore what you’ve seen and quite easily return to life as status quo or you can stand up and choose a side on which to fight.  (It is here where I would argue that by choosing to ignore and return to a comfortable life pretending the injustice doesn’t exist you are actually choosing a side on which to fight; your passivity contributes to and supports injustice, but that is another conversation for another day.)

And so on that Saturday in January I marched because I wanted to physically stand against oppression and prejudice.  Because I wanted to speak truth to power.  And also because I’ve come to believe, deep in my bones the truth of that protest sign: “my humanity is tied up in yours, for only together can we truly be human.”

But I also marched for hope and love and redemption because I’ve found that when you go looking for those things, you can find them everywhere too, often in the most unlikely places.

Now of course, the work has just begun.  I marched on that Saturday morning but I continue to march each day.  I’m paying attention.  I’m calling people in power.  I’m looking for ways to lend my resources and time to fight injustice.  The march was the call to action.  Now it’s time to move.  

Happy New Year

A terribly cute/terrible toddler with some current sleep issues kept Tommy and I from ringing in the New Year together this year.  He took the big three kids to the Farm while I stayed home with the youngest.  My NYE consisted of sushi with my mom, and binge watching New Girl alone in bed, all of which had me asleep well before midnight.  NYE looks a little different these days and that is fine by me.

As a result, however, nothing about the last few days felt like any sort of “holiday” and I kind of forgot that there was any real significance to the day, other than the fact that I got to bust out my brand new Paper Source Art Grid calendar.  Instagram reminded me quickly though and I watched as many people posted their joy that the dumpster fire of a year that was 2016 was finally put to bed.

2016 was a crazy making year and unfortunately much of what made me crazy will be coming with us into the new year.  For me, when I look at our country and our world, the things that produced anxiety and hopelessness in me this past year are still very much in play.  And I don’t really know what to do with that as I look ahead to 2017.  The scary things feel too much outside of my control and out of my ability to produce any kind of change.

I really haven’t written much since the election.  I haven’t known how to start or finish anything.  When I write I’m looking for grace and hope and redemption and, well, that’s been harder for me to find.

But it’s a new year and I want to get back to old practices. I want to look at life a bit more like a camera lens this year.  My resolve in 2017 is to zoom that lens in and out this year.  I want to remember to zoom out, to look at the big picture and to care about what’s going on in the whole world.  For me this will look like paying attention, getting involved in whatever is resisting bigotry and hatred and injustice, and using whatever cards I have to speak up when necessary.  I’m going to read and listen and learn.  I’m going to be extra aware of what’s going on when I zoom that lens out and see the big picture.

But, that big picture can be overwhelming at times and I can seem powerless.  There is a lot I can’t fix or do.  And so I’m going to remember to zoom that lens in real close too and pay attention to my people, my kids and my husband, my family and the friends that have become family.  I’m going to focus the lens on them and their needs and how I can be of service.  I will make my world very small and settle into it, because this is where I can do the most good, this is where my actions produce the strongest ripples.

There will be a time for zooming the lens out and pulling it back in close and I need to do both.  My job this year is to pay attention and respond accordingly.  I can’t forget that there is a greater world out there that is hurting, that there are real injustices and abuses of power that need attention and resistance.  And I must remember that first and foremost I am called to the people in my home and in my community.  That making dinner, or reading stories or listening with full, undivided attention to my four-year-old as she rambles on about a weird dream she had last night about a unicorn, wonder woman and her best friend is often my most important ministry for the moment.

So this year I’m attempting to zoom in and out with my lens, to remember both views and forget neither.  

Happy 2017, friends.  

The Fire I'm Refusing to Ignore

I started this post yesterday but couldn't finish it.  I woke up this morning to the news of the Dallas shootings and my heart is heavier still.  I don't really know if I have any words of wisdom or if I'm just another white girl who is more clueless than not.  But my reasons for not posting this had more to do with my own self-preservation and fear of judgement which felt small and selfish.  I can't pretend there isn't a fire anymore.  

I’m heavy hearted this morning, unable to shake the feeling that something is wrong.  My Facebook feed is filled with #AltonSterling and #PhilandoCastile and pleas for our country to wake up and see that for some the world is on fire and the people with water are denying the flames’ existence.  Because they can.  Because they live in safe, fireproof houses and they don’t even realize that those fireproof houses allow them to chose blindness and that is privilege.  I can’t stop thinking about Alton Sterling’s fifteen year old son.  I was going to post something dumb about the books I’m reading but it all feels trite right now.

I don’t like feeling like this, heavy hearted with the burdens of others.  I don’t enjoy lamenting and feeling angry at God for not doing something already.  And I suppose you could say that I bring this on myself.  In an attempt to see and hear I’ve started following more people of color, those in the LGBTQ community and civil rights activists on social media.  Which of course fills my feed with more hashtags documenting the names of men and women whose lives were taken unjustly.  I’m forcing myself to look at the problems and that in turn makes my heart break.  

I could stop looking.  I could easily unfollow all those voices on social media, take Facebook and Instagram off my phone all together and never open another news outlet site again.  I could easily pretend like those injustices don’t exist.  Because of my white privilege I have the choice to look the other way.  But I can’t un-know what I know.  My eyes were opened when I was fifteen and I read “To Kill a Mocking Bird” and “Black Boy.”  They were opened again when I was 19 and I took my first African American Studies class.  And again when I was 21 and took the Social Justice track at Intervarsity’s summer camp.  I can’t un-see what I saw when I taught at George Westinghouse high school in Brooklyn, New York, a stone’s throw away from the projects that raised Jay Z.  I could feign ignorance, but the truth is I know.  I’ve seen the injustice and one day I think I will be accountable to God for what I did with that knowledge.

So I keep looking.  I keep reading.  I keep feeling heavy and helpless because it feels like the least I can do.  To not look away.  To see it and bear just a fraction of the burden my black brothers and sisters bear.  

And maybe that’s the hard part for me.  It feels like the absolute least I can do, but I don’t know what else to do.  I’ve been reliving this cycle for years now, since the Trayvon Martin shooting.  I feel the burden and the grief, I lament and post articles and like posts on Facebook until the media coverage dies down and the death becomes a little more removed.  And then I can forget (I have the luxury of forgetting) for a little while until the next shooting, the next unarmed or unaggressive black man or boy dies and the cycle repeats.  It feels so… worthless and unhelpful.

I heard on the Liturgists podcast (episode 30: Prophet or Ass, around the 18 minute mark) that in order to bring about real social change two kinds of people are needed.  We need the prophets, the ones who are outside of the power structure and who decry injustice loudly and clearly.  For the others outside the power structure these prophets are affirming and life giving.  They are leading the cause, giving a voice, pointing to the injustice and spreading the message needed for change.  Martin Luther King Jr. would be an example of such a prophet.  Those most empathetic within a power structure are also affected by the prophet’s message.  What happens though is that as human beings it is essential to our cognition to identify as a good person and so we subconsciously filter any information that undermines our self identification as a good person.  When a prophet brings forth evidence that our way of life oppresses another group of people we get defensive and we tune out because it challenges our identity as good.  For most within power structure we are unable to hear the message of the prophet.  Mentally we shut down.  And so a second group is necessary.  I like to think of them as allies.  An ally is someone within the power structure that can present the message of the prophet in a way that clearly and specifically calls out oppressive behavior while still speaking in a language that affirms the goodness of the identity of those within the oppressing groups.  An ally can take the prophet’s message back to the others and gently educate and inform.  Allies can have lower stakes conversations about the structure of white supremacy and its damage with those who have benefited (whether they realize it or not) from that structure.  They can call it out in a way that acknowledges that most of these actions are unthinking and affirm the basic goodness of those inside the oppressing group.  Both groups are needed to bring about social change on a large scale.   

I’m beginning to understand my role as an ally.  I need to speak up, to have hard conversations, to call out oppressive behavior.  And I need to do it in a way that still affirms our basic decency.  Without this approach it is scientifically proven that cognitively those in power will shut down, tune out, and forget. 

So I’m trying that today.  I’m refusing to look away and I’m being brave and kind with those around me.  In person I want to keep quiet because it’s hard to have difficult conversations face to face and point out someone’s conscious or subconscious bias.  Online I want to be cutting and snarky because I’m angry at myself for being so quiet and impatient with those that I think just don’t understand.  It’s easy to be bold and harsh online when you don’t have to see the effect of your words.  I’m raising my voice AND I’m doing it in love.  Because my role in bringing about social change is to be an ally, and this is the best way I know how.

For what it’s worth, this podcast is an excellent listen.  It’s another one from The Liturgists, called Black and White: Racism in America.  I think it’s a great entry point for those of us within the power structure to begin to open our eyes and learn.  

MLK

We sat in the (ugh) minivan waiting for the light at the end of our block.  Monster was chatting about all sorts of things and I was only half listening.  Until I heard him say,  “Mommy, Dr. Martin Lunar King looked like a man, but he was a hero.  He went in peas.  Some kids couldn’t go to school because only white kids could go to school and he didn’t like that so he gave a lot of speeches.  Dr. Martin Lunar King was a hero and also a king.  But not a king with a castle.  I like Dr. Martin Lunar King a lot.”

I resisted the urge to ask more questions, pull more out of him, because I’ve learned it’s best in situations like these to let him just talk.  I always get more from him this way.  Just like with his dad.  I had a million questions of course: what else did you learn?  Did he go in peas or peace?  What do you think about the fact that some kids couldn’t go to school?  What else, what else, what else?

He kept repeating the facts he’d learned that day in school about Dr. King, filtered through his 4-year-old understanding (there will be time to correct Luther and Lunar, peace and peas).  My heart burst as I began to understand the knowledge of one of history’s greatest that Monster had retained.  I loved that he was interested in Dr. King’s story and reveled in the conversation we were having, one I’d long imagined having with my kids.

I share this story on this Monday, Martin Luther King Jr. day because it gives me hope.  My four year old knows his story.  Knows that he was a hero and that he fought for justice.  When I get frustrated and disillusioned with how far we still have left to go with regard to civil rights and race relations in our county my four-year-old gives me hope.  He knows about a hero.  A real one.

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day. 

Why I Won't Be Watching the Academy Awards This Year

image source

In 1994 Anna Paquin won the Best Supporting Actress Academy Award for her role in The Piano.  She was eleven.  She wore this bright blueish/purple dress with a matching hat and when she got up there she just sort of stood there giggling nervously in shock.  I think this moment may have begun my love affair with the Oscars.

A year later Martin Landau won Best Supporting Actor for Ed Wood and some kid in my TAG pullout group went on and on the next day about how Martin Landau was his great-uncle.  I was so insanely jealous.

A long time ago I dreamed of being a big actress and of course those daydreams included a trip up those stairs to accept my award.  I’m not ashamed to admit it (ok, maybe a little embarrassed) but I definitely practiced my speech in the mirror.  And in a total Meta moment I remember saying (in my practice speech) how I used to practice this moment in the mirror as a kid but the real thing is so much better.

I was kind of a weird kid.

At any rate for the better part of twenty years I have LOVED the Academy Awards.  I’ve paid attention to the predictions, listened to the talk radio circuit in the weeks leading up to it and watched the entire coverage from the red carpet to Oprah’s interviews the next day.  I’ve DVR’d it and watched pieced together versions on YouTube.  I’ve rushed to Walgreens the next day to buy the People Magazine coverage and scoured the best and worst dress lists.  It’s my Super Bowl and March Madness and Stanley Cup all rolled into one and I love it.

Except this year I won’t be watching it.

On Thursday morning they announced the nominations.  While I haven’t seen any of the movies in the running this year (because, well, three kids means I ain’t watching anything I can’t see from the comfort of my couch.  And half those movies have only been out in limited release until this weekend) I’ve read reviews and listened to interviews with many of the directors or critics about the movies.  I’m not completely uninformed on this topic and I had my own predictions on who would be up for the awards.

The radio blared as I made the kids breakfast Thursday morning and I perked up a little as they began to announce nominees.  There were a few I was fairly sure were “safe bets” as far as nominees go.  When I didn’t hear David Oyelowe’s name for Selma I thought maybe I’d missed it amid the clamor that is my kids and breakfast time.  And then I didn’t hear Selma director Ava DuVernay’s name either and my heart sunk a little. 

I wasn’t the only one who noticed the glaring omission of any real diversity in the nominees this year.  People took to twitter pretty immediately to express their disappointment, creating the trending hash tag #whiteoscars.  In all four acting categories not one person of color received a nomination.  This hasn’t happened in seventeen years.  And Ava DuVernay was expected to be the first African American woman to receive a director’s nom.

Except she won’t be.

This is certainly not unprecedented.  For years the Academy has been criticized for its lack of diversity.  Part of the problem lies in the Academy voters, 94% of whose population is Caucasian, 77% male.  Read that again.  94% of the people who are voting for the nominations and subsequent winners are white. (source)

That’s a problem.

The Academy Awards have a strong influence on what movies people will go see.  And the money those movies make determine the kinds of movies that will be made the next year.  And so on and so on.

I have a hard time believing there were no compelling performances by people of color in the past year.  But even if there weren’t, if movies starring strong characters of color aren’t being made at all, that’s a big problem too!  There is an unjust system at play that we keep perpetuating by ignoring the reality of it.

I know this is not a new problem.  Every year the list of nominees if pretty white washed.  But this year it really bothers me.  In part it’s because of the events of Ferguson and the lack of charges in Eric Garner’s death.  And because of the deaths of Tamir Rice and John Crawford, Ezell Ford, Dante Parker and countless others.  It seems that racial tensions are at an all time high right now.  I’m increasingly aware that there are major systems of injustice at play in our world today and I can’t keep taking part in them blindly.

I know that my refusal to watch the Academy Awards in February won’t likely change much.  No one at the Academy will find out that they’ve lost one life-long fan this year.  The advertisers will still pay lots of dollars to air commercials during the show and the same thing will probably happen next year.  And I don't fault anyone who will participate in all the Oscar to dos.  But I’m realizing more and more that my choices in how I spend my time and money are casting votes for something whether I’m intentional about it or not.  I can choose to vote to maintain systems of injustice and oppression or I can vote for something better.  For a new way of doing business.  For a bigger, more diverse table.  And maybe if we all start voting this way the people making the decisions will start listening.

So that’s why I won’t be watching the Academy Awards on February 22.  It’s why I won’t go out and buy People magazine the next day or spend lots of time reading all the recaps online the next day.  That time is a vote and I can’t keep voting to maintain an unjust system. 

What I learned in African American Studies...

In college I took a number of African American Studies courses.  So many, in fact, that I seriously considered a minor in the subject.  My study abroad semester in put an end to that though as African American Studies credits are rather hard to receive in Dublin, Ireland.

Anyway, I loved these classes.  I was always one of a handful of white students.  And I learned more in these classes than in any other course.   They were discussion based for the most part (a favorite for my extroverted, verbal processing self) and the discussions were always intense and authentic.  Every semester my eyes and heart were opened wide to the actual present day treatment of minorities, in particular African Americans.  Every semester I broke a little more over the history of abuse and injustice they have endured. 

I always did a lot more listening that talking in these classes.  I had so much more to learn than offer. 

They were sacred spaces, these African American Studies classes.

In every class there was often at least one student who had a hard time.  This student was always white and entered into conversations slightly (or incredibly) defensive.  Black students would share their experiences with racism and hatred and this white student would tell them that no, that couldn’t possibly be their experience.  They must be mistaken.  White people don’t act that way.  I can remember in particular one student who quickly became very disliked.  Instead of listening and receiving stories she rejected and defended.  In her frustration she offended and silenced vulnerable sharing.  You could see it on the faces of my classmates.  Every time she spoke up in class those around her started to shut down or get visibly frustrated.  This was supposed to be a sacred space and she was defiling it.  Instead of heart changing dialogue the class found themselves on opposing sides believing that no common ground could ever be found.

I felt bad for her.  Deep down I understood how she felt and the reasons behind her reaction.  It’s hard to hear about the marginalization, mistreatment and oppression of others, particularly when we find ourselves carrying some amount of guilt regardless of whether or not the pain was caused by our own actions or the actions of those that look like us.  Our tendency, in that guilt, is to get defensive.  When we get defensive we sometimes try to discredit the marginalization, mistreatment and oppression.  We put the blame on the other; convince ourselves that they are over reacting, misinterpreting, or exaggerating.  It can’t possibly be that bad.

Unfortunately it is.  But even if it wasn’t, it does us no good to discredit someone’s story.  Their story is their truth.  Trying to convince them their truth is incorrect is not only wrong, but also downright offensive.

I’ve watched with a heavy heart the events unfolding in Ferguson, MO this past week.  It is utterly heartbreaking and difficult to watch.  News of John Crawford’s death split my heart right open.  It’s bad out there right now. 

We have a problem in our country.  We just do.  There is no defending or denying the systematic injustice that occurs on a daily basis in predominantly black communities all across the nation.  We have a serious problem.  Kristen Howerton’s article does a good job of laying out some facts regarding what’s been happening at Ferguson before the shooting and with regard to racial bias and police brutality in general.  I think it’s important to understand the facts regarding what has been going on long before Michael Brown was killed.

I think we also have a listening problem in our country.  We respond to the stories of black men and women much like that girl in my class.  We get defensive.  We try to derail from issue at hand with one-off instances or issues that are beside the point. We as a country are sticking our heads in the sand, unwilling to own or even hear about the racial injustices that exist in America in 2014.  And it pains me to admit this, but I think white Christians are some of the worst offenders of this listening problem.

We need to listen to the stories of others.  Listen without fear or judgment.  Without trying to fix or defend.  We need to seek out the stories of those that are different from us.  We need to really listen to the stories that make us uncomfortable, that twist our insides and leave us feeling a little defensive and exposed.  And then, instead of reacting, we need to sit with these stories for a while until our walls come down and our hearts open and break and recognize these stories as important and true as our own.  We need to listen until we recognize the storytellers as our own.

If we continue to act defensive we will continue to stand at opposing sides and no common ground will be found.  We will do well to remember that when listening to those who have spent a lifetime at the receiving end of systematic injustice, we have much more to learn than offer.  If we can’t do this we will learn nothing.  And what is happening in Ferguson will continue to happen all across our country.