Fraternities and the Excuses of Racism

Most people I know will respond with strong emotion to the video footage of University of Oklahoma fraternity members'  racist chants during a bus ride to I don't know where. My African American friends are most likely hurt, angry, and disgusted. Perhaps they feel that nothing will ever change. I can't say I blame them.

Most white people too, will likely be angry and disgusted by such blatantly racist, hateful behavior. If they are from the north, as I am, they may even write this behavior off as a southern thing. "Yeah, Oklahoma," they may think, "what can you expect?" Of course, I recognize that this is a totally biased and false assumption - I know that there a plenty of southerners who are committed to social/racial justice and plenty of northerners who are racist, even if they don't ride on buses chanting racial slurs (just not done in NYC). But I'm being honest here - geography is one of the excuses whites may use to explain away the racism of other whites.

Which brings me to the topic of excuses. What fascinates me about this whole deplorable incident is the explanations given by the people involved, along with their friends and family members. Here are some I've heard so far:

1. The Mel Gibson Maneuver: "I was drunk." While I'm not an expert on the subject, it's my understanding that alcohol can make a person less inhibited, but it doesn't, in and of itself, turn people into racists. In that respect, booze is a lot like makeup - it works with what you've already got.

2. "I made a mistake." Writing the wrong date at the top of my check is a mistake. Forgetting to pay a bill because I lost it in a pile of junk mail is a mistake. Going out with a person after he asks how much I weigh is a mistake. Painting my bedroom hot pink is a mistake. Having my final grade in Statistics tattooed on my forearm is a mistake. Need I go on? We all make mistakes, but intentional, repeated behavior cannot be labeled a mistake or a "lapse in judgement."

3. "The song was taught to us." Yeah…and?

4. "The video does not define him personally," stated by a friend of one of the guys leading the chant. This is a derivation of the "I made a mistake" excuse (see #2 above). While I agree that people are complicated, aren't we all defined by our actions? Perhaps the video isn't the only thing that defines this guy, but it surely is one thing that defines him. And if the video doesn't define him personally, it defines him, what? Professionally? Religiously? Politically? Just as bad and maybe worse.

5. "I was singing along with a rap song." This, from the elderly fraternity house mother, is a version of the "they say it, why can't we?" motif. I have heard young people express confusion over the use of racial slurs because they hear them from African American rappers or friends. Not understanding the difference between insider/outsider status and entertainment v. everyday use, and not being fully aware of the brutal history of the slur as used by whites, white youth might not fully understand why they shouldn't use "the N word." But this woman is surely old enough to know better.

6.  And here's the saddest of all, stated by the parents of one of the chant leaders, "…we know his heart, and he is not a racist."  I'm a parent. We all want to believe the best about our children. Perhaps a more accurate assessment by these parents might be, "We love our son, and even though he did something very wrong, we know he has the capacity to do better in the future."

7. Speaking of parents, the last excuse is not from family or supporters of the chant leaders, but from their detractors. Apparently a group of protestors planted a small sign in front of the home of one of the chant leaders that said, "Racism is taught." The message here is that the parents are at fault for teaching their son to be racist. I don't know these parents, and it's true that racism can be taught by parents or family members. It's also true that, in the words of the Nox (message me if you get the reference), "The very young do not always do what they are told." Children's behavior does not always reflect the belief systems of their parents. I know this first hand, and, contrary to the rosy picture of family life depicted on Facebook, I bet most parents who have gone through the teenage years with their children would agree.

A critical race scholar by the name of Eduardo Bonilla-Silva wrote a book called Racism Without Racists. His point was that people can and do hold racist attitudes without considering themselves to be racists. If there are no more racists in the world, then where is all this racist behavior coming from? If the people involved in this latest incident can find excuses for such blatantly racist behavior and claim they are not, in their hearts, racists, what does racism mean and what does it take to be considered racist?

Instead of all these excuses, I'd love to hear a true apology from these folks, and not just from the two that were caught, but from everyone involved. There were a lot more voices on that video than the two white guys who stood up and led the chant. I'd like to hear an admission of racism, and a desire to change. Wouldn't it be refreshing to hear someone say, "I didn't realize before how racist I truly am. I'm sorry and I want to do better." That wouldn't solve everything, but it would be a start.

Guest Post: Coming to Terms with Anger

The following is a guest post from my friend, Marcus Woods. Marc is a PhD Candidate at Rutgers University. He shares his perspective on recent events as an African American male who is active in his church and community.

I’m angry.  I am so angry. I’m angry at our legal system. I’m angry at these grand juries.  But mostly, I’m angry at the church.  I’m furious at my brothers and sisters.   We’re supposed to be one body.  We’re supposed to be working together.  The strong are supposed to help the weak with their burdens.  And yet I sit here heavy and burdened, and I feel like the church has abandoned me.  There’s a deafening silence in the Christian community after the acquittals of officers in Ferguson and New York City.  I’m boiling over and seething with anger and pain and I want you to stop denying it.  I want you to stop telling me  not to be angry. 

In the past week I’ve tried to reflect on my own habit of placing my identity as a black man in front of my identity as a Christian.  I know that ideally, I shouldn’t do this.  I know that this body is just temporary and temporal.  When we leave these bodies and get to glory, ethnicities, colors, phenology, race, etc., surely won’t matter.  This is only flesh and I’ve been taught that the flesh is what separates and distances us from God.  In respect to things that are eternal and really matter, I know that this flesh ranks pretty low.  You know as well as I do, though, that this flesh can be a powerful thing.  While I know that God looks beyond my color and race, people don’t.  Everyday I’m confronted with stereotypes, inequalities, and injustices because I’m a black man.  Before people get the chance to see that I’m a Christian, my race has broadcasted who they think that I am.  So while it’s temporary and earthly, my race has very real implications for how I live my life.

At the same time, I also know that historically, the church has been silent or on the wrong side of many issues of inequality.  From slavery, to segregation, to Jim Crow, many from the church in America have been strangely silent.  This especially confuses me because when I read about Christ, I don’t see him as someone who supported the status quo.  He was an activist and a righter of wrongs.  Even when it was unpopular, he spoke truth in the face of lies and transformed those filled with hatred through the power of his love. In the past several days I’ve used that old middle school mantra of WWJD.  That’s been the most helpful exercise for me.  I know that He wouldn’t be in the streets looting, setting cities ablaze, and letting his uncontrolled rage damage a community.  At the same time, I don’t think that He would sit idly by and ignore the posts, comments, blogs, feelings, etc. of those who felt genuinely affected by racism that they encountered. Surely he would be somewhere in the middle, able to balance correcting inequalities and loving people.  He would be about connections and love.

There’s a way to fight equality and do it in a productive, Christ-like manner.  I aspire to be like Christ, like many of us probably do.  So yes, I should love my neighbors, even when they think I’m aggressive and a threat because I’m a big black guy.  At the same time, I have to stand up and protect those who are being crushed and oppressed.  See, Christ didn’t sit idly by and watch people suffer.  He took those that the world didn’t care about.  He took the widows, the diseased, the prostitutes, everyone who was broken and discarded and He embraced and love them.  Brothers and sisters, there is oppression in this land.  There are structural inequalities.  There are people whose rights are being stripped away and I challenge you to search your heart and see how silence and ignorance allows us to progress.  We’re supposed to be the light of this world and flavor it with our righteousness. We’re supposed to make a difference!

It boggles my mind that so many can stay silent in the face of discrimination and inequality.  I know that many have a hard time believing that the Mike Brown murder was about anything more than a thug who tried to attack a police officer.  They claim that race isn’t central to this incident, not respecting authority is. Let’s take a step back from this example and see that it’s just one example in the list of many.  Even if you can’t bring yourself to believe that Mike Brown’s death is about race, understand that there are many people in this country who feel that Ferguson and Eric Garner are proof that America values the lives of black men as less than others.  This isn’t an indictment against white people. Nor is it an excuse to hate, ignore, or blame them.  I try my hardest to approach friends of all colors and ethnicities to explain my disappointment and anger at the legal system in America.  Yet, my life is proof that black men are viewed as a problem. I feel like my life is expendable.  It’s as if the system doesn’t care if I die or not.  This pain is palpable!  It chokes me up to think that the system designed to protect and serve could see me as a threat for no reason. I could be one of those black men wrongfully executed and my character assassinated so that people could feel better about what happened. I’m angry and my anger isn’t a sin.  Even Christ got angry.   I choose to use that anger.  I’m going to use that anger to stir myself to make some tangible action of change.  Hopefully, I can stir you enough to do the same.

I haven’t forgotten that the actual church of God is bigger than race or ethnicity.  But as it is with a lot of things in scripture, it’s easier to recite God’s words than live it out.  On one hand, I know that I should “Bless those that despitefully use you” and that “Blessed are ye when men shall revile you and persecute you and say all manner of evil against you falsely.” At the same time, it hurts so much.  I’ve been stopped plenty of times in Philadelphia while not committing any crimes.  It’s terrifying to know that being a law-abiding citizen may not be enough to keep me alive. The situation in Ferguson is simply one example of a fractured system founded in a racist America.  We built this country on the backs of black people.  When slavery was abolished there was still another hundred years of Jim Crow and government assisted and supported racism.  In the last two generations, we’ve made amazing progress, but to assume that the past 60 years was enough to equalize the entrenched power imbalance and racism in America is absurd. It bothers me so much that so many Christians are willing to ignore a legacy of systematic and government supported racism that existed in our country for years.

I’ve engaged in peaceful demonstrations the past week.  While I haven’t been moved to anger or destruction, I can emphasize with those who are, especially those who aren’t bound by a religious or moral code that says violence is wrong.  People are angry and rightfully so.  They believe that the system of justice is skewed against them. What do we expect them to do? When going through formal systems can’t work, because the system is slanted and biased, then one has to go outside the system.  I understand their rage and discontent.  It burns slowly and intensely inside of myself.  I don’t judge them though.  While I may not think destruction is the most productive use of anger, judging is the last thing I feel like doing.  Because below that anger is a pain, desperation, and hopelessness.  That’s what we should be concerned with as Christians.  What about the pain and hurt that an entire group of people feel? Isn’t that what our Savior would have been concerned with?  I’m discouraged by the silence of the church.  One can show compassion and the love of Christ without picking a side.  While I can’t understand how anyone in America still thinks that racism on an individual and systematic level isn’t a problem, I’m not asking anyone to believe exactly like I do about race and justice.  What I’m suggesting is that regardless of your beliefs about race, the suffering and perceived injustice that black Americans are going through should stir something inside of us.  It should cause us to me empathic and sympathetic. 

I’m not calling on revolution or war, but I do not think that there is a problem with demonstrations against a system that doesn’t seem fair.  The recent protests in NYC are an example of how people of different stations in life are coming together in solidarity for the oppressed.  I was at the Millions March and was almost brought to tears by the diversity of ages, races, and ethnicities. On the way up, I sat behind a group of priests from The Princeton Theological Seminary. We got into a conversation and I was so inspired by their activism. They were all different ages, races, and genders. They all felt a need to change the world and help move America towards a more equal system. There was a sense of empathy and support for a generation of frustrated young men.  Sounds pretty Christ like to me.

The Zero-Sum Game

Sometimes whites think about race relations as if it's a zero-sum game. In a zero-sum game there are a certain number of points to be had and every point my opponent scores takes a point away from me. For example, in Scrabble, if I get the Q or the X or the Z and use them well, or if I use a triple word space, not only do I gain points, but those points are lost to the other players. Or in Monopoly, if I buy Boardwalk and Park Place they add to my game and take away from my opponents' chances to win not only because they will land on my hotel and owe me lots of money, but because they've lost the opportunity of ownership that will help them win.

Here's how this thinking works with race: if a person of color gets a scholarship, that's less money available for me as a white person.  If a person of color gets a job or some other opportunity, there's one less job or opportunity available to me as a white person. On the surface this seems to make sense, and zero-sum game thinking fuels arguments against affirmative action and in favor of a "colorblind" approach to race.

In a way, people who respond to "Black Lives Matter" by saying "All Lives Matter" are playing the zero-sum game. They respond as if saying that black lives matter means that white lives don't matter quite as much any more.

Recently, I heard another interesting example of zero-sum game thinking.  A friend was at a meeting with people involved in a specific, white dominated Christian organization. Someone at the meeting pointed out the lack of racial diversity within their ranks and suggested they think of ways to be more racially inclusive in the future. Since some of the fastest growing Evangelical churches in the U.S. are multiethnic/multiracial, this would seem to make sense. However, an older white guy who has been part of this organization for a long time expressed his dissatisfaction. Does that mean, he said (and I'm paraphrasing but this is pretty close, I think), that white people like me should take their gifts and callings and go elsewhere?

Hmm.  I wasn't there. I didn't hear the tone, I didn't see the body language. But I couldn't help but notice the immediately defensive and indignant posture of this person's response. No one at the meeting suggested he step down from his position.  On the contrary, I believe that this person is well respected within the ranks of the organization. No one suggested that white applicants be turned away or discouraged from participation in this particular ministry; they simply suggested that more people of color be recruited, as well. Yet in this white person's eyes, someone else's gain could only be viewed as his loss. Apparently there's only so much room in ministry and he needed to protect his spot. Of course, this is the opposite of the Christian doctrine I'm sure this person teaches, wherein there is "room at the cross" for everyone.  I wonder if he thinks that heaven will be populated based on the zero-sum game.

Guest Post: TO MY WHITE EVANGELICAL BROTHERS AND SISTERS

The following is a guest post from my good friend, Dr. Debra Brown. Debra is an African American evangelical leader who lived near Ferguson, MO for many years.

TO MY WHITE EVANGELICAL BROTHERS AND SISTERS:

As I gaze upon the starkness of winter, it reflects my heart over recent events pertaining to race, reconciliation, and truth. I feel bewildered. Is it conceivable that you don't get it? Please understand…

1. SILENCE IS NOT ACCEPTABLE.
If you do not know what to say, it is preferable for you to state that truth.

2. SOCIAL MEDIA IS NOT AN ACCEPTABLE VENUE TO CONVERSE.
I cannot see your eyes, your non-verbal communication. I see words that without context can be misinterpreted. Stopbullying.gov defines cyberbullying and its effects. Christian cyberbullying is using religion as a justification.

3. CIVIL DISCOURSE REQUIRES CRITICAL THINKING.
When the Ferguson incident first happened, I searched out a colleague who is a white male evangelical former police officer to obtain his perspective. This enlightened my understanding. Have you judged without examining all the different perspectives?
Take the Berea challenge -- Acts 17:11: "These were more noble than those in Thessalonica, in that they received the word with all readiness of mind, and searched the scriptures daily, whither those things were so."

4. EMPATHIZE AND LISTEN TO MY FEELINGS.
I am a wife, a mother, a sister, daughter, and an aunt to African American males who are law abiding citizens yet are subject to racial epitaphs, stopped by the police without provocation, and stereotyped simply because of the color of their skin. I hear their anger and frustration. I cry tears they will not shed for themselves. In moments of suffering, Jesus understands my pain!
Hebrews 12:1-3: "Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God. For consider him that endured such contradiction of sinners against himself, lest ye be wearied and faint in your minds."

5. I NEED YOUR LOVE.
I do not adhere to the position that God is colorblind. I do adhere to the position that spiritual identity supersedes racial identity. Racial reconciliation is spiritual warfare. Reconciliation requires that you love me in word and deed. As stated earlier, I am hurting. When you, as a white evangelical person, hug me and express your love to me, Satan is defeated.
1 Corinthians 12:25-27: "That there should be no schism in the body; but that the members should have the same care one for another. And whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it; or one member be honored, all the members rejoice with it. Now ye are the body of Christ, and members in particular."

It is not my intent for you to feel guilty or responsible for the social injustices of this world because of your race. Nor do I expect you to agree with my perspective on recent events. I would appreciate awareness and conversation. These are the beginning steps to racial reconciliation.

Ferguson: Ignoring the Pain

This morning I sat across the table from a good friend in pain. My friend is African American and the cause of her pain is Ferguson. She, like many of my black friends, was devastated by the grand jury's decision not to indict police officer Darren Wilson for the shooting of Michael Brown last August. She, again like many others, sees this as just one more sanctioning of excessive police force toward unarmed African American males. Trayvon Martin (no actual police involved in this shooting), Eric Garner, and most recently, 12 year old Tamir Rice -- all black, all unarmed, all dead.

Certainly these deaths weigh heavily on the heart of my friend and on the hearts of many people in our country and around the world. But the deaths are not the only reason for the hurt I saw on my friend's face this morning. She's been around for awhile and she understands the systems in place that create the environment for shootings like these to occur. What she is having trouble understanding is the silence of the white community of faith around her. No one reached out to her, no one said a word about the grand jury decision. She doesn't understand how people within her own community can be so uncaring.

Here's the thing - my friend's silent white friends are not uncaring. In fact, some of them are the kindest, most caring people I know. They just don't get it. They don't understand the depth of emotion that surrounds the Brown case and others like it for African Americans. For many whites, the response to the shooting is to analyze the facts - what did eye witnesses say? Why didn't their testimonies agree? What does the forensic evidence show? What kind of person was Michael Brown? What kind of person and police officer is Darren Wilson? Is his story credible? Etc., etc., etc.

Now, let me go on record. I don't find Wilson's story credible. Of course, I can't know for sure what happened, but I find his demonizing of Michael Brown suspicious. Yes, there was an altercation before the shooting. But the one response that I can't get out of my head is that of the construction workers who witnessed the shooting. Perhaps you saw the video - here it is again: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sblJdLcgXfU. The way these guys responded, along with the man who walks through the scene with his hands up, unaware he's being videoed, seems too spontaneous and authentic to ignore.

But in a way, that's besides the point. It's more important for me to understand and empathize with the feelings of my African American friends than it is for me to play CSI and analyze the crime scene. I need to accept that my experiences inform my beliefs, and, experientially, I know nothing. I need to listen to those "in the know" if I am to learn.

So, in the spirit of listening, I hope to share some guest posts on this topic from African American friends. It's time to stop analyzing and listen.

R is for Resentment?

I'm reading a book called "Americanah," by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. LOVE it. Adichie is a Nigerian author who explores U.S. race relations through the eyes of her fictional character, Ifemelu. As an outsider looking in, Ifemelu notices the hierarchies and sub-hiearchies of race. Like me, she is a blogger, but unlike me, her posts are witty, poignant, lucrative, and frequent. She blogs about how people respond to her as a dark skinned woman, and explores topics like racial profiling and the privileging of lighter skin and straighter hair among whites and people of color.

My favorite blog post by Ifemelu is titled, "Understanding America for the Non-American Black: Thoughts on the Special White Friend." She describes the sense of appreciation and relief she feels when she comes across "The White Friend Who Gets It." The White Friend Who Gets It understands how centuries of racism have created systems of oppression that perpetuate poverty and lack of opportunity for some and advantage for others. He or she understands that race really does still matter in this country. Let The White Friend Who Gets It speak for you, Ifemelu suggests, because whiteness allows your friend to say stuff to other whites that black people can't. (I've seen this many times in my classes - when a white person writes about racism, it's ok, but when a black person writes the very same things white students dismiss the work as "biased.")

Why don't more of us white people "get it"? Why is there such division and polarization in the way that many whites (at least many of the whites I know) and many African Americans, especially, view race? As Adichie points out through Ifemelu, polls show that most whites think racism is over and most blacks think it isn't. What quality is required what quality stands in the way of getting it for so many of us?

Taking the all I ever needed to know I learned in kindergarten approach, I think it's pretty simple. It's about empathy and the willingness to grow past egocentricity. I need to understand that my experience may not be the experience of people around me. For me, racism is not an issue because I'm white. I'm part of the dominant culture. For someone else, racism is an issue. Even if I don't understand it, can't I accept that racism exists because people who have experienced racism tell me it exists? Do I have to experience something personally in order for it to be true?

Of course not. But resentment stands in the way of empathy and fuels egocentricity. If we, as whites, spend all of our psychic energy feeling blamed and defensive over the topic of racism, we will resent, rather than understand, people of color who share their experiences with racism. That wall of resentment will cause us to say things like, "Black people can be racist, too," and "My uncle didn't get a job because a black person got it," and "I'm not racist, but black people should stop acting like victims and get over it," etc., etc., etc.

Anyway, you should read the book. Ifemelu says it much better than I ever could. And then maybe more of us could try a little bit harder to be a white friend who gets it.

Why So Silent? A post for my white, evangelical friends:

To My White Evangelical Friends:

While some of you are part of my face-to-face, real-time life, many others are cyber friends that I keep up with through the magic of Facebook.  I’m always amazed at the variety of topics you post about – everything from what you ate for dinner (including pictures), to how you spent your summer vacation, to what you think about the crisis in the Middle East. Some of you do the political thing, and some of you don’t. Some quote scriptures, post sermon notes, or flood the internet with pictures of your kids.  And of course, there are those ubiquitous cat videos that I admit I’m especially fond of. 

The one topic on which you’ve been wholly silent, though, is the shooting of Michael Brown, an unarmed black youth, by a white police officer, and the subsequent unrest in Ferguson, MO. Generally speaking, you’re not a quiet group, so I’ve been wondering what reasons might exist for your silence about these troubling events. 

I admit I’ve also been quiet about the shooting until now, even on this blog, for a few reasons.  First, I’ve been waiting to get the facts – what actually happened to Michael Brown? Why was he shot, and what was he doing when he was shot? Even though several eye witnesses have stated that he was standing still with his hands up, I guess I’ve been waiting for forensic information to back up that testimony.  Also, I intend my posts to add to the conversation in some unique, significant way and I don’t post until I feel that I’m able to do that.

But here’s the thing – even if we don’t know all the facts, shouldn’t our faith compel us to at least show compassion toward the grieving family? A young man died. Can we express to Michael Brown’s family how very, very sorry we are? Regardless of how events transpired that awful night, I think we can agree that we are sorry a young man died, a family is suffering, and a community is in upheaval. We are sorry for the part we have played in failing at the daunting task of racial reconciliation in this country.

Can we understand the anger of many in the African American community at the idea that their young people are the targets of racial profiling that can lead to violence and death? As a white mom of three boys who have not always behaved perfectly in or outside of our home, I’ve never had to worry that the people who are charged with their protection might be the very ones to hurt my sons.  I’ve never had to explain “the rules” to them of how to avoid police violence.  Even though I’ve never experienced these things, I can listen to those who have and feel compassion for them.

A few years ago many of you, my white, evangelical friends, stood in unity with a fast food chicken chain’s stance on a social issue. The “likes” were flying all over Facebook (no pun intended, since chickens don’t actually fly).  You lined up for hours to buy that chicken and show solidarity with their view.  I don’t fault you for that – it was your right to do so.  I’m just wondering, though, if we could muster up even a little of that same drive and passion in this situation. Can we offer our sympathy, show our compassion, and pray that truth and justice would prevail for all of us, but especially for our brothers and sisters of color whose experience so differs from our own?