I recently read an article written by a dear
friend, Christopher "Flood the Drummer" Norris, on race relations
that moved me deeply.[1] I had such a
poignant mixture of emotions to what he wrote that initially I honestly didn't
how to respond. However, I'd like to. I'd really like to engage with this conversation
in the public forum and I think that was the point of his article so I have
decided to write, but before I begin I want to take his advice and check my
privilege at the door. I recognize that my having a voice in this forum on this
issue on this Internet with these words takes place in a context and there are
many experiences within that context that I cannot speak to, understand, judge,
or for which I have the ability to empathize. However, I write this with a
hope—perhaps naïve—that I can add something constructive to the conversation.
With that said I sincerely hope what I have written here will be taken in the
spirit that I have intended it—love.
I am a white male who grew up in neighborhoods
that were occupied predominately by people of color. As such I have had a
unique experience that I find difficult to talk about these days with white
folks and people of color given the systematic structures of oppression that
exist that keep me and people who look like me on top by default. However, in
Atlanta (where my growing up happened) I found myself in many
conversations with people of color about their experiences with oppression.
They were never held in forums, town halls, or meetings on community relations;
we were just kids talking about life.
In elementary school I remember we talked alot
about Dr. King's dream of "sitting down together at the table of
brotherhood" and what that meant.[2]
We were told the histories of what happened to black folks throughout American
history (albeit the condensed, watered down, barely recognizable versions of
history that are easier on the privileged stomach), but also that we were to
treat each other equally without bias. Therefore, as I grew up I tried to
engage folks on these issues. It was never a problem for me to talk about race
with people of color or other white folks. I knew shit was fucked up. I saw it.
My friends went through it every day and told me about it. It was an open
secret that the world treated some people different. My job—it seemed to me—was
not to act like the world, but to do my best to sit at that table of
brotherhood and talk with the folks sitting there with me about what to do
about it.
Later, I moved to Lookout Mountain,
GA/Chattanoooga, TN where I attended a Christian college (that in and of itself
being a privilege seeing as how LOTS of people from where I am from where not
given the same opportunity [I went to school on scholarships]). I will spare
you a lot of details but suffice it to say that I spent a lot of my time there
in Churches devoted to racial harmony because they were convinced that—as it is
written—"there is neither Jew nor Gentile because [Jesus] broke down the
dividing wall of hostility in his flesh." (Ephesians 2:13-18) Now, I know
that there is a lot of historical context to explore in that passage and I will
gladly do that with anyone who would like, but for our purposes here we took it
as a command to be a new people; a new race; a holy race… if not in the world,
at least in the Church. We didn't do it perfectly, but we tried. We tried
really hard by attempting to be upfront and honest and about our fears,
inclinations, assumptions, hopes, and dreams. Now, when I moved to Philly and
got involved in the activist scene everything changed...
One poignant example was one of the electrified
general assemblies that I facilitated early on at Occupy Philly. A few people
of color came to the front of the assembly and demanded the microphone to
address a couple of pressing issues they had with our camp. I gave it to them.
They accused the Occupy movement of purposefully practicing racism and berated
our lack of attention to the causes of the traditionally marginalized. As you
might imagine this caused an uproar. When I was given the mic back I attempted
to calm the crowd by saying "We aren't racist here!" Two women—one of
which who I have worked very closely with since—yelled back "yes, we
are!" I didn't know how to respond. I was flabbergasted. "Why?” I
thought to myself. I was operating under the assumption that we were there to
act and be the change we wanted to see in the world. I couldn't imagine anyone
there saying that they wanted to be racist so I couldn't understand
their reasoning.
Since, I have come to understand their point.
They were telling me and the crowd that racism is inherent and systematic. It
is—as a close friend of mine likes to put it—a poison that we can't help but
breathe. Like the folks who brought their concerns to the general assembly they
were trying to instill in me and us the fact that there are systematic
structures that inhibit certain people groups from achieving X, Y, and Z in
America and those structures mold our actions and who we are. What I still
don't understand is why we are content to let this poison kill us.
The Apostle Paul likened the Holy Spirit to a
down payment of things to come in the new world (Ephesians 1:13-14). In other
words the very Spirit of God would come upon believers to empower them
to be able to live a resurrected life that was a reflection of the world to
come which would be characterized by love, righteousness, peace, and joy
(Romans 14:17). In other words: (through the Spirit) be the change you want to
see in the world. My naive belief was that we, at Occupy Philly's Dilworth
Plaza encampment, were trying to model the world we wanted to see. I
facilitated as many, if not more, general assemblies than anyone there and I,
nor my fellow facilitators, ever—to my knowledge—purposefully prioritized a
white male voice over traditionally marginalized and/or oppressed peoples. On
the contrary, we tried our best to act (and structure general assemblies) in
such a way to empower those voices. Did it work perfectly? No. Hell, no. But
was it a step in the right direction?
Here is my issue: I think that purposeful
practice of the world we want to see and open dialogue about that world is progress.
I think that babies taking their first steps to walk are something to be
celebrated not lamented because they cannot run marathons right away. However,
so many of my activist friends are so compelled to call out racism that it is
all they can see. They are so overwhelmingly convinced of the presence of the
poison that they can't smell the fresh air, even when they are temporarily
immersed in it. There have been times in activist circles when I have been
lambasted for parading my privilege like I don't know I have it when I have
been thinking about these issues my whole life and living and loving among many
loved ones suffering from it, but I am reprimanded in the moment. By merely
expressing an unpopular question (such as "Can we talk about this? Can you
help me understand?") I have been told that I am exercising my privilege
and not taking into accounts the feelings and experiences of the oppressed.
More times than I can count I have been told by activist people of color:
"It's not my job to help you understand your privilege— talk to other
white people about it." Then how am I (and we, for the matter) to
understand? Can the blind lead the blind?
I was taught in Church and in school to love people.
It is a spiritual issue for me. But how am I supposed to interact with the
issue of systematic racist institutions and attempt to dismantle them over time
when every time I attempt it I am put in a box? (The irony of the question does
not go over my head) How am I to be an ally when I ask a question and the only
answer I get is "that's not my job to figure that out for you—talk to
other white people”? What if none of us know? How are the privileged supposed
to dismantle racism in a way that reflects the community of the oppressed if
the oppressed don't give us guidance? Even if I developed the perfect response
to the racist regime it would still be the workings of a white male who has
been given a voice on the issue without asking for it.
All of this is why I loved Chris' article. I
think that anyone who would call him out with negative titles should look at
themselves in a mirror before they pass judgment. I am not a perfect man, far
from it. Neither is Chris. But I call that man "brother" because I
have the naive belief that we, as people, can make a choice to not be held
captive by our pasts but can run to the future together as one because we have
purposefully broken down the dividing wall of hostility with our love. If the
institutions that America has built are racist then I choose revolution, but I
can't do it alone. And I will never know who my comrades are if I cannot talk
to them about these issues. Fear is a powerful tool. I believe "the
Man" knows that well which is why he keeps the well intentioned divided.
But only love will save us; only love can break down the dividing wall of race;
only love will bring us together. Whether we choose to practice love is a daily
decision and not an easy one because history HAS been unfair; it has enslaved;
it has oppressed. But can we do better? I hope so. If not on an institutional
level (yet) then at least on a personal level. I'll be waiting at the table of
brotherhood for anyone who would join me. I believe this is what Chris is trying
to say: let's talk about it openly and honestly until we dismantle the
ubiquitous foundations of racism together. Can we?
I submit this to you with the utmost humility. Honestly, I'm scared.
I'm afraid this will be taken in a negative way; will be seen as just another
expression of privilege; and will be an inhibition to progress. But I don't
have a choice. I am so tired. I am so tired of being alienated from my brothers
and sisters because of a world that was built without my permission. I submit
this to you in the hope that in the spirit of love we will overcome.
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