A Sinner and A Saint Pass Away

This past week saw the passing of two notable figures from the Civil Rights and Watergate eras. On Monday, May 19 Vincent Harding passed away at the age of 82. He was a long time Civil Rights activist, speechwriter and friend of Martin Luther King Jr., theologian, and historian of the African American struggle in the United States. In recent years he was an elder who often shared perspective and wisdom from his long decades of activism. This past summer Krista Tippet interviewed on her weekly radio show “On Being” in which he reflected on the lessons of the past and his hopeful view of the future of progressive Christian activism.


While I only met Harding once and that only briefly, he was a person in recent years I had come to greatly respect. His book There is a River: The Black Struggle for Freedom in America opened my eyes to the heroic resistance of Africans to their enslavement and torture, thereby challenging the myth of the “passive Negro” who was simply victimized by the European slave traders. While acknowledging the brutality of slavery Harding describes in detail the ways in which the Africans asserted their dignity and humanity in a dehumanizing and inhumane era. The book captured for me gentle fierceness Harding displayed in his writing and speaking over the decades.

My one meeting with him occurred in 2009 when I participated in a conference on peacemaking in Philadelphia. Each night at the end of the proceedings Harding would offer his reflections and challenges to the mostly white liberal crowd. As an elderly African American in a mostly middle aged white crowd, he seemed an odd participant in that gathering until I realized that as a Mennonite (a overwhelmingly white peace church), Harding had been both a lifelong peacemaker and a boundary crosser who spoke truth wherever he went and to whomever he was speaking. As part of that conference, I was one of twelve people who committed and civil disobedience against a gun shop known for its active participation in the straw purchasing/illegal gun trade in Philadelphia. Out of that action Heeding God’s Call, an interfaith gun violence prevention organization, was born. To this day HGC continues to call attention to the need for common sense gun legislation to reduce the senseless killing from illegally purchased firearms. While only indirectly involved, Vincent Harding was a source of inspiration to many of us coming out of that event and that conference. His example and his words will be missed.

Nine days earlier on May 11, at the age of 79 Jeb Magruder died at his home in Danbury, Connecticut. Unlike Harding whose influence and image grew positively with age, Magruder spent much of his life undoing disgrace over his involvement in the Watergate scandal that took down the administration and presidency of Richard Nixon in the 1970’s. For those too young to remember, Nixon aides inexplicably broke into the offices of then-Democratic presidential candidate George McGovern; during the 1972 presidential election campaign those offices were located in Washington, DC’s Watergate Hotel. The subsequent investigation of the break-in revealed pervasive corruption in the Nixon administration that eventually sent several Nixon aides to jail (including Magruder) and caused Nixon to resign in disgrace in 1975. I remember watching the Senate hearings in the summer of 1973. Until that time U.S. political leaders were generally considered to be honorable men (they were virtually all white men at that time), and what the public didn’t know about their personal lives or backroom dealings it didn’t really want to know. All that changed after Watergate, such that today politicians are generally assumed to be corrupt until they prove otherwise. Furthermore, Watergate is why subsequently any high-level government scandal is always referred to as a “-gate.” The most recent example is “Bridge-gate” which involves aides to New Jersey Republican Governor Chris Christie using their political power to make driving on the George Washington bride intolerable for residents of Fort Lee, which has a Democratic mayor who refused to support the governor’s run for re-election.

I met Jeb Magruder around 1977 about two years after he had served a seven month jail term for his involvement in the Watergate scandal. He attended a monthly prayer breakfast of movers and shakers in Boston that I was privileged to attend (not because I was a mover or shaker, but because the organizer of the event, Tom Getman, was the regional director for Young Life, for whom I worked at that time). Jeb Magruder came as a special guest and shared his story with the group. I was impressed by the honest contrition of a man who knew he had gotten caught up in something that betrayed his basic values. He did not try to rationalize away his part in the scandal but took full responsibility for his actions, and talked about how the ordeal had changed his life dramatically, so much so that he left the business and political worlds to become a Presbyterian pastor. Following the meeting, I gave him a ride to the train station, and had the opportunity to talk personally with him. When he learned I had recently graduated from Duke University, he told me of a classmate and acquaintance from my class who had been instrumental in helping his son deal with his father’s disgrace. Despite his past experience at the highest level of government, he expressed a genuine interest and respect for my work with street kids in the Jamaica Plan neighborhood of Boston.

While the Watergate scandal has indelibly caused me to be suspicious of those in place of political power, my brief encounter with Jeb Magruder showed me that often decent, well-meaning people can get entangled in systems that distort and contort them into becoming people even they themselves despise. While I did not follow Magruder’s career after our brief interaction, I have since rarely met a person who was so honest and repentant about his sins, and yet who authentically experienced God’s transforming power and grace in the aftermath of his downfall.

Vincent Harding the saint and Jeb Magruder the sinner were people who had a deep impact on the people and events of their time. Their lives significantly impacted the society, institutions and culture in which they lived. I am sure that those who knew them personally can further testify to the power and integrity of their influence. From a far more distant vantage point and briefer interaction, I too was touched by their lives. For these reasons I mourn their passing while celebrating their contributions to my life and to history.

Forty Million Dollar Slaves: What Donald Sterling Unwittingly Teaches Us

A lot of ink and media time has been taken up covering, debating, condemning and trying to make sense of Donald Sterling’s tape recorded message in which he made clearly racially disparaging remarks.  Despite the questionable nature of the anonymous taping of a private conversation, Donald Sterling’s racist antics were well known long before this incident. He was the defendant into cases of housing discrimination which were settled out of court, and former players such as Baron Davis reported similar kinds of statements from Donald Sterling from court side when Davis was playing a game. Thus, the censure and find issued to Sterling by NBA Commissioner Adam Silver was not so much a reaction to racism as it was an action to mitigate what could have been a public relations nightmare for the league. Put plainly, Silver’s concern was not about black and white, but green, the color of the cash that the NBA would have been lost had  Silver not taken decisive action.

In a league that is overwhelmingly populated by African- American players, and yet where there are only a handful of coaches or general managers of color, should we be surprised? In a professional sports system where human beings are regarded as property to be bought and sold, and then discarded when they are no longer useful, should we be surprised? In a professional sports system where extremely talented young men forgo family, health and education at a shot at the big leagues, and where increasingly players are being encouraged and enticed to forgo the long term gains of education for the short term fix of a multi-million dollar contract, should we be surprised?

Now,  let me be clear: I love playing (when my ageing knees let me!) and watching basketball. During March Madness I faithfully fill out my bracket and follow the path to the NCAA championship. Now during the NBA Finals I am following each team as the field gets whittled down from 16 teams to the final one crowned champion.  For me there is nothing quite like a Blake Griffin dunk, a Tony Parker teardrop, a Stephan Curry three pointer, or a Miami Heat fast break. The men who play the game at this highest level are incredible athletes, and most in spite some bad press focused on a few, are decent role models for young people.

So it pains me to agree with New York Times sportswriter, William Rhoden, when he refers to these athletes as “forty million dollar slaves.” In his book by that title Rhoden compares the system of professional sports to a modern day plantation where big, strong, talented men of color do work that makes a few wealthy (mostly white and mostly male) owners very wealthy. In Rhoden’s words these talented athletes of color have “inclusion without power” while  whites are  “owning teams, owning networks, owning the means of communication and owning the collective image” of the league. While the athletes’ remuneration is excessive for a brief time, when they are no longer able to perform they are disposed of,  and for the most part forgotten. Until recently (prompted by the recent lawsuits in the NFL over concussion injuries and their implications) the professional sports leagues did not take responsibility for the long term physical health effects of players sacrificing their bodies night after night. Their concern was the bottom line and when a young man no longer served his purpose, he was gone.

Now one might say “Well, this is the way the economic system works. This is capitalism.”  Perhaps so, but given this system, where Donald Sterling not only owns but controls the lives of so many players, is it any wonder he would regard them as sub-human, people not worthy of being in his presence? While the commentators talk ad nauseum about what Sterling did or did not say, what he did or did not mean, and whether he is a racist or not, what is overlooked is the white supremacist, plantation-style system in which he operates. This system treats people, a majority of whom are people of color, as commodities not human beings. Furthermore, every fan (including me) supports and facilitates that system by our unquestioning acceptance of professional sports as it is.

What the Donald Sterling incident teaches us is not that a wealthy white man holds racist attitudes and worldviews; most whites raised in the United States share Sterling’s perspective to a degree because it part of the culture in which whites are raised.  Rather it should remind us that we blindly and willingly accept a system that dehumanizes people by treating them as expendable parts in a huge machine, and that sports fans like me and many others don’t notice or question that system when we buy our ticket to the game or turn on our TV to watch.

Perhaps we ought to. While removing Donald Sterling from NBA ownership will heal the wound and embarrassment he created, much deeper analysis needs to be done and eventual surgery must be performed, so that the sports teams we love to watch do not merely perpetuate the racial caste system many suffered and died to eliminate.

The Politics of Easter

On Good Friday for the last five years I have attended an ecumenical service/witness against gun violence sponsored by the interfaith gun violence prevention organization Heeding God’s Call. Five years ago, along with 11 others, I participated in a civil disobedience action against a gun shop known to be a major source of illegal guns used in crime. Starting that year Heeding God’s Call began holding Good Friday services that not only included Christians but also Muslims and Jews remembering the violent death of Jesus and linking it to the senselessness of gun violence in our city and country. This year the service was held in a park in West Philadelphia and 221 t-shirts draped on crosses were displayed representing the 221 victims of gun violence in Philadelphia during 2013. It was both a sad and moving spectacle.

Linking Good Friday with gun violence reminds me of the inherently political nature of the Good Friday-Easter celebration. While most churches emphasize the salvific nature of Jesus’ death on the cross, I have come to increasingly appreciate the way in which his death represents and binds him to the oppressed and suffering of the world. I am reminded that religio-political power structure of Jesus’ day (for there was no such thing as the separation of government from religion) sought to silence and marginalize him.  When that didn’t work they took to discrediting him, then threatening him and finally setting in motion the process that led to his death.  This year as I read the Gospel of Matthew’s account of the last days of Jesus life, I could not help but be struck by the way Jesus was regarded and treated by the power structures of his day….and how similar it was to what happens in our day. 

As we look around the world at despotic governments being challenged by movements for change in Syria, Ukraine, Egypt, Tunisia and elsewhere, we see similar patterns meant to immobilize would-be challenges to economic and political power. As we look at the machinations of the National Rifle Association and other pro-gun organizations, we see their manipulation of the facts, and the use of their vast resources to intimidate political leaders into silence. They dismiss gun violence prevention advocates as naïve, unpatriotic and unrealistic, in ways remarkably similar to the way the Pharisees sought to marginalize and discredit Jesus.

Yet, there is even a more personal, political dimension to this special day. The Brazilian educator and liberation thinker Paulo Freire said that people of privilege who seek to be aligned with the oppressed had to go thru what he called an “Easter experience” in order to be in true solidarity with the poor. Of this experience he wrote:

“Such an [Easter experience] implies a renunciation of myths that are dear to them: the myth of superiority, of their purity of soul, of their virtues, their wisdom, the myth that save the poor, the myth of the neutrality of the church, of theology of education, science, technology, the myth of their own impartiality. … This Easter, which results in the changing of consciousness, must be existentially experienced. The real Easter is not commemorative rhetoric. It is praxis; it is historical involvement.” (Politics of Education, p. 123).

The real Easter is praxis, historical involvement. The real Easter does not allow one to be removed from the struggles of history. The real Easter calls us to a choice to join with those who struggle.

As I listened to mothers and fathers at the Good Friday service share their grief at the loss of their children to gun violence, I was struck by the profound meaning of the cross that was challenging me to the side of the suffering and the oppressed. At the same time they shared their commitment to rid the streets of guns and to save other parents from the suffering they themselves must endure. The oppressed know Jesus because he shares their sorrow and struggle and if I am to know Jesus in any real way I must choose to join them. I must let go of my “myths“ of invincibility, of transcendence, of exceptionalism. Their pain must become my pain, their sorrow my sorrow, their struggle my struggle. I have to make a choice.

So I have come through this Good Friday-Easter commemoration with a renewed commitment to transformation and renunciation of privilege, and a desire to join those who know Jesus’ suffering because they suffer with him. However at the same time they know the resurrection of Jesus, because despite great tragedy and struggle they have a fire in their bones for change; like the women at the tomb they long to see a resurrection of hope in their community. I too want that fire; I too want a resurrection of hope; but to do so, I must make a choice. I must undergo an Easter experience again… and again… and again.

Supreme Court Shame

During the Civil Rights Movement, the court system, particularly the Supreme Court was regarded as the one branch of government that could largely be counted on to protect the rights of African-Americans when Congress and the Executive Branch were stymied by political concerns. Because of the Supreme Court schools were desegregated and basic rights were affirmed, even when lower courts at the municipal and state level ignored or shirked their responsibilities.

However, yesterday to its shame the Supreme Court affirmed and expanded the rights of wealthy individuals to unfairly influence the political system by removing all limits on the amount of money people can contribute to political campaigns. (Link to article here)  This follows the ”Citizens United” decision of 2010 , which deemed corporations to be legally considered “persons,” who then could contribute in an unrestricted way to political campaigns.  A political system that already was bought and sold to the highest bidder, now just came even more deeply entrenched in a system where the wealthy and the powerful get access that the rest of us do not.

For the last two weeks the Philadelphia Inquirer has run a special report focusing on an investigation of five local state legislators who were caught on tape receiving money or gifts from a paid informant. The value of the money or gifts was in the thousands of dollars. While I think that such actions should be brought to light, the irony was that the problem was not that they received these money and gifts; it was that they did not report them. That is, it’s okay for legislators to receive money as long as they make it known. In Sunday’s (March 30) paper just below the latest installment on this case, there was an article describing how in 2013 Comcast, one of Philadelphia’s largest employers, spent $18.8 million lobbying for its interests, and employing 107 lobbyists to do their bidding. Comcast was listed as only the seventh largest lobbying spender in the country, the largest being the U.S. Chamber of Commerce which spent $74.5 million on lobbying in 2013. This was all perfectly legal and does not include campaign contributions.( See article here) 

What is wrong with this picture? A few small time politicians take some small change and get smeared, but large corporations and wealthy individuals get to make their case in exchange for gifts and money. Now the Supreme Court has essentially blessed this process and said the sky is the limit.

We need to recognize that whatever we want to call our form of government, it is not democracy. Democracy by definition is a system that is rooted in the community and gives all persons, regardless of rank, wealth, or position, an equal voice in government. One way to view our history as a nation is to see it as a struggle to make the dream of democracy a reality for all: people of color, women, various racial/ethnic groups, the poor, and now undocumented immigrants. The slogan “One person, one vote” is the bedrock of democracy; all get a voice and no voice is of greater inherent value than another. If we are to reclaim our democracy, it must start by denouncing the lie that wealth gives one the right to greater influence, and by working to strengthen local communities and if necessary take to the streets to reject such efforts.

In Philadelphia, the interfaith network POWER is working with local unions and the City Council to pass a referendum on May 20 that would ensure that any company doing business with the city would pay its employees and subcontractors 1 ½ times the minimum wage, which at this time would mean the wage would be $10.88/hr. Fast food workers across the country have been advocating for a similar provision in their contracts.  The Immokalee Workers in Florida have been advocated for similar treatment among farmworkers. Already the corporations have pressed hard for such efforts to fail, threatening to cut jobs while fearing that their profits might not be as great. Ironically despite their rhetoric about jobs and profits they seem to have the money to put pressure on politicians. (Hmmm – ironic isn’t it?) What communities have is people. We are engaged in a war, and the issue of a living wage is only one battle in that war.

The Supreme Court’s decision has made clear that the government is up for sale. Those who believe in true democracy, and not the plutocracy we now call our government, must act with equal or even greater force.

Implicit Racism: Wisdom from the Wise

Recently I had the privilege of hearing anti-racist writer and speaker Tim Wise speak at Messiah College’s urban campus. While ostensibly focusing on four major points, Wise covered a range of topics all pertaining to the reality of racism in the 21^st century. One point that stood out to me was his discussion of implicit or unconscious racism.

During this era when we are remembering the 50^th anniversaries of the significant events of the Civil Rights movement, Wise pointed out that it is easy for people to think that because people of color are no longer being hosed and beaten, and because the Civil Rights Act and subsequent legislation made intentional acts of racial discrimination illegal, racism no longer exists in our society. However, as he aptly described, racism is unfortunately alive and well in both systemic forms (such as Michelle Alexander highlights regarding the criminal justice system in The New Jim Crow or students in the Philadelphia School system experience every day in their grossly underfunded public schools) and in the unconscious bias we all carry around in our heads.

Wise talked about an experiment that was conducted a few years ago in which adults were evaluated on the level of their unconscious or implicit bias. The participants were pre-tested for their basic views and attitudes on racism, and the most were found to be very open-minded, progressive thinkers when it came to issues of racial diversity and inclusion.  The participants were then placed in front of computer screens and electrodes placed on their heads to register brain activity. They were shown images that flashed on the screen so quickly that their conscious minds were not able to recognize the images, but their subconscious minds were. The researchers noted the brain activity as the images flashed by. When an innocuous image like a tree or a flower was shown the brain registered minimal activity, but when an image of a black or Latino male was shown, the brain activity spiked in 90% of the white participants. In African American participants the brain activity spiked nearly 50% of time.

Wise contended (and I would agree) that this experiment points to the reality that anyone living in the United States for any period of time carries within their psyche unconscious or implicit racism. Because of the way we are socialized, the images we are exposed to in the media, the way our history highlights some issues and ignores or excludes others, and the choices we are presented, nearly all white people, as well as a significant percentage of people of color, develop a deep-seated bias that influences their attitudes, perspectives and actions in subtle but real ways that lead to propagating or supporting racist practices in our institutions and personal lives. [For someone who would like to take a simpler version of the test mentioned above they can take the Implicit Bias Test at this link. ]

While the term is not unique to me, for many years I have regarded myself as a recovering racist. Several years ago I worked in an alcohol rehabilitation program with people going through the 12 steps of Alcohol Anonymous as part of their recovery. What I learned is that in AA people never talk about being “recovered” from alcoholism or addiction; rather they refer to themselves as “recovering”, that is always in the process of recovery. In the same way I seriously doubt that as a white person I will ever get to the point where I am over being racist, rather I will always be in the process of dealing with my implicit and explicit racism. As such just like the recovering alcoholic, I must work every day to be aware and address the racism that has been bred into me as a member of this society.

Through over 30 years of dealing with my own in-bred racism, I have learned some things about my own implicit racism and how to address it. First, just like the recovering alcoholic, I need to admit that I have a problem, that in fact  I am racist. Unfortunately most white people when confronted with the reality of racism spend an inordinate amount of energy denying that in fact they have racism in their psychological and emotional make-up. The most frequent response is to say “I’m not racist, I’m colorblind.” While I suspect their intent is to say that they try not to act in a racially prejudiced way, one cannot really live in this society and not notice race. It’s much better to let go of the charade of colorblindness and simply admit we see and experience people differently in part because we see them as a racial other. Try as we might to do otherwise, that racial discrimination has been built into us.

Second, as a white person, once I have admitted I am racist, it is important to pay attention to the dynamics of racism around me. Authors like Michelle Alexander, Cornel West, bell hooks, Tavis Smiley, Tim Wise, Joe Feagin and others have written extensively on the ways racism operates in the institutions and systems of our society. Peggy McIntosh in her classic article on White Privilege has pointed out how privilege often keeps whites ignorant and oblivious to the subtle and not-so-subtle barriers and indignities faced by people of color every day. Once we have read those books and heard those speakers, we need to pay attention and notice the way racism operates all around us. For many whites paying attention to the pervasiveness of racism is like waking up to a whole new reality.

Third we need to seek out relationships with folks, both white and people of color, with whom we can talk about our observations and experiences. Over the past twenty years I have been fortunate to develop close relationships with friends and colleagues where race is a common topic of discussion; and not in some abstract way but in very personal ways. I have actively sought to become parts of groups and organizations where the leadership is predominantly people of color. In one such group we were discussing the recent movie “The Butler;” for several of the folks of color in the room the movie had evoked memories and painful emotions that I never would have known had I not been in the conversation. These friendships keep me aware and force me to realize how limited my perspective can be.

Fourth, as a white person I need to ask the next question: What has race got to do with it? This is a question people of color have to ask all the time as they experience people and events, but which white people rarely ask. Whites are socialized to ignore and downplay the impact of race on experiences and events in their lives.  Tim Wise told of an experience when he was 23 years old and locked the keys in his girlfriend’s car. For over 20 minutes he tried to break into the car until a police officer came by. Expecting that the officer would ask for identification and an explanation for his actions, he was surprised when the officer not only neglected to ask those questions but then proceeded to join him in his efforts to break into the car, even at one point suggesting they smash the window. Wise then raised the question: How would that scenario played out if he had been a 23 year old black man? What has race got to do with it? Sometimes the answers we come will not be clear cut, but the question must be asked.

Finally, as a white person I need to practice being an ally to people of color. For the past two years I have been researching and writing a book I have entitled White Allies for Racial Justice, which hopefully will be published within the next year. In the book I define an ally as a person who recognizes that various forms of discrimination and who chooses to work alongside people who are targets of that discrimination to change the attitudes, practices and institutional structures that propagate that discrimination.  As an ally I do not act out of some sort missionary or savior complex, but rather out of the deep recognition a world free of oppression is a world of dignity, equality, humanity and justice, and therefore is a better world for all people regardless of their race or social position.

As much as some would hope that we have been able to move beyond racism, it still continues to shape our lives and distort our perspectives in 2014. As white people we have a choice to either keep our heads in the sand and ignore the reality of suffering and oppression around us, or we can commit ourselves to create the kind of society that works for all people. The journey starts within each one of us asking ourselves – are we willing to be recovering racists? Are we willing to admit our own need to recover from our implicit, unconscious racism? Are we willing to ask the hard questions and ally ourselves in solidarity with brothers and sisters of color to build a post-racist society? Only in this way can we work on our recovery from the racism that infects our society and disables us all.

The M.A in Urban Studies Program

For the past seven years I have had the privilege of teaching in the M.A. in Urban Studies program at Eastern University. Our program has concentrations in Community Development, Youth Development and Community Arts, where students are trained to use tools to transform lives and communities in the urban context. Below is a new promo video that has just been released. If you or someone you know is interested in learning more about the MA in Urban Studies program have them go to this link or contact Whitney Monn at wmonn@eastern.edu.

If nothing else this video will give you an opportunity to see and hear some of the amazing students I get to work with and learn a little bit of how I spend my time.

The video can be found here

Dog Whistle Racism and the Defeat of Debo Adegbile

Last weekend during a  long 2 ½ day  drive from Minnesota to Philadelphia I listened to a podcast of the renowned PBS journalist and former White House staffer Bill Moyers interviewing legal scholar Ian Haney Lopez who has recently published a book entitled Dog Whistle Politics: How Coded Racial Appeals Have Reinvented Racismand Wrecked the Middle Class. In the book and interview Lopez describes how in order to win elections both conservative and liberal politicians have used language and images culturally coded to evoke racist stereotypes in order to motivate white voters. Through meticulous research Lopez shows how phrases like “welfare queens,” “law and order”, “war on drugs” and references to food stamps have been used like dog whistles to call upon deeply held prejudices and fears in order to seduce white voters to support efforts for less government regulation, cuts on corporate taxes, and a general distrust of government action, all the while giving more power to corporate interests control over American public life. Efforts like this have been used to influence white voters to act against their own self-interest and to increase the divide between the wealthy and the middle class, all the while scapegoating the poor and people of color in the process. More recent examples of dog whistle racism include the depiction of Obama as a Muslim and non-citizen, the relentless attack on “Obamacare,” support for reduction for food stamps, opposition to raising the minimum wage and antagonism towards immigration reform.   The language and images in each of these efforts call upon deep-seated, largely subconscious,race-based fears deeply socialized into most whites’ psyches.

So imagine my shock when I opened Sunday’s Philadelphia Inquirer to read that Senator Pat Toomey (Republican- PA) had led the fight to vote down the nomination of Debo Adegbile, President Obama’s nominee to lead the Justice Department’s Division of Civil Rights. Adegbile’s "crime" was participating in the defense of  Mumia Abu-Jamal,  a former journalist, radio host, taxi cab driver, and member of the Black Panther Party who was accused of the 1981 shooting of Philadelphia Police Officer Daniel Faulkner. While Abu-Jamal was convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment, his case has been the focus of controversy for the last 30 years. Abu-Jamal has always insisted on his innocence, and his case has gained worldwide recognition. However for police and their supporters Abu-Jamal is a pariah and a symbol of a cold-blooded cop killer. While I was not in Philadelphia at the time of the incident and only know what I have been able to read in the papers over the years, I have come to realize that there are two competing narratives as to what happened on the night of Daniel Faulkner’s death. To police it was a case of calculated murder. To many in the activist black community, it was a racist travesty of justice of an innocent man wrongly accused and convicted.

Enter Senator Toomey and Debo Adegbile. Because Debo Adegbile was part of Abu-Jamal’s NAACP legal defense team during a 2011 appeal, according to Toomey he is therefore unfit to be director of the Civil Rights Division. Forget the fact that all people accused of a crime, regardless of the crime, are entitled to a vigorous defense. Forget that as a defense lawyer, Adegbile is required to offer that vigorous defense. Forget the fact that Toomey could not find any public actions or statements by Adegbile about Abu-Jamal. Toomey gathered all sorts of documents and YouTube videos arranged to make a case against Adegbile but never even spoke to him. As a defense lawyer Adegbile was doing his job; defense lawyers by design defend people accused of a crime, but to Toomey that in itself is a crime.

Toomey’s actions against Adegbile raise troubling questions. Was Pat Toomey calling upon deep-seated racist fears to further his cause against Adegbile? Did he resort to silent racism to disqualify an otherwise highly qualified candidate? Was he even aware of what he was doing? What if Faulkner had been black and Abu-Jamal white, and Adegbile defended Abu-Jamal, would Toomey assume Adegbile unfit to serve in the government? Highly unlikely. Without mentioning race, Toomey played on racist stereotypes and fears, and won his fight to derail the nomination. Ian Haney Lopez says this is the essence of dog whistle racism: one does not ever have to mention race, the images and stereotype do that without the word being spoken.

By appealing to fears of a “cop killer” Toomey was able to cast Adegbile and Obama (who nominated him) as somehow seeking to undermine the justice system. The fact that Adeqbile worked for the NAACP and would head the Civil Rights division only adds to the race-based fears that somehow the justice system itself might be undermined. Never mind that it was this same NAACP that over 60 years led the fight to overturn the then legal process of racial segregation and oppression. Even now Michelle Alexander (author of The New Jim Crow) has shown how the U.S. criminal justice systematically and unfairly punishes people of color as compared to their white counterparts.  So the criminal justice system has many flaws both past and present. That someone like Adegbile might fight to correct something he believed the system did wrongly is what we would hope courageous people of principle would do. However, by choosing to stir up racist stereotypes and fears, Toomey and all the Senators who followed his lead, have participated in the basest form of character assassination against Debo Adegbile for sake of political gain, and we as a nation are degraded for having fallen prey to such a hideous and seditious racism.

I encourage you to listen to the podcast and/or read the book. Ian Haney Lopez  shows us that the racism of the 21^st century is far more seductive and pervasive than most well-meaning whites and people of color would like to admit. The podcast can be accessed via this link.

(images from the Philadelphia Inquirer)

Seeking Deeper Power

Just over five years ago on a very cold January afternoon I was arrested along with six others for blocking the entrance to Colisimo's gun shop on Spring Garden Street in Philadelphia. We were there to call attention to the store’s complicity in the straw purchasing process that leads to illegal guns getting into communities that are overwhelmingly used in street crimes. In the trial that ensued one of the things that I was always uneasy about is that in our defense, our lawyer stressed that we were praying in front of the store as part of our protest. While I understand that public prayer has been an effective from of political protest going back at least to the Civil Rights Movement, that it makes for good political theater, and that was an effective legal defense strategy, in my case it just was not true. Frankly I was too #%&@ cold to pray!

There were some deeply spiritual people among the twelve people who were arrested over the two days of civil disobedience protest: a young woman who later that year walked the El Camino in northern Spain; a Jewish Rabbi who is  a spiritual guide to many young Jews; a Quaker activist who on the street and in the jail regularly called us to pray. But not me. Now I did have a sense going in that I was living out the apostle Paul’s call to “present your bodies as a living sacrifice”(Roman 12.1). However, while I probably should have been praying, I wasn’t. In that moment of protest I was not calling on a deeper source of power to transform Mr. Colisimo’s heart; I was just trying to stay warm while sitting in front of his store. Moreover,  when I was arrested and spent a day and night in jail I did not call on and sense God’s presence in the jail cell; I wish I had because when I was left alone by myself in the cell I felt  totally cut off from people and God , so much so that I  nearly went crazy. Instead of meeting God that day, I experienced trauma and a spiritual emptiness that took months for me to process. (To see my reflections on the experience go to this link). So when my lawyer said I was praying in front of the store, I wish it were true, but I was not.

Five years later in a different way I find myself facing a similar challenge and question. I find myself in a spiritual state of unease while being involved in the faith-based network POWER (Philadelphians Organized for Witness, Empowerment and Rebuilding). Through POWER I am engaged  with many others in a campaign to convince the governor and legislature of Pennsylvania to develop a full and fair funding formula for resourcing the state’s public schools, particularly the Philadelphia School system. In our meetings we talk about developing and exercising power, by which we mean getting people out to vote and to rallies in sufficient numbers to convince politicians that we are force to be reckoned with. Most, if not all, of the people involved would consider themselves “people of faith” by which they mean that their values and worldviews are shaped by their faith tradition be it Jewish, Christian or Muslim. Our gatherings often begin with prayer and a faith reflection, and yet somehow I feel like we are missing something extremely important, a deeper power, the power of the Spirit that shapes and informs our various faith traditions.

Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest and the co-founder of the Center for Action and Contemplation writes about the Perennial Tradition, a belief coming out of the Roman Catholic tradition that affirms that there is “a Divine Reality underneath and inherent in the world” that connects all the world’s faith traditions and from which each of  those traditions emerge. He compares this Divine Reality to an underground stream from which all faith traditions draw their strength and inspiration. Through the years there have been numerous efforts by Christian, Jewish, Muslim and Buddhist teachers to articulate and describe this deeper source of power that links all faith traditions, while at the same time honoring the uniqueness of each. Now for some this idea of a deeper power linking all spiritual traditions wades into troubling theological waters. For instance, in my Christian tradition we emphasize that Jesus is “the Way, the Truth and Life and no one comes to [God] except through [him]” (John 14.6).  I have come to see this statement as just another one of the paradoxes of my faith, such as the first shall be last, that in dying we find new life, that in suffering there is victory, and that blessing comes through suffering. In the same way Jesus is the Way while at the same time he points me to a deeper power linking to people of various faith traditions much different than my own.

How else do we account for some of the great leaders and spiritual teachers who come from different traditions. How do I as a Christian account for the power of Gandhi, the Dalai Lama, Thich Nhat Hahn, Aung San Suu Kyi, Malcom X, Abraham Joshua Heschel and Elie Wiesel? Yes I am inspired by Christian leaders like Martin Luther King, Jr., John Woolman and Thomas Merton, but I can not dismiss the power of these other voices from outside my tradition as well.

I am not what one would call a spiritual person. Yes, I worship and pray, but I don’t go through life with an ever-present awareness of God in my life. I have never heard God’s voice, or had a profound mystical experience. Even so I work at it, regularly reading the Bible and other spiritual readings. I even try to meditate. The great teachers say to do it right you should meditate at least for 20 minutes two times a day. I can barely manage 10 minutes once a day, if that; I feel better for it, but I am not expecting any great breakthroughs anytime soon.

On the other hand, some of my most profound spiritual experiences have occurred in very non-religious, non-spiritual settings, such as when I attended the 2010 U. S. Social Forum where 15,000 social activists (most of whom were decidedly secular) met to share ideas and strategize on ways to bring about social change or when I gathered with about 50 others for a vigil in Philadelphia’s Love Park to call attention to gun violence in our community, or when I am walking the streets of West Philadelphia watching and sensing the dynamic of the neighborhood. Somehow when I am out there in the community working for the change that is needed in concert with many others, that’s when I feel most aware of God’s presence.

I try to practice what I and others have called an engaged spirituality, an approach that seeks to meet Christ in the midst of the people in action. It is through engaged spirituality that I wish that groups like POWER and Heeding God’s Call (a faith based group working on gun violence prevention) would realize that our strength and power comes not just from being able to exercise our political muscle but also comes from that deeper source from which all our spiritual traditions issue. Gandhi and King talked about soul-force, which I take to mean a source of power that is more than simply the collective numbers of faith-oriented persons working on a particular issue. Heschel said that prayer by its very nature is subversive  and that it works to overthrow the powers of oppression and falsehood. How do we tap into the power that can topple the power structures of our day? That’s the question I grapple with.

As I sometimes have shared in this blog space, I have grown skeptical of the political process in our day largely because the politicians are beholden to the wealthy 1%, lobbyists and corporations who line their pockets in exchange for deference and favors. For example, when 80% of Americans polled after the Sandy Hook massacre think there ought to be stricter gun laws and the Congress can’t even pass a weak background check bill, it is pretty obvious the politicians are not listening to the people; they are following the money. So I am skeptical of using the tactics of people power, unless those people come with pockets full of cash. To defeat the powers that be we must draw not just on our political power, but also on that deeper power that unites us as people of faith. We need to find ways to pray corporately even as we act to bring down the rulers of our day, both political and financial, so that justice can roll down like waters, and righteousness like an overflowing stream of the Spirit (Amos 5.24.)

Eating Ourselves Alive

When I was about 7 or 8 years old I went to visit my cousins who lived in the Chicago area. They had some guinea pigs who had just had babies. After the babies were born they took the adult guinea pigs out of the cage because as my aunt explained if the adult guinea pigs were not removed, they might eat their newborn babies. That memory came back to me the other day when I read about Dick Metcalf, a long time columnist with Guns & Ammo magazine who was fired for writing a column entitled “Let’s Talk Limits” in which he challenged the idea that the there ought not be any government regulation on gun use or ownership. He wrote: “…. way too many gun owners still seem to believe that any regulation of the right to keep and bear arms is an infringement. The fact is all constitutional rights are regulated, always have been, and need to be.” In the past Metcalf has advocated regulation of concealed weapons and called for carriers of concealed weapons undergo training and preparation for responsibly bearing arms.

According to the editors of Guns and Ammo Metcalf went too far this time. Two days after the column appeared in late October, Metcalf was told that two major gun manufacturers, Ruger and Remington, threatened to pull their ads from the magazine unless Metcalf was fired.  So you know what happened. Metcalf is only the most recent of respected journalists and leaders in the pro-gun community who have been vanquished for questioning the “all or nothing” mentality of the NRA zealots and gun manufacturers.  Note that people like Metcalf are hardly what one would consider “moderate” on the issue of gun rights, so the fact that he would be ostracized shows just how narrow and rigid the “pro-gun” advocates are. The Second Amendment has become the holy grail in the minds of its worshippers, granting them absolute freedom to do whatever they want in the area of gun use and ownership. Newtown, Aurora, Virginia Tech, Columbine, Tucson – nothing must dampen their worship of the almighty right to bear arms.

This most recent issue is illustrative of what is happening in the conservative political community in general. The Tea Party advocates like Ted Cruz and Rand Paul are creating havoc within the Republican party, so much so that even House Speaker John Boehner, who is about as conservative as they come, has called them out for being too rigid and unyielding. Even Boehner knows that most of the gridlock in the House last year came about because Tea Party hardliners are trying to foist their rigid views on the rest of the Republican Party.  Like my cousins’ guinea pigs, they appear to be devouring one another.

Those of us who stand outside that intra-conservative debate should take note. Seeking to dialogue or reason with the ardent, hardline Tea Party, pro-gun types is not a logical strategy. However, joining forces with some who have been ostracized by their own people might make sense. On the other hand, we need to realize that as intractable and annoying as the John Boehners of the world may seem, they are only part of the problem. At issue is a deeper sickness in our culture.

While I get an admittedly sick joy in seeing conservatives beating up on one another, at the same time I am troubled by the uncompromising mean-spiritedness and narrow-mindedness that seems to be endemic in our culture. Last month I attended a rally commemorating the one year anniversary of the Newtown, CT shootings. The main speaker was former Democratic governor of Pennsylvania, Ed Rendell, who during his term had attempted unsuccessfully to pass legislation restricting the sale of handguns through a predominantly Republican legislature. At the rally last month Rendell’s solution and charge to those gathered was that we become “one-issue voters” like the pro-gun folks. In other words, he was asking us to become as rigid, narrow-minded, and unyielding as our adversaries.  While I have yet to think of an appropriate alternative I found Gov. Rendell’s solution to be a less than satisfying.

Developmental psychologists tell us that one of the marks of maturity is the ability to live and work with ambiguity. By that standard our culture (as illustrated by the pro-gun rigidity and Gov. Rendell’s response) has regressed to a pre-teen level. Such a culture has no more room for a thinking person on the left as it does for a thinking person like Dick Metcalf on the right.  Perhaps those of us who are a bit more grown-up (i.e. those who realize that ambiguity and compromise are not bad things) need to let the purists devour themselves, while we try to figure out a way to live and work together productively. Holding strong opinions and views on issues is not the problem, nor is holding to one’s position on some issues. However, when rigidity and narrow-mindedness become the only response, then like those guinea pigs all we are doing is eating each other alive.

* pictures from Google Images

What It Feels Like to be an Oxymoron

“He’s a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction” – Kris Kristofferson “The Pilgrim”

Recently, I came across an open letter written by Asian-American Activist Kil Ja Kim entitled “The White Anti-Racist is an Oxymoron.” I encourage you to read it for yourself (link here ), but here is a short summary. She begins with the observation that “whiteness is a structure of domination” which is “at the heart of the U.S. social, economic and political system.” It is important to note that Kim writes this letter specifically for those whites who see themselves as actively working to dismantle that white supremacist system. Yet as she points out white people are those who benefit from the system and for whom and by whom the system was created. Even as white anti-racists work to dismantle the system, they are benefiting by it.

Whites cannot be but what and who they are. Kim is particularly bothered by whites who try to use their anti-racist stance as a badge of honor and who try to emulate people of color in their dress, hairstyles, speech and lifestyle. They try to take on some sort of “marginalized” social position not realizing that for whites such a position is largely a matter of choice, whereas for people of color there is no choice; marginalization is the position the white supremacist system has placed them in.

From my perspective Kim’s most damning statement is that “white activism, especially white anti-racism, is predicated on an economy of gratitude,” by which she means that anti-racist whites expect people of color to be grateful for them having joined the liberation cause. She points out that while people of color may be thankful for their white allies, those same people of color are often made to feel inferior for needing “help” in the first place. She concludes by challenging whites to do their own work, and to “figure out ways in which whiteness needs to die as a social structure and as an identity in which [whites] organize [their] anti-racist work.”

I plead guilty to having thought or done everything Kim mentions in her letter, and more. Most, if not all, that she says is true for most whites involved in anti-racist work. I have come to realize that I cannot not be racist. Like a fetus in the womb of a drug addicted woman, I was born addicted to racist privilege. This is not to say that my parents or any one in my extended family was a member of the KKK or a white supremacist group. On the contrary, my family has generally been liberally minded and inclusive when it comes to matters of race. However, the privilege we enjoy living in this society simply because we are white (See Peggy McIntosh’s classic essay on white privilege), the financial wealth we inherit because it could be passed down, the access to education, employment, cultural opportunities and more – these are all things that come to us as whites  simply because we are white. The society around us, the media we watch, the education we receive, the history we read and much more has explicitly and implicitly contended that the white way of life is the norm while at the same time has demeaned or  ignored the contributions of  people of color in those same arenas. So, yes for these reasons and many more, I am a racist.

I also consider myself an anti-racist ally; therein lies the contradiction. In my teaching, writing and work for gun violence prevention and educational justice I seek to name, challenge and dismantle structures of privilege and oppression (often two sides of the same coin). In my consumer choices, my investments, my friendships, and work relationships, I seek to be a voice and advocate for equity and justice. I have tried to do these things always maintaining relationships of accountability with friends of color who can and will set me straight. In spite of my best efforts I have spoken, acted, and thought in ways that betray my attachment to whiteness and my racism. Moreover, I take for granted many things that come to me simply because I am white. I try to be aware of such things, but I know I mess up much more than I wish.

I will also admit to participating in what Kim calls the “economy of gratitude.” In the past I have expected people of color to be thankful that I am ‘on their side.” However, I no longer think that way. I now realize that it is in the long term interest of white people, as well as people of color, that the structures of white power and privilege be dismantled. White anti-racist speaker, Tim Wise says it this way: “I fight racism because racism is a sickness in my community, and it damages me” (White Like Me, p. 182).  The laws and structures that degrade and dehumanize people of color in other ways dehumanize whites. The racism embedded in white society distorts and disables whites from living in the world as it is, even as it oppresses and alienates people of color.

I no longer expect people of color to appreciate me. In fact if I am honest I will admit that I need people of color to challenge me and hold me accountable, and make me feel uncomfortable from time to time. Kim ends her essay saying that people of color have got their work to do and whites have their work to do. Whites’ work is to figure out how dismantle whiteness and build identity on something other than the power and privilege that comes from simply being white. That system, while it is still in place, is a dying system, and keeps whites from living in meaningful relationships across differences of race and culture. It keeps whites from seeing themselves clearly for who they are. It keeps them from seeing the huge mistakes and crimes that their ancestors have perpetrated through history. It keeps them from embracing the present and future diversity in our country. It causes them  to fear those who are not like them. It cripples them, it cripples me, in so many ways.


So I accept that I am an oxymoron, a walking contradiction. At the same time I aspire to be a living paradox, an apparent contradiction that seeks a deeper truth and reality of what it means to be human. So for the time being, I will accept feeling out of place in the world – not at home in the company of whites who take their privilege for granted, while simultaneously accepting that people of color have an understandable and justifiable distrust of white anti-racists  like myself. Not always a comfortable feeling, but I think and hope it is the right way to try and live out my convictions for racial justice.

Why I Have Hope

 

About a month ago a good friend called me and informed me that my blogs were depressing him and that he needed to stop reading them for a while. I was bit taken back because despite a frequent focus on the injustices in so many facets of our public life, on a day to day basis I’m a pretty hopeful guy. His comment got me reflecting on what gives me hope in the midst of the corporate greed, institutional racism, government gridlock and general erosion of basic human rights in our country I so often focus on.

Here’s what I came up with.

Upon reflection I would say that my hope comes from three main sources. The first source of hope is the students I am privileged to teach in the Eastern University Urban Studies program. When each new group of students begins our program I tell them that they are special slice of humanity because they have forgone the lures of consumerism and materialism and, for reasons that vary from individual to individual, have decided to dedicate their lives to work in solidarity with the poor, the marginalized, the forgotten and the oppressed. These students are not only extremely committed and intelligent, but they bring a clear belief that they can make a difference in the world. After taking classes in urban problems, racism, broken communities, research, leadership, and the like, their idealism gets tempered with a gritty awareness of how to address the challenges before them, and  they go on to work in organizations and with community groups do the work of justice at the grassroots level. Being able to invest myself in these young folks (most are in their mid to late 20’s) and seeing what they are doing gives me tremendous hope for the future. The battle for justice is long but there are people committed to that process for decades to come.

My second source of hope lies in the many small movements for social justice that are happening and continue to happen: fast food workers advocating for a raise in the minimum wage; undocumented folks and their allies pushing for immigration reform; moms and student resisting the NRA and gun lobby to work for changes in laws around the use and purchase of firearms; and people from across Pennsylvania working together to make a fair funding formula for public education a top political priority in the state – just to name a few recent ones. As I read the blogs and newsletters of progressive organizations, I am reminded that the Montgomery (AL) Bus Boycott in 1955 that brought the Civil Rights Movement into national media attention was preceded by decades of effort by small groups of committed individuals working to bring about change in the segregated South. Rosa Parks was not the first person to refuse to give up her seat on a segregated public bus, Martin Luther King, Jr. was not the first preacher to give voice to black people’s concerns, and Montgomery was not the only Southern city to have faced a challenge from its citizens of color. These things had been going on in communities big and small for a long time; what Montgomery did was light a spark that brought the energy together to forge a movement. I see the seemingly small and disconnected efforts that have been going on for the past several years as moving us toward a time when a larger movement will emerge to challenge the corporate power structure and the government leaders who have sold their soul to lobbyists and the big donors instead of listening to their constituents. A new civil rights movement is coming. I don’t know when, how, where or what it will look like, but I can feel the movement coming; like clouds before storm, like tremors before an earthquake.

My third source of hope comes from the promise of the Bible that God is truly on the side of the oppressed. During this Advent season I have been struck by how often the promise of the coming Messiah is couched in the language of justice. Isaiah 40 speaks of the Messiah being one who “gives strength to the weary and power to the weak” (vs. 29).  Isaiah 11 says that this Messiah “with righteousness judge the needy, with justice give[s] decisions for the poor of the earth” (vs. 4). Mary in her beautiful song upon learning that she is given birth sings that God “has brought down the rulers from their thrones, but has lifted up the humble. God has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1. 52-53). Paulo Freire, who is my inspiration for many things having to do with justice, said that God gives us the vision of what the world can and should be and then commissions us to go out and make it reality thru what he calls denunciation and annunciation. According to Freire, our job in essence is to denounce things in our current reality that block or undermine that just society from coming into being and work to dismantle them. Then our job is to announce the new reality, the just society God desires to see, and work toward it.  I don’t think that God is somehow going to wave his hand and all injustice will go away, nor am I waiting for things to get better only in the afterlife. Rather I believe God gives us a picture of what life can and should be, and empowers us to make it happen.

This hope is not based in a quick fix or magic transformation. Hope calls me and others like me to a life of struggle, disappointment, frustration and occasional celebrations for small victories. As the apostle Paul points out in Romans 5.1-5, hope is borne out of suffering, but that the hope connects us with an infilling of God’s spirit, the spirit of history, to continue the struggle. In non-theological terms it comes down to knowing one is on the right side of history, working for that which is good, just and true, and moving into the future with a conviction shared with other like-minded individuals. This hope recognizes that the power structures are deeply entrenched and will not easily be toppled or transformed, but it also recognizes the continued concentration of wealth and power in the hands of a few is not sustainable for the planet or the country. If nothing else the structure will topple under the weight of its own hubris or more likely it will be torn down like the Berlin Wall, but in any case it will fall.

I was too young to fully appreciate the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950’s and 1960’s in the moment. However in my study of that movement I know that from it issued forth other movements for peace in Vietnam, women’s rights, and environmental awareness. Could something similar be about to happen now? The increased racial/cultural diversity of our nation, the pressure of global warming, the arrogant intransigence of the one-percenters and the growing unrest within the general population are setting the stage for something to happen. That is why I keep writing and working and teaching and living into that newer, more just and inclusive world; therein lies my hope.

Thank You, Nelson Mandela

Nelson Mandela passed away yesterday (Dec 5) and I was informed of this death as fittingly I was talking about the effects of racism in our society with a group of young adults involved in a program called Mission Year. As has been and will be repeated many times over the next few days, the world has lost one of the 20th century’s great leaders. In a fortuitous timing the movie, “Mandela” was just recently released; hopefully this sad event will entice even more persons to see the movie, a tribute to one of history’s great individuals.

On a hot summer day in 1993 Nelson Mandela came to Philadelphia to receive the Medal of Freedom along with F. W. de Klerk, the last president of the apartheid regime in South African with whom Mandela had negotiated the transition to full enfranchisement of the black people of that nation. My family and I took the train Philadelphia to see the ceremony, which was held on the steps of Independence Hall. My children ages 9, 6 and 3 at the time, may not remember that day, but it was important to me that they have an opportunity to see and participate in history. We were not able to get very close to the front as there were thousands of people of all races and colors on the mall that day – a fitting tribute to Mandela, an icon of racial reconciliation. Despite the heat and the crowds the kids did not complain or whine as might have been expected; it’s as if they sensed something important was going on.

Both de Klerk and Mandela spoke briefly that day. They did not seem comfortable with each other and in fact in his autobiography Mandela acknowledged his dislike and distrust of de Klerk. Even from a distance de Klerk himself looked uneasy receiving the award. It was as if he resented having been forced into a position of acceding power and prestige to Mandela. In releasing Mandela from jail de Klerk and the white government had hoped to manipulate him into supporting the continuance of the white apartheid government, but Mandela had out maneuvered them and used his public power to force them to dismantle the regime. By contrast on that day Nelson Mandela seemed to glow in the spotlight of the new hour, but not only for himself but for all of Africa. Many observers, friends, and associates of Mandela have commented on his incredible humility, most clearly evidenced in his resignation from South African’s presidency after only one term. I sensed his humility that day as well.

As I mentioned above, when I heard of his death I was talking with some young adults about racism in our society, and in my talk I stressed that racism is like a powerful drug to which we all became addicted the moment we are born into this society. That is, the ubiquitous nature of racism is so pervasive in our culture and social system that we can not avoid being influenced and shaped by it. While we may be able to curb our language and our actions so as to be civil, our media and social, political and economic structures operate continue to privilege the white and the wealthy and the expense of people of color and the poor. Unless we choose to actively work against these effects – be it unearned privilege for the white and wealthy, or destructive self-negation for the poor and people of color – we just will go along supporting a system benefits the few and the expense of the many.

How fitting that yesterday on the same day of Mandela’s death that fast food workers across the country were engaged in an organized protest demanding the minimum wage be raised from $7.25/hour to a more livable wage. When people can work a full time job and not be able to make an adequate living and the CEOs of those same companies get bonuses on top of their multi-million dollar salaries, there is something horribly wrong in a broken and unjust economic system.

I told the young adults that we are living in dynamic times, where within the next 30 years the racial make-up of this country will change so that no racial group will comprise more than 50% of the population. I challenged and encouraged them to be part of creating a equitable, multi-racial democratic society by continuing to face-up to the racism in their own lives and challenge and change the racist structures of our society. One woman did not share my hope fearing that our society would become even more divided; I acknowledge that I too shared her fear. Yet I suggested we must choose to live in hope, and live into the future we hope to create.

What we face in our time might have seemed small to the black people of South Africa during the decades leading up to 1991 when Mandela was released. Despite being confined for decades to a jail cell, Mandela never gave up hope, and never stopped believing in the power of truth and justice to have the last word. As a Christian I find hope in my faith that tells me that “God gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak” (Isaiah 40.29). Mandela’s story, like so many other champions of justice, reminds us that tyranny and oppression sow the seeds of their own destruction, and it is up to the committed and the faithful to work toward building the just society.

So I mourn Nelson Mandela’s passing, but celebrate his life and cherish the legacy that continues to guide and inspire me to work for the just society everyone deserves.

(*** images from Google Image)

"Twelve Years a Slave" and the Banality of Evil

Last night my wife and went to see the film “12 Years a Slave,” the true story of Solomon Northup, a free black from Saratoga, NY who was kidnapped and sold into slavery in 1841. Eventually, thru the help of friends he was discovered and freed after 12 years. While the story of Northup’s ordeal supplies the plot line, the real purpose of director Steve McQueen is to bring forth in graphic detail, the utter brutality and horror of slavery itself. There is one scene, where Solomon is being hung from a tree such that his feet barely touch the ground so he does not suffocate; the camera fixes on the hanging man for what seems like three or four minutes (but feels like thirty) from all angles and I wanted to scream “someone cut him down!” But no one did, until finally the master comes and lets him down. At several other points in the film we watch slaves being brutally whipped and beaten and are then shown their scar-striped backs. In another scene Solomon is ordered to whip his fellow slave, a woman who earlier in the film has begged him to drown her and put her out of her misery; Solomon does so unwillingly but it is either do it or become the victim himself, and I found myself hoping that perhaps at least he could whip her to death to fulfill the young woman’s desire to die – but to no avail she survives. Even when Solomon is freed there is no sense of victory because as the wagon taking him home pulls out, the camera focuses on all his fellow slaves he leaves behind whose suffering one knows will continue. While the film ends with Northup being reunited with his family, there is no joy. I was left with a feeling of deep sadness over the reality of our history that has been sanitized and glossed over, a past white America would rather forget than face, a past we would rather rationalize than repent of.

While viewing the Nuremburg trials of Nazi war criminals following World War II, journalist and philosopher Hannah Arendt was struck by what she called the “banality of evil”; that is, how evil can become so normalized that one can participate in evil without thought or deliberate intention. As I watched “12 Years a Slave,” I was struck by the fact that the brutality and inhumanity of the whites toward blacks during slavery was a given, and few if any whites were either aware enough or courageous enough to challenge it. At several points in the movie, various white characters had opportunities to take action to help Solomon regain his freedom and yet backed away out of fear of what might happen to them. This is how oppression works – it breeds fear in both the oppressor and oppressed so that both are paralyzed by the system that keeps them acting and being treated in unjust and inhuman ways.

While in one sense it is enough for us to look long and hard into the horror of our American history to see what we can learn and change from the past, I could not help but wonder in what ways are we, am I, accommodating evils as horrific as the brutality of slavery. What goes on today in the name of “civilization” or American freedom or Christianity that is so “normal” and so “acceptable” that it becomes banal and thereby unrecognizable as the evil it is? Several realities of our world come to mind:   the prisoners at Guantanamo Bay, many of whom who have never been accused of a crime yet remain imprisoned after 12 years (ironic isn’t it); the subhuman treatment of undocumented immigrants coming to this country to flee persecution and suffering, only to be scapegoated and oppressed here; the use of military drones targeting “terrorists” in  remote areas of Pakistan, which despite official denials more often than not kill and main innocent victims in the name of our “freedom;” hunger, homelessness and poverty in a nation where the wealthy 1% continue to accumulate while nearly 20% exist below the official poverty line (which itself is not a true standard of poverty). I could go on, but my point is simple – we are not so far removed from the same conditions portrayed in “12 Years a Slave.”

Of the banality of evil Hannah Arendt wrote: “The sad truth is that most evil is done by people who never make up their minds to be good or evil.” That is, the evil is so embedded in our systems and way of life, we see it as normal rather than the evil it is. We don’t have to decide to hurt, maim and dehumanize others, the system and culture in which we live does it for us and we, sometimes unwittingly, but more often operating out of denial, just choose to look the other way.

I wept at the end of the movie in part for the horror that was American slavery (recognizing that in many parts of the world slavery still exists), but I also wept because I realized how easily I go along with similar evil in our day. The movie challenges me to keep a critical eye open and to look at the evils in our world directly, and not turn away no matter how painful or uncomfortable or intimidating. I am challenged to be one of those few who through history have been willing to risk safety, security and reputation in pursuit of what is right. I am challenged to look into my own heart and around my own community and to do what I can to remain vigilant, so as not to be seduced by evil’s banality.