claiming Lincoln, claiming King: speaking with precision in the public sphere

To hear Dr. Kellett read this week’s essay, click here: https://youtu.be/cpp3Gp4TbDg

President Lincoln and Dr. Martin Luther King were quoted often on the floor of the House during the second impeachment of President Trump last week. Members invoked their memories boldly, sure that each legend would back the person now quoting them with such intensity. Collectively, the body, surely without meaning to, reminded students of history of President Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address, given in the midst of a long raging Civil War. Lincoln aptly observed that both sides of the conflict believed their cause was righteous, and both sides invoked God’s help, as they fought for the decent, patriotic, good guys:

“Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained…Both read the same Bible, and pray to the same God; and each invokes his aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God’s assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men’s faces; but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered—that of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has his own purposes.”

Last week, members from both sides tried to be the spokesperson for American heroes, for hardworking, decent, patriotic Americans. Lincoln knew then, and we would be wise to remember now, that anyone pretending to speak for God best do it with a large dose of humility. Indeed, “The Almighty has his own purposes.”  

Seeing the violent assault on the Capitol the Wednesday before last and the absurd posturing in the Capitol last Wednesday, brings to mind the idea that each of us believes our cause, our action, our perspective, is the best one. We think Lincoln would agree with us. We think Dr. King would agree with us. We think God agrees with us. We think we would have handled the Civil War with nobility and nuance. We think we would have marched with King. We look back to history and insert the myth of our own heroism.

Not so fast.

It is difficult to realize you are living through a moment that will later define your generation. We experience life in the present tense, feel conflicted, and do our best to make sense of our allegiance, words and actions. When we look back on big American moments, moral clarity looks easy. In real time though, we struggle to articulate our positions.

I’d like to gently remind us that the number of Americans who denounced slavery as evil was actually quite small. The number of Americans who marched with King, civilly disobeying, breaking the law and sacrificing their own safety, was quite small. (In fact, the number of Americans who didn’t hate him was quite small; he was widely regarded as a trouble maker and a dangerous agitator). Most Americans felt either apathetic or conflicted, and in either case chose to keep their mouths shut. Our African American brothers and sisters led us, in both instances, to demonstrate what it looks like to know a thing is wrong, to articulate why it is wrong, and then to move with haste and courage to end that wrong.

The legacy of Dr. King is rhetorical in that he articulated so much of what plagued us, and named who we might be in the Beloved Community he worked to inhabit. Nearly everyone loves this part of his legacy, but we do so while simultaneously overlooking or ignoring his physical legacy in active, precise resistance. Dr. King is attractive to us from a distance, as we each find parts of our own humanity in the invitations he offered to elevate our higher natures and affirm the dignity of everyone.

However.

This year, as we mark his birth and legacy, we must examine the massive chasm in us between who we think we are and who we demonstrate we are. Most of the white folks I know would have nodded along to the words of Dr. King, but refused to challenge the grip of white supremacy in their own neighborhoods. They would have said that naming or physically challenging white supremacy was “getting political” or “contributing to our divides.” We hear the same today: “Sure, I agree that things got out of hand since the election, that people got too intense…But anyone speaking out about what led to these divides, to this violence, is contributing to the tension. Ignore it, and it will go away.”

Friends, most of us would not have marched with King. It dishonors his legacy to pretend we would have while shunning those who speak specifically against white supremacy and racially motivated violence or fraudulent claims today.

We do not speak with precision about things that make us uncomfortable. Here in Nashville, as we reflect on 2020, we talk specifically about the damage of tornadoes, the isolation of students, and the death toll of Covid. We use no such language to refer to the collective protesting of police bias and brutality, nor the systemic and societal devaluing of Black lives, nor the President’s stoking of xenophobic fears. Instead, we say the “tension from this summer,” or mention our “intense political divides.” If we can’t name it, we can’t address it. If we won’t address it, let’s not pretend we care enough to do anything about it.

King spoke with precision, and then he acted sacrificially to bring about change. As Presidential power transitions this week, I urge us to take the chance to reflect on our speech and our actions. What are you willing to name as wrong, abusive or a lie? How do you describe what occurred in the last 8 months? How do you speak up about what happened in our Capitol in the last 3 weeks? What are you willing to specifically support or disavow? Friends, I ask these questions with fear and trembling. I am asking them of myself, and I think they will bring you needed clarity if you join me in asking them of yourselves.

Many Southerners in the Civil War found slavery to be a fraught and even evil institution, but they would not agree that disruptive action was necessary to end it. What good was their uneasy sentiment, or lack of support, if they refused to take action to stop institutionalized oppression? Many Americans in the Civil Rights Movement felt uneasy about the caste system created by Jim Crow. They felt terrible about the indignities Black folks had to daily face, but they would not agree that strong action was necessary to end it.  Again, what good was their awkward discomfort if they weren’t willing to sacrifice their social acceptance to speak out against evil?

We might not have had the chance to speak up then, but we do now. If you find yourself aligned with the Republican Party’s traditional platform, and voted for Trump, and now feel that you are not aligned with “those people” who rejected election results or brought violence to our capitol, then find the courage to precisely name what you are for and what you are against. Your vague discomfort with what your vote might have been supporting will not save anyone’s life or republic. You have to name and reject it.

I am currently more aligned with Democratic values, and I commit to doing the same there. I will challenge specific behaviors that endanger the lives of others, that destroy the public trust through repeated injustice. As we remember King, and keep hearing about Lincoln, let’s be like the few Americans who went all in to affirm the better angels of our nature, not like the majority who noticed the evil but took no action to stop it.

remembering 2016

To hear Brandi read this week’s essay, visit the Expand Your Us Youtube Channel, or click here: https://youtu.be/Pvs3FKxR4i4

This week’s essay is an open letter I wrote in the days after President Trump was elected in 2016. I post it now in an effort to help us think about what we knew and how we felt then, and to reflect on what we have experienced together in the last 4 years. As America votes in the next 2 weeks, I hope we will think about what we intend to endorse with our vote, and what kind of thoughts and actions we want to welcome into our communities. However we vote, I hope we will commit to care for and to find value in the many diverse peoples who call America home.

Friends

 This week has been hard for me and many others in our country, and I suspect it would help us heal if I tried to explain why.  After spending time with college students and talking with a few of you, I realize that many who voted for Trump misunderstand our weeping and gnashing of teeth.  I am reaching out because I don’t want to be misunderstood.  I am reaching out because I want you to have every chance to understand.  I am reaching out because I need to heal and believe developing empathy for each other is a crucial part of that process.  If you also want to heal, if you are willing to see me as a thoughtful person whose feelings and perceptions of the world are valuable, then read on.  Although I think many will resonate with me, I don’t want to generalize or make assumptions, so I will only write for myself.  

I am disappointed we elected a President who, in my view, does not have the experience to excel at the multiple aspects his job will require.  I am disappointed we chose to believe he will surround himself with wise council, even though he repeatedly thwarted opinions--even in his inner circle--that did not confirm his own.  I am disappointed we chose to trust him most of all with our economic future, even though he has repeatedly filed for bankruptcy, refused to pay bills, and has chosen to make the vast majority of his products overseas rather than in America.  

These truths disappoint and frustrate me, but they are not the reason I have cried every day, or look with pride to some of the protesting marchers, or feel betrayed and shocked by my country.  The reaction I have had to this election has nothing to do with red or blue, my candidate getting defeated, sour grapes or even frustration with policy positions.  My deep sadness comes because I feel alienated from my country given what a vote for Trump necessarily affirms.  Let me be clear: He has openly encouraged behavior and statements that portray

• Women as gratifying objects whose primary value is demonstrated through their physical attributes.

• Muslims as radical, unwelcome terrorists who are not to be trusted or made welcome, and who cannot be loyal to America even if they die defending our freedom.

• Hispanic immigrants as thieves and criminals who have come to ruin American livelihoods, who cannot function as professional Americans in any environment.

• Disabled people as objects to be mocked.

Please hear me say that I feel confident that you, the majority of Trump supporters, disagree with and loathe these statements.  I do not think you are racist or misogynistic in the way you approach others.  I also know you might feel judged and attacked by those protesting or weeping for our country.  I am sorry to have lumped you in with voters who enthusiastically endorse the statements above.

Here’s the deal though, and this is the key to understanding the tears and despair: By voting for him, you did endorse his perspectives on the value of others.  With zero intention on your part, you confirmed a perspective which negates the value of about half of our country.  For a female survivor of abuse, a Muslim, an immigrant, or a disabled person, our country’s decision to elect Trump was an irreversible statement screaming that we find them unvaluable, expendable and not one of us.  I believe you when you say you didn’t mean it, but this is the message that is rattling around in the hearts of half of our society.  I am a white Christian professional woman, and I am devastated that I can’t pull that message back.  I can’t unring the bell.  My students and friends and African-American daughter will have to live out the consequences of all of us saying these statements aren’t bad enough to be absolutely rejected.  They have to face the rest of us, wondering if we love or hate them.  They have to get up and go to work and school in a country that elevated a man who said they were not and never would be his equal.  Can you imagine leaving your house this week if you were a minority teenage girl or boy?  We had the chance to say, “no”, and instead, by electing him, we said, “more please.”  This is why I weep.

I have heard many reasons a person might have voted for Trump, and none of those include bigotry.  I hear you, and am trying to understand the dignity of your choice.  For a person of color or for a female, these statements are not just about personality or a gaffe, they are deadly sentiments which ruin lives, and I weep because our country voted to affirm them.  I know these ideas are already out in the world, and I know voting for Trump didn’t cause them to exist.  However, I am deeply wounded that we had the chance, as a people committed to liberty and justice, to say, “Absolutely not. I will not allow comments like that to go unchecked at my dinner table/workplace/playground.” We missed it.  Instead of saying we want to heal as a country with a terrible track record on race and gender, we decided deadly sentiments like Trump’s were not a problem.  This ability to overlook the danger in his comments reveals to me that my community either does not know any immigrants, Muslims, disabled people or victims of abuse, or that we just don’t care.  This is why I weep.

I am not interested in blame, but in helping articulate a path forward so that we can stand up as a people and say, “Absolutely not!” to words that inspire violence and exclusion.  In light of that interest, here are my commitments to you:

1. I commit to not speaking of all Trump voters as bigoted misogynists, as if you are all the same. I will believe that you do not and did not support or minimize the damage his comments would cause many in our country. I commit to working hard to finding empathy for those whose value system allowed them to vote for our President-elect.

2. I commit to giving our new President an open mind and my respect, even behind closed doors.

3. I commit to confronting my own despair and to finding and celebrating moments of hope and healing.

4. I commit to making it my daily mission to reach out and affirm every person marginalized by the power of the majority.  I will go out of my way to listen and to actively value people who are different than me.

In our commitment to healing, I ask you to consider the following:

1. Will you commit to finding empathy for those whose lives feel endangered by trying to build relationships with people outside your race or gender?

2. Will you commit to standing up and speaking out against jokes, stereotypes and comments that undermine the dignity and value of all God’s people?

3. Will you follow your vote up with action that affirms life, liberty and equality for ALL, to look beyond your own interests in order to rebuild the fabric of our society?  Will you reach out to those who might feel marginalized or endangered and let them know you are an advocate for them?

I am committed to making this the moment when we agree as a people not to blame each other for our own failure as a society.  No matter who you voted for, can you commit personally to moving toward those who are weaker than you, who have less power or comfort?  If we say yes, Trump’s presidency will be one of healing and hope for all of us.

don't give up, part 6: stay local and pay attention

 To hear Brandi read this essay, visit the Expand Your Us youtube page here: https://youtu.be/UnniNVKmQI0

This week’s essay continues a series called Don’t Give Up. It is geared toward helping us find resiliency, stamina and hope in at least two areas of our communal life: One, to keep pursuing wellness, creativity and compassion for others as COVID drags on. Two, to stay present, leaning in to the stories of the toll our racialized society takes. Don’t give up, but keep learning about the lives others lead, actively rejecting any position that upholds a dangerous hierarchical status quo.

In part 5, I recounted an incident I witnessed earlier this month when a couple’s aggressive public commitment to white supremacy scared me. See my last essay to dig into the deep toll such moments take on people of color, and, indeed, on all of us. When we live in communities where belligerent white supremacy runs rampant, we live in communities struggling with terror. This week, I will speak mostly to a white audience, helping us consider how we might respond to such active racism.

In my experience, when we see open displays of racism in others—like I did at Kroger—many of us let ourselves off the hook by comparison. It is easy to see a couple like that and sigh, resting in the fact that they are what racism looks like, and you thankfully act nothing like them. This is dangerous, because we can’t confront or repent of that which we choose to ignore. If we don’t acknowledge our own subtle racial biases, we can’t strip them of power, or free ourselves from their grip.

White supremacy takes many forms, and I urge us all to do the work of recognizing the form it takes in us. In May and June, we experienced a collective awakening as we recognized that as individuals and as institutions, we are biased to doubt and fear the presence of brown bodies. We saw that when all of us, police included, don’t confront the evil in our history, that evil is more likely to thrive inside us, giving us bias against folks of color that we barely even recognize. We saw that we are more likely to trust whiteness, dismissing bad actors among us, while we chronically mistrust the presence of black bodies, applying stereotypes that undermine their humanity.

If we hope to re-seize the moment of cohesion we are losing, we have to make it good and normal to notice our secret racialized judgments, to confess them, and to re-teach ourselves to reject any thinking based on white supremacy. Further, when our executive branch threatens to defund any agency, school or department that implements training in bias, in clarifying our history of hate, in teaching the way that white supremacy impacts communities, we should reject that executive branch.

Here’s the thing though, just like it is easy to absolve ourselves and instead blame the Kroger couple for their issues with race, it is also easy to live unexamined lives while we complain about what our government is or is not doing. By all accounts, our President believes a comprehensive view of American history is unpatriotic, and that training in bias or racialized assumption-making is a threat to America’s safety.

If you see racial inequities and want to make our country safe and more equitable, don’t look to Washington.

Instead, look within. Stay local, doing your own crash course in American history. Stay local, observing your possible tendency to make assumptions about others based on their outward appearance. Stay local, noticing when you let a joke or coded language stand unchallenged in your hearing. Stay local, recognizing when you equate whiteness with safety (especially when it comes to your kids). Stay local, observing who you trust, learn from, or talk with about the polarized state of our country. Stay local, paying attention to what you will bring up in certain friend groups. Stay local, noticing who you are willing to forgive, and who you are likely to ignore. 

One day last week I went on a long run on the country roads near my childhood home. A few miles out, I took a side road I had never before taken, and was stunned by the beauty. The road curved over gentle hills, trees nearly touching overhead. Realizing I was on a stretch of road that was stubbornly uphill, I decided it was time to turn back. As I ran back toward what was familiar to me, I started laughing. There was a massive cow staring at me behind a barbed wire fence enclosing a field. I thought I had been paying attention when I initially ran by! In fact, I was intentionally looking around, trying to take it all in (the way my Dad taught me to run). But there was a big fat cow, and I had totally missed it. It got worse as I got closer: The big fat cow was surrounded by many other, less fat cows. I’m ashamed to admit there were even little baby fat cows, frolicking near a pond in the dappled sunlight.

We have to train ourselves to pay attention. For many of us, we live in kind, generous worlds built on evil white supremacy. Once we discover it, we can either pretend its not there, we can get angry at whoever else sees it, or we can humbly say, “Wow. A cow. How on earth did I miss that?”

We have nothing to lose and everything to gain if we stop our fixation on violent racists or rioters. Instead, find the cow in your own backyard. Pay attention to your life, your thoughts, your friends, your habits. Pay attention to your police department, court fines and Sheriff’s office. Pay attention to your child’s history curriculum and your family’s past or present acquisition of wealth or land. There is so much to learn, so much to repent of, so many connections to be made, so much healing to be done. Don’t give up. Pay attention.