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 5: love your neighbor

To hear Brandi read this week’s essay, visit the Expand Your Us Youtube Channel here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=75oAkovur2c

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 status quo.

I grew up on a lot of land in east Tennessee, and think of that home as a heaven of sorts. Walking out on the porch, looking over the fields and toward the lake, the eye roams, soaking in the natural beauty. Last week I spent time there, teaching remotely while my kids zoomed into class, impromptu offices strewn throughout the house and on various porches. It was beautiful.

That home is situated in a rural community near Knoxville. Growing up there, I saw the value of family, of creating lives intimately connected to the land and to people dependent on it. I saw first hand how folks carry each others’ burdens, watching as grandmothers helped raise great-grandchildren, or gave their kids plots of land on which they could build. I watched churches surround schools, providing supplies, clothes and food for those who lived in poverty. I went to Sunday School with kids whose parents didn’t finish high school, and experienced big love in homes strapped for cash. My childhood there showed me a world where class divisions didn’t stick. The commitment folks shared to care for others mattered more than a shared tax bracket, or maybe even a racial background.

Immersed in that world again last week, I felt safe and protected in many ways. It was easy to idealize that way of living, as if in smaller communities, every person cares about their neighbors, willingly bearing their burdens, mourning loss and celebrating wins.

Then I went to Kroger.

I found myself in line behind a couple in their 40s. They were loud, openly mocking employees wearing masks, complaining of all the “bullshit” they are sick of. They let us all know they’d like to see someone try to take their liberties away by asking them to wear a mask. Moreover, they told the women checking them out and bagging their groceries that they looked like idiots buying the lie from the traitors destroying our jobs by telling people to be careful and stay home. Turning, the woman told her partner that before she knew it, the liberals would replace all the white workers with brown ones (I’ve elevated her language to remove the most offensive terms).

After they left, the employees were clearly shaken, and I reassured them that they handled that well. That I admired their composure and was sorry they had to suffer such abuse. The lady bagging my groceries finally looked up and said, “The costumer is always right. But sometimes they’re also really mean.”

I walked out to my car to continued commotion. The couple’s pick up truck was parked two spots away from mine. They had both cracked open Natty Lights in the parking lot, and had threatened a man who they felt was looking at them too long. Expletives flew, finger jabbing and angry shuffling occurred. Their pickup was covered in “Trump” and “Don’t Tread On Me” stickers, and they had American flags flying in both windows. Then the woman gave the man her beer, climbed in the back, and put up her large confederate flag before pulling out smaller versions for both back windows. They looked around, seemingly begging someone to pick a fight. Satisfied their branding was on point, they clanked their beer together, jumped in the truck, and peeled out of the parking lot.

I sat in my car, trembling. I thought first about my black daughter, and how thankful I was that she stayed home when I ran to the store that day. Then I thought about any other person of color who saw them, and cried as I realized how afraid they might have been. I shook as I thought about the damage one couple can do to an entire community. I choked out a sob when I was flooded with the fear many black and brown friends have to carry every time they leave their homes.

That couple was aggressive in their love of white supremacy. They were aggressive in their commitment to be free, untethered by concerns for the people around them. Their need for independence was worth more to them than the safety of anyone around them. Their rights demanded the restriction and diminishment of others.

They are dangerous in two ways. First, when we encounter people like that, some of us breath a sigh of relief, knowing that we aren’t like them, and therefore have no problem with race. More on that next week. 

Second, their existence terrorizes any person they dismiss as less-than, and causes long term, compounded trauma in people of color. Their clear love of boundary pushing destabilizes any environment, invoking the threat of violence, instilling fear in any person they might find unworthy.

This is no way to live! Our friends and neighbors deserve to go about their day unharassed, untraumatized, unjudged. When we allow others to pretend their claims on personal freedom trump another’s right to safely build a life, we help create a society of terror. We have to speak up for our neighbors, caring for them so well that their problems become our problems.

In order to do this, we have to know our neighbors’ stories. The thing I love about the town I grew up in is this sense of connection. People know you, they know your aunt and knew your granddad. They know the deaths that shook your family to the core, and they know the prayers of thanks that sustain you.

Many of us are being lured back into racialized complacency because we have seen riots, or we hear about violence getting out of hand. Today I’ll simply remind us to turn back to our own communities. Stop hating or demonizing the actions of someone across the country, and get to know the people in your town. Most of us are incredibly generous to those we claim as our ‘us.’ And most of us live in extremely segregated circles. We don’t know what it is like to sense or see racism, because we don’t know or love people being damaged by it. Before you dismiss the pain or fear of another, wait a beat, and ask yourself if you know anything about their life or the life of a person like them.

If our patriotism is based on terrorizing or excluding others, I’d argue we should redefine the word. If our personal freedoms endanger those around us, I’d argue we should examine what freedom is. If our political commitments require us to hate or diminish certain types of people, I’d argue our politics are destroying them and us. Don’t give up on our society by welcoming expressions of patriotism that terrorize other Americans.

Take a note from my town, which demonstrates the best and worst of humanity on any given week: A community that works and prays and grieves together, and a community that makes space for white terror at the local grocery store. The problem, and the solutions, are closer than we think.

on changing our culture of white centrality

The primary block to justice is not intentional corruption or overt racists. The primary blocks to justice are white folks consumed with themselves, habituated to ignore or diminish the lives of others. Economic, legal and racial inequities continue to define our country because they are the foundation upon which our country was first established. Our American founders gave rights to people based on their wealth, race and gender. This became the status quo, and every study of history and culture reveals that status quos are powerfully resistant to change.

Video recordings seen across America in recent weeks have alerted many to the long-standing, violent mistreatment of people of color. Many are shocked, appalled, confused, and outraged; they continue to lean in to ask what can be done, even though they might be overwhelmed or scared. I am grateful for these people. They have decided that the status quo is not okay. That what is normal is not acceptable.

These sentiments offer a wonderful chance to start again, but norms will not change unless systems change. Deciding “in my heart” that I am sad for victims and suspicious of unjust authority will not change the nature of the power that erases hope in communities of color. If we want our society to disavow racism, we can’t simply understand our history or label overt evil, we have to each actively become antiracist in our thoughts, speech and actions. If we want to create a just society, we have to actively change the one we have been creating for 250 years.

To that end, here are a few suggestions for how we in the white community might begin:

First, make is personal. Don’t start with ‘them’, start with yourself. Take inventory of your life, relationships and investments. Do you regularly share experiences or routines with anyone outside your tax bracket, religion or race? Do you seek advice from or lean on a person whose life experience is different from yours? Do you read, watch, follow or listen to podcasts made by people of color? The purpose of such inventory taking is not to shame, but to help you see who you trust in your life, whose experiences you value, and what you think is normal based on that information. If you don’t spend meaningful time with people whose reality differs from yours, you should not be surprised when a viral video reveals that different realities exist.

Educate yourself, seeking to learn with humility. I have been flooded with messages from folks who are discovering for the first time that our country’s status quo undervalues, restricts and violates the dignity of people of color. I am thrilled people are engaging with such desperate passion, and thankful I can share my own experience on this journey. Unfortunately, many black friends have also been bombarded. Nearly all of them are thankful to know their white friends care, but most are also exhausted by the idea that they are asked to comment on, explain, defend or teach a well meaning but uninformed person about what it is like to be black in America, this week, or today in Nashville.  

(PSA: if you want to reach out to a black friend, colleague, student or mentor, but feel frozen about what to say, I gently urge you to get over yourself and reach out! When you reach out, even if you feel awkward, you remove the need for them to wonder whose side you are on. Simply say something like: “I have been thinking about you this week, and want you to know I am thankful to know you. I value you and I am learning how to be a better ally to help change our city/workplace/church/school/country. I hope you feel safe. You aren’t alone, and I’m here if you want to talk. No need to respond.” Your words will not rescue them, and you need not ask anything of them either.)

As you educate yourself, notice who you ask to pay for your education. You must actively engage in your own journey rather than climbing on the back of a generous black friend willing to carry you from first to second base as she teaches you what is yours to discover. Even more costly, when African Americans do the heavy lifting for you, they usually do so in a way that privileges your feelings and comfort, rather than allowing you to discover that our status quo began and continues based on the comfort and feelings of white people. Don’t ask someone else to do what is yours to do. (I’ll provide a reading list to help you get started at the end of this essay).

 As you become educated about our racialized society, I hope you will take time to lament all we have lost by only privileging one type of life. We are all victims of the racialized hierarchy that determines our status quo. I am furious that my city’s segregation makes it difficult for us to live in multicultural neighborhoods. I am sad that my moving to a diverse neighborhood often means I will accelerate gentrification that displaces impoverished people. I am shamed when I realize that my white culture makes it bad manners to challenge a comment reflecting racial bias, or that I participate in a culture that normalizes only white wealth, while ignoring or actively avoiding an experience with a person from a different perspective in the name of safety or comfort. If we don’t take time to grieve these failures, we are more likely to abandon our efforts to change because facing our habits makes us feel terrible. You are not alone! We have much to face, and need honest courage to do so. Don’t stew in despair; instead, admit the failings you see and commit to live and speak differently.

It is easy to point a finger at an actively racist person; it is much harder to begin to notice and correct small, racialized biases, and stereotypes or fears that shape my behavior. Not many of us are overt racists, but most of us take actions to avoid certain areas, keep distance from certain people or vote against certain policies—all along racial lines. These implicitly racist habits explicitly impact the lives of others in devastating ways. Acknowledge the subtly racist thoughts that occupy you, and confess your sadness and frustration. Share your lament, your broken heart, with others in your circle. Doing so invites them to join the journey you are on and is much more hospitable than shouting them down once you “get woke.”

Moreover, sitting with your sadness will likely spur you to action. It might lead you to change your routine so that you begin to spend time in places where you are not in the racial, religious or socioeconomic majority. You can be kind and good as you go about your day, but you will never understand the reality of our unjust status quo if you only spend time with people whose lives mirror your own. If you want to challenge the norms that lead to black necks being knelt on and crushed while silent others watch, you have to share your grief with those in your circles, and you have to disrupt your own comfortable path.

Finally, as you walk along this journey, be aware that your life will change. You will become comfortable with difference, and will likely develop sincere gratitude for how much strength you derive when you learn from other people as they share their lives with you. As you do this, you will begin to de-center yourself. As you recognize the wildly different realities Americans live, you will soon begin to know and articulate your perspective, while simultaneously hungering for someone’s take that differs from yours. You will want to vote in local elections and pay attention to policies, housing, education, policing, oversight and power in your town. You will be less consumed with finding folks to affirm and agree with you, and more interested in listening to the different perspectives others might bring. You will be reluctant to share an opinion, a policy, or a voting position without seeking to understand how someone different from you approaches a similar issue.

Celebrate this fact, because when this is true of your life, you will have expanded your us. Your sense of community, of belonging, of “your people,” will have grown. You will find yourself going to bat for people in a way that offers you no direct benefit. You will create a more just and equitable society because you will use your intellect and voice and power and money and influence and vote to elevate people other than you. When wealthy white people do this (because our power is unparalleled in America), our status quo will change, our society will become more just, and we will all breathe. Every person has a role to play, and it will take all of us to create a status quo where black lives obviously matter.

If you are looking for a place to start, educate yourself by reading these (mostly) recent books. For a white person, this is the order I suggest (many of these reference or mention Christian outlooks):

On Race:

Waking up White, Irving

How to be an Antiracist, Kendi

I’m Still Here, Channing Brown

White Fragility, D’Angelo

Between the World and Me, Coates

The Color of Compromise, Tisby

Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People about Race, Eddo-Lodge

Podcasts:

Code Switch

Truth’s Table

1619

Still Processing

Other helpful texts

On Christian Engagement with Social Justice:

White Awake, Hill

Generous Justice, Keller

Disunity in Christ, Cleveland

Seek the Peace of the City, Banister

Knowing Christ Crucified, Copeland

Dream with Me, Perkins

On Education, Criminal Justice and the Law:

13th, film, DuVernay

Just Mercy, Stevenson

New Intro to Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria, Tatum

The Color of Law, Rothstein

Democracy in Chains, MacLean

The Sun Does Shine, Hinton

On Economics and History:

1619 Project, New York Times (Hannah-Jones)

Toxic Charity, Lupton

Stamped from the Beginning, Kendi

The New Jim Crow, Alexander

The Economics of Neighborly Love, Nelson

Stony the Road, Gates, Jr

12 Million Black Voices, Wright