white privilege

A Reflection on #Ferguson

By Charlsi Lewis Lee

Disclaimers: I do not live in Ferguson, Missouri. I do not identify as African American. I am pale and Caucasian and middle class living in South City St. Louis.

I am also angry and heartbroken. I am discouraged and saddened. And I am full of tears.

Driving to work today, I took the long way. It's the way I go to work when I know that I need to slow down and take a deep breath. This route is off the interstate, running through an extremely wealthy city in St. Louis County. It is beautiful.

But . . . there is no one out on the perfectly manicured lawns. There are no tear gas containers lying in the middle of the street. There are not excessively well-armed police officers forming a line with armored trucks leading the way forward. And there certainly is not a young unarmed black man lying in the middle of the street with six bullet wounds.

I am angry.

I am angry that it's so easy for us to separate ourselves from the struggles of those whose skin appears different.

I am angry that I cannot even imagine what it is like for a person of color to stroll down the street, or walk through a store, or drive through an unknown, predominantly white neighborhood.

I am angry that as much as I love and celebrate diversity in this world, in my city, in my life . . . I am still afraid.

This week the words “white privilege” have been bandied about in blogs and articles. So, I might as well jump on the band wagon. I am afraid that my “white privilege” allows me to ignore the realities of life for young men and women like Mike Brown.

I am afraid that I will allow myself to get too comfortable in my “white privilege” to even recognize it for what it is.

I am afraid that more young black men have to die ridiculous deaths before the majority of us with “white privilege” will stand up and speak out.

But somewhere deep down inside me I think I am hopeful. I am hopeful that the angel’s words, Christ’s words and God’s words “Do not be afraid” will become manifest in me and in all of us.

I'm hopeful that we will be so outraged by the injustice and pain of racism that we will step out on faith and hold onto one another.

I have hope that those who perpetrate injustice on others will be shut down because they will be called out by our weeping voices singing the songs of our faith.

I have hope that God’s love is stronger than our hate.

That God’s grace is bigger than our misunderstanding.

That God’s forgiveness is bigger than our sin.

I have hope that those of us who forget that we are privileged because we are white, and that those of us who don’t recognize that privilege, will both take the difficult lessons we're learning in Ferguson as a lesson in faith—faith in the Jesus who heals, feeds, and loves calls us to honor, respect, and cherish the life of every person. Every person. There are no exceptions.

I am angry. I am afraid. But I have faith.

I know that God’s peace and God’s justice does not look like my own.

I know I can learn from the chaos of Ferguson. But, I don’t want another person, another unarmed black man shot down because he might be threat. I know that is not God’s peace. I know that is not God’s justice.

White Need to Talk About Race and Privilege

By J.C. Mitchell

I remember getting ready for school when I was a pre-teen on March 17.  I was certainly wearing green and then I put my favorite jacket as it was a chilly morning.  My mother was adamant I not wear the Mets jacket I wore most days.  She was yelling at me about wearing orange.  I argued that the jacket was blue and simply had orange lettering for the Mets, I was sure that was fine since it was clear I was wearing green and would take my jacket off when I would arrive at school.  My mom was not happy with me, and needless to say I went to school with an older jacket.  I knew we were Irish, but I had no clue about the Troubles and that Orange was the color of the Loyalists and Green the color of the Nationalists, and I certainly did not understand why that should matter in my Connecticut School.

I share this experience because I find it funny, and I believe my mother’s passion should be honored.  One should be proud of their heritage and should not forget the injustices and oppression of your ancestors, be it because of ethnicity, ability, sexuality, gender, skin color, or whatever I might have missed.  I believe there was certainly oppression to the Irish, and I had experienced some of this reality when I lived in Northern Ireland.  However, this reflection is not about The Troubles, or even about immigration; it is about being White.

I had no idea what it meant to be White, when I had to put my Mets jacket aside that day.  I thought I was White, but that was always defined against other people, specifically skin color and/or language--specifically Spanish, yet not those that spoke Castilian Spanish.  I learned between my argument with my mother and living in Belfast that Irish immigrants became White, and not simply because of our pink complexion.  There are certainly many social and political things that occurred that made me, my ancestors and my descendants, White.

However, of all of us that are now in the privileged status of White in the United States, we don’t talk about our inclusion in this label (and it is a label, but with much privilege).  We avoid the subject.  We often invite people that are not White to talk about this subject.  I have been at many conferences and assemblies where the conversation on race, immigration, ethnicity, or diversity is being ran by the small group of people assembled at the gathering that are not White. 

I remember watching the film Traces of the Trade. I was moved by such a film maker who challenged White people to talk about slavery and the economy that all of us benefited from such cheap labor.  She traced her family roots, discovered not only did her family have slaves, profited greatly from the slave trade.  Even us Irish, who came later, benefited from this reality, which we cannot deny.  If we do not have this conversation, we are doomed to keep seeing people who are not White as a deficit that we must find a way to include in our discourse, because White will only be defined by those not.  So even when we desire diversity, we are looking for those that are non-White to give us the answer, instead of having the real conversation ourselves.   It will be difficult, especially as it will often reveal privilege, even for those that worked hard.   If we have the hard discussion, and read and interact with theologies from non-White perspectives, we will benefit, even if it means a larger table.

I know this to be important because I observe that my experience as a child of a first generation mother has many similarities with immigrants today.  But I don’t want to be naïve to claim my experience is just like theirs, for there is a great complexity, but if those who are White are not able to admit this complexity of our own history, how are we truly to live into the diversity we uphold?

Currently I often speak and write about inclusion of people with disabilities, and many of us who do promote the civil rights of those with different abilities, are directly affected by disabilities.  One of the things I often dream of is for people without disabilities to have the conversation (in an intelligent and educated way) of what it means to inclusive of people of all abilities.  It would require very thoughtful and real conversation about the privileges one has in a society and how we assume normal.  We do the same thing with race—even with great intentions; we assume what is normal, if we do not talk about it. We need to be open to different views, our privilege, and the fact sometimes we are wrong.  And certainly we do learn from being wrong—well, at least I know I do.

 

 

 

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To My Fellow White People: An Open Letter « Thought Required; Pants Optional.

 

We at [D]mergent are usually not in the habit of doing this sort of thing, but . . . in this case, I [Derek] think it's justified.  One of our contributors, Brian Cubbage, has written an open letter on the Trayvon Martin killing that, simply put, should be widely read.

To My Fellow White People: An Open Letter « Thought Required; Pants Optional..