Privilege in Feminism, Part 3-Centering Marginalized Women

The last two posts, I’ve looked at both biblical examples and American historical examples of how patriarchy grants certain women privileges over other women in order to preserve male-dominated order. I had planned to write an intense, equally-long final installment to discuss how we can move forward from this place of competition to a position where the voices of marginalized women take center stage and privileged women and men stand in solidarity with them against oppressive forces. I had planned to say a lot of things, but given the topic at hand, I decided to just frame up this post, and create a space where you all could hear from some of the women that are teaching me these days.

I may be just a humble substitute teacher, but I can still give all y'all a quiz.

I may be just a humble substitute teacher, but I can still give all y’all a quiz.

Much of the feminist and anti-racist scholarship of today is focused on a concept named by professor Kimberlé Crenshaw in 1989 as “intersectionality.” Crenshaw coined the term to describe the intersection of oppression that black women face as both women and as black people. This concept can describe any number of levels of oppression against a person or group of people. You can read a sample of her academic work at the link above. Crenshaw, like many of her colleagues, argued that until there was an effort to address the intersections of oppression comprehensively and holistically, marginalization and discrimination would persist.

Author, poet, and activist Audre Lorde famously wrote:

Those of us who stand outside the circle of this society’s definition of acceptable women; those of us who have been forged in the crucibles of difference, those of us who are poor, who are lesbians, who are Black, who are older, know that survival is not an academic skill. It is learning how to take our differences and make them strengths. For the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house. They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change. And this fact is only threatening to those women who still define the master’s house as their only source of support.
audreIn our current context, you see similar critiques of the myopic perspective espoused by prominent contemporary voices like Sheryl Sandberg, whose book Lean In, was touted as a call for American women to re-engage in feminism. Scholar and writer bell hooks panned Sandberg’s emphasis on women pulling themselves up by their bootstraps in her critique for The Feminist Wire:

Although Sandberg revised her perspective on feminism, she did not turn towards primary sources (the work of feminist theorists) to broaden her understanding. In her book, she offers a simplistic description of the feminist movement based on women gaining equal rights with men. This construction of simple categories (women and men) was long ago challenged by visionary feminist thinkers, particularly individual black women/women of color. These thinkers insisted that everyone acknowledge and understand the myriad ways race, class, sexuality, and many other aspects of identity and difference made explicit that there was never and is no simple homogenous gendered identity that we could call “women” struggling to be equal with men. In fact, the reality was and is that privileged white women often experience a greater sense of solidarity with men of their same class than with poor white women or women of color.

Sandberg’s definition of feminism begins and ends with the notion that it’s all about gender equality within the existing social system. From this perspective, the structures of imperialist white supremacist capitalist patriarchy need not be challenged. And she makes it seem that privileged white men will eagerly choose to extend the benefits of corporate capitalism to white women who have the courage to ‘lean in.’ It almost seems as if Sandberg sees women’s lack of perseverance as more the problem than systemic inequality. Sandberg effectively uses her race and class power and privilege to promote a narrow definition of feminism that obscures and undermines visionary feminist concerns.

While works like Lean In bring feminism into the main stream of American culture, but rarely do they affect sweeping changes. This week, we saw similar skepticism emerge following a speech by Emma Watson at the U.N. (a speech for which she received immediate threats against her privacy and her person).

Is that spelled correctly?

Is that spelled correctly?

Watson was praised for her candor and her embrace of the term “feminism,” and while the moment was, for many, a needed introduction to feminism, it was not representative of the movement. As always, when we see these rallying points, we have to be circumspect about who is being left out of the conversation, and how we can keep moving forward, rather than setting up camp here in Women’s Studies 101. Consider these comments from Mia McKenzie on Watson’s speech as it centered men in the fight against misogyny (and really, read the whole post):

The underlying message here is that women deserve equity and equality because of our relationships to men. Continuing to re-enforce the idea that men should respect women and fight for women’s equality because mother/sister/daughter/whatever perpetuates the idea that women don’t already deserve those things based solely on our status as human beings. It encourages men to think of women always and only in relation to themselves, as if our pseudo-humanity is only an after-thought of men’s real humanity. The truth is that women are whole, complete people, regardless of our status in the lives of men. This is what men should hear, over and over again. This is what everyone should hear, every day.

These critiques aren’t new. As long as someone is “discovering feminism” for the first time, there will be someone right behind them saying, “there’s still a lot you have yet to learn.”

This is a good thing.

If we are ever going to step out of oppressive paradigms and fully realize in a new Kingdom coming, one that is properly ordered around God and not a particular powerful segment of humanity, we need to commit to humility and to listening to the people who are pushed to the margin. That is, after all, who Jesus himself ran with on a daily basis.

With that in mind, here are a few additional readings for you to interact with and explore. You don’t necessarily have to agree with all of it, but you do have to listen. Consider them homework, if it helps. You do yours (don’t go asking your marginalized friends for answers, either). I’ll do mine. We can meet back and compare notes later.

Accomplices, Not Allies: Abolishing the Ally-Industrial Complex from Indigenous Action

Justice then Reconciliation by Austin Channing Brown

I, too, am racialized by Lydia Brown (includes discussion of disability!)

Killjoy Prophets: Troubling and Broadening our Liberation by Emily Rice (highlights current struggles within the “progressive” Christian community)

Feminism’s Ugly Internal Clash: Why It’s Future is Not Up to White Women by Brittney Cooper

I Can’t Believe by Micky Jones

Heteropatriarchy and the Three Pillars of White Supremacy by Andrea Smith

White People, White Power, White Platform by Caris Adel

Extra credit (only because you can’t just click and read it, but get this anyway): More Than Serving Tea: Asian American Women on Expectations, Relationships, Leadership, and Faith. Authors: Asifa Dean, Christie Heller de Leon, Kathy Khang and Editors: Nikki A. Toyama, Tracey Gee, Jeanette Yep

Privilege in Feminism, Part 1: Lessons from Scripture

I’ve been straying from course in our Social Justice Bootcamp on Feminism to talk about topics as they present themselves, but I finally have an opportunity to do both! So this week, we’re going to dive back into what I planned when I started this series, and I’m going to mix in a few recent things as well.

Many of us are familiar with the term, “privilege,” as it describes the social, economic, or political advantages of a particular group of people. We’re used to hearing terms like, “male privilege” or “white privilege.” But today I want to dive into the idea of relative privilege and how it affects feminist activism. Most people think of feminism and they think of this:

Iconic, right?

Iconic, right?

We love Rosie. She’s as tough as any dudebro, though she’s still made-up and small-waisted, and she’s looking us right in the eye showing us that women mean business. But who are we leaving out with this image? What women are omitted when this icon becomes the singular story? As Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie said in her famous TED talk:

The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story.

rosie2

Photo by Alfred T. Palmer, U.S. Office of War Information

rosie

Robert Valadez, “Rosita Adelita” (image links to artist’s site, posters available for purchase)

So let’s start with two stories (better than one, yes?) from the Old Testament. The first, found in Genesis 16, begins with two women: Sarai and Hagar. Sarai is a well-off older woman, and has been unable to bear children with her husband Abram. Despite God’s promise that the couple would have a child and become parents to many nations, they have been unable to conceive. Living in a patriarchal culture that primarily values women because they can carry children, Sarai becomes desperate and takes the matter into her own hands. In the society of her day, it was lawful for a barren woman to have her servant bear children as her proxy. Sarai avails herself of this option and employs her handmaiden, Hagar, for the task.

Scripture does not tell us if Hagar consented to the arrangement. It’s likely that in that day and culture, Hagar’s vocalized consent would not have been needed. Hagar conceives, and as the years wear on, Sarai becomes jealous of Hagar’s child and Hagar’s new found social position as the mother of Abram’s only son. Sarai demands her husband cast both Hagar and her son Ishmael out of the household, and Abram complies, abandoning his own child to appease his wife.

What we see in this passage, beyond a display of desperation, human selfishness, or faithlessness, is patriarchy at work. Sarai is keenly aware of her [albeit limited] power in this culture, and she is frustrated when her power as a wife is jeopardized by her childlessness. Her power is relative, of course, to her husband’s, and she enjoys a measure of privilege precisely because she is 1) married, and 2) married to a wealthy man. As a woman, her privilege still does not match that of her husband, but she wields enough power to compel Hagar to bear Abram’s child, while maintaining her status as a wife. Hagar enjoys a measure of privilege herself, as the mother of Abram’s child, but her privilege isn’t enough to protect her in the situation, and ultimately, she is abandoned by both her mistress and her child’s father. As women, Sarai and Hagar are both at a cultural disadvantage, but to different degrees because of the relative privileges that patriarchy assigns to them.

Our second story is that of Queen Esther, found in the book of the same name. The book begins with the removal of Queen Vashti, who, in a moment of forbidden autonomy, refuses to come at the King’s command. Esther’s story begins here, in the context of a king who rules with absolute authority, who is surrounded by advisers who are plotting a genocide against the Jewish people. Esther herself is a Jew, but this fact goes undetected by the king’s court as Esther moves through the beauty pageant that is the audition for the next queen. King Xerxes admires her beauty and Esther is made queen. The conflict of the book hinges upon Esther’s undisclosed ethnicity and the impending danger of adviser Haman’s plot to destroy the Jews.

Once again we see patriarchy at work, but this time, at a point in history when ethnicity is a governing factor as well as gender. Esther has immense privilege as Queen, but all that is predicated upon the understanding that she is a Gentile. In the culminating apex of the story, Esther goes in to the king to defend her people, knowing full-well that in defying the patriarchal law against approaching the king without being summoned, her royal privilege will not be enough to save her: “When this is done, I will go to the king, even though it is against the law. And if I perish, I perish.

And you thought Elsa was a badass.

And you thought Queen Elsa was a badass.

Both of these stories illustrate the challenges women face navigating a patriarchal order. In both cases, women had to make choices about how/when to use their relative privilege. Sarai chose to use her to preserve her own power. Esther chose to put hers on the line for her people. We have two models here of how the moral evil of privilege can be leveraged within patriarchy: for self-promotion (essentially codifying both relative privilege and the patriarchy-at-large) or for the promotion of marginalized people (undermining both the privilege and the patriarchy).

In our day we face the same choices: women can play by the patriarchy’s rules and happily advance as far as the patriarchy allows, or they can actively work against the patriarchy by promoting the voices of the marginalized and sharing risk in solidarity with those groups. When women choose the former over the latter, they are buying into the myth that an oppressive system is selling: competition is fierce and there are only so many seats to be had at the table. Feminism seeks to make the table bigger, and invite marginalized voices to take their place there. Jesus does the same in Luke 14:

When he noticed how the guests picked the places of honor at the table, he told them this parable: “When someone invites you to a wedding feast, do not take the place of honor, for a person more distinguished than you may have been invited. If so, the host who invited both of you will come and say to you, ‘Give this person your seat.’ Then, humiliated, you will have to take the least important place. But when you are invited, take the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he will say to you, ‘Friend, move up to a better place.’ Then you will be honored in the presence of all the other guests. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”

Then Jesus said to his host, “When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or sisters, your relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

Hierarchy creates privilege. Christian feminism works to disarm those powers.

Esther’s story shows how much more complicated all this gets when there are other factors at work besides gender. We see these same forces at work in our society today when it comes to feminism and race. In the next post, we’ll take a brief look at how these two issues have tangled in our American history.

Sunday meditations: Where do we go now?

Andrew Wilkes, from his piece in the Huffington Post, “Ferguson as Christological Challenge: Rethinking Jesus in an Unjust Society:”

The Christological consensus of American Christendom — and its corollary ecclesial equation — is that our Savior changes persons that, in turn, change the world. No sense of institutional iniquity or social sin here, just an excessively voluntarist, volitional account of discipleship and good works. This Christology does not resemble the Jesus of the Gospels or Paul’s epistles, is politically untenable, sociologically flat-footed, and inadvertently anoints hierarchies of power, wealth, and opportunity. Further, this self-help Savior is a privatized pardoner of individual indiscretions and secret sins — not the Righteous Reconciler, Palestinian prophet, and cosmic Lord of the New Testament. Let us bury the New York Times-bestselling, life coach Jesus, along with the ecclesiology of egoism it implies.

 

Instead, I propose that we restate a conviction that requires interpretation in every generation: Jesus saves us from sin. One sin from which we need saving now is our unjust treatment of and implicit bias about who bears God’s image. The idea that each human refracts, however imperfectly, the qualities of a just and loving God, is a precondition for Christian redemption. Everyone who breathes — even when police officers choke out their capacity to do so — mirrors the ineffable yet discernible attributes of God. Black folks are not candidates for redemption when our inalienable rights, endowed to us by our just and loving Creator, cannot be asserted without rigorous rejoinder. If these things be true, where do we go from here?

To the foot of the cross, equally needed by all, where Jesus redeems the privileged and the precarious — red, yellow, black, brown, and white — by renewing our embodied minds from self-sovereignty, God-hostility, and interior acceptance of ugly, social asymmetries of power, opportunity, and wealth along the fault lines of race. Jesus can save us from sin, especially the sin of white supremacy and all its imago Dei-negating works.

 

Operation Help or Hush is providing supplies for people on the ground in Ferguson.

Stories on housing integration, social networking integration, and churches that have been harassed for serving as a refuge center for Ferguson residents/protestors.

churchAn amazing theological Twitter discussion about Marissa Alexander’s case (image at bottom links to more info).

killjoytweetAnd a piece by Sarah Jaffe and Mariame Kaba and Randy Albelda and Kathleen Geier on the criminalization of mothers.

Stay prayerful, and as Katelyn at By Their Strange Fruit says, let’s “put some feet to our tweets” this week, y’all.

Art by Jawaan Burge (2014)

Art by Jawaan Burge (2014)

 

The Silent Idol of Whiteness

Since my post over the weekend, I’ve been having a lot of conversations about whiteness. And I don’t like it. To talk about whiteness is to saddle up the angry elephant in the room and ride that sucker around.

In America, whiteness is our default. I catch myself in conversations with my husband where I’m describing a new acquaintance and I’ll describe everything about her BUT her race if she’s white. If she’s not, race is the first thing I usually mention. White is my default. Everyone else is other. I’m learning to see whiteness.

And what I’m seeing when I see whiteness isn’t just race. I’m seeing the lies behind the labels. I’m seeing my own fears and biases. (If you want to borrow my mirror on this, there are bias tests that can help you see your own ugly.) This week, I shared this comment on Facebook. It felt like a plea for help, like all confession does.

I don’t condone destruction or looting. I have to ask, though, why collectively we’re more concerned about storefronts and the destruction of property than we are about loss of human life? Why are we more afraid of a large group of unarmed angry black protestors than we are of armed angry white protestors? I’m asking these questions of myself as much as I’m asking any of you guys. When it comes to racism, there may be differing degrees of complicity and perpetration, but we’re all in recovery together. Let’s admit we have a problem…Hi, my name is Cayce and I’ve adopted racist constructs and fears.

Most of the conversations I’ve been having about whiteness go off the rails immediately. The biggest obstacle to productive discussions and reflection comes when a white person I’m talking to says, “Are you calling me a racist?” I’m immediately put on the defensive, and compelled to walk back what I’ve said, etc. because where we live, being called a racist is worse than actually being one. Now, there are a lot of fantastic resources on the web to deal with this particular derailment. (My favorite is this one.)

But the truth is, no matter what facts you give, no matter how you walk it back or try to explain it, the accusation that you’ve called a white person a racist just sticks. So from here on, I’m changing my strategy. If you ask me am I calling you a racist, I’m going there with you:

Yes. You are a racist. So am I. Let’s get some help.

If I’ve learned anything from my walk with Jesus, if someone is calling me out, I will want to fight it. But every confrontation with the truth goes easier for me if I surrender quickly. So, my reputation as a white person with racist attitudes is out there.

There is a fear in facing the whiteness and all the privilege it entails. We can’t seem to look it in the eye. There are a lot of reasons for that, but I think the most likely is this: we like the lie.

Bejamin Corey addresses this at Patheos:

If we admit to the existence of systemic racism in America, it will prove false the American narrative so many of us grew up believing…We can’t admit that systemic racism exists, because that will mean the narrative we were taught about America is a huge lie…If we admit to the existence of systemic racism in America, it makes us guiltyWe don’t want to admit it because we’d have to admit that we’ve been complicit in the sin by not addressing the sin…If we admit to the existence of systemic racism, it would demand costly change.

And Ta-Nehisi Coates nailed it this week in the context of conversations about what’s going down in Ferguson:


We are being told that Michael Brown attacked an armed man and tried to take his gun. The people who are telling us this hail from that universe where choke-holds are warm-fuzzies, where boys discard their skittles yelling, “You’re gonna die tonight,” and possess the power to summon and banish shotguns from the ether. These are the necessary myths of our country, and without them we are subject to the awful specter of history, and that is just too much for us to bear.

Taken all together, the body count that led us to our present tenuous democratic moment does not elevate us above the community of nations, but installs us uncomfortably within its ranks. And that is terrifying because it shows us to be neither providential nor exceptional, and only special in the subjective sense that our families are special—because they are ours.

As Coates points out, we have a distorted view of our history in America. We want the good old story so bad, so we will refuse to see the connections of the evils in our past and the evils in our present.

Squandering opportunities to do it better than we did before.

Squandering opportunities to do it better than we did before.

The Bible makes it clear that there’s nothing new under the sun. Perhaps it’s because despite our lip-service to the contrary, we don’t really want to learn our lesson. But God has given us everything we need for life and godliness. He’s given us the opportunity to start again. He died and brought Himself back so that we could know the liberation of confession, forgiveness, and contrition. He’s given us His Word to bring us hope and to teach us what to do. He’s calling us to stand with the oppressed.

Greg Ogden writes:

The symbol of justice in our society is a blindfolded woman, indicating that justice is blind. The fair judge is dispassionately objective, free from bias, who rationally decides what is right before an impersonal law. On the other hand, the role of the judge and justice in Israel was to actively and redemtively seek to protect the poor from the wiles of the rich and powerful. So strong was the skepticism toward the powerful that the poor in the courts were often viewed collectively as the innocent and the righteous…

Time and again we see God’s prophets rail against the abuses of the powerful. To those of us living under the illusion of “American justice” as it stands today, reading the Scriptures can be disconcerting. We want to explain this aspect of God’s character away with a hermeneutic, “Well, He meant poor in spirit. Well, He meant that for that time, and that culture only. He doesn’t do that to nations or expect that of us anymore.” We just ‘splain these texts away.

To us, Biblical justice feels unfair. It feels like partiality. Because it is.

God in His wisdom, has accounted for our propensity for sin and abuse of power. He has anticipated our behavior, both the individual and the collective, and He talks about it. A lot.

Again I looked and saw all the oppression that was taking place under the sun:

I saw the tears of the oppressed—
    and they have no comforter;
power was on the side of their oppressors—
    and they have no comforter…

He also gives us a solution for these problems in confession, repentance, and ultimately, solidarity:

Two are better than one,
    because they have a good return for their labor:
If either of them falls down,
    one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
    and has no one to help them up.
Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
    But how can one keep warm alone?
Though one may be overpowered,
    two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

-Ecclesiastes 4

The privileged among us don’t just stand in solidarity just to be helpful. We are called to need the oppressed. The oppressed keep us accountable for our complicity in oppression. They remind us of the suffering servant Jesus. They give us the opportunity to participate with God in an act of restorative justice. They shatter our insulated, white-informed [un]consciousness with their prayers of lamentation:

We are touching the bibles handed down from our great-grandparents gnarled hands to our smooth, desk-working ones. We are reciting the promises inside them. Those who are peacemakers will plant seeds of peace and reap a harvest of righteousnessBlessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Yea, though I walk through the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. 

You promised, we pray, as though we’ve been betrayed. You promised, we repeat, as though we may have been forsaken. But we’d forgotten that we are still walking and that the shadow of death may not look like a hospital bed at the end of a long, storied life, but instead like a city on lockdown, asphyxiating its citizens, imposing a curfew on all who seek justice, donning riot gear and rolling tanks simply to protect a police officer who murdered someone whose skin looked like our own.

(There is still time left, right, Lord? There’s still time, isn’t there, for You to redeem these dark times?)

 Please. Please. Just be patient. We are making our way. But you must understand that it is hard, when we are cordoned on all sides by toxic clouds. Surely, you can empathize with how difficult it is to be clear-eyed while gagging on these cannisters of cover-ups.

Stacia Brown

We’ve worked hard to build this American narrative: of founding fathers, hearth-tending mothers, courageous colonizers, forbearing minorities, and magnanimous white benefactors. But hard work does not a truth make. We have become like the blacksmith constructing an idol in Isaiah 44:

The blacksmith takes a tool
    and works with it in the coals;
he shapes an idol with hammers,
    he forges it with the might of his arm.
He gets hungry and loses his strength;
    he drinks no water and grows faint.
The carpenter measures with a line
    and makes an outline with a marker;
he roughs it out with chisels
    and marks it with compasses.
He shapes it in human form,
    human form in all its glory,
    that it may dwell in a shrine.
He cut down cedars,
    or perhaps took a cypress or oak.
He let it grow among the trees of the forest,
    or planted a pine, and the rain made it grow.
It is used as fuel for burning;
    some of it he takes and warms himself,
    he kindles a fire and bakes bread.
But he also fashions a god and worships it;
    he makes an idol and bows down to it.
Half of the wood he burns in the fire;
    over it he prepares his meal,
    he roasts his meat and eats his fill.
He also warms himself and says,
    “Ah! I am warm; I see the fire.”
From the rest he makes a god, his idol;
    he bows down to it and worships.
He prays to it and says,
    “Save me! You are my god!”
They know nothing, they understand nothing;
    their eyes are plastered over so they cannot see,
    and their minds closed so they cannot understand.
No one stops to think,
    no one has the knowledge or understanding to say,
“Half of it I used for fuel;
    I even baked bread over its coals,
    I roasted meat and I ate.
Shall I make a detestable thing from what is left?
    Shall I bow down to a block of wood?”
Such a person feeds on ashes; a deluded heart misleads him;
    he cannot save himself, or say,
    “Is not this thing in my right hand a lie?”

It’s time to acknowledge the singe story we’ve told ourselves, and admit we’ve bought into a system of oppression. We’ve believed it. We defended it. We’ve taught our children to love it. We have worshipped the idol and laid waste to the image of God that He set before us in the bodies of our black brothers and sisters.

policeAcknowledging the truth about America doesn’t mean I hate it. It doesn’t negate the sacrifice people before us have made with their lives. For the love of God, Christ died for sinners while they were still sinners. We’re no exception to that because we’re American or because we’re white. We’re full of error. And that is an amendable fact if we own up to it.

shirleyWe have to ask ourselves if we have biases that inconsistent with God’s justice. Who gets the benefit of the doubt? Who gets scrutiny? Who do we easily love? Who do we easily fear? These aren’t fun questions. The answers are often embarrassing. But they don’t have to be the last word because we have a remarkable capacity for change.

Am I racist? Yes, but I might not be racist tomorrow. It’s possible to do better. Rather than defending my reputation, I want to change my posture and seek to be saved from this. I have to hold out hope, despite the things I’m seeing to the contrary, that us white people can get it right.

Where are my white people?

Like many of you, I’ve been glued to social media this week following the murder of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri. I’ve tried working through some of my emotions and thoughts on the subject in those social forums. Some forums are safer for that kind of thing than others. I’m learning that my safety (emotional or otherwise) is important, but not paramount.

As the details in the case continue to emerge, I have hope that the public will can shift toward justice, but I won’t wait for it. You see, this situation is not new. It’s not even a symptom of something. It’s a script we’ve been playing since this nation was founded. It’s the script of white supremacy.

I know that term is loaded, so I’m going to slow down and say it again so you know I’m saying it on purpose: white supremacy. Most of us are familiar enough with history to associate white supremacy with the past. We know about slavery. We know about Jim Crow. We know about the Klan. We think we can relegate white supremacy to those contexts and thereby keep it out of our house. But I’m telling you, it’s still here.

When I talk to my white friends about what’s gone down so far in Ferguson, I get many of the same kinds of comments I’ve heard before: “Let’s refrain from judgment until the facts are in.” “We don’t know why the cop did what he did, but I think cops are great, so let’s give him the benefit of the doubt.” “With all that looting, what did you expect the police to do? They have to keep order.”

While many of my friends are unaware of it, all of these comments are racially tinged. Before I get into how that works, let’s start with a summary of the facts from Professor Brittney Cooper:

crunkAll week long, the community of Ferguson and its supporters have been trying to keep the focus of this case on the shooting itself. But thanks to the media, the local police, and others, the story keeps getting muddled by other details. Mia McKenzie at Black Girl Dangerous anticipated these distractions in her piece, “6 Things To Stop Being Distracted By When A Black Person Gets Murdered By the Police.” You should really read the whole thing, but here are the highlights:

1. Over-Simplified Talk of “Riots”
According to media outlets and some residents, there’s been rioting in Ferguson since the killing of unarmed teenager Mike Brown. There have been reports of peaceful protests turning less than peaceful, with people confronting cops, throwing things at them, etc. I don’t know if the stories of rioting are true. Most of the video I’ve seen of Ferguson shows the protesters themselves gathered or marching relatively calmly. Angry sometimes, sure. But anger is a perfectly normal response to your unarmed teenage neighbor being gunned down in the street by police (police who have now showed up at your peaceful protest with attack dogs and riot gear).

But let’s get something straight: a community pushing back against a murderous police force that is terrorizing them is not a “riot”. It’s an uprising. It’s a rebellion. It’s a community saying We can’t take this anymore. We won’t take it. It’s people who have been dehumanized to the point of rightful rage. And it happens all over the world. Uprisings and rebellions are necessary and inevitable, locally and globally…

2. Looting
Looting is often part of the “rioting” narrative. Peaceful protests that turn violent are often accompanied by looting. During the first night of the Ferguson protests there was looting reported at various locations nearby. Looting—stealing merchandise from vandalized businesses during a protest—happens separate from the actual protest taking place and its actual organizers and participants in every case I’ve ever heard about, anywhere, ever. Looting is often an opportunists’ game.

Looting, too, is about power. When people have nothing and something happens to remind them, in a big way, that what little they do have can be taken away in an instant, including their lives and the lives of their children, they may reach for any semblance of power or control they can get…

3. Celebrities
Please don’t get distracted by celebrities. At times like this, famous people sometimes say really important, helpful, intelligent things. Other times, they open their mouths and the most ridiculous hot ass-garbage comes pouring out. (I’m looking at you, Morgan Freeman/Bill Cosby/Don Lemon.) Then everyone spends all day talking about the celebrity and what they said rather than talking about the issue…

4. The Murder Victim’s Past
I wish I didn’t have to tell some of you that victim-blaming when a Black person is murdered by police is a huge no. That it doesn’t matter if they were on the honor roll, or smoked weed sometimes, or were going to college, or what brand of hoodie they wore, or even if they spent time in jail at some point. That the right to walk down the street without being a target for murder by the police isn’t a right one should have to prove themselves worthy of. That we should all just have that right by virtue of being human beings…

5. Respectability Politics
Respectability politics is part of almost all of the things I’ve listed here already. It plays its part in most of the ways we get distracted when a Black person is murdered by the police. It’s there in the idea that protests should always be non-violent; it’s there in the idea that looting erases someone’s humanity; it’s there in the idea that the victim’s past, if not squeaky-clean by white supremacist capitalist patriarchy’s standards, makes their victimization less valid…

I understand how hard it is to accept that as a Black person your life means so little in this country that you can be killed by police for nothing. That walking down the street while Black can be the only reason your life, or the life of your son or daughter or father or partner or friend, ends. You want there to be another reason, any other reason.

Yesterday on Twitter, @prisonculture wrote, in response to a tweet suggesting Black people can dress better to avoid being murdered by the authorities: “looking the part” doesn’t help you brother…I’m so sorry. I feel so much compassion for you. How do you absorb & internalize that you are killable, always killable? You create your own fictions. To survive, to live. I understand.

I, too, understand that it’s hard. Almost too hard to bear. Who wants to have to carry these things? Especially when you’re young and dreaming of a life without barriers based on your skin color. But pretending we can “respectable” ourselves out of racism is dangerous. And it will not save you.

6. Lies Mainstream Media Tells You
Please understand and remember that MSM chooses what to show you and what not to show you. Remember how that news station I mentioned showed only looting? Well, by accounts of many folks in Ferguson that night, that was happening while the actual protesters were still protesting, their hands in the air, shouting “Don’t shoot!” at police officers in riot gear who were threatening them. Your MSM isn’t likely to show you that part.

Don’t be distracted by the sensationalized version, by the oppressor’s racist-colored lens that only captures nice police officers trying to do their jobs while animalistic Blacks steal TVs and burn shit down. Get your news from sources who stand in solidarity with oppressed people.

Like me, my white friends are struggling to understand all this. For most of us, these incidents of police brutality, or the racialized murder of black people, feels like a scene from the past because it’s not our present reality. We don’t get stopped by police for just driving down the street. The police come when we call them, and they almost always come to help.

unnamedJust because it’s not our experience, doesn’t make it any less true. As I learned this week trying to explain all this to my white children, these scenes rattle our narratives about good guys and bad guys. And when my kids hear “the talk” about race, respectability, and law enforcement, it doesn’t make sense the way it does when black kids hear it from their parents (who they have seen deal with it, even if it wasn’t vocalized).

Half of the white people I’ve talked to or read have been quick to derail or dismiss these events. The other well-meaning half are shocked by them. Both responses are indicative of a white supremacist culture that shields white people from the daily oppressions of people of color. These events remind us white folks of our complicity and beg our attention to problems that we work hard to isolate to the past.

Look, what we’re watching unfold isn’t news. It’s been happening all this time. On our “post-racial” watch. What we saw this week was the unfolding of a supremacy narrative: first, the preemptive militarization of local police out of fear of angry black people who’ve been denied justice. It worked this way during slavery: when preemptive brutality was used to protect the system of slavery, and used again out of fear that plantation owners would be killed in their sleep by those they oppressed. It worked this way under Jim Crow: when black people could be arrested for going about their daily lives, and it intensified when black people organized to take political action or assert their rights. Violence in America has always been heavily one-sided, as has the fear of violence, and black folks weren’t the creators of lynch mob justice.

unnamed2The demands of the people in Ferguson are for orderly justice. It only feels disorderly because it’s disrupting our normalized structures of white supremacy. The media focus on isolated incidents of looting over the numerous peaceful demonstrations reinforces the “fear black people” narrative. The press ate up the fourteen-page police department story of Mike Brown’s “strong-arm robbery” and left the shooting behind, only later to find out that officer Wilson didn’t even know about the robbery when he approached, shot, and killed Mike Brown (as if that would have justified the killing). Even in stories that featured headlines focuses on the shootings, the thumbnail images shown at the side of the article were usually photos from the robbery camera.

This is how white supremacy has always worked:

Systemic oppression of people of color out of fear or for gain -> People of color no longer endure violence and begin to resist oppression (violently or peacefully) -> White power responds with “See! These people are unruly, we gotta keep a lid on that!”  -> Oppression continues, reinforced by the white narrative of fear

We can’t afford to allow distractions in this situation. I’m calling upon my white brothers and sisters in Christ to get on board here. I don’t care if we’re late coming. We need to be here. I realize it’s uncomfortable, but for our sisters and brothers of color, it can be deadly. We don’t get to wuss out on this. We have to do better than the generations before us.

Blogger and racial justice reconciler Austin Channing Brown broke my heart this week with this truth:

…what I found most intriguing is MLK’s response to the question about his mistakes as a civil rights leader. His reply: “Well, the most pervasive mistake I have made was in believing that because our cause was just, we could be sure that the white ministers of the South, once their Christian consciences were challenged, would rise to our aid. I felt that white ministers would take our cause to the white power structures. I ended up, of course, chastened and disillusioned.”

At this moment in time, I cannot confess to the same shock, disappoint or hurt feelings that MLK describes. I’ve read too much, been at this too long to sincerely claim that I expected the white church to finally get it right in this present moment of Trayvon Martin, Jordan Davis, John Crawford and Michael Brown. The white church doesn’t have a great track record on racial justice, and what’s worse, displays very little shame on the matter…

I am quite used to there not being enough room in the soul of the white church to care about black bodies. There is not enough room in the service, not enough room in the prayers, not enough room in the leadership, not enough room in the values, not enough room in the mission statement, not enough room in political stances, not enough room for lived experiences of African Americans.

I am convinced that the soul of the white church has yet to be ashamed.

I am ashamed. If you’re feeling ashamed at this point, too, let it change you. Repent and come alongside those whose yoke is too burdensome. Stop telling people who are calling for due process to slow down asserting their rights. White churches tried to tell Dr. King and other leaders of the Civil Rights movement the same thing:

I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.

I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice and that when they fail in this purpose they become the dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress. I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that the present tension in the South is a necessary phase of the transition from an obnoxious negative peace, in which the Negro passively accepted his unjust plight, to a substantive and positive peace, in which all men will respect the dignity and worth of human personality. Actually, we who engage in nonviolent direct action are not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface the hidden tension that is already alive. We bring it out in the open, where it can be seen and dealt with. Like a boil that can never be cured so long as it is covered up but must be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must be exposed, with all the tension its exposure creates, to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured.

Let’s be different in this generation. Let’s stop telling our brothers and sisters to wait for justice. For the love of Jesus, let’s stop telling them to play things our way.

respectabilityLet’s educate ourselves instead of asking people of color to tell us what racism is or how it works. To that end, I’m going to share a few resources below. Please consider choosing something, one thing, any thing. I do not believe that white people getting on board against racism will save everyone. White people aren’t the saviors. We don’t get cookies for basic human decency. But it’s going to take more of us grappling with the systems of oppression if we’re ever going to topple the thing.
igSo if you’re a pastor, preach on this. If you’re a teacher, study up and teach on it. If you’re a parent, talk to your kids. Get on social media and share articles about Ferguson. Learn how to spot derailments, how not to get caught up in them, and then keep the focus on justice. Sign and share a petition calling for an overhaul of how we police communities of color. Learn about other stories where people of color are being denied justice (it happens to women, too) and read up more stories like Mike Brown’s.

lastwordsWe white people need to go beyond allyship. We need to be accomplices.

This is Kingdom work, y’all. I’m begging my white people: don’t miss it this time.

Resources:

Michelle Alexander The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindess
Douglas Blackmon Slavery By Another Name (link is to the PBS documentary, still online, but there is a book as well)
Eduardo Bonilla-Silva Racism Without Racists
Essential reading from Prison Culture
Reading list from Irene’s Daughters
Field trip! Sankofa Journey with the Evangelical Covenant Church

And follow any of the people I’ve linked to or mentioned above on Twitter. Twitter has been instrumental in reporting news out of Ferguson. If you don’t tweet, you can follow some of these writers on Facebook as well.

Toward Better Alliances

I recently commented on the #yesallwomen phenomenon, but since there has been so much discussion over the last week about the movement and the response to it, I wanted to address the male reaction to the outcry.

One of my favorite responses was Jeopardy! winner Arthur Chu’s article on misogyny in nerd culture. Since his essay went viral, Chu has spoken on media outlets to talk about the impact of male bystanders on violence against women. Phil Plait offered a thorough response to the “not all men” series of derailments:

Why is it not helpful to say “not all men are like that”? For lots of reasons. For one, women know this. They already know not every man is a rapist, or a murderer, or violent. They don’t need you to tell them.

Second, it’s defensive. When people are defensive, they aren’t listening to the other person; they’re busy thinking of ways to defend themselves. I watched this happen on Twitter, over and again.

And another hashtag emerged in support of women: #allmencan. A number of male allies went to the internet with selfies and signs of support:

It's possible, fellas.

It’s possible, fellas.

Unfortunately, these affirming responses weren’t enough to stifle a defensive backlash. Poking the misogyny bear on the internet proved dangerous. Rebecca Solnit writes at Salon:

By Sunday night, half a million #yesallwomen tweets had appeared around the world, as though a dam had burst. And perhaps it had. The phrase described the hells and terrors women face and specifically critiqued a stock male response when women talked about their oppression: “Not all men.”

It’s the way some men say, “I’m not the problem” or that they shifted the conversation from actual corpses and victims as well as perpetrators to protecting the comfort level of bystander males. An exasperated woman remarked to me, “What do they want — a cookie for not hitting, raping, or threatening women?”

Now, I’ll go on record and say that cookies are amazing. But, if you’re truly interested in being a person’s ally, you’ll realize you’re not entitled to them.

The goal of allyship isn’t accolades or recognition. The goal is to better love people and to make this place more just. That starts with listening.

yesallwomen

I realize that in a culture that affirms male dominance, moving away from misogyny feels painful to some men. It can be confusing and there will inevitably be some resistance to it. While women’s voices are essential to this conversation, it really will take all of us thinking about this to reshape masculinity in a way that affirms the dignity of women. Consider this exchange in a discussion on pick-up culture from New York Magazine [language warning]:

Reporter, Kat Stoeffel: One of my dark, early reactions to the shooting was that I wished someone had just slept with Rodger. Obviously, that’s not the real problem. But is there something women can do to defuse what you call “toxic masculinity”?

Author, Harris O’Malley: Honestly, it’s not women’s fault. Women aren’t the gender police. You’re not going to see as many women complaining or punishing a guy for being willing to show more emotions the way you’re going to see men telling a guy, Don’t be a pussy, man up. It’s not on women to change men; it’s on men to change themselves. We already put so much unfair responsibility on women when we say things like boys will be boys and women have to dress modestly because men can’t control themselves. That’s bullshit. Saying that it’s women’s responsibility is a way for men to absolve themselves. Even if someone had slept with Elliot Rodger it wouldn’t have fixed anything. If he had had a girlfriend she probably would have been his first target.

Stoeffel: Fair enough. What should men do?

O’Malley: The best thing men can do for other men is to be open to each other to support each other instead of treating each other as competition or pawns in status games. Being willing to be honest and not shame each other for having feelings and doubts and for not living up to this hypermasculine ideal.

When we consider that even church purity culture often affirms the role of male as pursuer and female as pursued, we have a long way to go. For men, and women in positions of privilege, there are a couple of affirming ways to respond to new or disruptive truth about our culture.

First, we can be allies by really hearing someone different from us.

"Look man, you can listen to Jimi but you can't hear him. There's a difference man. Just because you're listening to him doesn't mean you're hearing him."

“Look man, you can listen to Jimi but you can’t hear him. There’s a difference man. Just because you’re listening to him doesn’t mean you’re hearing him.”

The ability to hear hard truths is the mark of humility. Valuing someone else’s experience, feelings, or thoughts above your own is honoring to that person. It’s also Biblically commanded:

Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves.
 -Romans 12:10

Second, we can honestly evaluate our own participation in the problem presented to us.

Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye. -Matthew 7:3-5

The ability to examine our motives without deflecting, defending, or collapsing into a self-pitying heap is a mark of maturity.

Settle down, it'll be okay.

The first step is admitting that you have a problem.

I’m still learning this myself. As an ally, I’ve often lamented that I’m misunderstood or misrepresented. After all, I’m one of the GOOD ones! Me want cookies, not solidarity!

Some great tips for overcoming this as it pertains to race could be applied to gender discussions or other contexts from Julia at Love Isn’t Enough (longer descriptions at the link):

Broaden your definition of racism

Acknowledge how racism has shaped you.

Acknowledge your white privilege.

Accept your limitations.

Get comfortable with humility.

Share power.

Educate yourself.

Recognize that it’s not about you.

Listen to people of color and accept their truth.

Accept that effect counts more than intention.

Speak up and do your part.

When we are acting as an ally to get something in return, we’re ultimately cheapening what it means to be an ally. As a parent I find myself having lots of these kinds of conversations with my kids:

Me: Can you help me out by doing a quick chore?

Kid: What do I get if I help?

Me: You become a better person and you honor God for helping me without expecting something in return.

Every parent has dealt with this. In our culture of “what do I get?” it’s counterintuitive to find our motivation in love instead of reward. Ultimately love is more rewarding and relationships are priceless. But even our understanding of pricelessness is attached to something that can be bought:

I want my money back.

I want my money back.

As Christians, our motives should go even deeper than cookies, self-improvement, or what we get. Oswald Chambers writes in My Utmost for His Highest:

Our motive for surrender should not be for any personal gain at all. We have become so self-centered that we go to God only for something from Him, and not for God Himself. It is like saying, “No, Lord, I don’t want you; I want myself. But I do want You to clean me and fill me with Your Holy Spirit. I want to be on display in Your showcase so I can say, ‘This is what God has done for me.’” Gaining heaven, being delivered from sin, and being made useful to God are things that should never even be a consideration in real surrender. Genuine total surrender is a personal sovereign preference for Jesus Christ Himself.

What we’re looking for when we demand cookies is an “even” exchange: I give you my help or loyalty, you give me gratitude and a free pass when I’m making life harder for you. Fair trade, yes?

What Jesus calls us to “trade” are our demands, our selfishness, our foolish way of thinking about the world. It’s inherently uneven. We give away our selfishness when we give of ourselves in humble submission to one another and we get a glimpse into the heart of the God if the universe.

This is grace. It’s not cheap, but it sets us free.

don-draper-says-what

Decloaking Privilege

Last month, the internet raised a ruckus over a Princeton student’s declaration that he never benefited from “white privilege.” Pundits across the U.S. took to their computers or, if they had such a platform, their cable news shows. If you’re like me, and you have Facebook friends across the social and political spectrum, you probably didn’t miss the conversation, but you may have seen people missing each other in the conversation.

sheildsup

A warbird is decloaking above the planet’s surface! Red alert! Shields up!

When trying to understand each other, we come to conversations with presuppositions and preconceived ideas. Many of us are so busy trying to assert our point-of-view that we miss entirely what the person in front of us is saying. In conversations about “privilege,” I’ve seen many a discussion get stuck in a roundabout of quibbling over definitions.

We're not even talking about the same thing anymore.

We’re not even talking about the same thing anymore.

In conversations about the Princeton article, several friends saw the word “privilege” and hesitated to identify themselves as privileged because they understood the term to mean a person has never suffered or had difficulty in life. This is a common misunderstanding and digging in on this point often derails a potentially productive conversation about race, gender, religion, etc. So let’s demystify the whole thing by starting with a basic agreed-upon definition.

Captain, I've opened a hailing frequency and the ship's translator is up.

Captain, I’ve opened a hailing frequency and the ship’s translator is running.

Before we can go any farther in our exploration of feminism from a Christian perspective, we need to understand this concept of privilege. The term itself gained popularity through the work of Peggy MacIntosh, a scholar at Wellesley College. Her 1989 essay, “Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack” is a great primer on racial (particularly white) privilege.

Through work to bring materials from women’s studies into the rest of the curriculum, I have often noticed men’s unwillingness to grant that they are overprivileged, even though they may grant that women are disadvantaged. They may say they will work to women’s statues, in the society, the university, or the curriculum, but they can’t or won’t support the idea of lessening men’s. Denials that amount to taboos surround the subject of advantages that men gain from women’s disadvantages. These denials protect male privilege from being fully acknowledged, lessened, or ended.

Thinking through unacknowledged male privilege as a phenomenon, I realized that, since hierarchies in our society are interlocking, there was most likely a phenomenon of while privilege that was similarly denied and protected. As a white person, I realized I had been taught about racism as something that puts others at a disadvantage, but had been taught not to see one of its corollary aspects, white privilege, which puts me at an advantage.

I think whites are carefully taught not to recognize white privilege, as males are taught not to recognize male privilege. So I have begun in an untutored way to ask what it is like to have white privilege. I have come to see white privilege as an invisible package of unearned assets that I can count on cashing in each day, but about which I was “meant” to remain oblivious. White privilege is like an invisible weightless knapsack of special provisions, maps, passports, codebooks, visas, clothes, tools , and blank checks.

Describing white privilege makes one newly accountable. As we in women’s studies work to reveal male privilege and ask men to give up some of their power, so one who writes about having white privilege must ask, “having described it, what will I do to lessen or end it?”

After I realized the extent to which men work from a base of unacknowledged privilege, I understood that much of their oppressiveness was unconscious. Then I remembered the frequent charges from women of color that white women whom they encounter are oppressive. I began to understand why we are just seen as oppressive, even when we don’t see ourselves that way. I began to count the ways in which I enjoy unearned skin privilege and have been conditioned into oblivion about its existence.

My schooling gave me no training in seeing myself as an oppressor, as an unfairly advantaged person, or as a participant in a damaged culture. I was taught to see myself as an individual whose moral state depended on her individual moral will. My schooling followed the pattern my colleague Elizabeth Minnich has pointed out: whites are taught to think of their lives as morally neutral, normative, and average, and also ideal, so that when we work to benefit others, this is seen as work that will allow “them” to be more like “us.”

To use the racial example, white privilege does not mean that white people make no efforts toward their own successes. It does mean that there are inherent social and economic advantages to being white that will inevitably make the climb to success less difficult than it would be for a person of color. In his recent long-form essay, Ta-Nehisi Coates explores this when he talks about the dismissal of systemic racism by those who uphold exceptional examples of successful people of color:

In the contest of upward mobility, Barack and Michelle Obama have won. But they’ve won by being twice as good—and enduring twice as much. Malia and Sasha Obama enjoy privileges beyond the average white child’s dreams. But that comparison is incomplete. The more telling question is how they compare with Jenna and Barbara Bush—the products of many generations of privilege, not just one. Whatever the Obama children achieve, it will be evidence of their family’s singular perseverance, not of broad equality.

Scripture is rife with ideas about justice, and a lot of those ideas center around the concept that in societies, human beings often establish hierarchies where certain groups of people enjoy more advantages than others. Much of the Bible describes ways to mitigate structural privilege, calling upon the people of God to remember their own disadvantages in solidarity with those who suffer those disadvantages in the present age. As God was establishing the nation of Israel following the Exodus, He gave clear instructions on how His people should treat the disadvantaged, namely the widows, orphans, sojourners (immigrants), and indentured slaves.

When He established the Church, the book of Acts and most of the Pauline epistles speak to how the Jews (historically privileged as the “chosen people of God”) should accommodate, include, and show hospitality to the Gentiles. There are also admonitions to the Gentiles and the Jews to remember the poor, widows, and those politically disadvantaged. In fact, the foundational teaching on how to relate to people different from ourselves is on display in the person of Jesus Christ who eschewed His own privilege as the Son of God in service to humanity:

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: 

Who, being in very nature God,
    did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;
rather, he made himself nothing
    by taking the very nature of a servant,
    being made in human likeness.” (Philippians 2:3-7, NIV)

As it relates to our exploration of feminism, we will be talking about how privilege factors into the power dynamics of these ancient societies in the Old Testament and New and how patriarchy continues to privilege men over women, and by extension, married women over single women, and women with children over women without children.

It’s important to remember through all of this that whatever privilege is enjoyed by any group, privilege is not based upon inherent worth or superiority of any one group or person. God calls upon all of us to forsake such a notion and instead see one another as brothers and sisters in His unified kingdom. Many of us are already on board with this and believe racism, sexism, etc. to be something we should each surrender to God about in our own hearts. Yet while we individually work toward unity and love in our own hearts, we cannot ignore the fact that collectively in our contexts, cultures, and societies, privilege and systemic injustices exist and operate, no matter what our individual intentions may be. We must submit ourselves individually and corporately to God on these matters, but we must also work to see that our communities are organized around justice as well.

***For further reading on privilege, I’ve written about the topic at Irene’s Daughters as part of a series on derailment in conversations about race: “No one ever gave ME anything.”