racism – Southwest Conference Blog

Black Transgender Lives Matter

Every day, our black trans siblings deal with the intersection of white supremacy and transphobia. Every day they risk misgendering, violence, and murder simply by living as themselves. They are targeted for hate crimes and are the targets of racist and transphobic jokes from construction sites to comfortable CEO offices. Our president propagates white supremacy. Our supposed democratic republic sets up barriers to the recognition of trans people and institutes policies to further the exploitation of people of color. Our prison system profits from the mass incarceration of black people.

We in the UCC need to be uncomfortable. We need to challenge white supremacy in our own spaces just as much as we fight the system. We need to recognize our complicity in and benefit from the systems of whiteness. The UCC has done and continues to do much of that work, but we need to go further than consciousness-raising and discomfort. We must destroy white privilege. We must tear asunder the structures in place that affirm whiteness. We must reconsider our beloved traditions that keep many of our congregations in a bygone era rooted in whiteness.

Black trans activists started the LGBT equality movement in America, and it is precisely their voices that are being erased in current movements toward LGBT equality and recognition. Being Open and Affirming is not enough, we need to aggressively model celebration of the trans community in our congregations and in public. Too often the Open and Affirming creed is simply an open door that trans people walk through and realize that our congregations are just another heteronormative, cisgender-dominated space.

When Jesus stormed the temple grounds, upending tables and tossing out people and animals alike, he called out the temple for becoming a house of commodities. Rather than a holy place, the temple commodified the acts of worship into a system of profit condoned by the so-called priests of God. Jesus violently cleansed the temple of its commodification, disrupting an economy benefiting those in power and exploiting the people. The first Isaiah delivered a stinging rebuke on the stench of the multitude of burnt offerings given to God because they are rooted in the commodification of worship itself. He attacked the very system set up to atone for the sins of Israel because it was a morally empty venture intent on appeasing God by adhering to tradition without passion. Rather, the Israelites should, “learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow,”.

The churches of my Evangelical upbringing denied the existence of racism, denied the existence of those who weren’t cisgender. Even as they brought in diverse people, the theological message never strayed from white supremacy. The worship style changed, and the music became more upbeat and ‘contemporary’ – which was just a few thousand rip-offs of whatever U2 was producing – but the theology itself was morally bankrupt, leading them to commodify both the acts of worship and worship itself.

It is a privilege to be in the UCC where our theology acknowledges the sin of white supremacy and actively works to dismantle systemic racism. But don’t stop there. Let us carry forward the work into our liturgies, our polity, and our acts of worship. Let us dismantle the systems of whiteness still present in our congregations and hierarchies. For all lives to matter, black trans lives must also matter, and that means confronting our ideologies of white supremacy and transphobia, challenging those legacies wherever we see them, especially in our congregations.

How Long Oh Lord, How Long?

guest post by Rev. Dr. Edward Smith Davis, MBA, Conference Minister, Southern Conference UCC

And they cried with a loud voice, saying “How long Oh Lord, Holy and true dost Thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth. (Rev. 6:10 KJV)

After seeing the videos of incidences surrounding Ahmaud Arbery in Georgia, and George Floyd in Minnesota, and equally likewise the incident surrounding the death of Breonna Taylor, I had a visceral reaction that made my spirit cry out, “How long Oh Lord, how long? How long must innocent victims be put to death needlessly because of the color of their skin?

This brought back memories of growing up in Chicago, as a twelve-year old boy, of how many times the police forced me and others to lay on the ground in, sometimes zero-degree weather, searching our pockets for weapons or drugs. After searching our pockets and realizing there was no paraphernalia that could link us to any crime, we were still forced to lay on a frozen ground for often, twenty to thirty minutes of what felt like an eternity. It was during those times I realized how quickly things could go severely wrong.

I called to remembrance the times when I would sit down with my two young sons and talk with them, not so much about gang violence, but being more concerned with the violence that could be perpetrated upon them by the police out of racism and hatred. Let me say, I have no ill will toward the police. My wife served as police officer for thirty-one years and we both served as St. Jude Chaplains for the entire police department. We understand their call to faithful service.

In this society I ask the question, how long oh Lord? How long must Black men and women be devalued to the point of death? How long, oh Lord! How long and when will the bodies of Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, Freddy Gray, and others compel us to use our voices to cry out over the injustices and the disregard for human life. Black lives matter! How long, oh Lord? How long do we have to witness the videos of Black lives being taken away? How long oh Lord? How long must the shooting of innocent men and women continue to play out in our society. How long oh Lord? How long will we as a people declare, that in your Holy site, these behaviors are wrong?

Yes! We must protest! Yes! We must cry out! Yes! we must advocate! And, yes, we must all use our collective voices to proclaim this message loud and clear.

At General Synod, 2017 I was the keynote speaker at the Open and Affirming, (O&A), banquet I asked the questioned to the gathered, “why do we wait for our particular justice issue to come along before we get involved?” I shared then that any injustice must be addressed by those of us who are called to be advocates for justice. When I was on the Board of the United Church of Christ, I declared, “if we were going to be authentic to who we say we are, we are going to have to value all voices. And, if we are going to be people, of spiritual integrity and moral compass, it must compel us to value all lives.”

As Theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer states, “not to speak is to speak! And not to act, is to act!” For we cannot close our eyes and pretend not to see and shut our ears and pretend not to hear the cries from the lips and lives of the families who are left behind. Oh Lord, how long? In our frustration we do cry out to God asking how long. But, in this faith, we must remember the God who sees, hears, and knows is forever present with us to provide us hope and the determination to continue to pray, speak and act to these injustices.

We, as a faith community, must never lose hope that our world can be a safe and healthy place for everyone to live. And, we must do our part to ensure the manifestation of this occurring. In the midst of the crisis we must share this hope with those who have lost their hope. And, we must share it in tangible ways. I am reminded of the scripture found in Romans 8:22, (NIV), We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. When we see the pains of God’s people as our collective pain, we will be challenged and called to pray as well as act. How long oh Lord? Not Long!

Shine a light against racism

by Talitha Arnold

Flaming torches are a powerful symbol of racism in this country. For generations, they’ve been used to burn crosses outside the houses of African-American, Jewish and Catholic families and to torch churches and synagogues. During Reconstruction after the Civil War, the Ku Klux Klan Night Riders carried torches to light the way for the white-masked white men to spread terror throughout African-American communities.

Earlier this month, well-organized and heavily armed young white men carried Tiki torches in their march on Charlottesville, Va. As with their torch-bearing forbearers, their intent was not to illuminate or guide with their Tiki lights, but to intimidate and instill fear. They didn’t succeed, not that night, and not in the days and nights since then.

When Rabbi Neil Amswych, president of the Interfaith Leadership Association, wrote to Santa Fe clergy with Mayor Javier Gonzales’ request to organize a Rally Against Racism, I chose the African-American spiritual, “This Little Light of Mine, I’m Gonna Let It Shine.” Born in the horror of slavery, the spiritual affirmed that African-Americans would let no one put that light out — not the slave owners, not the overseers, not the Night Riders, not the lynchers, not the Klan.

For a century after the Civil War, “This Little Light of Mine” also affirmed that no thing could put that light out — not the poll tax or voter intimidation, “separate and unequal” schools or a segregated military, unjust housing or employment practices. Not even church bombings or the water cannons and police dogs used against the children, youth and adults marching for civil rights could put out that light.

Most of all, “This Little Light of Mine” affirmed — and continues to affirm — the dignity of every child of God, regardless of race, color, creed, gender, orientation or every other way we divide and discriminate. That’s why we sang the song together at last Monday’s “Rally Against Racism.” It’s why we need to keep singing it — and living it — over and over again in this time.

Tiki torches or the light of God’s love for all people. Individually and as a nation, which will we choose?

Erasing Illusions of The Other Not Easy, but Possible

by Greg Gonzales

Comments sections provide a blank, free speech forum where we can discuss an article, get into the nitty-gritty production details of YouTube videos, and share great ideas to transform the world — that is, in another universe. In this world of all possible worlds, the comments sections are reserved for posturing, political parrots, and pointlessly insulting others. Part of why people do this comes down to what David J. Pollay wrote: “Many people are like garbage trucks. They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment. As their garbage piles up,they look for a place to dump it. And if you let them, they’ll dump it on you.” Our nation’s trucks are overflowing — its people are overflowing — with rage, loss, and confusion. When we get caught up in an online argument, we’re not changing the world, but instead letting people dump their garbage all over us. Luckily, so-called “internet tough-guys” tend to hold normal conversations in everyday offline life. The best thing is to ignore the trash, and make real human connections outside the internet, where we can see each other, read body language, and face people directly.

For me, in March of last year, one of those places was at an airport bar, waiting for a flight. A fellow patron and I watched Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump paraded across CNN’s feed for a few minutes. We exchanged work stories and duties, and it turned out he was a Border Patrol agent. Of course, the conversation quickly turned to politics, as the news ticked on about Trump’s border wall proposal. The agent told me his decision was between Sanders and Trump, but he said he liked Trump for his sincerity and lack of political entrenchment, where Sanders is a career politician. Then I asked about the wall. “Trump isn’t going to do it,” he told me. “It’s just rhetoric.” As a border agent, he was against the wall, saying the barriers down there are about as effective as a physical barrier can get. Then we discussed other solutions, like tech and immigration policy (which he agreed were better solutions, after years on the border), until he had to get on a plane and never see me again. What I assumed would have turned into a bicker-fest actually helped us find some common ground. While we didn’t change each others’ minds, we did learn each others’ views, which is a big step in unifying two people with conflicting ideologies. We didn’t fight, we didn’t bicker, we just explained our views and moved on with life, both happier for having learned something.

It’s not easy to convince someone of a mistake, or a character flaw — change is hard, and we can’t force someone to change, but the world sometimes reveals the truth in astounding, painful ways. Allen Wood, a retired Army Sergeant who fought in Vietnam, wrote in a Facebook post about how he was taught to hate, growing up with a father in the KKK in southern Georgia. “I grew up in a racist society and I willingly participated in it. I cannot deny that I used the ‘N’ word many times. Maybe you grew up the same way. That was my world and I had to belong in it.” However, one day, he changed. “The truth came on a very very hot morning in Vietnam when we were ambushed by a small group of local Viet Cong irregulars,” he wrote. “A man almost gave his life to save mine. He did not stop to ask if I was white, black; Christian or not. I was his friend and buddy and he willingly placed his life between me and certain death.” Turns out his hero was a black soldier, but in this moment of crisis, preconceived notions of race didn’t matter. Wood’s arm suffered an injury, and his new friend, George, suffered an injury to his side. As Wood tended George’s wound, their blood mixed right there on the battlefield. “There was no hatred, no distrust. Just two men in a bad situation and wanting to survive. …. After that singular incident, watching his blood mingled with mine, I looked at the world totally different. George and I talked about our different worlds and were constantly struck at how, in truth, they were the same worlds.” Sometimes, to let go of hate, we have to see that we all share the same dark-red blood as everyone else.

Without a doubt, we all live in the same world, even if Socrates was right that “The only wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.” Reality may differ person to person, depending on individual brain chemistry and impressions and histories. After all, the world we see is relative to the tools we have in our heads and bodies. Even so, through careful conversation, through shared experience, we erase the illusion of The Other and find common ground. Take a breath, smile, ask for your fellow human’s name, and then ask more questions.

An Open Letter to All the Strangers

by Davin Franklin-Hicks

To the strangers who have crossed my path:
I have been racist.
I have been prejudiced.
I have been wrong.

I dismissed you.
I didn’t know your name, but I acted as though you were less than me.
I felt a surge of anger that wasn’t about you yet landed on you because you were nearby.
I stopped listening to you the moment you did not agree with me.
I was judgmental of you before I ever met you.
In my effort to dispel stereotypes, I forced one on you.

I forgot about your humanity because I was afraid to be vulnerable.
I had told myself stories about you and then I believed them as if they were true.
I acted like I knew something that I didn’t because I was threatened by your knowledge.

I slammed doors in your face if you dared to interrupt with a knock and a message.
I decided I mattered more and determined you mattered less.
I lied to get my way and you suffered in the process.

I averted my eyes when you clearly just needed to be seen.
I honored fear more than love.
It took mass destruction and brokenness for me to realize you are human and vulnerable, just like me.

I resented you.
I demonized you.
I even sometimes hated you.

You deserved better from me.
You have been the stranger that I have encountered all through my living.

While I cannot find each one of you to say I wish I had done it different,
I will see you in all the strangers that cross my path.
And I will be open and loving as I should have been with you.

Your Friend,

Dax.

A White Boy and His Toys

by Tyler Connoley

When I was fourteen, I got my first computer — an Apple IIe. Actually, it was my family’s computer, and my dad used it pretty much all day doing his work. However, at night, I was allowed to play on the computer. I remember one time when I stayed up all night writing a simple program in BASIC. The next day, I proudly showed off what the computer could do, as it went through it’s paces of answering questions based on the users “Yes” or “No” inputs. I thought about that Apple IIe this week when I heard the story of Ahmed Mohamed’s arrest for building a clock and bringing it to school.

You see, when I was a geeky teenager, no one thought anything of it. Kids like me — white boys — were allowed to be geeks, and were allowed to dream of building robots like R. Daneel Olivaw, who captured my imagination when I was sixteen. My parents joked with their friends about my silly BASIC program, and everyone thought it was funny and cute and a sign of great things to come. I was on my way to becoming the smart, successful man I was expected to be.

If I had been a girl doing the same thing in 1984, people might have thought me strange. There might have been a worry that I was too masculine. (Believe me, that was never a worry with me, but that’s another story for another time.) I sometimes wonder what my sister could have done with our Apply IIe, if it hadn’t been hogged by her brother who figured she should be doing girly stuff anyway.

Or what if I’d been born a person of color? We now have the rise of the Blerds, but in 1984 — five years before Geordi La Forge — black nerds were unheard of. Even today, we feel the need to give them a special category and their own term, because we find them so exotic. What message does that send to a young black man who loves to goof around with technology?

And then we have Ahmed Mohamed. Like me, at fourteen, he spent the night creating a fun project that he wanted to show off. However, unlike me whose white skin is a blank slate onto which I’m allowed to paint any future I want, all people could see in young Ahmed was a potential terrorist. He kept saying, “It’s a clock,” and everyone around him kept looking at those wires and those digital numbers and thinking, “It looks like a bomb.”

I also remember my first digital watch. My Grandma gave it to me for Christmas, and it made me feel like James Bond. It never occurred to me that someone might think of me as the villain in the story, because I didn’t have a deformity, or an accent, or brown skin, or boobs. That’s what happens when you grow up in our society as a white boy.

I pray for a day when the same is true for every little Ahmed or Levar playing in his room with wires and digital clocks or reading books into the wee hours of the morning.

Rev. Tyler Connoley is the pastor of Silver City United Church of Christ, a new church start in Silver City, New Mexico. Tyler has a Master of Arts in Religion and a Master of Divinity, both from Earlham School of Religion, and is the co-author of The Children Are Free: Re-examining the Biblical Evidence on Same-Sex Relationships, which has been translated into multiple languages including Spanish (Dios Nos Ha Hecho Libres). In 2014 and 2015, Tyler worked as the Immigrant Care Coordinator for the Southwest Conference. He lives in Silver City with his spouse, Rob Connoley, who is Chef at the Curious Kumquat, a restaurant they own together.