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A Letter to White Charlotteans

By Rev. Dr. Benjamin Boswell, Myers Park Baptist Church & Revs. Greg and Helms Jarrell, QC Family Tree

Other contributors: Rev. LeDayne McLeese Polaski, MeckMin; Rabbi Asher Knight, Temple Beth El; Imam John Ederer, Muslim Community Center of Charlotte

Dear White Charlotteans,

 America is fed up. The protests across our country in response to the murder of George Floyd by police are a stunning reminder that white supremacy is the problem.

White supremacy has always been the problem. The history of Charlotte is a microcosm of the history of our nation, filled with stunning examples of white supremacy’s terrorizing legacy. White settler-colonialism transformed an indigenous trading crossroads, today’s Trade Street and Tryon Street, into the cotton manufacturing capital of the South. Those settlers relied on violent destruction of native civilizations, the removal of indigenous peoples, and the horrific practice of chattel slavery to build this city. After the Civil War, during Reconstruction, the newfound freedom of the formerly enslaved was met with a deadly combination of white vigilante terror from the KKK and white Dixiecrat political violence. Then Jim Crow laws were implemented to privilege whites, and to segregate and oppress Black people. These lasted for most of a century until the victories of the Black Freedom (aka Civil Rights) Movement. While many of us we were not alive during slavery, Reconstruction, or Jim Crow, as white people we are all the inheritors and economic beneficiaries of whiteness.

Advancements in justice for Black people have been met time and time again with white resistance, white violence, and white policies. The history of Urban Renewal, Red-lining, and the re-segregation of CMS (see historian Tom Hanchett’s “Sorting Out the New South” or Pamela Grundy’s “Color and Character”) are but a few examples of how whiteness continued to plague our city, leading to disparities in education, employment, housing, health care, and criminal justice. Over the years, every major task force that has been commissioned by the city or county (including the recent Opportunity Task Force) to study the reasons for economic disparities in our city has resulted in a report that states the primary issue at the root of our trouble is whiteness. How many reports will it take for white people to face the fact that the problem is ours? As James Baldwin famously said, “White people are still trapped in a history which they do not understand; and until they understand it, they cannot be released from it.”

Today we face a reckoning. Calls for unity and reconciliation by white people sound hollow to our Black neighbors. We must remember, “A Call for Unity,” was the title of the letter white clergy published to prevent Dr. King from protesting against segregation. Dr. King responded to that letter with his impassioned Letter from a Birmingham Jail where he said, “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.”

There can be no unity or reconciliation without repentance and reparations. The time for platitudes is over. Now is the time for action. First, we need to be ready for hard things like listening to sharp words that feel uncomfortable and sting; words that make us cringe. Softening words isn't helpful. We need to make our ‘white skin’ into ‘thick skin.’ The prophets of the Hebrew Bible did not soften their words in the face of injustice. Neither did Jesus. Our desire to receive things in an easy manner is a symptom of privilege and complacency.

White people often ask, "What do we do?" While well intentioned, this question is filled with immense fragility. White friends, please hear us when we say, "You know what to do!” Deep down, in your body, you know. We are a part of a deeply connected, interwoven and interdependent creation.

We’ve told ourselves that we don't know what to do because what we know to do is too hard.  That’s right, what we have to do is very hard. It’s like giving up an addiction. But we still have to do it.

When we feel like there's nothing you can do, we must take a moment to realize that your feelings of paralysis are the result of whiteness, which wants us to feel like there is nothing we can do. Pay attention to that feeling, then resist it and ACT!

  • DO HARD THINGS like get used to seeing and hearing the word "white" and learning to name “white supremacy.” For generations, the norm has been white. When you were identifying someone, you didn't have to use the word "white" because it was an automatic assumption unless specified otherwise. You may want to cringe when you hear or see the word "white", but others have had to experience this all along. Notice your discomfort, breathe through it, and keep going. We can do hard things.

  • BECOME actively anti-racist. The alternative to being a racist isn’t being not-racist, it is being anti-racist. Neutrality is not an appropriate response to racism or white supremacy. In the words of Elie Weisel, “We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Wherever people are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must - at that moment - become the center of the universe.” (Read Ibram X. Kendi's book on becoming anti-racist: https://www.ibramxkendi.com/how-to-be-an-antiracist-1)

  • WORK on your whiteness! Do the hard work of looking deeply at your own whiteness. Work through Layla F. Saad's new devotional workbook "Me And White Supremacy." http://laylafsaad.com/). Create a small group of white people in your religious community or your neighborhood to read the work of Black authors, activists, intellectuals, poets, and scholars and discuss white supremacy. There are many other resources for looking at whiteness, but it is a critical step for white people. Click here for an anti-racist reading list: https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/29/books/review/antiracist-reading-list-ibram-x-kendi.html?referringSource=articleShare

  • NAME and ATTACK white supremacy anywhere and everywhere you see or hear it! (here are 5 ways: https://medium.com/@surj_action/5-ways-white-people-can-take-action-in-response-to-white-and-state-sanctioned-violence-2bb907ba5277 & here are 75 more: https://medium.com/…/what-white-people-can-do-for-racial-ju…

  • ADVOCATE for immediate Police Reform. Educate yourself on the current use of force policies so you can advocate for changes in your city's police department http://useofforceproject.org/#project. Challenge your elected leaders to root out racism and white supremacy in the police force and other areas of government, and to redirect funding from police departments to public education. 

  • VOTE VOTE VOTE! Vote with this intention from Dr. Willie Jennings: "How will my vote impact the lives of poor Black women and their children?" In the words of Jim Wallis, “Our vote is our greatest weapon against the sin of white supremacy!” We can also protect our democracy by working to protect voting rights and defeat voter suppression efforts.

  • GIVE YOUR MONEY to Black (preferably women and LGBTQ) led movements for justice. Give directly to Black Lives Matter https://blacklivesmatter.com/ or the NAACP https://www.naacpldf.org/ or the ACLU, or one of the many organizations working directly with protestors: https://www.thecut.com/…/george-floyd-protests-how-to-help-…

  • LISTEN and FOLLOW Black and Brown leaders and organizations without allowing your whiteness to take over the space. Alongside the contribution of our financial resources, this is another way to participate in dismantling systemic racism and white supremacy. Check out organizations like the Equal Justice Initiative https://eji.org/

We know some of you are already working on this. Keep doing that work! While your work is great, we need exponentially more of you.

America is fed up. So, white Charlotteans, let’s strive to become a truly model city. Let’s make a commitment to stop asking what we can do, because we know what to do. White people must speak up, stand up, and work together to fight against the evil of white supremacy in all its forms. If we can do this, all God’s people can be released from this terrible history that we have yet to understand. Will you join us?

Rev. Dr. Benjamin Boswell, Myers Park Baptist Church
Revs. Greg and Helms Jarrell, QC Family Tree
Rev. LeDayne McLeese Polaski, MeckMin
Rabbi Asher Knight, Temple Beth El
Imam John Ederer, Muslim Community Center of Charlotte

Move Us

BY REV. ABBY MOHAUPT
From The Resistance Prays e-newsletter

God our help, move those of us who are white to confess our complicity in white supremacy.
Help us dismantle the systems of oppression that have created racism and have hurt black lives.
Help us declare that Black Lives Matter.
Help us live our faith not to be seen by others but to live authentically to follow your call to love abundantly.
Amen.

An Account from St. John’s Episcopal Church

from Rev. Gini Gerbasi
(intro by Ray Schellinger)

The following account is from one of the clergy members who was at St. John's Episcopal Church in Washington DC yesterday. Her account of what happened at this church in front of the White House needs to be heard.

As you read it, please keep in mind the following:
1) DC had put into effect a 7:00 pm curfew.
2) The clergy at St John's were on church property.
3) They were engaged in ministry to those who needed medical and pastoral attention.
4) There was no rioting or violence at the church yesterday.
5) The National Guard and Secret Service began stampeding innocent people by rushing them, dressed in full riot gear and firing tear gas, flash grenades and rubber bullets.
6) They did this 45 minutes before the curfew was supposed to begin.
7) This was all done only so that the president could have a photo taken in front of the very church whose ministers his forces just terrorized.
8) He posed with a bible in his hand.


Friends, I am ok, but I am, frankly shaken. I was at St. John's, Lafayette Square most of the afternoon, with fellow clergy and laypeople - and clergy from some other denominations too. We were passing out water and snacks, and helping the patio area at St. John's, Lafayette square to be a place of respite and peace.

All was well - with a few little tense moments - until about 6:15 or so. By then, I had connected with the Black Lives Matter medic team, which was headed by an EMT. Those people were AMAZING. They had been on the patio all day, and thankfully had not had to use much of the eyewash they had made.

Around 6:15 or 6:30, the police started really pushing protestors off of H Street (the street between the church and Lafayette Park, and ultimately, the White House. They started using tear gas and folks were running at us for eyewashes or water or wet paper towels. At this point, Julia, one of our seminarians for next year (who is a trauma nurse) and I looked at each other in disbelief. I was coughing, her eyes were watering, and we were trying to help people as the police - in full riot gear - drove people toward us. Julia and her classmates left and I stayed with the BLM folks trying to help people.

Suddenly, around 6:30, there was more tear gas, more concussion grenades, and I think I saw someone hit by a rubber bullet - he was grasping his stomach and there was a mark on his shirt. The police in their riot gear were literally walking onto the St. John's, Lafayette Square patio with these metal shields, pushing people off the patio and driving them back. People were running at us as the police advanced toward us from the other side of the patio. We had to try to pick up what we could. The BLM medic folks were obviously well practiced. They picked up boxes and ran. I was so stunned I only got a few water bottles and my spray bottle of eyewash.

We were literally DRIVEN OFF of the St. John's, Lafayette Square patio with tear gas and concussion grenades and police in full riot gear.

We were pushed back 20 feet, and then eventually - with SO MANY concussion grenades - back to K street. By the time I got back to my car, around 7, I was getting texts from people saying that Trump was outside of St. John's, Lafayette Square.

I literally COULD NOT believe it. WE WERE DRIVEN OFF OF THE PATIO AT ST. JOHN'S - a place of peace and respite and medical care throughout the day - SO THAT MAN COULD HAVE A PHOTO OPPORTUNITY IN FRONT OF THE CHURCH!!! PEOPLE WERE HURT SO THAT HE COULD POSE IN FRONT OF THE CHURCH WITH A BIBLE! HE WOULD HAVE HAD TO STEP OVER THE MEDICAL SUPPLIES WE LEFT BEHIND BECAUSE WE WERE BEING TEAR GASSED!!!!

I am deeply shaken. I did not see any protestors throw anything until the tear gas and concussion grenades started, and then it was mostly water bottles. I am shaken, not so much by the taste of tear gas and the bit of a cough I still have, but by the fact that that show of force was for a PHOTO OPPORTUNITY.

The patio of St. John's, Lafayette square had been HOLY GROUND today. A place of respite and laughter and water and granola bars and fruit snacks. But that man turned it into a BATTLE GROUND first, and a cheap political stunt second. I am DEEPLY OFFENDED on behalf of every protestor, every Christian, the people of St. John's, Lafayette square, every decent person there, and the BLM medics who stayed with just a single box of supplies and a backpack, even when I got too scared and had to leave. I am ok. But I am now a force to be reckoned with.

White Supremacy and Me

by Rev. LeDayne McLeese Polaski

As a child, I witnessed a rally of the Ku Klux Klan.

I don’t remember exactly how old I was, but I was young enough to have been baffled by my mother’s fierce anger when the hand-made KKK signs started appearing in our neighborhood.

I don’t remember how she explained the group to me, but I vividly recall seeing the event itself as it was held early one evening in an empty corner lot alongside the state road which was the regular route into our neighborhood.

Riding home in the family station wagon as the sun was setting, I saw hooded figures in bright white robes standing listening as someone with a ragged voice shouted over a loudspeaker.

I had a glimpse of flames rising high as we sped past. The fire was likely contained in a barrel, but in my mind it was a conflagration. My vision could have lasted only the few seconds it took to drive by – but the scene has been seared in my memory ever since.

I recently asked my parents if they could confirm this happening. I hadn’t imagined it, had I?

They indeed remembered the rally, and my dad was prompted (as he often is) to tell a story of how he recalled the event. A black friend of one of my older brothers had shown up at our house. He’d been on our side of town, and the only route he knew home went along the same state road we’d just traveled.

He wanted to be home, but he was too afraid to go the way he knew. My dad, who as a city police officer seemed to know every back road ever paved (or not), took the young man into his truck and took him home by a different route.

For years, whenever I have heard the phrase “white supremacy,” I have returned in my mind to that scene of flames, hoods, robes, and angry voices.

Yet, in the past few years, I have begun to see white supremacy located not in an abandoned lot a few blocks from my childhood home but in a place far closer and more frightening – in my own heart and mind.

For most of my life, fighting racism was something I imagined I could do by focusing outside of myself. Only recently have I begun to grapple with the fact that my struggle is at least as much an internal one.

As my eyes have been opened, I have begun to see how deeply white supremacy is a part of me. I do not consciously think of myself or people who look like me as superior, but the vast majority of my friends are white – as have been most of my co-workers and my closest ministerial colleagues, most of the people at my church and in my neighborhood, and every member of my family.

Even my Facebook page was a mostly white enclave until a friend posted the challenge “Do all of your Facebook friends look like you?” and I took steps to widen my circle of social media connections.

This reality is not a coincidence. This is the result of my conscious and unconscious decisions within a society in which separation is often the path of least resistance. And this reality is not without consequences – it affects the stories I hear and do not hear, the things I know and do not know, and what I think of as normal, natural, and best.

I have unknowingly but regularly lived out of a supremacist framework in the groups I have joined (or not) and in how I have conducted myself within them, in how I have planned agendas and run meetings and taken minutes, in the silences I have chosen to ignore or didn’t notice, in the priorities I’ve set for my work and personal life, in the relationships that have received most of my energy, in the way I have written job descriptions and conducted interviewed – I could go on.

So, now what? I am beginning to see. I expect that journey toward deeper understanding and greater awareness will continue the rest of my life. Guilt and shame serve no one and cripple rather than motivate efforts for change. I try to use my growing awareness to recognize the depth of the work we must do and my inability to do it on my own strength.

We cannot get to where we want to go by retracing the route by which we came.

The first step toward the home we long for is rightly naming the path that’s delivered us to where we are.

It’s Midnight In America

by Rev. Elijah Zehyoue, Associate Pastor
Calvary Baptist Church, Washington, DC

In his 1984 re-election campaign, President Ronald Reagan proclaimed that it was morning again in America. With backdrops of the American flag and stock images of white Americans marrying, playing with their children, and buying homes, Reagan projected an image of America as a place that was serene and peaceful, prosperous and just. Yet despite what the former president projected, we know that right below the surface of his perfect picture country, all was not well in America. In many American cities the crack epidemic was already under way, immigration was being restricted, the progressive policies of the great society were rolled back, and the gains of the Civil Rights Movements had already begun to erode. Yet the mythology of it being an idyllic morning in America was persistent and is even still with us today. In fact, it has always been a part of the American narrative. 

It was the story told by Christopher Columbus and John Smith, George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, who presented themselves as good men, humble advocates of liberty, defenders of truth against tyranny. It is a story that continued through the 19th century of an idyllic south with its lush green pastures and fertile black soil for growing cotton, sugar, tobacco, and rice. It is the story of an open west where hundreds of acres of land could be given to the best cowboy, and where gold flowed like el dorado. It is the story that overlooked the Trail of Tears, the confiscation of half of Mexico, and the theological claim of manifest destiny that drove their very worst instincts. 

This is the paradox of life in America. On the surface, everything seems all good, especially if you are white. But right below the surface, the truth of the nation is much uglier. Black people, especially our activists, preachers, scholars, writers, and every-day resisters, have over the centuries, challenged this singular and shallow story about America and urged everyone to understand the more comprehensive truth about this country that exists below the surface. Olaudah Equiano did this by being one of the first Black people to write down his own story of enslavement. W.E.B. Dubois did through his essays on race and his academic text on the failures of Reconstruction. Ida B. Wells-Barnett did this by chronicling and detailing lynchings in the south. Ta-Nehisi Coates does this by providing a vivid description of what police brutality does to the black body and how that violence is rooted in American history. And Nikole Hannah Jones is doing this when she asserts that black folks are actually responsible for the democratic tradition in this country. All of these leaders, and the scores of people in between who make up the Black Radical Tradition—a tradition that is historical and contemporary, imaginative and pragmatic, and oral, written, and embodied—center black life to show that from our perspective it has never been morning in America. For us, the truth of this country is that it has been one long midnight in America. 

It was midnight in America when ancestors were brought to this country against their will to toil and labor by day and by night to make the fruits of the American empire. It was midnight in America when Emmett Till’s mangled body was dragged out the Tallahatchie River. It was midnight in America when Addie Mae Collins, Carol Denise McNair, Carol Robertson, and Cynthia Wesley were killed during Sunday School at 16th Street Baptist Church. It was midnight in America when the Central Park 5 was framed. When Black people in the 9th ward of New Orleans were left to drown in the midst of a hurricane. When Trayvon Martin and Renisha Mcbride’s killers went free. When Sandra Bland was pulled from her car and never seen again. When Michael Brown’s body was left for dead for three hours in the hot St. Louis sun. It was midnight in America every time we got more news that another black trans woman was murdered. It has been midnight in America for us since 1619 and it is midnight in America today. 

It is midnight in America as more than 100,000 people are dead from a virus that we could have been better prepared for, as 40 million Americans are unemployed, and as the president holds the bible in one hand while stroking the fires of white supremacy in the other. It is midnight in America. And nothing makes that more clear than seeing prosecutors sit on footage of Ahmaud Arbery’s murder, of finding out the news of Breonna Taylor’s murder, of seeing the video of Iyonna Dior’s murder, and of watching George Floyd’s murder even as he cries for his mama! 

It is midnight in America and every person of goodwill should join in the struggle and demand an end to the racial oppression that is systematic and intersectional in this country—that takes a particular toll on black women, queer, trans, poor, and immigrant lives. Every person of goodwill should do the small and big acts it requires to end the long midnight in America. As difficult as it seems, all of this is possible, necessary, and urgent. And we must be reminded that just because it is midnight in America, doesn’t mean it cannot become morning in America. 

What if all that difficult history that is before us can be used as the pre-work of the American democratic experience and now we find ourselves truly ready to begin? What if this moment can be our second genesis, our updated social contract, our new moral covenant, our recommitment to the task of building a just, plural, and good society? 

Last year during our Origin Stories Series, I preached that Genesis 50:20 could be interpreted as meaning what began as evil, God can be make good. I emphasized that the book of Exodus was a second opportunity for the people of God to begin and invited us to work towards co-laboring with God in making the world good. And so even as it is midnight in America, for us at Calvary, we have already begun some of the necessary work. We do it each week when we worship, study, and do life together centered around the theme of liberation. We do it when we study and interpret scripture and build our programming around a womanist and mujerista lens. We do it through the ministries and causes we support. We do it when we unearth our own problematic origin stories. We do it when we strategize for reparations. But there is still more we can do. 

We can go deeper in our anti-racist commitments. We can accelerate discussions of reparations in regards to Amos Kendall. We can spend money differently, and more imaginatively. We can give to groups like the Movement for Black Lives, the Southern Center for Human Rights, the Samuel Dewitt Proctor Conference, and the NAACP Legal Defense Fund. We can invest in institutions of black learning like Howard University Divinity School, Bennett College, Spelman College, and Morehouse College. We can also initiate justice efforts in our schools, workplaces, families, and communities. We can challenge the leadership teams of our jobs to hire more black people and assess if the culture of our work places are amenable to their flourishing. We can engage with our family members and friends and share resources with those who want to learn and listen. We can continue to seek out information to grow and learn for ourselves. We can demand that the curriculum at children’s schools are anti racist and just. And we can directly participate in protest ourselves and/or support, encourage, and affirm those who are protesting. There is much work to do. 

And I know that you are willing to do it. So as we do our part, let us not lose sight of the fundamental principles of our faith that our midnight can in fact turn into morning. The God of the Oppressed and the Black Radical Tradition assures us of this truth. And our church must remain ever more committed to this work to move us from midnight to morning. 

Justice for Breonna Taylor

Our hearts are once again heavy with grief, filled with righteous indignation and yearning for justice at the grand jury’s decision in Kentucky to not move forward with charges against any of the officers involved for their roles in the murder of Breonna Taylor. This decision continues to show why we must keep fighting for justice for Black lives. We must keep showing up, taking action and building a world where Black lives are valued and protected. We must keep demanding that Black Lives Matter until it is so.

1. Show up in solidarity with Louisville. Take action in your own community, share their demands, and follow local leadership on the ground with this toolkit.

2. Demand Justice for Breonna Taylor.

3. Use this toolkit for tactics and resources around the Invest/Divest strategy for policing and re-envisioning public safety.

4. White folks: Use this guide to talk to other white folks about the misleading “violence and property destruction” narratives used to discredit protests.

Call to Worship

by Karen Bryant Shipp
Oakhurst Baptist Church, Decatur, GA USA

....

This is a call to worship
But first
This is a call to white people:

Right now our Black and Brown siblings
with whom we seek to create community
are in pain
For just this moment let those of us who are white
turn in our hearts to them

and let us offer no words
because too many words have already been spoken
and let us make no promises
because too many promises have already been broken
and let us not observe a moment of silence
because the time for silence is over
No
Let us each hold our hand up to the screen
and even though we cannot touch each other
even though we cannot hold each other
even though we cannot hug each other
Let us feel the Love of God
knitting our hearts together

And in that Love shared across time and space
Love that is not limited to time and place
may our hearts be assured that
we are not alone
that God is with us
and that we stand with each other
In shared vision, yes
but even more importantly
in Love
in Love
in Love

This is a call to worship
which is to say this is a call to
work 
which is to say
this is a call 
to action.

..

Solo disponible en ingles.

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