I am one who needs to hear the message of Dr. King. When I was younger, I would have been a member of the groups that picketed the marches, or at least been apathetic to the cause of equality. Granted, I was born a few decades after MLK’s death. But I remember the formative years of elementary through high school, and I lament that I spoke very much like those who were opponents to Civil Rights. My friends and I would talk about how there were two kinds of people within ethnic minorities. There were the good ones (i.e. the people who spoke/dressed/acted like myself) and there were the bad ones (i.e. people who were different). Of course, we would never say these things in mixed ethnic company; that would have been unChristian of us. Instead, we held our statements as inside remarks against those we saw as a threat to our stable, privileged way of life.
It took a long time for me to realize that. In college and seminary, I would have moments of inspiration, but on the whole, remained ignorant to my subversive racism. Instead, it shifted to that form of exclusion reserved for those who don’t hate the other, but instead condescend towards the other. I saw myself as one of the educated. I was part of a group that new best and therefore should shoulder the responsibility of bringing those different from me into the light of such knowledge. Instead of hating others because of their inherent differences, I pitied them for not being like me. The ignorance of my position allowed me an arrogance that may have been even more dangerous. I was eager to jettison signs of overt racial hatred, but vehemently objected to any insinuation that I was truly part of the problem.
In truth, I am still one who is struggling. I struggle with dismissing anyone who is now not as willing to admit privilege as I am. My arrogance has moved toward anger, not with people who provoke painful conversations around race, but instead towards people who think just as I once did. I hear words that I used to say coming from the mouths of people I used to talk to and I want to weep. It’s difficult for me to explain just how much I don’t like the person I used to be, and that is because the only way I know to see that younger me is through the lens of the things I now despise.
Through all of this long process MLK day meant very little to me. I often worked in fields were it was not a day off, once I was not in school anymore. There were many years that I forgot it even was MLK day until the sun was set. I should little honor or respect to this Baptist minister who laid his entire existence on the line for his vocation. I admired his speeches, for sure. As one who longed to preach, I could not help admiring such a powerful preacher. However, the courage, faith and righteousness of the man was far from something I contemplated.
This year may have been very similar to others had I not seen something that filled me with sorrow. I was perusing social media when a friend posted a link. The story was about how a person of color was dressed down by a judge about their culture before being sentenced harshly for a crime. I couldn’t even bear to read the article because of the comment my friend put as their status. They chose a racially stereotypical name for this person they did not know, followed by the phrase, “…if that’s your name.” Then, they concluded the post with a rhetorical, “as if it matters,” in reference to the fact that the now convicted person would be removed from society for decades. And all of this just 24 hours after praising how God has been so active in the writer’s personal experience.
It is difficult for me to express my emotions about what I read. It was a mixture of anger, sadness, outrage, and sorrow. As the day has progressed, I’ve thought about never speaking with my friend again. That would be easy, and I feel I could justify it. I don’t live near them and so it would be easy to say that I will never have an opportunity to discuss this in a meaningful way. I want to scream things like “Of course it matters! This is a human being we are talking about! They are created in the image of God! If Christ died for us, then Christ died for them as well!” But another social media rant isn’t helpful, and throwing around the word “racism” is counter-productive.
In the end, I’ve left with these thoughts, and the pain of knowing that of all days, today would be the time that I encountered such a sentiment. It’s what has driven me to reflect on that person that I was, and the person I am. In the pain, I see how far I’ve come, but also how far I still have to go. I think of the way I viewed the world as a black and white vista of easily identifiable categories, and rejoice/mourn the colorful beauty of nuance. To hold rejoicing and mourning so close together is not difficult, I believe. I mourn the by-gone days of comfort from the simplicity of the past, and with anxiety, rejoice at the beauty of today’s nuance. Through it all I see my past self with more empathy than I did when I awoke. And for this, I think Dr. King for it is today that all of these struggles have taken place.
"I refuse to accept despair as the final response to the ambiguities of history. I refuse to accept the idea that the 'isness' of man's present condition makes him morally incapable of reaching up for the eternal 'oughtness' that forever confronts him."
-Martin Luther King Jr.
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