Having allies

Last month my wife, who is white, and I attended a performance of a local blues band, the lead singer of which I had met about two years ago at a jam session. I had originally hoped to get some work out of it.

That hope ended during the break, when he came to talk to us — and, according to her (I didn’t hear much of the conversation), he made some racist remarks, including using the archaic term “colored” for black musicians. She became so angry and shaken that she told me that we would have nothing to do with him from here on out and soon afterwards made a post on social media announcing her displeasure.

Two people who reacted to her rant especially heartened me.

One of them was a singer and bandleader I’d worked with 20 years ago who asked his identity so that “we can shame him.” “Musicians police their own,” he said.

The other was a woman with whom I’ve attended social dances over the past few years, and she told a story I hadn’t previously known. At one dance I had just finished dancing with her when she was approached by an older white man who after their dance said afterwards, “I dance better than that colored, don’t I?” (I have never claimed to be a great dancer, though I do it a lot.) She said that she was initially taken aback and later said to him, “His name is Rick, and he’s my friend!” before really letting him have it.

Those two other folks who also expressed outrage on my behalf and whom we later thanked proved to be “allies” willing to stand up and fight for me — letting people know in no uncertain terms that what my offenders said was out of bounds. What’s more, they didn’t do anything they considered out of the ordinary; in their view, it was simply what decent people do.

I’m also reminded of the Freedom Riders of the early 1960s. The late evangelist Billy Graham, who demanded his crusades even in his native South be integrated back in the 1950s. The late Jim Reeb, the Boston minister and seminary classmate of the former pastor of my former church martyred in Selma, Ala. More recently, the millions of whites who joined Black Lives Matter marches last summer in light of the death of George Floyd at the hands of now-former Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin.

Lately I’ve heard a number of evangelicals say, “Why do we have to focus so much on race? Can’t we just love each other?” But the reason why we need to is because racism is still very much a thing, especially with attempted suppression of black voting power and distortions of “critical race theory”— folks must be willing to say, “This will not stand.”

And that would be true love — in the Greek, agape.

Some thoughts on systemic racism, critical race theory and social justice

Back in March my wife and I closed on a four-bedroom, three-bathroom house on a cul-de-sac in a nice suburban neighborhood. It’s close to pretty much everything — shopping; the main expressway to get to work, church and gigs; the whole nine yards. (The schools are pretty good as well, but since we won’t be having children that’s not a factor.)

And yet I’m occasionally reminded that I couldn’t have grown up in this home, which dates back to the late-1950s.

You see, because my parents were African-Americans, banks would have denied them the low-interest loans prevalent back then to build new houses in what we call suburbia. And over time the value of those houses would appreciate in value. Indeed, most major cities eventually not only emptied out of its growing white middle-class but took its financial and social clout with it.

And that has led to, among other things, the racial wealth gap we see today.

And that is an example of the systemic racism that critical race theory, which was formulated in law schools in the 1970s but is now being vilified by the political right as “divisive,” attempts to address. “Systemic racism” is real, folks, and black folks understand that; the situation with housing is just one example of that.

As such, I believe that it would be a Kingdom of God value not simply to repent of racist attitudes but also to dismantle the systems that crept up as a result of such. His justice says, “We got ours, and we will help you get yours.”

That’s why my racially- and economically-diverse church has from time to time has held home-buying workshops, not simply for the permanence and stability that owning a home offers but also for the financial benefit. (Perhaps other churches hold them, but I’m not aware of those.)

Thankfully, most of the specific situations that caused such systemic racism in the first place have been addressed, but the fallout still lingers. How we address that issue we can discuss—but we must, hopefully without rancor.

Because it’s not enough to open the doors without providing the means for people to succeed. In that way we can build what Martin Luther King Jr. called “the beloved community.”