Manna for the March

Until all lives matter, Black Lives Matter

September 17, 2015

I live and work in downtown Baltimore. My apartment building is two to three blocks from city hall. My work is three to four blocks from city hall.

During the last few months, when I have told people where I live and/or work, or when working with patients, I get asked if we've had any problems from the protestors or the riots that happened in April. I tell them the truth, that we've had no problems. Everything in our area is peaceful and well-planned. We've had no disturbances, no issues. Nothing of note, other than that the local homeless man who lived outside our building apparently decided to relocate.

I didn't expect anything different despite two upcoming hearing dates for the officers allegedly involved in the death of Freddie Gray. I figured there would be protests, as there had been after the unrest, but I never thought they would be anything other than peaceful. Until I got a note from my employer. It read

We are actively monitoring our campus, including the garages. Please use the hospital bridges to exit to the garages, and be aware of your surroundings. If you feel uncomfortable going to your car, please ask for an escort by calling Security. The sheriff’s office will be parking their official vehicles in the garage. If you park in the street lot and would like to park in the garages, at employee garage rates, you may do so.

Until I saw this outside my office the morning of the hearing:

Yes, they are the Baltimore City Police, the SWAT team, dressing in riot gear. Yes, riot gear. And again, yesterday we received the same email. Again, this morning, we saw the SWAT team gearing up in front of our building. From what I've heard, all the protests were peaceful, with only one or two arrests at most.

It makes me wonder; when did the right to freedom of speech, the right to peacefully assemble, or the right to petition the government for a redress of grievance, become so dangerous that riot police must be employed? So dangerous that normal working people should be afraid of strangers, afraid for their personal property and their safety, when they are three to four blocks away.

The answer: When the cry became “Black lives matter.” When the peaceful protesters are black and those being protested against are police officers. I have heard that “Black lives matter” is akin to terrorism or hate speech. I have heard that “All lives matter” should be the cry, instead of “Black lives matter.”

Until all people have the right to freedom of speech, the right to peacefully assemble and the right to petition the government for a redress of grievances, Black Lives Matter. Until all people can drive home or walk in their neighborhood safely without threat of being killed by police, Black Lives Matter. Until we stop hearing of yet another unarmed black person killed at the hands of the police, Black Lives Matter. Until we have to stop reminding ourselves that black lives matter, and until we acknowledge that black lives matter as much as all lives matter, I will continue to say “Black lives matter.”

Yes, all lives do matter. God created us all in God’s image. But we live in a flawed society where black lives are more at risk in daily life, and at risk in ways that I, as a white woman, will never have to worry about. Until it is no longer true that I am the recipient of privileges based on my skin color, I will keep saying “Black lives matter.” Say it with me today and work to make it possible in the future to say “All lives matter.”

—Tanya Denley

Tanya Denley is a teaching elder in Baltimore and serves as a PC(USA)-trained antiracism facilitator on the Antiracism Committee of Presbyterian Women’s Churchwide Coordinating Team.

Let us renew our commitment to antiracism

Presbyterian Women in the PC(USA) expresses its deep sorrow for the most recent race-related shooting Wednesday in Charleston, South Carolina, where a gunman killed nine members of Emmanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church. We are committed to ending racism and to building an inclusive, caring community of ALL God's people, and we are grateful for the witness of The Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) in its response to the shooting.

The Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) reaches out to its sisters and brothers of Emmanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church of Charleston, South Carolina, where nine people were killed when a gunman opened fire Wednesday night during Bible study. We grieve with the families of the victims and members of their church community. We hope the perpetrator is soon captured and brought to justice.

The chief of police in Charleston has named this a hate crime. We know of no other name for a crime that forces a five-year-old child to play dead in her church in order to live. Arresting the shooter is the job of law enforcement. Arresting hate is the work we are all called to do as disciples of Jesus Christ. May God never give up on us as we face our own racism and its tragic impact on congregations, their communities, and our very souls.

Our prayer
God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, God who has brought us thus far on our way, only you know why someone would enter into your house of worship and open fire on your children. Only you know why hate would run so deep that it would cause one of your creations to kill others you have formed. In our confusion over this senseless act, we appeal to you for understanding and courage to continue to fight for justice. We pray right now for the families of those who lost lives at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, S.C. on June 17, and ask that you would wrap your loving arms around them and the entire community. Likewise, we pray for the continued racial unrest and violence that permeates the United States and the world, and ask you to guide us to work earnestly for change. Now unto you who is able to keep us from falling, we pray all these things.

Amen


Gradye Parsons
Stated Clerk of the General Assembly
PC(U.S.A.)

For information on Presbyterian Women's cultural proficiency and antiracism resources, go to the PW Leadership Enhancement web page.

A Jury of Your Peers

By Tanya Denley

I was called to jury duty recently. I actually rescheduled from my first date of April 29, which as it turns out was a day that the courts were closed due to the recent violence in Baltimore City. So when my day came, off I went to the beautiful courthouse located in downtown Baltimore City. The Clarence M. Mitchell Jr. Courthouse opened in 1900 and is now covered in mesh netting so that nothing falling off the building can hurt anyone.

I was one of 1,200 people called for jury duty on this normal Tuesday morning in Baltimore. The juror pool was a diverse group of people, across races, classes and religion. Yet missing from the jury pool were young black men. I saw older black men and women, young women, but not many young black men. Now I can’t say that I personally saw all the jurors, but that morning in the introduction to juror service was this reminder; “If you have been convicted of a crime punishable by more than six months in prison, were sentenced to more than six months in prison and have not been pardoned, or have criminal charges pending for a crime that is punishable by more than six months in prison, you cannot serve on a jury in Baltimore city.”

Now, let me tell me you a little about Baltimore. Baltimore, although it has an affluent region surrounding the city, is a poor city, where the average per capita income is about $24,750.¹ It is a city of neighborhoods; neighborhoods that have been shaped over the years by redlining and covenants that restricted who could buy property in a community; neighborhoods are still reeling from predatory loan practices of many years ago. Two neighborhoods that have been in the news recently are the Sandtown–Winchester neighborhood and the Mondawmin neighborhood. Sandtown–Winchester is where Freddie Gray was born, raised, and killed. Mondawmin is a neighboring community that suffered greatly from the rioting on April 27.  

Three percent of Sandtown-Winchester’s nearly 15,000 residents are in state prison, according to a joint report by the Justice Policy Institute and the Prison Policy Initiative.² The bordering neighborhood of Mondawmin has a similarly high incarceration rate. Baltimore overall has an incarceration rate of 1,255 per 100,000 residents (1.25 percent). Maryland’s incarceration rate is just 383 per 100,000 residents (0.38 percent) and the incarceration rate for the United States is 455 of 100,000 residents (0.46 percent). One of 10 Maryland residents is from Baltimore, but one of three Maryland residents in state prison is from the city.

Sandtown–Winchester has the highest rate of its population in prison, and it is 96.6 percent Black/African American. The community in Baltimore with the lowest rate of residents in prison is Greater Roland Park/Poplar Hill, which is 77.5 percent White, 9.8 percent Asian, and 7.9 percent Black/African American.

How can a young black man get a jury of his peers when so many of his peers are either in jail or are excluded from service on the jury due to their incarceration? Is it any wonder young black men in Baltimore don’t believe in the justice system?

1. U.S. Census Bureau, “Baltimore City,” State and County Quick Facts; http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/24/24510.html, accessed May 14, 2015.

“2. Mapping Baltimore’s Corrections and Community Challenges,” introduction to The Right Investment?: Corrections Spending in Baltimore City, a report published in February 2015 by the Justice Policy Institute and the Prison Policy Initiative; www.prisonpolicy.org/origin/md/report.html; accessed May 14, 2015.

Tanya Denley is a teaching elder in Baltimore and serves as a PC(USA)-trained antiracism facilitator on the Antiracism Committee of Presbyterian Women’s Churchwide Coordinating Team.

Post from Baltimore: Tired of White Fear

By Tanya Denley

Baltimore, MD
Monday night, April 27, 2015

I sit in my apartment in downtown Baltimore, aware of the rioting and looting a few miles north. As I sit here, trying to ignore sirens and police helicopters, a notice from AP comes across my computer—Governor declares state of emergency. National Guard called in. And I’m afraid—afraid that the National Guard coming into the city will ignite the peace that is barely being held together since the protests.

I’m upset as well. Upset that a small number who are angry and frustrated can cause so much damage—not just the looting and rioting, but also whatever good will white Baltimoreans had for the protests and cause of Freddie Gray.

I am angry as well. Angry that the television media is broadcasting live the looting and violence in Baltimore, that the newspapers highlighted the violence on Saturday night instead of the peaceful nature of the march. Angry that no one mentions the ‘‘peaceful riots’’ of white college kids over a pumpkin festival, over sports victories.

Finally, I am tired. Tired of white fear that clings to any rumor—that local gangs are coming together to take out cops. Tired of white privilege—that privileges the police and authority while ignoring the reality and experiences of over half of the city. And tired of the silence that hopes this will go away and life can go back to normal.

So I sit in my living room tonight, aware that I have a safe place to sleep, that I do not have to worry that my family or friends are in harm's way, and with the knowledge that I will have a job to go to tomorrow that will pay me a living wage. I will sit in my living room tonight, praying that peace will prevail, praying that the message of ‘‘black lives matter’’ will not be lost in the shuffle of tonight's violence, and hoping that no one else gets killed or hurt.

Tanya Denley is a member of the Antiracism Committee of Presbyterian Women in the PC(USA)'s Churchwide Coordinating Team, and a hospital chaplain in Baltimore.

Black Lives Matter but Who's Paying Attention?

By Tanya Denley

April 23, 2015

Freddie Gray died on Sunday at Shock Trauma in Baltimore of injuries sustained at the hands of police.

And the first I heard of it was on Facebook:

Freddie Gray, age 25
Baltimore, MD
RIP
#‎Every28hours ‪#‎blacklivesmatter

I live in Baltimore. I have lived here for two years. I am aware of the racial divides in this city and am not surprised by police brutality.

But I am surprised that I hadn't heard of Freddie Gray before Sunday, a week after he was injured. Now I admit, I don't always listen to the local news or read the local paper, but no one I work with mentioned it. And today the first mention of the whole situation was about fear. Fear of the protests, of driving in the city, fear of the protesters.
 
That doesn’t surprise me either. The local media stirred up the fear. The local police union stirred up fear.
 
What I am really taken aback by is my reaction to this whole situation. I heard about Freddie Gray on Sunday. Googled it, read a few stories. And didn't think anything more about it.
 
Saw notice of the protests and kept moving. I consider myself an advocate, someone who is concerned about police brutality, who works on issues of white privilege and antiracism, and yet I've not been moved to attend a protest or even have a conversation with coworkers about this.
 
Is it, I hope, because I have longstanding plans—a friend's 40th birthday, a clergy retreat, even work? Or is it my uncomfortableness standing up with Baltimoreans who are black and poor? Or is it, it's just another dead black kid, and before we know it we'll have moved on from Baltimore, like we did from Ferguson?
 
I don't know. I don't know how to find the answer.

What scares me is that if I, someone who is aware of racism, police brutality and white privilege, can ignore what is going around me, what hope do we have of inspiring others?

 

Tanya Denley is a member of the Antiracism Committee of Presbyterian Women in the PC(USA)'s Churchwide Coordinating Team, and a hospital chaplain in Baltimore.

What are we to do?

By Yvonne Hileman

 

Important conversation at the PC(USA) Center today: What is the church to do with #Ferguson, #MichaelBrown and #HandsUpDon’tShoot?

 

More than 50 staff members met to talk about ways various ministry areas of the church, as well as church bodies at all levels, can show compassion in situations such as this, accompany those suffering from racism and violence, promote understanding, end racism, bring reconciliation, and help bring justice to unjust situations.     

 

Ideas included:

• Get local congregations involved in advocating for better policies.
• Initiate a conversation among clergy about racism, police brutality, bigotry, fear and inclusion/exclusion.
• Be present in the midst of injustice, with a responder team that stands in witness and solidarity for justice.
• Expand conversation to other cases that show fragility of system and abuses of power. —As a predominantly white denomination, examine white privilege.
• Reach out to young black men in the community, involving them in discussions of race, racial profiling, law enforcement and justice.
• Utilize PW and PC(USA) resources, including Practicing God's Radical Hospitality, Becoming the Beloved Community, Facing Racism: A Vision of the Beloved Community, and Building the Beloved Community. Search for most on Church Store (www.pcusa.org/store). Go to www.pcusa.org/resource/pcusa-resources-antiracism-work for a list of additional resources.
• Participate in (or start) a local chapter of Showing Up for Racial Justice (SURJ); www.showingupforracialjustice.org). Examine and use SURJ's "Police Brutality Toolkit."
• As a church, develop an interagency toolkit for handling community crises of justice, trust and reconciliation.

See www.presbyterianmission.org/ministries/pda/response-shooting-ferguson-mo/ for current church statements on the shooting. Download J. Herbert Nelson's (PC(USA) Office of Public Witness) response to the shooting of Michael Brown and other African American men at www.pcusa.org/resource/j-herbert-nelsons-response-killings-african-americ/.

 

And let us hear your thoughts! We invite you to add your comments to this blog.

Radical Love

By Katie Blume

The Gospels tell a story of enduring fellowship, maintained no matter the betrayal, as we are forgiven our sins by Christ’s sacrifice. I’ve frequently reflected on the depths of community and pondered questions of forgiveness. Every time, I circle back to experiences at my own home.

Illustration by Juan Darien/Thinkstock/Getty Images

My partner and I have a garage where he and his friends hang out, saying all manner of inappropriate things. Overhearing insensitive comments casually dropped in that garage, I have kept my mouth shut. There it is. The line in the sand I have been afraid to cross.

I really am an ally; I love my brothers and sisters no matter who they are! But I just couldn’t seem to cross that line and stand up for you in my own garage. In that one brief moment, I failed as an ally.

So I ask myself, does God forgive Eddie, the neighbor, for being closed-minded? Does God forgive me for failing to stand up for you? Of course, I have been taught that yes, Eddie is forgiven and so am I.

Luke 10:29–37 relays the parable of the Good Samaritan. Here we learn to love our neighbors, even when they seem completely different from us. So even Eddie? Yes, loving our neighbor means we love Eddie no matter his negative opinions. But loving our neighbor also means standing up as an ally when someone is threatened or devalued because of their race or gender or other descriptor.

I am not a psychologist, equipped with diagnoses or phrases to help Eddie explore his biases; I am not a lifelong peacemaker or pastoral-type person. What I am is a well-educated, nice, caring person, after my morning coffee. I am a person of faith who believes in loving her neighbor. So how do I push myself over that invisible line, keeping the relationship growing, but stopping the slurs?

Very recently, I crossed that line in the sand with Eddie. He spoke stereotypically about a particular ethnic group and I just lost my temper. I initially didn’t deliver the thoughtful, measured response that would communicate my love for him, yet refuse to allow stereotyping in our home. Luckily, Eddie and I know each other well enough to not shut down over stereotypes or lost tempers. I presented him with several alternate perspectives about the ethnic group he referenced. We still don’t see eye-to-eye, but we had a dialog.

Now what will I say at Thanksgiving when Uncle Bob (who isn’t a peer, like Eddie) talks about his new neighbors who are “probably ‘illegals’ dealing drugs”? Will I be able to calmly respond, showing a commitment to both him and to the radical inclusion Jesus lived?

Even knowing he would be betrayed, Christ kept his fellowship with Judas during the Passover meal. I plan to keep sharing meals with Uncle Bob and Eddie. They have loving hearts. I think that’s what Christians are meant to see in others—the heart we all can love with. The heart Christ loved us with.

Katie Blume is an ordained deacon, moderator of State College Presbyterian Church’s PW organization and one of PW's Young Women’s Representatives at Large on the Churchwide Coordinating Team. Her blog post also appears in the July/August 2014 issue of Horizons magazine.

Join the Conversation

Have you had an experience like Katie’s, where you either stood up or wished you did, against intolerance? Share your own experiences—join our Racial Justice Allies group on Facebook or comment on this blog post.

An alternate history, or "Check your privilege"

By Tanya Denley

The Burning of Jamestown, by Howard Pyle, ca. 1905

In the late 1600s, indentured servants, slaves, poor whites and others banded together under Nathaniel Bacon against wealthy Virginians and the governor in a rebellion that almost succeeded in overthrowing the government. As a result, the landowners decided to create divisions between slaves, indentured servants and poor whites so that they would not work together in the future. Poor whites were given status, “bribes,” over the “non-whites.” Laws preventing whites and non-whites from marrying were enacted to reserve white women for white men (since there were a limited number of white women in the colonies.) These antimiscegenation laws created the cultural construct of race. With the passage of laws prohibiting intermarriage in both Virginia and Maryland in 1691, the concept of whiteness was created. Up until that time, people were defined by status, place of birth or religion.

Most of us did not learn this in our high school history classes. And for some, this history lesson will be shocking. For many, it will be hard to believe. Yet, this lesson was the content of the first keynote at The White Privilege conference in Madison, Wisconsin, which was held March 26–29 this year. It was quite a way to start the conference and a great introduction to U.S. history that most of us didn’t learn but need to know.

The conference moved quickly to deeper topics, laying out the case that society is built in such a way as to further white power and white privilege. That concept is hard enough to swallow, but the following conclusion, that because of the way colonial American society was built, all white people in the United States have participated in and benefit from white privilege at some point in their lives, is even harder to own.

We react, saying we’re not racist, we have black friends, we don’t have privilege. A good example of this is a story recently published of a freshman at Princeton University who was told to check his privilege after voicing his opinion on welfare. So he checked his privilege and wrote a  response for The Tory, a conservative campus newspaper. He concluded, “I have checked my privilege and I apologize for nothing” (http://time.com/85933/why-ill-never-apologize-for-my-white-male-privilege).

His response is understandable. He looked into his background and shared the story of his grandfather. His grandfather was a Jewish immigrant who created a business; his father ran the business. Neither had knowingly used their privilege. Most of us can tell similar stories. I know I can.

I can tell the story of my grandfather who owned a newspaper in rural Mississippi and made small stands for equality for which he was ostracized. I can tell you that my father covered the Civil Rights era as a journalist and taught me the importance of treating all people as beloved children of God. But that does not lessen the fact that my grandfather was given opportunities that his black neighbors did not have, or that my father was able to cover the marches and protests safely without fear of being arrested or harassed.

The White Privilege Conference is a place to “check your privilege,” a place to realize that, indeed, my skin color, my sex, my class, my orientation, my gender identity grant me certain privileges. And while I may not receive privilege due to my sex or orientation or gender identity, my class, my skin color, my level of education do grant me privilege.

I have checked my privilege and I apologize for nothing, not because there is nothing, but because there is too much. I have checked my privilege and now I must act accordingly. I must move forward, acknowledging how I have been privileged and how I must work toward recreating a society to end all privileges.

Have you checked your privilege recently?

White privilege? Yes, white privilege

By Tanya J. Denley

This past year, I joined PW's Antiracism Committee. At the first meeting, someone suggested that one of us attend the annual White Privilege Conference in March. I subtly moved away from the table. Racism I get. Growing up in suburban Birmingham, Alabama, racism was a known reality. Institutional racism I understand, having attended a school system based on geographical neighborhoods that had been redlined for years and was too expensive for anyone less than middle class to buy into. The result was a school population of 99 percent white. I understand and have lived in both realities.

But white privilege scares me. It means I must admit how I benefit from racism and how racism shapes and affects my life. White privilege is not a comfortable topic, but a necessary one. White privilege is best defined in an article by Peggy McIntosh, "White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack."* She lists 50 questions that help me see my privilege.

Daily effects of white privilege

1. I can if I wish arrange to be in the company of people of my race most of the time.

2. I can avoid spending time with people whom I was trained to mistrust and who have learned to mistrust my kind or me.

3. If I should need to move, I can be pretty sure of renting or purchasing housing in an area which I can afford and in which I would want to live.

4. I can be pretty sure that my neighbors in such a location will be neutral or pleasant to me.

5. I can go shopping alone most of the time, pretty well assured that I will not be followed or harassed.

6. I can turn on the television or open to the front page of the paper and see people of my race widely represented.

7. When I am told about our national heritage or about "civilization," I am shown that people of my color made it what it is.

8. I can be sure that my children will be given curricular materials that testify to the existence of their race.

9. If I want to, I can be pretty sure of finding a publisher for this piece on white privilege.

10. I can be pretty sure of having my voice heard in a group in which I am the only member of my race.

11. I can be casual about whether or not to listen to another person's voice in a group in which s/he is the only member of his/her race.

12. I can go into a music shop and count on finding the music of my race represented, into a supermarket and find the staple foods which fit with my cultural traditions, into a hairdresser's shop and find someone who can cut my hair.

13. Whether I use checks, credit cards or cash, I can count on my skin color not to work against the appearance of financial reliability.

14. I can arrange to protect my children most of the time from people who might not like them.

15. I do not have to educate my children to be aware of systemic racism for their own daily physical protection.

16. I can be pretty sure that my children's teachers and employers will tolerate them if they fit school and workplace norms; my chief worries about them do not concern others' attitudes toward their race.

17. I can talk with my mouth full and not have people put this down to my color.

18. I can swear, or dress in second hand clothes, or not answer letters, without having people attribute these choices to the bad morals, the poverty or the illiteracy of my race.

19. I can speak in public to a powerful male group without putting my race on trial.

20. I can do well in a challenging situation without being called a credit to my race.

21. I am never asked to speak for all the people of my racial group.

22. I can remain oblivious of the language and customs of persons of color who constitute the world's majority without feeling in my culture any penalty for such oblivion.

23. I can criticize our government and talk about how much I fear its policies and behavior without being seen as a cultural outsider.

24. I can be pretty sure that if I ask to talk to the "person in charge," I will be facing a person of my race.

25. If a traffic cop pulls me over or if the IRS audits my tax return, I can be sure I haven't been singled out because of my race.

26. I can easily buy posters, postcards, picture books, greeting cards, dolls, toys and children's magazines featuring people of my race.

27. I can go home from most meetings of organizations I belong to feeling somewhat tied in, rather than isolated, out-of-place, outnumbered, unheard, held at a distance or feared.

28. I can be pretty sure that an argument with a colleague of another race is more likely to jeopardize her/his chances for advancement than to jeopardize mine.

29. I can be pretty sure that if I argue for the promotion of a person of another race, or a program centering on race, this is not likely to cost me heavily within my present setting, even if my colleagues disagree with me.

30. If I declare there is a racial issue at hand, or there isn't a racial issue at hand, my race will lend me more credibility for either position than a person of color will have.

31. I can choose to ignore developments in minority writing and minority activist programs, or disparage them, or learn from them, but in any case, I can find ways to be more or less protected from negative consequences of any of these choices.

32. My culture gives me little fear about ignoring the perspectives and powers of people of other races.

33. I am not made acutely aware that my shape, bearing or body odor will be taken as a reflection on my race.

34. I can worry about racism without being seen as self-interested or self-seeking.

35. I can take a job with an affirmative action employer without having my coworkers on the job suspect that I got it because of my race.

36. If my day, week or year is going badly, I need not ask of each negative episode or situation whether it had racial overtones.

37. I can be pretty sure of finding people who would be willing to talk with me and advise me about my next steps, professionally.

38. I can think over many options, social, political, imaginative or professional, without asking whether a person of my race would be accepted or allowed to do what I want to do.

39. I can be late to a meeting without having the lateness reflect on my race.

40. I can choose public accommodation without fearing that people of my race cannot get in or will be mistreated in the places I have chosen.

41. I can be sure that if I need legal or medical help, my race will not work against me.

42. I can arrange my activities so that I will never have to experience feelings of rejection owing to my race.

43. If I have low credibility as a leader I can be sure that my race is not the problem.

44. I can easily find academic courses and institutions which give attention only to people of my race.

45. I can expect figurative language and imagery in all of the arts to testify to experiences of my race.

46. I can chose blemish cover or bandages in "flesh" color and have them more or less match my skin.

47. I can travel alone or with my spouse without expecting embarrassment or hostility in those who deal with us.

48. I have no difficulty finding neighborhoods where people approve of our household.

49. My children are given texts and classes which implicitly support our kind of family unit and do not turn them against my choice of domestic partnership.

50. I will feel welcomed and "normal" in the usual walks of public life, institutional and social.

Acknowledging our white privilege means recognizing how the system and society is set up in a racist manner and calls us to start to dismantle that system. But the first step is recognizing the privilege. My wife's friend, Conrad, a former Naval officer, posted this on Facebook this week. I leave you with this, to think on what he said.

I am a white male Christian American, and America is the land of opportunity for me. I can get any job and not worry about if I fill a quota. If I lose my job and go on welfare, I won’t be accused of gaming the system. I can shop at any establishment in Arizona (except possibly hipster ones) without fearing being kicked out. I can walk through the streets of Florida without concern for the neighborhood watch. I can jog through any park without the fear of being raped. I will never have to deal with the "right to choose" argument after said rape. I can enjoy a sundae in a restaurant without judging myself or being judged for my weight. I can try to break into the car I locked myself out of without being arrested. I can hail down a taxi without watching it peel away from me. I can even run for public office on the basis of my convictions without being judged by the “agenda” of my race or sex. I am married to a white woman. Our marriage is recognized everywhere in America. We can walk anywhere without being shamed for being biracial. If I was to abuse her, society would consider it her fault until after I was convicted. I can be out alone with my white daughter without being considered a possible kidnapper. I can even post pictures of me being silly with her online without fear of vitriol and hate in the comments. I am a white male Christian American, and America is the land of opportunity for me. So why do I find myself disgusted?

* Peggy McIntosh is associate director of the Wellesley College Centers for Women. Her article "White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack" appeared in Peace and Freedom Magazine, July/August 1989, pages 10–12, published by Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom, Philadelphia.

 

Tanya Denley is ‎staff chaplain at Mercy Medical Center, Baltimore, and a member of Presbyterian Women's Churchwide Coordinating Team.

Commercial backlash shows the United States is still a divided nation

 

By Tanya Denley

A cereal company runs an advertisement. A young girl asks her mother whether the cereal is heart-healthy. Mom reads the label and says yes. Girl runs out of the room. Cut to dad waking up, confused since cereal covers his heart. Americans say “Awww” and run to buy the cereal. Right?

Wrong. A backlash occurs: people write “makes me want to vomit,” refer to “racial genocide” and the Nazis, and these just some of the nicer comments.

Why the backlash, why the vitriol? The mom is white, the dad is black and the little girl is mixed race. And remember, this commercial ran in 2013.

  

In 2014, a similar backlash occurs when, during the Super Bowl, a cola company shows an ad in which groups of Americans sing “America the Beautiful” in various languages. The languages include English, Spanish, Hebrew, Tagalog and Keres Pueblo, which is a language of the Pueblo people of the Southwest.

Responses on Twitter include: “Nice to see that Coke likes to sing an American song in the terrorist’s language. Way to go, Coke. You can leave America.” “Couldn’t make out that song they were singing. I only speak English.” “Singing ‘America the Beautiful’ in a different language is the most un-American thing I have ever heard in my entire life.”

There was some pushback—“I hope you speak a language like Siouan, Kiowa, Uto or Natchez; otherwise, you need to check yourself.” “If you’re tweeting #boycottcoke and you don’t speak one of the many Native American languages, please deport yourself. You’re an immigrant.”

 

Both demonstrate that, despite the more than 50 years that have passed since the advent of the modern civil rights movement, America is still a divided nation.

In 1999 the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) made a decision to become an antiracist organization. At the General Assembly that year, all commissioners went through antiracism training. Presbyterian Women (PW) took up the challenge as well and began training antiracism trainers, who would go back to their churches, presbyteries and synods and begin training in their areas.

In 2006, PW formed the Antiracism Committee to provide leadership for the implementation of the PW Antiracism Initiative that was approved as a major emphasis of PW in 2000. There was an understanding that “racism is embedded in the very structure of our society and thus requires a very intentional effort to eradicate it.” Thus, the Antiracism Initiative is PW’s intentional effort to eradicate racism through its educational programs, resource development, racial ethnic dialogues and support.  

Today we start a blog to share ideas and start discussion, as well as to highlight places where the church is doing good work. We hope to continue the conversation about antiracism and cultural proficiency.

Feel free to contact us on Facebook, ask to join the Racial Justice Allies page, or email us at [email protected].