Do you know what transforms someone from an observer to an
ally? Relationship.
My family and I are in Washington, D.C. as I write this;
sightseeing on our way to a family wedding. About 36 hours ago, as events
continued to unfold in Ferguson, we were visiting the MLK Memorial.
After that,
our final stop of the night was the Lincoln Memorial where we followed our tour
guide’s instructions to find the inscription where Dr. King stood as he
delivered his “I Have a Dream” speech.
It had been a long day of listening. Listening to tour
guides, mostly.
So we sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial as night was
falling across the National Mall.
There, on the steps, only feet away from where Dr. King
spoke years ago, my 9-year-old daughter and I had the deepest conversation we
have ever had. Now, she is only 9, so the conversation didn’t last long; but it
felt like a glimmer of the beautiful woman she is becoming.
With her eyes watering, she looked out over the Mall at the
Washington monument in the distance, and said; “Dad, this is amazing. So many
important things happened here. I can’t believe I get to be here. I can’t
believe this is where Martin Luther King, Jr said all those things. Can you
imagine this whole place full of people?"
For a brief moment, it felt like I was talking to someone
who was older than 9. So I tried to dive in to the momentarily-deep waters.
Like all kids her age, she has learned a few things about
Dr. King in school. She knows he was a pastor, but I thought I would try to
make the connection clear.
“Do you know why we go to church?” She seemed puzzled by the
question.
“Because you are a pastor?” she said with a smile.
“Do you know why I am a pastor?” Another puzzled look.
“I am a pastor because I believe God cares for all people,
and our faith gives us the courage to stand up and challenge things when they
seem wrong.”
The light bulb went on. I saw it.
“Martin Luther King, Jr. was a pastor…” she said.
“Right. And do you know why he quoted the Bible so much?
Because it is there that we learn that God frees slaves and cares for those who
are on the outside.”
I saw her take this in as she looked out over the Mall. Just
two weeks ago, she attended a Vacation Bible School program at our church that
was focused on the Exodus story. So I made my final point. “That’s why the
Exodus story was a favorite of those fighting for racial equality. It was a new
version of that old story.”
She didn’t say any more. She just leaned in and snuggled
into my arm as we both looked out over the place that had seen so many
important moments.
As I looked out, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of
conflict. I had read the news reports about Ferguson, and while I was so
pleased that my daughter had made the connections she had made…I knew that
miles from us, that old, old battle raged on. Yet here we sat, safe from it.
Information is powerful, no doubt. History lessons are a
first step. I had those history lessons as a child. I was so fascinated by the
differences between people that I majored in Sociology in college, specifically
focusing on gender and racial differences. My mind and my bookshelves are full
of dusty information. I could expound on the Invisible Knapsack of privilege I
carry effortlessly as a white male. But do you know what first began to change
my heart, and continues to do so when I allow it? Relationship.
Think about the times in your life when your position on something has changed. Often, it is because you knew someone personally affected by it.
When you know someone affected by an issue, it
changes that issue for you. It is no longer at an arm’s length, to be debated
by the intellectuals. It’s personal.
You aren’t just talking about “those people,” you are talking about my brother,
my sister, my cousin, or my close friend…and when that happens, change is given a chance.
Observers become allies when it’s personal.
But here’s the real point: when it’s personal, we listen.
When it’s not personal, we become defensive and turn the
conversation so it is about us. There are millions of examples of this in
Facebook comments and blog posts – where a person in a position of privilege
becomes defensive and turns the conversation so it is about them and how they are suffering or wronged by the
situation. How do I know this? Because I’ve done it. And I bet many of you have
too.
But when it is someone I love, I am much more likely to just
listen to their pain…not to explain it away, or make it about me. Just listen.
This is my hope for my daughter…not that she majors in Sociology
and learns about the toxic effects of privilege (though that would help her),
but that she loves someone who is different from her and then just listens to
them and their pain. That exchange changes hearts, and plans, and lives. It has
changed mine, and I hope it continues to do so.
I certainly have nothing unique to contribute to the
conversation swirling around Michael Brown’s death. I simply call on others
like me – others who are both geographically and experientially distant from it
– to listen. Listen to the pain of
the family, and the community as though they were your family, and your
community.
Don’t waste energy attempting to twist the autopsy reports
to fit the version of the story that makes you most comfortable. Instead,
imagine how you would feel if he was your
brother.
Don’t dehumanize Mr. Brown based on assumptions of criminal
behavior, as though his death would then be justified somehow. Instead, imagine
how you would feel if he was your
brother.
Don’t be distracted by the reports of looting or let those
reports further harden your biases or hearts. Instead, imagine how you would
feel if he was your brother.
My prayer for my daughter, and myself, and all of us is
simple: may God grant us the courage and openness to listen to each other, and
may God use what we hear to transform us from observers to allies.
