It’s
Saturday of Easter weekend. Surely a heaviness was upon the people in and
around Jerusalem. They did not grasp the notion that Sunday was coming. What they knew most likely was that their
friend was dead and a cruel, agonizing death it was. Perhaps they had watched all of the comings
and goings that Thursday night and Friday. Did they feel the earth shake? What did
they experience with the earthquake and darkness upon the land? No, Sunday was
not yet come, Resurrection Sunday was not yet an event to be celebrated. They
were still in their darkness.
As I
read Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove’s material, “Practicing Fusion Politics,” this
morning, it occurs to me that Grandma Ann’s story was taking place at a time of
great darkness. In her own words she described how the white man was the ruler
of everything, and how he could throw down his load and the black man was to
pick it up and then he’d give it to the womenfolk because “de nigger woman is
de mule uh de world so fur as Ah can see.”
Separate
but equal was the system of Jim Crow that I was born and raised under. Separate,
yes, and separated, yes, and unequal certainly. To my shame, I did not know
much at all about Westside High School and the Thoroughbreds for years. I did, however, on a Saturday night of the
county fair watch a football game and marvel at the speed of the athletes, the
great band, and the cheers from the stands.
I am
also reminded of my first place of employment and the ways in which whites were
treated versus blacks. My boss, a white
guy, owned a convenience store on the outskirts of Trinity. I walked down the
tracks a couple of miles to get to work for a grand total of 90 cents an hour. I
was only ten, so how could I make a fuss. My boss fussed over white people
buying from him, inside the store and at the gas pump. He did not do the same
for black people, which even then I thought was wrong. Black work crews would
drop by the store in the early morning hours, buy gas, ice, crackers, soft
drinks, vienna sausage, bologna, and whatever else to make it through the long
work day. The costs were all put on their tab through out the week. On Fridays
or Saturdays, they’d pay up. That little convenience store also gave S & H
Green Stamps as incentives. Remember
those days?
On one
settle up day with one particular black gentleman, standing there in his sweat-stained
work clothes, the boss man was cashing his check and subtracting the total from
his pay. Since everyone else was offered
S & H Green Stamps, I did the same to him, “Do you want your greens stamps?”
I asked. He looked at me but did not
answer. Boss man looked at me and
signaled for me to shut up. The black
worker in the sweat stained work clothes paid his bill, he was thanked by boss
man, and he walked out. I do not recall
any more conversation between me and boss man about that, but I got the
message. I got the message clearly,
very, very clearly.
And
by the way, I recall as well when a white woman had her tank filled with
gasoline, Boss Man gave her the green stamps with a bit of a dramatic flourish.
I got it.
Boss
man and his wife were church going folks.
I was a church going kid. The
others who worked there were church going folks.
Church
going and politics of the day did not connect, not in the power structure of
that small town, nor in the politics of how people were treated coming to and
fro.
I’ve
studied the Reconstruction, and even wrote some things about it. I read one particular book all the way
through that chronicled how the folks of Colfax, Louisiana, the state of
Louisiana, and the Supreme Court let down people of color and advantaged the
white folks across America.
Even
in this day following the break up of Jim Crow with the passing of the 13th,
14th, and 15th amendments to the US Constitution did not
change matters in people’s hearts. It
took years and years and other actions, the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the
Voting Act of 1965, and the Fair Housing Act of 1968 and still we wrestle with
ourselves.
For folks
I know personally, the administrative settlements with the USDA and DOJ, Pigford
I, and Pigford II did not level the playing field in the political world of
farming.
Yes,
systemic racism is a deal. White supremacy demands it. Check out this
video: www.youtube.com/watach?v=SgH2aehFA&feature=youtu.be
for more information.
The
text in Luke 18:1-5 speaks to me. Jesus uses the story of a widow and a judge.
She wanted something from him, and eventually she got what she wanted, “justice
against my adversary,” despite his lack of faith in God.
So,
I am left wondering, why does the faith community, including the church that is
near and dear to my heart, not address racial and political issues? Why did Ann
Atwater believe that faith demands action, yet we do not?
I think we’ve settled. We have simply settled in our world of
whiteness, that it is pretty good, and that this is as good as it gets, and we
have no big problems.
There
are pockets of wealth in my community.
There are pockets of poverty in my community. Some at my church are attending meetings that
will address homelessness. My church has
a ministry in partnership with other churches in the area that addresses the
unemployment issue of homeless and unemployed families.
People
of faith are elected to political positions. I will vote for one guy in the
next election. I mentioned him last blogpost.
I will continue to be in touch with him and politic for him because I think he
has his finger on the pulse of the community, one in particular, in which
people of color are losing their houses and lots at a surprisingly fast pace,
and bigger houses are springing up in that black neighborhood.
I
really, really like the “parable of the persistent widow.” She knew how to
advocate for herself as she went again and again and again until she got what
she wanted. Jesus, then, uses that story to say, “That’s how you ought to pray
and not give up.”
May
our advocacy in our communities be the same.
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