I’ll start by saying that, for those of you who don’t know (which is probably most of you by this point), I’ve left Facebook before. I was a freshman in college in 2005 during its early days, when it was expanding as a social network across all colleges and universities across the United States. It was an addiction (not all too unlike now), but it was a different kind of addiction. As a very lonely young adult, Facebook gave me the illusion of connecting with all sorts of people that in real life I could only
dream of being able to connect with. It got me through those dark years — sort of. I eventually hit a point — I was 26 — where I realized this was actually causing me constant pain. So I disconnected. Most people understood. I did have one friend text me on my phone and chew me out for doing so. But otherwise, most understood.
I rejoined two years later, upon the encouragement of my band, Ring Shout & Friends, as a way of staying connected, when I realized that I was going to have to stop committing to it on account of my schedule getting busier. A key part of that was also creating a page on Facebook for the band to advertise about gigs, as well as post videos and funny music-related memes. And I’ve stayed on since, finally able to successfully navigate Facebook largely without falling back into this unhealthy pattern that I was in the first time.
Over the last few years especially, Facebook has become more of a news source more so than a hangout place. And with COVID-19 causing us all to sequester, it meant also providing church for me. At least, until my church moved to a platform upon which I am to this day unable to live-stream their services. I grieve that. But it is what it is.
George Floyd’s murder, and the subsequent uproar, led me to leaving Facebook. As I was saying earlier, it had become more of a news source, as well as a source to share photos and videos and connect over that. I suppose it was also a marketplace of sorts, although I had neither bought nor sold anything.
Outside of a post the day after the murder, and a few other stray posts, I’ve largely stayed silent. A lot of it is, beyond what I had already said, I didn’t — and don’t — know what else to say or to do. But it’s not for lack of advice that so many people I know that for days and days and days afterward have provided. It’s actually the quality of advice (as well as the quantity) that overwhelmed me and pushed me silent.
The thing is, there’s plenty I fundamentally disagree with about the advice. But before I dive into it, I will first share the barebones of where I stand that
is in agreement with what I've seen posted:
1.) George Floyd’s murder was 100% flat-out wrong and horrifying, and I fully support the justice that eventually came on the four officers, including Derek Chauvin, who had put his knee on George’s neck, as well as the other three officers who stood by without doing anything. [And I re-iterate, I wrote a post on Facebook expressing as much.]
2.) I do fully agree that police profiling of black people, as well as that of other colors, need to stop. This including “Driving While Black,” etc.
3.) I have no problem with all the protests, and in fact support that they happened, not just in Minneapolis but all across the country (and apparently across the world).
4.) I need to make clear (and from what I see, most people on both sides of the political aisle seem to understand and agree with this): those who were protesting and those who were rioting and looting are NOT the same group of people. Not that there may be a few who have participated in both. But they’re not the same. Protestors = good. Rioters and looters = bad. I stand firmly on that. As do I think most people I know.
5.) Black lives DO matter. In 2014, when the previous wave of white police officers (or citizens) killing blacks were occurring (and being filmed), I bristled at the term “white privilege.” My immediate response was: “What privilege?” At that time I was also early in my own personal work, and still firmly believed that my life sucked, and that it really wouldn’t have made a difference whether I was white or black or whatever. And you bet I was a full proponent of “all lives matter.” Also, as a child I was the victim of some racism blowback, being objectified on two different occasions as a racist and a hater, as the result of misunderstanding and miscommunication. And at the time, my heart was still hard about those incidents. But, here’s the thing: while all lives do matter, the point about the “black lives matter” movement is to point out that black lives haven't mattered. Not to the police, and not to white citizens. There has been an incredible imbalance of standards that, even to this day, still hasn’t mattered, for reasons that just don’t hold water. And I agree that that has to change, across the board. While I cannot necessarily say the same thing about the official “Black Lives Matter” organization (I don’t know much about it, but I have heard things that seem to indicate that it is pushing for more than only the true spirit of the slogan).
6.) And finally: have I been racist in my life? Yes. I have made generalizations and assumptions about people of color that have hindered my ability to see them as people, and people who matter. I repent of that, again. And I want anyone of color who’s reading this to know, I am committed to listening to your story, hearing your pain, and doing what I can to develop a friendship where I treat you the same way you would treat me, and also see your culture, your heritage, and your color. In other words, all that makes you you. It’s what I would want others to do for me. What would I gain if I were to choose to be selective about granting you the same, outside of the quality of your character?
Those things above I do agree with. Below are a few things I’ve seen that I flat-out disagree with:
1.) “It’s not enough.” I cannot begin to tell you how many posts and banners on Facebook I’ve seen that have either said those words, or conveyed those words through other words that were actually said. While I am pro-justice, I am against taking things too far. I’ve seen this also with the American feminist movement. Simply put, it’s this idea that to really make things right with those who’ve been oppressed, I need to simply lay down and let them oppress me back, for the rest of my life, as a way of getting their revenge. I cannot even begin to tell you how much I disagree with this, with every [expletive] fiber of my being. While I deserve accountability, just like everyone else, I'm not willing to let others beat on me their rage, simply because I'm white and a man. And my fear is that, for some people, it will not be enough, not until I'm beaten to a pulp for 400 years of what people who look like me has done to people who look like them. For some people, it will not be enough until we defund and eliminate the police force (more on that later). And for some people, it will not be enough until we get rid of the Constitution. On these grounds, I cannot stand with them.
2.) “It's a requirement that you be ashamed to be white.” I've not seen this in posts posted by friends of color, but I have seen this in posts by other whites: this idea of being ashamed to be white. (Cleverly disguised as "white guilt.") While I fully agree that no person of color should ever have to be ashamed of being the ethnicity and color they were born into, I think that should apply to me as well. Where I've made mistakes or done someone wrong, I agree to be fully accountable for my actions. But I do not agree to be accountable for another white person's racist actions, simply on the account of being the same race. In the same way that I recognize it is wrong for me to make generalizations about people of color based on stereotypes, I stand firmly that that accountability needs to hold for all, not just for white people.
3.) “It's wrong to be silent.” OK. This point I get, to a point. There was a quote that I saw circulating around that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr said, which is this: “I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to 'order' than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice.” I agree insofar that to get justice, one has to speak and speak and keep speaking. If I'm silent about something, anything, the thing I don't want to continue will continue until I speak up. I understand it and agree with it to this point. But, I hate to say it, but because of the furor that I've seen in so many people's posts, it has also exactly done the opposite for me of what was intended, which is it has kept me quiet even more, and ultimately led me to leave Facebook altogether. And my truth about it is this: while I've survived many moments of helplessness and relative oppression in my life, I've never actually been rescued from such moments, let alone had reparations for what may have happened to me. How can I truly be expected to speak up for someone else who's actively being oppressed, when I've never had anyone speak up for me when I was in that place? And here's the thing: if I were to dare to post such a response, I know I would have people that I'm connected to swarm over me and tell me how wrong I am. And the result of that would be me to pull back even more and even cut off some of these people from my life. There is no scenario here that I can envision that would lead to any kind of personal growth on my part, if growth is deemed necessary.
4.) “You have to be politically active. You have to call your congressperson and your senator and your mayor and your governor.” The truth is, I've never been politically active. I vote. That's it. I recognize that a freedom and a right that I do still have as a citizen of the Untied States of America is that of writing or calling my local representatives. But a.) I hate making phone calls to people I don't know; b.) I hate, hate making phone calls where I have to take a stand on something, for example, fighting to get a bill deferred because of financial hardship, let alone telling a local representative that I don't like the job they're doing; and c.) where I live, all the local and state representatives that I could vote in or out of office are pro-choice, and if I'm going to complain about something, it's going to be that first.
5.) “We must de-fund the police.” Seriously? While I am all for re-training across police departments, as well as giving existing police officers the option to step down if they cannot or will not change their m.o.'s toward black people, the truth of the matter is that de-funding the police force is an utterly idiotic idea. We need our police. Without them, there's lawlessness, anarchy, chaos, and disorder. One thing that I've seen from COVID-19 and subsequent sequestering orders, is that the mere redistribution of police forces to police the parks, beaches, and parking lots to ensure that people aren't violating the order, has left streets and expressways wide open for a lot more people to speed, to go 80, 85, 90 MPH, down a city expressway. And this is just the small stuff. Imagine what will happen if we force them to be privately funded. They won't be able to do as much to help us the citizens regarding order and safety.
Here is the truth of the matter: I also just don't have time to divest from my responsibilities toward this. I have a full-time job, which I need in order to pay the rent and still have a place to live. I'm going back to school this fall so I can invest in another career that will finally get me on my feet financially, not just for now but also for the future. And lastly, I have a wonderful woman in my life (who lives locally) with whom I'm planning a future. Between those three things alone, not to mention self-care, like eating, sleeping, cleaning my living space, chores, errands, looking at and planning my finances, as well as tasks that come up every now and then... I just don't have the energy to drop all this and spend a whole day and protest. Or call a local representative. As such, I may have the appearance of a "white moderate," but honestly, what am I supposed to do? Set aside the path I'm on -- not only so, but a path I believe that God has put me on -- and invest the requisite emotional energy just to make other people happy? To shame myself for being white because of all the horrible things that others been done over the centuries?
Here is what I can do for now, given my limitations. I can repent. And I can keep repenting, to God, and to others as God Himself directs. I'm a sinner, just like everyone else. Lately, one form of repentance has been working on a cover of "
O Holy Night," which, sure, seems unusual for this time of year. But check out this verse, which, in my recording, is the second and final verse:
Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother;
And in His name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! O praise His Name forever,
His power and glory evermore proclaim.
His power and glory evermore proclaim.
Now, that is only the very-rough English-translation version. Given the time we are in, some people reading this will take objection to the use of the word "slave." Fine. To answer those objections, here is the
transliterated version of the same verse, directly from French, which was the original language of this hymn:
The Redeemer has broken every bond
The Earth is free, and Heaven is open.
He sees a brother where there was only a slave,
Love unites those whom iron had chained.
Who will tell Him of our gratitude,
For all of us He is born, He suffers and dies.
People, stand up! Sing of your deliverance,
Christmas, Christmas, sing of the Redeemer,
Christmas, Christmas, sing of the Redeemer!
It's not talking about African-American slavery, people. The "slave" of which is spoken is our slavery to sin. It could also refer to people who were slaves at that time, whether in Europe, North America, or other parts of the world. But the point is that line: "Jesus sees a brother where there was only a slave." And ultimately this is my final disagreement with a lot of the posts I saw on Facebook: it wasn't just that these were pro-justice whites posting. No, these were people that went to my church, people who say they follow Jesus. And, in their posts and responses to others' posts, there was no Jesus. There was no mention of His name, and there was no sense of even temperance in their posts. No grace. No mercy. Sure, hard truth needs to be spoken, but the Bible says for us to speak our truth in love, and there was no love. None. Instead, it was all about condemnation, condemning those who might dare to even slightly disagree. Ironically, the posts of those who were of color, as well as those who were progressive but not Christian, there was more evidence of temperance. There was no lack of hard truth, but there was a lack (thankfully) of a tone of outright blanket condemnation.
I'll close this post with one final observation. A week after George Floyd's murder, and a week after protesting and rioting had been going on in Minneapolis (less than a week here in Chicago), I saw a post from an African-American woman my age who I do believe is a strong Christian, but is also very staunch on "no justice, no peace." She had this to say to her white friends: (and yes, I'm paraphrasing because I'm off Facebook and can't dig up her post) "We are tired. Please, don't bring your baggage to us. Work on yourselves. Educate yourselves. Support us, listen to us, and be there for us. But do your work on your own." I give her credit, because on this I agree. This is just one person, but the sense I get of what is enough for her is for me to do what I've already pledged to do. It's not to publicly self-flagellate myself for being a "bad person" because I'm white. It's simply to treat her (and other people of color) how they should've been treated all along, which is unique but equal. To listen, and to offer support. Which, where I have time (yes, a caveat), I will do.
