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| Photo Painting by Rena Joy, my Amazing Soul Sister |
Saturday, January 11, 2020
The Many Gifts of Friendship
Friday, January 10, 2020
Cultural Grief, Racism, and Our Stories
Dear reader,
It has been a long time since writing here. Often I have written of very personal parts of my story and I believe I will do that again. Meantime, in the last year, I have given a lot of energy to educating myself on a much bigger topic than my life or my lifetime: racial injustice and racism.
Surprisingly, a lot of this education has come through my participation in my church, which happens to be a very, very white, upper-middle class Lutheran church in a mostly white suburb. After the death of Philando Castille on July 26, 2016, Nativity Lutheran Church in St. Anthony Village made the decision to host more conversations about race. It was no longer possible to pretend that racism was happening somewhere else. As a result, an Anti-Racism team formed at our church. They have been hosting more conversations, looking for ways to help understand where we are, as individuals, as a church, and as a nation, when it comes to treatment of race. It is not a comfortable education. It is not an easy conversation. It is heart-breaking.
Pete and I have been attending movie nights where we have watched both documentaries and Hollywood movies about the history of racial injustice in our country, lessons that were never covered in our history books or our schools. In addition, Pete is currently part of a conversation group that is listening to a podcast call "Seeing White" and then discussing it.
And my Thursday morning book group is reading a book called, "A Good Time for the Truth: Race in Minnesota." This book is a collection of 16 essays, each written by a different person, each of different ethnic groups who live in Minnesota. It was published in 2016. This is not ancient history. These are stories of people that happened in my lifetime, to people who live in my city, whose children maybe went to schools that my children went to.
Today I'm reading the 6th, 7th and 8th essays titled, "Brutal" by Bao Phi, "Say What?" by Carolyn Holbrook, and "Red, White, and Blank" by Heid E. Erdich. With each essay my heart feels the pain, a lump forms in my throat and I feel a little less hopeful for our country, our culture. These people, of my own lifetime, have experienced being falsely arrested, being called names, being bullied, being unreasonably asked to try acting whiter. They've each struggled with what box to check when asked about race on forms.
The more I learn, the more it seems that racism is as much about money as skin color. We brag that we are such an open country, that we welcome the diversity, the poor, the refugees but when they get here, we don't want to really share the wealth with them. So we have to find excuses to not share. And racism gets tangled up with our thoughts on who should have the money, the land, the resources and.
In some ways, I am grateful for the fact that I didn't have to learn all this when I was younger and more vulnerable. And then in the same breath, I am angry for this being kept from us while we went on living as if all was well.
I have a very mixed up experience of race from my childhood. Having been born and grown up in an African country (Madagascar) until the age of 17, I wasn't here in the U.S.A. to know about the first-hand treatment of blacks, native Americans, Asian Americans and Mexicans. And I grew up feeling in my heart that part of me was Malagasy and African even though by blood, I am more Norwegian and my skin is quite fair. When I first settled in to college in Nebraska and then married life in Minnesota, I didn't understand at all why any of these people would still be so angry or that even anyone was still being discriminated against. I had no idea that Hate was still living down the street and across the river. I had no idea that people felt more comfortable with their Hate then with opening their hearts to the beauty of diversity that this nation holds. I believed that America was a magical place that welcomed everyone. But just as many wouldn't guess at my story unless I told them, I was ignorant of theirs. And I have to say, though it brings tears, though I plead with God for mercy after each reading or movie or podcast discussion, I am grateful to at last be hearing the stories and knowing the truth of my neighbors.
It is knowing each stories that will bring us peace and healing. We can't hope to make peace unless we first open our ears and our hearts to knowing each other. It is rather serendipitous that the book we read before this was, "The Book of Forgiving" by Desmond Tutu, who was part of the leadership that created a path to healing and forgiveness in South Africa when they began to move out of the apartheid system. Tutu says the first step is to tell our stories and have them heard.
I confess I am still on step one. I'm still catching up to the stories. I hope some day to know how to take those stories and bring healing in my little part of the world. I hope I find more courage to act when it is time, to speak when my heart tells me to. And most of all, I hope I end up getting to know my neighbors, of every color and background.
I believe that when we begin to really know one another, the hate will begin to evaporate. I believe our stories will help us find compassion and hope. And in the same breath, I still feel a weight on my shoulders. I know it will take all of us to make this happen.
Sending love and light and tears,
Jules
It has been a long time since writing here. Often I have written of very personal parts of my story and I believe I will do that again. Meantime, in the last year, I have given a lot of energy to educating myself on a much bigger topic than my life or my lifetime: racial injustice and racism.
Surprisingly, a lot of this education has come through my participation in my church, which happens to be a very, very white, upper-middle class Lutheran church in a mostly white suburb. After the death of Philando Castille on July 26, 2016, Nativity Lutheran Church in St. Anthony Village made the decision to host more conversations about race. It was no longer possible to pretend that racism was happening somewhere else. As a result, an Anti-Racism team formed at our church. They have been hosting more conversations, looking for ways to help understand where we are, as individuals, as a church, and as a nation, when it comes to treatment of race. It is not a comfortable education. It is not an easy conversation. It is heart-breaking.
Pete and I have been attending movie nights where we have watched both documentaries and Hollywood movies about the history of racial injustice in our country, lessons that were never covered in our history books or our schools. In addition, Pete is currently part of a conversation group that is listening to a podcast call "Seeing White" and then discussing it.
And my Thursday morning book group is reading a book called, "A Good Time for the Truth: Race in Minnesota." This book is a collection of 16 essays, each written by a different person, each of different ethnic groups who live in Minnesota. It was published in 2016. This is not ancient history. These are stories of people that happened in my lifetime, to people who live in my city, whose children maybe went to schools that my children went to.
Today I'm reading the 6th, 7th and 8th essays titled, "Brutal" by Bao Phi, "Say What?" by Carolyn Holbrook, and "Red, White, and Blank" by Heid E. Erdich. With each essay my heart feels the pain, a lump forms in my throat and I feel a little less hopeful for our country, our culture. These people, of my own lifetime, have experienced being falsely arrested, being called names, being bullied, being unreasonably asked to try acting whiter. They've each struggled with what box to check when asked about race on forms.
The more I learn, the more it seems that racism is as much about money as skin color. We brag that we are such an open country, that we welcome the diversity, the poor, the refugees but when they get here, we don't want to really share the wealth with them. So we have to find excuses to not share. And racism gets tangled up with our thoughts on who should have the money, the land, the resources and.
In some ways, I am grateful for the fact that I didn't have to learn all this when I was younger and more vulnerable. And then in the same breath, I am angry for this being kept from us while we went on living as if all was well.
I have a very mixed up experience of race from my childhood. Having been born and grown up in an African country (Madagascar) until the age of 17, I wasn't here in the U.S.A. to know about the first-hand treatment of blacks, native Americans, Asian Americans and Mexicans. And I grew up feeling in my heart that part of me was Malagasy and African even though by blood, I am more Norwegian and my skin is quite fair. When I first settled in to college in Nebraska and then married life in Minnesota, I didn't understand at all why any of these people would still be so angry or that even anyone was still being discriminated against. I had no idea that Hate was still living down the street and across the river. I had no idea that people felt more comfortable with their Hate then with opening their hearts to the beauty of diversity that this nation holds. I believed that America was a magical place that welcomed everyone. But just as many wouldn't guess at my story unless I told them, I was ignorant of theirs. And I have to say, though it brings tears, though I plead with God for mercy after each reading or movie or podcast discussion, I am grateful to at last be hearing the stories and knowing the truth of my neighbors.
It is knowing each stories that will bring us peace and healing. We can't hope to make peace unless we first open our ears and our hearts to knowing each other. It is rather serendipitous that the book we read before this was, "The Book of Forgiving" by Desmond Tutu, who was part of the leadership that created a path to healing and forgiveness in South Africa when they began to move out of the apartheid system. Tutu says the first step is to tell our stories and have them heard.
I confess I am still on step one. I'm still catching up to the stories. I hope some day to know how to take those stories and bring healing in my little part of the world. I hope I find more courage to act when it is time, to speak when my heart tells me to. And most of all, I hope I end up getting to know my neighbors, of every color and background.
I believe that when we begin to really know one another, the hate will begin to evaporate. I believe our stories will help us find compassion and hope. And in the same breath, I still feel a weight on my shoulders. I know it will take all of us to make this happen.
Sending love and light and tears,
Jules
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