Smuggling Grace

Last Sunday, the Rev. William Barber, Repairers of the Breach, and people from the Moral Monday movement held an event in Raleigh, North Carolina called “The Gathering: Voting Rights.” It was live-streamed, and you can see it here (go to Livestreamed Events). I especially encourage you to watch Rev. Barber’s speech, starting at the 58 minute mark.

In that speech, Rev. Barber talked about voter suppression and five fears that fuel it. Today, I’d like to mention those fears and encourage people to engage the thoughts more deeply by watching Rev. Barber’s speech.

Rev. Barber says that voter suppression is motivated by a Fear Factor – fears of losing and sharing power and fears that we will have to recognize the full humanity of people long dehumanized.

The Fear of Full Citizenship

In the wake of the Civil War, when enslaved people were no longer enslaved, fearful debates ensued. Whites, particularly in the South, were asking fearful questions and making demands. “Were Black people going to be considered. . . full citizens?” Rev.  Barber says that people shuddered at the thought.

“The fear was, if Black people got freedom, they would want citizenship. That was the debate when Lincoln pushed the 13th Amendment — go back and read the testimony. The question kept being asked, ‘Does this mean citizenship?’. . . And this has been the fear at the heart, not only of racism, but of sexism and every other ism. Fear that some people will not only want to be free, but they will want full citizenship and all the rights thereunto.”

Fear of Legitimacy

A few months ago, a national commission was created to investigate voter fraud. Rev. Barber says that this commission created by Donald Trump is not ultminately about securing the legitimacy of his 2016 election. Instead, it exists to delegitimize the elections of Barack Obama and provide psychological cover to explain his election wins.

“This fraud commission ain’t about Trump’s election. Thought I’d tell you that. . . It’s about Obama’s election. It’s not about the last election. It’s about the two elections prior to that because birtherism didn’t work. And the role of birtherism was to provide psychological cover for those who could not bring themselves to accept a black man in a White House. . . But now, birtherism has been debunked, and so, there is a need now to delegitimize. And so what he’s trying to do with the commission is to bring up fraud, which is fraudulent in itself, to come out with a report that says these past elections — not just 2016 — were fraudulent. To give people relief. One psychologist calls it white fragility. To give people relief from the fragile state when certain people see their world falling apart.”

Fear of Changing Demographics

Demographics are changing rapidly in the United States. In 2042, Non-Hispanic Whites will no longer be in the majority of the population, and right now, for the first time, minority communities are having more births than white communities. In the midst of this, twenty-two states have passed voter suppression laws since 2010. These stats demonstrate some of their present and future impact:

“Those states represent 250 electoral votes. They also represent 54% of the Black vote in those 22 states. They also represent 44 Senators and 50% of the United States Congress. So if you can control those 22 states, you enter into the race only 20 votes short of an Electoral College win. We had 868 less voting sites in the poor and black and brown and poor white community in 2016 than we had in previous elections. . . The Brennan Center has noted that nearly 20 seats in the U.S. House of Representatives would probably not be Republican if it were not for apartheid redistricting that has gone on in the South and in the Rustbelt and in the Midwest.”

Fear of Policy Possibilities

In his speech, Rev. Barber showed a number of charts, demonstrating which states have the highest voter suppression, least healthcare expansion, lowest living wages, and highest child poverty. They overlap with the states that have the highest levels of Evangelical Protestants. Voter suppression puts people in office who promote harmful policies.

“The states that claim to have the most evangelical folk, are the same states that have the most voter suppression, the most denial of healthcare, the most denial of living wages, and the highest rates of child poverty. That is a moral sickness. That means that there’s a false brand of morality that has been playing havoc with the spirit and souls of people in America, but there’s a tide rising. See, the fear is, that if there wasn’t voter suppression and people voted, then persons that support denying healthcare and paying insurance companies, and people that support keeping living wages low, wouldn’t be in office to do those things. And that is why, my white friends, my gay friends, my labor friends, my healthcare friends, if you believe in healthcare, if you believe in living wages, if you believe in addressing poverty, you better make sure you understand: Voter suppression is not about black folk. It hits black folk, but it undermines all people and hurts every one of us.”

Fear of Other People’s Humanity

Above all, there are fears of recognizing other people’s humanity. There are fears of accepting and valuing that humanity, along with the gifts, needs, and sacred contributions that humanity presents.  Rev. Barber says,

“Underneath all of this though is a deep theological issue. . . We’ve got to bring a moral critque to the public square. Because the greatest fear, I believe, behind voter suppression is the fear of other people’s humanity. . . Systemic racism is actually an irreverant theological concept. Racism is an unholy religion. It’s not just a sociological sickness. It’s not just a political malady. It is, in fact, a disease of the spirit. Racism is idology – self worship. . . When you see voter suppression in the 21st century, understand that we are still wrestling with what we call false ontology or heretical ontology – that is, that God intended for some folk to be different, and God has made some people who were born for mistreatment. They were born for discrimination. . . And it’s time for U.S. citizens and people of faith to admit that we still have operating in our politics this irreverent religiosity that may not always be articulated in the voice, but it comes out in the policy. . . Whether they ever say it or not, there are some people who believe that there are those for whom you do not have to honor their full humanity. Which means voter suppression is sin.”

This post is a part of a series on voting rights and voter suppression. If you’d like to read more, feel free to check out these other posts:
1469 Days.
Voter Suppression: Hearing From People Directly Affected

Today, many people across the U.S. will celebrate Independence Day with parades, parties, cookouts, and fireworks. Yet in the legacy of Frederick Douglas – abolitionist, escaped slave, and orator – it is crucial to remember that many in our nation do not experience with the full expressions of freedom we are quick to celebrate. In 1852, he gave a speech entitled, “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?” I commend this to our reading today.

Today, may we remember and advocate for people who do not live with an abiding sense of freedom — indigenous people who have encountered genocide and lost land; black and brown people enduring mass incarceration and labor inside of for-profit prison systems, immigrants who are currently living in the shadows; and people who fear violence and loss of life from the state.

Along with these, we also remember people who do not have full access to the voting booth. All week long, I am engaging an exploration of voting rights and voter suppression. We know that our nation has a long history of blocking people from the right to vote. In the last three years, we have seen renewed efforts that have led to massive amounts of voter suppression, particularly targeted against people of color and people in poor communities.

Today, let’s hear from people who have been directly affected by this history and by these recent efforts to suppress votes. Each link below is a video to a personal testimony:

Rosa Nell Eaton: 92 Year Old Moral Monday Arrestee Fired Up

LaToya Caldwell: Why Being Poor Can Make It Hard to Get a State Issued ID

Scott Douglas: Birmingham Revival Testimony on Voting Rights

Ricky Brown: Ex-Offenders Should have the Right to Vote

Mike Hiser: 180,000 People in Kentucky Are Not Allowed to Vote

See also, the other posts from this series:
1469 Days.

1469 days.

That’s how many days have passed since the Supreme Court issued a decision in Shelby County vs. Holder, a case that effectively gutted the protections from the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

Last night, I heard the Rev. William Barber speak about this over a live-stream from a gathering in Raleigh, North Carolina. I highly commend his speech to you (it starts at the 58 minute mark). I want to share some of the information in that speech over the next couple days and talk about voting rights throughout the week.

On June 25, 2013, in a 5-4 ruling, the Supreme Court declared Section 4 of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 to be unconstitutional. Section 4 lays out the formulas for how the Department of Justice enforces Section 5 of the law.

Section 5 requires certain counties from certain states to gain approval from the federal government before making any changes to electoral law. Section 4 spelled out which states and counties – Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, South Carolina, Texas, and Virginia in their entirety; and parts of California, Florida, Michigan, New York, North Carolina, and South Dakota. These counties and states have a history with voter discrimination, including those that had previously passed Jim Crow laws that barred or severely limited African Americans from voting.

Much is at stake in this Supreme Court decision, and we’re still seeing new implications.

But let’s start with this particular recognition spelled out by Rev. Barber last night:

Since the Shelby County vs. Holder decision, 22 states have passed laws that have increased voter suppression. Taken together, these states make up 250 Electoral College votes. This means if a Presidential candidate can win all of these states via suppression, that candidate only needs to win 20 more Electoral Votes to have a straight shot to the White House.

When it comes to new voter suppression laws, these laws require photo IDs and the proof of citizenship, etc. Often, these laws are passed under the rhetoric of preventing voter fraud.

While these requirements may seem reasonable as generalities, in practice, they often involve details that result in the suppression voting rights. First of all, it can be a burden of expense for some of the poorest residents to obtain these forms of authentication. People also need to take off work to get them, resulting in lost income.

But also, there the details of the particulars. What happens, for instance, if you are a naturalized immigrant that was born in a country that uses surnames differently than the United States, and your names don’t match precisely to the letter on all your forms of identification? You could certainly lose your opportunity to vote. And since these new laws are passed under suspicion of voter fraud, you may face questions about your valid  citizenship.

What happens if you are an African American citizen who was born in a segregated hospital that took no care to issue adequate birth certificates? You could permanently lose your right to vote because you have no capability of obtaining a government issued ID.

For the last 1469 days, these laws have been quite effective in suppressing votes.

As Rev. Barber says, Russia may have influenced the 2016 Election, but it was not the first hack. The first hack was voter suppression.

And if we want to promote and protect democracy, we will have to get involved in the efforts to protect and expand voting rights. Are you in?

– Renee Roederer

Earlier this week, I had the most incredible walk in my neighborhood. 

I have hardly ever seen so many different, beautiful scenes in the sky in one night. If I looked in one direction, I saw a deep, glowing, gorgeous orange. Around a corner, I discovered swirling pinks and purples. Sunsets can truly transform the sky.

We also had a light rain. So my favorite moment happened when I turned a different corner. I suddenly saw a full rainbow. I wasn’t expecting it at all, and it was breathtaking.

I stood there and enjoyed it. Rather ephemeral, it only lasted about two minutes before fading away. Suddenly, the sky looked typical, as if it hadn’t even happened.

But I knew it did. And I smiled with gratitude to have seen it.

For the rest of the rainy walk, I found myself reflecting upon that. There are probably so many moments each day where things line up in remarkably beautiful and surprising ways – not only in nature itself but also among human beings. Those moments rarely make the news, but people know about them. Perhaps they smile with gratitude to have experienced them.

Sometimes, solidarity is about being in the right place at the right time and choosing to add deep connection to the moment.

Let’s look for opportunities to discover it.

– Renee Roederer

In these days we’re living, do you ever feel overwhelmed by the news cycle?

Yes, me too.

Because behind the new cycle, there are real, human stories of suffering. And so often, we feel helpless to prevent that suffering and powerless to change it.

It’s incredibly understandable to fall into those feelings. In such times, we need the solidarity of one another – that is,

. . . the sense that we are in each other’s view, that we encounter each other’s pain with empathy,

. . . the sense that we have each other’s commitment, that we are in each other’s corner for the long haul,

. . . the sense that we have each other’s action, that we covenant to act on behalf of one another, especially and most readily for the vulnerable.

Christian scripture encourages us to bear each other’s burdens. Lately, within that calling, I find myself encouraging people to shift each other’s burdens. 

We can easily become incapacitated once we realize we cannot instantly fix the systems that are causing burdens. But our empathy, and most importantly, our committed action can change these systems and these burdens. Do not underestimate what these can do.

When we see pain for what it is, we add our validation, and it shifts burdens.

When we add our resources of money, time, or skills, it shifts burdens.

When we use our voices to name wrongs for what they are, it shifts burdens.

When we use our minds to create solutions, it shifts burdens.

When we put our bodies in places that disrupt harm, it shifts burdens.

When we honor the humanity of people who are being dehumanized, it shifts burdens.

When we take direct action and demand justice for the oppressed and vulnerable, it shifts burdens.

If we want to change the large-scale systems that cause harm, we have to disrupt and dismantle them. But alongside that commitment, we have to live and model our lives with a different rhythm – with different commitments and ways of relating to one another.

We practice solidarity.

And within that way of living, we share and lighten the loads that people are carrying. We assign energy and responsibility to where they really belong.

We shift each other’s burdens.

– Renee Roederer

Very often, we like to believe that we are neutral observers – that we make natural conclusions based on the ways we pay attention to reality. But actually, the opposite is nearly always true. The concepts and frameworks we hold in our minds shape the ways that we construct and understand reality. For this reason, it’s important for us to examine and question the concepts we carry, especially when it comes to our fellow human beings.

Yesterday, the Supreme Court of the United States announced that it will hear a case concerning the Travel Ban Executive Order in October. In the process, the court lifted an injunction and is allowing the ban to be enforced partially now. Unless they have a “bona fide relationship with any person or entity in the United States,” people from Iran, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen – six majority Muslim countries – will not be permitted to travel to the U.S. While Donald Trump has raised security concerns about terrorism from these nations, it is important to note that no act of terror in the U.S. has never been committed by someone from these nations.

Yet we allow the fear and the labeling, and inevitably, the stigma against Muslims to continue, both abroad and inside our own nation. Muslims face increased discrimination, and some are the victims of violent hate crimes perpetrated against them.

Did you know that when acts of terror in the U.S. are committed by Muslims, they receive 4.5 times more media coverage than when they are committed by non-Muslims? A recent study demonstrated this.

Did you know that white supremacist organizations are recruiting online faster than ISIS?

Did you know that the vast majority of victims of global terror are themselves Muslims?

Our Muslim siblings are thoroughly stereotyped, then made vulnerable in every way – physically, emotionally, mentally, socially, and spiritually – to the hatred that fuels violence against those stereotypes. 

We have to change these dangerous narratives. Imaging and messaging affect us; they have taken hold in our implicit bias. And among many, they are fueling conscious hatred.

Our Muslim siblings need and deserve our solidarity, both in support and in action.

– Renee Roederer 

I sat with a group of people in silence yesterday, and it felt important.

Other than my own thoughts, I don’t know any of the particulars that arose in our minds collectively, but the silence felt powerful and energized toward commitment. It felt invigorated toward solidarity.  This silence took place at Northside Presbyterian Church. I had just finished speaking about a narrative that we read together. It’s only five verses long, but it’s a powerful story.

A leper came to him begging him, and kneeling he said to him, ‘If you choose, you can make me clean.’ Moved with pity, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, ‘I do choose. Be made clean!’ Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was made clean. After sternly warning him he sent him away at once, saying to him, ‘See that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them.’ But he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the word, so that Jesus could no longer go into a town openly, but stayed out in the country; and people came to him from every quarter.

It’s hard to wrap our minds around the level of stigma and shame that people with leprosy carried in the 1st century. A leper was someone who had a variety of skin diseases that were considered to be unclean under the Levitical law. According to the law, people with leprous diseases were supposed to wear torn clothes, keep their hair disheveled, cover their upper lips and cry out everywhere, “Unclean! Unclean!” They had to announce their own condition everywhere. They were seen and known only through this label. Lepers were supposed to live alone, and they were supposed to stay outside the camp or city.

Yet amidst the shame, this person, this labeled one, had the audacity to approach Jesus. Likely terrified, he came close, aware that his presence could also render Jesus ritually unclean under the law. Yet he made his request, not with a question but with a conviction. “If you choose, you can  make me clean.”

Jesus answers him with powerful words. They’re powerful when we read them on the page but even more so when we hear them aloud.

I do choose.

“I do choose. Be made clean.” And more than voicing mere words, Jesus did something that was itself audacious. He touched this man. He touched this one labeled untouchable. And beyond even that, he exchanged places with this man. The healed man is empowered to go into the community freely, but after sharing his story, Jesus can no longer enter a town openly. Instead, he stays out in the country, and people come to him from every quarter. [1]

Such a convicting story about risk, choice, commitment, and solidarity.

Yesterday, we sat in silence and asked ourselves, what kinds of healing could happen if we made ourselves more deeply present to those who carry stigma and shame in our own culture? What could happen if we humbled ourselves to learn with empathy, and if we made choices to demonstrate deep care with solidarity? What kinds of healing could be possible?

Let’s think about solidarity this week, as we honor. . .

. . . People who are immigrants, refugees, undocumented workers,
. . . People who are transgender, bisexual, lesbian, gay, and queer,
. . . People who are attacked with violence for their black and brown skin,
. . . People who are Muslim and painfully stereotyped,
. . . People who don’t know where their next meal is coming from,
. . . People who have been harmed by religion,
. . . People who have terminal illnesses,
. . . People who have mental illnesses,
. . . People who have disabilities that are culturally stigmatized,
. . . People who live by themselves and are desperately lonely,
. . . People who are imprisoned in cages,
. . . People, even little children, who know neglect and abuse,
. . . People, even young adults, who have grown up in the foster care system,
. . . And many others. . .

– Renee Roederer

[1] I thank the Rev. Dr. John Alsup for this observation. Years ago, he taught this passage to my seminary Greek class, and his words about this passage, particularly about this exchange, have always stayed with me.

 

 

 

If it’s possible to say that something is not surprising yet utterly shocking at the same time, I would like to share a particular statistic as a prime example.

In 2014, the Public Religion Rsearch Institute conducted a survey entitled, “2014 Pre-Election American Values Survey: Economic Insecurity, Rising Inequality, and Doubts about the Future.” In that study, 45% of Americans agreed with the following statement:

“Today discrimination against whites has become as big a problem as discrimination against blacks and other minorities.”

45 percent.

But that’s not all. When the same statement was read to Tea Party members, 73% agreed.

73 percent.

Is there any wonder why we are experiencing a whitelash of white racial resentment in this nation right now? In hate crimes, in violent policies, in for-profit prisons, in the stalking of immigrants from ICE, in deportations and forced family separations, and in extrajudicial killings by police officers? It’s horrific.

Agreement with this statement is absolutely absurd and worse, thoroughly dangerous. Agreement stands outside of historical knowledge of discrimination and violence that minoritized communities of color have experienced in the United States and are experiencing right now in our collective present. Agreement stands outside of awareness, or at the very least, outside of confession, that white supremacy is both internalized in our beliefs and externalized in our national structures and institutions.

I do not doubt that some white Americans are struggling in a variety of ways, and I have empathy for those struggles, particularly as stagnating economy is leaving many people in financial, social, and physical isolation. This is a serious concern.

But to voice agreement with this statement. . . ? In the wake of recent years, as black activists and activists of color have continued to organize movements against their own discrimination, this belief from white Americans sounds like a serious escalation of white fragility. Activists have further exposed white privilege and the systems that support them, and they have brought this discourse into national conversation. When these realities and systems have come into question, some white Americans have determined themselves to believe that these acts of truth-telling now signal discrimination against whites. That is simply untrue.

That internalization — a belief that discrimination against whites is now as big a problem as discrimination against blacks — does not stay internalized. This internalization expresses itself externally in acts of physical, emotional, mental, spiritual, political, and economic violence. White racial resentment is growing (or at the very least, is voiced more openly) while the demographic numbers of white Americans are shrinking. As these population numbers grow smaller over future decades, will violence escalate even further as well?

Much is at stake here. We have to change these narratives.

– Renee Roederer

[Public Domain Image]

Right now, after a large scale raid in Detroit, 114 people are awaiting deportation to Iraq.

Because many of them are Chaldean Christians, they have had some advocacy from Christian organizations. These organizations are joining the families in concern that their loved ones might be targeted for violence by ISIS because of their faith.

Alongside this concern, apart from any sort of religious affiliation, this is a human trauma. The mass deportations we are watching in the U.S. (or ceasing watching) and the separations many are supporting (or simply ignoring) are a devastating human trauma for those who are detained and for their families.

Among the Iraqis awaiting deportation is a 46 year old man who grew up in the United States. He has few if any memories of living in Iraq. Deeply concerning, he doesn’t even speak Arabic. How is he supposed to suddenly make a life in Iraq, separated from his family and placed in a nation that is remarkably uncommon to him?

A 41 year old Chaldean woman has lived in the United States since she was 5 years old. She is a mother of three children who are U.S. citizens. In 2003, she was charged with fraud, though the charges were dropped after probation. Is anyone safer because she is forceably removed from her home in Warren, Michigan? Of course not. Her children are robbed of their mother and will lose familial connection, emotional safety, and physical and financial support. The members of this family are now less safe. It is devastating.

And what narrative do we tell ourselves to support these large scale, human traumas?

“They are criminals,” some say and then shrug, as if this is exactly what is deserved, or as if this outcome makes sense, or as if our hands are tied and there is literally nothing else that can be done. (P.S. There is. We can change our policies, procedures, and laws).

“They are criminals,” is the line — the justification — that functions like the Get Out Of Feeling Empathy Free Card. It lets us ‘off the hook’ when we send people straight into violence, often into nations the U.S. has destabilized (that’s why some people sought to leave; they escaped violence we helped create) and always away from crucial relationships, including in many cases, family members who are U.S. citizens.

It is the line we tell ourselves so we don’t have think about any particulars — like the fact that some of these crimes happened decades ago, or that they were nonviolent crimes, or that some were drug possession charges due to addictions (the opioid crisis gets empathy, but not these addictions) or that the criminal justice system is capable of targeting immigrants with criminal charges because they are immigrants.

We don’t want to weigh particulars. We just want to believe that immigrants facing deportations are criminals. It’s not just that they’ve been charged or convicted of crimes, but criminality is an aspect of who they are. No particulars. No empathy. “They are criminals.” It makes all the more sense if they have black or brown skin because we use the same narrative as a Get Out of Empathy Free Card for our own citizens as well. “They are criminals.” This will put the traumas of deportation and forced separation out of our minds. It will help us sleep at night.

It is true that many of these detained Chaldeans have been charged with crimes at various points in their lives. But most have faced accountability in that process and have put those years and those acts behind them. Can we change our narrative? Might we advocate for different outcomes if we said and thoroughly believed, “They are human beings”?

– Renee Roederer

There is a great deal of pain in our world at the moment, and that pain is particularly acute for those who recognize themselves, their families, and their friends in the news of this week’s violence.

Philando Castile
Charleena Lyles
Nabra Hassanen
Hundreds of Iraqi immigrants in Detroit, facing deportation
The BlackPride4
Red Fawn and the Water Protectors
Residents of Grenfell
Families of the Charleston 9
Shooting victims in San Francisco

In the wake of so many killings, losses, and forms imprisonment, I find myself wondering, who is telling the narrative? Do the survivors and their families have the primary vantage point and platform to share their own pain, or do privileged individuals and systems position themselves to tell those stories? How do privileged people and systems tap into old tropes to curb accountability or deflect the possibility for large-scale changes? What kinds of labels and projections go unquestioned in their narratives?

“She had a mental illness.”
“Muslims are terrorists.”
“He feared for his life.”
“They are illegals.”

Every notice who is telling these narratives? They are rarely the people most vulnerable and susceptible to harm. They are almost always the people with more power — the very people who have a vested interest in staying precisely in that position.

When we see violence, discrimination, and harm taking place, we should listen to the voices most painfully acquainted with those realities.

–Renee Roederer