I believe that the anger that I have towards institutionalized racism is justified. I believe that action is required to change the conditions of marginalized and targeted communities in America, and that nothing changes without action. I have studied with activists like the 100 year old Chinese American Grace Lee Boggs and the Vietnamese Buddhist Monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, I believe that marches and protests are necessary but not enough to bring about change. And because I implore a strategy of Kingian Nonviolence, I believe that our enemies are not individuals but systems of oppression. We have a right, as a people, to express our anger and grief publicly. We also have a responsibility to not continue to perpetuate the same systems of oppression.
When I was a pastor in Oakland I was asked to take a training on a condition called Moral Injury for veterans. Similar to PTSD, moral injury causes psychological and emotional distress, but unlike PTSD, moral injury must include the participation and/or witnessing of actions that transgress one’s conscience or personal morals. In treating and ministering to veterans then, it was seen as imperative to understand whether or not they feel like they participated in an inhumane or unjust act, and to help them see how their current actions may be affected by their belief in diminished values because of these acts. Unfortunately, while we live in a world where it is acknowledged that those who have experienced extreme trauma may have after effects from that trauma that cause them to hurt themselves or others, there is very little acknowledgement of how participation in causing trauma and harm to others might have a similar effect on their actions.
The other day, listening to a podcast interviewing Thich Nhat Hanh and remembering how he has aided Vietnam Veterans, I was reminded both of how disgracefully veterans were treated in our country after they returned, and how wounded our police officers are. It’s like this, it has been shown that the leading cause of death for our police officers is not Black men shooting them or wrecking during high speed chases, it’s suicide. That’s the same leading cause of death for U.S. veterans. We need to talk about this in our communities, on our blogs, and in our protests. The cops are not my enemy, they are tools of my enemy, one tool, in a huge assortment of tools to oppress and suppress. But unlike systemic tools, cops are human beings, and thus they get the full brunt of damage from being used as tools. They witness the most horrific murders and accidents, they are forced to contain and participate in domestic abuse, and they are required to be soldiers in the war on the poor. What’s more, often times if they speak out against injustice, or simply state the obvious, that they need help with their own psychological problems, they are ostracized and crucified by their own departments. And finally, within the general population, cops are demonized and treated as if they caused the very conditions that they are forced to uphold. Because of this, cops are the perpetrators and also the victims of unspeakable acts of violence.
Now I’m not in Oakland anymore, I’m in Lawrence, Kansas, not too far from Wichita. Trust me when I say I am not advocating for a barbecue, as if everything is good between the police and the people. The truth is, no cop has ever tried to make friends with me, so I don’t believe that community policing is something I have very much experience with. I know that part of the reason that I am viewed as a threat to the police is because of racism, but I also know that another reason is because police have experienced actual threats, and that they are trained to perceive everyone as a potential threat. That’s the problem right there. Why are we training our police to perceive others as threats and not as community members?
I remember being in Oakland when Oscar Grant was murdered on a train station, without a weapon, in front of friends and bystanders, by Oakland PD, leaving behind his precious baby girl. I remember hearing the cries to lock up Johannes Mehserle, the cop who shot him, and wondering, will that work? And then the entire city erupted after the non-indictment, and I wondered again, will that work? And now fast forward 7 years and we’re still marching and police are still shooting us. So I have to ask again, is it working? Is the best approach a hard stance towards the police or a compassionate stance or a mixture of both?
What I believe is this, until police officers can sit down and listen to the pain and anger of people of color, of transgender and Queer folk, of immigrants, of sexual assault victims, then no laws will ever change. But until US civilians ask police to start sharing their emotional and psychological wounds, the laws may change, but the police never will. And that’s my word. Peace.
#blacklivesmatter #restorativejustice #ftp #moralinjury #ptsd #thichnhathanh #thay #cherimaples #posttraumaticslavesyndrome #vietnamveterans #charleskinsey #justice4alanblueford #counterrevolutionary #staywoke #restinpower #graceleeboggs
2 comments:
As a Native American child living in far southern Arizona in the 1950s I remember absolutely the first split second when I realized that my safety was at risk. Not just my physical safety but my psychological and spiritual safety. I wrote the day/date/time on a slip of paper and saved it so I would never forget, ever, that this country was out of balance somehow. I still have that paper. My grief for your child shakes me to the core because it seems to encapsulate everything that you wrote about in your post. If she is anything like the you I know from your blog she will be okay. I know that's no way for yet another generation of African Americans to live but she will be all right. The fear never goes away, even when she lives in places that we foolishly believe to be safe. I learned that when we began living what I call our "white "lives after age 10. My father left and without his so obvious Indian-ness we came to feel safe in a way we hadn't felt before. Of course we were no safer than before but It felt like It. It was a very long time before I felt the bite of racism against people like me. I knew I was a pseudo white,an almost white and therefore almost good enough and where we lived I COULD swim in the public pool and drink out of the colored only water fountain and go into any store/restaurant/school I wished to. Different location but same racism. I just wasn't the target anymore. I share this not to put my life up against yours to say mine has been as difficult as yours. There is no way and I can't begin to understand what you know about life and racism, how it is to live it every single solitary day. I just want you to know your child will be okay because she is your child. And because you and millions of us stand for her present and future. I know I'm probably blathering but am having a hard time expressing what I need to say. In a way it's like we both have cancer, but you might die at any time from yours and must live with that as a constant threat for which you must be constantly vigilent, hypervigilant even whereas mine has been cured and my fear of recurrence has mostly subsided. Forgive my rattling on. I hope you can understand my heart through these words. If I misunderstand it isn't from lack of love.
As a Native American child living in far southern Arizona in the 1950s I remember absolutely the first split second when I realized that my safety was at risk. Not just my physical safety but my psychological and spiritual safety. I wrote the day/date/time on a slip of paper and saved it so I would never forget, ever, that this country was out of balance somehow. I still have that paper. My grief for your child shakes me to the core because it seems to encapsulate everything that you wrote about in your post. If she is anything like the you I know from your blog she will be okay. I know that's no way for yet another generation of African Americans to live but she will be all right. The fear never goes away, even when she lives in places that we foolishly believe to be safe. I learned that when we began living what I call our "white "lives after age 10. My father left and without his so obvious Indian-ness we came to feel safe in a way we hadn't felt before. Of course we were no safer than before but It felt like It. It was a very long time before I felt the bite of racism against people like me. I knew I was a pseudo white,an almost white and therefore almost good enough and where we lived I COULD swim in the public pool and drink out of the colored only water fountain and go into any store/restaurant/school I wished to. Different location but same racism. I just wasn't the target anymore. I share this not to put my life up against yours to say mine has been as difficult as yours. There is no way and I can't begin to understand what you know about life and racism, how it is to live it every single solitary day. I just want you to know your child will be okay because she is your child. And because you and millions of us stand for her present and future. I know I'm probably blathering but am having a hard time expressing what I need to say. In a way it's like we both have cancer, but you might die at any time from yours and must live with that as a constant threat for which you must be constantly vigilent, hypervigilant even whereas mine has been cured and my fear of recurrence has mostly subsided. Forgive my rattling on. I hope you can understand my heart through these words. If I misunderstand it isn't from lack of love.
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