Why We Must Call White Supremacy By Its Name

For too long, we've discussed American history in grossly irresponsible terms. We hear about America's "race problem" and the need for better "race relations." What we have been slow to grasp is that these terms are euphemisms for White supremacy. In recent decades historians have become increasingly precise, but there remains much work to do within the profession, and it will be a herculean task to get a more accurate and moral presentation to the public at large. To speak of America's "race problem"--as a recent popular documentary on the history channel did--is a little bit like defining World War Two as a "violence problem." A language of the Second World War without Nazis and concentration camps does not equip us to make sense of our past or present.

Such vagueness applied to World War Two is so obviously inadequate that it is absurd on its face. Yet we have indulged similar levels of absurdity in our perception of the American past, and thus, our present. As I look back over my archives, I know I have indulged this absurdity. We have avoided and found ways to talk around the elemental fact of White supremacy in this country. We continue to do so. When we speak of a "race problem," White supremacy is not necessarily implied. Indeed, because of the peculiar dynamics of racial identity and perception in this country, the culpability can flow in precisely the opposite direction. Because many White Americans have little awareness of their own racial identity, and thus of their own particularity, to speak of race is to automatically call Blackness to mind. African Americans are "raced" in a way that Whites simply are not (I argue this subtly distorts academic histories too). As a result, America's "problem with race" is little more than the colorblind racial order's more polite framing of the prior order's "Negro problem." It diverts attention from the core problem and places it on the population that has borne the brunt of that problem. I don't see how we can talk around White supremacy without falling into an ugly tradition of scapegoating and distortion.

To talk through White supremacy, to name it, to watch it grow and change, to study its defenders and opponents, is to value understanding more than fables. It is not about assigning blame. If you're simply an empiricist, it is about being accurate and precise. If you're a Christian, as I am, it is an integral part of following Jesus. How can I die to myself without calling into question the greatest idol this country has ever produced? If I cannot surrender my investment in Whiteness, I am like the rich young ruler who left in despair when he heard the demands Jesus placed on him.

Our ability to discuss White supremacy cuts to the very heart of whether we are willing to know ourselves and our heritage. Yet the contemporary racial order of colorblindness has clouded our minds and made honest conversations in many circles extremely difficult. Colorblindness posits that a vast distance separates our racial past from our racial present. It takes in the centuries-long White supremacist project and seems to see only a sustained run of coincidences. This myopia is sustained, in part, by vague language that elides how power and oppression have operated in American history. We must think more about how our everyday language can unintentionally support colorblindness rather than challenging it.

My intent here is not to document the reality of White supremacy. That is an important discussion, but skeptics have to genuinely want to learn before that conversation can be useful. Rather, I simply want to emphasize that our racial language shapes our racial reality, and we need to be more attentive to it. Moreover, if more of us named White supremacy as a matter of course, perhaps fewer of us would be mired in myth and ignorance. Consistently naming White supremacy instead of talking in general terms about racial problems will be an important part of overthrowing our sinful contemporary racial order.

Police States and Terrorism in American History

The New York Times has a great article today on efforts to chronicle and memorialize the thousands of lynchings that occurred in the South in the 19th and 20th centuries. I only wish the project, and the accompanying map, was nationwide. Oklahoma isn't even included, where hundreds of African Americans were murdered in Tulsa in 1921 when the White section of the city invaded Greenwood and destroyed it. So this compilation is incomplete, but still drives home the scale of the terrorism in a way that many Americans are probably not familiar with.

It is only relatively recently that historians have begun to try to describe these and similar events with the kind of straightforward language that we would apply to them anywhere else in the world. As historians, it is our job to try to historicize just about everything, including nations. So we need not be bound by patriotic untruths. But I don't think this more straightforward accounting of the American past has filtered down to popular understanding. In contemporary reporting from around the world, we are accustomed to hearing phrases like "police state" and "state-sponsored terrorism" and "lawless regions." In fact, such terms usefully describe many times and places in American history.

In part because of the interests of patriotism and nationalism, we tend to have a softened vocabulary about these events that obscures what actually occurred. White Christian terrorists, for example, have killed far more Americans on American soil than Muslim terrorists have. This is viscerally upsetting for many Americans to hear, and understandably so, but that's no reason to lie about it.

The Tulsa massacre mentioned above is a good example. Whites launched an invasion of a whole town, destroying it and rendering thousands homeless, killing probably hundreds. The numbers are hard to pin down, precisely because there were no repercussions for their actions. No one was interested in investigating. No accounting was made. The federal government stood down. The president ignored it. In contemporary terms, if this took place in another country, the news would describe a massacre that occurred in "a lawless tribal region where the authority of the central government is tenuous." But because we have these blatant fictions about how the United States was a place where rule of law really did exist across the color line, we resort to half-truths and obfuscations.

It will be fascinating to see the resistance that emerges as the Equal Justice Initiative seeks to place historical markers in a lot of southern towns that have no physical memory of these events. People who think it's fine to remember the Alamo, Gettysburg, the Holocaust, suddenly opt for amnesia when Black people dare to remember their past. And in that way, the struggles over historical memory become another front in the ongoing battle against White supremacy.

Thoughts for Sunday: Why Protest?

In an age of inequality and silent oppression, protest is necessary. But it is easy to think that protest is something for other people to do. You know, the young and adventurous types with nothing to lose. It is true that protest isn't for everybody. But it can be for anybody. You don't have to be a certain kind of person to protest.

Are you introverted? Me too. Are you conflict-avoidant? Me too. Are you temperamentally conservative? Me too. Are you a natural rule follower? Me too. Are you traditional in your morals? Me too. Are you made uncomfortable by any yelling or displays of anger? Me too. Are you a White Christian? Me too.

But we can still protest. This is all the more true when we realize that "protest" for you might not mean being out on the streets. Your "protest" might be at your dining room table. It might be at your church. It might be in conversation with colleagues at work.

The first thing we need to remember is that the act of protest is not about us. It's not about drawing attention to ourselves or becoming leaders. It's about supporting and centering Black voices. So it is ironic that I'm a White Christian writing to other White Christians, apparently doing the very thing I claim we shouldn't do. But some of us need to wrestle through our own identity before we can protest effectively. And we need to recognize that it's not so much that Black people need us to protest; it's that other Whites need us to protest. The fact is, some Whites will give us a hearing that they would not give to a Black person. Those people need to see White people protesting. Now, we can't let them stay comfortable in their double-standard. The racism embedded in assumptions about who has credibility and who is worth listening to must be challenged. But maybe we can be a wedge opening up new ideas for people who are on the road to being able to listen to Black voices.

So why do we protest?

We protest because racism is evil in the sight of God.

We protest because millions of people tell us they experience racism and discrimination, and disbelieving them is arrogant.

We protest because God has entrusted to us the ministry of reconciliation and the mistreatment our brothers and sisters face prevents reconciliation.

We protest because the image of God in every human being is equally sacred and glorious.

We protest because our country was founded on a denial of this theological truth, and still does not practice it today.

We protest because we do not bow down to the idol of nationalism and thus do not fear implicating our country in humanity's sin.

We protest because silence implies acceptance of evil.

We protest because of the overwhelming weight of historical and sociological evidence demonstrating that the sinful invention of Whiteness is privileged in American society.

We protest because God is unequivocally revealed in scripture as being on the side of oppressed. We protest to expose the theological error of the evangelical church, which falsely claims middle-class values for our Lord.

We protest because we are commanded to pray, "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." The violence imposed on Black lives is not God's will.

We protest because Jesus announced the coming of his kingdom as good news to the poor and the imprisoned.

We protest because we are not ashamed of the Gospel. It is the power of God for salvation to all who believe. A Gospel that can save depraved human beings for all eternity but can't address racial discrimination and police brutality in a particular historical moment just doesn't ring true. It's not even biblical.

We protest as an act of solidarity with our Black brothers and sisters who are in pain. We protest because we can't claim to be ministers of the Gospel but then refuse to join others in their suffering.

We protest because the love of Christ compels us. Not because we want to. Not because it makes us feel comfortable. Not because we want attention. 

Remember, protest is not about us. Listen to the voices of others. Draw attention to them, and be willing to learn from people who are not like you. Here are just a few people I follow on twitter:

Deray Mckesson
Thabiti Anyabwile
Austin Channing
Drew Hart
Christena Cleveland
Shaun King

"Black Lives Matter" --Jesus

We are in the dreary doldrums of winter, the continuing protests are small and mostly beneath the media's radar, and the collective weariness of the American public is palpable. It is time to move on, isn't it? Haven't we made our point? And haven't the majority of Americans just as strongly pushed back, making clear they are not interested? Haven't we had our moment of catharsis? Isn't it time for regularly scheduled programming to resume?

Of course not.

Nothing of any substance has changed yet. We are still living in a country where Black life is devalued every day. Many Americans claim not to see it, but they see it clearly enough to know which neighborhoods to avoid. Funny how that works.

I grow weary of the debates about why things are the way they are. People will continue to debate the role of culture, discrimination, government programs, globalization and more. Most White Americans are likely to continue to place an overwhelming emphasis on culture. As a historian, I think that is terribly mistaken, and much of what passes for reasonable points in these discussions is often racist or irrelevant. But the debate is important, and it's one that I'm sure I will continue to engage in at the appropriate time.

But I grow tired of it, and here's why:

The Christian's responsibility is much the same regardless of what side you take in that debate. If we want to join our life to God's Kingdom work, we don't stand on the sidelines debating the causes of marginalized peoples' suffering. We go join them. Any attempt to grapple with the problems of the poor and the oppressed apart from our own personal engagement with them at the level of our spiritual poverty--recognizing the upside-down way God has ordered the world--is bound to be paternalistic at best, downright destructive at worst. God has chosen those who are poor to be rich in faith (James 2). I and most of my readers are winners in one of the most materialistic and prosperous societies in global history. As such, our impoverishment in the things that matter is profound.

Even more upsetting to the tiring debate about Black disadvantage is the fact that we serve a God who takes sides. Over and over again in scripture we see God identifying with the poor, the oppressed, the needy, the marginalized. It's not hard to figure out who these people are in our society. It's African Americans. It's Native Americans. It's illegal immigrants. It's poor Whites left behind in nowhereville Kentucky, with no jobs and no hope. These groups are not "those people" from whom we keep our distance. These groups are where God's attention is drawn in this society. They live in the places Jesus would be born if he came today instead of 2,000 years ago. They are loved by God. Not only that, they are identified with by God in an astonishing way. Their powerlessness is embodied in the powerlessness of Christ as a baby and their suffering is given its ultimate advocate in the figure of Christ on a cross.

Who do we identify with? The respectable. The educated. Business owners. Law enforcement. Celebrities. Religious leaders. People who look like us. People of our social class. And then, with this pattern firmly set in place, we claim to follow Jesus. Can't we see the contradiction? Amid our recent racial controversies, I've seen Christians firmly identify with White police officers while failing to muster even an expression of sympathy for the families of Black victims.

A consistent pattern of identification with our group at the expense of a marginalized group is evidence of a spiritual sickness. It is dangerous. God does not overlook it.

The poor are shunned even by their neighbors,
but the rich have many friends.
Proverbs 14:20

Whoever shuts their ears to the cry of the poor 
will also cry out and not be answered.
Proverbs 21:13

Adonai brings vindication and justice
to all who are oppressed. 
Psalm 103:6

We Have the Nation's Attention

This, out from Gallup today, is fascinating:

I wrote earlier this month that this is the best moment for "race relations" (a horrible term) in decades. The American public might not describe this moment in such cheerful terms, but it appears that many agree that it is at least consequential.

The brief spike you see in the early 1990s is the Rodney King verdict and subsequent violence in Los Angeles. Other than that brief moment, more Americans currently say "racism/race relations" is the biggest issue facing the country than at any time since the 1960s.

What do these numbers mean? Three quick things:

1) Racial injustice is invisible to Americans unless highly publicized--usually violent--spectacles bring it to light. Schools did not suddenly become more segregated in December, 2014. The justice system did not turn on a dime and start brutalizing Black people. Poverty did not take an unexpected racial turn this December. These are longstanding issues that impoverish and kill and cause misery and heartache. They are invisible under normal circumstances.

2) The movement is accomplishing something meaningful. Don't get me wrong. We need much more tangible accomplishments. But this poll represents a dramatic shift in public consciousness that we've only seen once before since the death of Martin Luther King. This is not sufficient in itself, but it may be a necessary precondition for the more tangible changes that need to occur.

3) This will surely be, like the 1992 eruption you see in the graph, just a brief spike before a return to the normal baseline, unless we continue to organize, protest, disrupt, and bring our concerns before the nation in a way that it cannot ignore. Our activity does not need to stay in the same form. Less important than any specific means of protest is our ability to craft an overall posture of protest such that we are increasingly organized, increasingly specific, increasingly assertive. We must develop a large, sustainable movement capable of escalating over time. The media will come and go, as will the nation's attention. We know this. We must be organized in such numbers that we can bring justice back onto the national agenda repeatedly and reclaim the nation's attention until substantive change is achieved.

Going to a protest this week is nice, but making plans to be on board for the tough years ahead is more important.