In the 10 years that transpired between Eisenhower’s Civil Rights Act and the death of Martin Luther King Jr., America took unprecedented strides toward racial equality, carving paths for a mountain of pro-Black legislation and the massive cultural shifts that followed.
White America celebrated, viewing our accomplishment as one might appreciate a newly constructed skyscraper.
I’m tempted to view the Civil Rights Movement as many of my fellow Christians do, with its haunting black-and-white reminders of the evils that were laid to rest long ago. To many in my camp, racism in the US is now a wounded animal at best – still alive, but not the deadly beast of long ago. Thanks to Dr. King and his followers, great violence was done to the overt expressions of Jim Crow; no more lynchings, white/black water fountains, legalized segregation, voting restrictions, etc. We’ve since disavowed the white hoods and their nationalist cousins, now living in what many consider to be a “post-racial” America.
So we find ourselves befuddled when Black activists and protesters air their complaints, sometimes violently. What more could they want, another skyscraper on top of the one we’ve already built? We expressed similar exasperation during America’s post-slavery era, unable to parse the negative sentiments of its newly freed citizens. The institution of chattel slavery had been obliterated at great expense to the union that was nearly obliterated with it. And Blacks had the audacity to expect more.
Each time America takes a leap toward healing, us white Christians compare “what is” to “what was” and conclude: mischief managed. We congratulate ourselves, move on, and leave the racism that drove it all unfettered to change its clothes, blend in a bit better, and begin its next iteration. In this new, post-Civil-Rights era, we’ve transitioned without a hitch into things like mass incarceration, wage disparities, employment bias, education and housing inequity, police brutality – a multitude of further perpetrations that have left our Black brothers and sisters disadvantaged, traumatized, and angry.
As in all of our past transitions, these “new” expressions are different from their overt, in-your-face forebears; far less shocking, and much easier to dismiss. A “whites only” sign confronts us every time we lay eyes on it, but systemic employment gaps, for example, are only visible to their victims and/or those with the guts to take a peek under the rug. We saw this at President Trump’s first State of the Union Address where it was announced that “African-American unemployment stands at the lowest rate ever recorded.” The predominately white audience stood and applauded, while members of the Congressional Black Caucus stared in disbelief, refusing to clap, or stand. As pundits, pastors, and media outlets asked “why?” to us white Evangelicals it was clear: this was merely another example of the Black community’s failure to recognize how good things are.
Black unemployment has always been twice that of white unemployment. It doesn’t matter how educated, motivated, empowered, or unencumbered Blacks in America have become, they’ll always be significantly more unemployable than whites; always first to be fired in an economic downturn, last to be hired when things are going well, etc. But again, if I’m not a victim, or if I don’t care to take a deeper look, this doesn’t exist.
In our failure to see a fuller picture, a different story has burrowed in, one of entitlement, laziness, criminality; things that continue to fuel the racist thread that was woven into our cultural fabric so long ago. We are now the cross section of America most likely to harbor resentment when our Black brothers and sisters air their complaints. When they get angry, we fire back, utterly convinced that they’ve never had it so good.
From my perspective, as someone who’s spent the majority of his adult life in conservative Christian circles, now married to a person of color and willing to give Black voices some authority, there’s a simple, somewhat graphic analogy that illustrates the irony of our posture. Consider a scenario where I come daily and physically assault you. You have no say in the matter, you’re simply required to sit and endure it. One day I announce that you’ll only be assaulted 3 times a week, and can’t figure out for the life of me why you’re not celebrating, or thanking me for the mountain of progress “we” just made. I offer no apology, or reparations, and I’m completely ignorant of the destruction I’ve brought to both our lives.
In this, “you never had it so good” is true, technically speaking, and your situation has dramatically improved, technically speaking. But you’d be right to expect more. I, however, was numbed to the terror of your abuse, and the rationalization of it, now feeling a sense of freedom and accomplishment at the idea of “less,” simply because the abuse doesn’t look like it used to.
As long as I’m comparing today’s accomplishments to yesterday’s horror, expecting racism to show up in its shocking Jim Crow attire, or worse, I’ll be among the few who are celebrating, and take a hall pass when it comes to the painful process of moving beyond what I think racism is supposed to look like. The Black community’s cries for justice, equity, and equality will sound like the entitled rantings of people who just need to be a little more thankful. When their protests turn violent, I’ll see myself as the victim, echoing repeatedly what my white ancestors cried out when America took its first steps in 1868:
“This will not end well for white folk.”
Fortunately, others from my camp are beginning to wake up, best we can, especially at the murder of George Floyd and other signs that things aren’t as good as we previously imagined. We’re realizing that our skyscraper more closely resembles a house of popsicle sticks, shaken by the huff and puff of America’s racial disabilites.
On the eve of what might be America’s next transition, here’s to building something better.
