a living faith
I have felt a gulf widening between myself and the Unitarian Universalist faith over the last year. I had expected activism to change me in profound ways; I just didn’t expect part of what drew me to this faith to eventually push me away. More and more often I ask myself, “What am I doing here? What am I representing? What represents me?”
We are a faith that is very proud of our commitment to social justice. We collect donations for charitable organizations and donate the proceeds of our collection plate once a month. We participate in legislative campaigns. We buy free trade goods in our sanctuaries or from artisans we invite into our space. We attend social action luncheons and serve in soup kitchens. We show up to march in parades in decent numbers, slightly less for vigils and protests, unless there is an opportunity for us to sing or some form of “alter call” from congregational leadership. But I rarely see UU’s when our partner groups request volunteers or hold fundraisers. We’ll invite people into our space, meet them in neutral spaces, but rarely will we meet them in theirs.
I recognize that there are exceptions… but the fact that these two communities have such a small percentage of overlap is one of my biggest frustrations. I wonder if listing an organization as a partner on our website and showing up at the occasional demonstration or community event in our matching t-shirts is all we’re capable of. Displays of solidarity, participating in visible resistance efforts is a big, and important, part of justice work. But investing enough of ourselves to build the personal relationships necessary for an allied partnership seems to be beyond us more often than not. There is a reluctance to put ourselves in spaces where we would be the minority in the room, and resistant to sacrificing any of our time or investing our emotional energy. We’re all so proud of the justice work being done, but so few of us want to do it.
I’ve spoken with other allied activists & organizers and many have experienced the same frustrations. I was talking with friend and UU seminarian and commented that I was committed to my congregation thru the end of this RE year. After that, I don’t know. Unless there is a substantial shift in culture, I just don’t know. Which was followed by a discussion of whether I thought this culture was unique to my congregation or the entire faith, and how change is slow but we’re making progress. She’s not the first person to give me some version of the “arc of the moral universe” talk. As much as I love the quote, as much comfort as I find in it when applied to the folks across the aisle, hearing it applied to my faith both frustrates and outrages me.
Rage and fury and impotence aren’t really the emotions I was searching and yearning for when I went looking for a religious home. And as much as I love many, many members of my church family, as inspiring as I find my minister in and out of the pulpit, there are just far too many times that I feel like I’m in an abusive relationship. “We’re making progress.” “Change is slow.” “They’re trying… they mean well.” It sounds just like that girl, we all know her (hell, I was her), “He really loves me. He didn’t mean it. He’ll change.”
And maybe if my family looked different, if my closest friends and the vast majority of my support system looked different… if my neighborhood looked different, I might be a little more inclined to be patient. But my daughter told me last night that a classmate said to her, “You’re a black girl. Why don’t you just smack so and so?”… and it’s not the first time that kind of comment has been made. Women I love have reached out after having being hurt by someone’s unintended slur or stereotype, their colorblind ignorance… hands and voices trembling with hurt and anger. They speak of fear that speaking out will be interpreted as or strengthen certain stereotypes… or that they are most angry with themselves for having let down the wall they usually maintain with white people and being hurt because they hadn’t been on guard, hadn’t seen it coming. I have friends who have been harassed by police because of their skin color and/or accents, who get the full force of the law for minor traffic violations while we get passes for more serious infractions.
If this wasn’t my world, maybe I’d be less cynical and more magnanimous. I don’t want to be the only radical in my congregation (and that I’m considered a radical by fellow UU’s still perplexes me). But maybe I’d be willing to stick it out and be part of the catalyst for change my friends talk about. Maybe the stagnant pace of progress wouldn’t feel corrosive to my soul.
But this is my world, so forgive me, but I don’t care about your (our) good intentions anymore. I care about the impact of our individual and collective inability to live our faith and principles in meaningful and intentional allied relationships and how that effects people struggling for human dignity. I care about the people we hurt, directly or indirectly, with our good intentions.
This wasn’t easy to write. and I know that it may hurt or offend fellow UU’s, particularly those I have a personal relationship with. But someone I love and respect asked me specifically to blog about this, and maybe she was right in that this is something that needs to be said, and heard.
Where are you on the Oppression Action Continuum? It’s not enough to educate yourself about an issue. If you are aware of an oppression and haven’t gotten involved, you are enabling that oppression. We can’t all do everything… but if we all did whatever we could instead of nothing at all, how amazing could we be? There is no small part of a justice movement; we all have our unique gifts, skills, and talents to offer even when our time or financial resources are limited.
I have found more personal fulfillment, been more deeply inspired, experienced more joy, felt more love, and seen more of God in the year I’ve been working with the activist community than I have in any church I’ve attended in all my thirty seven years.
If you haven’t invested of your self, what are you waiting for?
Oppression Action Continuum from Heeding the Call Justice Makers Curriculum
Related articles
- Memorandum: Justice General Assembly 2012 (draft) (curlykidz.wordpress.com)
- Open Letter to the GA Planning Committee (curlykidz.wordpress.com)
- Justice GA, #UU Accountability, and the #uualtoaz hash tag (curlykidz.wordpress.com)
- Friends and Allies (curlykidz.wordpress.com)
Sunday Meditation: Freedom Waits
Spirit of Life, God of Love, the image of the freedom train speaks to me today. I have waited so long for a train to arrive and carry me to the promised land of peace and justice. Now, on the platform of indifference and self doubt, I see that the train is here and waiting for me to step on board. Yet someone, a shadow of who I can be, is holding me back saying, Who are you to ride with those who risked so much for freedom? Who are you to proclaim the sacred message of the inherent worth and dignity of every person? Now the conductor is calling me to get on board and I must decide what to do. Will I step up and over my own fears and prejudices? Will I dare to ride with the outcast immigrant, the unwashed homeless, the mentally and physically challenged, the hated Jew, Muslim, Christian, Hindu, and Buddhist? Will I speak with compassion and love to all those who disagree with me, who abuse me, who threaten me? Will I risk my comfort to comfort others? Spirit of my great longing, awaken in me the courage to get on board.
Shick, Stephen (2009). Be the Change: Poems, Prayers and Meditations for Peacemakers and Justice Seekers (Kindle Locations 406-413). Skinner House Books. Kindle Edition.
Where is the justice?
To borrow from my fellow blogger Barb.…
So the thing is…. there’s a lot that I haven’t had time to blog about for the last six plus months, but if we’re Facebook friends you know I’m taking a six week class called “Spanish for Social Justice Summer Intensive.” I’ll tell you more about that later, but for now…. just know that it’s awesome and you should find one in your community. If you can’t find one, beg and plead and campaign until you can get one started. But more on all that later.
But that’s something we’ll have to talk about later, because I only have a quick minute and something(s) on my mind.
Earlier in the week I received a letter from the Maricopa County prosecutor’s office, informing me that the man who attempted to steal Tyler’s bike and an empty propane tank is being charged with a class 4 felony. According to the officers at the scene, it was obvious the man was mentally disabled (though lucid enough to know he shouldn’t be stealing).
I asked myself, when am I going to stop thinking like a white girl when it comes to law enforcement? But more on this too, another time.
Last night I attended a Spanish-English Language Exchange at the Worker’s Rights Center with fellow classmates who are learning Spanish and workers that have either sought services for a workplace violation or joined a leadership course for their personal interest in social justice issues (mainly worker and immigrant rights). WRC has been preparing for a “wage theft” campaign, and this was an opportunity for Spanish learners and English learners to help each other practice speaking and listening skills.
I was familiar with the wage theft issue from a macro level, but not some of the details…. like how Arizona state law only allows wage claims up to $2500 for wages not paid in a year. In the last three years, the helped manage cases consisting of nearly a million dollars in wage theft. They’ve been able to get back less than 20% of el robo de sueldos. Or how wage theft is not even a misdemeanor in Arizona… if I remember correctly, it’s a civil offense. I didn’t know there was a surge in wage theft in our state after the passing of SB1070. Once again, our broken policies have created a perfect storm for exploitation.
So you might be thinking this is a random update on what I’ve been up to lately, and I guess it is. But this is my point….
It’s surreal to me that a mentally disabled man can be charged with a felony for stealing property that probably is valued at less than $100, but there are no consequences worth speaking of when you intentionally steal someone’s wages.
I wonder again, what kind of people we have become.
Tea Parties, Coffee Parties… let’s all just have CAKE
In discussions about immigration and SB1070, people from both sides of the issue are prone to making sweeping statements and accusations about the other. I had a really awesome talk with a “small government” friend this week, and we shared experiences of trying to engage people on the other side of the debate in dialogue about the ISSUE and finding ourselves on the receiving end of personal insults, both disappointed that people don’t want conversation; they are just looking for confrontation.
*heavy sigh* We can all do better than this.
I come from a military family… my mother, father, stepfather, grandfather and great grandfather all served in the military, so I grew up “everywhere.” I’ve lived in at least eight states… both coasts, the south and the midwest. I’ve lived overseas twice, and had the opportunity to visit several other countries as a result. I know, as one of my favorite hymns goes, that other hearts are beating in other lands, all just as beautiful as mine.
- This is my song, oh God of all the nations
- a song of peace for lands afar and mine.
- This is my home, the country where my heart is;
- here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine;
- but other hearts in other lands are beating
- with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine
- a song of peace for their land and for mine.
- My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
- and sunlight beams on clover leaf and pine.
- But other lands have sunlight too and clover,
- and skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
- This is my song, oh God of all the nations;
THIS is why I cannot, will not, comply.
I was talking to my son just a while ago about some events taking place later this week, and as I was explaining civil disobedience & non violent resistance (It’s like you ripping up that test last spring, even after the teacher threatened your grade), we talked a little more about why I feel SB 1070 is an unjust and immoral law.
Anybody who knows me personally would most likely agree that I probably talk to my kids about race, stereotypes and racial profiling more than anybody we know.
According to statistics, they are conversations that many who are in a position to do so, avoid. These are not easy conversations to have, and there are many times where I feel wholly inadequate in teaching my children to navigate through this muck. Sure, there are plenty of rainbow conversations about how we’re all heart and spirit under our skin early on, but there are many more that are painful. Like taking a potatoe peeler or cheese grater to your skin. Because sometimes by the time it’s over, you are ready to flay the skin from your own body and every body else’s just to be done with it. Sometimes because someone said some hateful thing to or in front of your child or they said some hateful thing to someone else… but as time goes on, sometimes you learn they have picked up some stereotype or prejudice of their own.
But still, no matter how difficult or painful, these conversations are some of the most important a parent can have with a child.
When I asked my son what might lead an officer to suspect someone was not in the country legally and he answered, with only a little doubt in his voice… Read more…
Cesar E. Chavez National Holiday
Well, this blog will be incredibly short and sweet… but I was really disappointed that in his ninth year of public education in a state that observes Cesar Chavez Day, my 8th grader could not tell me WHY Cesar Chavez was significant in our region or to the civil rights movement. So if your child is equally clueless (or let’s face it, if you don’t know either), here’s a great link.
As brothers in the fight for equality, I extend the hand of fellowship and good will and wish continuing success to you and your members… You and your valiant fellow workers have demonstrated your commitment to righting grievous wrongs forced upon exploited people. We are together with you in spirit and in determination that our dreams for a better tomorrow will be realized. ~ MLK to Cesar Chavez
Pink, Blue, or racist?
So in case this hasn’t come up… I have ADHD. You may be wondering why I’m bringing this to your attention in a blog that you probably thought had something to do with race. Well, my ADHD doesn’t really have anything to do with race, but it has a whole lot to do with the face that this blog entry from February and is being published in July. Needless to say, I have a tendency to start something, get distracted, and then forget that I didn’t finish it. The number of blogs I have in draft is obscene.
But back to the point… (and I’ll probably expand on the story later but right now I just need to publish so I can link back to it)… on this day in February my son refused to take a social studies quiz, alleging that the quiz was racist and that he was boycotting it. The teacher asked what he was going to do, and he held it up as if to tear it in half. She responded, “It’s your grade.”
And my boy let it rip.
It turns out that this was a segregation activity and the purpose was to see if the students would rebel against the unfair treatment of some of the class, as well as for them to experience how it felt to be treated that way and how difficult it was to stand up for themselves. As they were entering the classroom, some students were given a quiz on pink paper and others received a blue paper. One was a portion of the 1965 Alabama Literacy Test that was given to Blacks during voter registration and the other was a much shorter and easier test that was given to Whites.
Apparently she’s had many students voice objection or refuse to take the quiz once they caught on that all things weren’t equal, but she’s never had a student actually rip up his test before. He was also the first student from that class that voiced an objection.
That’s my boy!
chatter