Privilege, Race, and Excuses
Since entering into discussions about the upcoming Emergent Theological Conversation on “Creating Liberated Spaces in a Postcolonial World,” I’ve been intrigued by some of the responses I’ve encountered. There were the expected ones accusing the entire conversation of being socialist or Marxist or whatever, but then there were the more nuanced ones which in truth were even sadder. I am sure there must be people out there who have decent, well reasoned arguments for why Christians shouldn’t give a rip about postcolonialism, but so far I have yet to encounter them.
What I find more of are the (white) people who automatically get defensive when it is suggested that perhaps there might be something wrong with the colonial past and that it might be beneficial for Christians to listen to the voices of all the members of the body of Christ. Apparently by suggesting that there may have been ills in colonialism we are demonstrating that we are deluded by “white guilt” which invalidates everything we have to say. What a convenient excuse – for avoiding whatever this “white guilt” is has become a valid reason to avoid responsibility. The defensiveness then proceeds in one of two directions.
The first is for the objector to claim that they are color blind – they don’t see race, so how dare I be racist by saying that people of other races or ethnic groups should be listened to. The underlying argument is that if we are all one in Christ, then all voices should matter. So to them to have to stop listening to (all) white voices in favor of hearing the perspective of an African or an Asian (or a woman for that matter) is a promotion of racism against whites. They convince themselves that race shouldn’t matter, so that they can feel comfortable never interacting or learning from anyone who isn’t white. (please see Bruce Reyes-Chow’s recent piece on this whole issue)
The second common defensive response is for someone to give the, “how dare you imply that Christianity needs changing, it is heresy to abandon the established truths of the past!” While there may be a decent argument somewhere in there, what it generally implies is that the person thinks that the church has existed in stasis since the day Jesus floated up into the clouds. Any perspective that is other (different to what they know) must obviously be pagan or an attempt to corrupt timeless truth. Once again a very convenient way to avoid the truth of history or actually assuming responsibility for one’s theology.
But by far the most disturbing response I have encountered so far is the “why bother?” response. It will come as no surprise that registration for this year’s conference – where instead of hearing from some rock star white male theologian we are hearing from an African woman and a First Nations man – is significantly less than usual. Granted, some of this is to blame on the economy, people just don’t have the funds to travel to multiple conferences anymore. But I’ve heard over and over again that this conversation just isn’t important enough to “waste” limited conference funds on (I heard the same thing leading up to Christianity 21 last year with its all-female line-up). Sadly, listening to the voices of those questioning the theology our ancestors thrust on them to manipulate them with and who engage in dialogue regarding how the faith of those who claim that we are blessed to be a blessing can truly bless all the nations of the world just isn’t relevant enough to the American church.
Hearing those responses helped me see the narrow boundaries the American church permits for the conversation of race and reconciliation. It is fine to throw the emerging church under the bus for being for whites only, but when conservations start to occur where the goal is to simply listen to supposedly neglected voices – the passion around that issue disappears. It is fine to say we want diversity, but not to actually work for it. It made me wonder if much of that conversation stemmed from people who want to claim the token minority in their church as “diversity” but who aren’t willing to give up enough privilege to actually listen and learn from people with differing experiences. And I fully admit – I cling to my privilege in a million ways and have been guilty of tokenism more than I would care to admit. But, I have to wonder why people are so afraid to care and make changes where it would really matter.
It reminds me of a Delta Airlines ad I saw recently. It had a picture of a woman sleeping on an airplane with the caption “Sleep Shouldn’t Be a Perk.” The copy went on to explain that since sleep is a basic necessity that on a (very) select number of International flights (to places like Dubai or Sydney) Delta now provides fully horizontal beds – in their Business Elite cabin. So apparently if it is in First Class it is a perk, but if it is in Business class then it is a necessity. Those of us who can barely afford economy class will continue to be treated like crap and packed in like cattle. Privilege can be admitted and the playing field equalized, but only within certain very narrow boundaries.
I wonder if the same is ultimately true of the (white) church. We like to talk about overcoming racism and how much we love Martin Luther King Jr., but it seems like we are willing to accept others only if they are already almost exactly like us. We don’t want to do the dirty work of admitting privilege and how our theology has been used to oppress others. We will make a million excuses why we dislike the very conversation, but in the end I thing we are just afraid. Afraid of what is other, afraid of change, and afraid of having to give up some of the perks we hold so dear.
julieclawson(at)gmail(dot)com 
The concept of privilege is new to many people, it was to me in just the past few years and I know I'm still guilty of it. But yes it's hard to let go of. Great post…you've really challenged me.
I appreciate you delving into the issue of privilege, Julie. I'm glad to see that the Emergent Theological conference was programmed to specifically engage these issues.
But I have to say as a person of color and woman who has been wounded by the American church on both fronts, I've seen a number of well-intentioned people who say they want to rid the church of racism and sexism but never fully commit themselves to addressing personal and structural privilege over the long haul. It too quickly gets checked off the list — "been there done that."
I think –and please know that I say this with all due respect– that's why I was so disappointed with many emergent responses to Soong-Chan Rah's critiques about the lack of diversity within the Emerging Church. If we are truly committed to addressing privilege, we should embrace these critiques — seeking to learn and grow from them instead of dismissing them or feeling slighted for not getting recognition for good intentions and initial steps taken. How can we claim to live out a "postcolonial" theology when we ourselves are unwilling to examine how we may be complicit in racism and sexism?
I think most emergents are still very interested in learning how to be more committed to racial equality. The problem with Rah's article however was not that it was a "critique" but that it simply wasn't based in truth. We very much want to learn how to do better, but Rah's article, because of it's inaccuracies and deliberate mischaracterizations, unfortunately didn't offer much of value in that regard.
Emily – thanks for the push-back. And I hear you. There is always a tension between being open to listening and learning and believing one can "save the world." I struggle with that – wanting to be open, but not coming across as self-righteous or condescending. And I fully understand about the Soong-Chan Rah thing. I was torn during that whole debate. I was hurt by his misrepresentations of me and my friends and wished there could have been a dialogue instead of a dismissal of emergent. But at the same time I knew that any response that didn't just accept his critique would be seen as hurtful. I struggle with knowing how to respond in such situations.
Julie, it must be really convenient that everyone who disagrees with you is so evil. That all their motives come from the darkness of their constant selfishness and greed for power. Has it ever occurred to you that people disagree with you out of clear motives and a clean conscious. Perhaps they aren't actually trying to be evil. You talk about respect all the time but it's never applied to people who don't agree with you.
You are the very thing despise, a hateful bigot.
Jim:
Do not let the complexities of colonialism beguile you.
There are forces at work in this world, far more ancient and powerful than any one individual's choice for good or evil.
Colonial and national objectives have been syncretised with Christian rhetoric, and scriptural interpretation, for centuries. The progenitors might have been outrightly evil, or greedy, or perhaps simply blindly patriotic. However, their inheritors continue to power the cogs of colonialism and reap the benefits it provides through a motivation far more insidious than conscious evil: apathy.
As one black-caped philosopher might have said: The power to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power to destroy a planet without even knowing you've done it.
I'll give you an example of this self-propogating evil apathy: When I was a student at Wheaton College, IL, our mascot was the Crusader—a brilliant icon of religious colonialism, yet there can be no more spiritually defunct symbol found in all the history of Christendom. A small, but significant movement within both students and graduates fought to replace this mascot. From my perspective, the majority of resistance came not from the administration but from the alumni. The alumni's motivation for protecting the Crusader was not imperialism, greed, or forced religious conversion, but rather loyalty. Yet, one had to examine whether the keeping of the Crusader, as our school mascot, promoted Christ and His Kingdom in places where christ-followers sought to be influential (like, uhm, the middle-east?).
While loyalty to one's alma mater is commendable, the alumni who backed the Crusader mascot failed to examine the greater systematic ramifications of their decision. In a way, they were apathetic towards the negative fallout from keeping an icon whose historical significance was largely if not totally detrimental to Christianity. Hundreds of years after the Crusades themselves, Wheaton alumni continued to support this symbol of inherently evil deeds and thoughts, not through consciously evil motivations of their own, but through, what on the surface appeared to be a simple loyalty to the institution that had given them so much. Unfortunately, we live in a complex world where simply good intentions are not enough to advance Christ's community.
You don't have to steeple your fingers together and smile gleefully while saying “Egggg-selent” in order to support colonialism. Simple, unquestioning loyalty to “the way things are” is all the allegiance that structural evil asks of you. Hopefully, that is a theological and practical legacy that the post-colonial movement is attempting to think and work its way out of.
Jim – perhaps it might be more effective if you engaged the issue and provided a decent argument against listening to the voices of others instead of just name-calling. I still have yet to hear anyone actually do that – which was my point in the post. I invite you to share your clear motive for why listening to the voices of non-white Western Christians is something that Christians should avoid and condemn.
Jim, I have never heard Julie express hate or bigotry. Even when she's mentioning problems she sees in the church, and speaking of perspectives she disagrees with, she uses a tone of respect. Do a google search for "smashing economic idols" and look how she deals with a pastor who advocates setting aside the words of Christ in favor of economic theory. If anyone ever deserved to be called names, he did. Yet Julie doesn't do that.
Julie,
Reading you post, I wanted to react. The term, "postcolonial" puts the conversation in context of the oppressors, as if our various histories and stories could be summed up in only terms of what was done to us. You have misunderstood this critique and did not even mention it as a possibility as an objection in the essay above. I offered the critique not as an attack, for I respect you work, but as an invitation to true conversation; one where both sides can cross the bridge that Jesus created with his life. The risk of conversation is the danger of transformation. I thought how best to respond, then I remembered a poem by one of my mentors, Joy Harjo. The poem is brilliant as as she takes back her own history as a story for her to tell. The poem transcends her Native American background and every human can learn from her words, as who among us have not had to deal with our own fear?
Fear Poem
-Joy Harjo
I release you, my beautiful and terrible
fear. I release you. You were my beloved
and hated twin, but now, I don't know you
as myself. I release you with all the
pain I would know at the death of
my children.
You are not my blood anymore.
I give you back to the white soldiers
who burned down my home, beheaded my children,
raped and sodomized my brothers and sisters.
I give you back to those who stole the
food from our plates when we were starving.
I release you, fear, because you hold
these scenes in front of me and I was born
with eyes that can never close.
I release you
I release you
I release you
I release you
I am not afraid to be angry.
I am not afraid to rejoice.
I am not afraid to be black.
I am not afraid to be white.
I am not afraid to be hungry.
I am not afraid to be full.
I am not afraid to be hated.
I am not afraid to be loved,
to be loved, to be loved, fear.
Oh, you have choked me, but I gave you the leash.
You have gutted me but I gave you the knife.
You have devoured me, but I laid myself across the fire.
I take myself back, fear.
You are not my shadow any longer.
I won't take you in my hands.
You can't live in my eye, my ears, my voice
my belly, or in my heart my heart
my heart my heart
But come here, fear
I am alive and you are so afraid
of dying.
I agree with you that identifying the oppressed with their oppression in an absolute way is unhelpful. I'm not sure "postcolonial" is the problem but a very narrow understanding of what postcolonial means certainly contributes to the reduction of all things to oppressor and oppresed.
I think postcolonial theory does actually offer us ways to talk about the negotiation of identities and in some ways it brings to light the power of the "oppressed" to self-determine and to transform the dominant group, without ever losing sight of the imbalance of power between them. We are part of one another but our relationship is far more complicated than a one-dimensional oppressed-oppressor model allows.
I'm also concerned about the way in which identifying people of particular races with their struggle reduces them and forbid them, in a way, from forging a different identity. And since I think the stories we tell about ourselves determines who we become, this is a real problem.
I know it must be frustrating to get responses like Jim's that seem to express an unwillingness to engage with the actual issues mentioned in the post. And I have no intention of defending his response. But I'd still encourage you to consider that a lot of it has less to do with prejudice and bigotry in people like Jim (BTW, how much does any of us REALLY know about him?) but the tone many perceive from your writings. And that tone (in their mind anyway) is one of attack and condemnation. Even when you do admit your own failures, I think it sounds more like an afterthought than an important reminder how we ALL fail in so many ways and are in need of grace and a changed way of thinking and acting. Just a thought to keep us from presumptious ad hominem attitudes and reactive behavior – not an attempt to condemn you know in return like Jim has done.
i want to put this here because she (the friend i am linking to) explains this better than i ever could:
http://ballastexistenz.autistics.org/?p=411
about why saying that a person (or group) did a bad thing, is not the same as saying that they ARE BAD.
because everybody does some wrong things, and we need to realize it and if possible think about *why* we did it.