communication

About and not with: the big failing of the immigration debate

When my father went through his interview for US citizenship, he talked so much about Jamestown and Williamsburg (where we had gone on vacation) that eventually the INS interviewer threw up his hands and said, “OK! ENOUGH!”

At least that’s the way my mother tells the story.

I remember the naturalization ceremony in downtown Akron when I was in second grade. I remember my pastor bringing the picture from the newspaper of all the new citizens up for children’s moment the next day. I remember taking the letter of congratulations to school, the one signed by Vice President Bush himself.

The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the LORD your God. -Leviticus 19:34

I was an foreigner residing in this country, and because Firestone Tire and Rubber Company needed a noise and vibration specialist, my family was welcomed here. (more…)

The case against “rent a collar:” religion and workers’ rights

Workers Prayer

Lord Jesus,

We offer you this day our works,

Our hopes and struggles,

Our joys and sorrows.

 

Give us and all workers of the world

The grace to work as you did

So that everything we do

May benefit our fellowmen and

Glorify GOD, our Father.

 

Your Kingdom come

Into all factories, farms, offices and into our homes.

 

Give us this day our daily bread,

May we receive it without envy or injustice

May those of us who, today, may be in danger of sin

Remain in Your grace, and

May those who died in labor’s field of honor rest in peace.

 

Teach us to be generous,

To serve you as you deserve to be served,

To give without counting the cost,

To fight without minding the wounds,

To work and pray as our right and duty, and

To spend our life without expecting any return

Other than the conviction that

We are doing Your holy will.

AMEN

–Associated Labor Unions, Manila, Phillipines

Union Prayer
Words by Woody Guthrie, Music by Billy Bragg

I hear that prayer and praying
Will change this world around
I fold my hands I bow my head
I kneel down on the ground

I prayed and prayed by nite & day
And then I prayed some more
I prayed till my tongue was dry as dust
I prayed till my knees had sores.

Will prayer change shacks to decent homes?
Will prayer change sickness into health?
Will prayer change hate to works of love?
Will prayer get me my right to vote?

Will prayer give jobs at honest pay?
Will prayer bring stomach full of food?
Will prayer make rich treat poor folks right?
Will prayer take out the Ku Klux Klan?

Will prayer cut down the hoodlum bands?
Will prayer stop the lynchbug hands?
If all of these things my prayers can do,
I’ll pray till I am black and blue.

If prayer will bring us union love,
I’ll pray and pray and pray some more.
I’ll pray all day from door to door
And fall at nite to pray some more
My prayer with a union label.

When I worked in Congress, my boss was MUCH more comfortable in a union hall than in a church, and I think the labor leaders he worked with appreciated that.

I’m comfortable in both. And I remember how uncomfortable I made my boss during my interview when I told him that after working in Congress, I planned to go into the ministry. But I finally realize that my comfort in both the union hall (well, on the picket line) and in the church actually puts me in sync with a lot of the workers I’ve gotten to know over the years. It turns out they’re not just workers; they’re people, and often people of faith. And I think that matters as we reflect on the intersection of faith and labor.

 

The relationship between organized labor and labor-friendly religious leaders has been an awkward one for as long as I’ve known about it, and I think there might be a few reasons for that:

  • Our perceptions of each other limit our capacity to support each other. We think of them as no-holds-barred anything-goes ends-justifies-means folks, and they think of us as not understanding how much is at stake, being dreamers instead of realists and not being particularly good strategists. Both of us might be a little right.
  • We’re both used to be treated with authority and being heard, so it is less than comfortable for either of us when the other group expects at least as much (and usually more of) the same courtesy.
  • Many high level labor leaders are not convinced that religious leaders bring anything to the movement other than symbolically blessing what labor has already put in the works.
  • Many clergy are squeamish not about the goals or even the tactics of a given labor campaign but get squeamish about dehumanizing the opposition (which frankly can be the most uplifting and energizing part of a labor rally), and sometimes that single thing stops them from participating more fully in the work of solidarity.

The biggest tension in the movement is around what clergy petulantly refer to as “rent-a-collar,” by which they mean they have no voice in the process of the movement or the strategy or the goal setting; they’re called the night before to show up at a rally to offer a prayer.

Clergy often resent this because they feel a little used. But the truth is, I’m not sure that most labor leaders see us as bringing much to the table—in the work, those who bring financial resources and people power make a campaign successful, and that’s not always the faith community.

At the Interfaith Worker Justice conference I attended this week, I’ve met people from organizations across the country who really are bringing “faith people power” to campaigns and as a result ending up with a seat at the table. I’m also meeting faith organizers who brought the people power and still got left out of the decision-making process because at the last moment labor leaders got anxious that pie-in-the-sky religious leaders would ruin a compromise bill by holding out for something better. I’ve even met a faith-student-community organizer who connected workers into a union through his work with faith leaders and then found out that the union wasn’t ready to go to bat for the particular workers who had joined the union. (And while my stories are focused on the faith community, I suspect my friends in labor could point to times the faith community sold out or abandoned or just messed up campaigns over the years.)

Our relationship, labor and faith, is a mixed bag.

 

There’s something I’ve begun to reflect on deeply, though, of late. I think there’s something the faith community brings to the workers that labor leadership doesn’t always recognize, and I want to tell a story and then share what I think it’s about.

I spoke at a fast food workers’ rally a month ago. A labor leader translated for me—most of the workers were primarily Spanish speakers. She was fierce and amazing and led chants and actually got us enthusiastic even though we had been up since 4 or 5.

I told the story of Passover. When she got to that word in her translation, she said, “I don’t know that word.” Five people at the front said, “Pascua.” I continued with my story and said something about Pharaoh. She paused in the translation, and even before she could ask, fifteen people stage whispered“faraón.”

 

She didn’t know the story of Passover. It did not carry power for her. It did not inspire her.

But the workers knew the story of Passover. They knew what it meant to be Israelites working hard for an Egyptian overlord, and when they looked like they might be a threat, their work was made even harder.

And the workers knew how that story ends. It ends with liberation by a God who cares about their conditions and their families and their dignity.

Plus, she might not have known why it was really funny for me to say that Ronald McDonald reminded me of Pharaoh, but they sure did.

 

We share a common story of hope, one that touches the most intimate parts of our personal struggles in life and can also offer us support and courage in the larger battles we have to face; even a struggle against a global corporation that has no desire to keep its workers happy and healthy members of the community at virtually no expense to the corporation.

The labor leader doing translation for me is heroic. She puts in work hours that would put me in the hospital. She stands with workers in scary times. She wants nothing in this world more than to see them paid what they are worth (although she’ll have to settle for $15 and a union).

Her union is also amazing in that they are pouring so much of their limited resources and limited people power into supporting workers who are not currently dues-paying union members and very possibly never will be. Obviously the union hopes that will change, but they’re investing themselves in this campaign with the awareness that it probably won’t, and they’re standing up for non-unionized workers anyhow, because who else will stand with them? The unions I work with are embattled and struggling against great odds they’ve struggled against since they were founded. The power of the union is more faithful and hopeful than that of most churches, and it often embodies the kind of community we in the faith community only talk about.

But the moral of the story is this: The union leaders may not find comfort and inspiration in their shared struggle with bible characters, but the underpaid fast food workers knew that story better than I do, and in two languages. And in that lies a connection.

There is something about the power generated between faithful workers and labor-loving religious leaders that feels different than anything else, because it allows all of us to bring our whole selves into the fight.

Many of the “rank and file” members of unions, many of the low-wage workers who have not yet been unionized, are deeply faithful people. And some of them attend churches with pastors and priests and imams who won’t stand with them when they’re being mistreated because those religious leaders want to avoid “politics” (except the politics of respectability). That is wounding to a person of faith; it can even cause a crisis of faith. So when a different religious leader shows up and lets them know that their commitment to justice IS part of their relationship with God, redemption and healing can occur.

 

I have seen religious leaders contribute to the strategy of a campaign. I have seen religious leaders strengthen coalitions and hold them together when tension mounted. I have seen religious leaders get better conditions in an agreement from politicians than labor would have gotten sheerly because those politicians had been shamed into being their better selves. So I think there are a lot of reasons for labor and religion to work together better; I think we bring a lot to the larger work for justice and equity.

One of the most prophetic workers/leaders I know, walking with me from a 6AM rally to a 9AM action.

But there’s one particular and yet incredibly ephemeral reason for us to be plugged into campaigns over the long term: we share a story with workers who face fatigue and a lack of institutional support. When they feel beaten up in their private lives, they pray and read scripture and turn to God. When they feel beaten up in their work for justice, they should have the same outlet. And on a good day, a courageous pastor or priest or imam can bring that opportunity to a fellow sister or brother in the faith.

The Myth of Street Smarts versus Book Smarts

Delivered June 13, 2014, at Disciples Divinity House at the University of Chicago annual Convocation.

I looked, and a hand was stretched out to me, and a written scroll was in it. He spread it before me; it had writing on the front and on the back, and written on it were words of lamentation and mourning and woe. He said to me, O mortal, eat what is offered to you; eat this scroll, and go, speak to the house of Israel. So I opened my mouth, and he gave me the scroll to eat. He said to me, Mortal, eat this scroll that I give you and fill your stomach with it. Then I ate it; and in my mouth it was as sweet as honey.

–Ezekiel 2:9-3:3

“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.

–Matthew 13:44-46

 

 

They say we lose our greats in threes, and that has certainly been true this month: we have lost Vincent Harding, heroic leader of the civil rights movement; we have lost the great poet Maya Angelou and we have lost Yuri Kochiyama, Asian American activist, Black Power leader and survivor of the American concentration camps. (more…)

“That’s why I don’t watch the news,” #notallmen and the global protection of rape culture

He was for real the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. I had opened up my home to a couple of people coming to Oakland for a conference for activists. We totally bonded over finding a space to create our own identities rather than the identities the world tried to impose on us. He told me about driving across country giving hugs and raising people’s vibrations, and I’ve lived in California long enough I did not roll my eyes once, not even when he wasn’t looking.

He talked about how he lived in a progressive White community because he felt less constrained by their expectations of him to be a particular thing than when he functioned within the Black community. This, as you can imagine, made my brain hurt, but I’m getting better at honoring individuals’ life experiences and self-understandings. I did, however, mention that it can be meaningful to be connected to one’s cultural heritage as a way of staying grounded and connected with one’s people.

“I don’t want to be connected to my people,” he said. His parents were from Haiti and there were things about Haitian culture he held in deep contempt–the way people worked systems and expected things from family members just because they were family and what he saw as a lack of hustle, and lack of respect for him creating his own identity instead of being who they wanted him to be.

“Why would I want to be connected to that culture?” he asked.

“Listen, all culture’s got its unhealthy aspects,” I said, meaning to arc back around to the idea that his embrace of progressive White culture also had incredibly unhealthy aspects as well as it not actually being his. Instead I added, probably unhelpfully, “I mean, the culture that I root myself in let a girl get gang raped on the back of a bus.”

“See,” he said, feeling he had proven his point, “this is why I don’t watch the news.”

(more…)

Microaggressions, calling out, giving power and eating our young:

Why how we treat Suey Park might matter more than her campaign to cancel Colbert

You may be bored by now with the #CancelColbert controversy. I was bored with it before it became a media sensation. And yet here I am, because I just found out that Suey Park is 23, and that turned everything that’s happened in the past five days on its head for me.

By way of background: My best friend and I have occasional debates about microaggressions, and I’m usually the one saying that those small daily sleights people of color experience do contribute a great deal to racial oppression, while he (who has a lot more reason to feel oppressed than I do as a Black man in America) usually argues that focusing on microaggressions detracts from the really critical issues that have widereaching impact. But honestly, when #CancelColbert trended, I was the one thinking, “Wow. I cannot bring myself to care.” It felt like a misunderstanding and also like a stunt. I would have been bothered by the joke without context, but the context was adequate for me not to be offended. I was a little embarrassed when I did watch Suey Park’s interview with that guy on Huffington Post, because I thought she had better arguments in her than telling him she wouldn’t argue with him because he was a White man. I thought Colbert himself handled the situation well.

But I just read an article by Julia Wong that Suey Park is 23. (more…)

The cost of being reasonable: reflections on why the whole church didn’t preach about Michael Dunn and Jordan Davis

I have some really smart friends. I have friends who are powerful leaders and facilitators and great thinkers. I have friends from all across the nation (and a few around the globe). I have friends of a fair few religious backgrounds, from Atheist to Zoroastrian. And I have friends from a whole lot of different racial and ethnic backgrounds.

One of the cool things about all of my friends is that they know when to hold loosely to an issue for the sake of discussion and when to hold fast because an issue is more than an issue; it’s a matter of life and death.

The challenge is, not all of my friends see that line between holding loosely and holding fast in exactly the same place.

I was struck by this on Saturday night, when the Michael Dunn verdict rolled out.

There was very little middle ground for me. I had friends offering perspective: Michael Dunn will not walk out of prison if he gets the sixty years he was given for attempted murder of the three passengers in Jordan Davis’s car. What he did was awful, but he will face decades of punishment.

I didn’t have that in me, because the jury couldn’t declare him guilty for the actual murder he committed, shooting Jordan Davis for playing music too loudly, or actually for being Black. (In the court case, he claimed that Davis threatened him and had a gun. No gun was found; there is no clear evidence that he was threatened.) I was furious. I was aching. I was unreasonable.

Let me be clear; I wasn’t totally unreasonable. I did not start a bar fight like I did in Orlando after Trayvon Martin’s murderer went free. (And even then, it was just a bar argument. At a Red Lobster. With a Black man. That my friend interrupted.)

I was only unreasonable enough to express gratitude for the clergy who were lifting up this tragedy in their sermons the next day and expressing mild contempt for those that didn’t bother to. Yup–I played the shame game, shamelessly. I saw that moment as a moment to hold fast, not loose.

 

I want to pause and note how grateful I am that I have colleagues and friends from other cultures who want to listen to my reflections about what it means to be South Asian in America, particularly after 9/11. I’m grateful for colleagues and friends who have taken great interest in looking at the history of the API (Asian Pacific Islander) community in America and in modern day discrimination issues and immigration policies. Similarly, I’m grateful when men want to know what it’s like to be a woman, to deal with patriarchy and fear and objectification and how they can be more aware of that in their own lives but also in advocating for better systems and structures for all women.

Similarly, since I want to be a part of the realm of God where all are equal, I work hard (and fail and keep trying) to stay in conversation with friends from different lived experiences than mine. I need to know their experiences and to think about those experiences as part of a larger narrative that affects culture and policy and institutions and personal interactions. It’s a lot of work, but it’s important to me as a member of the realm of God (or, as I sometimes refer to it in non-religious settings, “the movement”).

Movements only really move, I believe, when the people with a little power actually know the people with less power well enough to recognize their humanity in tangible ways, enough to risk their minimal power to stand in solidarity. Most great struggles in the past 100 years that have succeeded have been nonviolent. Most of those nonviolent struggles have succeeded because of solidarity work (by people with a little power within the country or abroad). As a person of faith, I believe that this is because we only truly thrive as a whole community when we recognize one another’s gifts and humanity fully. And if you’ll forgive me for being a little philosophical here, any movement that involves hate for anyone else will find that its self-love is too stunted to be truly empowering.

 

Part of why the importance of this verdict was on my radar is that a good friend of mine posted a picture on Monday of her adorable toddler in his sister’s lap, pointing out a window, with the comment, “This is my son, pointing out a person he wants to mug. #dangerousblackkids #laughsoyoudon’tcry”. Also, my favorite columnist wrote a very brief reflection on why he was done having the conversation about Black on Black crime while grieving this verdict. Also, my friends of all races were processing grief and rage in equal measures to a case that did not use the Stand Your Ground law but represented the culture of it so effectively.

 

I mentioned earlier that I believe movements only thrive with deep solidarity. I also mentioned that I saw the verdict regarding Michael Dunn as a moment to hold fast rather than loose. And I also said that we only thrive as community when we recognize one another’s humanity fully. I would add now, we are only truly building the Beloved Community when we stand up for one another’s humanity in the fact of others diminishing that humanity. Dr. Martin Luther King was famous for writing a book called Why We Can’t Wait, and also in his famous Letter from a Birmingham Jail. He was responding to good liberal White pastors telling him that the rigor of his efforts were “unwise and untimely.”

I recently asked a clergy colleague why, while he actually preached about Jordan Davis, he let people know they should feel no obligation to do so. (He also made a comment about my denomination, in its culture of “You’re only on God’s side if you agree with me” around these types of issues, as a “non-prophet denomination.”) To his mind, he shared, liberals and conservatives don’t talk across the aisles of the sanctuary. Activists get into a tailspin of being more self-righteous than thou, communicating in ways that are insensitive and don’t allow for real dialogue. He noted that a pastoral approach, or a chaplain approach, was actually more prophetic. What I appreciate is that my colleague’s commitment is to helping the community go deep together, honoring all voices and experiences instead of relying on slogans and shaming and calling that social justice ministry.

 

And I want to go there with him, because I am very aware of how shrill and sanctimonious the left can get, even if we feel justified about it because we think we’re being beaten up by the right (who feel exactly the same way). Except that the chaplain approach isn’t more prophetic. It is probably, in many moments, more effective. The prophets (at least the ones who made it into the Bible) weren’t all that effective. They followed their consciences and alienated whole nations a lot of the time. And as many of you know, I spend far more time on healthy process (sacred conversation) than my more outcome-driven colleagues think is wise. So clearly I think there is a time and place for a chaplain approach to justice issues, and that time is most of that time and that place is everywhere.

But there’s a cost to being reasonable all the time, I think. There’s a cost to saying it’s okay not to talk about the fact that our judicial system could not stake the claim that an innocent Black youth’s life was taken illegally. There is a cost to not making into an act of mourning in every church worship service that the parents of a dead son had to console the parents of another dead son on what would have been that second son’s nineteenth birthday.

This is not just a cost to Black people; this is a cost to the whole church in America. Any of us who have deep relationships with people in the Black community know that to be Black in America means having to fear for your son’s life on multiple fronts. And there might be congregations in this nation where people don’t have those relationships and therefore don’t know this. They may not know that the verdict on Saturday was further confirmation that young Black men’s lives do not have value akin to White men’s lives. But if we are really, as a church, going to build the beloved community, and we think it is unwise and untimely to grieve too publicly too soon, then we should proclaim publicly that building the beloved community is itself unwise and untimely. (I am making the logical leap that if you didn’t talk about this on Sunday, it’s because you don’t have a lot of deep relationships with Black people. This may very well be untrue. I also am not sure I care.)

Michael Dunn is in prison encouraging people to take up arms against Black people who scare them, whether those Black people have done anything to them or not. The church’s lack of commitment to and practice of cross-racial relationships at a deep level has contributed to that story even being reported. And the church’s lack of commitment to building the beloved community (which includes standing up for the equal humanity of all people) has contributed to people saying “What a racist” while sometimes being scared of Black people themselves and often not seeing their fate connected with that of Black people. (I recognize that this is complicated by the fact that people of color see racism systemically while White people see racism as individual acts. I know that is often true. I just don’t care.)

There are countless moments to hold loosely to the issues so we can have meaningful connections. There are countless moments to be reasonable. There are countless moments to be compassionate to one another’s limitations.

But my friends had to make jokes about their children being a threat to America when all they are is children. My friends who are faithful followers of Christ raising their children to be the same. My sisters and brothers. Your sisters and brothers. Our blood. Our family were told their lives don’t count for much. Our nephew’s killer was not held responsible for his death.

If we believe in the realm of God where all of God’s children are equally treasured, this Sunday wasn’t a time to hold loosely. It was a time to hold fast, because this wasn’t about politics; it was about human dignity. Sunday was a time to hold fast. And if that didn’t happen, it continues to be a time to hold fast. You have to preach to and pray with and worship within your context. And our context is America. And in America our Black men’s lives are under fire. And if we want to build the beloved community, we’ve got to show up and roll up our sleeves, or let’s not claim the beloved community is what we want.

In America right now it is not reasonable to have hard conversations across race. In American right now it is not reasonable to grieve publicly when most of a congregation doesn’t understand what it is grieving. There is a cost to being reasonable. The cost of being reasonable is real and authentic relationship. The cost of being reasonable is not being invited to the funeral because you never really knew your nephew. The cost of being reasonable is not knowing the next nephew, and being a part of stopping the cycle that might kill him, too.

God is not reasonable. I believe now is the time to join God.

To the guy who told me to “loose weight” before he would “make out on the porch swing” with me

Dear “Nice Guy” (Your name choice; I’m glad irony is not dead on craigslist):

I received your response to my craigslist ad last night (posted below), responding to my ad, in which I sought a “nerdy radical with great race analysis.” I assumed this title would draw people who had an interest in politics and also good grammar and spelling, although the latter two are just a bonus. I recognize that, adorable as my selfie in the ad is, I did announce that I’m plus sized so that guys who aren’t attracted to full-figured women wouldn’t have to waste time responding.

What I did not realize is that there would be a man out there who is such a catch that, while he gave me no evidence that he had anything in common with me, he would let me know he would make out with me on a porch swing in six months if I lost 25 pounds (spelled “loose” rather than “lose”—-almost evoking TD Jakes, which a pastor can appreciate: “fat, thou art loosed!”). (more…)