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 have
always thought of myself as a pretty normal person. I had what seemed like
a pretty normal childhood, growing up in the 1950’s and 60’s. We lived in
the suburbs of New York City. My mother was a full-time homemaker, and my
father got on a train and headed off to work in Manhattan. We always had a
least one car, later two. My parents were married to each other, and I had
one younger brother with whom I had the standard level of sibling rivalry.
There was always enough food to eat, a warm house, a bed to sleep in. I
lived in a safe neighborhood where I could get on my bike and explore..
When I was sick, I got the health care I needed. The lives of our
neighbors were similar to mine. Just the normal attributes of life in
mid-20th century America.
So what is normal, anyhow?
Is it my comfortable middle-class American lifestyle?
Is it the young mother cradling her toddler, killed in a drive-by
shooting in a St. Louis neighborhood?
The Denver parent who works two full-time jobs at minimum wage, and
still cannot afford to care for his three young children?
The lesbian couple in Oklahoma who cannot legalize their commitment as
life partners because their state has defined marriage in a way that
excludes them?
The American-born businessman who gets harassed by people on the
street, just because he is of Middle Eastern descent?
How do I get to feel normal?
I will admit, when I began to think seriously about this idea of
privilege, and how it affects me, I was a bit confused. I could understand
the concept all right – the idea that some people in society have better
access to resources, more assured rights than others, simply because of
the color of their skin, their family ties, their place in society. But
the feeling inside me did not match that information. It was easy to find
examples of people who seemed to have more stuff, live better than I did –
in movies, on TV shows, in the news and in advertisements.
Dick Gilbert in today’s reading describes it as a “pyramid” – an
economic pyramid of privilege, with many more people on the bottom than at
the top. So if I was closer to the top than to the bottom, why did I not
feel particularly privileged? The top of a pyramid is not a normal place,
either statistically or geographically. Why did I persist in thinking of
myself as “normal,” or at least a normal American, even in the face of all
the evidence to the contrary?
And there is a lot of evidence to the
contrary. We see persistent signs everywhere around us that institutional
racism, discrimination and cultural barriers are alive and well in our
nation and in our world.
There are consistent patterns of inequality between Americans of
northern European descent and people of other racial and ethnic groups,
including those of African, Latin American and Native American heritage.
Advantages are still held by men, by heterosexuals, by younger people.
According to Department of Justice figures, one in three African American
males born today will serve time in jail. Average earnings for women still
trail those of men by over 25%. Transgendered individuals in America face
unemployment rates of up to 80%. Gay and lesbian couples are still denied
basic human and legal rights in family formation. Racial and ethnic
profiling are still prevalent practices among law enforcement officials.
And then there are the hate crimes, which we still hear about far too
often.
These patterns of inequality do not need to be held in place by our
individual actions, since they are deeply rooted in social, economic,
educational and cultural systems that take generations to change, even
once that change begins. So I am led to ask, how can that change begin?
And the only answer I have, is that is must begin with me – as Mahatma
Ghandi famously said, we must be the change we wish to see in the world.
One way of defining “privilege” is that it is a social advantage that
you did not earn, that you did not do anything to merit, but were simply
born with – one of my colleagues once described it as “It is as though I
wake up every morning and someone has put ten dollars in my pocket – so I
start the day ten dollars ahead of anyone else who does not have my
position of social privilege.”
So why don’t I feel particularly
privileged? I just feel normal. And then it hit me. Normal. That is a good
indicator of being in a position of privilege – that the good life feels
normal, and one wonders about all those abnormal people down there living
lives of struggle, discrimination, and failure. What is that all about?
What is wrong with them, that they don’t just work hard and succeed like I
have? Why are they not normal like I am?
I’m using myself as an example here, since I do acknowledge my own
responsibility in the system of privilege. But I really mean each and all
of us, because I believe we are all caught in a sort of blindness that
keeps us from being as effective as we might want to be in changing the
system. So when I say “I,” I invite you to consider whether you might be
in a similar position.
I have come to think of the position of
privilege that I inhabit, this lofty perch near the top of the economic
pyramid, as being surrounded by a system of mirrors. Those mirrors are
above me, below me, and on all sides, and their function is to reflect my
own reality back to me as the only reality in the world. When I look out,
I find myself reflected back to me, no matter which direction I look – my
opportunities, my security, my environment – my reality. Others who are
different from me are all on the other sides of those mirrors. No matter
what or who I think I am looking at, what I am seeing is distorted by the
reflection of my own experience, my own expectations. It is difficult, if
not impossible, for me to see and understand their reality. It is utterly
foreign to me, because the “mirrors” make me think I am normal.
As long as I do not realize how those mirrors shape my perceptions, I
cannot clearly see the experience or the reality of anyone else. As I look
through the reflection of my own reality, I unconsciously asses others
according to my own privileged status, and often find them falling short,
because they are clearly not me, not the norm. I may fail to appreciate
our common humanity, our common needs and rights.
That attitude is what the reading was talking about, that Amy read
earlier. We are comfortable in our own normality, our own privileged
status, and that creates a kind of blindness, so that we cannot fully see
the reality of others. Until we learn to see a larger reality, we cannot
know how others are constrained in their possibility to realize their full
human potential.
These “mirrors” are no accident, but are strongly
rooted in our history, and in the struggle of the people at the top of the
pyramid to maintain privilege – and the mirrors are perpetuated, often
invisibly, by the culture in which we are embedded. Fundamentally, racism,
heterosexism and other systems of oppression are all about power and
privilege. As it says in a UUA publication, “all oppressions – sexism,
racism, heterosexism, classism, ableism, and ageism – are locked by the
common coordinates of power and privilege and by the common methods of
limiting, controlling and destroying lives.”
The history of our nation, founded as it is on the principles of
justice and equal rights for all, is riddled with contradictions. The
founders of this nation came to these shores seeking freedom to live their
lives and practice their religion as they wished. And then they turned
around and proceeded to create, and even to fight to the death to defend,
systems of oppression over others. Indentured servitude and enslavement
were protected under the law on this “new” soil. European settlers
systematically drove out the first peoples who were settled on this land,
if they did not kill them outright. All in the name of power and
privilege, defining anyone different from themselves as inferior, to
justify the oppression.
Perhaps some of us have ancestors that were the victims of these
systems of oppression in the early years of this continent – the more we
do genetic testing, we more we realize that we may not really know where
all our ancestors came from, and that we all share in a very complex
heritage. My own Irish ancestors suffered bitter oppression, both in their
own land and when they arrived on these shores. I believe we are all
victimized by any oppression, because it diminishes us in our common
humanity, no matter where we sit in the pyramid.
Systems of oppression
– racism, sexism, heterosexism – become cultural norms, passed to each new
generation by parents, schools, literature, the media – and they serve as
invisible bonds that hold the system of power and privilege securely in
place. As the opening music tells us, we have to be carefully taught – if
you have ever watched a small child interact with diverse playmates, you
can see that it does not seem to be part of human nature to assume that
someone is inferior or dangerous, just because they are different. We must
be taught, we are carefully taught, in ways we don’t even realize at the
time.
Many times we have even forgotten that we were taught, but the
teaching stays within us. I now understand that some of that teaching
happened in my own life, before I even remember it. But there is one
incident I do remember. When I was 17, my parents were selling the home in
which I had grown up, and I noticed there was no “for sale” sign in the
front yard. When I asked them why, they said, “because a black family
might buy it, and our neighbors would never forgive us for that. So we are
selling it through word of mouth, through people we know – going through
people like us, selling to people like us.”
I was shocked, but of course powerless at that age to do anything about
it. This event, so out of character with the things my parents and my
church taught me were right, reminds me how those patterns are maintained
in subtle ways, reinforced in my own family of origin, in my own life. My
parents did not even acknowledge that this was their own racism driving
their actions, but blamed it on trying to keep our neighbors happy.
The differences distorted by our mirrors are not restricted to race and
ethnicity. They extend to gender, age, sexual identity, physical or mental
ability, and other defining human characteristics. Rita Brock, in the book
Proverbs of Ashes, describes her discovery of her own distorted
assumptions about others: “I was no homophobic, but I was heterosexist. I
fell easily into assumptions that someone was heterosexual unless they
made a point of coming out to me. I was oblivious to heterosexual
privilege, the ease of fitting in, of having my relationships be open and
public, of having my sexual identity an unquestioned norm that required no
examination. Seeing that privilege helped me understand the difficulty
white men had perceiving and acknowledging their privilege.”
The problems of injustice and privilege are theological issues, as well
as social and political issues. If we truly believe that we are one
humanity, created or evolved, and if we commit ourselves with integrity to
the principles of the inherent worth and dignity of every person, to
justice, equity and compassion in human relations, then as part of that
commitment we must turn our attention to addressing the inequities in our
systems of power and privilege. Brock goes on to say “Racism, sexism, . .
. homophobia are abuses of power that are devastating to love. They
prevent us from being fully present and alive. They diminish the presence
of spirit by wrapping oppressor and oppressed, perpetrator and victim,
together in emotional chains that force the air out of the spaces between
them.”
But how is all this about me? I am just living my life as best I know
how, I’m not oppressing anybody – and what can I do after all? How is all
this my problem?
There is a teaching story about a skilled carpenter
who decided to retire from his job. His boss prevailed upon him to build
just one more house, and the carpenter reluctantly agreed. But his heart
was not in it – he used sub-standard materials, did not do his best work,
and cut corners just to get it done. When the house was completed, his
boss handed him the keys to the front door, saying, “As my retirement gift
to you, I am giving you this last house you built.” And of course, the
carpenter wished he had built the house with more care, with all the skill
at his command.
That is the story of our world – we get to live in the world we build,
with our skills and with our caring attention – or we reap the
consequences of our lack of attention to this house we are building. Do we
want to live in a world, in a nation, where people are denied access to
rights and resources because the people at the top want to maintain their
power – perhaps our power – and live in fear of losing their privilege?
Where keeping people down, or hurting them, is justified by the color of
their skin, the shape of their face, who they love, who they are?
If we care about justice for all, if we want to move beyond a damaging
tribalism that diminishes the presence of spirit in human life, what can
we do? I think a first step is to become aware of the mirrors in our lives
– to acknowledge that we each tend to live with and judge others,
oblivious to the reflective and distorting surfaces of the mirrors that
surround us. We can begin to recognize that we may not be seeing or
hearing others clearly, because very early in life we developed an
unconscious system of judgment, that that places a subtle barrier between
ourselves and anyone not like us. I am not talking about active prejudice,
for we may be loving and tolerant, and still have in place an invisible
barrier that reflects and distorts our perception of reality, that
immobilizes us within an oppressive system.
Understanding across difference begins with awareness of ourselves, and
of the ways we are encountering and understanding others. Only when we
begin to engage with the notion that our view of the world is shaped by
our normative expectations, can we begin to become aware of the mirrors,
aware of that unconscious system of judgment, and to begin to scratch off
that reflective surface. We have years of practice in being blinded by our
cultural and social norms, so it will not happen all at once, but it is
vital that we begin.
We begin by deciding that if we wish the world to change, we must first
gather up the courage to acknowledge the subtle role that each of us plays
in upholding the cultural and social systems of injustice, take a deep
breath and resolve anew each day to be the change we wish to see in the
world.
Then, one scratch at a time, with love and patience for ourselves and
others, we start to remove the silver backing from our own mirrors,
reducing the distortion, improving the clarity of our perceptions. We do
this by noticing our responses, our assumptions, our judgments, and by
asking, again and again, “Am I reacting out of tribalism, or out of clear
understanding and an intention toward justice? Am I seeing the person
before me in their true humanity, even if she or he has a different skin
tone, a different shape of eye and facial bones, a different gender or age
or sexual identity than I do? Am I clearly hearing what he is saying? Am I
interpreting her actions accurately?”
It will not happen all at once, but if we can begin to move toward
clearer perceiving and understanding, then I believe that we can then take
the next steps to dissolve the barriers, to connect across our
differences, to grasp hands to move toward a world of greater justice and
harmony.
I quote from the words of Rev. Kendall Gibbons, from Sources Cantata
performed here in Denver last week:
In the memory of sacrifice and enduring hope . . .
Liberation!
In the dignity and worth of every soul . . . Our salvation!
In the power of love and the human spirit . . . Transformation!
Clouds
of witness surround us,
Honored prophets, faithful workers, daring
leaders
Speak the truth, heal the world, light the dawn
And we
journey together in the struggle,
Make connection, find forgiveness
Through the work, through the pain, moving on.
We must build for the
future peace and plenty
Truth and justice, hope and freedom,
not
oppress, not destroy
Righteousness shines like a golden city, a mighty
river,
Bringing hope, bringing peace, bringing forth joy!
When I think about my life, and what I know about the world, I realize
that I live in a state of amazing grace – with gifts I have not sought nor
earned, that support my life and help me to be as fully human as I can be.
It is also a gift of grace to be able to see more clearly that we live
in a world that has both justice and injustice, both hope and despair,
both rich resources and deep need. And there is a grace in our lives right
here and now – the grace of our sustaining, challenging faith community,
calling us forth to work for greater justice and love in the world, so
that all may share in human rights and resources, so that all may
experience their full humanity in this amazing world.
So may it
be, and Amen.
Sources and Resources:
Colorado Criminal Justice Reform Coalition. (2007) Groundbreaking National
Study Finds Racial Disparity in Colorado Counties in the Imprisonment of
African Americans for Drug Crimes. Retrieved from:
http://www.ccjrc.org/pdf/12-4-07_Press_Release-Vortex_Report.pdf
Decker, P. R. (2004) The Utes Must Go: American Expansion and the
Removal of a People. Golden, CO: Fulcrum Publishing.
Emmitt, R. (2000). The Last War Trail: The Utes & the Settlement of
Colorado. Boulder, CO: The University Press of Colorado.
Gibbons, K and J. Shelton (2008) Sources: A Unitarian Universalist
Cantata, performed in Denver April 25, 2009
Gilbert, R. (2001) Useable Truth. In Essex Conversations: Visions for
Lifespan Religious Education. Boston: Skinner House Books.
InfoPlease web site: Poverty in the United States, 2007 Retrieved from:
http://www.infoplease.com/ipa/A0104520.html
James, J. and J.S. Frediani (1996) Weaving the Fabric of Diversity: An
Anti-bias Program for Adults. Boston: Unitarian Universalist Association.
James, J. (2001). Building Strong and Radical Religious Communities. In
Essex Conversations: Visions for Lifespan Religious Education. Boston:
Skinner House Books.
Kaelin, C.R. and the Pikes Peak Historical Society. (2008). American
Indians of the Pikes Peak Region. Charleston, SC: Arcadia Publishing.
King, ML, Jr. (1963) Letter from a Birmingham Jail. Retrieved from
http://www.africa.upenn.edu/Articles_Gen/Letter_Birmingham.html
Mid-Atlantic Equity Consortium. National Education Statistics and Other
Equity Indicators. Retrieved from:
http://www.maec.org/natstats.html#high1
Parker, RA and RN Brock (2002) Proverbs of Ashes : Violence, Redemptive
Suffering, and the Search for What Saves Us. Boston: Beacon Press.
Thandeka (1999). Learning to be White: Money, Race and God in America.
New York: Continuum.
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