Rhetoric Race and Religion
Sisters and brothers on the Ferguson police force,
Grace and peace to you. On Monday I stood outside the Ferguson police station with hundreds of other clergy, asking for justice for Michael Brown, and for a change in our police culture. I was one of the faith leaders reading a litany through a bullhorn.
As part of that demonstration, I watched my colleagues in ministry – Jewish, Christian, Muslim, and Buddhist – approach those of you who were holding the line. Those clergy came very close to you. They got in your personal space, I could tell by your body language. I couldn’t hear what they said to each of you. We had agreed that those who spoke with you would say, “You are part of the system that has killed Michael Brown. I call you to repentance, and I offer to hear your confession.” Maybe they actually said that to you; maybe they just followed their hearts. Many of them talked for a long time.
Some of you conversed with the clergy in front of you. A few of you smiled, and even took hands with those who were speaking with you. Others of you stared straight ahead, or looked with controlled anger at the clergy who were facing you. I could see the strain on your faces: the strain of the situation, and a weariness from this long, 67-day siege that has surrounded your department. I understand that this kind of experience takes its toll on a person. I hope that you have support – family, and counseling, and some kind of spiritual support as well. I want you to know that I noticed how you were faring, and that I prayed for each one of you that I saw, moving from face to face.
As you can probably sense, even if you wouldn’t say it this way, it’s so easy for us to lose sight of the deeper communion that we share. It’s so easy to lose sight of the humanity of the African American youth who are leading this movement. The racist narrative is so strong, with the 24-hour news cycle eager for conflict, painting them as bloodthirsty and wild rather than as brave and tenacious. The conflict itself, day after day, can cause us – can cause you – to lose sight of the flame of the holy in each of them. I’ve heard some of the things they have said to you, and some of the things you’ve said to them. I thought of them as I watched you, because I sensed how we can easily lose sight of your humanity as well, hidden away as it is behind riot gear and the stern veil of discipline that is needed for your work.
So, I want you to know that I stood on the other side of the standoff Monday and saw your humanity, saw you as men and women who are affected by what is happening.
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