MLK Day 2008

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." -Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Every year on the day that celebrates the birth of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., I read his "Letter from a Birmingham Jail," both as a reminder of the struggle for justice by those who came before us which we must carry on today, and because it is so powerfully written. Whatever else you might say about Dr. King, one thing is sure: he penned with words of fire and proclaimed with the voice of a prophet a message of undeniable Truth--the kingdom of God will be long in coming for those of us who cannot reach beyond the divides we have created between ourselves and our neighbors. We talked in ESL class that week about Dr. King's work, and it was frustrating (though not surprising) to see how well my hispanic/latino students could relate to living under the oppressive cloud of blatant racial discrimination and abuse. A fresh reminder of how much work we have to do, how much work I have yet to do, in order to accomplish that kingdom.

This year on MLK Jr. Day, I started a new tradition: I went to our city's MLK Jr. Day parade. MLK Jr. Day here is a big deal--the festivities aren't quite as grandiose as Mardi Gras, and the crowd is mostly African-American as opposed to everybody gettin' down together (if that's not irony, I don't know what is)--but judging by the fact that you have to get there 2 hours early if you want a decent vantage point, it's pretty important in the community. I did feel somewhat ambivalent about the whole celebration because it seemed to be much more about hanging out, watching pretty young thangs shake it in spandex (see below), and getting into the occasional street skirmish than about honoring Dr. King's memory, although the city's prominent NAACP and faith-based groups did pay him homage with floats, artistic & civic represenations, and broadcasted versions of his speeches. (More on the parade below.)

As much as MLK Jr. Day is a fitting and necessary celebration for our country (evidenced by the monochrome character of the parade-goers--King's message wasn't just for his own community, y'all!), and as much as it functions as a sorely needed catalyst for remembering and honoring the entirety of the Civil Rights movement, it can sometimes feel like a personality cult--King had his faults (as do we all), and he would be the first to admit, I believe, that the movement wasn't about glorifying him, but rather about creating widespread and lasting change, seeking restoration, and advancing the cause of justice.

So I was gratified as well as fascinated to learn more about the city's role in the Civil Rights movement--not a story that often emerges from the shadow of its more well-known sisters (the lunch counter sit-ins, the Montgomery bus boycott, etc.), but one which exemplifies creative, grassroots civil disobedience.

I'm talking about the integration of Gulf Coast beaches through the ingenious concept of "wade-in"s, or the simple act by blacks and non-black allies of laying down a towel, putting up a sun umbrella, and going for a swim on sections of public beach considered strictly "white only." The picture above (borrowed from a website about the book Beaches, Blood, & Ballots: A Black Doctor's Civil Rights Struggle by the estimable Dr. Gilbert R. Mason, founder of the Biloxi, MS chapter of the NAACP: http://www.upress.state.ms.us/books/55) shows law enforcement authorities forcibly escorting wade-in integrationists off of the beach, where, as members of the public, they had every right to be. Except, of course, that at the time, "public" didn't include black people.

I haven't read Dr. Mason's book yet, but it's high on my list of books to check out from the local library (after I finish Mississippi Mud, the true story about the Dixie Mafia's most notorious murder, a hit organized by a close relative of the man we rent office space from...I really had no idea what I was getting into down here!). I could hardly believe I'd never heard about this vital piece of history before--and we all know the old maxim about being doomed to repeat ourselves if we can't learn from our past. Thoughts & comments on Dr. King/Civil Rights Movement welcomed!!

As for our own MLK Jr. Day participation, check out the nifty, social justice-themed float HandsOn Gulf Coast put together:

Yes those are giant blue hands with MLK Jr. quotations painted on them. And yes we were the only all-white parade float. Or even mostly-white parade float. Just like later we were the only white/latino people eating soul food at the AME church in the background (whose fellowship hall walls are covered in gigantic murals of black Jesus and black Moses. I dig it).

This guy is HAPPY to be in the marching band. I mean, who wouldn't be--it's band!!

Check out the fringe, and the pantyhose! There was no shortage of psychedelic, skin-hugging, besequined outfits in this year's parade.

Drumline, anyone? This band kept jumping in and playing their own pieces over the sounds of other bands performing. And that's why it's called a Battle of the Bands!

Happy belated MLK Jr. Day, y'all--now go think about race relations and how you can break down some of those prejudices to which we all cling so very tightly.

AmeriWhat!

Welcome to 2008, and to my newest incarnation on the Mississippi Gulf Coast: Gulf Coast GringAmericorps! Nyuk nyuk nyuk.

The funny part is, I really will be the gringa this year, as I will be working as an Americorps member at a start-up (read: 4 staff people including me) non-profit that seeks to bridge the gap in social services to the local Latino population as well as to change the hearts & minds of the wider community about immigration issues. The organization where I'll be working, alias The Big P, will have an immigration clinic, a homeless day center with showers & laundry facilities, a day labor-contractor meet-up program, a computer lab, and a space for Bible study & church services in Spanish. We will also continue to conduct our ESL classes, but in our new roomy quarters on the East side of town. We move in tomorrow--yessss!!!

This all sounds ambitious, and it is--that's part of the reason I'm so psyched to work here, that and the fabulous justice warrior ladies who are my coworkers, and the amazing people we serve, and the beautiful Spanish language we'll be speaking, etc. We don't yet have all our funding secured, we need office furniture, we're scrounging for grants, computers, curriculum materials, and appliances, and we have salary gaps. But we are all driven by a passion to do as much as we can with and for the Latino community on the Coast, a community facing both a severe shortage of resources and intense local resistance, both due to the explosion in the Latino population since Katrina.

Before the storm, there were virtually no Latinos on the Coast, and thus no social services or communal centers geared towards Spanish speakers or folks of Latin cultural descent. Now, as a result of a boom in the construction and service industries coinciding with a decrease in the indigenous workforce, 25-35,000 Latino immigrants, some documented, some undocumented*, have come to the area, and the tension with the pre-storm community--white, black, and otherwise--is a big problem. Abuse & exploitation abound in the form of unsafe working conditions, paycheck withholding, police harassment, and racially-motivated beatings; those lucky enough to escape such injustices often encounter seemingly insurmountable barriers in their efforts to lead normal, dignified lives--the inability to find healthcare professionals or social workers with whom they are able to communicate, the lack of opportunity to learn English, the loss of familiar support systems upon their arrival in the United States.

This is where The Big P steps in--we accompany individuals on doctor's visits and court appointments, provide casework consultations, represent immigrants during the visa and citizenship application processes, host dinner dances, festivals, and health fairs which build solidarity within the community, teach English, and provide spiritual counseling and fellowship. Amazing, no?

I am so very excited and graced to be on the cutting edge of justice work here on the Coast--and even more excited about becoming part of a new community.

*"Undocumented immigrant" is the correct term for an immigrant who is in the United States without proper documentation. "Illegal alien," "Illegals," "aliens," etc. are offensive terms for human beings who are our brothers and sisters; no human being is "illegal."

Here are a few fun photos from Americorps orientation, which was my life this past week. From now on I'm gonna be run ragged, folks, but that's the way I like it--I'm rarin' to go!!!

Orientation, Day 3 (or 4 maybe?? It all runs together...) Check out the cool t-shirts from past volunteers festooning the walls.

That's my back (in the white shirt and tan pants)--we're installing subflooring to keep the moisture-prone OSB from coming into contact with the new tile flooring. I definitely have the blisters to prove it.

Photo scavenger hunt (we were the first team finished and the only team to find all the clues, plus the bonuses!!)

More Americorps/The Big P fun to follow.

Hungry for Debt Cancellation

I signed up for a fast 6 weeks ago in solidarity with Rev. David Duncombe of the UCC, who is undertaking a 21-day fast for debt relief for countries whose debt was not forgiven at the G8 conference. Rev. Duncombe is using this time to meet with lawmakers in Washington, D.C. to garner support for HR 2634, the Jubilee 2007 Act. This act would alleviate the debt of countries not covered in the 2005 G8 debt cancellation agreement but which are still in desperate need of debt forgiveness. The stranglehold of interest and debt payments that industrialized countries and international financial institutions (like IMF and World Bank) hold over the heads of developing countries effectivley stifles any chance they have of combating poverty and injustice in a meaningful way. Many other factors (some internal, like corruption and poor environmental stewardship; some external, like international trade and ag policies) need to change for extreme poverty to be halved by 2015, as stated in the G8's Millenium Development Goals; but continuing to exact interest and principle payments on meaningless, crippling loans which prevent developing countries from even beginning to address extreme poverty and its root causes does not help. So I've been fasting for 6 consecutive Thursdays, starting on Sept. 6 and ending tomorrow; and I've committed to repeatedly contact my Congressional representatives in an effort to pass HR 2634. The money I save from not consuming meals was sent to Heifer Project International ( http://www.heifer.org/) to help a poverty-stricken family become agriculturally sustainable, financially independent, and healthier with a gift of bees whose honey they will harvest and sell.

If you want to know why I'm doing it, here's a short explanation: http://www.jubileeusa.org/home/front-page-news/cdffeatures.html You can also link to more info about debt relief on the Jubilee website.

Fasting is--well, an interesting experience. For those of you interested in the specifics, I am not eating any solid food on the days that I fast--just liquids (water, juice, sports drinks, hot chocolate, soy milk, tea, etc.), from the time I wake up until the time I fall asleep. At first it gives you a sort of light, floaty feeling--you're zipping about and getting things done efficiently--and there's a sense that you're cleansing your body (until you drink three cups of fake powder chai tea....). But by the afternoon, around 5pm or so, I start to crash and feel a complete lack of energy and concentration. If I can keep myself busy, like teaching ESL class or hanging out drinking some juice at a friends' house while they eat a homecooked crab cakes dinner (sigh...)--then I'm fine. But if there's nothing external to do, I lay on the couch watching DVDs and barely moving, and I head for bed at 7:30 or 8. So obviously the key is staying buzzzzzy.

I find what I miss the most is not actually the taste of food or the sensation of having a full stomach, but the texture of food, the solidness of it as I chew. After your first dozen cups of microwaved apple juice, you just want to bite into a waffle or a granola bar or pudding or.... anything substantial.

Other than that--it's not bad. Friends feel guilty for eating in front of me, but it's a choice I've made. I went to visit a friend in the hospital a few weeks ago and was jokingly commiserating about how we were both on liquid diets--but she pointed out how completely different it was because hers was doctor-enforced and mine was voluntarily. It's true, and her comment was a reminder of just how disparate real hunger is compared to one day of fasting. But just a taste of that (no pun intended)--just a short time of self-imposed deprivation, is good to remind you what millions of your fellow humans go through daily. Just a taste.

There Is a Balm in Biloxi

A slam poem written by a colleague of some of our workcampers from Sojourners, a social justice advocacy group addressing the intersection of politics and religion.
I think it is an exemplary use of art, and in particular, slam poetry, to address social justice issues--racism, privilege, corruption, reparations, structural violence, housing inequalities, etc. It also raises what for me is a fundamental question of faith: What, as a Christian, am I called to do in response to injustice and inequality? What are all of us called to do? Christians tend to forget, I think, that Jesus had a radical vision of social equality, what amounted to a paradigmatic shift in relation to the societal structures of the day. We also tend to turn a deaf ear to the call of the prophets, who bid us work for the realization of God's Kingdom here on earth. But there's at least one among us who hasn't forgotten... read on. (It's long, but worth it. Read it aloud for maximum effect.)


THERE IS A BALM IN BILOXI
By Ryan Rodrick Beiler (Sojourners)

sleeping on floors feels hard core but
for those keeping score we still float on inflated pads of privilege on
our own terms taken for granted ignoring our
needles in need of breaching by camels can
one coming this far fail to feel something sacred
seeking to serve in solidarity in spite of
spaces made by races made by men who made our faces favored or flogged
bogged down by bigotry backed by bottom lines
lingering long through our history hysterically hateful or
hidden in habits held harmless but hurting us all
already fallen still calling us names we think we’ve forgotten but
we’ve gotten good at acting our parts enjoying the extras even
at the expense of sisters and brothers unseen for a season often
ignored but regularly revealed by verdicts disasters and everyday encounters with
inequality easily seen by sensitive souls insisting on solving impossible impasses
imposing ideals inferred from faithful philosophy’s philos so we foist
friendship on unsuspecting strangers seek
an end to Sunday morning segregation love
without which we are merely clanging cymbals symbolic
pet projects objects of over-compensation self-deprecation or
projected complexes patronizing paternalizing internalizing superiority passed
through pedagogy parents and presidents dead white men well-meaning or
malicious matters less than persistent conditions of
housing projects profiling police prosecutions prisons and lethal injections or
bad personal decision magnified by malignant manifestations of
massive indefensible disparity damned indefinitely by the assumptions made by
insulated insured unsullied suburban soccer moms of Bashan (Amos 4:1)
bovine buffers bearing the burdens of bad choices bleating
boys will be boys unless they’re black or brown in the wrong part of town
then call Sheriff Brown to take them down and keep them down keep
society safely steeped in silent sins of
systems
made of institutions
made of individuals all
influenced by Evil at each level a legacy seen at sea level in
lessons of levees and lack of planning for people impoverished by
inherited inequality unable to evacuate evaluating inadequate options given by
government given to gaps in attention
inattentive to tensions dissentions of disaffected defectors from
40-acre American myths can’t get no
satisfaction reconstruction reparations missing in action
affirmative action losing traction to so-called color blind code words wielded by
angry factions tactlessly asking for tax cuts in times of
domestic disasters and trillion-dollar pre-emptive unending wars on terror
tacitly seeking cancellation of the debt incurred for incalculable costs when our country made a
killing on middle crossings cotton fields and Jim Crow’s crimes
coffers culled from wages withheld
held hostage by America’s mortgage milked from
African
Asian
Mexican and
First Nations
banks bilked by Manifest Destiny’s dealings and stealings
railroaded ripped-off and ransacked of rights these
wrongs written off without so much as an I.O.U. or interest paid apart from
persnickety PC lip-service spackle over status quo cracks yet
cracker and honky don’t hurt half as much as n-word epithets
evidence that personal prejudice produces pain but
power pulls strings that make minorities
hang on every word
while enlightened whites worry and wonder which terms are fair game
gambling on guesses blessed by banter with buddies of color calling themselves
black or African American
Hispanic or Latino
should I be Anglo Caucasian or European American maybe
mzungu or gringo pick your lingo the
bingo of my birth blessed me with booster boot straps while
other brothers were born with bare feet on flood plains so
I can’t complain or claim total credit for
accomplishments built on benefits from the cream of cursed capital
generated by generals and generations of venerated investments
iterations of inverted perverted priorities placing profit over people
invisible hand over fist a flawed foundation for a nation built by
slaves making bricks without straw success fro some is no excuse for abuse to
call theft a blessing is blasphemous so God bless America as
soon as it admits its errors repents and accepts amazing grace shed on
thee a collective wretch like me I
once was blind but now I’m trying to see still
blurry from crying to God of our weary years and silent tears
shed for the martyrs of
Mississippi
Memphis
the Audubon Ballroom and
Sixteenth Street Baptist Church of Birmingham Alabama
where American terrorists blew up black babies we’re still
treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered this
stony road now watered by floods whose
damage we daily dare to audaciously undo
tenaciously graciously grabbing the hem of our Healer who
stops and names us “daughter”
don’t forget getting your Father’s forgiveness means
following Jesus
seeking justice
on the road to Jericho know who is our neighbor love
the least of these as sisters and brothers bearing God’s image in
spite of society’s assumptions or apathy about the broken Body
barriers built by blissful or willful ignorance expressed in
excuses for absence from the banquet of opportunities to build community
begging off to build bigger barns buy land livestock and lovers all
legitimate interests or idols of adulteration of the germination of
the seeds of the Kingdom seen in Revelation all nations offering adoration wonder
what worship style will win out in eternity’s harmonies of liberty hymns
happy clappy contemporary choruses or gospel glory glory glory hallelujah Lord
I want to be in that number when the saints go marching in a multitude from
every tribe and tongue and nation singing salvation belongs to our God and to the
lamb armed only with the sword of his mouth a
messianic message made plain in the Sermon on the Mount count as blessed all
poor pure peacemakers persecuted meek merciful thirsty and hungry for righteousness better
translated justice is at the bending end of the universe’s long arc according to Martin Luther King
so lift every voice and sing
till earth and heaven ring like
on the Sunday when we were all family at
First Missionary Baptist Church of Biloxi Mississippi warm fuzzies
backed by blood sweat and soul food feasts fixed in FEMA trailers
served by seventy-something saints we’re not worthy we’re not worthy given
our history but hospitality helps heal when we place ourselves in the peril of proximity
will we practice this prescription in our parochial priorities or
avoid going places where we’re the minorities much less the authorities
outside our areas of expertise align ourselves with ambitious agendas to
integrate ideal and real risk a mission impossible
resist the impulse to presidentially limit compassion to
faith-based initiative lip-service lacking bottom-line line-item actions and
truth be told I’m often paralyzed by precedent preventing connection
conventional wisdom weakens the will and the flesh follows familiar formulas
conformed to the pattern of this world forming comfortable communities of
mutual affirmation seeking confirmation through
constant commentaries on common controversies unconvicted by
verses advocating unity over and against separated equality degraded identity a
litany of lament Lord let us lay down our burdens and study war no more emancipate us
from stagnant stasis status quo quorums quote us First and Second Corinthians to
convince us that God’s weakness is wiser than worldly wisdom though
we’re well-versed in avoiding implications of the
ministry of reconciliation i.e. redistribution rich made poor for Christ’s sake and imitation and
Mary’s Magnificat vision of the mighty made low lifting the least of these like
Thy Kingdom come
Thy will be done on earth as it is
in heaven the revolution will not be spiritualized or rationalized away
Revelation’s real vision is the vindication of justice just as described in Psalm 37
Babylon’s bullets and bullies left behind
the end of evil empires’ industrial complexes we shall overcome
win without weapons waging war not as the world but with the Word of
the sharp-tongued Savior a Lion in a Lamb’s attitude
attacking our Adversary with atoning agape
Lord have mercy when you separate the sheep from goats
gauging love for the least of these of ill-health ill-fed ill-clad or incarcerated
clothed with compassion capable of destroying strongholds disarming arguments against
amazing grace how sweet the sound the
song of a saved slave trader truth stranger than
scripture’s impossible prescriptions no fictions
faith moves mountains or moves us to the mountain top so we can see the promised land
the integrated gospel of personal reconciliation and political liberation free at last lest
our hearts drunk with the wine of the world we forget Thee
facing the rising sun
of our new day begun
let us march on
till victory is won