Opening the Doors of the Church: Nuancing (Black) Christian Sexual Ethics

I’m going to say this, despite whatever social and professional consequences may come with it. I am a Black Baptist minister, a scholar, and an Ally to the LGBTQ community. And as a minister in the Black Church, a scholar and Ally, I believe many in the Christian tradition, particularly in the “Black Church,” have gotten it wrong when it comes to “Queer”[1] relationships. The recent SCOTUS ruling has ignited several people from within the Black Church tradition – many of whom have been silent on the recent issues of race and the destruction of black bodies – causing them to speak out about how sinful our nation is, or how we "need Jesus." Really? Too many of us are still unduly homophobic, and consequently fail to see how more nuanced thinking about sexual ethics can contribute to much needed liberation in our communities.

Many may experience dissonance when they hear me say that I am both a Baptist minister and a straight ally to the LGBTQ community. For far too long, far too many people in the Christian community have assumed homo, bi, and other forms of sexual orientation and expression are inherently sinful. In the Black Church especially, there seems to be an assumed agreement that any erotic relationship that does not privilege sex between a man and a woman, within the confines of a heterosexual marriage, is and always will be sin… no ifs, ands or buts about it. The justification of this belief comes from the bible, where it is relatively widely assumed that “God’s word” speaks clearly on this topic. Not so. A more critical and nuanced look into this issue reveals that much of this homophobic conservatism not only comes from a misreading, misunderstanding and misappropriation of scripture, but that it also comes from a failure to recognize how our own sociocultural history has shaped how we think about sexual ethics in this country.

First of all, the bible does not speak that clearly on homoeroticism. In actuality, the concepts of “homosexual” and “heterosexual” were not coined until Dr. James G. Kiernan imagined these terms in an article written in 1892. Funny enough, “heterosexual” was seen then as a mental illness that included “inclinations to both sexes,” while “homosexual” signified one whose “general mental state is that of the opposite sex.”[2] As various sexual revolutions moved us away from the assumption that sex should only be about procreation, these concepts continued to evolve in their meaning, giving us our current understandings of these and other terms we use to categorize our sexualities. The point here is not to give a full history of these terms, but simply to show their constructed nature. Therefore, we should be careful when imposing these concepts onto the bible because their understanding of sexual ethics in biblical contexts was very different from the way we understand it today. To argue that passages, in the Old Testament (Hebrew Bible) for example, condemn “homo” or “bi” sexual orientations – or their erotic expression – is to ignore the fact that much of ancient Jewish law was in keeping with the perceived promise that God would make Abraham the “father of many nations.” In other words, Israel’s guiding ethic for all of life was to become a nation among nations; sexual ethics included. Thus, any form of sexual expression that did not contribute directly to the procreation necessary for a small group of people to “fill the earth” was deemed an abomination. In sum, if the bible does say something about “men sleeping with men” – which it does – it does so with the specific agenda of procreation in mind, not with concerns of erotic orientation or expression. Our contextual and historical needs are different from ancient Israel, and these agendas are always operative in the ways communities have understood their faiths.

Secondly, let’s take a step further back. If we are going to think about sexual ethics in more nuanced and critical ways, we MUST acknowledge the nature of the bible more broadly. Yes, I know it is “inspired” and “God breathed.” I get it. That’s fine. But let’s stop and think for a minute about what that means. Does it mean that the men[3] who wrote these narratives were in some sort of trance, under the control of God’s spirit? Does it mean that, while they were writing these accounts of God’s activity in the world, they were suspended of their cultural realities? Was God literally using their bodies to write these narratives? I think not, and interestingly enough, the bible – or its narratives – never claims to be literally written by God. In fact, its authors regularly acknowledge their own input and interpretations within. Now, this is not to say that the bible is any less “inspired,” or even that God isn’t in some way central to its authorship. It is to say, however, that we cannot assume that we can understand its message without also understanding its cultural and historical context. We can also not ignore the processes of canonization, which always functioned as a way to centralize religious and political power. Canonization has caused many to assume that we don’t need any other theories or discourses to understand the world, when ironically even those who make this claim use other theories regularly. Again, this doesn’t mean God was not involved in some way. But it does mean that human hands have left an indelible print on it as well… And that’s okay. Such is, and always has been the nature of all religious faith and sacred texts.

Lastly, and most specifically to the Black Church, we MUST acknowledge the ways our specific history in this country has shaped our thinking on sexual ethics. Kelly Brown Douglas has been one of the leading scholars in showing how the theology in the Black Church has been heavily informed by an (unconscious?) appeal to respectability among those who have desired to be seen as pleasing in the sight of dominant culture. She also helps us see the ways in which the history of sexualized stereotypes leveled against black men and women have caused a destructive silence among the black community on issues of sexuality. Such stereotypes date back to slavery, and were used to justify the raping of black women and the castration of black men. These stereotypes have been reproduced in our contemporary context, and still function to make us “behave” according to the gaze of dominant culture. In other words, there are social consequences for being seen as a “hoe/welfare queen” (read: jezebel, etc), or a “thug/rapist” (read: oversexualized buck). Let me say it more plainly… The Puritan “Christian” values (which normalized a narrow expression of sexuality) that got to define sexuality early on in this country, coupled with the history of racism and (sexual) assaults on black bodies, along with the stronghold of a biblical tradition that too many have been afraid to question (read: challenge), has all come together to create a complicated sexual existence for many (black) people of faith who have been told in explicit and subliminal ways that living into the fullness of their sexuality… that exploring their sexual selves… that expressing their sexual desires before, or outside of the confines of (heterosexual) marriage… that engaging in homo- or poly-erotic sexualities, even if mutually consenting and fulfilling… that all these forms of sexuality and sexual expression are… simply put… SIN!!

We need to nuance that a bit, because I’m not so sure these are always, and in every circumstance, sinful. I know, I know… I’m crossing a boundary here. But walk with me. Could it be that God, in our current contemporary context, is less concerned with who is involved in a relationship and more concerned with the nature of the relationship? Imagine there is a man and a woman, married, Christian, all that… But the husband regularly engages in domestic abuse toward his wife. Then you have two men, or two women, in a loving relationship that is mutually life-giving, supportive, all that… Which relationship is God more pleased with? Sure, it’s not a fair question. Some will probably say, neither… Fair enough. But why not? Why isn’t the relationship that embodies the “fruit of the spirit” that Galatians talks about “pleasing in God’s sight”? Why is it, by the simple fact that the mutually loving and supportive parties involved happen to be of the same sex, sin? Well I’m not sure it is.  Just like I’m not sure that if two consenting adults who decide they want to express their erotic desire toward each other before they say “I do” is sin. Just like I’m not sure that the teenager who rubs his or herself a little too long, in an exploration of the gift that God has given them, is sin. I don’t have the answers. And honestly, I think we would put ourselves in a much better position to think together on these things if we would all admit that we don’t have the answers. Despite what tradition tells us about the bible, it does not truly address these realities. It bears witness to a people’s interaction with a dynamic God who spoke to them in context. They heard God through that context, and in ways that fit their particular cultural needs. In other words, they heard God addressing the questions they were asking. We’re asking different questions now. Let’s not forget that.

Here’s my point: The Black Church, and Christian communities more broadly, are in dire need of a more developed and nuanced sexual ethic – one that does not merely categorize all sexual identities and expressions that do not fit within the narrow definition of an antiquated dominant cultural norm that served an ancient purpose as sinful. This simply does not fit the Jesus I read in the gospels. I’m not saying I know exactly what God would say about the complexity of our erotic desires. But I am confident that I know what God would say about how we should treat each other, no matter the complexity of one’s erotic desires; and I find that example in Jesus. And one thing I know for sure: if we embody the likeness of Jesus while we continue to develop our sexual ethics, God will be pleased. So like any black preacher concluding a sermon, allow me to conclude with the Christ.

The Jesus I read did not categorize people as sinful based on their identities, professions, desires, or any other social signifiers used to organize human beings hierarchically. And even when he did chastise people based on their behavior, he did so in nuanced ways that would have been deemed unfair according to the de-contextualized prescriptions of the “Law.” Jesus challenged the Roman establishment and the Jewish faith community, pressing both of them to consider the ways they violated human rights in the name of their faith. He challenged racism, classism, sexism – which is amazing considering how patriarchal his context was – and several other marginalizing practices, even when such challenges caused him to revise his own faith of origin. Most importantly, Jesus used radical acceptance as his starting point. Not tolerance, acceptance. He was radically hospitable to the most marginalized in his context, and he built a movement around those without the need to have a name for it. Oh how sweet it would be if we could suspend our need to categorize people; to stop “othering” those who aren’t like us; to accept all people into our homes, churches, and communities as they are, not requiring them to “convert” to experience our love, then figure the rest out as we are working together for justice. That is the Jesus I read, the Christ I preach about.

So I say again. Yes, I am a Baptist minister in the Black Church tradition, and yes I am a straight Ally to the LGBTQ community. Yes, I support the recent decision of the Supreme Court, and not just from a political or constitutional standpoint. I also support this legislation theologically. This is a human rights issue that I believe was rightly corrected. Yes, I am still in pain at the continued disregard of black lives, and the failure to realize that black lives truly do matter. However, let’s not make the mistake of thinking that these two communities are mutually exclusive, or in some kind of competition for Justice. The black community and the LGBTQ community need each other in this pursuit. So not only am I calling my community to account, I am also calling on the LGBTQ community to take seriously the need to fight for racial justice in this country, and to pay particular attention to the racial dynamics within its own context. Only then will Justice be realized. As the late great Fannie Lou Hamer once said, “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”

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[1] Queer is not meant here in a pejorative way, but as a categorical signifier of those relationships that have not been normalized as an ideal within dominant cultural definitions.

[2] Jonathan Katz, “The Invention of Heterosexuality,” in Race, Class, and Gender in the United States, edited by Paula S. Rothenberg (New York: Worth Publishers, 2010), 72. 

[3] And yes I mean “men.” The culture in which the bible was written was extremely patriarchal and misogynist, so women would (most likely) not have been the ones recording the narratives we find in scripture.

Worried Mothers...

Yesterday my mom called several times throughout the day, until she reached me. Once she finally got me on the phone (I had a busy day yesterday) I could immediately hear a great sense of urgency in her voice. My first thought was to make sure everything was okay. She said, "yes," she was fine. The reason for her wanting so badly to reach her son was to simply tell him to be careful. "What do you mean, mom?" I asked. She proceeded, "Gary, I just want you to be very careful." She went on to encourage me not to do anything that would get me pulled over, questioned, or even looked at too long by a police officer, or any other person entrusted with the responsibility of enforcing the law. Apparently she had just heard about the young man who was shot by an officer in South Carolina, while complying with the officer in retrieving his id from his vehicle. If you know my mom, she can be a worrier sometimes. But then again, what mom isn't : ) I assured her, "Mom, I'm not doing anything wrong. But okay, I will be careful. I promise." This satisfied her in part. She proceeded to tell me to make sure I always dressed nice in public. "Don't wear any hoodies, pull your pants up..." she said. "Mom, I don't sag." And frankly, it's too damn hot in Texas to be wearing hoodies (I didn't say this to her, of course).

After our conversation, I reflected on my mom's call. While I laughed about it initially, I couldn't shake the sincere sense of urgency in her voice. She was truly scared... Not (necessarily) because she knew for sure that something was going to happen to me. That would be fatalistic. No, she was scared at the very real possibility of what could happen. Might, even. She was afraid of the probability of potential, in this case. I feel her. She was scared at the idea of being put in a situation similar to other black mothers who have had to bury their sons because of... "misunderstandings." I feel her. She was scared at the thought of having to cope with the loss of her only son. I feel her. I love my mom dearly, and while my optimism guards my mind from worrying about negative potentialities, my mother's optimism was shattered by such potentialities, because of their longstanding history of coming to fruition. I feel her.

My mother's concern for me is valid. She is truly worried, and she shouldn't have to be. She prays that I will not be profiled. She hopes I never lose my cool, even when injustice justifies the raising of my temperature. She shouldn't have to have such hope. She lives with the fear of losing her son, even and especially when her son is doing nothing wrong. She shouldn't have to live with such fear. She wakes up every morning and watches the news, just to make sure she doesn't hear the name "Gary Francis Green II" in a report other than an accolade or an honor. She should not have to! My mother sometimes worries more than she needs to. And for me, the incurable optimist that I am, I try really hard not to worry about things that are outside of my control. I don't worry, nor do I always understand why my mom worries so much. But in this situation, I understand completely why my mom is worried. I get it, but damn... She shouldn't have to be.

As much as it seemed to me at the time that this phone call came out of left field, it didn't. This phone call was to be expected. It didn't come out of left field at all. It came directly out of the history of unjust violence, calculated hatred, and persistent suspicion toward people of color in this country. It came directly from the ways in which this country's second set of settlers constructed negative images in their own minds of those they wished to dehumanize, and the fact that such images have persisted, even unconsciously, in many unsuspecting minds in 2014. This conversation was no surprise. It has its specific history, and a host of antecedents, all of which contribute to the fact that my mom is worried to death, about my death... And I can't say this enough... She shouldn't have to be.

My prayer is for all the worried mothers (and fathers) out there... You shouldn't have to be. And I intend on contributing in every way possible to creating a world where you don't have to.

Toward a Black Cosmopolitan Christianity

Preface: This is a weekly reflection that we have to do for a course I am taking this semester. I came into this class with hopeful expectations, and it has not disappointed. My perspective is beginning to be formed, and I am finding myself offering tentative answers to some of the questions I began this journey with. Today was another big step in a good direction. Enjoy...

This week’s reading is crucial for one of my central research inquiries, both for this class and most likely my eventual dissertation. I have been seeking a postmodern discourse that can allow the “Black Church” to maintain its sense of self in a racist country, while calling it beyond its self to a global vision. I have sensed that a version of Cosmopolitanism could possibly offer fruit for this discussion, and this week has given me a few seeds toward this end.

The concept of “solidarity-in-singularity” offers a way of uniting people in a way that does not subsume their particularity; a way of promoting solidarity without requiring alterity to get lost in the collective. My interest in this concept comes from my view of the Black Church as being a significant center that still speaks and acts on behalf of Black people in the U.S. The Black Church has occupied a unique position in the U.S., and has used that position to fight for racial justice on behalf of Black people. Yet, the Black Church as an institution is not without problems. It has often promoted Black essentialism, denying much of the Black experience within (LGBTQ, women, etc). It is my contention that the Black Church is stuck in the shadow of the Civil Rights movement, and is still defined by such activity. I also have understood Black Christian identity to be a unique phenomenon that is colored by faith, race, and has taken on a culturally defensive posture that often manifests itself in forms of religious conservatism.

One of the internal conversations that has been happening at least since the mid-90s is the debate between ontological Blackness (essential) and “postmodern blackness” (positional), in which there is an increasing awareness of the simultaneous expressions of gender, sexuality and class (this list could go on) within the racial category of Blackness. That is to say, there is not just one way of being Black, nor is there some defining attribute to one’s qualification as “Black.” Yet, “postmodern blackness” has come under scrutiny by some scholars because of its focus on individuality. This is particularly relevant to the scholarly critique because many have argued that thinking of Blackness this way threatens the ability for collective solidarity among Black people; a solidarity that is still necessary for the survival of a still oppressed people in the U.S. I have tried to understand the implications of this debate as it bears directly on Black Christian identity; on what it means to be a Black Christian in the U.S.

I have suspected that troubling the waters of Christian identity in the Black experience specifically, and religious identity in general, could provide a helpful broadening/particularizing scope for the Black Church for the sake of attending to pressing needs in a changing world. It is here that I find resonance with Namsoon Kang’s idea of what it means to be “religious,” and the very real “accident” that is many of our religious identities. Thus, I argue that problematizing religious identity, in the same way that Black identity has been complexified, can liberate the Black Church’s adherents – and the Church itself – to better attend to the particularities within and for Black communities, as well as expanding its scope to become a force for justice on a global scale.

Cosmopolitan Theology (a must read), by: Dr. Namsoon Kang

Questioning "Religion"

"I am more than my religion." I said this to myself a couple weeks ago in my World Christianity class, when we were discussing identity. Our professor was discussing the question, "Who are you?" She talked about how each of us has layers to our identities. We are complex people. We are multilayered, multivalent, and multi-positioned. She expressed to us that we need not pigeonhole ourselves to any one aspect of our identity. I am Gary. I am a son, a husband, a Black man in the U.S., and I am also a Christian (among many other things). I'm not any one thing, and neither are you.

Why is it, though, that so many people seem to limit themselves to their religion? Why does it seem that so many people of faith only think about life in terms of their religion? I am of the belief that religion is a human construction. In no way am I suggesting that we have constructed, or created God. However, we have created religion, the means we use to talk and think about God (and the world). So, if religion provides our foundation for the ways in which we think about God, does it also define the boundaries around the ways we can think about God? If I am Christian, am I only allowed to think about God in certain ways? Can I not conceive of God in ways that are outside of my particular faith tradition? What if I experience God in a way that does not fit within my clearly defined way of making sense of the world? Does religion, to some extent, limit the ways in which we can interact with God?

These questions arise for me out of a place of honesty. I have, honestly, felt the presence of God in ways that do not fit within the strict boundaries of my particular Christian expression. About a year ago we hosted an interfaith dialogue panel in Lawrence, Kansas. God was there. A few years ago, I had the opportunity to travel to Thailand and Myanmar, countries that are predominantly Buddhist. God was there too. I cannot deny that God was present in these situations. Maybe if I was a staunch, conservative, Christian, who was not open to seeing God in various ways, I would have figured out a way to explain away the reality that God was present in these unique experiences. However, my desire is to be honest.

So, to be honest, God is bigger than our religious categories. God transcends our ways of defining ourselves and the ways we categorize the world. God was present in Myanmar, challenging me to broaden the narrow perspective that I was born into, and raised in. God was at our panel discussion, urging us to see how God is involved in reconciliation and mutuality across barriers. God is present in all of our lives, and often times our strict religious categories dictate the ways we can and cannot interact with the Divine.

Too often we get lulled into the tendency to use religion primarily as markers of identity, rather than as a framework for thinking about the Divine. We categorize the world in these terms, and construct "us" and "them" in the process. Because of this, we limit the ways we can interact with others. We assume that Christians and Muslims can't associate with one another, as if we forget that we are all human. Our religious perspectives are an integral part of who we are, but they are not the totality of who we are. They should not encapsulate our identities. We should not limit the question, "Who are you," to, "I'm a Christian / Muslim / Jewish / etc." It seems to me that we will not be able to truly see beyond the ways we have been taught to see, until we keep religion in its place. Albeit an integral place it does have, it is not the ultimate place. I am more than my religion. And this affirmation allows me to see beyond the boundaries of my Christian faith; an aspect of my identity that I value a great deal. But I am still more than my Christian faith. You are too. We all are. We are complex, multivalent, multi-positioned... We are people; human beings. We are not what we've been taught to be, exclusively. We are so much more.

These are just a few of the questions that I am considering. By no means do I have answers. I have questions. But I have found that being liberated enough to ask these kinds of questions is a good place (for me) to start. I'm not afraid of the answers I may get. My hope is that these questions will lead me to make a significant difference in this world. We'll see. I only hope you will join me on the journey. Peace.

The Presence of "Absence"

Recently I came across a term used by one of my professors that made an impression on me. In one of her chapters dealing with the study of "World" Christianity, Dr. Namsoon Kang used the term "absence." Actually, this term conveys a similar idea that has come up in several conversations and readings this semester. "Absence" deals specifically with the tendency for dominant groups with privilege to resist naming themselves, all the while naming others. This discussion came in the context of talking about how "World" Christianity has become a field of study in the Global West (and North). Part of Dr. Kang's critique of this field of study was that scholars who use the term "World" Christianity, are really talking about Christianity in Africa, Asia and Latin America. Part of the problem, she suggests, is that the current conversation about Global Christianity is that U.S. Christians do not name ourselves when talking about this topic. For example, we often talk about "them," and how we should understand "their" Christianity, as if "theirs" is under examination and "ours" is beyond scrutiny. So we say Latin American Christianity, African Christianity and Asian Christianity, but there is no mention of North American Christianity. When talking about Christianity, we simply say Christianity, because the assumption is that our Christianity is the norm. Because of this "absence" when talking about Christianity in the U.S., we unconsciously create binaries; an "us" and "them" way of talking.

This "absence" can be applied to areas other than the study of the Christian faith. If we think about the way we talk about race the same thing happens. Those in the privileged and dominant racial group often talk about "Blacks," "Hispanics," etc., while resisting to name themselves as being a part of the "White" race. The assumption is that "White" is the norm, and everyone else is the "Other." In fact, these "common sense" assumptions are made frequently, and not just by Christians and White people. While these two groups obviously have privilege in this country, there is a certain privilege that is also granted to men, heterosexuals, those in middle to upper socioeconomic class, able bodied people, the list goes on. We often assume that our unique experience is either the norm, or the preferred way of living. These assumptions often come out in our conversations, and unconsciously reinforce these binaries and unhealthy ways of representing others.

I bring this out because our conversation is key to resisting the trends that keep people oppressed. It's one thing to actively resist oppression through activities like protest, changing legislation, etc, but our conversation is central to resisting stereotypes and oppression on a more subtle level. North American Christianity is just another version of Christianity, just like Christianity in Asia, Africa and Latin America. We don't have a monopoly on Christianity in the United States (and frankly, Christians don't have a monopoly on God!). White people are members of a race just like African Americans, Hispanics, Asian, Native American, etc. White people do not have a monopoly on humanity, we are all valuable as human beings. We come from different walks of life, and varying perspectives. All are valuable, and should be treated as such... Even in our conversations.

Fleeing the Margins...?

A few days ago my hometown, San Antonio, passed an ordinance protecting LGBTQ and Veteran communities from discrimination in the workplace. This ordinance comes on the heels of much national debate regarding same sex marital rights. As could be expected, there has been much response from various communities surrounding this debate. The (conservative) religious and political communities especially have provided commentary on their disdain for these advancements. Yet, amid all of this discussion there has been a silence in many black communities. In fact, this silence has been persistent for some time now; perhaps many years. I'm not suggesting that there are no black communities talking about it, but I have yet to encounter a conversation that is both constructive and reciprocal, especially in the black religious community. What little commentary I have come across has been one sided at best, destructive at worst. This, coupled with several of the readings I have encountered lately, makes me wonder if black people's silence on this issue is more a matter of identity than anything else.

To provide some context, we have been marginalized in this country since its foundation. From being seen as only 3/5 human beings, to slavery, to segregation and so on... black people in American have had it rough to say the least. And while things have seemingly improved in certain areas, racism is still so engrained in the ethos of America that blatant manifestations show up in a myriad of ways (injustice system, penal system, unemployment, etc). One of the most prevalent ways that this negative mindset toward blacks in this country is reinforced is through media, and the many negative images that are etched into our North American consciousness. If that's not bad enough, having a Black president paints the false reality of equality, causing the privileged to view the cries of the oppressed as unfounded complaining. Don't get me wrong, I celebrate having Obama as president. But this is not an indication that racism is over, by any stretch of the imagination.

Understanding this context is important because blacks have had an identity crisis since coming to the U.S. We have tried to fit in, and it has become clear in many ways that assimilating to white privileged culture is sometimes our best option for upward mobility (sadly enough). Yet, no matter how much we ignore our historical and cultural roots, we can never truly become anything other than black. As long as the pigment of our skin is what it is, we will always be seen differently; as Other. Resisting the negative images perpetuated in the media, and the stereotypes with which we are labeled, it is extremely difficult to feel appreciated as an integral part of this country (which we are!). We often live marginalized lives, and many of us have adopted a deep desire to be 'normal' / mainstream. 

It is at this point that the theory of intersectionality may be informative. Instersectionality deals with power relations, (White) privilege, and the marginalization of minority groups (LGBTQ, women, economically disadvantaged, etc). Perhaps most poignant, though, is that this theory exposes the plight and reality of multiple oppression; those living at the intersections of oppressed, minority groups (I.e. black women, poor black men, etc). That is, if it's not bad enough just to be black, to be black and a woman and gay, causes one's existence to be all the more marginal. Perhaps black people have had this sense for years though. Perhaps blacks have known that living openly gay or lesbian lives will only complicate our (black) existence that much more. I am not suggesting that I have this connection figured out, but it is a question that I'm raising this semester. Is our silence on the issue of LGBTQ relations evidence of our own desire to flee the margins of society? Does it have to do with our own struggles with identity in America? Could it also have something to do with wanting to avoid the already negative sexual stereotypes that are placed on us (black men are predators and overly aggressive sexually; black women are loose, overly sexual, etc)? Could it perhaps be, because of the stigma on this topic with black communities (religious especially), that we don't talk about it for fear of being ostracized with our own black community? Or, could it be a mixture of all these dynamics? 

Whether we will admit it or not this is an issue in the black community, but it is something that we need to begin to talk openly and constructively about. No matter where you are personally regarding this area, open conversation is something that we will al benefit from. 

Symbolic Characterization: Apologizing to Caliban

This week I read A Different Mirror: A History of Multicultural America, by the late Dr. Ronald Takaki. This text retells American history from a minority perspective, and exposes the holes in the history that most of us probably learned in grade school. The interesting thing about how Takaki makes his claim is that he uses Shakespeare's "The Tempest," and specifically the character of Caliban to do so. Caliban was vilified in the play and was subjected to being Prospero's servant. Takaki draws the connection between the original performance of Shakespeare's play in London, and the years of colonization in what we now know as the United States of America. At the time of the play, settlers had already come in contact with Native Americans but had not yet engaged in warfare with them. They had opportunity to observe them but obviously did not know much about them. Takaki also notes that at this time, many of those in the audience may have come in contact with Africans as well, because of documentation suggesting that "five "Negroes"" had been transported to England "until they could speak the language" (p. 49).

This is of interest because Caliban was described as a kind of "savage," one living outside of "civilization." He is said to be, "dark in complexion. His father was a demon and his mother was Syncorax, a witch who had lived in Africa" (p. 49). There was a clear image placed into the consciousness of the audience, even at this initial showing of this Shakespearean play. It seems that the association with darker skin, savagery, living outside of civilization, were all indicators of a kind of vilified characterization. This is significant because, for many (if not most) Europeans, these were the first significant connections made between them and Blacks, Native Americans, and even lower class Irish (who were also described as living outside of civilization). It is also important to note this because these images had a direct connection to the ways that English colonizers viewed the Native Americans, which ultimately justified their mistreatment of them and eventually African slaves.

I point this out because these kinds of images directly affect the way we characterize, and treat others. What would have happened if the English colonizers would have learned more about Native Americans? Africans? Would they have discovered that just because their language and customs were different, they weren't savages? How different would they have treated them if they understood their difference as just that, and not something to be threatened by. Would they have collaborated with them at the initial settlement, like some scholars have suggested the Natives sought to do? Some would look back and say that the U.S. would not be what it is today if it were not for the English settlers. And that's a bad thing? Our America is indeed a country with some great qualities. But let's not forget that our America has a long history of injustice, bigotry and dehumanization of minorities of all kinds. And simply put, many of these atrocities are a direct result of the language we choose to use to describe those we consider to be "other."

In thinking about all of this, I must apologize to the Calibans of our world today. On behalf of this country, I apologize to the LGBTQ communities for the ways you have been treated by those who have not taken the time to get to know you as human beings, and instead have seen you through the oppressive lenses of heterosexism. I apologize to the Native Americans who have been stereotyped and passed over on such opportunities that many other people are granted. I apologize to my own people, Blacks, for the history of racial violence and injustice that we have endured (and still do), and the fact that we are profiled as criminals on a daily basis. I apologize to women, because your worth has not been realized by our patriarchal leaders. Not to mention we have used objectifying language to describe your beauty. I apologize to the Latino/a population because we have made you jump through all kinds of hoops just to become part of this country, a country that purports an "American Dream" that will continue to be a nightmare for many of us. The list goes on...

I hope that we as a human race can begin to take steps to resisting the negative images that the privileged in our country want to perpetuate. I hope we can make ourselves aware of the appropriate ways of talking to and about those who are different from us. This is our responsibility, and in an age when technology is where it is, there is no excuse! So from now on, when you watch the news and see a black man guilty of a crime, please remember that Blacks aren't the only ones committing the crimes that are publicized in the media. When you hear of women fighting for equal pay, remember that women have been integral in the building of our country and are only asking for what should have been given to them since day one. When you read about American history, understand that the victor gets to tell the story, while the victims voice is rendered silent. We live in a country with a complicated and nuanced history, with oppression that is even more multilayered and systemic. But we also live in a country that is represented by a beautiful collage of diversity, with people who all have something significant to offer. To the Calibans of today, we need you to continue to let your voices be heard so this country can continue to be broken, and to heal.