Skip to main content

Moving Beyond Weariness

What is this weariness? It is the weight of 400 years of relentless hope while facing the willful ignorance of those who deny the historic and systemic oppression of so many.  Being available for hard conversations is draining yet worth it when someone begins to understand. On the contrary,  there are always those who know more than God.

As for me, I have tasted the freedom that was unjustly denied to my kidnapped and enslaved ancestors. This was not exclusively experienced by my extended family. Unknown numbers of Africans from various tribes were kidnapped, chained, shackled, and transported against their will as cargo to live less than humans in enslavement on this land. What traumas does this experience induce for the human psyche, body, and soul? On what behaviors and practices did they learn to depend for survival? Spend time with those questions.

Born in the post-chattel slavery era of the twentieth century, I know Jim Crow and apartheid from my lived experience. There are also memories of my parents' loving yet firm caution to keep me safe as a Black child. I was too young in the 1960s to remember the joys and sorrows as elders whom I did not know sought to ensure my future, but my body remembers the tension and hopes of the time. 

Yes, there are now laws to protect my civil rights including the right to vote, but racist toxins continue to be prevalent in society. They manifest themselves in covert and overt ways, many of which will continue after my lifetime. Those who worship at the altar of racism, work to ensure the perpetual enshrinement of their privilege. They then photoshop their efforts with coded language that we recognize as dog whistles. 

No matter how well you master the art of not internalizing microagressions, there is no guardrail when a traumatic evil kneels upon your neck and breathing is no longer possible. Such was the callous murder of George Floyd who was buried today after a premature death -  the latest casualty of racism. The shock and disbelief of the horror was a gut punch to each person with a moral compass and the capacity for empathy.

What would it be like to awaken and realize that the pandemic of racism was nothing more than bad dream? Unfortunately, we are 400 years late and too many have lost their lives. Those of us who continue to breathe must educate ourselves on hard truths so that we may effectively resist its advancement and move towards becoming an anti-racist and transformed society.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

New Site

  To read the latest on Leslye's Labyrinth, visit http://bit.ly/leslyeslabyrinth

Rising Above the Cacophony

In my research on Thomas Merton, I have come across a number of references to jazz music. While I appreciate the genre, I am quite far from being an aficionado. A longtime fan of Mary Lou Williams, I was pleased to learn that Merton also shared an appreciation of her musical genius. Then, there was a reference to John Coltrane's Ascension. The Catholic me was quite intrigued by both the title and Merton's fascination with the piece. I promptly went online and ordered the CD. The first time, I listened for less than five minutes as the cacophony of musical instruments reminded me of being in a club in my younger years. Remember when the music was so loud that it was like noise making it difficult to have a conversation? With my second attempt, I was pulled into the experience of hearing the sounds of individual instruments ascend amidst the perceived chaos. It was quite fascinating. As I type, I am listening to this work of Coltrane for the third time. It is having a diffe...

The Legacy of Their Names

The soil of Turtle Island is forever drenched with the innocent blood  of its first inhabitants - men, women and children  who had their humanity denied. In right relationship  with the Creator and creation, the First Nations were considered obstacles  to your insatiable greed. The God you trusted to bring you safely across the Atlantic was too small for this new life. Putting aside  loving  your neighbor as yourself, you chose to worship at the tarnished altar of the golden calf. A bounty of unfamiliar  natural resources  were no more than  tools  for personal wealth as you coveted ownership instead of stewardship. Walking this land  from time immemorial, you found their presence to warrant a litany of broken promises, infected blankets, and genocide. In spite of you, some survived only  to be denied access  to their ancestral lands before being forced to walk the Trail of Tears - their own via dolorosa. We hear echoes of...