Leaving The South

I was leaving the South

to fling myself into the unknown...

I was taking a part of the South

to transplant in alien soil,

to see if it could grow differently,

if it could drink of new and cool rains,

bend in strange winds,

respond to the warmth of other suns

and, perhaps, to bloom.

— Richard Wright, Black Boy, 1945

Growing up in the South, I have lived in close proximity to many African Americans; however, I have missed much of the history and personal stories of those who are different from me. One of the ways I’ve been able to address this in my life is to listen and learn from the stories of men and women of color, many also from the South. In addition to cultivating friendships with people of color in my life, books have also had a profound impact on me in this journey. One such book has been The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America's Great Migration by Isabel Wilkerson which tells the story of the exodus of almost six million African Americans from the South throughout the twentieth century through the lives of three individuals. 

A few years ago in online circles I follow, The Warmth of Other Suns was being discussed and recommended. When I was picking up the book at Little Shop of Stories (I also highly recommend this bookstore in downtown Decatur), I told the bookseller I wanted a book for my upcoming summer beach trip. Her comment was, “not your usual beach reading.” She was prophetic as it was not a light read. This book shattered many of my assumptions and biases about racism, especially systemic racism. As I read the stories of courageous men and women who faced immense challenges, I felt sad, shocked, angry, and ashamed at the depravity of how people were treated because their skin color was different. I also learned in greater detail how racism did not end for these men and women who left the Jim Crow South as they faced housing, job, and social discrimination in Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles. This allowed me to see how deep and entrenched the majority culture bias has been in our country.  

One of the three individuals Wilkerson’s book chronicles is Ida Mae Gladney.

She had lived the hardest life, been given the least education, seen the worst the South could hurl at her people, and did not let it break her… She was surrounded by the clipped speech of the North, the crime on the streets, the flight of the white people from her neighborhood, but it was as if she were immune to it all. She took the best of what she saw in the North and the South and interwove them in the way she saw fit… Her success was spiritual, perhaps the hardest of all to achieve. And because of that, she was the happiest and lived the longest of them all.[1]

This growing realization, a realization of racism’s multi-generational impact and the inequities experienced by people like Ida Mae, caused me to lament. But that was not the only reaction I had while reading. I was also struck by the resiliency and spiritual strength of Ida Mae and others, a resiliency and spiritual strength forged through suffering. While the Black Church was not the primary focus of the book, the author referenced the faith of many of the individuals as they sought a better life in spite of the adversities they faced. This has created a growing appreciation for what I and others in majority White churches can learn from the Black Church. There is a rich history and godly example from which I and others can learn much as we enter into the stories.

Why have so many of these stories not been told? I have asked that question to myself many times. Why did I not learn about this growing up? In what ways have I been complicit in ignorance? These are not easy or simple questions. As I’ve learned more about our complex, racial history, I’m finding that I am, in a way, leaving the South. However, this departure is not physical but rather leaving the White-washed, incomplete history of the South. My belief is that hearing untold stories will allow us to see a more complete history. My hope is that in this Black History Month I and others will engage, listen to, learn from, and love our neighbors.

1. [1] Isabel Wilkerson, The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America's Great Migration (New York: Random House, 2010), p. 532.

The Cancer of Racism, The Racism of Cancer Care, and Why We Should Care

“Our world is suffering from metastatic cancer. Stage 4. Racism has… been spreading, contracting, and threatening to kill the American body…” – Ibram X. Kendi, How to Be an Anti-Racist

Unfortunately, cancer has had or will have an effect on every single one of our lives. Statistically speaking in the United States, women have a 1 in 3 chance and men have a 1 in 2 chance of developing some form of cancer in their lifetime. However, did you know that certain population groups bear a disproportionate burden of both disease incidence (who is diagnosed with cancer) and mortality (who dies from cancer)? For example, the national average number of new male cancer cases per year is 480 per 100,000 men, but 515 cases per 100,000 Black men. Additionally, while there are 134 female cancer-related deaths per year per 100,000 women, that number increases to 151 deaths per 100,000 Black women. We could talk through a pretty extensive laundry list of types of cancer and different BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) groups that are either more likely to develop that cancer type or die from that type of cancer. We refer to this unfortunate phenomenon as a racial health disparity and, like a lot of medical issues, it gets pretty complicated when we try to untangle why this problem exists. Today, as a cancer researcher, I want to share with y’all some of what I have been learning from looking at this issue as well as hopefully encourage you to do the same kind of searching in your own sphere of influence to see where the cancer of racism has spread and how we can root it out. 

One of the first ideas for us to explore when understanding the role of racism in cancer is referred to as “social determinants of health.” This concept recognizes that beyond a person’s biology and genetic family history, significant health outcomes (such as mortality, life expectancy, and how much you spend on health care) are related to the conditions of the environment that a person lives in. These conditions can range from economic stability and access to food, education, and job opportunities to a person’s physical environment and how integrated they are into their community. Because of our country’s history of oppression of Black people since 1619, when chattel slavery began in America, many Black people have lower average income, live in neighborhoods with higher poverty and crime rates, and have restricted access to health care, economic stability, and education.

One facet that has caused this disparity is the effect of housing segregation. Federal legislation in 1934 that was intended to help make housing more affordable after the Great Depression resulted in a practice known as redlining, where banks could deny mortgages to people living in “high-risk” areas—outlined in red on residential security maps—because of their high population of Black people and other minority groups. This was detrimental to communities of color, which are still feeling the effect of this discrimination today. This is seen in the lack of access to quality food, increased chronic stress due to increased crime rates and over-policing, and a disproportionate impact of environmental hazards, known as environmental racism. (Race is the most significant predictor of a person living near contaminated air, water, or soil.)

 While some of the racial disparities in cancer incidence and mortality can be explained by socio-economic status (itself a by-product of a long history of limiting the access Black people have to various means for economic growth), socio-economic status cannot explain everything. Even when normalizing data by education level and socio-economic status, a number of disparities in cancer prevention, diagnosis, and treatment persist. While much of this post has discussed the systematic and structural problems that result in health disparities, here we start seeing potential effects of interpersonal actions between physicians and patients. BIPOC are grossly underrepresented in the field of medicine and medical research, which can lead to issues of miscommunication and stereotype biases between White physicians and their minority patients. Layer on top of that a history of exploitation of Black people in medical research (the story of Henrietta Lacks, the woman whose cancer cells were taken from her and used without her consent that led to major breakthroughs in cancer research, was what first got me interested in this subject in college), and it is easy to understand the high level of distrust in Black communities of the medical establishment.

Everything mentioned above just scratches the surface of the data and anecdotes around the problem of cancer racial health disparities. I personally have been trying to dive into the deep end of this subject pool because my own field of study is cancer research. Last summer, I first started thinking of the idea of including this subject matter in a cancer biology class that I would like to teach, one day, off in the future. However, when I mentioned this far-off idea to a group of friends, their response was, “why not teach that class now?” I decided to do more research and put together a workshop series which I will be teaching this spring at Georgia Tech to start the discussion in my community about the problems that exist and what we can do as scientists and engineers to alleviate the problem. If you are not in the health care field, you might be wondering, why does any of this matter to me?

As I have been reading through the entire Bible with our Ponce community, I have been struck by how great God’s heart is for the poor, the fatherless, the widow, the orphan, and the oppressed. In fact, I have started highlighting every time God talks about defending the defenseless and helping the helpless and I am amazed how often He shares His passion about this subject. Being a Christ follower means that we are being sanctified to look more like Christ every day—in this case, I would argue, this means our hearts for the oppressed should be growing as well. Every human of every race and people group bears the image of God which means every human deserves respect and dignity. I believe it is our role as believers and as the Church universal to fight for justice and equity in each of our own spheres of influence, lifting up our fellow image-bearers and paying special attention to those who historically have been oppressed.

For me, that has looked like educating myself in how my field of work has been affected by and sometimes guilty of taking away human dignity instead of promoting human flourishing. Beyond educating myself, I have felt called to the education of others and brainstorming ways to make changes in my field to be more inclusive and equitable. My challenge to you today would be to think of what small step you can take to bring Christ’s love for the downtrodden in your sphere. How has systemic or structural racism affected your neighborhood, your workplace, your family? Are there organizations that are working to reduce disparity and increase equity in your area that you can support? How can you use any position of power or privilege you have in your community to lift up those who are disadvantaged? How can you grow to know God’s heart for the poor and poor in spirit and let His heart affect your day-to-day actions? We have a long way to go, but I am praying that we could all act like “racism cancer researchers,” detecting areas of our lives where we need God’s help to treat this disease.

Racist--Who Me?

I have black friends!  I’ve hired black people!  I’ve never burned a cross!  To paraphrase an Atlanta native – “If you’ve said one of these things, you might be a racist.”  And truth be told I’m a racist and I’ve been on a journey to grow since I became a Christian.  In fact, my faith has been the main driver of my realization that my behaviors and thoughts have been racist. 

Let’s set some context so we’re all on the same page and use the definition of a racist as follows from the Cambridge Dictionary – “someone who believes that their race makes them better, more intelligent, more moral, etc. than people of other races and who does or says unfair or harmful things” – I’d like to emphasize the “says” portion of the definition and state that these are driven by our thoughts.

Now some background on my journey.  I've been a direct participant in racism through word and deed when younger, whether I was telling a joke, insulting someone on the court/field or when angry and filled with rage blaming someone for just being of a certain color skin.  In hindsight these actions were driven out of fear that somehow acknowledging “them” as equals or admit that “they” might actually be better than me.  After all, all I heard my whole like was how “they are” different and not as smart as “us” nor able to do what “we” can.  This wasn’t a direct education, but generally spoken of and implied by action and deed of my family and friends.

As I got older, took “real” jobs, and wanted to advance a career I changed my words and actions, but this was not out of a true change of heart, but rather out of “political correctness.”  I was a Christian at this time, but it was early in my sanctification process so didn’t truly understand what “love your neighbor as yourself” meant and how I was supposed to live out my faith.

Only as I made a conscious decision to study, learn, and grow in my faith did real change happen, and this wasn’t an easy or pleasant path.   The first step I had to realize in this journey is that as a child of God, I'm OK. Who I am, all that I have, and all that I will be is from God alone. Mentally recognizing this was relatively easy compared to the changes that still needed to happen in my heart.  Taking down the walls around my own heart, letting my ego go, recognizing that, and being free enough to rely on my faith alone, stepping up, speaking out and doing what God has defined as "right" is hard.

The change is hard because as you let go you can expect personal attacks from friends, coworkers, and even family. They don’t always call you out for not using slurs but say subtle things like “you’ve changed.”  You might not get invited out to a game, for a beer, or just to hang out anymore. It’s guaranteed your life will change.

When I look at what’s going on today (not just around the country but also with people I know), the denial of racial issues or statements such as “Racist – Who Me?” lead me to ask – “Really are you kidding me!”  Of course, there’s racism going on and I’m not going to specifically accuse anyone of being a racist, but please read the following topics and honestly think through the possibility that you’re racist.

Black Lives Matter

When you say or think things like “All Lives Matter” or “Blue Live Matter,” etc., I want to ask you – when was the last time you said “All Cancers Matter.” or in October during Breast Cancer Awareness Month say “Prostate Cancer Matters” you don’t.  So, you need to ask yourself “Why?”

Removal of Confederate Monuments

You say, “They’re just representing history, they don’t represent slavery or anything bad.”, really?  Haven’t you cheered when at the end of World War II, statues of Hitler and Nazi symbols were taken down? What about when the Berlin Wall fell, a sign of the end of Communism you cheered.  When you saw statues of Saddam Hussain being ripped down on TV you cheered.  All those statues and symbols represented history as well, why is it OK to take those down but leave Confederate statues up?  Why can’t these symbols of evil history be removed like the others?

White Supremacy

White Supremacy shows itself in many forms, not just the obvious white-hooded portrayals of the KKK we see in movies, TV shows, and history books. White Supremacy is not only historical. It is happening here and now.  The chart below can give you some context for what I’m trying to describe.

Reading the Covert portion will be painful and should cause self-reflection, but that’s a good thing. This is what we are charged to do as Christians.  Just read Acts 10:34-35 and John 13:34, where we’re told to “love one another: just as I have loved you.”

Even the image of Jesus we know has roots in racism. Yes, the tall, long-haired white Jesus is nothing like what Jesus looked like. This image was created in the 13th – 16th centuries by artists like Leonardo da Vinci (the famous “Last Supper”) and Michelangelo (the “Last Judgment” in the Sistine Chapel), then brought throughout the world as Europeans colonized the rest of the world.  Scripture tells us that Jesus “had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him” (Isaiah 53:2). Based on scripture telling us that Jesus was nothing special to look at, how odd do you think a tall, white, long straight-haired Jesus would have been in Israel during the time of Jesus?  Our Savior’s image has been changed to fit our white sensibilities so we would find him acceptable to us.

If you feel bad after a bit of self-reflection on these things, that’s OK because right now is the perfect time to begin your journey of change and understanding.  You’ve heard our church discuss these topics in sermons and offer classes to increase understanding. Now it’s time for you to take the next step in your journey. 

Even though it may seem hard, realize that racism/being a racist is a sin like any other sin and your faith provides forgiveness, the God-given, gospel-centered strength to move forward and change.  There is proof of this in the Bible, like 2 Corinthians 4:8-10 – “We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies.”

Divided in Christ: Confronting White Supremacy in the Church

2021 kicked off with the Confederate flag marching through the U.S. Capitol. Not far from it, in the same crowd, flew a giant flag reading: JESUS SAVES.

Many Christians who are not Black themselves have condemned the ties between our faith and White supremacy. But many have not.

And that has meant division.

We all cope with this conflict differently. Maybe you try to “win” with information, emailing articles or videos that may or may not ever get opened. Maybe you get into interruption-filled shouting matches. Maybe you try to change the subject to something safer—work, school, the kids. 

Maybe you have been through all of these phases.

And maybe, for some, you have ended up cut off or cutting off entirely. You just couldn’t see eye to eye. And then came the pandemic as a convenient excuse to stay away.

Christian Strangers

What happens now? Is there hope for reunification of God’s hands and feet when the cancer of White supremacy has invaded so many of her organs?

One of the hardest feelings through all this is often a sense of shock, of looking at familiar faces and seeing racist strangers. How can my sweet mother lecture me about George Floyd’s criminal record? How can my uncle, an elder at his church, insist that a post-Obama America is by definition post-racial? How can my neighbor, who taught me in Sunday School, claim to believe the Gospel and still stick to saying “All Lives Matter”?

In some ways, as a Chinese-American, discovering fellow Christians’ racism is less of a surprise. It’s not a secret to many Asian-Americans that anti-Blackness and colorism are rampant within our communities, and you can’t grow up as one of the few non-White kids in an Ohio suburb without discovering a lot of your White neighbors are racist.

Spirit-Led Change

I’ve read and seen a lot that makes me skeptical things will change. Even though it’s mostly about politics, Ezra Klein’s book Why We’re Polarized talks a lot about how for humans, survival usually depended on whether your community accepted you more than whether you were right about facts or morals. So our brains are wired to believe what most people around us believe.

And “people around us” is not just people physically around—zero of my friends or family who continue to hold on to racist views do so without being exposed to a lot of White supremacy through social media, the radio they listen to, and the TV they watch. For some, it’s literally hours upon hours a day.

So if we think logic or facts or a friendly conversation in which no one loses their cool is enough to change someone’s views, we’re being naive. No matter how antiracist you are, will you be able to disentangle your loved one from her entire support community, who might eject her for actually daring to change her mind? 

But sometimes it takes obstacles that feel insurmountable to realize that no obstacle is surmountable without God’s help.

We can remain hopeful because the same Holy Spirit who awakened us to repentance is alive in the most racist of his children. The church as a whole, including many White Christians, has shifted thanks to the Spirit’s work, and I have to believe He is not only after low-hanging fruit. 

I confess to often taking the change-the-subject route over the last year. But speaking with a friend recently convinced me that this is not the right way to go, that far from putting myself in a box it is putting God in a box. I believe that God’s desire is for his whole church to embrace the whole counsel of his Word, and that the same Word has power to change hearts where facts alone fall short.

Believing the Gospel

Some churches try to silence teaching about racism by saying “just stick to the Gospel.” One framework of the Gospel describes it as “Creation, Fall, Redemption, Consummation.” Often, with fellow Christians, we assume we understand and agree on what all of these words mean and how they apply to our lives and our world.

And maybe it’s exactly those assumptions that have allowed Satan to so deeply divide us.

For example, regarding creation: we agree God made humans in his image. But why did he create us different races? How do people of different races bear the image of God?

Or, fall: Is racism a manifestation of the fall? If so, is it limited to individuals or does it reach whole systems and societies?

Redemption: If racism is a part of the fall, how do believers repent of it and participate in God’s work of redeeming the world from it?

And finally and most sharply for me, consummation: John describes a vision of saints of every nation, tribe, tongue, and language before the throne. (Revelation 7:9) Clearly, God sees color and has no intention of un-seeing it or erasing it. The wedding feast of the Lamb is not going to just be steak and potatoes. But what does that mean for right now?

As I write these questions and consider many others like them, I think of Christian friends and family who have expressed racist views. I know these are questions we have never discussed. In our rush to argue about police reform or affirmative action or immigrant family separation, we assumed we agreed on the Gospel and now I’m questioning that assumption.

“The Gospel” is not just a cute stick figure drawing in a tract. The Bible gives us so much more to dig into, forces us to confront so many more questions when we really think about how Jesus’ good news impacts every complexity of human life. Ignoring all of these deeper layers of meaning is not sticking to the Gospel but neutering it, remaking it in our image rather than using the minds God gave us to understand all that it is.

Safety in Theology

If you’re like me, you are not really in the habit of talking about theology with fellow Christians outside of a Bible study context. In some ways it feels kind of awkward and scary.

But, in some ways it actually isn’t scary at all. At least, it’s not as scary as talking about White supremacy. It doesn’t put up people’s defenses. It’s not something most people tend to shout about. The stakes don’t feel as high, even though in reality they are eternally high.

And that’s why as a deeply divided church, we need to return to what we all claim to believe and start from there. We are standing on two opposite ends of a Venn diagram yelling at each other rather than prayerfully seeking to build the crumbling shared ground in between. 

Careful Consideration

In our recent Women’s Bible Studies on Hebrews, we have read how Scripture instructs us to “consider how to stir one another up to love and good works...encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” (Hebrews 10:25)

The word “consider” has always struck me, because it implies that it’s not always straightforward how to stir your brother or sister up to love. It takes thought. It takes a lot of prayer. It takes wisdom and creativity, trying and failing and returning to the drawing board to try again.

As the Day draws near, the stakes keep getting higher. Racism in the church trickles down to violence against many people of color, whether individual or structural.

And because of racism in the church, many non-Christians reject Christ. When asked how they’d describe evangelicals in general, 17% of non-Christians in a recent Barna survey said “racist.” It may not seem like a high number, but if almost 1 in 5 nonbelievers views the church this way, the same number are unlikely to give serious consideration to the person of Jesus. 

Yes, the structures of systemic racism and the obstacles of misinformation seem insurmountable. But we do not face them by ourselves. Our God speaks light out of darkness, opens the eyes of the blind, breaks chains and topples empires. We may not see God end racism in the church on this side of heaven, but we know that he can. So let’s pray, let’s preach, let’s rest if we need to, but let’s not give up hope.

A White Mother’s Plea For Her Black Son

To the Women of color in my life who’ve led and guided me in this transracial adoptive walk. To the God of faithfulness and everlasting grace. 

Brown hands hold

Contrasting against the paleness of mine.

My grip holding 

So tight—

Closing my eyes to the ever unfolding 

Stories and wrongs that 

Transcend belief.

Lord, how long have you heard 

The cries of black mothers?

Lord, forgive my pride

Seeped in self-worth.

My strength—

Derived in privilege.

My rosy glasses

Glossing over 400 years of abuse.

Thinking that I know enough

That change will happen

While I sit with hands folded.

Lord, mend us.

Let them hear: 

I cannot BREATHE.

Enough is enough.

Let them see my son 

When he is grown

As beautiful.

As created in your image.

As worthy.

Lord, help me to let go.

Trust—that you love my black son

More than this heart pumping inside my breast

That bleeds with our lost sons

Tamir 

Michael

Ahmed

Names I cannot name—

Their mothers who also weep.

Hear our cries, O Lord.

Lord, guide my heart.

Break down my anger for those

Who Choose not to see the inequality. 

Who Say they don’t see color.

Don’t See the injustice.

The Layers of dark cruel history 

Defining the unconscious designs

That my son stands upon

And defines his future and lifespan.

Lord, help me to see my son grown. 

Preserve his beautiful joy

His sensitive spirit

His fulfilling promise as a son of the King. 

Let not his head be bowed to anyone but You. 

Protect his head, his heart 

From the impending weight 

That shackles his brothers. 

Mercy, rain down on all of us.