The definitive guide to not “Doin’ too much” while white

“All of these social faux pas amount to, as the black people might describe it, ‘Doin’ too much.’ A lot of them come from reasonably good intentions, but suffer from god-awful execution.”

#Race #Culture #Funny #Black #Whitepeople

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We all need guides through culture. If you’re headed to Italy, people will tell you to be careful about the words “ano” and “anno,” because they definitely don’t mean the same thing. And for many white Americans, black America can seem like an enigma.

So if you’re having a little trouble navigating racial lines, here are some helpful tips. (Most of these tips apply to strangers, because everybody has different rules with their friends.)

Language

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I went to school for English literature, and I’ve loved to read and write ever since I was a kid, so it’s not surprising to me that I have a large vocabulary. It is, however, surprising to some.

If you wish to compliment a black person on their speech, just say, “I really like your vocabulary” and then (and this is the important bit) STOP. No one will take offense to being complimented on their words, but they will take offense to you going over the top about how “well they speak” like it’s the biggest deal in the world.

Hair

Crazy Hair Italy

If you like a black person’s hair, just tell them. DO NOT just reach out and touch it. Actually, don’t even ask if you can. It may seem nice, and they’ll probably let you, but like a gay crush on a straight guy, it’s probably going to end up in discomfort for all.

If you’re a woman, sure, go ahead and ask, “How do you get it to stay like that?” and other hair maintenance questions. People like to feel appreciated, so they’re most likely going to be fine with your questions.

Sex

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Despite what you may have seen on Pornhub, black men, in aggregate, don’t have any larger business than anybody else. You might think to yourself: “But it’s, like, a good stereotype, right?” Nope.

It’s a lie, stemming from the times that white people justified harsher control on black men because they were supposedly more virile and lustful creatures, ready to rape white women into oblivion (see: Rosewood)

Because of this painful history and the myths that have hurt people for a long time, it is not in your best interest to ask your new work acquaintance the size of her boyfriend’s manhood, or to ask him.

The N-Word

This one is exclusively here for the benefit of white people everywhere, because I don’t even talk to my black friends about “nigger” that much. Like, it’s not usually a relevant topic of discussion. It never ceases to arouse the curiosity of white folk, though.

There have been many, many, many discussions about the word “nigger” and here’s the consensus: If you’re white, don’t say it. It’s really simple. Really, really simple.

“But what if it’s in a song? What if we’re reading Huckleberry Finn? What if a kid is dying of cancer and his one wish is the say ‘nigger’ before he dies?”

To be clear, there is significant diversity of thought in the black community about the appropriateness of the word, and whether it lends itself to a power of repurposing, or whether it reinforces destructive power structures, but you’re not a part of that conversation.

It’s a word that has long been used by the white community in every capacity possible to demean black people, so it’s in your best interest to avoid it. Black people shouldn’t have to give you a laundry list of why they don’t want to hear you use it, and your overwhelming desire to might need to be examined, don’t you think?

Greetings

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How I greet people

If you happen to be the milkiest and pastiest guy from Minnesota, love deer hunting and off-roading, you definitely do not need to attempt to “relate” to me when greeting me. Greeting everyone else in the office with “Hello” and then awkwardly slapping me up me with “What up, my BROTHA?!” is unnecessary and often uncomfortable. I promise I will understand you if you just give me a handshake and say, “Hi, my name is Greg.”

Going out of your way not to say “black”

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I’m black. Sure, you can use African-American if you want to, whatever makes you feel most comfortable. But if I’m standing at the counter and you’re trying to tell an employee who to help, I’ve never been offended by someone saying, “The black guy in the pink shirt.”

There’s nothing shameful about being black, so why would I be upset when you call me that? Now….if you say, “The nigger over there,” we might have a problem. See point four.

Conclusion

All of these social faux pas amount to, as the black people might describe it, “Doin’ too much.” A lot of them come from reasonably good intentions, but suffer from god-awful execution. By avoiding them, you’ll work to build bonds of unity rather than accidentally turning people off from getting to know you before they start.

Suggestions

Do you think there was anything left off this list? What are your favorite racial social mishaps? Be sure to leave a comment!

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You should’ve been a Beyoncé: Advice for Colin Kaepernick

“This is why the victims of police brutality are praised for their academic excellence. This is why they are lauded as ‘good fathers.’ This is why their virtues are extolled, to highlight the extent of what was taken from the world with their passing.”

Dear Colin Kaepernick:

In 2016, as the quarterback of the San Francisco 49ers, you decided to protest racism, police brutality, and racial inequality. It does not appear to have gone well for you. You’re jobless at the moment, and a lot of people think they know why.

I have a few (albeit belated) words of advice.

Super Bowl L (50)

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It’s just plain adorable that the NFL refers to this as Coldplay’s Halftime Show.
Super Bowl 50 was Beyoncé’s second Super Bowl, her first being in 2013. On February 7, 2016, just seven months before you would shock the sports world with your silent protest, Beyoncé did one out loud. While the world was crying out about the unjust deaths of people whose names blend together over time, mononymously powerful Beyoncé made a statement about it.

She and her dancers swept Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara, California, wearing black outfits bedecked with gold straps, signifying the The Black Panthers, a group dedicated to the militant self-defense of minorities against the U.S. government.

  • It was not an accident that her hit single released a day before was titled Formation. 
  • It was not an accident that this came 50 years after the formation of The Black Panthers.
  • It’s not an accident that this was the same year of Lemonade, a seminal work in which she unequivocally states the trials, the challenges, but most importantly, the ecstasy of being black and proud of it.
  • It was not an accident that this took place in a year that, according to Mapping The Violence, oversaw over 300 black deaths at the hands of police.

Beyoncé did not stumble into that outfit, but wore it deliberately, as a badge of pride, as a voice that could be heard. She, like you, had something to say, and an avenue through which to say it.

Unfortunately, unlike you, she is Beyoncé.

The Division

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Photo Credit: Ana y María Quintana y González (goo.gl/Sq3PrL)
After that Super Bowl, people were angry with Beyoncé, too. People left hateful messages on her videos and disavowed the NFL, or committed to boycotting her music. SNL even made a spoof of the ire she had ruthlessly drawn from white America. But she is still worth $350 million, and you don’t have a job.

A friend once told me:

“I think if he were 10 percent better, he could’ve gotten away with it.”

I think she’s right. That is due to the division.

The division binds you and the people who look like you. The division is the line between the haves and the have nots, and there is no middle ground. Either you are Beyoncé, or you should shut up and play. Speaking your mind is for the transcendent among us, the Oprahs, the Obamas, the Beyoncés. It is not for you.

It doesn’t matter that, at age 25, you led the 49ers to a Super Bowl, the highest achievement in your field. It doesn’t matter that you lost that game by only 3 points. It doesn’t matter that you are a better quarterback than Tim Tebow, a fellow Christian and quarterback lavishly praised for his defense of his values.

Because the division is real, and people like you are not allowed to not be exceptional. You are not Peyton Manning. Few are. But you are not permitted not to be.

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President Barack Obama delivers remarks on immigration at Del Sol High School in Las Vegas, Nev., Nov. 21, 2014. (Official White House Photo by Pete Souza)
This division is wholly yours. There is no use looking out to the world for examples, because the requirement of excellence does not apply to them. Some will get jobs with no experience, or may even be chosen to lead the most powerful country on earth.

This is not you, and it never will be.

This is why the victims of police brutality are praised for their academic excellence. This is why they are lauded as “good fathers.” This is why their virtues are extolled, to highlight the extent of what was taken from the world with their passing.

I don’t know if you knew about the division when you knelt, if you didn’t know the cost, or how to avoid it. I don’t know if you knew that excellence is the price you pay for the justification of your right to be. If you didn’t know that you had to be more to avoid destruction.

Or, perhaps you knew, and you did it anyway, because some things can’t wait.

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I’ve changed my mind. Bill Maher IS a House Negro.

“When the house started burning down, that type of [house] Negro would fight harder to put the master’s house out than the master himself would.”

The situation, as it stands, is that Bill Maher apparently called himself a “house nigger” on a live broadcast last week with junior Nebraskan senator Ben Sasse. After Sasse remarked that he’d “love to have you [Maher] come in the fields to work with us”, Maher responded, “Work in the fields? Senator, I’m a house nigger.”

Don’t even think about raising a rabble over whether he said “nigger” or “nigga”, either, because the people that raise that distinction are usually people that ain’t got no business whatsoever touching that word with a 39 1/2 foot pole, anyway.

Now class, how do we imagine that Mr. Maher’s jaunt down racy lane went?

Chance the Rapper called for the show to be cancelled by HBO. Articles are surfacing about how Bill Maher has always trafficked in bigotry and they’re not wrong.

This incident comes fresh off the high where he took credit for the downfall of noted skeev Milo Yiannopolous, saying, “Sunlight is the best disinfectant.” Actually, it was a kabal of conservatives deeply opposed to Milo’s “locker room talk” in the form of advocating pedophilia, but ok, Bill, it was you. (Although, taking credit for someone else’s work after the fact isn’t…a super black move, is it, Mr. House Nigger?)

Maher was warned repeatedly that Milo had nothing to offer but his half-baked and vapid ruminations on how X group is destroying America, and he still booked and aired him on his show, citing himself as a defender of “free speech.” (Remind me again where it says that your free speech rights are abridged if you don’t get free publicity from a popular late-night show?)

However, despite these and other running controversies, we have to give Maher his credit where credit is due. Here, he is right.

Bill Maher is a house nigger.

The House Negro and The Field Negro

On January 23, 1963, Malcolm X gave a speech at Michigan State University entitled, “The House Negro and the Field Negro” and it is one of the most powerful descriptions of the power structures of slavery that remain present today.

So you have two types of Negro. The old type and the new type. Most of you know the old type. When you read about him in history during slavery he was called “Uncle Tom.” He was the house Negro. And during slavery you had two Negroes. You had the house Negro and the field Negro.

He goes on to explain the difference in priorities between a house negro and a field negro.

When the house started burning down, that type of [house] Negro would fight harder to put the master’s house out than the master himself would.

But then you had another Negro out in the field. The house Negro was in the minority. The masses–the field Negroes were the masses. They were in the majority. When the master got sick, they prayed that he’d die. [Laughter] If his house caught on fire, they’d pray for a wind to come along and fan the breeze.

This speech lays out a difference in where the house negro and the field negro see themselves in relation to power. The house negro is power-adjacent, and in the illustrious words of Frank Underwood, “Proximity to power deludes some into thinking they wield it.”

The house negro is less sympathetic to the plight of the field negro, given that the same things that disadvantage one advantage the other. The house negro is willing to be complicit in structures of power because the proximity to that power that gives them creature comforts. And when it comes time to ween themselves from said power, a house negro is willing to choose submission over subversion.

Bill Maher makes a living and a show based on the idea that he’s fighting for the little guy, but the thesis of his response to criticisms about his use of a hotly contested word is, “I’m on your side, so shut up and let me do what I want.”

Wayne Brady has before addressed Maher’s unfortunate tendency to think that he’s “down” with the black experience because he’s had some dark covfefe before:

Maher’s shown multiple times that he resents being told what is the best way to ally himself to those he considers himself an ally to, opting instead for his own personal model of allyship, one that may not adequately represent the needs or desires of the groups he claims to fight for, be it black, LGBT, or women.

Here’s the thing with “woke” white people: They are never required to surrender their passport to WhiteLandia, even while discussing racial issues. Even while being with black women. Even while using black culture to propel your career forward (lookin’ at you, Miley and Katy.)

While it may be good and fun, exciting, or garner ratings for Maher, whenever he’s fighting racist intolerance and bigotry, he’s stepping into it. I wake up into it. Bill Maher has to be black for an hour sometimes – I been black for 26 years straight.

And if he’s not willing to listen to black people, if he’s willing to be complicit in the use of a word with a mangled history, if he’s willing to co-opt the history of people that actually experienced the devastating original sin of America that was slavery for a joke that wasn’t even that good, maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s a house nigger.

Personally, I’m still praying for a stiff breeze.

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Photographer: David Shankbone

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Listen to Malcolm X’s speech below:

 

Weak Allies

Weak allyship, when coming from the oppressing class, is based on reaching for the ideals of equality while still desiring to hitch your star to the wagon of privilege.

If you, as a white person, would be happy to receive the same treatment that our black citizens do in this society, please stand. – Jane Elliot

For a good portion of my life, I believed the problem was knowledge. If growing up black taught me anything, it was that knowledge was power. For people that had been stripped of the right to even read and write for 240 years and denied adequate and equal education since their emancipation to the present day, that’s a completely reasonable belief.

My parents stressed upon me the importance of paying attention in school and reading, so that I could use my education to further my place in the world, and so that I could be more educated than they were. Unfortunately, I thought this also applied to racism.

When I saw misattributed MLK quotes on people’s Facebook walls, I thought of the crumbling school systems in some of America’s rural cities and towns. When I saw authoritarian impulses surrounding every police shooting, I thought they simply weren’t aware of the history I was taught when I was a child. I knew that many didn’t have the opportunities that I did, like college, and I didn’t look down on them, because I thought of times when I had learned things that I previously had not known.

Blood Done Sign My Name

In his memoir/crime drama about a racial murder in 1970 in Oxford, North Carolina, Timothy B. Tyson lays out the foundation of white moderation, and it’s not ignorance.

Tyson recounts that any conversation between white men with one pushing “progressive” agendas like letting black preachers speak in white churches could be brought to a full stop by the question, “How would you feel if your daughter came home with one?”

Weak allyship, when coming from the oppressing class, is based on reaching for the ideals of equality while still desiring to hitch your star to the wagon of privilege.

The point he’s making is that the racism that infected the more flagrant members of the town infected the ones trying to fight it, as well. They were all diseased – it’s just that some were fighting for a cure and others were down with the sickness.

Weak Allies

This is indeed the problem with weak allies. Some examples include:

The women in eras of America who didn’t approve of their husbands’ participation in lynch mobs, but coddled them just the same when they came home.

Members of the Senate speaking about Jeff Sessions’ abhorrent record, but saying they were charmed because of the fact that they’ve worked out together.

Bernie Sanders, standing aside to let black women protest at his own event during the campaign trail, but three days after the election exhorting a grieving America to consider the pain of the white working class.

Weak allyship can also lead to confused op-eds like Trevor Noah’s in the New York Times, in which he says, “We can be unwavering in our commitment to racial equality while still breaking bread with the same racist people who’ve oppressed us.”

I respectfully disagree.

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Protest for refugees in Rochester, NY

Weak allyship, when coming from the oppressing class, is based on reaching for the ideals of equality while still desiring to hitch your star to the wagon of privilege.

And when it is coming from the oppressed class, just like my idea that knowledge could cure racism, it is rooted in giving credit where it has not been earned, and assuaging guilt for actions that are not accidental, but deliberate in every possible sense of the word.

Weak allyship is fundamentally misguided, and will not lead us in the direction that we need to go from here.

It is not a mistake that Martin Luther King,  Jr. talked more about the problems of white moderation and apathy than about the vicious racism of Bull Connor and George Wallace. It is because he knew that the true destruction of minority communities comes from people that pretend to care, but don’t want to be called nigger lovers. From people devoted to racial equality until an Syrian family moves in next door. It comes from friends who abhor sexism, but refuse to admit that it plays a decisive role in any given scenario, situation, or outcome.

…who lives by the myth of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait until a ‘more convenient season.’ Shallow understanding from people of goodwill is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection. – Martin Luther King, Jr., 16 April 1963

As Dr. King  also said, “In the end, we will not remember the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”

If the word “resistance” is to mean anything in the age of the Trump, it has to mean white people that are willing to carry the stain of the oppressed with them. It has to mean white people who are willing to fully engage in the struggle for equal rights, not simply when a photo-op presents itself. It has to mean a forceful re-examination of race in America, and a new breed of explicitly anti-racist ideals.

In short, we need white people who are not afraid to be black.

But as long as, nipping at the heels of progress, we have white “allies” willing to undercut every effort made, and we have swaths of minorities willing to cede ground where they should not, justice will remain out of reach.

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Dear White People: Yes, It’s Offensive When You Say It

“Apparently, a bigger issue than…the problems that face us that the president was discussing…was that he said the word ‘nigger’.”

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During the summer of 2015, Marc Maron invited onto his WTF podcast the 44th leader of the free world, President Barack Hussein Obama. They quickly cycled through a lot of topics, including things that the president has discussed before, like his upbringing and policies and issues that are particularly close to his heart.

One of those issues was racism.

“Racism. We are not cured of it,” President Obama said. “And it’s not just a matter of it not being polite to say ‘nigger’ in public. That’s not the measure of whether racism still exists or not. It’s not just a matter of overt discrimination. Societies don’t overnight completely erase everything that happened 200-300 years prior.”

Guess which part of that the news cycle ran with the next day.

Apparently, a bigger issue than criminal justice reform, police brutality, indiscriminate housing and job opportunity, minimum sentencing, the privatization of prisons, and the mass incarceration of minorities, and the problems that face us that the president was discussing…was that he said the word ‘nigger’.

Apparently.

Racism. We are not cured of it,” President Obama said. “And it’s not just a matter of it not being polite to say ‘nigger’ in public.

So there’s this confusion about “nigger”, and the inevitable question, “Why’s it okay for you to say it, and not me?” as if it’s a privilege of sorts that we are refusing to share. Let’s break it down.

Yes, white people, it is offensive when you say it. 

I hope you’ll have noticed by now that I have said the word “nigger” and not “the N word” more than once in this article, and that’s because it’s not a spooky word. There’s nothing mystical about it.

But there’s a simple and solid reason that black people don’t take well to your use of the word ‘nigger’: You don’t share in the experiences of black Americans, and people have the right to define their own experiences. 

For example, sometimes I write about LGBT issues, but I don’t write from a position of being able to speak for a gay person. I don’t pretend I’m in that experience. I certainly don’t use words like “faggot” or “dyke” outside of the context that I just did, which is simply saying them, because those are words that have been used to harm the LGBT community.

For example, sometimes I write about LGBT issues, but I don’t write from a position of being able to speak for a gay person. I don’t pretend I’m in that experience.

If at some point, they decide that they would like to re-purpose those words and wring a new meaning from them, then that’s fine, but it still doesn’t make it okay for me to indiscriminately use them, given that I do not share in their experience.

The same is true for black people. This also explains why in certain cases, people believe that it’s okay for white, Chinese, or Hispanic people to use “nigger”, because they perceive certain individuals as having similar experiences that allow them to “enter” a community.

“Nigger” has been used for centuries to denigrate black people, so the reason I “get to” say it is that I get to decide what it means.

That is where black people take their power from, the repositioning of a weapon used to harm them into a tool for social cohesion, describing their own experience, and sapping it of its power.

So the next time you ask, “Why can black people use the word ‘nigger’ and I can’t?”, just bear in mind that what you’re really asking is, “Why don’t I get to define someone else’s experience?”

And then ask yourself if that’s really the kind of question you want to be seen asking.

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The Lie of Belief – What We Should Stop Pretending

Well, I don’t care what people believe, as long as they don’t try to change my beliefs.

I see this argument in many different ways all over the internet. People will vociferously argue about white privilege, atheism, Tea Party allegiance, foreign policy, immigration, gay marriage, and a host of other things, but then drop this bomb, usually said in the throwaway form of “I don’t care what other people believe; believe what you wanna believe.” This is a pernicious lie that comes creeping in, and I think it’d be better if we did away with it. You know why? Because it’s highly dishonest.

If you were talking about why belief in Santa Claus or The Tooth Fairy is ridiculous, you might notice the face of a true believer dropping with discontent. In an effort to save them the discomfort of actually answering your many objections to the existence of such creatures, you might try to soften the blow and back off, saying, “Well, I don’t really care what others believe, as long as they don’t try to push it on me.” Part of the problem is that that’s just not true. It’s just a way to ease your responsibility for your own thoughts and opinions. You (I would hope) and millions of other people take a pretty hard line on the non-existence of Santa and The Tooth Fairy, and when you meet someone that honestly believes in them, to quote comedian Dave Foley, “…you will not leave him alone with your children!

Here are three more things wrong with the “I don’t care” statement:

1.) You can’t be the aggressor and the savior.

It’s unfair to believe in something, fervently and passionately fight for it, and then claim that it doesn’t matter to you. I think this is mostly due to the phenomenon that we are more careful about our beliefs when we can see their direct impact upon another person (e.g. in a conversation). However, this is disingenuous. For example, I talk to my friends about racism, and some of them latently hold inherently racist beliefs. It’s dishonest of me to say that I don’t care what they believe, just as long as they’re not acting on it. The truth is that what others believe matters deeply to us all.

2.) Belief is never the end.

Another important thing to understand is that beliefs are not only beliefs. Beliefs are identity. Beliefs are purpose. Beliefs are action. For example, it’s all well and good to try to convince your atheist friend that there is a God, which they can’t disprove. If that was the only thing about a belief in God, religion might be a different matter. But you don’t just want your friend to believe that – you want his life to change as a result of that belief, a change that involves prayer, tithes, dietary restrictions, church events, and other things.

Beliefs are identity. Beliefs are purpose. Beliefs are action.

This is the true problem of pretending that we don’t care what other people believe. If we understand anything about the world, we understand that belief is not the end – that what you believe affects what you eat for breakfast, where you go to church, and who you vote for, and this is why you really do care what other people believe, so don’t use that argument.

3.) We are always trying to shove beliefs on each other.

I’ve been told I can come off as a person that thinks that they’re right all the time. My response to this is, “Of course I think I’m right. Otherwise, I would think differently.” This might sound like a tautology, but pay attention to what I’m saying here. I’ve accumulated really good reasons to think the way I do and some topics I haven’t thought about at all. My basic contention is that everyone generally thinks that the way they live is the best way, because if they didn’t believe that it was, they would live a different way.

Of course I think I’m right. Otherwise, I would think differently.

This brings us to the struggle of beliefs. We are all trying to convince the other of something. Here’s an easy one: If you live in America, and you are or ever have been affiliated with a church that promotes door-to-door proselytization and/or solicitations for Bible studies (as many Christian churches do), you are not going to convince me that what people believe doesn’t matter to you. If you have ever written a blog or made a Youtube video about an issue concerning you, you don’t get to say you don’t care. And I don’t think any of us should get to pretend. In today’s age, where lies truly do persist, it seems, at a rate much higher than truth, we shouldn’t claim not to care about what others believe. On the contrary – in the pursuit of truth, what others believe should be of paramount importance to us. I believe that it already is – all that is left is for us to have the integrity to admit it.

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Your God is Ashamed of You – White Moderation

Since grand juries ain’t in the business of handing out indictments recently, I guess I’m going to have to. America is a hugely religious place, according to recent data. Some 78% of Americans profess to believe not only in a God, but in the Christian God – the one that created the world, or made us in His own image, or loves all of us.

And based on all of the things that I have seen in response to the outrage over the Ferguson and New York City grand jury decisions, I’ve come to the conclusion that your God, at least the one you tell people about, is so ashamed of you right now. Yeah, I know, it’s gonna take a second time to get through to you. The God you tell me about is ashamed of you. Let me explain.

I have heard countless sermons in my life about the Christian God’s most notable attribute: love. Adventist Pastor David Asscherick actually devoted a whole sermon to the idea that the Bible tells us that God is not only loving, but He is the embodiment of love. There are a lot of other conceptions of and claims about the Christian God that we could attack here, but this is clearly the most important, because it undergirds most Christian theology today, and it’s what rivers of ink are devoted to. This idea of love is used to explain just about everything in modern Christianity, including the delay of the second coming of Christ (God’s love is so much that He would like to spare sinners and give them time to be saved), the presence of suffering in a world created by an omniscient being who ostensibly knew beforehand how bad this place was going to get (God’s love is so much that he created us knowing the risks ahead of time), and an understanding of the Christian’s place in society.

There’s a certain Christian song that goes, “They will know we are Christians by our love.” (Funny take on this song by atheist vlogger Jaclyn Glenn here). Broadly taken, mainstream Christianity is saying that the being that it worships is wholly good and the embodiment of perfect love, and that in order to be a true Christian, you have to embody those principles as well. This seems like a fair claim. And based on the juxtaposition of this standard of what it means to be a Christian and white moderate reactions that I’ve seen in response to shocking racism, I can only surmise either that you are not true Christians, or that your God is ashamed that that’s what you call yourself.

If I gave a list of things that God values, no Christian in America would deny the values of truth, justice, and empathy. If He values truth, why do I see people twisting Martin Luther King Jr.’s words in a way that suits their purposes, rather than his own goals? Why do I see them using the non-violent protests of the 1960s to explain away the fury of Black America today? Why do I see them attacking truth by almost maliciously misremembering the past with grandeur it didn’t have and panning over the dire struggle for racial equality in this country?

If your God values justice, why do I see so much apathy in the face of an actual video of a man being choked to death by the police? If your God values empathy so much, why do I keep seeing the white moderate heap blame on the black community itself for the oppression it experiences? Why do I see them shoot down experiences of police brutality with stories about little white girls getting shot by gangs, or diverting conversations like #BlackLivesMatter with #AllLivesMatter?

What I’m seeing is people that are more dedicated to the concept of social order than social justice. What I’m seeing is people more interested in making excuses for why it’s not your fault or making excuses for those who commit atrocities than standing with people who need your help. What I’m seeing is a people that don’t value the truth, empathy, or justice of the Christ they take their name from.

If you have a God that values these things, if you have a God that cares about the marginalized, the oppressed, who emphasizes that the only thing we need to do in life to keep His commandments is to love Him and love one another (Matt. 22:36-40), then He is ashamed of you right now, and He should be.

P.S. He’s especially ashamed of Matt Walsh. Always.

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