So Trump Is President. What Can I Do?


The text “Presidential Election 2016” is written in blue and red lettering on a white background, with an American flag circumscribed within the “0” of 2016, and a blue image of the United States above the text.

(This post is especially directed toward white evangelical Christians.)

Yesterday, fulfilling many of our worst fears, a racist, sexist, ableist, homophobic, classist xenophobe was elected to be our president. I have undocumented friends who have been here since childhood who are worried they will be deported. I have friends with undocumented family members who are worried their families will be torn apart. I have Muslim friends who are afraid that they will be harassed or victimized for wearing the hijab. I have friends of color who are terrified because Trump’s rhetoric about people of color has caused a resurgence in the Ku Klux Klan. I have LGBTQIA+ friends who are afraid that their marriages are going to be declared void, that they will be targets of hate crime or that more youth will be forced to undergo conversion therapy. I have friends with disabilities who are worried because Trump has made it okay for people to openly mock them because their bodies function differently than others’.

People are literally scared for their lives. And what’s truly awful is that this is an evangelical problem. White evangelicals overwhelmingly voted for this bigot. All of this racial hatred is being espoused under a “Christian” umbrella. Yes, sexism likely played a role as well. But the reality is that white women also voted in majority for Trump. While sexism is not absent from the conversation, it is not the primary cause of Trump’s ascendance to the presidency. From Clara Jeffery at Mother Jones, this is “not just a protest vote by rural whites who feel left behind, but the coming out of a burgeoning white nationalist, authoritarian movement.”

So white people: if you’ve ever been that person that’s afraid to speak up, afraid to get involved, not wanting to stir the waters… the time to step up is long past, but it’s not too late. We MUST stand together against this hatred. White evangelicalism shaped this mess. If white evangelicalism is at all a part of your heritage, it’s time to step up and change the narrative to bend toward justice.

“What can I do?” Here are some ways we can start.

Continue to educate yourself. Form book clubs and begin talking about these things together. The point of a book club is not just to educate. It is to build and prepare a coalition of people who not only begin to learn about these things, but also begin to form energy around the cause in order to work together toward change. When these coalitions are strong, they will be ready to act when the time comes.

Reading a book together is not the only way to begin this sort of coalition, but my word to fellow white people is that our anti-racism activism must always be paired with continuous education. Here are some great resources to get started:

  1.  The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander
  2. The Death of Race: Building a New Christianity in a Racial World by Brian Bantum
  3. Divided by Faith: Evangelical Religion and the Problem of Race in America by Michael O. Emerson and Christian Smith
  4. Stand Your Ground: Black Bodies and the Justice of God by Kelly Brown Douglas
  5. Our Lives Matter: A Womanist Queer Theology by Pamela Lightsey
  6. Dear White Christians: For Those Still Longing for Racial Reconciliation by Jennifer Harvey
  7. Faith-Rooted Organizing: Mobilizing the Church in Service to the World by Alexia Salvatierra and Peter Heltzel
  8. Roadmap to Reconciliation: Moving Communities into Unity, Wholeness and Justice by Brenda Salter McNeil
  9. Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates
  10. Hillbilly Nationalists, Urban Race Rebels, and Black Power: Community Organizing in Radical Times by Amy Sonnie, James Tracy, and Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz
  11. White Allies in the Struggle for Racial Justice by Drick Boyd and C.T. Vivian
  12. This previous blog post of mine listing resources for education on racial justice issues might prove useful as well.

Start reading some of these news sources by following them on Facebook or checking their websites regularly. By keeping informed of what’s going on, it makes it a lot easier to know how to get involved. (I’m clearly biased toward HuffPost, so if anyone knows other really great sources, please comment and I’ll add it.)

Do some research on organizations doing this work in your area by googling something like “anti-racist group [my city].” Or find out if the following organizations have chapters in your area:

  1. Showing Up for Racial Justice (SURJ)
  2. European Dissent (Facebook is probably the best resource to find a local chapter)
  3. Black Lives Matter
  4. The People’s Institute for Survival and Beyond
  5. Groundwork

The last link is a compilation of a few different white anti-racism groups in various locations.

Getting involved in a local group will inform you of the issues you can begin to advocate for in your particular context. (I know this isn’t always easy. If you are like me and struggle with social anxiety, it can be intimidating the first time attending a meeting with a group of people you don’t know. Bringing a friend or emailing one of the organizers beforehand about what to expect might help to ease any feelings of uncertainty about jumping into a new social situation.)

Use your influence in your workplace, school, and community to begin racial justice education and advocacy in your context if it’s not already happening. Every institution has a need for these conversations. If you are in a predominately white institution, recognize that being a part of these institutions means leveraging your privilege for the sake of those who have not yet been invited into these spaces. It’s uncomfortable, and people probably won’t like you for it. Start an anti-racism group dedicated to dismantling white supremacy in your context (and understand the significance of using the words “white supremacy” instead of “white privilege”). Meet regularly. Build relationships, educate one another, hold one another accountable, and get involved in the work. That last part is important. Don’t just talk. Get involved in the work.

Most importantly: if you are in a context that is racially diverse, make sure you are not “taking over” the conversation from people of color. It might be that these conversations are already happening in your context — find out who is having them and figure out how you can offer solidarity to people of color who may already be doing this work. If the conversation is truly not happening yet, or if you are in an all-white context and you want to start a conversation, that is good — but make sure you are talking with and seeking advice from people in other organizations who are doing anti-racism work also. Collaboration and accountability is necessary — the last thing we want is to reinforce the very systems of racial hierarchy that anti-racism work is meant to dismantle.

Make a concerted effort to deconstruct your privilege. By this I mean, remain aware of how privilege is functioning in the spaces that you are in. Are the voices of those in marginalized social locations being heard, or are they being overpowered by those in more dominant social locations? If you are in a more dominant social location, make sure you are noting how your presence is affecting the room. This is a never-ending process and no one is ever going to be perfect at it. When you make mistakes (as we all inevitably will), correct it, but then move on and don’t let feelings of shame or inadequacy stop you from continuing on.

If you go to church, figure out how to make efforts toward reparations in your ecclesial contexts. The Episcopal Church is trying to figure out how to do this right now. If your ecclesial context doesn’t have space for this to happen in any kind of significant way, figure out how a group of you and your fellow white evangelical friends in your church context might begin to do this yourselves and model what it could look like for the wider congregation.

Give your money to organizations that will need it in the coming days. Here are some ideas on the national level, but be sure to look at local organizations that could use assistance too. If you have any friends who do community organizing full-time, consider giving to them, as well.

Be willing to put your body on the line as you stand in solidarity with those who are going to bear the consequences of a Trump presidency on their bodies. This might mean protesting. It might mean getting arrested. It might mean feeling scared and putting yourself at risk for the sake of others. It might mean putting your reputation on the line if people in your context “just don’t get it.”

This is hard work. Anyone who has been doing racial justice work for any significant amount of time knows that participation in this work invites very real trauma, interpersonal struggle, feelings of isolation and disillusionment, depression, anxiety, and a host of other incredibly difficult things. I have lost more relationships than I can count. But it is necessary. It is our moral obligation. We cannot shy away simply because the work is hard.

White people created this mess. It’s time for us white folks who care about these things to stop feeling helpless and start doing work toward fixing the harm that white people have caused. It’s time to stop letting our worries about saying or doing the wrong thing paralyze us into inaction. It’s time to stop letting the fear of pushback from other white folks prevent us from getting involved. It’s time to stop toeing the line because we don’t want to offend anyone.

I have heard people say that they shy away from conversations about race because it is “too divisive.” We are already divided. Stop pretending we are not, and start facing the consequences of what white supremacy has done. Get in the conversation. Start acting. People’s lives are on the line.

And to my friends of color who might be reading this: I am truly, truly sorry for the role that white women in particular have played in this. Nothing can really repair the damage we have done. But I commit to pouring all my energy toward a future of justice.

The Ground We Have Tilled: Dallas, to Baton Rouge, to Milwaukee

(A note to white folks.)

When I was a teenager, a relative told me that if I brought a Black man home, they’d shoot him. Growing up, my relative said these things offhandedly, but I didn’t always respond to them. The only serious arguments we ever had were about race, so I picked my battles. Some days I would argue, other days I would shrug it off and try to ignore the blatantly racist things that were said. On this particular day, I chose to ignore the comment.

I grew up in the Milwaukee area, a city that consistently ranks as one of the most racially segregated cities in the country. It has also been deemed the worst city for Black Americans to live. While Black communities on the north side suffered from funding cuts to education, incarceration rates disproportionate to the rest of the population, and poverty, I spent my childhood in white suburbs just outside of Milwaukee, blissfully unaware of daily injustices occurring just miles away (for more info on the history of white flight and racial segregation, see this). I attended a predominately white private evangelical school, where my Bible teacher mockingly read aloud passages from the Black Bible Chronicles, instilling in us the value of ridiculing Ebonics—all in the name of Christianity, of course. These experiences perpetuated the notion that segregation was best, and that mocking Black culture was acceptable—and even right.

In July 2016, two Black men, Alton Sterling and Philando Castile, were killed by police officers. Later that week, five Dallas police officers were killed at a Black Lives Matter protest. Though the shooter was not affiliated with the BLM movement, many people (mostly white) were quick to denounce protestors as the ones to perpetuate the violence—if they hadn’t been protesting, these police officers wouldn’t have been killed. A week later in Baton Rouge (where Alton Sterling was murdered), three more police officers were killed. I remember reading a post from a white person on Facebook that simply said, “I’m done.”

After these events, I read Ta-Nehisi Coates’ article in the Atlantic regarding anti-police violence, in which he said, “A community consistently subjected to violent discrimination under the law will lose respect for it, and act beyond it. When such actions stretch to mass murder it is horrific. But it is also predictable.”

I couldn’t help but think the same thing. Horrific, yes. But predictable.


Martin Luther King, Jr: “A riot is the language of the unheard.”

On August 13, riots occurred on the north side of Milwaukee after a Black man was shot to death by a police officer. As I’ve watched the comments roll in through social media, white people have been quick to say things like, “This isn’t helping their cause,” or “Look at them destroying their own communities.” But the reality is that, in the words of Martin Luther King Jr. (a man who is woefully misunderstood and diluted by white folks): “A riot is the language of the unheard.” Riots happen when white supremacy continues to pillage and destroy Black and Brown communities. It is in white people’s refusal to confess our racist history, our refusal to acknowledge systemic racism and implicit racial bias, our refusal to offer reparations for the harm we have caused, our refusal to listen to the cries of the unheard—it is in this refusal that we ourselves are complicit when a building burns in the wake of yet another Black man dead at the hands of police—police who, regardless of their race, have been indoctrinated into a criminal justice system built on white supremacy.

White people have much to answer for. Racial injustice and white supremacy is the ground we have tilled since the inception of what we call the “United States.” It’s in the way we enslaved Black and Brown people to build a country on land we stole from Native people, yet we celebrate our Independence Days and Columbus Days without a second thought. It’s in the way we’ve never given substantial reparations to the people we’ve enslaved and murdered in pursuit of our material conquest and vie for power. It’s in the way whiteness was created as a means of justifying these acts of terror—and in the name of Christianity, too. It’s in the way we claim slavery is over, but say nothing about mass incarceration. It’s in the way we vote. The organizations we put our money into. The racist comments we let slide. Our unwillingness to try and understand a reality different from our own. Our denial that racial disparity exists. The oppressive policies that we say we don’t agree with, but tacitly accept when we refuse to challenge them, or when we dismiss the people who seek to change these policies through activism as “whining SJWs.”

On that day fifteen years ago when my relative made that terribly racist and violent comment, perhaps my lack of challenge to it, individually, didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps challenging them wouldn’t have made any difference. But the problem is in understanding that moment as an individual moment, separate from every other moment. The problem is failing to see that moment as one small piece of a grander narrative. These things might seem small, but it’s when we let these comments, these ideologies, these policies, these implicit biases, perpetuate—when we don’t confront them the moment we see them happening, when we let them slide because it’s simply a battle we don’t want to fight today—these are what make us complicit to racism and social unrest. It’s when we let our relatives say racist, violent things and do not challenge them that we become a part of what’s happening on the north side.

I don’t live in Milwaukee anymore, but that doesn’t mean I can ignore what happened this weekend as though it’s not relevant to me. We do not exist in a vacuum. White people cannot dismiss rioting as “those people” doing a “wrong thing” — because it is a cry of pain from a wound that our ancestors have created and we have perpetuated, a wound that, rather than trying to heal, we continue to stick our knives into because we’d prefer to believe that “race doesn’t matter” and “this isn’t our fault.” This riot was not the singular cause of a singular event—it was a breaking point from the systemic oppression that has been building, layer upon layer, for decades. We cannot distance ourselves from these events simply because they make us feel uncomfortable or angry. We cannot ignore the reality that white supremacy created the conditions that lead to riots. We cannot pretend that a Black man dead at the hands of police or a building burnt as an expression of outrage and pain has nothing to do with us.

So don’t act self-righteously when riots happen, because we have systematically and unapologetically oppressed Black and Brown people day in and day out. Don’t expect an apology for rioting when we haven’t apologized for the ways we’ve pillaged Black and Brown communities for hundreds of years. Don’t expect members of the communities we have decimated to settle for a reality  built on oppression. Don’t get mad when people we’ve oppressed say ‘no more.’

It’s time for us to see ourselves not as individuals, the ‘north side’ not as people separate from ourselves, but all of us as one body. When one part suffers, every part suffers with it. We cannot afford to simply say “I’m done” and ignore what’s happening because it makes us uncomfortable. We must begin to repair the damage we and our ancestors have inflicted. We must invest in communities that our systemic racism has gutted. We must use and divest our privilege for the sake of the marginalized.  We cannot respond to injustice by saying, “I refuse to be blamed for what my ancestors did!” Through our tacit dismissal of racism, we are at fault, and when we have sinned against another member of the body, we cannot simply ignore it. We must confess and redress it — so that we can all find healing.

I’ll close with this, a Facebook comment on the events in Milwaukee from a woman named Alisha Hunt:

It was only a matter of time. You can’t continue to strip resources from people and then question their rage. This part of Milwaukee has always been chained and beaten in Wisconsin’s basement. Milwaukee is the “Great Place on a Great Lake” for those who have choices about where they live, work and go to school. Over the past few years, every effort has been made to choke us out. If one more person starts on the whole “make better choices” rant…the better choices should have been made by the officials charged with creating this environment. Better choices should have been made when they killed high speed rail to prevent blacks from leaving Milwaukee, when they cut school funding, tried to bust up the unions, cut medicare funding, closed neighborhood schools, turned a blind eye to housing discrimination and shady landlord practices. The better decisions to be made, in theory, come in voting but–gerrymandering. So yeah, there’s that. Better choices should have been made rigging the districts. I don’t condone violence and looting, and people should be held accountable for their actions, but I have seen first hand the anger and frustration of the people involved. Instead of asking them “What is wrong with you?” ask and seek to understand “What happened to you?”. ‪#‎ptsd

Racial Justice: Resources for Allies

As many of you know, over the past year I’ve been intentionally engaging in racial justice efforts in response to the continued exposure of racial profiling and police brutality against people of color, and black people in particular. Figuring out how to do this as a white person is difficult, and I don’t pretend to be any sort of expert at it. Because I’ve had many white people ask me for resources or ideas of practical ways a white person can get involved, I thought I’d put together a list of things that have been helpful for me in the past year. Hopefully this can be a useful resource for people who are trying to learn more, or who are trying to start conversations in their schools, churches, and even families (scary!).

For Staying Up on the News:

I follow these Facebook pages/news sites in order to stay informed on racial justice issues:

The Root (

HuffPost Black Voices (

Urban Cusp (

Colorlines (

For Educating:

These are resources I often reference when talking with others about the reality of racial inequity in our society. What I’ve found when talking with people is that oftentimes they honestly don’t believe racism and racial inequity exists anymore. Being able to cite these studies in those conversations is really helpful.

White Privilege

10 Examples That Prove White Privilege Protects White People in Every Aspect Imaginable

  • A lot of the examples I’ll give later in this post are summarized in this article, so for a quick overview including examples of how white privilege works, check out this link.

Ultimate White Privilege Statistics & Data

  • Pretty much any statistical data you might need to explain the realities of white privilege.

This picture:


Employment Discrimination and Inequity

Are Emily and Greg More Employable than Lakisha and Jamal? A Field Experiment on Labor Market Discrimination

  • In this study, researchers sent resumes to different companies using “African-American or white sounding names.” They found that resumes with white sounding names are 50% more likely to get a callback than identical resumes with African-American sounding names.

The Wage Gap, by Gender and Race

  • This chart shows the disproportionate percentage of earnings people of color make compared to white men.

Closing the Wage Gap is Crucial for Women of Color and Their Families

  • This article points out the discrepancy of wage earnings between women of color and men.

Double Jeopardy? Gender Bias Against Women of Color in Science

  • This article shows the particular challenges that women of color face in scientific vocations (particularly the stereotypes they must endure in the workplace, as well as the constant need to “prove themselves” as capable).

Discrepancy of Police Response between White and Black People

8 White People Who Pointed Guns At Police Officers and Managed Not to Get Killed

  • This article links to videos that show police response to white people with guns and compares it to how police respond to black people.

Timeline of Unarmed Black People Killed by Police Over Past Year

  • This article describes recent incidents of police killing unarmed black people — this is not a comprehensive list, but these are some of the most widely cited cases that anyone wanting to get more involved in racial justice work should know about.

The National Police Violence Map

  • This is a project that seeks to record every incident of a black person killed by police in the United States. It also displays helpful statistics and graphs showing that black people are more likely to be killed by police than white people.

This chart explains why black people fear being killed by police

  • This link provides FBI data regarding the rate at which black people are killed vs. white people.

Black Man vs. White Man Open Carrying AR-15

  • This video was a social experiment. Two men, one black and one white, are recorded carrying a gun in an open-carry state. The video shows the discrepancy of police response when the white man carries vs. the black man. This is a helpful one for engaging in conversations with people around the 2nd Amendment, particularly in pointing out the reality that any notion of 2nd Amendment rights will not be enforced equally between races.

Study: Black Defendants Are At Least 30% More Likely To Be Imprisoned Than White Defendants For The Same Crime

  • This is a summary of a study which concludes that racial bias affects judicial decisions.

Mass Incarceration & People of Color

  • This post not only shows the statistical discrepancy of incarceration rates between whites and people of color, but also that people of color are more harshly sentenced for similar crimes as whites.

Differences in Media Portrayals of White and Black People

When the Media Treats White Suspects and Killers Better Than Black Victims

  • The article gives examples of the ways that white suspects/killers are described in the media (“Suspect was soft-spoken, polite”) versus black victims of white violence (“Trayvon Martin was suspended three times from school”).

How Media Have Shaped Our Perception of Race and Crime

  • This article shows the ways in which the media disproportionately reports black people as perpetrators of crimes in news stories.

The Shockingly Racist Contrast in How the Media Describe Black Protests and White Riots

  • The video at the bottom of the page shows the way that black protests vs. white riots are portrayed in the media. Black protests are deemed “criminal” and activists described as “thugs” while white riots are simply “young people acting out” or exhibiting too much “passion.”

11 Stupid Reasons White People Have Rioted

  • I use this resource to emphasize what’s being said in the previous one.

The thuggification of young black victims of white violence: Is thug the new n—-r?

  • The author of this opinion piece argues that the media’s use of the word “thug” is the N-word of our time. While the media often uses the word “thug” to describe black people, the word is not used in the same way to describe white people.

Educational Inequity

This American Life: The Problem We All Live With

  • This is an amazing 2-part podcast about a school district in Normandy, Missouri that “accidentally launched a desegregation program”–ironically the school district includes the high school that Michael Brown attended. It is eye-opening.

14 Disturbing Stats About Racial Inequality in American Public Schools

  • This article looks at disproportionate suspension/expulsion rates of students of color when compared with white students, access to math and science courses, and access to high quality education.

The Data Are Damning: How Race Influences School Funding

  • This article shows that “at any given poverty level, districts that have a higher proportion of white students get substantially higher funding than districts that have more minority students” which “means that no matter how rich or poor the district in question, funding gaps existed solely based on the racial composition of the school.”

White Kids Get Medicated When They Misbehave, Black Kids Get Suspended—Or Arrested

  • While white students are offered behavior modification programs, counseling services, and medication when they act up in school, black kids face punitive action such as suspension, expulsion, and even arrest.

Internalized Racism and Implicit Bias

Project Implicit

  • A big talking point for me is the reality of internalized racism and implicit bias. Because of the nature of our society—institutionalized racism, media portrayal of black people, segregation/separatism— it is simply a reality that white people implicitly have negative associations about people of color, and black people in particular. Project Implicit has online implicit bias tests that you can take, and urge others to take, in order to confront this reality head-on. The tests Race and Weapons are the ones I recommend for this particular conversation. (In case you’re wondering–yes, I took them, and yes, I have implicit bias. I would be shocked if any white person took them and didn’t have implicit bias.)

5 Studies That Prove Racism is Still Way Worse Than We Think

  • This link summarizes studies that prove unconscious bias and stereotypes still affect the way white people think about black people.

Is Everyone a Little Bit Racist?

  • Another useful article citing studies proving unconscious bias and internalized racism.

Doll Test

  • This is the infamous doll test — children were presented with black and white dolls and were asked to choose the doll that was good or bad, pretty or ugly, and the doll that looked most like them. Children viewed white dolls as “good” and “pretty” and black dolls as “bad” and “ugly.” This study has been replicated numerous times with the same results.

Ways to Respond in Conversations

Black Lives Matter

What People Are Really Saying When They Complain About ‘Black Lives Matter’ Protests

  • This is really useful for pointing out what white people sound like when they disparage Black Lives Matter protests. Example from the site:
    • What They Say: “I’m fine with protesting, but why don’t they protest in front of a police station or another approved location instead of blocking traffic?”
    • What We Hear: “I’m fine with protesting, as long as I’m not forced to see it, hear it, acknowledge it, be at all inconvenienced by it or challenged to do anything about it.”

The Truth of ‘Black Lives Matter’

  • This article compares the current movement to the civil rights movement.

All Lives Matter

The next time someone says ‘all lives matter,’ show them these 5 paragraphs

  • Pretty self-explanatory — just depicts a way that one might respond to someone who says “All Lives Matter” in response to “Black Lives Matter” to increase understanding.

This Poet Nails Why ‘All Lives Matter’ Will Always Be A Horrible Argument

  • A spoken word on what “All Lives Matter” is really saying—powerful.

What’s the Matter with ‘All Lives Matter’

  • An article that shows why “All Lives Matter” is a problematic response to “Black Lives Matter.”

Facebook Post by Theologian Soong-Chan Rah

  • Soong-Chan Rah urges: “In the midst of an awakening to racial realities in our nation, a cry to not derail the prophetic call of #blacklivesmatter with all lives matter. It was not ALL lives that were ripped from their homes in Africa.It was not ALL lives that were separated from families and marched to the West African coast. It was not ALL lives put into the dank, dark tombs of the slave castles…” Check out the rest of his post, it’s powerful.

Finally, this picture:


Blue Lives Matter

What’s wrong with ‘Blue Lives Matter’

  • A post responding to the problems inherent in the slogan “Blue Lives Matter” as a response to “Black Lives Matter.”

Peter Rosenberg talks to police officer

  • A police officer calls into a radio show, and the host explains that one of the problems with police officers is that after a cop commits a terrible act, other cops are never willing to condemn the action. Police officers do not call out their own when wrongs are committed, which contributes to the public’s mistrust of them.

There is no ‘war on cops.’

  • This article responds to the claim that there is a war on cops. Actually, violence against police officers is declining significantly. The author of the article points out that “2015 is shaping up to be the second safest year for police ever, after 2013.”

5 Things to Tell Anyone Who Blames Black Lives Matter for Violence Against Cops

  • The title is self-explanatory.


Blocking Freeways

Discrediting #BlackLivesMatter with ambulance concerns is disingenuous. Here’s why.

  • One of the many critiques people have against Black Lives Matter protests is the blocking of freeways because of the concern of ambulances getting through to people in need. This article shows the double standards inherent in this argument (why are people not upset when freeways are at a stand-still because of a Red Sox game?), and shows that people who make this argument either have blind spots regarding this double standard, or are making the argument because, in fact, they are actually against Black Lives Matter but don’t want to come right out and say it.

Facebook post from Ashley Horan

  • This Facebook post quotes a paramedic from Minnesota, who is in support of blocking freeways for Black Lives Matter and reminds us that people of color are less likely to receive the same treatment as white people for the same injuries — why are we not livid about that?

Facebook post from Madeleine Elizabeth

  • This Facebook post shows a number of racial disparities in treatment regarding public transport, and concludes with the question of why white people are suddenly concerned about transit issues when racism in regards to transit is evident in a number of different ways and always has been.

This picture:


Violence Against Police

In the wake of a couple of incidents of violence against police, critics have said Black Lives Matter is at fault, BLM is inherently violent, and/or BLM is inherently anti-Christian. Here are some resources to help:

The Near-Certainty of Anti-Police Violence

  • This article explains why, given the reality of racism and police brutality, retaliatory violence shouldn’t be unexpected – white people must begin to change the narrative that results in some feeling that violence is the only answer

Shaun King’s Facebook status

  • Shaun King reminds people that Black Lives Matter does not instruct people to commit violent acts against police – and also reminds people that black people should not always have to apologize on a collective level for people who commit individual acts of violence. A whole race of people should not be blamed for individual people’s actions.  

Black Lives Matter Co-Founder Sets the Record Straight: We’re Not Anti-Police, We’re Anti-Our People Being Murdered in the Streets

Black Lives Matter activist praying

  • This BLM activist says a prayer during a protest for people of color suffering under racism and police brutality, as well as for police who are “not a part of the percent” who are committing acts of violence against communities of color

Reverse Racism

4 ‘Reverse Racism’ Myths That Need To Stop

  • This article points out the problems with the idea of “reverse racism,” a phrase that gets thrown around a lot when people raise issue with Black Lives Matter.

Equality vs. Equity

Many times in conversations about race, people will say “things have changed. People are equal now and everyone has the same opportunities.” This is the perfect opening for a conversation on the difference between equality and equity. Here’s a picture that helps show the difference:

Equity vs Equality Apples

Just because people are given the same opportunity does not mean that they have the resources they need to be able to grasp that opportunity. The reality of systemic racism is that oftentimes the institutions we have in place often help white people but not people of color, and sometimes even actively work against people of color.

Here’s where people often get squeamish and start raising questions about affirmative action and reparations, and the phrase “reverse racism” gets used. Here’s another visual that is useful for the conversation:



Discussion on equity should lead to the concept of reparations, which causes many white Christians (and white people in general) to get defensive. It’s really important to have a solid case for reparations:

The Case for Reparations by Ta-Nehisi Coates

  • Probably the most well-known and oft-referenced piece about reparations right now.

White Churches Start Talking About Reparations for Slavery

  • This is an article on Jennifer Harvey’s book Dear White Christianswhich talks about how reconciliation is not possible without reparations. The article does a good job of highlighting some churches’ efforts toward reparations and providing a brief summary of Harvey’s book.

Diocese of Maryland Takes up Reparations

  • Discusses the recent resolution made in May 2016 to give “at least 10 percent of the assets of its unrestricted investment funds to the diocesan chapter of the Union of Black Episcopalians.”

5 Examples of How Blacks Can Fight for Reparations For Slavery

  • This provides a good list of ways that reparations could be fought for on institutional levels.

Reparations – ICTJ

  • Provides definition and examples of reparations happening in global contexts.

Suggestions for Book Reads

These are books that I think would be good both for individual and group reading, particularly for church small groups.

The Heart of Racial Justice: How Soul Change Leads to Social Change by Brenda Salter McNeil & Rick Richardson

  • This one is co-written by my professor and mentor, Dr. Brenda Salter McNeil, and is really good for opening up conversation about the importance of racial reconciliation in church contexts. It is an especially useful resource for people who have never really talked about race before.

Roadmap to Reconciliation: Moving Communities into Unity, Wholeness, and Justice by Brenda Salter McNeil

  • This one is also by Dr. Brenda, and won’t be released for another month or so — but it’s a practical “what next?” guide for people who want to start engaging in this work, especially in church communities. It would be a great follow-up to The Heart of Racial Justice.

Divided by Faith: Evangelical Religion and the Problem of Race in America by Christian Smith and Michael O. Emerson.

  • This book is often cited as the foundational text for racial reconciliation. I’m planning on reading it for the first time this January—if anyone wants to start a book club, I’m in!

Dear White Christians: For Those Still Longing for Racial Reconciliation by Jennifer Harvey

  • The author of this book is calling for a return to the idea of reparations—she argues that true racial reconciliation can only occur if white people, and white Christians in particular, make substantive efforts toward redressing the harm that has been done through reparative action. This book is great for communities that already recognize reconciliation isn’t just about “everyone coming to the table,” but really want to figure out what next steps they might take to begin participating in the work of racial justice.

The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander

  • The author argues that though Jim Crow laws may have been eradicated on the books, the spirit of Jim Crow still exists in our legal system through mass incarceration and social control. This is considered one of the most important books on racial justice issues today, and is great for understanding how we got where we are today.

Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates

  • Published in July 2015, this book is considered one of the most important books of the year. It is required reading for white people wanting to glimpse the reality of what it means to be black in our contemporary moment.

The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison

  • A novel about a young black girl who prays for Western notions of beauty, particularly in the form of blue eyes. A powerful narrative of the affect of white supremacy on black people, especially women.

Uprooting Racism: How White People Can Work for Racial Justice by Paul Kivel

  • This book helps readers understand institutional racism, and provides practical ways that white people can begin to participate in racial justice efforts.

For more book options on how racial reconciliation fits into the message of Christianity, check out this list by Christianity Today. Most of these I haven’t read yet and can’t attest to them. A good litmus test is “how far” the author goes in her/his discussion of reconciliation. Conversations about racial reconciliation should always include justice, and if they don’t, it’s good to be suspicious of them.

Ways to “Do Something”

White people who become aware of racial injustice and want to get involved often have the “do something” impulse. We see a problem, we don’t want to be a part of the problem, so we rush to try to fix it. A mentor of mine once told me that getting involved in racial justice needs to be less about what you do, and more about who you are. In light of that, I would suggest the following things as some starting points:

Learn about the racial history of your context. Whether that’s your church, your school, your neighborhood, do some research! You never know what you might find, and how that might inspire you. When the Episcopal Church of Maryland began researching their racial history, they found that “every Maryland church built prior to 1865 was built by enslaved persons or through direct economic dependence on such labor” (see Jennifer Harvey’s book Dear White Christians, p. 230). After finding out the ways the diocese itself was complicit in slavery, church members began imagining ways they might begin to redress that harm. Figuring out their own racial history, however, was a crucial beginning for the work.

Keep up on what’s happening in the world. Follow some of the news sites I mentioned at the beginning of this post, or find your own alternative news sources.

Find out what’s happening in your city. Find community events. Figure out what social groups are leading racial justice efforts in your community and what kinds of local causes they are rallying around. Every city has something happening—what’s happening in yours? Here in Seattle, we have a lot of organizations doing all kinds of social justice work. Here are some things to check out:

Other resources include local chapters of:

Also, a simple Google search of “racial justice” or “Black Lives Matter” + your city might turn up some options specific to your context. Searching for “Black Lives Matter” + your city, or the closest big city near you, on Facebook might also reveal some options for you to check out.

Show up to stuff. The biggest part of my own education in racial justice efforts was actually getting out of my house and showing up to stuff.  Find something relevant to the cause, make a commitment to go, and don’t back out. It could be a community event, a book club, a protest—but whatever it is, make a commitment and show up.

Read. Begin to familiarize yourself with the history of race and the experiences of people of color through novels, memoirs, history books, theology books—whatever way you learn best. I love this reflection from a woman who committed to reading only authors of color for an entire year. She says, “Reading science fiction, chick lit and fantasy novels by people of colour for a year brought home to me just how white my reading world was.” Here’s some lists to get started:

Buy from black-owned businesses. This is a super practical way to be an ally. Where we invest our money matters! Here are some resources for finding black-owned businesses where you can shop online, especially during the holiday season:

Just remember to avoid cultural appropriation when you purchase. For the holiday season I’ve found some wonderful teas, soaps and lotions, candles, and books that make great stocking stuffers.

Another great option is to find a black-owned bank and open an account with them. Here’s a list, and note that the largest black-owned bank, OneUnited Bank, allows you to open an account from anywhere in the country.

Do you have any resources that you’ve found particularly helpful?  Comment below! Let’s continue growing this list together.

Sexism & the Church, Pt. 4: What Can I Do?

I confess, I have struggled to figure out how to conclude this series. My hope was to provide a meaningful way forward for those of us who continue to wrestle with the question of “what we do” in response to sexism in the church. For those of us in positions of social power the question is complicated, for it is not only “What can I do?” but also, “How do I engage in ways that are helpful and not harmful?”whatcanido

The unfortunate reality is that oftentimes when we ask the question of “what we do,” it is our subconscious attempt to escape the discomfort of the space in which we find ourselves. Sometimes it’s worth it to sit in the discomfort, to wade through murky waters without necessarily knowing the way out. Removing the discomfort sometimes has the inadvertent effect of masking the problem altogether, which is precisely what we are trying to avoid. Constantly seeing the ways in which we are falling short of our ideal is disheartening, to be sure, but I hope it spurs us onward in our struggle for freedom.

With this in mind, I do want to offer some reflections on how we might move forward. These certainly aren’t the only answers to the question, and I truly believe that ending oppressions in various forms requires the creativity and brainstorming of myriad voices. This is my small contribution, informed by the many voices that I have read and heard. These reflections are addressed mainly to those in positions of social power who are asking the question “What can I do?”–which includes myself as a white woman:

1. Know how and when to use your voice. The other day, I was participating in a discussion group that was predominately male, and I noticed some gender dynamics that bothered me. I brought it up, and immediately felt resistance from one of the men in the group. I said what I needed to say, knowing full well that there was a chance my words would never get through. As I concluded my thought and turned to talk to someone else, I overheard another male in the group talking to the man who had resisted my words, offering me support in what I had said. He didn’t just affirm my words, he also told the other person in the group why it was important to listen and take my words seriously. This, to me, is what solidarity looks like. The man who affirmed me didn’t silence me in his own attempt to solve the problem—when I started talking about my experience, he didn’t jump in and steal the mic. After I had finished and moved on and it was clear the conversation hadn’t had the impact I wanted, he stepped in and affirmed what I had said, and explained why it was important to listen. In this moment, he used his privilege for my sake and for the sake of other women in that room. The reality is that because of the social realities in which we live, his voice was able to get through in a way that mine could not. Ending oppressions requires partnership, and recognizing where you might have influence that others might not.

2. Start noticing places that need tending. When you look at the leadership team at your church, how many women hold those positions? What do the roles of women and men look like at your church? I had a friend who told me that he loves children and wanted to be on the leadership team of the children’s ministry at his church, but because the church espoused more traditional gender roles, it would have been perceived as weird, and even creepy, if he asked to do that. Remember that sexism doesn’t just negatively affect women—it negatively affects everyone. To figure out what to “do,” we first need to notice what’s happening around us.

3. Don’t just hire a marginalized person for the job because you want to fill a quota. This is a tough one. Let’s pretend that now you’ve noticed there are no women on the pastoral teaching team at your church, and you want to fill this gap. The answer isn’t simply to hire someone and call it good—without a culture change, this action serves only to make the church look more inclusive rather than the church experiencing real transformation. If you make the decision that you need to have more women fill those positions, understand why you need them other than for the sake of filling a chair with a “different” face. How do you want inclusive hiring practices to change the very fabric of your church community? What do you want to learn from this person because of her particular social location? What needed perspectives does she bring to your church leadership team and your congregation? Failing to answer these questions means that your new teaching pastor is simply coming under the same structures that were there before. Not only this, but the new hire will certainly not feel welcome in the community if the culture does not change. Creating real change means not just “diversifying” the church, but also recognizing why this is important, and changing the culture of the church to meet these needs.

4. Recognize that sexism affects people in different ways. I as a white woman am still in a position of privilege, for sexism doesn’t affect me in the same way that it affects women of color, LGBTQ women, and especially LGBTQ women of color (this goes back to the intersectionality conversation in my last post). One of the roles of people in positions of social power is to understand the ways in which different kinds of oppressions intersect to further marginalize a person. Imagine a circle in which the dominant group (white, male, heterosexual, cisgender) is the center. As a white heterosexual cisgender woman, I would fit just outside that circle because I’m not male—but a transgender person of color, for example, would be even further away from the center of the circle. As I’m fighting for the church to hear my voice on this topic, it is important for me to recognize my own privilege and be willing to fight alongside those who are even more marginalized than I am (and I am still figuring out what this looks like!)


Photo Credit: Miriam Dobson

5. Realize that it is not simply about doing something, it’s about being someone. This conversation is equal parts about justice and reconciliation, and this work requires a kind of presence that isn’t just about “doing” things—it requires a transformation of heart and spirit— it’s about who you choose to be in the conversation. For me, it was when my heart was transformed that opportunities to “do” opened up, and I didn’t have to go looking for them too hard.

6. Put yourself in intentional learning situations. For example, I’ve been thinking a lot about the intersection of race and gender lately, so I’ve been finding books that discuss these things, reading blogs by women of color and LGBTQ women, and finding spaces to engage with people in other kinds of marginalized social locations. By participating in these conversations and attending various community events and church forums, different kinds of opportunities have presented themselves to me as ways to get involved. This brings me to my last point—

7. I firmly believe that what we are passionate about and what we are gifted for align in particular ways for God’s glory. This work cannot be done without prayer, so my last encouragement is to be prayerful about how our passions in this area might align with our talents, and that God would open our imaginations to envision how we can participate in God’s work through our particular giftings. I think oftentimes people are so concerned with “doing” that they do things they aren’t gifted for—the clothes don’t quite fit, it’s uncomfortable, and it produces a feeling of helplessness and hopelessness. This person might say, “Well I tried, but I wasn’t effective, it didn’t work out, so I guess I’ll just support people who are truly good at this from the sidelines.” Our participation in this work will be different depending on what we’re gifted for—so think about the ways in which your passions and giftings might align.

This concludes my short little blog series. My hope is that even as we are inspired to fight for change, we will not allow a simple list to provide easy answers for us. My hope is that even as we engage in this struggle and seek to end oppression in all its forms, we will not limit ourselves to believing that these are the only answers to the questions. My hope is that we will constantly seek to have our eyes opened in new ways, to let the Holy Spirit convict and change and transform us, to reveal our unconscious biases and prejudices and have the humility to ask God to renew our minds.

Thanks for those who have followed this project to its conclusion, and if there are any topics that you think would be good to discuss in future posts, please comment!

Lastly, as I am constantly trying to learn more on the topic, I always have a list of books that I’m planning to read. Here are some book ideas that are on my reading list for this winter—these are titles that have been life-changing for some friends of mine. Will you join me in reading some of them?

Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay

Embracing the Other: The Transformative Spirit of Love by Grace Ji-Sun Kim

A Year of Biblical Womanhood by Rachel Held Evans

Our Lives Matter: A Womanist Queer Theology by Pamela R. Lightsey

Jesus Feminist by Sarah Bessey

Colonize This!: Young Women of Color on Today’s Feminism ed. by Daisy Hernandez and S. Bushra Rehman

The Intersectional Approach: Transforming the Academy Through Race, Class and Gender ed. by Michele Tracey Berger and Kathleen Guidroz

Liberating Tradition: Women’s Identity and Vocation in Christian Perspective by Kristina LaCelle-Peterson

Sexism & the Church, Pt. 3: What I Learned From Womanist Theology (or: What White Women Don’t Know Actually Does Hurt)

In honor of National Women’s Equality Day a couple weeks ago, Facebook posted the following message to its users:


Not too long after, the following photo appeared on my Newsfeed with the caption, “fixed it for you, @facebook.”


For the rest of the day, most of my white friends who were posting about National Women’s Equality Day were excited to commemorate the occasion, while my friends of color remarked, “Wow, Facebook, way to fail,” or, “Facebook exposing its white feminism.”

Unfortunately, although white women in America were given the right to vote in 1920, women of color were not. In fact, many of the white female pioneers of the suffrage movement ignored and sometimes even actively worked against women of color in order to secure the vote for themselves. Although many of the white pioneers of the suffrage movement had been Christian abolitionists, some eventually aligned themselves with racist campaigns in order to gain traction for white women’s suffrage.

White people tend to forget that although white women gained the right to vote in 1920, Native American women received suffrage in 1924, Asian women in 1952, and Black women in 1964. These rights, however, were continually infringed upon as states exercised their power to deny them the vote. In 1965 the Voting Rights Act was enacted, which prohibited any racial discrimination in election practices. (See a more comprehensive timeline of voting rights history here). That solved the problem, right?

Well, no. To make this even more complicated (and horrid)— disproportionate incarceration rates among white women and women of color affect the conversation as well. Black women are three times more likely than white women to be incarcerated, while Hispanic women are nearly 2 times more likely than white women to be incarcerated. Black women “represent 30% of all incarcerated women in the U.S., although they represent 13% of the female population generally,” and “Hispanic women represent 16% of incarcerated women, although they make up only 11% of all women in the U.S.” People of color are disproportionately convicted for the same crimes as whites—even though crime rates among whites and people of color are similar. In the case of drug convictions, white people actually engage in illicit drug use five times more often than Black people, yet Black people are incarcerated ten times more often for illicit drug use. In many states, if one is convicted of a felony one loses the right to vote altogether. These things have resulted in what Michelle Alexander has termed “the new Jim Crow,” which you can learn more about here.

Job discrepancies are rampant as well. While white women are paid only 78 cents to every dollar a white man makes, Black women earn only 64 cents, and Latina women only 56 cents. In scientific vocations specifically, Black, Latina, and Asian American women were more likely to report an obligation to “prove” their competency to male colleagues than white women. Asian-American women were more likely to report an expectation of assuming the role of “office mother,” “dutiful daughter,” or other feminine roles. Latina women report expectations “to do large loads of office housework, including literal housework (making coffee), administrative work typically performed by support personnel, and emotion work in helping students with their emotional problems.” Although Black women report an ability to be more assertive than white women, this only applies if they aren’t deemed the “angry Black woman.” Black women were “more likely than other women to report a sense of bleak isolation,” and Latina and Black women were more likely to be mistaken as janitorial staff. (This study is definitely worth reading in full, check it out here.)

The particular issues that women of color face in this country significantly differ from those of white women, and thus all discussions of feminism must take this into account. Intersectionality is defined as “the interconnected nature of social categorizations such as race, class, and gender as they apply to a given individual or group, regarded as creating overlapping and interdependent systems of discrimination or disadvantage.” Intersectionality teaches us that in discussions about sexism and feminism, one must always be careful to look for the ways in which the conversation may be erasing the experiences of those who do are not members of the “dominant” group.

It is because of this that it’s important to say: if a church claims that it cares about women, then that church must also care about the particular discrimination that women of color face in our society.

In its conversations about sexism, churches have certainly been guilty of erasing the experiences of women of color, something of which I have grown increasingly aware as I’ve researched these topics. In March of this year, I had the opportunity to lecture on feminist and womanist theology for an undergraduate class. Generally speaking, feminist theology challenges patriarchal interpretations of theology and Scripture and seeks women’s liberation from these strictures, while womanist theology is the study and perspective of these things from a black women’s perspective specifically. Alice Walker, who coined the term womanism, states: “When I offered the word ‘Womanism’ many years ago, it was to give us a tool to use, as feminist women of color, in times like these . . . We are not white women and this truth has been ground into us for centuries, often in brutal ways.”

I had originally planned to devote equal amounts of time to both types of theology and treat them as their own mini-lectures. When I began to dig into my research, however, I discovered that it was impossible to talk about one without the other, primarily because womanist theology was formed as an active push-back against feminist theology’s erasure of black woman’s experiences. I began to see this when I discovered a letter written by womanist writer Audre Lorde to white feminist theologian Mary Daly. Daly had used an excerpt from Lorde in her theological tome Gyn/Ecology, and Lorde had this to say in response:

“To imply . . . that all women suffer the same oppression simply because we are women is to lose sight of the many varied tools of patriarchy. It is to ignore how those tools are used by women without awareness against each other . . . . To realize that the only quotations from Black women’s words were the ones you used to introduce your chapter on African genital mutilation made me question why you needed to use them at all. For my part, I felt that you had in fact misused my words, utilized them only to testify against myself as a woman of Color…. So the question arises in my mind, Mary, do you ever really read the work of Black women? Did you ever read my words, or did you merely finger through them for quotations which you thought might valuably support an already conceived idea concerning some old and distorted connection between us? This is not a rhetorical question.” (1979)

The discovery of how white feminists had co-opted black women’s voices for their own gain didn’t stop there. I learned about Alice Walker’s daughter, Rebecca Walker, who wrote an essay titled Becoming the Third Wave in 1992. Rebecca Walker is credited with coining the term “third wave feminism,” a movement that began in response to the 2nd wave’s failure to account for women of color and women in other marginalized spaces. Whereas the 2nd wave (in the opinion of some) presents a monolithic idea of woman, 3rd wave draws in varied expressions of woman, and empowers women to determine for themselves what their feminism looks like.

In our culture today we talk about feminism all the time, and yet what many do not know is that our current iterations of feminism have their genealogical roots in womanism. Black women paved the way for my current participation in feminism, and I didn’t even know that until a few months ago. White women talk about feminism all the time, and yet, even though the way we understand it now can be directly attributed to women of color paving the way for all of us, feminism still fails women of color—and it often fails them because white women appropriate the narrative and erase women of color altogether. Oftentimes this is actually done unintentionally—but this does not make the process any less harmful to women of color.

I am a white woman, and the majority of my life has been spent in predominately white spaces and white churches (something I have been very intentional in trying to change as I’ve grown more aware of these issues). In those white settings, when we talked about feminism we never talked about intersectionality. When we talked about women’s experiences in the church, we never talked about the particular challenges that women of color face, or the fact that theological perspectives and ways of experiencing God and Scripture are different among women of different cultures and races.

The hard truth is that my freedom as a white woman was paved on the backs of women of color, and even now—even as I wish it weren’t so—I continue to benefit from it while women of color continue to be crushed to the curb. There is a reason that if I as a white woman am ever pulled over for a traffic violation, I can expect to come out of the situation alive, while a woman of color fears arrest and even death if faced with the same situation. (Here I am referencing Sandra Bland, a black woman who, on her way to start a new job in Texas in July of this year, was pulled over for a traffic violation, arrested, and found dead in her cell two days later. Read about her story here.)

When I hear discussions about feminism or egalitarianism in the church, oftentimes the particular experiences that women of color face are glossed over entirely. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that we are still so segregated in the church—it makes sense after all, that a predominately white church would have little engagement with and understanding of the particular issues that women of color experience in our society.

True feminism must account for all women, not just white women, and egalitarianism in the church must begin to engage justice issues on all levels, not simply the things that affect white women. What will it take to get there? This is a question we all must begin to ask.

If you are interested in learning more about theology from the perspective of women of color, here are some potential starting points. I’ll be reading a few of these in the coming months, and am always up for a good book club:

  1. Women Encounter God: Theology across the Boundaries of Difference by Linda A. Moody
  2. Sisters in the Wilderness: The Challenge of Womanist God-Talk by Delores Williams
  3. Mujerista Theology: A Theology for the Twenty-First Century by Ada Maria Isasi-Diaz
  4. We Dare to Dream: Doing Theology as Asian Women, editors Virginia Fabella and Sun Park
  5. A Native American Theology by ClaraSue Kidwell, Homer Noley, George E. Tinker (although the whole text isn’t specifically from a Native American woman’s perspective, certain chapters are devoted to women’s perspectives).

Another good book to check out is Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness. I’ll be reading it this winter if anyone cares to join me.

Have you read any books that you think are “must reads” on this subject? Drop a comment and let me know!

Sexism & the Church, Pt. 2: Don’t Look Like Marilyn Monroe (or: Microaggression)

1d89187125d59cffc7f8ba24634c2c3bRecently, I attended a lecture for church leaders on methods and practices of pastoral counseling. About halfway through the training, the instructor began speaking on the ways in which a pastoral counselor should dress when meeting with a parishioner. He showed a picture of Marilyn Monroe as an example of how women should not look, then instructed the women in the room on what they should wear, how they should do their hair, and how they should conduct themselves in order to prevent (male) parishioners from experiencing sexual temptation. The men in the class were not given a similar charge—rather, the men were given tips on what to do when experiencing sexual advances from female parishioners.

This occurred in a setting that supports and advocates for egalitarianism in the church. The lecture was attended by both male and female leaders, and the instructor knew that both sexes were acting as leaders in some capacity in their church contexts. Despite this, the training continued in this way—a barrage of microaggressions against women that made us feel small, silenced, and invisible.

Microaggressions are defined as “the everyday verbal, nonverbal, and environmental slights, snubs, or insults, whether intentional or unintentional, which communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative messages to target persons based solely upon their marginalized group membership.” Psychology Today provides these examples of what microaggressions against women look like (for those looking to learn more I highly recommend their article on this topic, which also addresses microaggressions against people of color, LGBTQ individuals, and more, linked here).

Gender Microaggressions:

• An assertive female manager is labeled as a “bitch,” while her male counterpart is described as “a forceful leader.” (Hidden message: Women should be passive and allow men to be the decision makers.)

• Whistles or catcalls are heard from men as a woman walks down the street. (Hidden message: Your body/appearance is for the enjoyment of men. You are a sex object.)

After the training was over, I spoke with a few of the other women in the class in order to determine whether it was “just me” or if they felt similarly. Some responses, paraphrased, are below:

“I felt like what he was saying was sexist, but then I thought maybe I was overreacting.”

“When he started talking about women like that I started feeling this sense of shame, and that made me not want to speak up.”

“I knew what he was saying was sexist, but I also knew that he probably didn’t mean it that way, so I didn’t want to say anything and make him feel bad.”

“This experience has given me a glimpse of what it will be like to be a female pastor—I was pretty sure I didn’t want to be a pastor before, but now I’m REALLY sure I don’t want to be a pastor.”

The curious thing about all of this was that, from personal interactions with the instructor, it seemed that he actually approved of female leadership in the church. To this day, I am unsure whether he realized that the way he was presenting his material was sexist. I learned something important that day, however: even in settings that espouse egalitarianism in the church, sexism still happens.

In a way, microaggressions, when identified properly, are useful in that they expose deeply-rooted prejudices often veiled behind a veneer of equality. Microaggressions are often prefaced by, “I’m not sexist but…” or “I’m not racist, but…” They are unique in that they are sometimes very subtle. Those who experience them often wonder whether they are overreacting, which causes feelings of confusion, angst, shame, guilt, and victimization. I once heard microaggressions described as “death by a thousand paper cuts.” They are so slight that unless one becomes adept at identifying them, they may go unnoticed—but eventually, those tiny cuts amalgamate into one giant, gaping wound.

I have experienced many kinds of microaggressions as a woman, but I thought I would leave space for some of my female friends—all seminarians, pastors, and/or church leaders—to provide some examples of how they have experienced sexism and microaggressions in their seminary or church contexts. The purpose of sharing these stories is to highlight the fact that even when an individual might not intend to perpetuate sexism, our society and religious history have shaped us in such a way that sexism is often inevitable unless we work to intentionally dismantle the ideologies that influence our actions. Sharing these stories is not for the purpose of causing guilt or shame—rather, the purpose is simply to raise awareness.

My personal hope is that as women can begin to share the experiences that we’ve had, it will create more opportunities for us to identify and confront sexism and microaggressions in our particular contexts. A big thank you to the women who contributed their personal stories for this post—it gives me hope that the women in these stories are pastors and leaders, and that God has given them strength to pursue their calling despite the obstacles they have faced.

While in seminary I guest-preached at our church. My mother came with us to church that day and afterwards she and I drove together to lunch. She does not support women in pastoral leadership and so, even though she supported me by coming to church, she then started asking me why I wanted to preach and how my preaching that morning was any different than standing up in front of people when I was in high school theater. Wasn’t this just a performance too?  Did I need to be in front of people like that?  I tried to explain to her how preaching was different than a theatrical performance, all the while thinking of all the times she had heard my husband preach with no questions asked. She totally accepted that my husband had God’s call on his life to be a pastor without question, but my first chance to guest preach was met with questions about my motivation and my right to be there. Honestly, it made me more determined to speak out in public leadership in the church. Women are very underrepresented in the pulpit and I think that that contributes to an attitude of suspicion and a hesitation to consciously support women in ministry. I think that the more opportunities our congregations have to see women in leadership, the more likely they will be to accept women’s right to be there.

When I preach the comments that are made about my sermons have little to do with what I have said and more about what I am wearing/how I look. These comments 80% of the time come from men. My first experience with sexism happened like this: I had just finished preaching for the first time. I was wearing my robe and I was waiting at the back of the sanctuary to greet people as they came out. The first 3 people out the door were women, each of whom said I was inspirational and could easily relate to what I was talking about. Then came the first man. He said to me, “I couldn’t pay attention to what you were saying because I was so distracted by what you were wearing. I can see you are wearing some kind of bright colorful top underneath your robe, maybe, if you preach again, you should consider not wearing bright colors.” I smiled and thanked him for coming, and moved on to the next person, a woman, who again talked about what I had to say and how she found a greater appreciation for the woman I preached about. After her was another man, he said “Good sermon. Did you know you touched your hair 23 times? You should have pulled your hair back. It was very distracting, and probably not the best thing to do leaving it down, if you want to be taken seriously as a preacher.” A few other people congratulated me, and a few more comments were made about how I looked in my robe, and my hair. I’ve noticed since then, I get a lot of comments about how I look whereas the male pastors do not get those comments.

During my first seminary class (a four day intensive) I was having lunch with classmates who decided that I was the “mom” of the group (FYI, I am not a mother). This label has followed me ever since. While they may mean it as a way of acknowledging my care for them, it also asserts that the only caring feminine role is that of “mother.” In a place that trains ministers, those who love their neighbor with a sacrificial (some might say motherly) love, why would we not call the loving amongst us pastor, minister or simply resist the urge to assign labels beyond the person’s name? It’s good to acknowledge the gifts we cherish in our friends but sometimes our labels point to the fact that we simply do not have space for these people we claim to cherish. We are telling them to get back in their place.

My first year in seminary, I was part of a required small group that met once a week. I was one of four women and there were two men, one of which was the leader. His facilitation style felt somewhat harsh, dominating and confrontational to me and, I found out later, was bothering the other women as well. One meeting, he was absent from the group and when he asked the other man, whom he had a class with later that week, how the group’s time went, the other man said that we were all “clucking like hens” the whole time. When it was his turn to share each session, he would make deprecating remarks about his ex-girlfriend, which the leader did not seem to be aware were making the women in the group uncomfortable. I finally attempted to address some of these issues with the leader, asking if we could spend just one session talking about group dynamics and how things were going. He refused to do so, saying it was “outside the model of the group,” and made me pray for the other man out loud in order to help me forgive “whatever” he had done wrong. I did not feel safe enough to continue participating in the group so I withdrew.

I work as the Student Ministries Director at my church. A few months ago it became necessary for us to change the format of our Winter Camp. I had the idea of gathering with other local churches, renting a camp, and putting on our own retreat. I spoke with a group of men who were also local youth leaders and asked them if they’d be interested. They said they’d think about it and then get back to me. About a month later I found out that they had met together without me and planned out what they wanted to do. They then contacted me via email and said, “We planned this whole thing out and here’s our invitation for you to join.” They didn’t want my input or thoughts. I also found myself struggling to voice my thoughts and opinions. I was really concerned with being viewed as a “Bitch” or “Bossy.”

My second year in seminary I was the only woman in a class with 8 men and a male teacher. I began to notice that I rarely was allowed to speak in class. The guys would jump in, cut one another off, and I would raise my hand just to be able to speak.The professor usually would say at the end of class: “let’s end the class by giving [narrator] the last word, as she’s been so good sitting quietly there waiting her turn.” I didn’t really know how to address this situation, but towards the end of the class we were discussing a book and one of the guys brought up the fact that the male author never used inclusive language, and he thought because of this that the author lost credibility in what he was saying. This provided me an opportunity to bring up the fact that just because someone is being unintentionally sexist, does not mean we cannot find worth in what they are saying. The guy pushed back on what I had said, so I pointed out that for almost a year the guys in this class had been unintentionally sexist towards me by “allowing” me the last 2 minutes of class to share my opinions, after I had sat so quietly waiting my turn. I asked “should I not give you credit for your opinions because you have perpetuated the idea that a woman should sit quietly and wait her turn?” When I pointed out that no one seemed to have an issue with me as a woman not being able to have input in the class, the guys got quiet. Then the conversation moved on. After class was over, one guy came over to me and said, “Any time you have an opinion or a thought, you just get your hand up in the air and we’ll call on you if there’s time.”

I noticed in my denomination we have a special Sunday where we honor the gifts and talents of men in ministry but we do not have the same for women in ministry. I pointed this out to my professor and asked why this was the case. He responded with, “I’m not really sure, but it probably has to do with the fact that we’ve been honoring women in ministry for the past 30 years, since they were allowed to become ordained, and we haven’t honored men in ministry since then.” Another time I asked why our women’s groups were required to “hold fellowship & mission events” but our men’s groups were required to “train our leaders of the future, support and encourage our pastors, lead our administrative teams, and guide the decision making of the church” and his response was “well, the men have always had that requirement as they have had the experience. Women have been in charge of the mission and fellowship of the church because that is where their gifts and talents are.”

As a single woman going into vocational ministry full-time for the first time, with a head pastor who was a white older male with three daughters, I felt like I was viewed like one of his daughters, and therefore as someone he felt the need to father. And so with that came a struggle of how to conduct business and how to communicate within the church, and it eventually dampened my voice. I would often be brought into his office and told I was too emotional, too reactionary during meetings, I was hindering the process of the group because I was too reactionary. My voice was silenced a number of times and I was tired of fighting it. I was there for five years. A lot of my process after that has been reclaiming my voice and being able to claim it proudly.

I am asked nearly every Sunday by a different person when – not if even, but when – I am having kids and sometimes even how many. Sometimes, it’s assumption, so not “When are you having kids?” but “when you have kids…” While I find this to be an offensively personal question and unmerited assumption, I had presumed that my husband was being asked it as well…until he overheard me trying to lightheartedly brush it off and change the subject and he commented, “Well, that was awkward.” I agreed and then realized that he has not once been asked this question at church. On Mother’s Day, it was repeated ad nauseam that motherhood is the hardest job in the world, to the point of making me feel broken and unworthy as a woman who has never wanted biological offspring. The youth of the church handed out a rose to each woman because, evidently, “all women are mothers in some way.” Whether we want to be or not, I guess. I even tried not to take a rose and someone chased me out of the church shouting, “Don’t forget your rose! You are special!” Because I’m a woman and therefore a mother in some way (and if not biologically now, then someday for sure)? The sermon was about the unbelievable gift God gives us in our mothers, how strong and beautiful we women are to raise children, etc. When Father’s Day rolled around, there was no mention of every man being a father and a gift (a fancy pen) was handed to each biological father; the “extras” were left on the stage and any man who wanted to get one could. The sermon was about father wounds and how God can be the father some of us may have never had. There was no consideration of those who may have mother wounds, or how God can be just as motherly as God can be fatherly. The assumption (as it seems to me) that mothers are (and should be) perfect has consequences for all women since “all women are mothers in some way,” and repeating the idea that “mothering is the hardest job in the world” not only devalues the vastly needed other work women do in the world but made me feel guilty for “not working hard enough” at my job because it was “nothing” compared to raising a child.

As I started to sense a call to seminary, I decided to ask one of my close male friends his opinion on it. He began asking questions about what I would do if I got married someday and also became a pastor, but my husband wasn’t a pastor. “Can you really have authority over your congregation if a member of your congregation has authority over you?” he asked. Then he added, “What if your husband gets a job somewhere and he says that you’re moving? You’d have to give up being a pastor, at least at that church. Is that really good for the congregation?” He pretty much made it seem like I had to choose between getting married or being a pastor—I couldn’t have both. I didn’t have a strong understanding of God’s call for women in ministry at this point, so his words caused me to really wrestle with whether pursuing ministry meant I was giving up the opportunity to be married someday. I wasn’t even sure if I ever wanted to be married, but I just remember that I felt an enormous burden to choose between the two, all before I even started classes.

To the reader: On behalf of all the women who contributed to this post, thank you for taking the time to read these narratives. I truly believe that as we begin to listen to one another’s stories, we will learn how to better serve one another, love one another, and journey together as Christian disciples.

Note: The concluding post of this series will be a “Where Do We Go From Here?” post. The bulk of this series is meant to raise awareness of sexism in the church and to highlight women’s particular experiences of it. The posts are meant to allow the reader to wade in those murky waters for awhile, because the reality is that these kinds of experiences often feel confusing and debilitating. Though we wish for a different reality, we often don’t know how to get there—and I think it’s okay to sit in that struggle for a bit. My last post will contain some practical advice from theologians doing work in reconciliation studies, as well as resources for continued learning on this topic.

Charleston: Yes, It’s About Race. So Pastors, Preach.

Less than two days ago, a white man walked into a black church in Charleston SC, opened fire, and killed nine people. Fox News was quick to offer its commentary by finding just the “right” pundit to propagate its long-established refusal of the reality of racism in this country. Bishop E.W. Jackson said,  “Wait for the facts, don’t jump to conclusions . . . Most people jump to conclusions about race. I long for the day when we stop doing that in our country.”

So let’s look at the facts that have been reported.

The shooter, Dylann Storm Roof, entered a black church and prayed with the congregants for an hour before stating that he was there to kill black people. He announced, “You rape our women and have taken over our country, you have to go” (an epithet that reminded me of racist propaganda from the Jim Crow era). Roof’s roommate later stated that Roof “was big into segregation,” and told him that “blacks were taking over the world [and] someone needed to do something about it for the white race.” A former classmate stated that Roof would often make “racist jokes,” which the classmate now realizes “the things he said were kind of not joking.” After being brought into custody, Roof confessed that he wanted to start a race war.

A Facebook photo of Roof shows him sporting the flags of apartheid-era South Africa and Rhodesia (a former colony in South Africa that attempted to establish itself as a white supremacist state). These flags are “popular in some white supremacist circles as a way to advertise to others in the know without being as obvious as wearing a swastika.” Roof also displayed a Confederate flag on his license plate, a symbol of white supremacy and racism.

Roof chose to kill black people at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church. The AME denomination was founded in the early 1800s by black Christians who sought to create a space where they could worship God free from the racism and discrimination they experienced at the hands of white Christians. Emanuel is the oldest AME church in the south. One of the church’s founders, Denmark Vesey, planned a slave revolt for June 16, 1822, which reportedly would have been the largest slave revolt in the history of the United States. Vesey was arrested and hanged along with thirty-five others, and the church was burned down by white supremacists. The shooter’s heinous act of terrorism occurred one day after the anniversary of this planned revolt.

Among those killed was Reverend and State Senator Clementa Pinckney. He was an advocate for racial justice and police reform. On April 4, 2015, unarmed black man Walter Scott was murdered by a white police officer. A citizen’s release of cell phone footage exposed the officer’s lies surrounding the event, resulting in the officer’s arrest and a murder charge. Rev. Pinckney attended the vigil for Walter Scott and advocated for legislation requiring police to wear body cameras. He delivered an impassioned plea to the Senate, stating:

When we first heard on the television, that a police officer had gunned down an unarmed African American in North Charleston by the name of Walter Scott, there were some who said, “Wow. The national story has come home to South Carolina.” But there were many who said, “There is no way that a police officer would ever shoot somebody in the back 6, 7, 8, times.” But . . . when we were able to see the video, and we were able to see the gun shots, and when we saw him fall to the ground, and when we saw the police officer come and handcuff him on the ground, without even trying to resuscitate him, without even seeing if he was really alive, without calling an ambulance, without calling for help, and to see him die face down in the ground as if he were gunned down like game, [we] said, “I believe.” . . . It is my hope that as South Carolina senators, that we will stand up for what is best and good about our state and really adopt this legislation and find a way to have body cameras in South Carolina.

Emanuel AME is “not just a church. It’s also a symbol … of black freedom . . . it’s a church that represents so much about the rich history and tradition of African Americans in Charleston.”

So here’s the reality. The Charleston shooting was not some random act of violence. Nor can it simply be understood as an act of persecution against Christians. It was a premeditated, strategic act of terrorism against black people. It is indeed about race, and it is symptomatic of the disease of racism that has ridden our country since its inception.

JPEG image-A39B78B9B7C4-1Here’s my special word to pastors and church leaders, especially for those in predominately white churches. If you are a pastor, do not fail to talk about the evil of racism in our society. Do not let this Sunday come and go without naming this act for what it is. Do not let this Sunday’s services happen without your congregation hearing you renounce the evil of racism in this country and this world. Do not diminish these events by limiting the discussion to violence or guns or church persecution. Please acknowledge the fact that there are people of color in your congregations who will be thinking of racism, terrorism, death, fear, and trauma as they sit in the pews. Do not ignore their pain. Do not let the service go by without naming those lost to this wicked act: The Rev. Clementa Pinckney, 41; Cynthia Hurd, 54; The Rev. Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, 45; Tywanza Sanders, 26; Ethel Lance, 70; Susie Jackson, 87; Depayne Middleton Doctor, 49; The Rev. Daniel Simmons, 74; Myra Thompson, 59.

If you’ve never preached about racism, about Ferguson, about the consistent murder of black people by the state and white vigilantes, about God’s desire for those suffering under the oppression of racism to be liberated, about racial justice as a component of our Christian discipleship—now is the time. Now is the time.