The dilemma of fighting for justice
The weather has been absolutely amazing during this past week. So, I have been trying to take the kids to the beach as often as possible. Usually, it’s about a 25 minutes drive without traffic (one thing I am going to miss one day). On May 28, it took us over an hour.
After not even 3 minutes on the road, we suddenly ran into a traffic jam. My “pre-Corona-self” thought “Right, it’s 4 pm on a weekday...”. Of course, that’s not relevant these days. It took me about 3 traffic lights to figure that we had run into a peaceful protest. A group of mostly young people walked in the road, shouting and holding up signs. One said “Justice for Floyd”.
I hadn’t told my kids about the murderer of George Floyd yet by a policeman. Now, I had to. I told them what had happened (a policeman choked a black man to death while arresting him). I explained to them, that this was not the first time that a black person got killed by a policeman and that it can be very dangerous to be a person of color in this world. “I am glad we aren’t black then.”, my son replied. It struck me. That was his first reaction? I took a deep breath and re-framed his answer: “You mean, you are glad that we don’t have to be afraid to be killed every time we leave the house?” Theo nodded.
What followed was a longer conversation about the privilege we have as white people and what we therefore can do to make the world a safe place for everyone. How we have to step up for People of Color and how keeping quiet just continues to help the perpetrators.
The kids showed great compassion and holy anger towards this immense injustice. Until the group of protesters remained on our road seemingly forever. They literally walked onto the highway. That’s when Toni said: “You know, I think it’s great what they are doing and it’s absolutely right, but we could have long been at the beach by now. This is super annoying. They should just let us pass.”
In these three sentences, Toni summarized the entire dilemma of our fight for justice. We want people to have a better life or a life at all. We wish for it from the bottom of our hearts, we pray for it. But when it comes to sacrifice parts of our conveniences, this turns into an inner battle. Usually, our selfish needs win.
The night of George Floyd’s death, I had texted back and forth with a Black-American friend. She has 3 kids, her oldest son is 17, her daughter 15. She wrote: “My daughter cried all afternoon about this incident. Tia, it’s so difficult for me to relax when my son is out with his friends in the community.”
As I read this, I had to ask myself, why I hadn’t spend all afternoon crying. And why I only started tearing up when I read my friend’s message. Have I gotten used to people getting killed? Or to black people getting killed? Would I have cried, if this had been a white man? Or a white, Christian man? Or a Lutheran or a pastor? How much do I have to relate to a story to be truly touched emotionally? Why is it apparently not enough that it happened to a fellow human, a fellow child of God, created in the image of God? When does a story I hear change my actions? When will dominant Cains stop killing marginalized Abels? When will we hear the scream of innocent blood shed for nothing? Screaming: “Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground.” (Gen 4:10)
The new book in our bible study on Thursdays will hopefully help us learn (more) about the great historical and systemic challenges our black and brown siblings live with every day. It’s title is: The Cross and the Lynching Tree. We are prepared for some hard and honest work to face our history, our biases and our choices. To advocate for the mistreated bodies in our country and world. Join us!
For “in the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” -Martin Luther King
Your Pastor Tia!
