Earlier this month, my obsession with the health and economic impact of CV-19 was interrupted by events that apparently took place before CV-19 turned NYC upside down. As outsiders, all we know for certain is that a young black man was out for a jog, was confronted by an armed father/son tandem in the middle of the street, and seconds later, the young black man was shot and killed.
The video made the rounds, and diametrically opposed reactions came pouring into my social media feed. The raw footage itself and the fact that this event occurred over two months ago without any formal charges is incredibly damning. Apologists for the father/son quickly and understandably asked for patience as there was surely more to the story than just the video. Two distinct subsets of my social world once again collided.
Anytime a situation like this is brought before us, it’s best to be open about the perspectives with which we write. I am a Korean-American son of immigrants. In other words, I am not a white male. At the same time, to the best of my understanding of the term “privilege” as applied to white/caucasian men in the west, that is something I possess in spades. I am a beneficiary of the systems and institutions set up by the gatekeepers of power in our country. Furthermore, my lone memory of being the target of a racial slur happened when I was in third grade as a young white boy called me a “chinese noodle”. Nevermind that I’m not Chinese, but I proceeded to break that boy’s collarbone with no real consequence other than a trip to the principal’s office. Suffice to say, that was the last time I can recall being the target of a racial slur.
Point is, I am biased towards wanting to believe the best about this country. Our 44th President’s rapid ascent from community organizer to state senator to US Senator to POTUS further cemented this narrative. But somewhere in the middle of Obama’s presidency, cracks in my narrative emerged. It ostensibly began with the killing of Trayvon Martin, which led to the birth of the Black Lives Matter movement. As the senseless killing of more young and unarmed black men became almost a regular part of the news cycle, it was harder to ignore. Despite all this, I remained attached to the view that these were more isolated examples of particular men or police behaving badly rather than connected vignettes within a broader, systemic tapestry.
And then, we heard the tragic story of Ahmaud Arbery. For some reason, this feels like a breaking point. I don’t have many occasions to feel much anger or righteous indignation of any sort, but both my wife and I felt something different this time. The response within me wasn’t just sadness but rage. I’m not formally trained as a lawyer, but all of us have become familiar with the legal framework that allows men like George Zimmerman to go free, and my current expectation is that the father/son who confronted Auhmed will likewise be acquitted. Either way, my anger is less directed at the McMichaels and more towards the broader context that enables these crimes. It thus demonstrates once again that Ephesians 6:12 is correct- our battle is not against flesh and blood but spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.
My thoughts immediately went to black friends of mine raising young black boys. As a father to a young 9-year old, one thing I consistently remind him to do is to attack this world, and to confront every challenge with confidence, gusto and moxie. Of course, this will result in him being repeatedly knocked down, but in the immortal words of the great philosopher Rocky Balboa, “Life’s not about how hard a hit you can give, but how many you can take and keep moving forward”. Then I thought about mothers and fathers who have to tell their young black sons how to regulate themselves in public spaces. They must be cautious about how they present themselves, and perhaps even minimize themselves lest they be perceived as the aggressor, or worse yet, shot at. Not only do these parents live in a constant state of mental fatigue around all the ways they need to shape themselves in accordance with dominant culture, but one of the things that I find most attractive in my black friends- their gusto and zest for life- has to be muted because so many associate this with being threatening.
I was forwarded a tweet by someone named Shaun King- who I don’t know anything about, but he has over 1 million twitter followers so his megaphone is far larger than most peoples’. He seemed to suggest that this event was the final straw that would lead to violence. I have no idea how accurate King’s take is on the temperature of the situation, but it reminded me of a brilliant lecture given by orator par excellence Cornel West in the fall of 2006 titled: The Gifts of Black Folk in the Age of Terrorism. It is two hours well worth anyone’s time given all the digital media we are consuming these days, but West’s central point is as follows: post the 9–11 terrorist attacks on the WTC and the Pentagon, he noticed so many white students coming up to him saying, “I feel so unsafe… subject to random acts of violence… hated for who I am”. West’s response to these students was that white folk post 9–11 had a brief window into the African American experience in the United States- feeling unsafe, subject to random violence, hated for who they are- and the question West poses to post-9/11 America is “How will we as a nation respond?”.
West lauds Black Folk for exemplifying Jesus’ command to “turn the other cheek” as articulated in the Sermon on the Mount. This is not a servile, weak response but an act of nonviolent resistance that demands equality from one’s aggressor. Specifically, upon turning the cheek, an aggressor would have to strike the target with the hand used for unclean purposes, and such a demeaning act is meant to alert the aggressor’s conscience to the humanity of the target. West’s argument is that Black Folk- going back to Frederick Douglas, to Mamie Till, and of course, MLK, exemplify the Gospel response to systematic oppression. Thus, they offer a precious gift to the rest of us in a post-9/11 world.
I am both proud and fortunate to be a part of a global church family known as the Vineyard. On May 8, 2020, a group of Black pastors from the domestic side of our movement released a joint letter in response to the tragic loss of Ahmaud. In accordance with the aforementioned tradition, they call on us to acknowledge the wrongdoing, pain, and suffering created by this all too familiar event. They call on a “new normal of solidarity” that extends beyond just the Black pastors who authored the letter- but to all those who place our citizenship in God’s household as our primary identity- to stand, sit and grieve as One Body. They thus continue the tradition beautifully encapsulated by this quote from Mamie Till spoken 65 years ago at the funeral of her precious son Emmett
“I don’t have a minute to hate, I’ll pursue justice for the rest of my life”
Come Holy Spirit,
-John Kim
