Reflections In The Fire

Hope is my center. Hope in God, who cares for both the body and soul. Hope for a better world. Hope for liberation. Hope for restoration. These past couple months I've spent a great deal of time reimagining what these look like as well as my place in all of this. And I'm always brought back to the idea of hope. Not in the sense of wishing for something, gambling with fate. But knowing that because of where my hope is, what I hope for will one day come, whether I get to see it fully bloom or not - hope deferred is still hope. So though my faith may often be like the waves, I know that hope is that steady rock. My reality is grounded by my hope in the Heavens. And while I have lost it many times, it pulls me back to remind me that restoration will come. Liberation will come. The better world we long for will come. 

Our country has been on fire, as we are in the midst of a double pandemic and a revolution. I have been slow to speak because I have always been one to let things marinate before cooking. I have an uneasy relationship with my deliberate nature because even though I believe it is important to take the time to make sure our efforts are focused, there is also the reality that lives are at stake the longer justice is delayed. I often miss out on opportunities because I take time to process situations and scenarios, but I also believe consistency to be one of the most valuable qualities in a person. I usually do not want to be caught up in sensation, and social media has an often passive-aggressive and shaming way of demanding responses. I reject any impression of fake wokeness or being fake deep, along with any sort of false bravado and cancel culture. These only display an unwillingness to put in the work and strive toward restoration - but I digress. We are who we prove to be in the long run, when the lights are not on, when "justice" is not in vogue. This is where much of the real work happens. And the work of justice is long and it is complex and it has many pieces to it.

I preface my reflections with all of this because as I constantly try to negotiate my space in the work and discourse of justice, I interrogate myself as much as I do the world around me; I do not take any of this lightly. I recognize that I have the privilege to step in and out of these spaces, but for so many it is their inescapable reality. So if I'm going to be in it, I have to be in it forreal, not only when it's convenient. I am persistently examining my own authenticity in my words and my work. I cannot claim to be an activist; I wrestle with impostor syndrome all the time so to do so only burdens me, reminding me of everything I am not doing. I know I failed in many ways and in many moments. But my desire is that over the course of time, I lived up to who I say I am and what I claim to believe. Hold me to it. I continually consider my platform and where my voice and presence matters. I believe it is with the people who have held me down, those I hold onto, and those who have been entrusted to me. I never want to make noise just to make noise; whatever I do must be meaningful. And if done right, it also extends to people and places that I don't know. So I am constantly asking myself what, where, and how.

More importantly, I never want to center myself in any way. Not in my own life, not in my relationships, not in my work, and definitely not in a time like this. Now, and always, is the time to celebrate and honor Blackness, with all of it's layers, complexities, and melanated beauty - Black people, Black voices, Black culture, all Black everything. 

Thank you in advance if you take the time to read through this. These are merely my reflections on the world around me and the journey I've been on, an exploration of justice and identity, where primarily race and faith intersect. Of course, my voice is my own and I don't want to speak for or represent anyone else. I also recognize that in many ways, my thoughts and ideas are still unrefined. I usually say that when I write I do it for myself because writing has always been healing for me, but this one would be selfish to do so. I tread carefully as I share my perspective because I understand the power of rhetoric and significance of language - how it can elevate as well as silence, how it can both center and marginalize. I also do not want to take space that is not mine. I have no desire to ever be the loudest in the room. I have found the sharing of privilege stories in times like this to be unhelpful, so I want to refrain from any notion of that. But as I considered everything over the past couple months, I felt the need to move beyond re-posting and regurgitating, and to process everything honestly for myself. In doing so, maybe this will provoke thought and invite dialogue, so please feel free to approach me to continue this. 

As I consider my journey, I have to honor the people who went before me; those who led the way and whose legacy I stand in*, along with those who have stepped into this space with me. My continuing formation and education would not be possible without them. Throughout my life, as naive as I was, I was always aware of race. After high school, I began to educate myself more and more but Ferguson (2014) was a clear turning point for me on matters of justice. Now, I tend to see my life as being made up of processes rather than moments, but this was for sure a defining moment. Michael Brown was murdered at the hands of the state. They proceeded to assassinate his character. For weeks I followed the events that transpired all day long, on Twitter and Periscope into the late hours of the night. I watched the people cry for justice, the city on fire, and joined in this collective grief. I remember the toll it took on me, with this newfound hyper-awareness, the desire to act but uncertainty of how, and an inability to return to what life was like prior. I learned of the nature of grief, how it weighs down on every part of our being. I carried this burden with me, as months later Tamir Rice was murdered, then we saw the failure by the state to indict of the officers who murdered Eric Garner. Then Walter Scott. Freddie Gray. Sandra Bland. Through all of this and more, I witnessed an immense level of unrest in the country and felt it within myself, seeking how to navigate these waters. I was overwhelmed, staring at the face of injustice and an entire system built on it, wondering what we could even do.

The pattern became all too familiar. I cannot bring myself to watch any of these lynching videos. Black lives should not be spectacles in any way, nor reduced to missions or topics of discussion. Black life is valuable in itself and Black people should have the right to flourish without fear. So we have to be mindful of the stories we tell. More recently, as stories of people such as George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Elijah McClain and so many more were being told, I couldn't help but think of this exhausting need to prove one's character and the assumption that if they were not "good" then their death was justified; the steel-cold claim that "Michael Brown was no angel" echoes. Can we not see the sanctity of life? How heartless are we to take aim at one's being when their body has already been taken away? Yes, their lives should be celebrated but we also have to consider how we ascribe value to people. Too often do we create our own distorted definitions of virtue and pretend to play judge of whether or not someone is deserving. Do we see their inherent value - the image of God in them? I lament how in this current world, nothing will be good enough if one is Black. How long, O Lord?

When this current wave of the movement began to unfold, I couldn't help but sense an eerie similarity to Ferguson. I noticed that what so many are experiencing right now in their increased awareness, conviction, and passion is similar to that process I went through myself. I had to step away from social media for a bit because I caught myself being very judgmental because people weren't on the same level. I questioned the authenticity of others and found myself frustrated by the amount of people moving on with life as usual. As protests ignited across the country and world, a friend texted me asking, "Isn't this what you been waiting for?" I was drained. I've seen this dance before. Part of me had lost hope that substantial change would come out of this. My reply was, "I'm waiting for the country to turn upside down." And if some of it burns in the process, then so be it.

Since then, we've seen that this time the fire is much larger. Hope found its way back to me. I withdrew to gather myself and found a sense of pride that I don't think I ever felt. Not in myself, but seeing the amount of people ready for a revolution, especially younger generations. I often tell my students that they and their generation are so much more brilliant than adults give them credit for. I try to give them space to speak their minds and they blow me away. I've long resisted the notion of a "next generation" as if they were not relevant and ready now. I want to create more space to foster their passion because I wish more had been done for me. It would be a disservice to tell them that they have to wait for their time. The goal is to create a better world. They see it. They know what they want. And they are doing what they can to try to lead and work towards that. Once again they knocked down the savior complex that tries to consume me and they inspired me. If they happen to be the ones leading, so be it - I am happy to support and join in any way I can. One thing I find to be interesting is how this movement over the past few years has been decentralized in a sense, compared to those in the past. There are no clear-cut leaders on the greater scale; the collective people are rising up with leaders in small pockets. And this collective movement just feels different. For a while I have held America in contempt, but as I stepped back, observed, joined in protests, and followed what transpired over the past couple months, I found this new sense of pride and hope that the state of our society may actually be shifting. 

As we consider how our voice, feet, and hands function in the work of justice, I understand much of the work to also be within our selves. A great deal of soul work is involved. We cannot go and strive toward liberation if we are not liberated in our own hearts and minds first. For me, is a constant process of decolonizing, of unlearning and learning again. There is also the necessity for self-care, for re-centering and gathering ourselves. Finding places to be present with joy. And I would be remiss to think that I was "there" already; this consciousness began years ago, I am far from having figured it all out and it is an ongoing battle. 

This process took a great amount of effort and intentionality as I felt like I was alone in this journey, at least in my immediate life, and I was constantly surrounded by whiteness. It permeates the systems and structures we walk in, but we have been so socialized to see it as just being the way things are. The majority of my teachers were white. And we already know about the curriculum. For most of my adult life I was entrenched in church, one that was predominantly white. Evangelical culture, with whiteness ingrained in it, was taught as right and it upholds whiteness under the guise of the Bible. Understandably so, it was often silent on matters of racial (in)justice. What was preached every week may have been "theologically sound" but there was usually little to be said about our larger society. There would have been no mention of Ferguson had I not brought it up. After the failure to indict the killers of Eric Garner, I remember sitting silent in our weekly staff meeting, trying to process everything welling up inside me while we moved on with business as usual, only adding to the grief and anger. The community which I loved and looked to for so many integral parts of myself had no way of leading me in these times.

So I am grateful for the internet. My formation needed to gain from elsewhere if it was going to survive. Being in these different spaces throughout my life always involved a struggle for me to maintain parts of my identity that differed from this culture but were essential to who I was/am. Over time I learned to develop my own methods of resistance, such as the way I talked, my mannerisms, how I dressed, my hair style, who I chose and allowed to influence me, the books I read and my music and everything I chose to intake. I cancelled my plans to go to seminary (probably would've had my doctorate by now, for the record). These were conscious decisions I needed to make to maintain my identity and prevent myself from being swallowed by the whiteness that surrounded me. I decided to just be me, as the Spirit leads, and to be unapologetic about it. I began to cling to Jesus as revolutionary. Jesus the liberator. The God of justice. I tried to weave this into opportunities I had to preach, into poems, into discussions. I taught a seminar on race, culture, and faith. When I look back, I laugh at my efforts, but they were my attempts to create space where there was none already. Even then, I regret how much I complied instead of challenged the status quo during my time with and working with the church. Being away from a church community allowed me to gain so much more perspective. In hindsight, it was one of the toughest but best decisions I made. Would I like to return to one some day? Yes, but I have to imagine what that could look like; that's a whole nother conversation. 

The Gospel is about liberation. It is about justice and hope. It speaks to the oppressed. God, who cares for both the body and the soul. And yet, many churches fail to address these matters in our society in a consequential manner. They are often late and do the bare minimum, if anything at all. Call it "having a conversation." Call for "unity." Emphasize "diversity and inclusion." Talk about "everything going on" without naming anything at all. Add in some "thoughts and prayers." It's all performative if the efforts are not directed towards reform - if there is no sacrifice. I won't forget 81%. They act on the colonial nature of evangelicalism and try to decorate it with some sort of cheap biblical garnish. Mira, when God makes all things new and right, their white Jesus ain't walkin' through them doors, and many will be in for a surprise. Simplifying racism and injustice down to an issue of just loving your neighbor is weak. The issue and work is institutional as much as it is individual and interpersonal. The collective efforts of individuals loving their neighbors will never be enough until the systems and structures are addressed; even "good ones" will always be overshadowed by the larger system. But the failure to confront systemic issues is no surprise because for so long the Gospel has been individualized. I get it, it is better to stay quiet rather than try to hastily address something you're not prepared for, but that is a problem in itself. Well, this sort of theology lacks power and is dangerous. Sometimes I am afraid that a name is the only thing our Gods share. 

My soul cries out at the violence against Black bodies. Years ago, I accepted that I would have to learn to somehow deal with this and that the problem wasn't going away any time soon; the people and names murdered by the state only continue to increase. As we cry for justice every time a life is lost, it is the system that must be dismantled - one built on white supremacy and anti-Black racism. These ideologies are woven into the very fabric of our country; they are violent and they steal, kill, and destroy. Understand that this isn't just an American issue, it is global (see: colonialism, imperialism, etc.), and state-sanctioned violence manifests itself in many ways (see: prison-industrial complex, school-to-prison pipeline, gentrification, capitalism, immigration policy, war on ___, etc.). Often times it wears down on the soul and spirit even more than the body. It is imperative that we call out evil by name because we must see that these incidents exist in the context of an oppressive system, one that was engineered to maintain a racial and gendered hierarchy at the expense of lives. We should be compelled to examine our society and its history. And before anything is said, miss me with anything about not being political because the construct of race and the existence of people of color in this country has always been political.

As grateful as I am for social media and it's ability to present information in a digestible manner, I implore you to really dive in. And while we do so, understand that the work and discourse of justice also involves a constant awareness and examination of self. It is easy to criticize everything and everyone else, but we have to be willing to do the work within ourselves. I am aware of my own position in this - how Asians have been positioned to uphold whiteness in this fabricated racial hierarchy and used as a weapon against Blackness as the "model minority." The idea of whiteness has always been morphed to decide who should be included in society, while excluding those deemed as "the other." As we entered this country we had to conform to the standards of whiteness in order to be accepted and have been complicit in this system, and in many ways beyond that perpetuated racism and injustice while maintaining a sense of invisibility - but understand that here, we have always been "the other." So we must too stand alongside our marginalized sisters and brothers. I wrestled with my ethnic and racial identity for as long as I can remember, and my experience was always chameleon-like, being able to blend into whatever space I occupy at any moment. I regret my disconnect from my Vietnamese heritage and loss of culture, but I have persistently tried to resist whiteness. If you know me, you know that I am not who I am without Black people so I am compelled to stand with them in this fight. I also understand my position as a male, prone to overlook women and drown out their voices. The plight of Black women and trans lives must also be recognized and highlighted. I am constantly seeking ways to grow as an ally, toward being a co-conspirator.

I always had a proclivity towards being a contrarian. But over the past few years as these movements gave me a new language and I learned to define these terms, my resistance grew to be more focused and grounded in principles. As burdensome as it can be, I learned to constantly be critical of the space I am in at every given moment, being aware of the dynamics of power and how I should operate within it. Being in this for the short time that I have, I am apprehensive towards people. I already don't trust people so it is hard to refrain from judging intentions. I've seen the charade. Gestures are made all the time without any weight behind it. Miss me with that. Symbols have value but there needs to be substantial change beyond them. And if anyone wasn't listening up until now, I can't believe that they are listening until they put in the work. At this point, I have no interest in wasting my breath to point out the obvious. Imagine the sort of mental gymnastics one has to do to deny the realities in our society.. I don't care to assuage anyone's guilt nor coddle their fragility. The thing about whiteness is that it goes to great lengths to defend itself. And it acts in strange ways when threatened; it can't stand not being the center. It will do what it can to avoid and pander without doing anything at all, especially not what is actually being demanded. There's no time to entertain that. And if there is no seat at their table for me in the first place, then I don't want one if it is offered later - that is not a table I want to be at. My efforts are focused on following the people who have been in the struggle, who have been leading, and figuring out who I can be and what I can do to move forward. And despite my critique of the majority, I am grateful for the people of God who are consistently present in fighting the good fight.

While we seek accountability for the continual injustices committed, justice must move beyond that; it must create the conditions necessary for that violence not to happen the next time. I don't know exactly what that looks like. But I know that hope is the driving force, and imagination is a weapon. We need them because we have to move beyond what we are accustomed to; what we got right now ain't it. And if we try to just make changes to a broken system, we can't expect results to be significantly different. We need complete reform, a shift in power. This is why I am so drawn to abolition, along with many other visions for a better world. Burn it all down. Turn it upside down. Throw the whole damn thing out. And start all over. I know it will be a constant struggle. And it often overwhelms me because I know that I can only do so much. But I believe in the greater movement. Sometimes the speed is not as important as the direction. I may not see it all come to fruition, but I trust that it will. In it all, cling to hope, as far as it may be at times. All I know is that in the end I want to be able to say that I was present, that I showed up. History has its eyes on us. I am determined to make sure I'm on the right side of it. 

*I want to make some space to honor those who have led the way for me. There are countless others but these are the ones who immediate come to mind. I owe much of who I am to them although I do not know most of them personally. Twitter handles included, unless noted otherwise. I tried to categorize, but you know none of us are ever singular in our identities to there's that..

Writers/artists/activists

Propaganda (@prophiphop) - His art and voice were so vital to me since the begin of this journey in consciousness

Ekemini Uwan (@sista_theology) - Modern day prophet and public theologian. She has been so crucial

James Baldwin

Toni Morrison

Angela Davis - How beautiful is it that she is getting to see some of the fruits of her labor?

bell hooks

Martin Luther King Jr.

Bryan Stevenson

Alex Medina (@mrmedina)

Lecrae Moore (@lecrae)

Sho Baraka (@AmIshoBaraka)

A.D. Thomason (@redrev) - He took the time to converse with me years back when I reached out to him

Ray Neutron (@RayNeutron) 

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (@AOC) - I just love her so much

Christena Cleveland (@CSCleve)

Alma Zaragoza-Petty (@almaquiles)

Ava DuVernay (@ava)

Colin Kaepernick (@Kaepernick7)

Kendrick Lamar

Tupac Shakur

Austin Channing Brown (@austinchanning)

Bree Newsome (@BreeNewsome)

Ta-Nehisi Coates (IG: @tanehisipcoates)

Poetry has always been an important form of expression and resistance

Joshua Bennett (@SirJoshBennett)

Carvens Lissaint (@carvenslissaint)

Alysia Harris (@poppyinthewheat)

Rudy Francisco (@RudyFrancisco)

Elizabeth Acevedo (@AcevedoWrites)

Maya Angelou

Langston Hughes

I was fortunate enough to sit in a workshop led by these people and meet them years ago at a conference.

Michelle Higgins (@AfroRising) - One of the best speakers I have ever witnessed

Jemar Tisby (@JemarTisby)

K.A. Ellis (@K_A_Ellis)

Carl Ellis (@CarlEllisJr)

Pastors

Rich Pérez (@RichPerez729) - Since my departure from an immediate church community, I've gained so much from following him from across the country

Eric Mason (@pastoremase)

Tyler Burns (@Burns23)

Educators

Yolanda Gooch - definitely the illest teacher I know

Dwayne Reed (@TeachMrReed)

Clint Smith (@ClintSmithIII)

Christina Edmondson (@DrCEdmondson)