Fifteen year old Emma shared this reflection at our annual Martin Luther King Jr. service.
My parents love telling a story from when I was in pre-school. They went in for the annual parent-teacher conference, just to make sure that I was learning my numbers and speaking in my inside voice. The teacher told them I was doing fine; learning my numbers and letters, and playing well with others. But there was something off; “Emma has trouble recognizing racial differences.” It wasn’t just that I didn’t mind that people were different colors, the teacher said; I actually didn’t identify people as black, white or Asian. My parents left the meeting and turned to each other. They were thrilled. “Our child is colorblind!”
I was raised surrounded by many different colors; my teachers have been Indian, Hispanic, African American, and Caucasian. My friends were and continue to be from throughout the rainbow.
I love the idea of being “colorblind”. It means that one sees the world through objective eyes. But with deeper thought, this term can be worrisome. To be accepting and inclusive does not mean ignoring differences. It’s quite the opposite. We need to acknowledge these differences and love each other because of them.
It’s also important to appreciate when no one makes an issue out of these differences. I take it for granted that I can walk down the sidewalk with my friends; a group of Chinese, African American, Caucasian, Korean, and Pakistani kids. Before Martin Luther King Jr. and the civil rights movement, I wouldn’t have even known these people.
Everyone involved in making this possible was brave. The leaders, especially, weren’t afraid to make people uncomfortable and angry. They were willing to risk their reputations, their jobs, and their lives to change the way things were.
In a book called Widening the Circle, Joanna Shenk interviews Vincent Harding (he worked with Mennonites and Dr. King). Of working for the civil rights movement, he says, “Get messy and connected and involved and angry and sorrowful and everything else that deeply engaged people are supposed to get.” As I read this quote, it felt familiar. I realized it’s because this is how I am with everything. I get emotional, excited, angry easily because I care. Whether it’s an argument about why God loves lesbians or simply seeing an elderly couple hold hands, I see it as consequential; it has an impact on someone so it makes a difference.
I love English, History, and Philosophy. I struggle with math, but my teachers say that even when I’m not doing well, I work hard and persevere. I was surprised. I kept working hard because giving up is not an option. It gets messy and involved, and yes, sometimes I storm out in tears (angry). But giving up is not an option.
When there is injustice in the world, in Philadelphia, in my class, giving up is not an option. These are people, our fellow human beings. If we don’t stand up for each other, nothing can change. Speaking out against injustice can be seemingly impossible, or we think it’s not our place. This past summer, I volunteered at Pennsylvania Hospital. My favorite job was registering people in the ER. I loved the rigid process of it, and the need for order. But what really moved and quite honestly scared me was when someone would come in alone, in a moment of dire need of help. A man who couldn’t speak English bleeding from an open wound, or an elderly woman in excruciating pain from a gallstone, or simply a mother without health insurance trying to get treatment for her sick child. I was comfort to these people; they depended on me and I actually helped them, even if it was just with a few words of assurance. One afternoon a cross-dressing man came into the ER. He filled out his paperwork and sat down. Next, a college student came in; he was obviously high and just in the ER to get more drugs. I asked him the standard question of whether or not he’d accept blood in an emergency. He answered no, because he couldn’t risk getting the blood of a person like that (pointed to the cross-dressing man). I was furious to say the least. And the worst part is that I didn’t say anything. Later, I thought of ways I could have handled the situation better; but in that moment I was dumbfounded. I once read an article about how throughout history, bystanders of injustice don’t stop it. I don’t understand why they don’t; why I didn’t. I think speaking up is the best way to start change. Simply being a presence, and letting everyone involved know that I believe this is wrong. Because chances are, if I think it’s wrong, I’m not the only one and by speaking out, I make it more comfortable for someone else to.
I see God in nature, in people, in music; I don’t have to look very hard to find her. But I struggle with seeing Jesus; I guess because his story isn’t as clear, and logical. The one way I feel more connected to Jesus is when I have the confidence to say that something is wrong, especially when I know I’ll stand out because of it. But often times, it feels like it didn’t make a difference; in the grand scheme of things, nothing changed. This may be true and I just need to get over it, but when voices accumulate, it does make a difference.
Dr. King was the leader of a movement that changed our country forever. It started with a few people coming together to speak out. I see this as proof that it can work. I’m growing up in a generation who expects racial equality to be the norm, for the most part. This is possible because of the work done in years past.
Our church has been fighting a different injustice; for equality in sexuality. I feel like this is the current equivalent of the racial civil rights movement. Little by little, more people are speaking out for acceptance of the rainbow. So when we feel defeated because we can’t have delegates at the Mennonite convention, or when someone says, “oh, you’re from that church,” we should remember the bigger picture. Dr. King said, “Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase.” We don’t know for a fact that in 30 years gays will have full civil rights. But I believe they will. We just have to actively make it happen. We must do the work.
But this is not the only issue we need to work on. I may have been blind to diversity when I was 5, but I’m not colorblind anymore. Sometimes I am uncomfortable with differences. Even though I believe that everyone is equal and I should love them, I don’t always know how to react to difference. How do I relate to a friend in a low income family? Why do I hold my breath when a girl with Down syndrome sits next to me? Why am I prejudiced against my evangelical Republican cousins? It’s clear to me that I have a long way to go before I can say I love everyone equally.
Martin Luther King Jr. said,
“He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it.”
We can be active in stopping the evil we see around us. The greater challenge is to drive the prejudice out of ourselves so we can love everyone to the fullest of our ability.