By Katie Carper | Instagram: @katecarper
Trayvon Martin. Michael Brown. Rekia Boyd. Tamir Rice. Freddie Gray. Mya Hall. Stephon Clark. Botham Shem Jean. Aiyena Stanley-Jones. EJ Bradford. Jemel Roberson. Charleena Lyles.
Black bodies. Seemingly disposable. Their humanity buried far below the fair treatment of white bodies who survive their police encounters.
White boys and men load lethal weapons, enter churches and synagogues and schools, and walk out with blood on their hands. But it’s not their blood. And they still walk.
These gross injustices and tragic losses speak to the ongoing fear, mistrust, and disregard for non-white bodies and the preservation of white bodies in America. Each story is a painful example of the racial bias and systemic racism that both built and plagues this country.
Some days I wonder if I’m reading satire. Teenage me would ask, “Is this for real?”
In 1965, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “A man dies when he refuses to stand up for that which is right. A man dies when he refuses to stand up for justice. A man dies when he refuses to take a stand for that which is true.”
If these words have merit, death seems imminent some days for American humanity. We’ll choke on the white *Christian* moderate response that says, “Be bothered by racial injustice but not too bothered. Don’t speak up or you might offend or taint your reputation. Play it safe. Don’t get too political.”
There are many who continue to travel the history of our country, slavery, police brutality, Jim Crow, Civil Rights, and peaceful protests wearing only white shoes. Historical facts on racism and white supremacy are distorted, covered, or ignored by many white conservative evangelicals. As a follower of The Way trying to navigate our country’s racial landscape, I am deeply troubled by the white *Christian* silence, skepticism, and defense over the loss of Black and Brown lives.
Many of us in the white *Christian* culture have an empathy-deficit in matters of racial justice. We’ll pay thousands of dollars to cross the ocean for 10 days with our church groups and take selfies with poor black kids who don’t speak English. We’ll sponsor brown kids all over the globe in the name of generosity. We’ll devote our Sunday morning platforms to hear white voices share of their cross-cultural trips to serve people of color. We’ll host African children’s choirs in our places of worship and call that ‘diversity Sunday.’ And then we’ll pat our white shoulders for doing all that good work.
But include people of color in our white spaces and build friendships? Elevate the voices of our black and brown brothers and sisters in our places of worship and work? Admit, repent of, and humbly address our own personal bias and white privilege? Be informed, challenged, and educated by people of color? Publicly denounce systemic racism and join local efforts in racial reconciliation?
Nah. Too personal. Too uncomfortable. Too risky.
In the wake of Charlottesville, I observed silence from local white pulpits.
Toward peaceful protesters against police brutality, I heard national outrage from many white conservative evangelicals.
With racist remarks and policies from prominent politicians, I continue to hear excuses and enthusiastic applause from many white conservative *Christians.*
What do our black and brown brothers and sisters think when their white brothers and sisters, who claim faith in the same Jesus, respond ways that seem devoid of empathy?
I liken this empathy deficit to how we feel about our favorite pair of shoes. We like our shoes. They’re comfortable, well-worn, and conformed to the shape of our feet. Stepping into the shoes of another feels awkward, maybe even painful, and often forces us to adjust our gait.
White people need to consciously choose to identify with people of color by wearing their shoes. Yes, it’ll be uncomfortable. Yes, it’ll be awkward. Yes, it’ll be painful.
We’ll be asked to explore our deeply held beliefs, stereotypes, bias, and sin. We’ll need to confess that we’ve been complicit–that we who are white have actually been the benefactors of a system designed to serve us and ensure our success. We’ll need to repent of our silence as the oppressed have suffered and continue to suffer at the hands of a country that favors white bodies. We’ll need to sit in the pain of another. We’ll need to rethink how we relate to those who differ from us. And we’ll need to roll up our sleeves and get to work challenging systemic racism that is rooted in our churches, schools, communities, and government.
People of color are exhausted from years of racial injustices, both the major events and the daily microaggressions. Those of us in the white majority don’t get to determine the validity of their pain or experiences. Our minority friends have spoken. Our responsibility is to confess, repent, collectively grieve, and commit to listen and learn from the voices we’ve silenced for far too long.
If we, who claim the name of the non-white Jesus, want to walk in His way of truth, righteousness, justice, and peace, we must be willing to remove our own shoes and step into the shoes of another.
If you are a white person seeking to follow the way of Christ, here are 3 steps you can take to move toward empathy:
- Explore the racial dynamics in your own life. Grab a journal and pen and begin to answer these questions: What assumptions have you made about people of color? What stereotypes have you believed about racial minorities? What experiences, conversations, and education might have shaped your perspective? When was the last time you, as a white person, were in the minority? How might your experiences in America differ from those who are black or brown? Do you bristle when racism is addressed? This first step is not meant to shame but to help you process your own journey in a way that allows for honest reflection, humility, and confession.
2. Educate yourself on the history of race and racism in America. Read books and articles by authors of color and listen to podcasts that address racism. Watch movies, online videos, and documentaries that offer visual stories from people of color in America. Education allows you to get acquainted with a broad range of lived experiences for racial minorities. If you’re overwhelmed, unsure of where to begin, I encourage you to start here.
3. Pray about how to get involved specifically. Ask God for direction as you determine where to use your gifts to practice empathy in your community. What would it look like for you to walk in the shoes of another right where you are? For local involvement, I highly recommend Be the Bridge, an organization founded and led by the fearless Latasha Morrison. This online community provides practical tools to help educate, equip, and guide you in how to bring the Gospel to life through the work of racial reconciliation in your community. You can learn more at beabridgebuilder.com.
About Katie:
I like strong coffee, good books, and belly laughs. I’m a recovering people-pleaser with a strong sense of justice and a deep desire to remind others that they belong. I married a good man and we parent 4 kiddos, one with an extra chromosome. Most days, our house is wonderfully L.O.U.D. I write about social justice, parenthood, Down syndrome, and adoption. You can find me at www.katiecarper.com
Instagram @katecarper.
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