I asked on social media for recommendations for some outstanding preachers, pastors, and priests who also happen to be African American. If you are white, might I humbly suggest skipping your regular church service to join one of these churches on Sunday? Or at the very least, listen to one of the sermons an evening this week?
Sometimes God cracks open kairos moments in history. Kairos in Greek means “an opportune moment.” For the first time in history, we can visit one another’s churches all around the world to listen, lament, and learn–virtually. This is kairos, an opportune time.
These links will take you to the latest YouTube channels, Facebook Lives, or pre-recorded sermons for various African American-led churches around the United States. Many services include worship through music, dance, and the spoken word. Some of these churches have podcasts, so perhaps subscribe so you can supplement your own church sermon each week. If you’re easing up on social distancing, you could gather a small group of friends to watch in a backyard so you can discuss afterward.
White Christians have an opportunity to grow in empathy through virtual proximity. Below this list are preachers who may not pastor a church, but guest preach or speak. Both lists are far from exhaustive, so feel free to share more in the comments.
Check out these men and women of God, their churches, and their messages of hope:
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.
If you are a writer interested in submitting your work to Scraping Raisins, take a look at the themes below, check out the writing guidelines, and send me a submission!
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After lunch we played hand games. It was just what we did in kindergarten in the suburbs of New York and so after eating, we’d turn towards each other in pairs on the lunch benches, sing songs and clap our hands together to the beat.
There was one hand game that ended with “Chinese! Japanese! Indian chief!” with corresponding hand motions – pulling your eyes to slant upwards for “Chinese,” downwards slanted eyes for “Japanese,” and crossing your arms against your chest for “Indian chief!” You were supposed to freeze on “Indian Chief,” and the first person who moved, lost.
I hated this game. I tried to avoid it at all costs and so I was a big proponent of “Miss Mary Mac,” whose silver buttons all down her back, back, back were much more pleasant. One of my earliest memories is playing with a girl who refused to play anything besides the one I dreaded most.
What’s wrong with Miss Mary Mac? I thought, irritated.
I reluctantly agreed. I found myself going faster and faster as we played – clap clap clap – so fast we could barely fit the words over the beat. Clap clap clap.
“Chinese! Japanese! Indian chief!” I did the motions in a flurry of movement and purposely “unfroze” myself so I lost and we could move on to another game.
But the girl stopped. She looked at me with a mean grin, and said, “You kind of look like that.”
I feigned confusion. She pulled at her eyes to slant them, and laughed. It was what I dreaded most. Someone had noticed I was different, and it was clearly not a good thing.
I remember lying on the floor eating grapes and asking my mom, “Mom? I’m 100% Chinese, right?”
And she said, “Yes, Daddy and I are both Chinese so you’re 100% Chinese.”
I continued, “And I’m 100% American, right? Because I was born here.”
“Yes, you’re 100% American.”
I paused. “So I’m 200%?”
My mom laughed, “Yes, you’re 200%.”
Much of my life has been feeling the weight of this 200%, and yet somehow, being not enough of either. Not American enough, not Chinese enough. I had the vacillating experience of attending a predominantly white suburban school and going to Chinatown on Sundays for my Chinese church.
In school, I was seen as fairly quiet. At church, I was one of the more outspoken. At school, I was the smallest person on all of my sports teams. At church, I was bigger than most with an athletic build that was unwonted, and I often felt like I had to lose weight.
At school, I would get the “slanty eye” jab from people who were feeling particularly mean-spirited, while at church my eyes were admired for being “so big” because I have double eyelids (a feature that most have, but many Asians do not, and one of the most popular plastic surgeries in Asia).
My white school friends didn’t take their shoes off when they came to my house, and I was horrified. When I asked them to take them off, they laughed and said that was weird. “Nevermind,” I muttered. I vacuumed with vigor after they left.
In Chinatown, Chinese shops involve no lines, actively pushing yourself forward and shouting in Chinese; they are not for the faint of heart. The Chinese bakery women would say things to each other about me in Chinese after my feeble attempts at ordering baos; I didn’t know what they were saying but I knew they were talking about me because “lo fan” means white person, and they used that term to refer to me, the white one.
I couldn’t hide the fact that I wasn’t white at school, especially with a last name “Ho” that would always get snickers, while at church I was called a twinkie: “yellow on the outside, white on the inside.”
In subtle and overt ways, I was continuously told by white Americans that being Chinese was weird, and I was abnormal. And yet I couldn’t change the shape of my eyes or the food we ate and the way my culture shaped me, so I was stuck in shame. And it seemed I could never be Chinese enough to fit into the Chinese community, leaving me exasperated. I was confused, weighed down by the 200% of my Chinese-American self, continually feeling like I was not enough of either.
The cacophony of my hyphenated Chinese-American identity sent me running every which way to find a place where I belonged. By the time I got to college, I was jaded by both the white American community and the Chinese community and found myself seeking acceptance in the black community on the gospel choir and the step team, with the Latino community in their cultural association.
It is good to discover other cultures, but it was at the expense of my own identity. I was ashamed of my Chinese-American identity, trying to deny my own culture, and desperate to hear that I was enough. I was weighed down by the load of trying to carry an identity I didn’t understand. I was running from my own skin, my own self, and ultimately, I was running from the One who made me.
I heard the voice of my Creator through a bumper sticker in the Dominican Republic: “Soy especial, Dios no hace basura.” I am special, God doesn’t make garbage.
Something broke inside me when I saw that bumper sticker. I heard the voice of God say, “Kata, you are enough.”
I heard, “The ignorance and inhospitality of white Americans and even your own race have bent you in shame. That was never my intention; I want to heal you so you can stand tall.” I heard God say that his creation of me as a Chinese-American woman was not a mistake, but profoundly purposeful.
There was beauty to be discovered, brokenness to be exposed and healed, and joy and redemption to come if I would just stop running and heed his call. A call to stop cowering under the weight of my own confusion and shame, receive his words of life, and stand tall. A call to intimacy with the Father and a call to a greater understanding of how he made me; a call to see what it looks like to worship him in the fullness of who I am and invite others to do the same.
From that catalytic bumper sticker moment, I have been on this wonder-filled journey with Jesus where I’m still figuring out what it means to be a third-generation Chinese-American. The journey is long but marked with freedom and curiosity, not avoidance and shame. It has been an exhilarating ride of discovering depths of the Father’s heart in ways I never would have known if I had kept running.
If we deny, dismiss, or push aside our ethnicity and race, we are robbed of opportunities to experience deep healing, to enter into the stories of those who are different from us, and we mistakenly assume that our way is the right way and everything else is weird, which hurts our neighbors and our witness.
The Father declares that he has created us purposely, and well. He invites us to explore our ethnic identity with him. Whether we come from a majority or minority culture, we have an ethnicity worth discovering. May we have courage to trust our Creator and be open to his beckoning. Surely it will bring light and life to us and our communities in ways we might never have expected.
About Kaitlin:
I am Kaitlin Sara Ho Givens, also known as “Kata.” I am a Chinese-American campus minister focusing in planting new movements, empowering leaders, and raising up purposefully multiethnic, reconciling communities that reflect the heart of God. I am pursuing a Masters of Divinity at Gordon Conwell Theological Seminary. I hold a Bachelor’s degree in English from Boston University. I speak Spanish and French and Minion proficiently, with Greek and Hebrew up next.
***
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It’s an anthem to women, a proclamation that black lives matter, and a statement about how power can be manipulated for good or for evil (okay, so some of the usual superhero themes).
One of the ways I keep my ear to the ground on the collective black voice (if there’s such a thing) is through Twitter. And since the trailer for Black Panther dropped last summer, black Twitter has been abuzz with anticipation. So far, less than two weeks after it’s release, it has already broken all kinds of records at the box office.
And it seems viewers (of all races) have not been disappointed. So why all the hype?
The hashtag #WhatBlackPantherMeanstoMe on Twitter holds open a door to take a peek inside and see what all the excitement’s about. Here are some of the Tweets I’ve noticed over the past few days that are from people of color:
#WhatBlackPantherMeansToMe having a movie with POC who aren’t in subservient roles, who are in more than one scene, and have more than a handful of lines that aren’t dripping with stereotypes– I teared.
#WhatBlackPantherMeansToMe Moving beyond limiting narratives and embracing fantastic depictions of black excellence. Wakanda’s example of an inescapably black science fantasy is a future for me in a way that star wars and star trek simply are not and cannot be. #BlackFutureMonth
— Neysha is apartment hunting in Wakanda. (@La_Ney_sha) February 17, 2018
To see a black film is one thing. But to see a black superhero on the big screen.. to see a black superhero pay homage to our ancestry and speak the truth to what this world needs, means the world to me… #WhatBlackPantherMeansToMe
Seventeen years ago I sat eating popcorn in a movie theater in Kampala, Uganda, with my Ugandan friends. Tom Cruise scaled a wall in Mission Impossible and for two hours, we were absorbed into the mainly white world of the film. When the movie ended, we exited the front of the theater and I was startled when we stepped into what looked, to me, like another movie set with all black faces, Luganda spoken on the streets, and women wrapped in colorful skirts. For a short time, I was thankful for a movie with people who looked like me and shared my culture. That six months was the first time in my life I experienced being a minority. But what if most of my life was spent watching, reading about, listening to, and seeing representations of people who looked nothing like me?
Black Panther is important. Writer friend Yabome Gilpin-Jackson wrote for a previous post, called “Why Black Panther Matters,” on Scraping Raisins: “Black children of African descent living off the continent need this. They need these moments of relatable role models, real and iconic, that they can look up to and hear stories from, so that they too can believe in their ability to reach higher.”
If you haven’t seen the film yet, I’ll try and spare you the spoilers, but in my opinion, this is #WhatBlackPantherMeansToMe. As a person who loves other cultures and traveling, I personally loved the depiction of the country of Wakanda. The costumes and scenery were stunning. The customs of Wakanda and the mutual submission and respect they showed one another were fascinating. And yet I also appreciated that even good kings had dark secrets, an aspect that felt more reminiscent of Myazaki and Japanamation than of typical western films. Even good characters are capable of evil; evil characters are capable of good.
Though I’m no sci-fi expert, the gadgets and technology used on Wakanda were intriguing. I especially loved that the sister was the pro at this, and not the stereotypical nerdy tech man of most Hollywood films. What? Girls can be scientists, too?
Which brings me to my favorite part of the movie: the women.
I went into the film with zero knowledge of the comic book the movie was based on, so when the king’s army turned out to be all female, I leaned over to my husband and whispered loudly, “His army is all women!” He nodded, amused by my enthusiasm. Though women have come a long way in gaining rights in society, something primal rose up in me when I saw women portrayed as strong protectors with equal standing as men.
The cast of this movie is incredible and I was happy to see familiar faces, Randall (Sterling K. Brown) from This is Us, Alex (Michael B. Jordan), the boyfriend of Haddie from Parenthood, and Daniel Kaluuya from Get Out.
A few aspects of the movie did surprise me. Though I knew the movie had a mainly all black cast, I’m embarrassed to admit I wasn’t expecting race to be discussed in the film. I feel like this assumption is indicative of lingering ignorance and implicit bias on my part–that deep down, I still believe we live in a post-racial society where race does not need to be touched-on in a film with a nearly all-black cast.
My first thought in the opening scenes of the film were, Why are they perpetuating stereotypes about African Americans by beginning the film in the ghetto, over an illegal deal? I was jarred by the anger and bitterness of the anti-hero, Erick Killmonger, and felt the familiar bristling that whites feel when we’re are accused of our privilege and supremacy. (As an aside, to more acutely feel these feelings, watch the movie GetOut–it’s the good kind of uncomfortable).
I also wondered why the casting directors chose to go with British actor, Martin Freeman from Lord of the Rings, rather than an American actor. Perhaps this was intentional? Maybe the makers did not want to give a white American a lead role in this legendary film? Fair enough.
Of course race needed to be discussed. And this honesty only added another layer of depth to the movie, preventing audiences from skidding across the shallow surface of a “just another superhero film,” forcing them past the wading pool to the deeps of the human psyche.
This movie confronts gender, race, politics, isolationism, impoverished countries, hidden wealth and resources, identity, love, equality, and the trauma and scars of history. If you see any movie this year, you should see Black Panther. It’s not just a superhero movie.
***
Read my film expert friend’s review of Black Panther here.
Sign up for the Scraping Raisins newsletter by February 28th and be entered to win a copy of Beyond Colorblind! (U.S. residents only)
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How is God calling you to enter the race conversation?
This month we’re discussing racism, privilege and bridge building. If you’d like to guest post on this topic, please email me at scrapingraisins(dot)gmail(dot)com. Yes, this is awkward and fraught with the potential for missteps, blunders and embarrassing moments, but it’s necessary. Join me?
If you are a writer, consider using the hashtag #WOCwithpens to showcase the writing of our black and brown sisters of faith every Wednesday specifically, but anytime as well! You can find the explanation for the hashtag here.
If you’re a white person who’s new to all of this, I compiled some resources to start you on your journey (because I’m not much farther ahead):
I asked my friend, Jake, movie buff and comic book and Star Wars expert, to share his intitial thoughts after seeing the much-anticipated Black Panther film. This article is helpful pre-viewing preparation for people like me who know very little about comic books or superheroes, but still enjoy a good superhero film (though I’d argue this is more than “just a superhero film”).
On every level Black Panther is completely unapologetic about what it is and what it is trying to do. Yes, it is a Marvel movie and it unapologetically embraces every bit of that successful brand (it is the 18th film in the series). Yes, it is a superhero movie so it unapologetically gives us well-crafted action scenes. At the same time given that Black Panther, aka T’Challa, is the king of a fictional African country called Wakanda, it fully embraces African imagery and customs. In the hands of director Ryan Coogler, Black Panther also unapologetically touches upon race relations in the United States.
Black Panther opens with T’Challa preparing to take the role of King of Wakanda following the death of his father T’Chaka in Captain America: Civil War. Wakanda was never colonized by the Europeans. They built their country on a precious resource called verbranium which has allowed them to become an advanced technological state. While Wakanda has never been touched by the European Slave Trade, the effects of it are felt all around them. Wakanda’s decision to remain isolated from the rest of the world and ignore the problems around them are now starting to reach their borders.
It is under these circumstances that T’Challa begins his reign as king. While heavy is the head that wears the crown, he is anything but alone. He has the help of his sister Shuri, a technological genius that equips her brother with all his gadgets and upgrades his Black Panther armor. He is protected by warrior women known as the Dora Milaje that serve as royal bodyguards. The chief of the Dora Milaje, Okoye, is one of his closest confidants. He also recruits Wakandan spy and former girlfriend, Nakia, to help him.
The egalitarian role of men and women in Black Panther is another profound and effortless statement made by the film.
The cast is an obvious strength. As T’Challa/Black Panther, Chadwick Boseman is a strong and empathetic king. Boseman plays the character as a man who simultaneously feels the weight of his country on his shoulders, but has the resolve to hold it. Michael B. Jordan is the villain, Erik Killmonger, and plays him as a man consumed by rage but with a discipline to focus it on achieving his objective. I simultaneously empathized with why he was so angry and yet was shocked by his wickedness. As T’Challa’s sister, Shuri, Letitia Wright tells us everything we need to know about both her character and the great relationship she has with her brother from her very first scene.
Look, the bench is deep with this cast. You have Lupito Nyong’o, Forest Whitaker, Angela Bassett, Andy Serkis, Sterling K. Brown, Martin Freeman, and current Oscar nominee Daniel Kaluuya (the lead from Get Out). Frankly, I could spend time going through the entire cast and pointing out the strengths of each performance, so let me just say that the charisma and talent of this cast is stunning.
Of course, it is impossible to miss the statement this film is making with its cast and director. This is a major Hollywood Disney movie written and directed by an African American filmmaker, starring an African American actor, and featuring a cast of African descent.
Director of Black Panther, Ryan Coogler
Making a statement is nothing new for comic books. The early comic book creators had strong social justice points of view. Comic books came of age as Hitler unleashed fascism and anti-semitism on the world and comic book creators responded by having their characters take him on. The very first issue of Captain America featured the character punching Hitler in the face on the cover.
It is from this tradition of social justice that Black Panther was created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby in 1966. The legendary comic book duo intentionally wanted to make a statement by not only creating the first mainstream black superhero, but by also making him, strong, smart, wealthy, and the king of a country.
A day after watching Black Panther I was still unpacking the layers of social and political commentary. The film does not hit you over the head with these themes, but it also doesn’t flinch from them either. In Ryan Coogler’s hands all these threads are effortlessly woven together for a deeply entertaining and exceptional film.
About Jake:
Jake VanKersen is a Chicago-based Video Producer and graduate of Columbia College Chicago. He also has an encyclopedic knowledge of movie, Star Wars, and comic book trivia. Visit him at www.jakevankersen.com.
Sign up for my newsletter by February 28th and be entered to win a copy of Beyond Colorblind! (U.S. residents only)
Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:
How is God calling you to enter the race conversation?
This month we’re discussing racism, privilege and bridge building. If you’d like to guest post on this topic, please email me at scrapingraisins(dot)gmail(dot)com. Yes, this is awkward and fraught with the potential for missteps, blunders and embarrassing moments, but it’s necessary. Join me?
If you are a writer, consider using the hashtag #WOCwithpens to showcase the writing of our black and brown sisters of faith every Wednesday specifically, but anytime as well! You can find the explanation for the hashtag here.
If you’re a white person who’s new to all of this, I compiled some resources to start you on your journey (because I’m not much farther ahead):
I was blessed to grow up in a multi-colored family. My “twin” is my biracial brother, younger than me by two months. I have another brother, adopted from Brazil, who is a month older than my biological sister. And she is just 1 ½ years younger than me. My parents had their hands full.
Living in Arkansas in the 1970’s, our unique family experienced misunderstandings and discrimination. Because we were not all welcome at the city park designated for whites, we frequented the “black park.” The local Boy Scouts chapter refused to let my brother join. And I can still remember the fear I felt as we witnessed a KKK cross burning in a friend’s yard. What’s the big deal about skin color, I wondered? Why do some people think whites are superior?
I can recall how proud my sister and I were in the blazing hot summer of 1979. All four of us kids were on an outdoor swim team and, to our great delight, our skin turned the same beautiful shade as our brothers. No longer that sickly pale color. We could actually be called brown. And brown was good in our eyes. We wanted to be like our brothers, not different from them.
Then we moved from Arkansas to a North Carolina mountain town, which was predominately white. It didn’t affect my sister and me much, because we looked just like everyone else, but I’m sure–looking back now–that my brothers were constantly aware of being the minority.
During my freshman year of college at UNC-Chapel Hill, I lived in a randomly assigned suite with eight girls. Seven were black and then there was me. I learned so much during that transformative year from my roommate Sheletha. And even though it was uncomfortable at times to be the only white girl, I’m so thankful God gave me an opportunity that many white people are not privileged to get: to experience being the minority.
After college, God gave me another opportunity to be a white minority by living in the beautiful homogenous land of China. Involved in education, my husband and I raised our three biological children there, who can identify with the image of an egg: white on the outside and yellow on the inside. We adopted our two Chinese boys in 2013 and moved back to the US after 20 years in East Asia.
Last year a Chinese American friend asked me how our boys were doing in American public school, dealing with race issues. I responded that I didn’t think it was a big deal for them and we hadn’t really talked about it much. My flippant comment later made me realize how much I still live in my white privileged world. Another Asian friend at that time encouraged me to join a transracial adoption group to learn more about how race issues affect my children every day.
She wrote, “Society will tell them they’re not white. Society will treat them differently. Don’t be afraid to talk about race and racism. It will benefit them more than you know it. And it will let them know you are not there for the whole ‘I don’t see color’ ideology, because that just means you don’t value where they come from and who they are.”
Growing up as a white girl with brothers of color, and now mothering two sons of color, I am saddened to realize that I still can be sheltered under my white privilege umbrella. I’m therefore incredibly thankful for friends who have challenged me, with their probing questions, to step out from under this umbrella into the world that people of color live in. I have come to see that attempting to better understand the effects of racism on my family and friends will be a lifelong choice.
When we step into someone else’s shoes we gain a different perspective. A better understanding. While will never be able to fully enter into another’s life experience, we can move a step closer.
And we can grow deeper in our conviction that all people are wonderfully and fearfully made, handcrafted by God. Intentionally passing that belief on to the next generation, we never lose hope that–united across the racial divide–we can make a difference in this world.
Martin Luther King Jr. beautifully expressed this view:
“The whole concept of the imago dei, as it is expressed in Latin, the ‘image of God,’ is the idea that all men have something within them that God injected. Not that they have substantial unity with God, but that every man has a capacity to have fellowship with God. And this gives him a uniqueness, it gives him worth, it gives him dignity. And we must never forget this as a nation: There are no gradations in the image of God. Every man from a treble white to a bass black is significant on God’s keyboard, precisely because every man is made in the image of God. One day we will learn that. We will know one day that God made us to live together as brothers and to respect the dignity and worth of every man. That is why we must fight segregation with all of our nonviolent might.”
The reality is that people born into a life of white privilege will never experience the kind of fear and anger and discrimination directed toward those born with black, brown, or yellow skin. And even though it would be easy to do, I strongly believe that privileged white people cannot shut the door, turn the other way, and ignore what is happening right now all around us. We must join together to fight against injustice. Fight for those who face mistreatment every single day of their lives. Mistreatment simply because of the color of their skin.
Even if it’s not our personal battle, it must become our battle. The people suffering from injustice are our brothers and sisters. Our sons and daughters.
Surrounded by different skin colors…
So much beauty in the color. If we choose to see.
So much racism. If we choose to label.
Injustice seems to be growing in our world today.
How do we fight it?
How can we celebrate the diversity of colors and see past the skin to what is in the heart?
So that we can discover the unity in our humanity.
And realize that we are all people wonderfully and fearfully made,
handcrafted by God.
So much alike underneath our different colored skin.
With human hurts and human dreams.
***
About Jodie:
As a mom, I juggle two different kinds of parenting — long-distance to our 3 adult kids (who are white on the outside but very Chinese on the inside) and our two adopted Chinese boys at home who have special needs. Since being back in the US, my husband has taken up cooking Chinese food, with a specialty of Lanzhou beef noodles (where we used to live and where our boys are from), giving us a taste of “home.” You can follow our story on my blog. I am also on Instagram and Facebook.
Sign up for my newsletter by February 28th and be entered to win a copy of Beyond Colorblind! (U.S. residents only)
Sign up for my Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:
How is God calling you to enter the race conversation?
This month we’ll be discussing racism, privilege and bridge building. If you’d like to guest post on this topic, please email me at scrapingraisins(dot)gmail(dot)com. Yes, this is awkward and fraught with the potential for missteps, blunders and embarrassing moments, but it’s necessary. Join me?
If you are a writer, consider using the hashtag #WOCwithpens to showcase the writing of our black and brown sisters of faith every Wednesday specifically, but anytime as well! You can find the explanation for the hashtag here.
If you’re a white person who’s new to all of this, I compiled some resources to start you on your journey (because I’m not much farther ahead):
A few years ago I started listening to a podcast called Seminary Dropout. The host was thoughtful and the guests were usually influential authors and interesting voices in Christian circles. Shane Blackshear and Kerri Fisher started up a spin-off podcast back in 2016 called On Ramp that’s meant to be a starting point (an “on ramp”) for those just entering the race conversation. Season 2 was released in December of 2017. As I’ve really benefitted from the podcast, I reached out to them and Shane and Kerri agreed to answer a few questions for me. I’m excited to share this interview with you!
1. Could you tell us a bit more about yourselves? Where do you live? What’s your day job? Who are your people?
Kerri: Well, my name is Kerri Fisher. I live in Waco, Texas. I work at Baylor University as a full-time lecturer in the school of social work. My people? Hmmmm, members of the Branch Church in Abilene and Doxology Church in Austin (both now defunct in the literal sense but alive in the supernatural sense). Also, I suppose, my people are writers, readers, comedians & other creatives/contemplators as well as my literal family The Charles Fishers and all my chosen family accumulated over the years. That’s as brief as I can be if I am to be accurate and appropriately inclusive.
Shane: I’m Shane Blackshear. I live in Austin, Texas. I host a podcast called Seminary Dropout in addition to On Ramp with Kerri, and I work in real estate. My people are my wife Kate, my two kids Margot and Amos, and my church family of Austin Mustard Seed.
2. How do you two know each other and how did you decide to start this podcast?
Shane: We met and became good friends in college, and have been ever since. Through my other podcast, Seminary Dropout I had some eye opening conversations with people who are, in my opinion, some of the greatest thinkers in the area of race and racial justice. Meanwhile I think Kerri had also been working through some issues on race through her own family history and her career in social work. We’d talk about this stuff when we saw each other here and there. At some point the idea popped into my head and I asked Kerri if she would do a podcast with me on race through the lens of our Christian faith. The rest is history.
Kerri: Yes, Shane has relayed this accurately.
Shane Blackshear and Kerri Fisher, the hosts of On Ramp
3. For those of us who have no idea what goes into producing a podcast, what is the process involved in creating it?
Kerri: It is hilarious for me to answer this question first. I want to say, “I have no idea?” For my part the process is thinking and talking with Shane about what we want to communicate, then going to Shane’s house to record and then sending academic or other research support for any claims I have made during the recording. Shane can now explain everything cool and technological that I actively avoid learning.
Shane: Kerri’s downplaying her role. The planning part is one of the most important steps. Also On Ramp couldn’t exist without the academic and other research, and Kerri with her academic background is much better at that part that I am. We’re big on truth at On Ramp, so obtaining reliable information is everything. Beyond that, the technological stuff is pretty boring, but basically I set up the mics, mixer, and recorder, do some sound editing, write show notes, and upload the audio file. I should probably do more promotion afterwards, but by the time I get to that part I’m exhausted (Please tell your friends about this show).
4. Do you have a favorite episode? Why?
Shane: It’s hard to pick, partly because they all kind of blend together and partly because I’m proud of them all. Actually the first one stands out to me. That’s where we got to really lay out our vision and heart for On Ramp and what we wanted it to be.
Kerri: In general my honest answer is that I always get a kick out of the ones where we get a little giggly, it reminds me of our college glory days and its sweet to have that recorded. As for a specific favorite, I agree they all blend together a bit, but I remember really liking our first episode of season two more than I thought I would because we got “Jesusy” and I am always nervous to suggest or have the appearance of suggesting that I have a better idea than anyone else who Jesus is, or how to be a Christian, or how to navigate this human experience, but as I re-listened to that episode I must say, I felt touched at what we stumbled on together about the holiness—the otherworldliness of laying down privilege. It made me feel warm. And I hope it did for others too.
5. What was the hardest episode to record? Why?
Kerri: I would say for me generally the hardest episodes are when I am sharing personal things about what it means to be a person of color rather than academic considerations. My childhood self is very shocked and appalled at how frequently I am telling the truth about the challenges of oppression and privilege—she was very happy to ignore race and its consequences, so sometimes that still creeps up in episodes like the one from season two about being a black woman in white evangelical spaces. In the moment of the actual recording though, the hardest episode for me was the final episode in season 1 where Shane and I processed our own relational and podcast related hiccups related to our own identity-related behaviors. Even though those hiccups were very minor, I still felt shaky as we discussed the impacts of privilege and oppression in our own very real relationship. I think that’s crazy because Shane and I have been extremely close friends for over 15 years and there are still ways that talking about race can feel awkward even for the two of us.
Shane: The episodes that require the most vulnerability are always hard. I see my role in this podcast as one that is first one of a listening posture. As a biracial woman, Kerri has the lived experience of having racism directed at her as all people of color do. As a white guy, my lived experience is one of privilege. So my hope is that I model a listening posture, and a willingness to lay down my privilege as much as I can and be a champion of Kerri’s words and experience. That’s not easy, so while I can’t nail it down to a specific episode, the times when I’ve needed to be quiet and acknowledge & lay down my privilege are not comfortable.
6. What are your favorite/go-to books about race?
Shane: I love this question. I always love recommending books because they say it so much better than I ever could. For me these books make up my required reading list when it comes to matters of race in no particular order:
7. Have you gotten any push-back or criticism from listeners? What kinds of things?
Kerri: I have been really surprised, relieved and grateful for how kind and supportive our listeners have been to us. I think we’ve had a few people who wanted to hear more theology or more or different content on a certain race-related concept but that is to be expected and as long as it is delivered in a gracious manner it is encouraged. We are very interested in what our listeners are interested in.
Shane: Like Kerri I’ve been pleasantly surprised at the lack of criticism, especially harsh criticism. Unlike a written blog post, you can’t skim a podcast. I think people who would be harsh critics just don’t take the time to listen. The criticism we have received has been scattered. Someone took issues because we “changed the definition of racism”, but the definition we used, “prejudice plus power”, is the definition that relevant professionals have used for a long time. Someone else gently asked why we haven’t talked about oppression towards women, which is a subject I think we both care about deeply, but we can’t say all truths in the world at the same time. On Ramp is specifically about race through the lens of Christianity so we focus on that. So the criticism has been light and for the most part respectful. I assume that if On Ramp picks up steam the longer it’s out there, we’ll start to receive heavier push back.
8. As this interview is published, the much-anticipated Black Panther film is about to come out. In your opinion, what is all the buzz about?
Shane: There’s another podcast that’s great (and I have to admit more popular that either of my podcasts), called “Truth’s Table” hosted by three black Christian women. It’s fantastic! In the first episode I happened to listen to the women just talked about how excited they were for Black Panther. The trailer had just come out and they were dissecting every frame. Their excitement was contagious.
There have been over 55 feature length Marvel & DC movies made since the year 2000 and none of them have featured a black main character. Even Ghost Rider got 2 movies in that time, and Ghost Rider is terrible.
People of color are not only under-represented in super hero movies, but in all media, and when they are represented it’s done poorly. Too often people of color are represented as criminals or people with low morals, or they’re the black best friend stereotype existing for the white leading characters benefit. The general story of Black Panther is an empowering story of a man and a society who don’t need help from white people. The characters are extremely intelligent and their society is advanced.
Kerri: Well, I know literally nothing about Black Panther and had little interest in seeing it, but Shane has now convinced me. I am certainly interested in supporting films that represent the complexity of black people and blackness because that has been a lifetime longing of mine that has rarely been offered or available to me. Fingers crossed for Black Panther and more and more good storytelling to come.
9. Will there be a season 3 of On Ramp? If so, what are some of the topics you still hope to discuss in future episodes?
Kerri: Well, as of this writing Shane and I haven’t discussed season 3 very much but I guess I would say I would love to do a third season if we have evidence that people are listening to it and find it useful. I’m not sure what topics we would discuss next—I loved hearing listener questions and interests at the end of season 1 so hopefully that would give us some ideas. We both love discussing entertainment and politics, so I could see us finding news and entertainment stories and applying some of the concepts from seasons 1 & 2? I don’t know though. I’ll eagerly await Shane’s answer.
Shane: Like Kerri eluded, I think it depends on the feedback. It is a considerable amount of work, and although we like to do it, if people aren’t connecting to it, or if there are more affective resources out there, then we have no problem ending On Ramp at season 2 and being proud of the work we did. That all sounds pessimistic but I don’t mean it to be. I hope that On Ramp is meaningful and helpful to many people and that we’ll keep going for seasons to come. So if anyone out there has feedback or suggestions of what they’d like to hear in the future, please let us know!
***
Thank you, Shane and Kerri for providing such a wonderful podcast for all of us. And I am so grateful you took the time to answer my questions for this interview!
Sign up for my newsletter by February 28th and be entered to win a copy of Beyond Colorblind! (U.S. residents only)
Sign up for my Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:
How is God calling you to enter the race conversation?
This month we’ll be discussing racism, privilege and bridge building. If you’d like to guest post on this topic, please email me at scrapingraisins(dot)gmail(dot)com. Yes, this is awkward and fraught with the potential for missteps, blunders and embarrassing moments, but it’s necessary. Join me?
If you are a writer, consider using the hashtag #WOCwithpens to showcase the writing of our black and brown sisters of faith every Wednesday specifically, but anytime as well! You can find the explanation for the hashtag here.
If you’re a white person who’s new to all of this, I compiled some resources to start you on your journey (because I’m not much farther ahead):
Metaphors and analogies help bring clarity to fuzzy thinking. These ten privilege metaphors not only apply to white privilege, but also to economic inequality. Of course, every metaphor breaks down on some level, so keep that in mind as you mull these over.
1. Different Starting Lines
If life is a race, then people of color have a different starting line than white people. This video, called The Unequal Opportunity Race, is a fantastic depiction of the additional hurdles and roadblocks people of color face as they “race” white people in life.
2. Monopoly Game
Privilege is a like a monopoly game where black people are invited to play after white people have already been playing for three days—the property has been sold and the resources handed out, and yet the people of color need to somehow make it around the board. (I couldn’t find a specific source for this metaphor, because it seems like a widely accepted one.)
3. Tall and Short People
This metaphor by Omar Ismail, explained in greater and more comedic detail here, removes some of the emotions from this discussion. He compares white people to tall people who can reach higher shelves and experience more conveniences because they are tall. It simply means there are advantages to being tall.
4. Bikes and Cars
This article, “What My Bike Has Taught Me About White Privilege,” suggests that privilege is like being a bike person or a car person. Cars are less aware of bikes and bikes need to cater to the cars on the road.
5. Gaming—Easy, Moderate, Hard Settings
In this article, “Straight White Male, The Lowest Difficulty Setting There Is,” John Scalzi explains white privilege using a gaming metaphor. While you can still lose on this setting, you are playing against others who are using moderate and hard settings, so you have all the advantage in the game.
6. The Closest to the Goal
I recently attended a seminar that used this metaphor for white privilege. The men used an image of three people in a row trying to throw a paper ball into a trash can. They said the teacher gave the directive that if they make a basket, they get an A on the exam. Obviously those in the front row have the advantage. And there’s the added layer that they are not aware of the people in the rows behind them. A teacher adapted this idea into a lesson plan to teach his high school students about the concept of privilege.
7. The Invisible Knapsack
This is possibly the most well-known way to identify white privilege, which Peggy Macintosh describes as the “invisible knapsack.” She shares statements for people to check off to identify whether or not they have privilege. This Privilege Walk Lesson Plan uses a similar format, but has students in a gym take steps forward or backward based on a list of statements that highlight their privilege or lack of privilege.
8. Born on Third Base
Cactus Pryor describes privilege as someone who was born on third base and thinks they hit a triple. They don’t recognize that they are privileged from birth.
9. The Caterpillar and the Snail
“Sometimes You’re a Caterpillar”is short (and cute) story about a caterpillar and snail who are friends trying to get under a fence. The caterpillar doesn’t understand why the snail can’t just fit under the fence. She eventually has some epiphanies about the struggles of her friend.
10. No Left Turn Lane
White privilege is having a left turn lane, while people of color must wait for the oncoming cars to pass before turning left. (Chicago city drivers have first-hand experience with the joy of turn lanes when you’re not used to having one.)
More Resources:
On Ramp Podcast is a fabulous podcast for succinct, yet in depth discussion of race issues through a conversation between a white man and an African American woman. These two podcasts on white privilege are very informative: Privilege and White Privilege Revisited
Sign up for my newsletter by February 28th and be entered to win a copy of Beyond Colorblind! (U.S. residents only)
Sign up for my Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:
How is God calling you to enter the race conversation?
This month we’ll be discussing racism, privilege and bridge building. If you’d like to guest post on this topic, please email me at scrapingraisins(dot)gmail(dot)com. Yes, this is awkward and fraught with the potential for missteps, blunders and embarrassing moments, but it’s necessary. Join me?
If you are a writer, consider using the hashtag #WOCwithpens to showcase the writing of our black and brown sisters of faith every Wednesday specifically, but anytime as well! You can find the explanation for the hashtag here.
If you’re a white person who’s new to all of this, I compiled some resources to start you on your journey (because I’m not much farther ahead):
You can see from my headshot that I am very, very white. I’m mostly German, part Irish and part English. God made me white on purpose–just like he made you the way you look on purpose.
But whiteness carries invisible baggage from the past that often gets pushed under the rug in the name of “colorblindness.”
“Can’t we just forget and move on?”
“Why do we have to keep talking about slavery? Let’s focus on now, not then.”
“I didn’t have slaves.”
“I have friends from all races and am not racist.”
“I don’t see color, I just see people.”
It’s time for white people to recognize that while the past may not seem to be affecting us, it impacts people of color every single day.
The past soaks deep into our souls like ground water polluted by a gasoline leak so many years ago.
It is naive to assume history has no impact on the present.
But the truth is that we don’t want to be reminded. The fact that there are so few museums in the U.S. dedicated to slavery testifies that white people prefer to forget this aspect of our nation’s history.
So as I begin this month-long theme on racism, privilege and bridge building, I want to state some facts that I as a white person prefer to hide. They are the things I hesitate to tell my children because I don’t want them to know they are born into a tarnished, shameful history. But today, let’s drag these facts into the blinding light.
Because healing begins in the light.
Here are a few of the facts. I recommend reading them aloud so you don’t glaze over their weight:
Most black people came to North America as slaves. They were enslaved by white people, my ancestors.
Slavery lasted from 1619 to 1865. That’s 246 years of enslaving an entire race based solely on the color of their skin. If a generation is 25 years, that’s about 10 generations of slavery.
African Americans have been free for 153 years. Just six generations ago, our co-workers, friends, spouses, and classmates of color would have been born into slavery.
Segregation in schools was made illegal in 1954–just 64 years ago. But most schools, like my county in Tampa, FL, did not integrate schools until they were under court order to do so in the 1970’s. I attended schools in all African American neighborhoods under court order to desegregate. But today those court orders have been lifted and most schools are more segregated than ever.
All legally-enforced public segregation was abolished in 1964. Just 54 years ago.
My parents drank from water fountains only white people could drink from, ate in segregated restaurants, and attended segregated schools.
Interracial marriage was illegal until 1967. Just 51 years ago, it would have been illegal to marry a person of another race.
Though African Americans and Hispanics make up approximately 32% of the US population, they comprised 56% of all incarcerated people in 2015.
African Americans are incarcerated at more than 5 times the rate of whites.
The imprisonment rate for African American women is twice that of white women.
In the 2015 National Survey on Drug Use and Health, about 17 million whites and 4 million African Americans reported having used an illicit drug within the last month.
African Americans and whites use drugs at similar rates, but the imprisonment rate of African Americans for drug charges is almost 6 times that of whites.
1 in 3 black men will be incarcerated in their lifetime.
Unarmed black Americans are five times as likely as unarmed white Americans to be shot and killed by a police officer, according to a Washington Post article from 2016.
By the time their kids are entering kindergarten, my African American friends and friends who have adopted children of color have already had conversations with their children about how to safely interact with teachers, police officers and white people in general.
***
And yet most white people still believe we live in a “post-racial society,” lumping slavery, segregation, Jim Crow, unequal incarceration, and housing, education, and wealth disparities together as “the past.”
But James Baldwin wrote, “History is not the past. It is the present. We carry our history with us. We are our history.” (“Black English: A Dishonest Argument”)
Our first step in pulling up a chair to the table of the race conversation, then, is to acknowledge that the trauma of the past is still rippling and raging into today.
How is God calling you to enter the race conversation?
This month we’ll be discussing racism, privilege and bridge building. If you’d like to guest post on this topic, please email me at scrapingraisins(dot)gmail(dot)com. Yes, this is awkward and fraught with the potential for missteps, blunders and embarrassing moments, but it’s necessary. Join me?
I’ll go first.
Sign up for my Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:
If you are a writer, consider using the hashtag #WOCwithpens to showcase the writing of our black and brown sisters of faith every Wednesday specifically, but anytime as well! You can find the explanation for the hashtag here.
When you’re white, talking about race can be awkward.
Can we call someone “black” or should we say “African American”?
Will people think I’m a racist if I mention race?
If I actually like rap or hip hop, would it be weird to bring that up with my African American friend at risk of seeming like I’m stereotyping?
Can I compliment an African American woman on her hair?
Should I say “mixed,” “biracial,” or something else?
Can I ask my Asian friend where she’s from?
Should I say “Latino,” “Latina,” “Hispanic,” “Mexican,” or something else?
Did that just sound like I was trying to talk “black,” I hope he didn’t think I was making fun of him or trying too hard …
I’ll just pretend race doesn’t matter, I “just see people”–race is “just a social construct,” after all … I’m colorblind.
***
One friend admitted that entering the race conversation as a white woman feels like walking in a minefield. For the white person who fears saying, thinking or being the wrong thing, there seem to be hazards everywhere.
But white people–white women in particular–need to engage in this difficult conversation.
Here’s why.
Because white women raise white children who grow up to be white men and women.
Because white women have the ear and heart of the men in our lives who still carry more power in the country than we do.
Because white women have greater influence than we realize.
Yes, discussing race is awkward. We’re going to mess up and use the wrong words, say stupid things and feel angry, confused and misunderstood. But if we say we love our brothers and sisters of color sitting next to us in the church pews, then it’s time to listen.
When we finally stop covering our ears, squeezing our eyes shut, and pretending the past doesn’t impact our today, we hear them crying out for allies and advocates to notice and speak out against their current struggle. Because though we are not separate, we are not treated equally.
Though I as a white woman have the luxury of being colorblind, my black and brown sisters and brothers do not.
The book Divided by Faith, a highly-researched book on evangelical’s views on race, concludes that the white perspective often dismisses institutional and systemic racism. Most white evangelicals do not acknowledge that we currently live in a racialized society. The authors push back (with documentation for each sentence in the book).
They claim this perspective misses “that whites can move to most any neighborhood, eat at most any restaurant, walk down most any street, or shop at most any store without having to worry or find out that they are not wanted, whereas African Americans often cannot.
This perspective misses that white Americans can be almost certain that when stopped by the police, it has nothing to do with race, whereas African Americans cannot.
This perspective misses that whites are assumed to be middle class unless proven otherwise, are not expected to speak for their race, can remain ignorant of other cultures without penalty, and do not have to ask every time something goes wrong if it is due to race, whereas African Americans cannot.
This perspective misses that white Americans are far more likely than black Americans to get a solid education, avoid being a victim of a crime, and have family and friends with money to help when extra cash is needed for college, a car, or a house.” –Divided by Faith(p. 90)
Yes, God’s love sets us all on equal ground, but when American society does not, God’s love should be the fuel that sets his children on fire for justice.
Followers of Jesus should be on the forefront of the race conversation.
We should advocate for equal treatment, housing, justice, education and rights for our black and brown brothers and sisters in Christ.
When others are silent, we should speak out. But we also must follow, listen and learn.
Solidarity demands a posture of humility.
Yes, we are called to love God and rest in who we are in Christ as representatives of the Imago Dei, but we are also called to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. And loving our neighbor requires entering uncomfortable conversations and spaces for the sake of love. It’s time to admit that just because we can’t see the mountain, doesn’t mean it isn’t there, looming behind our white fog.
***
How is God calling you to enter the race conversation?
This month we’ll be discussing racism, privilege and bridge building. If you’d like to guest post on this topic, please email me at scrapingraisins(dot)gmail(dot)com. Yes, this is awkward and fraught with the potential for missteps, blunders and embarrassing moments, but it’s necessary. Join me?
I’ll go first.
Sign up for my Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:
If you are a writer, consider using the hashtag #WOCwithpens to showcase the writing of our black and brown sisters of faith every Wednesday specifically, but anytime as well! You can find the explanation for the hashtag here.
Check out this spoken word poetry by Micah Bournes today. I cry every time I watch this.:
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I am Kaitlin Sara Ho Givens, also known as “Kata.” I am a Chinese-American campus minister focusing in planting new movements, empowering leaders, and raising up purposefully multiethnic, reconciling communities that reflect the heart of God. I am pursuing a Masters of Divinity at Gordon Conwell Theological Seminary. I hold a Bachelor’s degree in English from Boston University. I speak Spanish and French and Minion proficiently, with Greek and Hebrew up next.
Sign up for the Scraping Raisins newsletter by midnight (MT) February 28th and be entered to win a copy of 
This month we’re discussing racism, privilege and bridge building. If you’d like to guest post on this topic, please email me at scrapingraisins(dot)gmail(dot)com. Yes, this is awkward and fraught with the potential for missteps, blunders and embarrassing moments, but it’s necessary. Join me? 
Jake VanKersen is a Chicago-based Video Producer and graduate of Columbia College Chicago. He also has an encyclopedic knowledge of movie, Star Wars, and comic book trivia. Visit him at 
As a mom, I juggle two different kinds of parenting — long-distance to our 3 adult kids (who are white on the outside but very Chinese on the inside) and our two adopted Chinese boys at home who have special needs. Since being back in the US, my husband has taken up cooking Chinese food, with a specialty of Lanzhou beef noodles (where we used to live and where our boys are from), giving us a taste of “home.” You can follow our story on my 
Sign up for my newsletter by February 28th and be entered to win a copy of 
