Between The World And Me – A Reading Reflection—Blog - Acts Two Fellowship — Christian Fellowship at UC Berkeley | Christian Fellowship on the UC Berkeley Campus | Student Club Group at Berkeley | Acts Two Fellowship — Christian Fellowship at UC Berkeley (a2f)

The past several weeks have been marked by a lot of learning, listening, and reflecting. During this period, my heart has grown heavy and burdened for victims of the racial injustice in our country that I have lived in much ignorance of. The reality is that the tragedy of George Floyd is not an isolated incident, but a tiny sample of the racism that bleeds through every system in our country — both mine and yours.

In the process of reflecting, I was reminded of a book that I read last year that had brought me much insight at the time. In Between The World And Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates addresses the realities of being a black man in America through a series of letters written to his son in which he reflects on his own life and major events that have occurred throughout it.

Much of the book revolves around a concept that Coates introduces as ‘the Dream’: the good life — where “perfect houses with nice lawns, treehouses and the Cub Scouts” come to mind — accessible to any hard-working and good-willed American. The opportunity for any person to live this idyllic life, which most of us know as the American Dream, is the reason that “America believes itself exceptional.”

But Coates is quick to realize that the Dream is actually much more than the material gain typically pictured. He realized that at its core, what makes the Dream so special, yet so unattainable for black Americans, is a life that is respected and truly free, not subject to the constant threats of racism and brutalization. He explains the core of the black man’s struggle in the opening pages of the book: “And for so long I have wanted to escape into the Dream, to fold my country over my head like a blanket. But this has never been an option because the Dream rests on our backs, the bedding made from our bodies.”

When America presents itself as a utopian land of opportunity and prosperity for all, a nation that has progressed beyond (but more accurately, forgotten) its atrocious history of slavery, a new threat arises. Because the Dream claims to be accessible to anybody, it inherently denies any responsibility for injustice behind its veil. It becomes a terrifying facade which allows America to be ignorant of its history of black oppression, as well as the present reality that black people are still denied equal freedom and respect in countless ways, many of which operate beyond what is shallowly observed by the legal system.

The real problem is that even if policies have changed, racism has not. Even for the rich and successful black person living what seems to be the Dream, the experience of racist discrimination and abhorrent prejudice is one that they cannot escape. It is our attitude of exceptionalism as a country that leads us to be ignorant of blatant injustice.

But our country is made up of individual people, like you and me. And that means that individuals are responsible for the way that our nation as a whole deals with racism.

Realizing this prompted me to examine my own heart first. As I reflected on my own (fairly limited) interactions with the black community, it quickly became apparent to me that I am a part of the problem of racism. That I have been ignorant. That I am not the exception. That in avoiding difficult race conversations, I am a perpetrator. That although I am not solely responsible for everything that has happened, I am certainly responsible.

Meaningful change must begin with inward repentance rather than outward finger-pointing. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn — a prisoner in the Soviet Gulags who witnessed veritable crimes against humanity — ultimately located evil within himself: “If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.”

When we are quick to accuse and slow to reflect, we become ignorant of the part of the problem that we are most responsible for fixing — that is, ourselves. Self-reflection may be challenging, even painful. But it’s the only way for us to take an honest step forward in this conversation without taking the easy way out.

As the book progresses, it becomes clear that Coates’ philosophy is marked by pessimism and a sense of hopelessness against the cosmic injustices that black people are victims of. What is interesting is that he takes issue with religious worldviews, specifically Christianity. As an atheist, he fears that a false belief in the existence of a divine judge would excuse unjust behavior in this world. He expresses this sentiment to his son: “You must resist the common urge toward the comforting narrative of divine law, toward fairy tales that imply some irrepressible justice. The enslaved were not bricks in your road, and their lives were not chapters in your redemptive history.”

It is true that a Christian perspective recognizes that justice is fully and ultimately served on the cross in the redemptive death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. But this does not mean that Christians should be unconcerned with justice in this world. If anything, God calls His people to champion justice first and foremost. Micah 6:8 says:

“He has told you, O man, what is good;
and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?”

Although biblical understanding of humanity tells us that our world will never be free from sin and injustice, God promises sanctification — the process of being made holy — for the repentant sinner who looks to Christ for forgiveness and redemption. The fact that justice will not be fully realized until we see Jesus face to face does not imply that we should be idle in the face of oppression.

Rather, the process of sanctification as a Christian is an active one. We are not magically changed because we call ourselves Christians; much of our sanctification comes from recognizing our continual sin. It is upon receiving God’s grace in the midst of our sin and rebellion that our hearts are inwardly changed, and our ability to love develops.

If we are to strive for true justice and solidarity on a national scale, we must begin by addressing ourselves. It is only then that our country can start to inwardly change and transform. Yes, we will continue to fail. Rhetoric and politics alone have never made anything smooth-sailing. But by growing in awareness of social justice issues and our individual responsibilities in them, we leave room for compassion to fill the void where ignorance once was.

A final word on Coates’ piece — despite an overwhelming tone of despair, he offers a glimmer of hope in his writing in the final pages of the book: “I do not believe that we can stop them, Samori, because they must ultimately stop themselves … The Dreamers will have to learn to struggle themselves, to understand that the field for their Dream, the stage where they have painted themselves white, is the deathbed of us all.”

Perhaps he did not intend this, but it is here that I believe Coates uncovers the solution to the problem, or at least where it begins. His hopelessness stems from the belief that there is nothing that he can do to change his situation. But he also acknowledges that there is something that can be done to change the course of historical violence against black bodies — if the Dreamers stop themselves.

And that’s where we ought to begin: taking the time to understand our individual roles in this complex conversation. It might be hard work; it could call for repentance. But it is repentance which ultimately gives way to hope and healing. Let’s listen and learn, and in doing so grow in our capacity to love.