There is a pain in America
There is pain and fear in the air in America. The pain permeates our everyday actions as we mourn for those — Rayshard Brooks, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbrey, George Floyd, Atatiana Jefferson, Trayvon Martin — who deserved better.
As a citizen and as Senior Pastor of Ebenezer Baptist Church, I stand with all those in Atlanta and across the country who now, and historically, peacefully demonstrate their outrage against the institutionalized violence that has taken the lives and the promise of so many Black Americans.
Like them — like you — I am hurting.
This violence is not new. It is a deadly virus whose spread started in 1619 ships when slaves arrived in Jamestown. It infected the nation and we have been fighting it ever since. Today, we face two pandemics, COVID-19 and COVID-1619. It doesn’t matter how many degrees are hanging on the wall, how hard you work, or if you have a family. It cares if you’re Black in America. No matter who you think you are, it seeks always to relegate you to second class citizenship.
So, there is a deep sense of pain and anguish in a moment like this, where the names are different but the story is the same. There is no acceptable explanation for the sheer brutality we see in our world. There is no acceptable justification for the bigotry and racism that leave black bodies unprotected and unsafe.
I’m tired of talking about it. I’m tired of living it.
I know what it feels like as a teenager to be profiled at a grocery store for walking around with my hands in my pockets. I know what it feels like to be stopped and frisked, and — when not to be discovered shoplifting — not even to receive an apology. I know that humiliation and that pain. And I know those feelings are all too familiar for Black Americans across this country.
As people from Minneapolis to Atlanta to Nashville rise up in this fight for justice, I don’t want us to forget the words of Martin Luther King Jr., who said that a riot is the language of the unheard. Too often, our people have not seen the kind of justice that they expect to see — instead, they see two criminal justice systems: one for people of color and one for white people.
We’re frustrated. We’re tired. But the fact that people are responding to injustice by peacefully demonstrating and raising their voices in Georgia and across our country suggests that even in the midst of this dark night, there is hope. This is precisely what it means to be a part of the greatest country on the planet, but we still have a long way to go in order to be greater.
There’s something more powerful in this world than the provocateurs, so don’t allow those who engage in looting or who tweet about shooting to hijack the message of this moment. The message of change.
In our exhaustion we cannot give up. We cannot give in, not to despair or doubt, or depression or cynicism. We cannot give into selfishness or greed or hatred or bigotry. We cannot give into the virus.
Stand up for justice. Stand in love.
We’ll get through this, as tough as it is. Let’s roll up our sleeves and claim the best in our democracy.
