"A Place Where I Belong Pt. 1"

I had a dream once.
My family went on vacation and we went to an outdoor mall to eat. After finishing a meal at our favorite restuarant chain, we walked to our cars laughing about past and present misfortunes. Children sprinted through the wide walkways despite the pleas of exhausted parents. Teenage romance bloomed among the shadows of light posts. I felt content in the presence of family and the company of strangers.
We loaded into 3 black Chevy Tahoe SUVs. I entered the first vehicle and leaned against the cloth seats feeling deeply satisfied. We sat in the vehicle as our driver manuevered the car through the congested parking lot. The flashes of brake lights interrupted our conversation and laughter until the sounds of gunshots muted my family. I covered my eyes from shattering windows and flashes of light. The smell of gasoline and smoke nauseated me. In the crevice between the driver's seat and my bullet ridden chair, I did not notice the quiet. I did not notice all the screams were outside of the car, and there was only one sound inside the car, stillness. The type of stillness which only exists without life. I did not need to see their bodies, the silence told me all I needed to know.
I felt pressure around my shirt collar. They dragged me through jagged glass and puddles of blood out of the black Chevrolet. Black masks shouted commands. Semi-Autmotaic rifles enforced compliance. Between my cries and curses, I knelt in front of the porous vehicle. With knees scraped from bits of glass and the texture of the pavement, I voiced my despair. I wailed as they tied my hands and feet together. I howled my sorrow until the captors took pity on me and used a rifle butt to ease my suffering. With a freshly cracked skull and shattered family, I emptied my grief onto the pavement and hoped I would never wake up again.

Like father like son

White man's religion. I've heard this phrase used by opponents of Christianity and at face value this pejorative is inaccurate. I realize I may have missed the point of the specious claim though. Perhaps white man's religion does not describe the origin of Christianity, rather it describes how it has been weaponized by white society at large. Throughout the study of the formation of the modern world, it is clear to recognize the effect European empires had on the lands of Africa, Asia, and the Americas. They stole-property, they stole people, they stole resources. These villains were Christians. Christian Europeans violated the commands of justice and self-lessness to create a new world order with themselves at the top. Christians took existing racism and classism and codified it into law, which still has implications on the hemispherial disparities of wealth today. Christians used their hope of glory to force God's creation into perpetual submission.

I received a letter from an acquaintance about supporting him and his family as a missionary to an African country. I lived as a missionary to the college campus for 2 years, so I understand and empathize with his position. When I consider he (an American) is going there to make disciples (Christianize the heathen) of African and Asian citizens, it has an eery reminder of the historical record. I struggle to find reasons to contribute to a religion, which has been used to perpetuate inequality. I think justice for the decolonized nations would strengthen the message of the Jesus, because justice is the message of Jesus. Where does that leave me? I recognize in my own practice and beliefs, I have embraced Christianity to the point where I desire to control people and delay justice. The syncretism of white man's religion warped my thinking, and countless other Christians, to uphold domination, and delay restoration for the sake of order and security. No matter how illegitimate I may be, my thinking is not all that different from the American patriarchs. Like father like son indeed.

Just War

Each day of school brought about the same ritual. Within the first 15 minutes of school, from 1996-2009, I pledged my allegiance to the United States. Monday through Friday, regardless of weather or my temperament, I gave an oath of loyalty to my home country. I want to bring attention to the final three words of the pledge, "justice...for...all." Year after year these final three words spoken with candor and naivety, as only a child can do, fermented into cynicism. This phrase reminds me of the incongruency of the word and deed of the United States. How long have black people, Americans, before me recited this empty promise? I am generations removed from them, yet I am meandering through the same paradoxical experience. When will we all receive justice? The only consequence the murderer of Philando Castile received is to live with the variable amount of guilt his conscious will provide. Despite attempts at reconciliation, the prior step of justice remains to be seen. The United States government contirbuted to creating false narratives of extremism, on behalf of patriotism, emboldening (at least to some degree) jingoistic men to murder in the cause of national secuirty, which is a characterisitc of war. America in veiled attempts wages war on my people and the soldiers who carry out murder are seldom convicted of any wrongdoing. The list of black causalties continues to increase, from active violence and passive neglect. The war is real and if this country remains as it has been, more of my people will join the fraternity of American martyrdom. There is no justice...just war.