A fashion statement worth making

Ed and Pat hatted

On Saturday last I spent the day in Sacramento at an anti-racism training. I confess to being a reluctant participant, and when we were asked to tell the reason we were there, I wrote “Mandatory.” My hopes for the day were that I would learn something and be re-invited to live more deeply into the life of a follower of Jesus Christ. I was doubtful, but as it turned out I did and I was.

Monica & Caitlin

After grudgingly driving from Santa Rosa to Sacramento when I entered the hall I was given a couple of paper hats to write on. On one we wrote words describing all our roles in life: “mother, grandmother, friend, aunt, leader of worship, listener, accompanier, etc” On the other we were instructed to write “Child of God.” Generally speaking I am not exactly enamored of gimmicky games at workshops. But I did as I was told; then we were instructed to actually put on the hats. When I looked across the table at two of my friends with their hats on, I quite simply burst into laughter. They looked so ridiculous in their paper hats. We put on the “role” hat and then the “child of God” hat. Both looked so silly I couldn’t help laughing. I laughed and laughed. This was a gift, since it broke my spirit of grudge and opened me to the spirit.

The day progressed and we talked together, watched videos, and listened deeply to the stories we had to share about growing up in a society that is racist, as people who are racist. What did we learn from our families of origin? What did we learn from others about people of different races? What were our own experiences as white or black or brown or mixed? Just how is race constructed in our society? What are the privileges of being white? What about power relationships? What’s it like to be a person of color followed around a store by a guard who expects you to steal something (because of the color of your skin)? What does our baptismal creed have to say about all of this? What about Jesus’ life and teachings? All of this and more. Through it all there was really no conflict expressed in the room. Folks asked questions, shared their stories, and listened. But there was no challenging of one another.

Until. . . I spoke up recommending that people read the book The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander. I mentioned that it traces the history of the War on Drugs and the resulting mass incarceration of black men. I said that it describes the financial benefits to local law enforcement resulting from the War on Drugs. Then, a woman stood up and asked in a voice that indicated that she was upset, “Just what kind of financial benefits are you talking about?” She said her son was a police officer and she had never heard of such a thing. I can’t remember her exact words, but what I remember was her upset. The microphone came back toward me, and another man at our table was ready to speak, but the workshop facilitator cut us off saying something to the effect, that, “This sounds like it will turn into a debate. That’s not what we are here for.”

I sat there and thought about the question and the emotion behind it, and remembered a few of the facts from the book worth mentioning, and I knew I would go to the woman before we left the hall. I needed to honor her question and how to do that?

I glanced down at the table. My “Child of God” hat was sitting there. I thought, “Yes, that’s what we should do. We should don our hats and have our conversation. On equal ground as children of God.” Then we could really listen and be respectful of one another.

Ridiculous, right? . . . Or, not so. If only we remembered our true identity when we are out in the world with others, or in our families, or workplaces—the identity we share with all others. Our hats might make a difference—(at least until they became old hat). I imagined our Congress persons dressed in their paper hats, and people in war-torn areas, in places where divisions run deep—hats! I giggled to myself. If only. If only it were that simple. . . but of course it is. Actually it is.

In the end, we were asked to don our hats again, and then we prayed our way out of the training. We’d been there all day in uncomfortable chairs, and when it was over folks were ready to leave. But I did go and speak with the woman who asked the question. I confess that I didn’t wear my hat, but we had just taken them off, and we were still full of the truth of who we were. She listened to me graciously and I to her.