Many of us were outraged last week. By something the President said. Again. This time, his words came in the context of negotiations about immigration policy. He referred to nations with predominantly black populations as “sh#%hole countries.”
Some have speculated that his relentless barrage of outlandish tweets and racist dog whistles aims strategically at overwhelming our capacity for moral indignation. And in truth some have perhaps grown weary and even resigned themselves to a ghastly new normal in our country.
They are numbed and demoralized by the sense that the clock is irresistibly rolling back on racial and gender equality. And in truth, even the stoutest among us can be propelled by intense outrage only so many times before collapsing in a moral stupor.
As for me, I’m gearing up for a long run. That’s not to say that I don’t feel outrage, but I’ve begun to believe that responding heatedly to every objectionable, outlandish word from our elected officials will be like trying to run a marathon as if it were the 100 meter dash. I’m reaching deep for a sustained resolve, a hunger for justice that drives me forward even when I’m weary.
We need profound, foundational changes in our land. Economic injustice, racism, sexism, and homophobia reside deep in the marrow of the American soul. If Donald Trump disappeared today—even if he had never existed—the American soul would still be what it is.
Like it or not, “we the people” have a problem. Not just those people. Don’t get me wrong, many of us deeply disagree with the direction that the US is going under the current administration. We work tirelessly for a just distribution of wealth, for racial and gender equality, for the dignity of every citizen of this country.
Nevertheless, each of us is woven into the fabric of this nation whose wealth was built from chattel slavery, whose geographical expansion was achieved by the slaughter of indigenous people, and whose social order has perpetuated the subjugation of women.
We don’t tell this story about ourselves honestly. It is then no surprise that, even after we have taken powerful steps to reduce violence, eradicate sexual exploitation, and overcome myriad forms of prejudice, those evils reassert themselves with renewed strength.
I’m a progressive bishop in the deeply red state of Louisiana. Many of the people I serve and love voted for the current President. They have sincere affection for their families and friends, their neighbors and their communities.
These lawyers and grandmothers, teachers and doctors, librarians and sales clerks did not enter the voting booth in November of 2016 intentionally angling to oppress anyone. In my conversations with many of them, I learned that they were feeling the country they’ve known slipping away from them.
That was their narrative. The media they consume and the history lessons they learned and the circles they move in reinforce that narrative. They do not frequently hear from people who have a different story to tell about the country they’ve known.
The country that one group of voters sought to restore is precisely the country that actively marginalized, debased, and even brutalized others. If we don’t find a way to have honest conversations between these vastly different parties about what this country has been and has done to many of its citizens, the American soul is likely to remain as tormented as it presently is.
National reconciliation is notoriously difficult, emotionally painful work. It requires courage and perseverance. But it can be done. Look at South Africa. Mending relationships requires wounded, wary parties to put energy into finding a new, mutually acceptable way of living together.
If reconciliation is our goal, we must renounce the idea that we can resolve our national tensions by tossing people out of the country, by throwing people in prison, or by silencing their voice through voter suppression and gerrymandering. We have to find a way to seek the common good. Everyone’s common good. Together.
At this moment in our history, we lack consensus about what that common good looks like. Bringing an authentic, life-affirming common good into focus will require humility, an openness to stories that turn our stomachs and tempt us to run from the room. Stories that reveal things to us about ourselves that we resist seeing.
Reaching this kind of common good is the goal to which I’m committed. And that’s why I’ve geared up for a long run.