Still struggling with race, violence, and hope...

Well, after my last post, I was looking forward to switching gears and writing about some of the other things on my mind these days - many of them vastly more fun than what I have been writing about so far. But what happened to Cornelius has stuck with me, and I don't think I'm done writing about it yet. I am still in a Bermuda-triangle of outrage and grief and frustration.

Since my last post, I have been reflecting a lot, and I think I have begun to understand one of the things that pains, baffles and infuriates me the most in all of this - the kind of "ordinariness" of violence and injustice. It certainly didn't/doesn't feel "ordinary" to me, yet as you will see in the letter below - the extraordinary savagery of racism (obviously all oppression is savage) can all too often be met with a kind of bland, normalizing indifference or passivity which, to me, amounts to nothing less than a re victimization, a further assault on the very humanity of people who are already suffering. The "banality of evil", Hannah Arendt called it...

Whether this brutal and complicitous normalization takes the form of hollowly "objective" statistics in a newspaper or in the bland stares of police called to respond to a beating - it is this dehumanization, this passive shrugging of the shoulders that drives me crazy. As much as I deplore the acts of physical and psychic violence themselves, at least I think I can understand them. What I cannot understand is what it is that makes so many of the rest of us stand around pretending that such acts are....normal.

The letter below is one I wrote to a colleague after my first real taste of this kind of normalization of evil. As you will read, one of my teammates was badly beaten during a "friendly" recreational soccer game. It took me almost a month to get the attacking players punished, and I found out, much later - that the team and offending players had actually not been banned at all, but merely transfered to another division with a new team name.

The cold eyes of the police, the (literally) powerless shoulder-shrugging of the referee, the oh-so-cautious legal mumbo-jumbo response of the league and the open glee of the attackers are all too perfectly representative of the ways in which the "banality of evil" actively conspires with and perpetuates oppression and violence - even in a friendly neighborhood soccer league.

I have changed the names of everyone involved to protect their privacy, but the text of the letter is unchanged.

Dear Madeline,

I have been meaning to write and catch you up for some time now, but the time-space continuum seems even dicey-er than usual this winter. First of all, I have accepted an offer to intern at First Unitarian in Denver. It was a difficult decision, and a bit surprising, considering that Denver had never been high on my list. An example of how my "wants" don't always match up with what's best for me. I talked with a number of wonderful churches, and am convinced I would have had a great experience at any of them - but the more deeply I reflected about what I wanted out of my internship Denver rose to the top.

I am particularly interested in churches that are at or near "threshold phases" in their lives - junctures in the life of a church when they must make choices about who they are and who they want to (or have to) become. How to lead/navigate congregations across thresholds of identity and mission is something I want to start learning as soon as possible, and I see it as a big part of my calling. Denver certainly appears to be such a church, and seems to be serious about riding the waves with intention. I have the sense that I will not only learn a lot there, but also be able to make some meaningful contributions to the congregation, which is important to me. And last, but certainly not least - Eliza loves Denver and can practice Chinese medicine there without any contortions.

So now that the decision is made I can finally return to my "regular" life, such as it is. I am scheduling my meeting with the MFC already...now if that isn't a reality check I don't know what is! Should happen in the spring of 2007. I'm also taking an incredible class at the U of C with Dwight Hopkins, "Third World Theologies", which you would love, I'm sure.

Despite the overall bright and hopeful arc of my life these days, I'm also dealing with some really horrible stuff. I don't know if I've mentioned this to you before, but I am captain/coach of a local co-ed soccer team. Last year the team was mostly seminarians, but a whole bunch of them went off to internship/graduation, and this year the team is made up of all sorts of people. We have players from England, Haiti, the Ukraine, Mexico and Central America. Great people, who want to stay in shape, make new friends and...just play.

Two weeks ago, toward the end of one of our games, players from the opposing team attacked our two players from Haiti. It started with some pushing and the next thing I knew one of our players, Robert, who is about 5'5", was curled up in a ball while the male players from the opposing team were stomping, hitting and kicking him. The other Haitian player, Martin, tried to help and was attacked too. It was the most savagely surreal thing I have ever seen. I ran over there as fast as I could yelling for them to stop. I grabbed one player in a bear hug (sure he was going to knock my block off) and pulled him off of Robert - but even as I did so I saw a couple other guys attack Martin (who was trying to get away) from behind with kicks and punches to the head. He never saw them coming.

I let go of the guy I was holding and tried to grab another, but the one I let go of just charged at poor Robert again. I managed to get my body between them and Robert and held the rest of them off until the referee got over his shock and tried to restore some order - but it was so scary...

Robert was hurt badly, and we called the police and ambulance. While we were waiting one of the opposing players came up to me, clapped me on the shoulder and said with a grin "It was a good battle, eh? Like no holds barred - you know - a good battle! Take no prisoners!"

The police were beyond horrible, the kind of thug-like cops you'd find in a Spike Lee movie. While the other team continued to taunt Robert and Martin, the police made it clear that they didn't care at all about justice - they clearly believed that the "black guys started it" - as the other team said. The police were menacing, radiating the same casual brutality as the other players were. One officer, a Hispanic guy, tried to argue with the other officers about how Robert had obviously been beaten - but they (the other officers) just teased him for being "soft" and then ignored him.

I can't begin to tell you what it was like. In some ways it was worse than the beating itself. I have never felt so powerless, just the terrible feeling that there was no hope of justice here - none. I suddenly realized that the feeling of wrenching anger and despair I felt was...probably par for the course for Martin and Robert and countless other people in Chicago and around the world. No wonder Robert refused to press charges - what's the point?

The paramedics couldn't patch Robert up, so he had to go to the hospital. He has no health insurance. He ended up with a mouth full of stitches that will have to stay in for a couple weeks at least. He also is still having trouble breathing from being kicked and stomped in the ribs.
I wrote a letter to the league and got the other team kicked out (I had to fight for that, believe it or not!) and permanently banned. Now there is a zero tolerance policy regarding unsportsmanlike conduct...but it all feels so pathetic and empty. I am encouraging Robert to sue and/or press charges, but so far he won't budge. He won't even talk about it - just preserving his tough guy act. At least they can't take that away from him.

We had our first game without them last week. We talked about just quitting altogether, but that seemed like and even greater loss. It was a good game, but the team is still jittery - as if the ghosts of the fight are still with us, if that makes any sense. I think it is likely to draw us closer together, but it's hard.

When I think about the ways we (UUs) talk and talk about our "anti-racism/anti-oppression" work...talk, talk, talk - a deep swell of frustration washes through me like ice water. What I saw (and was part of) was hate with no mask on. It was brutal and unthinking and uncommunicative - it was just savage. It is so clear to me that racism is just plain evil - it doesn't care about "I" statements or inclusive language or phrases like "multi-cultural compentance." It just wants to dominate and hurt, and if it gets cornered it will lie. It seems to me that when we allow our beliefs or our words (endless internal discussion) stand as proxy for action, we are doing nothing less than passively enabling racism, enabling the evil that left my friend's blood all over my hands and clothes - at a friendly Saturday morning soccer game!

I know that many people and many UUs are continuing to combat racism. I know that many of us do much more than talk - and I know that talk is necessary. But I still feel left with a painful question - how is what I am doing, and what we, collectively, are doing - making it less likely that Robert will ever get beat up again? How is what I am doing helping Robert (and god knows how many others) find justice with his mouth full of stitches? I guess that's my new personal measurement.

I hope you don't mind me venting like this. I really didn't mean to. I am still more upset about this than I thought. This was just supposed to be a quick update from Meadville. But the truth will out, I suppose.

Peace to you,

Aaron