In the Book of Judges there is a curious passage about a man named Jephthah who promised to offer the first thing/person who came out of his door to the Lord as a burnt offering, if the Lord would let him win a battle with an opposing force. In the end, Jephthah won the fight...and returned home to find his only child, his only daughter, barreling out of his home to greet him. Unfortunately because of the hasty vow, Jephthah kills his daughter...and for two months the daughters of Israel lamented the loss of life of the daughter of Jephthah. It eventually became an Israelite custom, where each year the daughters would go out and mourn the injustice.
Like the vulnerable daughter of Jephthah, we, the people of African descent living in this America, find ourselves vulnerable to the vows of this country. A vow to bear arms by any means necessary, over and above, the right to live seems to be but one controversy emerging from the slaying of Trayvon Martin. And now we mourn the tragedy of his death...the tragedy of walking through white suburbia armed with a cell phone, skittles, and iced tea, as racist on-lookers survey his every move...the tragedy of a three day waiting/missing period for parents whose son lay dead, as police failed to identify his body...the tragedy of an armed adult shooting an unarmed child, that he called a "coon" on the 911 tape, as he claimed self-defense. We mourn a system that fails all of us so miserably.
This historical moment has conjured every part of America's racialized past: from the many lynchings against which Ida B. Wells-Barnett railed to the limp and brutalized body of Emmitt Till to the more recent killings of James Byrd, James Craig Anderson, and Frederick Jermaine Carter. As well, the experience of living here has created the depth of empathy for Trayvon Martin and his family.
During slavery, black bodies were watched in order to sequester rebellion. After reconstruction, many black bodies, quite a few who were business men and returning military, were hung on Saturday nights as family members woke up on Sunday morning to find their children dangling from trees, like strange fruit. And now, at every turn black bodies are followed down streets, through stores, in libraries, and around neighborhoods to ensure, what I can only assume is, order.
I think often about the many friends who have attended graduate schools at quite a few Historically White Institutions that do not run in the early evening in fear that their exercise regimen will be confused with running from some crime scene. I think often about classmates stopped in libraries and asked to show ID. I've even watched a few people be escorted off campuses for just being there. And then, I remember. I remember police officers pulling me over in my brand new car, because the officer thought I had "stolen it from the lot." Only a few days ago, a police officer pulled behind my car while I was seated talking on the phone in front of my home, asking me to pull out my ID because neighbors thought I was suspicious. These non-fiction accounts operate as oral histories into the lives of Black people who have had enough. You can find these stories in the intimate places where Black folk reside and "know the truth."
And it is unfortunate that some like Armstrong Williams, the tenable and derelict voice from the right, will see the objections being offered in sanctuaries as unconscionable (as people wore hoodies to church). To him, it may look like we are a people who are acting out...behaving madly. But, he would be wrong. He may not be reading enough of the words of our Bible. For, we are led to remember our grief...to create altars that are indicative of our need for Justice. We are charged with bending the world toward its greater good. We are charged with edifying and exhorting the saints in works that restore, revitalize, and re-envision. There is biblical precedent for attire in front of the Lord...just read any of the first five books of the Bible. There is biblical precedent for crying out to God...just read the story of the Israelites and their bondage, or the prophets, or the Psalms, or...well the whole Bible. There is biblical precedent for faith that leads to works...it is in James that we find the words, "faith without works is dead."
Faith is a beautiful thing. However, I am grateful for the galvanizing efforts of so many around communities across the country who are able to connect faith with works...for faith and works are the hallmark of people who know how to fight and pray! Thus I, like the daughters of Israel, mourn. I mourn the loss of Trayvon with his family and his community. I mourn the loss of possibility for Trayvon. I mourn the reality that black people must endure surveillance and containment. I mourn the reality that many brothers (and sisters) face near death experiences with vigilantes who sometimes wear uniforms that would suggest protection. I mourn justice...for it is dead.
It is only a belief in God that causes me to know that it can be resurrected.
