“Reflection on Racism through poetry and song”

a service February 20, 2005.
Joe Jenks and Rev. Kimi Riegel

As I sometimes do I was talking with Alex, my husband, about this week’s service. Joe, our guest musician, has a couple beautiful pieces about men so I was thinking it might be an ideal time to do a sermon about men. In taking with Alex he thought that I really ought to leave that for a time when I could get some men together to talk about their own experience rather than having a woman do it. So instead of changing the topic we stayed with the topic of racism. So instead of a woman and a man talking about men we have two white folks singing and reading poetry about racism.

What gives me courage to be here this morning is remembering a speech Dr. Cornel West gave sometime in the early 90’s at our General Assembly. Dr West is a Princeton professor, theologian, activist and prolific author, perhaps best known for the book Race Matters. He talked that day of becoming aware of what it is like to be a woman. He talked of the fear and the frustration of not being able to walk down the street alone. He brought tears to my eyes as he wrestled with putting his mind in my skin. I am aware that as a straight person I can advocate for gays. I am aware as a woman I can advocate for men. I am hopeful that as a white person I can bring awareness about racism. Through poetry and song we hope to add a bit to the understanding the racism of our world.

The first poem is called “To James” written by Frank Horne. It is a powerful connecting piece as it is the advice any of us would give to our youngins’. But for African Americans the way of the athlete was for so long the only way to get anywhere.

To James by Frank Horne
Do you remember
How you won
that last race…?
how you flung your body
at the start…
how your spikes
ripped the cinders
in the stretch…
how you catapulted
through the tape…
do you remember…?
Don’t you think
I lurched with you
out of those starting holes…?
Don’t you think
my sinews tightened
at those first
few strides…
and when you flew into the stretch
was not all my thrill
of a thousand races
in your blood…?
At your final drive
Through the finish line
did not my shout
tell of the triumphant ecstasy
of victory…?
Live
as I have taught you
to run, Boy
it’s a short dash
Dig your starting holes
deep and firm
lurch out of them
into the straightaway
with all the power
that is in you
look straight ahead
to the finish line
think only of the goal
run straight
run high
run hard
save nothing
with an ecstatic burst
that carries you
hurtling
through the tape
to victory….

And yet like the next song speaks of, so often for African Americans the victory tape is not an option.

“The Ballad of JeShawn” Joe Jencks

Racism is every where. We carry it inside us. This morning we are focusing on the racism experienced by those of African decent in our country. But every country every culture every land has delineated people by color.

In this country today:

• The African-American life expectancy is only 70.3 years compared to 76.8 for non minority populations. Despite the increased life expectancy this discrepancy has not changed in 40 years
• African American infant mortality is more than twice that of whites. In 1998, the infant mortality rate for African-American infants was 14.3 per 1,000 live births, compared to 6.0 for whites. African-American infants face a greater risk of death than infants in much poorer countries such as Cuba and Costa Rica.
• Homicide remains the leading cause of death for young black men.
• African Americans make up 13 percent of our nation's population. They make up 45 percent of all new AIDS cases. Compared with other racial and ethnic groups, African Americans have the highest rates of HIV infection, the highest AIDS mortality rate, and the greatest number of productive years lost.
• There is growing polarization in the economy as a whole:
• The relative wages of African American men has fallen from 81 on the dollar in 1980 to 74 cents for every dollar earned by white males, and from 96 to 86 cents per dollar for women.
• More than 50% of African American males ages 16 to 22 are out of work and out of school in our large urban communities.
• In this country 71% of persons are White, 12% are Black. The largest national survey ever of homeless persons found that 40% of clients were Black.

This next poem “The White City” opened a door for me into the pain of these statistics. It was written by Claude MeKay in 1921

The White City
I will not toy with it nor bend an inch.
Deep in the secret chambers of my heart
I muse my life-long hate, and without flinch
I bear it nobly as I live my part.
My being would be a skeleton, a shell,
If this dark Passion that fills my every mood,
And makes my heaven in the white world's hell,
Did not forever feed me vital blood.
I see the mighty city through a mist--
The strident trains that speed the goaded mass,
The poles and spires and towers vapor-kissed,
The fortressed port through which the great ships pass,
The tides, the wharves, the dens I contemplate,
Are sweet like wanton loves because I hate.

When paired with the following “Still I Rise” by Maya Angelou we are presented with the evil and the ever present human spirit to endure and survive.

Still I Rise
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Maya Angelou

“Swing Low Sweet Chariot” Joe Jencks

So another African American History month will come to a close in a week. Some would say that once a year for a month is just a token of the time that we should spend discussing the questions of racism – I would agree. Some would say it is a drop in the bucket of centuries of ignorance on the part of the white race – I would agree. Yet, in today’s world where affirmative action is under attack I am grateful for this one month of radio and television that at least keeps me, one who could forget because I am white, from forgetting that much so much pain still exists. What can you do? Learn more, talk more and write more. When you hear racist comments say something. When you witness a racist event such as the attack on affirmative action say something. When you think maybe your voice won’t make a difference say something anyway. Read black writers, listen to black musicians, pay attention to what’s happening to the black people in your circles. For my part I have set a goal of learning more about the Reparations Campaign. Next year for African American History month I would like to tackle that topic and maybe an adult education film and book series. Anyone interested in joining me?

Namaste.