Black Transgender Lives Matter

by Hailey Lyons

Every day, our black trans siblings deal with the intersection of white supremacy and transphobia. Every day they risk misgendering, violence, and murder simply by living as themselves. They are targeted for hate crimes and are the targets of racist and transphobic jokes from construction sites to comfortable CEO offices. Our president propagates white supremacy. Our supposed democratic republic sets up barriers to the recognition of trans people and institutes policies to further the exploitation of people of color. Our prison system profits from the mass incarceration of black people.

We in the UCC need to be uncomfortable. We need to challenge white supremacy in our own spaces just as much as we fight the system. We need to recognize our complicity in and benefit from the systems of whiteness. The UCC has done and continues to do much of that work, but we need to go further than consciousness-raising and discomfort. We must destroy white privilege. We must tear asunder the structures in place that affirm whiteness. We must reconsider our beloved traditions that keep many of our congregations in a bygone era rooted in whiteness.

Black trans activists started the LGBT equality movement in America, and it is precisely their voices that are being erased in current movements toward LGBT equality and recognition. Being Open and Affirming is not enough, we need to aggressively model celebration of the trans community in our congregations and in public. Too often the Open and Affirming creed is simply an open door that trans people walk through and realize that our congregations are just another heteronormative, cisgender-dominated space.

When Jesus stormed the temple grounds, upending tables and tossing out people and animals alike, he called out the temple for becoming a house of commodities. Rather than a holy place, the temple commodified the acts of worship into a system of profit condoned by the so-called priests of God. Jesus violently cleansed the temple of its commodification, disrupting an economy benefiting those in power and exploiting the people. The first Isaiah delivered a stinging rebuke on the stench of the multitude of burnt offerings given to God because they are rooted in the commodification of worship itself. He attacked the very system set up to atone for the sins of Israel because it was a morally empty venture intent on appeasing God by adhering to tradition without passion. Rather, the Israelites should, “learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow,”.

The churches of my Evangelical upbringing denied the existence of racism, denied the existence of those who weren’t cisgender. Even as they brought in diverse people, the theological message never strayed from white supremacy. The worship style changed, and the music became more upbeat and ‘contemporary’ – which was just a few thousand rip-offs of whatever U2 was producing – but the theology itself was morally bankrupt, leading them to commodify both the acts of worship and worship itself.

It is a privilege to be in the UCC where our theology acknowledges the sin of white supremacy and actively works to dismantle systemic racism. But don’t stop there. Let us carry forward the work into our liturgies, our polity, and our acts of worship. Let us dismantle the systems of whiteness still present in our congregations and hierarchies. For all lives to matter, black trans lives must also matter, and that means confronting our ideologies of white supremacy and transphobia, challenging those legacies wherever we see them, especially in our congregations.

Adventures in Privilege

by Karen Richter

Shadow Rock begins the first section of the UCC’s White Privilege: Let’s Talk curriculum (Part 1 – Spiritual Autobiography Told Through the Lens of Race) next Sunday.

I’m excited. I’m anxious.

I’m excited because being a witness (on my best days, a catalyst) to people’s spiritual growth and maturation is my calling. This curriculum, used wisely and gently, is a formative experience. It’s easy to cast aspersions on this kind of topic… can you imagine someone – maybe you – saying, “well, that’s just politics,” in a dismissive tone? The women’s movement is known for equating the personal and the political. I’d like to make an argument equating the political and the spiritual. It’s all part of life.

I’m anxious because I know what I experienced when reading this material. Since September, I’ve studied the Spiritual Autobiography Told Through the Lens of Race section, reading deeply about 3 times. And as I read, I remembered.

  • the black friends I knew and loved, even though we never attended the same birthday parties or church services, never visited one another’s homes
  • the awkwardness in high school homeroom when the teacher suggested that the black students nominate a black girl for the homecoming court
  • the shock I felt in college when I had my first honest conversation about race with black and white friends late at night in the dormitory
  • the realization, too little too late, that I have been in work environments with differing expectations, standards, and assumptions for colleagues based on race
  • the embarrassment I felt recently when a salesperson ignored store policy for my convenience because I’m white.

I remembered. I felt things. Sometimes as I engaged with the curriculum and the personal histories of the authors, I felt gratitude, appreciation, impatience for the world to be better. And yes, sometimes I felt guilty.

You see, the curriculum doesn’t have a goal to “make” anyone feel guilt or shame. BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU WON’T. Guilt can be a healthy reaction when we realize a mismatch between our actions, inactions or complicity and our deeply held values.

I am white. I can’t help that. I don’t feel guilty about being white.

I am white. I am responsible for what I do with my whiteness.

What does it mean to take responsibility for my own privilege? Over the next few weeks at Shadow Rock, we’re going to be leaning into that question. I’m excited. I’m anxious. Pray for us, friends… for our churches, our communities, our nation.