No Innocent Bystanders: Becoming an Ally in the Struggle for Justice

NO INNOCENT

BYSTANDERS

NO INNOCENT

BYSTANDERS

■     ■     ■

BECOMING AN ALLY IN THE

STRUGGLE FOR JUSTICE

SHANNON CRAIGO-SNELL

AND

CHRISTOPHER J. DOUCOT

© 2017 Shannon Craigo-Snell and Christopher J. Doucot

Foreword © 2017 Westminster John Knox Press

First edition

Published by Westminster John Knox Press

Louisville, Kentucky

17  18  19  20  21  22  23  24  25  26—10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1

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Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A., and are used by permission.

Scripture quotations marked MEV are taken from the Modern English Version. Copyright © 2014 by Military Bible Association. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Book design by Sharon Adams

Cover design by designpointinc.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Craigo-Snell, Shannon Nichole, author.

Title: No innocent bystanders : becoming an ally in the struggle for justice / Shannon Craigo-Snell and Christopher J. Doucot.

Description: First edition. | Louisville, KY : Westminster John Knox Press, 2017. | Includes bibliographical references. |

Identifiers: LCCN 2017013700 (print) | LCCN 2017030866 (ebook) | ISBN 9781611648096 (ebk.) | ISBN 9780664262624 (pbk. : alk. paper)

Subjects: LCSH: Christianity and justice. | Sexual minorities. | Racism.

Classification: LCC BR115.J8 (ebook) | LCC BR115.J8 C73 2017 (print) | DDC 261.8/3—dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017013700

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1992.

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I dedicate this book to my partner and wife,

Jacqueline Allen-Doucot,

who has been my ally, mentor, and coconspirator

in the struggle for a better world

for twenty-five loving years

—CHRISTOPHER J. DOUCOT

For Bella

—SHANNON CRAIGO-SNELL

Contents

Foreword by Timothy P. Shriver

Introduction

1.Understanding the Struggles for LGBTQ

Equality and Racial Justice

2.Getting Ready to Be an Ally

3.Resources for Being an Ally

4.Concrete Steps

5.Examples to Follow

An Invitation

Notes

For Further Study

Acknowledgments

Excerpt from Fearless Dialogues, by Greg Ellison

Foreword

When I was a young teacher at Hillhouse High School in the mid-80s, I was asked to organize an after-school group to help young male students develop leadership skills and become positive role models in the school.

Hillhouse was a wonderful school, full of teenagers who were raucous and curious, oppositional and needy, angry and tender, studious and disengaged—just like all teenagers. Like all teenagers, they were focused on life’s big questions like who will I date? and how will I survive in this big tough world? and where do I belong? And, of course, they were focused on math, science, languages, social studies, and the arts too.

To the rest of our city, however, Hillhouse students were known by different labels: they were seen as poor and African American; as likely to drop out or get in trouble with the law; as at risk and risky. People I knew from suburban communities were intimidated by Hillhouse. You work there? they asked incredulously. Aren’t you afraid?

I wasn’t but I could understand their view. I was keenly aware of the problems that racked the community and of racism in the city and the nation. I understood the deeply ingrained patterns of discrimination and segregation that led whites to fear African Americans. I watched as media outlets offered story after story of violence and disaster in New Haven. I realized that the white perception of my students was governed by negative forces.

But I also knew that their perception was wrong. After just a few short years of work, I had become mesmerized by the charm and intelligence and authenticity of my students. They were teaching me as much as I was teaching them. I was at Hillhouse to do my part to offer them real opportunity, but I was also there to fight the racism that blocked so many of their hopes and possibilities. I wanted to help them, but I also wanted to change the culture that in so many ways was hurting them.

For all these reasons it was ordinary for me to accept the responsibility of creating an after-school group whose aim was not only to intensify support for my students but also to empower them to be visible agents of positive service to the community. So I recruited a few of the most challenging young men at the school and asked them to help me launch an after-school club. They agreed, and after a few initial meetings, we had attracted about twenty students and named ourselves the Young Men’s Leadership Group. The members were all African American, all male, and all at risk. They were also smart, funny, raw, generous, and searching.

The group met once a week. Some days, we talked about chemistry homework and writing papers for teachers; other days we talked about gangs and fights. Some days, we ate pizza and discussed girlfriend problems; other days, we made our way into the community to clean up streets or to paint the house of an indigent neighbor. Our goal was simple: to support one another in becoming the leaders we each believed we could be.

Word of our group got around the school and the neighborhood because some of the guys weren’t the types who were usually perceived as leaders and because it seemed unusual for a group of male Hillhouse students to roam the school and the streets smiling, laughing, and serving others. Members of the L, as we came to call ourselves, didn’t miraculously become angels, but they did listen to each other and came steadily to the realization that despite their surroundings and in the face of massive obstacles, they were smart and strong and capable of being sources of positive energy for themselves and others too.

On one occasion, I was contacted by an administrator from our New Haven neighbor, Yale College, with a request: Would I bring the Young Men’s Leadership Group to speak on campus? This was something of a shock. Hillhouse students—particularly young men—were not typical guest speakers at Yale. But our group took the invitation to heart, and five members volunteered to enter the ivy covered buildings at Yale’s Old Campus and share their stories. Unknowingly, we were about to experience what Chris Doucot and Shannon Craigo-Snell describe as a moment where grace—the unarmed gift of being able to be honest—broke through in a conversation about race.

The event opened with our five young men sitting in front of a packed Yale classroom of eager undergraduates. Each young man opened with a brief statement: I’m Doug and I live in Dixwell, and I’d like to go to college to be a teacher; or I’m Todd and I live in Newhallville, and I’d like to go to college to be a lawyer; and so on. One of the members described our group and what it was about. Another described our goal of raising enough money to buy jackets for seniors who would be graduating. Another described a dance we were planning for the school and our strategy for keeping it safe.

The Yale moderator then began with questions. What can Yale students to do help you? was the first.

The L students sat stone faced. Silence.

Let me ask it another way. Yale students want to volunteer in the community and serve. What should they do?

Silence again. I fidgeted. The scene was uncomfortable. Hundreds of highly accomplished, elite white students from around the world were sitting and staring at five African American high school students from New Haven’s poorest neighborhoods almost as though they were on display. This was a bad idea, I thought to myself as the silence persisted. I wanted to jump in but knew it was up to the guys to decide what to say.

Finally, one of the L members spoke up. Well I don’t know much about Yale students, but most of the time when I see them they don’t know what’s going on and they act like they know everything.

Silence.

Then another member of the group chimed in. To tell you the truth, I don’t want no help from you. I just don’t want you in my way. You don’t need to come into my neighborhood.

The moderator could see that the conversation wasn’t going in the direction he’d wanted and tried to shift it back. Are you saying that you don’t want any support to achieve your goals?

I didn’t say that, man. I mean y’all got everything here and you all talk about wanting to do this and that and what not. But every time I see y’all come around wanting to help, you’re all up on this big white horse and acting like you know everything and treating everybody like shit. I’m not gonna lie: I do need a lot of help, but not from some asshole who looks down on me.

Then another Hillhouse student chimed in: That’s right but I’m gonna put it another way: you know, people: we can get along together and all, but y’all just gotta come down from y’all’s white horse and meet us on the level. You know what I’m saying?

His voice lightened.

I mean just meet us like eye to eye and you could help us a lot. You know what I’m saying?

After another tense silence, one Yale student started to applaud. And then a rousing ovation followed. And when the room quieted down, the discussion became lively and animated. Eye to eye was the topic, not helping or serving. Coming down off of white horses became the subject of discussion, not tutoring or college preparation. All of a sudden, a couple hundred people between the ages of fourteen and twenty-two were talking about the problem of the twentieth century in the United States of America: the vast gap between white and black created by racism, the misunderstandings that so often distort any attempts to bridge it, and the painful honesty needed to begin to heal it.

The class went on for more than an hour with the Leadership Group members putting it all on the table. The world was unfair, racist, and infuriating to them. They were often ready to give up. Their parents worked multiple jobs and never had enough. School was boring and didn’t help anyone. They told the Yale students not to come to certain neighborhoods because so many of their friends would rather beat them up than do homework. They told them how much they wanted to do something positive, how they were trying to do better even in the face of so much disappointment.

At the close, one of the L members shifted gears. You know, at least we’re here. He looked at his fellow Hillhouse guys and said, "look at us, y’all. We’re members of the L and we’re gonna get jackets this year and we’re at Yale. And you know a lot of folks never expected us to be here and you know these Yale folk are listening to us. They’re listening to us! We should be proud, you know what I’m saying? I’m proud to be here with y’all and that’s real to me."

I believe this was the first time that those Yale students heard Hillhouse students tell the honest truth about poverty, race, and privilege. And I know it was a first for the Hillhouse students, too, because they told me. As we walked back to Hillhouse and talked about the experience, everyone laughed and repeated some of the priceless lines and kept replaying the questions and how they had handled them. They were beaming. They had told their truth to the people from Yale, who represented so many of the frustrations of their lives. It was liberating.

Alas, the visit of the Young Men’s Leadership Group to the Yale campus didn’t solve the racial problems of the United States. Some of those leadership group young men went on to college, and some finished high school. But some ended up in jail too: the odds against them didn’t change much because of our group. Maybe we beat them a little but not enough. The larger forces at work in the United States were still mostly destructive for African American young men. It was both heartbreaking and infuriating to be a part of the system then. No matter how hard teachers tried and no matter how hard students tried, the deck was stacked. A few made it, but far too few. And for the rest, there was mostly tragedy. The conditions for people of color in cities like New Haven were, and remain, an outrageous indictment of our country.

But long odds aren’t a reason not to try—once and for all—to bridge the long painful gap that separates people of color from white folk in the United States of America. And this book is a good place to launch that effort to try anew. Chris Doucot and Shannon Craigo-Snell have taken a risky first step: they’ve written a book that asks us all to recognize the enormous injustice of our system, to delve into the awkward and tense conversations needed to expose racism, to own the roles we have each played in its perpetuation, and to make honest and significant efforts to end it—urgently.

If there is only one lesson to keep in mind as you read this book and think about its implications for your life, I suggest it is this: Chris Doucot and Shannon Craigo-Snell make it very clear that we made the system we have, and we can unmake it too. Racism runs deep in the United States—as deep as the rivers that Langston Hughes celebrated in his great poem, The Negro Speaks of Rivers. But no matter how deep they might be, rivers flow. Everything is in motion. Our foremothers and forefathers own responsibility for the poison of racism that is in our midst today, but others worked hard to cleanse it too. Countless and usually nameless citizens gave themselves and their lives for equality, some hanging from trees, some marching across bridges, some just taking the time to listen and try to understand.

We owe ourselves more than the status quo lest we also pass on a legacy of injustice and anguish. And make no mistake: this is not just an issue for people of color; it is also an issue for all of us. Nelson Mandela reminded us that freedom isn’t just for those in chains. It is also about all of us learning to live in a way that respects the freedom and dignity of others. I am not truly free if I am taking away someone else’s freedom, just as surely as I am not free when my freedom is taken from me. The oppressed and the oppressor alike are robbed of their humanity.¹ Racism is a scourge that has brutalized the lives of millions of African Americans, but we are all damaged by its lies and its horrors. No one escapes the brutality. And everyone will be better when we end its stranglehold on all our lives.

This book is an important place to start—a call to listen once more to the words of the prophets and by listening to them, allow ourselves to be changed. And the change that we need perhaps more than any other is simply this: that we might each and together be willing to give something real and meaningful to our children, to our country, and to our future: dignity for all.

No matter how high the obstacle, we must take the big risk. Wherever we are, we can come down off our white horses. And when we do, we can meet each other eye to eye. And there, in those moments of seeing, we can begin to chart our way into a more just and joyful America. It can’t come fast enough.

Timothy P. Shriver

Introduction

Another video is in the news today. Another incident of brutality against a black person, this time a student resource officer flipping a high school student and her desk over, then dragging her out of her chair and slamming her to the ground. The video shows a quiet classroom—no chaos, no