History has its eyes on me. History has it eyes on you.[1]
How will history look on these incredible and troubling times we are in? How will it look at our leaders and their examples (or the lack thereof) and some of the devastating consequences? These are historic times.
That song, of course, was from the musical named for Alexander Hamilton who played an important and much underappreciated role in our history. Before the musical the main thing most of us were taught about Hamilton was the way he died, in a duel with Aaron Burr. Hamilton, the story goes, aimed his shot so that he would only injure Burr, not kill him. But it didn’t work that way—Burr shot first and Hamilton was the one who got killed.
Hamilton was foundational in so many of our institutions and the norms we now take for granted. This is how one historian put it: “More than any other founder, Alexander Hamilton foresaw the America we live in now. He shaped the financial, political, and legal systems of the young United States. His ideas on racial equality and economic diversity were so far ahead of their time that it took the nation decades to catch up with them. Hamilton made the early republic work, and set the agenda for its future.” [2]
Hamilton was ahead of his time. When you look at the 240-plus years of our country’s history, we can only imagine how things would have been different had his views prevailed. That is particularly so when it comes to the institution of slavery. Things could well have looked very different.
So how will history look at our present moment? This time of division, this time when so many norms have been toppled? It is too early to know. But one theme of the last four years that should be named has been the breaking of one norm after another, from the custom of the outgoing president attending their successor’s inauguration to the incitement of a mob to stop the formal acceptance of election results. And, of course, so many other things in between.
In talking with many of you the past few days I heard all kinds of emotions from this post-election period in particular. Weary. Anxious. Sad. Fearful. Angry. And at least a little hopeful. The recognition that the inauguration on Wednesday is just one small step in a larger trajectory of how all the divisions in our country will play out. To the extent that some of us were in denial about just how deep those divisions were, it is hard to be in denial anymore.
There is a lot to hold right now for sure, most of all amid the fear of what further violence could play out. But with the transition finally about to happen, I think it may take some time for the reality—and for some larger perspective—to happen. I think these last four years have been traumatizing for many of us, particularly for some who were already most on the margins, and that it will take time, maybe a long time, to make our way though that. Healing from trauma is no small task. It takes a sense of safety and space to name what has been.
The comedian Wanda Sykes has a special on Netflix called Not Normal and I think part of what has been helpful for me is to have someone just say out loud, “This ___ is not normal.” It has been hard to not get caught up in the drama of it all and that I think is when we can lose sight of just what normal means. Part of what I think of as the trauma of these years has been the constant breaking of norms and not quite knowing what is real. When boundaries around behavior, around truth and lies, around what just seems to be common decency, when all those norms are scrambled, there is damage done to all of us and to us as a country.
Now norms, to be clear, are not always good things. They can keep systems in place that oppress and keep the status quo in place. But norms at their best also provide goal posts of a sort that say this is inside the norm and this is outside. Not unlike the rules that govern just about any sport. And that can be important.
I came of age in the years of Richard Nixon and especially in the events around Watergate and his resignation. That too was a tense and confusing time but I also remember the way the leaders at the time—of both parties—were able to come together and look toward the good of the country. This time of crisis has not felt that way at all. Some of the rituals we know come to be important markers. Through the years I remember just how important the images were of the former president welcoming the new president and traveling to the Inauguration together. Those are images in my mind that established my own sense of the way things are. At least on the surface it seemed as if the good of the country was put ahead of the good of any individual.
But here we are in 2021, just days past an insurrection at the Capitol launched by our own president. What will be remembered from these times? The things that stayed the same, or the things that never did go back? What are the things that can’t go back? What are the things that need very much to go back?
I think it is too early to know. I heard one commentator this week talk about how we are now just at the beginning of the middle in understanding all of this. In other words, we are not very far along in some process of getting back to normal, whatever that means in this time. And the fear of what continued violence just makes that all the more difficult.
Now the optimist in me wants to hope that however difficult these years have been it has also laid bare just how divided our country is and just how deep some of those divisions go. Now I’m particularly talking about white supremacy here. The white nationalism that is central to our story. The Alexander Hamilton story is a reminder of that legacy that goes back to the very beginning of this country.
Last Sunday Rev. Bill used the image of the insurrectionist in the Capitol waving the Confederate flag and how that was such a symbol of that legacy. These last days have been a reminder of just how easy it is to be denial about that legacy. I’m talking here as a white person. People of color I expect would let me know here that they are very much aware of it most all of the time.
I have to confess that like a lot of good white folks I chafe a bit when my privilege is called out. It is easy to want to not want to see it. My intentions, after all are good. Being asked to recognize the ways that I benefit from that privilege, and even to understand the ways that I have been complicit, that is not easy stuff. And I know that feeling guilty isn’t going to help. I don’t think that gets us far at all. I think our first task is to try to stay present to it, to stay both in that place of discomfort and in that place of honesty.
There are so many images that come to mind from the last days. One of the most striking was watching a series of arrests of people who allegedly were part in the Capitol insurrection. They were being arrested at their homes, at airports, at the workplaces. One in particular struck me. As officers arrested one man, a white man, as they struggled to hold him down to the ground, he yelled out, screamed out, “You are hurting me. Stop that. You are treating me as if I was black. You are treating me as if I am black. Stop that!”
It was a striking moment. What I heard from him, this alleged white supremacist, was some kind of knowing, some kind of naming in that moment that black people are treated differently. And that as a white person it should not be that way for him. Indeed, one of the questions from that day at the Capitol is imagining just how different things would have been if it had been thousands of Black Lives Matter protesters ascending up the steps of the Capitol and imagining just how different the response might have been.
But back to the man being arrested. I wonder if sometimes we know more than we realize we know. The video of that arrest was one of those times for me. It reminded me of the way that children, when we don’t think they may even be aware, will say something that lets us know that they know exactly what is going on. It reminded me of those so-called Karen moments, when someone claiming their white privilege is just too hard to miss. How maybe those of us in places of privilege might know, might be aware of more than we first might acknowledge when it comes to our own sense of privilege.
This Wednesday we’ll witness a new president and a history-making new vice president take their oaths of office. I expect I’ll be listening to those words pledging themselves to defend the constitution like I haven’t before. But given all that has happened, given all that might call us to be newly woke, it feels like the time as well to ask what it is we as individuals, we as citizens pledge ourselves to as well.
You’ve heard about the event our social justice program will be part of this week, the day after the Inauguration in Washington. It is called the People’s Inauguration. Our church will be part of Oregon’s event on Thursday evening.
This is the draft pledge that our social justice leaders have articulated for us as part of this People’s Inauguration:
“Love is what calls us to the sacred work of seeking justice. We as Unitarian Universalists were called to create this People’s Oath.
“I _________ vow to practice our faith principles that uphold democracy and justice for all peoples and beings. To the best of my ability, I will engage in collective action to dismantle systems of white supremacy, imperialism and oppression, protect our shared Earth home, and build the beloved community. I will strive to listen to and be guided by those most impacted by injustice and not deny painful truths. I vow to be courageous, learn from my mistakes and stay engaged, with compassion and love.”
That might be a good starting place for each of us as we ask what it is we are pledging in this time. That might be starting place as we try to hold all that has been lost in these times. That might be a starting place as we as what it is we need to move forward from here.
What might our own pledges be? I know for me it starts with voting. I know it means engaging. I know it means showing up or at least doing my best to show up. And I wonder if part of what is being asked of us right now is to not forget, to not deny some of the lessons learned in these times. It is also about an openness, and I’m talking to white folks like myself here, I wonder if some of that knowing is a willingness to look at and to own that privilege. That takes a willingness to step out of our own comfort zones and to see ourselves in relation to the whole. That in owning that privilege we take a step towards the healing of that whole. I know it means a commitment to see my life interconnected with the lives of others. I’m reminded of our reading this morning from Langston Hughes, that our work isn’t finished until all of us are free.
We are at an inflection point in history. We are in complicated and fearful and fraught times. These are also times when we are asked to be clear about where we are and what is asked of us. There is just too much at stake to do otherwise. I think of words from poet William Stafford about what is being asked of us now:
“For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give—yes or no, or maybe—
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.[3]
The answers we give—yes, or no, or maybe, should be clear.
This weekend we once again honor the life and the legacy of Martin Luther King Jr. Witnessing the legacy of white supremacy culture that is still so much part of our life together, I’m struck by the work of King and so many others who worked for civil rights through time and how very much work there still is to do. King was just 39 years old when he was killed. He would have turned 82 this year were he still alive. I’m struck by all the people who have given their lives in that struggle and just how daunting it can still feel. Words of King:
“Cowardice asks the question, ‘Is it safe?’ Expediency asks the question, ‘Is it politic?’ Vanity asks the question, ‘Is it popular?’ But, conscience asks the question, ‘Is it right?’ And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but one must take it because one’s conscience tells one that it is right.”[4]
This week we will see a new president take the oath of office. I don’t envy the task that awaits him. I want to hope that something has been cracked open—maybe even broken open—in these times. A renewed call to say no to hatred, to say no to racism. A renewed call to say yes to our interdependence. A renewed call to the vision of the beloved community. A renewed call to say yes to love.
May each of us, in our own ways, answer that call. And in that answering may all of us, and our country too, find our way home.
Prayer
Spirit of life and of love. God of many names and no name, be with us in these troubling, these complicated, these promising times. Be with us in our sorrow. Be with us in our anger. Be with us in our healing. Grant us courage, grant us patience, grant us persistence, grant us hope. And through it all, ground us in love. Amen.
Benediction:
In this coming week, in the coming years, may we never forget that history has its eyes on us. May we pledge to do our part to heal our broken world. And even knowing we will sometimes stumble, may we know too that we never make this journey alone.
[1] From “History Has Its Eyes On You” from Hamilton by Lin-Manuel Miranda
[2] https://artsandculture.google.com/exhibit/alexander-hamilton-the-man-who-made-modern-america-the-gilder-lehrman-institute-of-american-history/YgJCQI_qMZefJQ?hl=en
[3] “A Ritual to Read to Each Other” by William Stafford.
[4] https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/566501-cowardice-asks-the-question-is-it-safe-expediency-asks-the
Topics: Presence