So although we may not be responsible for the creation of a system of racism, among other forms of injustice, we are responsible nonetheless for doing something about that system from this point forward. To do less is to collaborate with the original sin, to make us no better than those who set things up this way.
Perhaps a story can make the point here by way of analogy.
Shortly after I graduated from college, I made the decision to move into a large house with five other roommates, which soon became nine other roomates. Please note, and let me spare you the experience, this is never a good idea. But we thought at the time that it would be great. It would be really cheap and we would even share grocery expenses, and take turns cooking so as to share responsibility for the group.
One night, about two weeks into our little experiment in collective living, one of my roommates made a big pot of Gumbo, because that’s what you do in New Orleans. And when I returned from work that night, he asked if I wanted some. I said no, having already eaten; but I asked him to please save some for me and to put it in the fridge for the next day, as I might take it to work with me; and then I went upstairs to my room, watched TV and went to bed.
The next morning, I come down for my coffee before heading out the door, and what do I see but that pot of Gumbo, half-full, still sitting on the front left burner of the stove. No portion of it had been saved for me, but more to the point, a great quantity of food had gone to waste. And I was upset. Having a little time on my hands, I thought to myself, perhaps I should clean up this mess. But then I caught myself, and I thought, “Wait a minute: I didn’t make this mess; this isn’t my fault, and so I’m not cleaning it up.” And I took my self-righteousness out the door and went to work.
About 6 o’clock, I returned home and noticed another roommate cooking the evening’s dinner on the front right burner of the stove, but on the front left burner, there was still that pot of Gumbo, getting nastier, and crustier and funkier by the minute. And I asked roommate number two what he was doing; why was he cooking around last night’s dinner; why hadn’t he cleaned up first? To which he responded that he hadn’t made that mess; it wasn’t his fault; and so he shouldn’t have to clean it up: logic with which I could hardly argue, as indeed I had said the same thing just a few hours earlier. So I grabbed a plate of the night’s meal, went to my room, did some work, and went to bed.
7 a.m. came, and I had forgotten to set my alarm, but I really didn’t need one; for I assure you that when Gumbo has been sitting on a stove for thirty-six hours, the smell will extend beyond the kitchen, will travel up the stairs, down the hall, under your door and through your keyhole, and assault — in a way I cannot describe — your nostrils; and indeed that is what happened. And now I was mad. I bolted down the stairs, glared at the pot of Gumbo, as if somehow I expected it to return the stare. I saw it sitting there, now even nastier, and funkier, and there was not a roommate in sight.
And it was at that point that I said to myself, “I might not have made this mess, this may not be my fault, but I’m going to clean it up, simply because I’m tired of living in the funk.” And you see, it is the same with human societies. When we finally become tired of living in the funk, in the residue of injustice passed down to us from previous generations, we will seek to clean it up, issues of blame and guilt aside.
Not to say that it will be easy of course. Cleaning up a pot of two-day Gumbo, after all, is a lot easier than transforming a culture. People will tell you that you can’t change the way things are; others will ridicule you for even trying, and often times your efforts will fail. They will, in fact, likely fail more often than they succeed. But that doesn’t matter, because — and please, never forget it — there is redemption in struggle.
Win or lose — and don’t get me wrong, we indeed fight in the hopes of winning true justice — there is something to be said for confronting the inevitable choice one must make in this life, between collaborating with or resisting injustice, and choosing the latter.
