The work of us

*** update ***

I have removed references to my "white family," which unfairly characterizes the many supportive, caring, wonderful people in my family who happen to be white. It was unfair of me to do so, and I have updated in response to their feedback.

*** update ***

This is not a reflection on how we all just need to hold hands and work together. The “work of us” is not a naive desire to partner politely across the political aisle, class, or race. Honestly, that’s just bad grammar. What I am actually interested in is the extraordinary hard work that the pronoun “us” does as the object in conversations about systems and structures of our American society - the object as a first-person plural pronoun.

“They died for us.” (The American soldier)

“They create jobs for us.” (The billionaire class)

“They protect us.” (The police)

“Us” is definitely not passive here. In fact, I believe “us” is working overtime. “Us” is looking the other way. “Us” is shoving fingers in its ears, turning up the radio, and walking away. “Us” is actively ignoring the perspective of others.

“Us” is ultimately a choice. It is a projection of our own personal experience onto others, onto the whole. “Us” is really just “me” plus a hefty dose of narcissism.

And the rampant use of “us” in conversations about policing since the murder of George Floyd has deeply irked me. Many of my family and friends choose to ignore how the American system of policing impacts bodies of culture. A claim that the police serve and protect “us” is an active denial of the experience of others - others, like this 10-year old boy who instinctively hid from a passing police car. There’s no physical violence in this video, but if you’re like me, it’s a little hard to watch.

It hurts, doesn’t it? This boy can never be a part of “us” when “us” is the object that police protect and serve. His experiences and perspectives matter, even and especially if they differ from my own.

In conversation about policing - and perhaps *any* conversation - I suspect that intentionally pivoting from the first-person plural pronoun to the first-person singular might help. “Police keep me safe” acknowledges privilege by default and leaves space for the perspectives of others. A claim instead that “police keep us safe” must either outright reject all other perspectives or confess that “us” is truly just a subset of the whole. “Police keep us safe” communicates that black voices, experiences, and lives don’t matter.

And now, without minimizing the importance of changing the way we police in the US, I want to acknowledge that the narcissistic projection of individual perspectives onto the whole is not unique to my family and friends. It’s a universal human tendency. And I suspect that I am so irked by its use in this particular case because, well, game recognize game.

I do, of course, feel deep sorrow and frustration that this universal human tendency breeds such violence and wrong-headed resistance to justice among my family and friends. To respect, honor, and acknowledge the dignity of every human person absolutely and without question requires confronting and working to change the injustices in our system of policing that whiteness built, benefits from, and overwhelmingly supports. There is hard, awkward, uncomfortable work for me to do in my own family.

But there is also a personal reckoning. That I can easily point out the spiderman in my family doesn’t make me any less spiderman-y.

My faith tradition names this universal human condition as sin. Now, I fully acknowledge that even just the word “sin” sparks anxiety and pain in many people, and rightfully so. Many have been viciously and unfairly hurt by the church’s weaponizing of sin, and as a leader in the church, I will never stop acknowledging and apologizing for the harm inflicted on so many. But sin is more than just an improper action or selfish inaction, it is the inherited and unavoidable condition of all humanity. Martin Luther, in his lectures on the book of Romans, described this universal condition as being “curved in on ourselves”. This image has been helpful to me, especially as I consider how my frustration with family on this issue distracts me from confessing and correcting my own projections onto others. I’m curved in on myself.

I guess what I’m saying is… by focusing my frustration and my voice on my family’s loud-and-proud narcissistic projections of self in their approach to policing, I conveniently side-step the ways my own condition breeds violence and wrong-headed resistance to justice in this *and other* circumstances. Where do I have power and privilege? Where do I benefit from systems and structures that exclude bodies of culture from “us?” Where am I projecting my perspective onto the whole? These questions deserve my time and energy. My own condition deserves the bulk of my frustration and sorrow. “Us” is working hard in

my life too.