By Krystal Roberts
Imagine you’re sitting in your bedroom at your grandparents’ house, your very religious grandparents. You may not be as devout as they are, but you know how important it is to them. Imagine it’s a beautiful sunny day and you’re checking Twitter. Imagine you see a tweet, from a girl asking about her grandma.
Imagine scrolling past it, and hoping for the best. And now imagine the local breaking news. There’s news about a shooting in Charleston. They talk about a white boy shooting up a Black church. Now imagine you calling your aunt to make sure she’s ok, experiencing a feeling of relief when you confirm that that’s not her church but a sister church, a few miles down the road. And then full circle back to that tweet you wondered about… but let it go as soon as you scrolled.
The dots are connecting. Now imagine the despair you feel when you realize a fear that was hidden inside of you your entire life, one that laid dormant, one that never crossed your mind until today… is no longer dormant. If we are not safe with God, then where?
Now imagine days of mourning and hashtags from white people who think they mean well. Days of Mourning for Black people who think their only form of peace is to forgive someone who never apologized and feels no remorse. For once, I would like to imagine a time where we are not called to be the biggest person in a country that doesn’t treat us like people. It has been hammered into us, that we are not God. We may be made in the image of them, but we are not them. Godlike we may be but perhaps we should stop giving out forgiveness in exchange for blessings that never seem to come…
Just like that South Carolina Hate Crimes Bill. The Forgiveness of Black Folk, and what I mean by that is, the tendency to forgive those who have wronged us so quickly is as much a blessing as it is a curse. The blessing of it, is that while we do have a tool in our arsenal that brings us peace when it never feels attainable, it also turns into a tool of white supremacy in a way. Forgiveness has started to be expected and sometimes demanded.
The weapons White Supremacy has formed against us, seem to be prospering a little more than not, and I would like forgiveness to be reclaimed by us for us. When people don’t deserve to be forgiven, don’t give it to them. It may just be me who thinks this, but it is my belief that forgiveness before accountability should not exist, and if it does, why? We are reminded all the time that we are not God, and so absolution in the face of apathy… it’s a no for me, Dawg.
Back to imagining. As stated earlier…I would like to imagine a time where we are not called to be the biggest person in a country that doesn’t treat us like people. It has been hammered into us, that we are not God. We may be made in the image of them, but we are not them. It is not our job to free you of your sins. It is not our responsibility.
What would society look like if we weren’t a merciful people full of grace? What would White Supremacy look like if we were a vengeful people and held offenders responsible for their crimes against us. That’s a utopia I can’t really imagine, but I’d like to.
One would think this is something I wouldn’t have to imagine because the justice system makes it reality, but that’s a joke. Systems are doing exactly what it is that they were created to do. And so they must be undone. White Supremacy cannot be destroyed or undone by forgiveness, grace, or mercy.
If we are to persevere, we must try to imagine a world without it. Our dreams might be able to see us through but not without the work. Not without making sure people know that forgiveness before accountability is impossible. If we continue to give and give, that grace, that mercy, that forgiveness that people hold so dear, what will be left for us in the end. What is our prize? Is it the society that doesn’t feel sorry for the ills they have done because they have been redeemed by the people they have deemed less than? Weird how the forgiveness of sins by men and God are held in the same light, but only one can judge.
