Another commentary on race

Yesterday (September 24^th) while flipping through TV channels I came across The Jeff Probst Show. The discussion topic was, Things you can’t say on TV. I was hooked when a member of the studio audience, a youngish, white male, said he didn’t know if he was being offensive when he used the terms black or African-American or people of color and he wasn’t sure if either was correct. I don’t think he received a complete answer; this is how I would have responded:   

Anthropologists historically categorize people as belonging to five main races. Described by color (note: I refrained from saying skin color), these races are Red, referring to North American Indians; Yellow, people of Asian ancestry; Black, people of African ancestry; White, those of European and Scandinavian ancestry; and Brown, people of Latin ancestry including South Americans, and some Caribbean countries. The 21^st century politically correct racial terms are Native American, Asian, Black, Caucasian and Latino or Hispanic. So it is not offensive to speak of a “black” person when discussing race.

The problem arises when we assume race and culture are interchangeable. What I call a “hyphenated-American” descriptor speaks of culture, not race. African-American, Italian-American, Cuban-American, German-American are cultural terms. Culture speaks of a person’s lifestyle, religious beliefs, dress, food, activities, music, speech patterns, and more. Cultures evolve as people move from country to country and within various societies, bring their own cultural practices to that new environment, and assume that society’s practices and norms as their own. So a black Frenchman who moves to America cannot rightly be described as African-American based solely on his skin color. The cultural practices he brings with him from France which he continues to identify with in America make him French-American.

Cultural identification is primarily a choice. It is an indicator of how one chooses to live, and is related to the social practices, morals, traditions and mores with which one identifies. Since culture groups include people of various ethnicities, the “hyphenated-American” as a cultural descriptor may be applied to people of different skin colors. A biracial person of Korean and African ancestry who lives in America might consider himself African-American or Korean-American. It is his choice. Most people from the English-speaking Caribbean countries identify themselves as Caribbean-American (or Jamaican-American, or Trinidadian-American), in spite of varying degrees of skin color and wide diversity of ethnic origins.  So black and African-American are not interchangeable.

                The term people of color is correctly used to describe groups of people who are not Caucasian (white). Colored person is inappropriate and considered an insult.

                One final point: The Bible teaches that all people descended from one man, Adam. [See Genesis 1 through Genesis 5 for the creation account]. In fact, every time race is mentioned in the Bible, it refers to the human race, never a sub-set of people. One common ancestor, then, means there is only one race. There is no racial divide.

Contrary to conclusions drawn through ignorance and still held in some places today, scientific research confirms that there is no biological difference between the races. It is the reason why blood, organs, and bone marrow can be successfully transplanted between people of different ethnic origins. In recognition of this, anthropologists around the world are modifying their verbal and written language, replacing the word “race” with “people groups.

I am eager to hear your comments.

Max

Sunday Serendipity- We win.

But you belong to God, my dear children. You have already won a victory over those people, because the Spirit who lives in you is greater than the spirit who lives in the world. I John 4:4 NLT

Where everybody knows your name?

It used to be that security meant having a dead bolt lock on the front door. Not anymore. Today, nobody can conduct business at a courthouse, a state or federal office, a museum or board an aircraft without being screened by armed security officers. Even churches now conduct a criminal background check of their volunteer members before allowing them to serve in certain ministries.

In light of the horror stories of security breaches in many corporation, I have taken extraordinary precautions to protect my identity. Working from the premise that reducing opportunities for strangers to handle my personal documents reduces opportunities for identity theft, I made three simple but far-reaching lifestyle changes: first, I rented a post office box and re-directed all my mail to that address. The rental cost is minimal and a simple reorganization of my schedule allows me to collect my mail once a day; second, I switched to paperless billing.  I was probably the last holdout, but I am now convinced that businesses are implementing the newest technologies to protect their records; third, I no longer contract with a curbside garbage collection company. Instead, husband takes our trash to the township dump for secure, monitored disposal. And we shred important, traceable documents.

The changes have worked well – too well I discovered when I attempted to renew my driver’s license. I found that while I can still prove who I am, I can no longer prove where I live. The measures I took to prevent identity theft now work against me.  

            I handed the DMV receptionist my picture ID along with my expiring driver’s license. She asked for additional government-issued identification; I had nothing more. She suggested I return with my passport. Three days later I handed over my expiring driver’s license, picture ID, completed paperwork and (reluctantly) my passport. So it was with great surprise that I heard her say that she needed still more identification, something that confirmed my street address, not the post office box. Rummaging through the vast wasteland that is my handbag, I pulled out one slightly tattered checkbook, a pay statement, two letter envelopes, a business card, a graduation invitation, all of which bore my name and my post office box address. She suggested I bring in my car insurance certificate. Aha!

            I trudged back to the parking lot. From the glove compartment I retrieved the plastic sleeve containing important car stuff. I handed it over, but not before noticing that the top document in the packet was a motor vehicle registration card with my street address. Back in the office, the woman set aside the top item and went for the insurance certificate which bore (you guessed it) my post office box. With some consternation I asked why she discarded the vehicle registration card.

            “It’s issued by the DMV,” she said, (and this part really confused me,) “and we can’t use our own documents as verification.” 

            By that time I was fuming. “What about a bill? she asked.

            “I pay them online,” I said.

            “Electric bill?”

            “It’s in my husband’s name. How about a magazine subscription?”

            “That’s not first class mail,” she replied.

            “I guess I’ll have to get a notarized letter from the President” I said, tongue in cheek. (Of the company where I worked, not the President President. I was getting desperate.)

            “Wouldn't do you any good, but we’ll take your income tax return."

            “Heck, no,” I said.  (After all, a tax return is private information and definitely not government issue.) 

            She shrugged and returned my documents. The testaments to my existence were no good at the DMV. I bid her a steely “good evening.” (I know “steely”. I’d perfected that look when my kids were teenagers.)

           

How do I insulate myself against identity theft without robbing myself of an identity? Can I no longer prove who I am or where I live without resorting to trickery? Does my good name mean nothing? Is my community standing without value? 

           

Back at home, I rummaged through the day’s mail. Every label was addressed to my post office box. So I did what I should have done in the first place. I wrote myself a letter and mailed it to my street address. It arrived in the mail today. Tomorrow I shall take it to the DMV and, hopefully, qualify for a driver’s license.

            Now if I can just remember to shred that envelope…

Max

Sunday Serendipity - Be alert!

Jesus said:
"I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and innocent as doves." Matt. 10:16 [NIV]

Father, you called us to go out into a world that is bent on devouring us. Help us to be constantly alert to the dangers that surround us, and ever aware of opportunities to share your message. We want to be effective ambassadors of Christ. In Jesus Name.

Gone

We took one last trip with the grandkids this summer to Liberty State Park, spending most of our time at the Liberty Science museum, picnicking in the shade trees, ferrying across the Hudson River to Liberty Island and the Statue of Liberty, and ending with a hushed walk through Empty Sky. Empty Sky, New Jersey’s memorial to the victims of the 9-11 massacre, consists of two parallel walls, about thirty feet high, with the names of the more than 700 New Jersey residents etched forever in its stone. The parallel walls are situated so that the visitors’ view is directed across the river toward Ground Zero. We strolled through those walls, touched the names, and tried to remember or imagine the events of that fateful day (the oldest kids were not born until later that year). The activity proved to be a solemn ending to what had been a really fun excursion. 

Eleven years after the 9-11 attack, the event has joined others that are forever engraved in my memory – the assassinations of President John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King; the explosion of the Challenger space shuttle; the Columbine High School massacre - events that left me diminished because of our collective loss.

But the loss was more than a "collective" one to many people. It was personal, and frightening, and lonely, and empty. In her memoir, Where You Left Me, Jennifer Gardner Trulson writes of the vacuum left by the 9-11 attack: 

“Gone. That simple word can be so benign...when someone leaves a room, he’s gone; when

your toddler eats her carrots, they’re all gone. Doug [her husband] went to work and was

gone in the usual way. Until he wasn’t. Until that gone became something else entirely, just 

a few hours later. Gone became ‘vanished’, ‘lost’, ‘evaporated’. It was the worst gone that

I’d ever known...”*

To survivors, family members, first responders, members of the military, cab drivers, medical personnel, police officers... Thank you for your service and your sacrifice. We will NEVER forget.

Max

                                                                                                                                               

*Where You Left Me © 2011 by Jennifer Gardner Trulson.,

pub. Gallery Books, Div. of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Sunday Serendipity - Go boldly. You are not alone.

Be strong and very courageous. Be careful to obey all the law my servant Moses gave you; do not turn from it to the right or to the left, that you may be successful wherever you go. Keep this Book of the Law always on your lips; meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful. Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

JOSHUA 1: 7-9 NIV.

My dream of writing for ministry has been fraught with bumps and potholes. And yet, I remain confident that this is the path God has chosen for me. When rejection letters abound, this passage of Scripture reminds me that my role is to keep my priorities in order and be courageous. I don't do this alone. HE goes before me.

What are your goals? How do you maintain your focus? 

It's not a book and yet...

As a writer I am also an avid reader. I read pretty much anything. In fact, one of my earliest memories is of my father declaring a certain tabloid off limits at home after he caught me, his 10 year old, engrossed in a particularly graphic account of a hometown murder. (I’m pretty certain he continued to purchase that paper although it never crossed our doors again). But I digress.

I enjoy fiction. My favorites are stories that begin with impossible scenarios and culminate in happy-ever-after endings. I like the feel of a book’s pages and have been known to ignore the dreaded paper cut until after the final chapter. Before starting the story, I read the back cover, from synopsis to author’s bio, the reviews, publisher info, copyright date, acknowledgements, and, in inspirational fiction, the scripture verse. When I get to the end of the story, (usually lying in bed with the blanket shielding the reading light from my sleeping spouse), I mentally relive the final scenes before setting the book aside. I love books.

So it was with a great deal of frustration that I recently tossed aside my last three selections without reading them. Why? Because these “eyes of a certain age” could not decipher the words well enough to allow me to lose myself in the story. Has anyone noticed that today’s printed material have a smaller font, paler inks, and flimsier, grayer papers compared with, say, a decade ago? I checked with a friend at the newspaper who confirmed the trend as a money-saving measure brought about by escalating sales of electronic books and the decrease in print material, a trend not likely to change. So, resigned to the change, I purchased an e-reader (mine rhymes with Cook) and downloaded a selection of novels.

I'm finding that e-books have their shortcomings. I can’t lend or borrow them at will, they don’t promote sensory satisfaction and I can’t stack them for a pedestal or arrange them by the color of the jacket. But I can increase the font and adjust the backlight to relieve the stress on these tired, aging eyes. Also, no paper cuts. I am satisfied.

Max