“Violence brings only temporary victories; violence, by creating many more social problems than it solves, never brings permanent peace. I am convinced that if we succumb to the temptation to use violence in our struggle for freedom, unborn generations will be the recipients of a long and desolate night of bitterness, and our chief legacy to them will be a never-ending reign of chaos. A Voice, echoing through the corridors of time, says to every intemperate Peter, 'Put up thy sword.' History is cluttered with the wreckage of nations that failed to follow Christ's command.”
Strength to Love - A Tough Mind and a Tender Heart ~ Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
What do you think of when you hear the word violence? Do you think of terrible faraway acts only occurring in a particular part of town? Do you think of other nations less “developed” than the Western world, or does war come to mind? Places like Ukraine, Sudan, Ethiopia, Afghanistan, or Syria? Countries where great atrocities occur, human life is devalued, and the Imago Dei trambled? While you may think of war-torn countries or street warfare in some distant or near urban environment, I think of the countless lives impacted daily in America.
While comparing nation-to-nation data on violence can be helpful, it can also be a slippery slope. While the information may serve to educate some, it often doesn’t hit the core of the challenges that violence presents in our society. So, this will not be the focus of this series (especially since earlier this year, I took time to dive deeply into gun violence in America and how it compares with other nations. If you’re interested, you can find that article HERE). I want to take a more personal look into how violence has shaped us and impacts the lives of real people in real places. Those who have sought and believed in the “American Dream.”
I shouldn’t have to say this because what’s understood doesn’t need to be explained, but I will for the sake of being explicit and clear. I am grateful for being born in America, and as a native son, I will exercise my right to critique it, call it up higher, and pursue the good of my neighbors. The Apostle Paul, while speaking in Athens, Greece, to a group of Greek scholars, philosophers, religious leaders, and political leaders, once said, “26 From one man He [God] made all the nations, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and He marked out their appointed times in history and the boundaries of their lands. 27 God did this so that they would seek him and perhaps reach out for Him and find Him, though He is not far from any one of us. 28 ‘For in Him we live and move and have our being.’ As some of your own poets have said, ‘We are His offspring’“ (Acts 17:26-28, NIV).
God is the one who caused my family and me to be born in this nation out of His own sovereign will. Many a native son and daughter have wrestled with how we came to the shores of America, and many have found solace and solidarity in the story of the Hebrews born into Egypt, born into violence. Preserved by Yahweh for 400 years in the face of much violence and delivered to God’s Promised Land. Many have long grown weary of the violence perpetrated in their streets witnessed by too many. Longing to study war no more.
We are a tired people. Constantly seeking to stir each other to endure and keep going. The scriptures admonish us not to “grow weary in well doing,” promising that we will reap a harvest if we don’t faint. But I’ve seen too much to believe that we aren’t exhausted. Though many of us are called to fight the good fight in our communities, violence weighs on us.
I recently attended a gathering led by Black men to help us better understand the issue of violence. This group specifically focused on how Black-on-Black violence is playing out in my home of Birmingham, Alabama. The group called BLKNT (Black Night) is hosting a series of “Community Nights” intending to bring people together to discuss issues impacting the Black Community in Birmingham. The panelists for the event ranged from a 29-year-old Black woman prosecutor with the local District Attorney’s Office, a married couple that both serve with the Birmingham Police Department, a former gang member who now spends his time helping men transition out of “street life,” and a mother who lost her only daughter to gun violence.
The event took place at the Foot Soldiers office on historic Fourth Avenue in Downtown Birmingham. The backdrop of the Civil Rights movement was a stark reminder that Black people’s fight for peace in America is elusive. The battle for dignity rages on. In many ways, we are still singing that hopeful song We Shall Overcome.
The questions asked to the panelists ranged from “How many of the homicides (the medical term for when one person kills another) in Birmingham are committed by Black people?” And “How many murders (the legal term that a person can be charged with for taking someone’s life) are Black people being charged with? To the impact of violence on families, schools, communities, and society. To possible solutions to address this community epidemic. One of the most significant issues that arose was the loss of hope. Violence has a way of wearing us. It has a way of causing us to either grow callous or overcome with grief and anguish.
In many ways, I’ve grown tired of the conversation around violence. For over a decade, I’ve labored in the heart of my city and gone to countless panel discussions and Stop the Violence rallies. As a pastor, I’ve attended the vigils and funerals of those gunned down in the streets or in their homes. The rhythm of these solemn events always follows the same pattern. They are always heartbreaking and exhausting. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, friends, and all sorts of near and distant relatives gather, seeking to make sense of the incomprehensible. As a community leader, I’ve sat with grief-stricken mothers and fathers who stay up late into the night praying and fighting for their sons and daughters. They cry out for help from God and their community leaders to help rescue their babies before it’s too late.
What I experienced at this event were people who have also grown tired but haven’t lost hope. I saw young men and women willing to tackle this elusive issue head-on because they want to give their energy to transform their city. The American Dream, for them, is a place where we can all thrive. A place where the “Village” is restored. The old African proverb, “It takes a village to raise a child,” is wholeheartedly embraced by the Southern African-American ethos. The phrase is often evoked in spaces like this, where parents or community leaders are imploring each other to be more involved in the lives of our community’s young people. This familiar phrase is accustomed to the Ghanaian word Sankofa, a word picture loosely translated to mean “to go back and get it.”
When we speak of “The Village,” we talk about the collective nature of our past and a shared vision for our future. Many long for the idealized past of community support. I understand this longing, for I am a product of “The Village.” Growing up, I spent countless hours with cousins, aunts, and uncles at my grandma's house. My aunt had a ministry called Save Our Children. This ministry ranged from a community choir to a summer camp. It was located in the West End (35211) community on the western side of Birmingham. My aunt desired to create space for children to give them the village they would need to escape the challenges that life and community often throw our way.
I am grateful for groups like BlKNT seeking to help us navigate and heal our collective trauma. I appreciated the rawness and realness of the event. It honestly reflected the beauty and brokenness of our community. They are seeking their city's welfare amid what sometimes seems to be insurmountable obstacles. These native sons and daughters are fighting for the American Dream in America the violent.