“WHEN LANGUAGE MATTERS FOR JUSTICE”

A Sermon by the Rev. Bruce Clear

Sunday, January 17, 2010

All Souls Unitarian Church

Indianapolis, Indiana

I belong to that category of people who find fascination in words – and who enjoy the sport of deconstructing them sometimes. How else could you explain a sermon I gave last Fall on the word “tolerance”? I have found in that word, I said then, something of the opposite of what most people mean by it. Without repeating the whole sermon, it seems to me that the common understanding of being tolerant is that of being open-minded and accepting of others who are different. And yet the word also carries a connotation of “allowing” or “permitting” something of lesser quality, like “tolerating” bad singing. It can have a condescending sense of putting up with things, or for that matter people, that are inferior in some way.

When we praise “tolerance,” it seems to me, what we are really wanting to praise is a sense of welcoming and celebrating the presence of differences in the world around us, not just “putting up” with them.

Deconstructing words is, as I say, a great sport. We try being careful in our language in part because we know words can offend – and we wish not to offend others intentionally or unintentionally. We avoid obvious racial slurs, but we also don’t want to contribute to insulting stereotypes. Such actions are often done without realizing it.

I am a born and bred Hoosier. I have also lived on the east coast and the west coast. More than once over those years living on the edges of the continent, I have had someone looked shocked when I say I’m a Hoosier. In a hushed tone, they whisper to me admitting that they always thought that word was an insult. They would never call someone a “Hoosier!” It is, they seem to think, a derogatory stereotype; it is like calling someone a “backwoods hick.”

When I tell them it doesn’t, and they ask what it means, I reply that no one knows for sure, and there are at least a half-dozen theories as to the origin of the word. I tell them people from Indiana find the word endearing. They don’t look convinced, and I’m sure they spend the rest of their lives still avoiding the use of the term.

Deconstructing words is great sport, don’t you think?

But when it comes to word that describe or stereotype others, it is a sport that can have damaging consequences.

Most people of my generation and before grew up being told that the words “man” or “men” or “mankind” were generic, referring to all human beings. We believed therefore, that when the U.S. Declaration of Independence proclaimed that “all men are created equal,” the words referred to men and women being equal. Today, we know better.

Some 15 years after that Declaration, the law that laid the foundation for this nation, the Constitution, was written. In that document it became obvious that “men” was in no way a generic term. In no ways were men and women “created equal” under the law. Not only did women have no right to vote, they were not counted as citizens. The only citizens of these United States were white men of European ancestry who happened to own property. No African Americans. No Native Americans. No women.

With that background, it feels to me a bit self-evident that the use of “men,” as in “all men created equal,” meant exactly what it said. Men, not women. One could argue that “in theory” the words referred to all people, but one cannot argue with the historical fact that it didn’t include all people – only a very narrow category of people.

Deconstructing words can be great sport, I know – but it also a sobering and sometimes dangerous one.

Words reinforce negative stereotypes, either intentionally or unintentionally. This was the lesson learned – and still being learned – about racial language. In my lifetime the words of respect to describe African Americans has gone through an evolution. When I was growing up, the most common word used was “colored.” I don’t need to explain why the changes happened, but they did. That word gave way to “Negro,” which gave way to Black American, which gave way to African American, or more broadly now, “people of color.”

Some white people resisted these transitions, thinking they were owed some kind of justification. My view is that the decision about respectful language comes not from me, but from the person affected. If I have a friend named “Thomas” who wants me to use that name rather than “Tom,” or someone who wants to be called “Suzanne” rather than Sue, I hope I respect their wishes without demanding some kind of explanation before I agree to do so. If someone tells me they are insulted if I call them “shorty,” it’s their call, not mine. And to continue to call them “shorty” would be an impudent and gratuitous act of verbal abuse on my part.

Our language can easily reinforce negative stereotypes. From the time of the Pilgrims, perhaps the most stereotyped segment of American society has been the Indians, the Native Americans. From sports mascots to cowboy stories, they are known to the rest of us primarily by caricature rather than personal experience.

Some words are just sloppy in their use. Some words are intentionally offensive, and others are unintentionally offensive. Some reinforce stereotypes consciously or unconsciously.

I’m not talking about what has come to be called “political correctness.” That phrase identifies words that are adopted or rejected for primarily political purposes. By that definition, the very phrase “political correctness” is itself political tool for shaping language.

There is nothing wrong with trying to make language respectful. What is rightly criticized is whenever certain language is either compelled or forbidden.

The act of putting political spin on language is a long-time game of both left and right politics. The Orwellian nature of political language is not when people are promoting respectful language, but rather when people are using words to mold public thought. For example, instead of using the word “torture,” calling it “enhanced interrogation techniques.” Or naming an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile system that can destroy all human civilization as “peacekeeper.” For a hundred years or more, our country has had an inheritance tax – that is, tax on unearned income above specified thousands of dollars. The inheritance tax has been largely uncontroversial until in recent years it has been renamed by some as a “death tax.” Suddenly it becomes government overstepping its bounds.

Language can shape our worldview – George Orwell’s insight will always be attached to those who try to use language as a political tool.

I’m not talking about political agenda. I’m talking about respect. I’m talking about using language to include in society, rather to exclude. I’m talking about finding ways of communicating that say each person has equal value as human beings, and all have a legitimate seat at the table of American society.

As a Unitarian Universalist minister, I have been honoring Martin Luther King Day observances, such as this weekend, for over 25 years. Often that has meant a sermon on Dr. King, celebrating his life and legacy. Today I am inclined to head down a somewhat different road, inspired by his work and passion.

Martin Luther King was the prophet of racial justice and civil rights in the United States. It is also true that he offered a vision even broader than that. His dream encompassed not just civil rights that have been denied African American citizens – his vision, like that of Nelson Mandela more recently, is universal, embracing all of humanity that has been excluded from the table of society.

The dream of racial justice is far from achieved – though it has progressed much beyond that which many imagined on that August day in 1963 when Dr. King gave voice to it. And in that voice, in his immortal words that still ring with true American aspiration, he saw that the vision of this nation must ever expand outward to include all who would be excluded.

There is a particular reason my thinking was drawn in this direction as I considered this day that honors the legacy of Dr. King, who has become our national symbol of aspiration toward a just society.

This Unitarian Universalist Association has been deliberating about re-structuring our view of non-discrimination clauses of its by-laws. It has become customary for the non-discrimination clauses to carry a laundry-list of categories that are not subject to discrimination. For example, the current by-laws of the UUA, similar to many such documents, cites this list of non-discrimination categories:

“The UUA affirms “to promote the full participation of persons . . . without regard to race, ethnicity, gender, disability, affectational or sexual orientation, age, language, citizenship, status, economic status, or national origin and without requiring adherence to any particular interpretation of religion or to any particular religious belief or creed.”

(Section C-2.3: “Non-discrimination”)

Some people are looking at that list and wondering whether the point of non-discrimination is broader and more positive. Rather than identifying what should not be the object of discrimination, should we be identifying our aspiration to affirm the inclusion of all. Rather than prohibiting “discrimination” against some, shouldn’t we assume non-discrimination to begin with, and declare our intent to promote, in the words of the proposed new language, “ever-widening circles of solidarity and mutual respect.”

The proposed new non-discrimination language presented by the UUA’s Commission on Appraisal recognizes that discrimination arises from long-standing systems of power, privilege, and oppression. It is those roots of discrimination that need addressing – not just the bandage of non-discrimination. Therefore the proposed new substitute language for what is now called the “non-discrimination” clause reads this way:

“Systems of power, privilege, and oppression have traditionally created barriers for persons and groups with particular identities, ages, abilities, and histories. We pledge to do all we can to replace such barriers with ever-widening circles of solidarity and mutual respect. We strive to be an association of congregations that truly welcome all persons and commit to structuring congregational and associational life in ways that empower and enhance everyone’s participation.”

(Proposed Section C-2-4: “Inclusion”)

I am not presenting this as a suggestion that All Souls begin a deliberation about this specific language. I would welcome that to happen, but my goal this morning is much broader. Today, I would like for us to consider the concept of “inclusion” as a goal somewhat distinct from non-discrimination.

I confess that I do like the key words in the language of the proposed section. I like the words affirming the “ever-widening circles of solidarity and mutual respect.” After all, isn’t “respect” the whole point of non-discrimination? Isn’t “respect” the anti-dote to all forms of oppression, whether racism, or sexism or homophobia?

Martin Luther King, Jr. set the standard – and it was a standard of a society of inclusion for those who are excluded. Not just legally or politically excluded, but inclusion of, and respect for, all who are not welcomed to the table of equality in America. When he articulated his dream, he spoke of a nation that welcomes equally, in his words,

“All God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics.”

And when we hear those words today, after a generation of learning how view justice in ever-widening circles of respect, we can see in Dr. King’s dream a vision of unboundaried inclusion: not just black men and white men, but men and women of all races:

ü The Native American who has survived two centuries of genocide, but continues to be an invisible part of American society.

ü The Latino immigrants who continue to be perceived as social orphans and interlopers in American life.

The dream of inclusion and respect also includes:

ü The gay or lesbian teen who feels an outsider and unacceptable, and who must choose between pride and integrity or shame before society.

ü The American who faces life with disabilities either physical or developmental, who by rights has equal claim to the American dream as anyone who doesn’t face such challenges.

Dr. King’s dream extended, he said, to “all God’s children . . . Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics.” And when we hear those words today, after learning to practice justice in ever-widening circles of respect, we must surely include:

ü The Muslim American who must deal daily with looks of fear, unspoken accusation, and whose claim to equal acceptance is not granted.

ü The American who embraces a different religious path, from Buddhism or Hinduism, to those who live by secular principles of ethical integrity.

It is sometimes difficult to understand just how to practice the task of ever-widening circles of respect and solidarity. We do know that our language, or words, play an important role toward inclusion and exclusion, as our words reinforce or challenge stereotyped belief.

It is found in the reading we read together from Sophia Lyon Fahs called “It Matters What We Believe”:

“Some beliefs are like walled gardens. They encourage exclusiveness, and the feeling of being especially privileged. Other beliefs are expansive and lead the way into wider and deeper sympathies. . . . Some beliefs are divisive, separating the saved from the unsaved, friends form enemies. Other beliefs are bonds in a world community, where sincere differences beautify the pattern.”

Reflecting on Dr. King’s great dream urges me to look out toward all ever-widening circles of solidarity and respect. We can hear his words, but we can also see his vision.

“When we let freedom ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all God’s children,” – all races, all genders, all religions – that is ALL God’s children – “will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

READING: Excerpts from

Martin Luther King’s Speech

“I Have A Dream”

At the Lincoln Memorial, Washington, D.C.

August 28, 1963

We have . . . come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges. . . .

Even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers. . . .

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,

From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

. . . And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

Free at last! Free at last!

                Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!