Dear fellow white people, I think you should go see Black Panther

After a great deal of anticipation, Black Panther came out this week. This Marvel film that tells the story of the superhero, Black Panther, with a predominantly black cast has broken records as the highest grossing film with an African American director. I had the pleasure of seeing this movie recently, and I have a few suggestions for fellow white people.

1. Do not be outraged if black friends and neighbors celebrate this movie. Try to imagine how you would feel if it was hard for you to find a movie that represents your culture, features actors and actresses who share your ethnic heritage in important and heroic and genius roles as valued people, and does not portray people who look like you in a negative light. That's probably hard for you to imagine, considering that approximately 73% of characters with speaking roles in movies made from 2007 to 2015 are white according to a study done by the University of Southern California.

We see our own lives and identities and beliefs and cultures and realities reflected on the big screen all the time. But that is not true for our African American neighbors and friends and colleagues. Black lives and black identities are not reflected on the big screen with dignity nearly as often as white lives are. So, don't get upset that this movie is being celebrated. Don't complain that people are dressing up. Don't accuse the movie - or the people celebrating it - of being racist.

But Hannah, I don't dress up for movies just because they have a majority white cast. I don't attend movies just because the actors and actresses look like me. I don't celebrate movies just because I am represented in them.

I know. Because if you did, you would have to go to the movies every single day, dressed up and celebrating your representation.

But it would be different if there were very very few movies that represent you and give your sons and daughters heroes that look like what they see in the mirror. When a movie does come out that represents an under-represented group of people, that movie should be celebrated.

2. Go see the movie. Really really, go see it. You will not find people who look like you saving the day in this movie.

Why should we go to to this movie then? If it doesn't represent us, shouldn't we avoid it?

No.

Not at all.

We are not suffering from a lack of representation. In the same way that black people should see this movie because it represents them, white people should see it because it does not. The difference here is that white people have long been represented in Hollywood while black representation has been minimal.

What happens to us when we see movie after movie of white heroes and white people in the spotlight? How does this subconsciously effect the way we see ourselves and people of color around us? Is it possible that after seeing hundreds of movies featuring people who look like us, we have assumed that the real life everyday heroes and geniuses must also look like us? Does the constant stream of white-washed movies that we consume negatively, and often subconsciously, affect our ability to see people of color as image bearers of God? Could it be that when we get used to seeing black actors and actresses play minor roles or dangerous or weak characters, we automatically assign those negative characteristics to our African American neighbors? Would seeing black actors and actresses saving lives and being heroes on the big screen help us to see our African American neighbors as the valuable and beautiful people that they are? Is there any chance that putting the spotlight on more people who do not look like us would eventually help us to have a more healthy and realistic view of ourselves instead of seeing ourselves as the pinnacle of mankind? If our children grow up seeing black actors and actresses on the big screen portraying dignified roles as leaders of a beautiful, powerful, and uncolonized nation, is it possible that they will be able to see more clearly through the lies of white supremacy (lies that we have held so tightly to in order to preserve our control) and work harder to dismantle it?

But Hannah, this seems a little bit unfair. I feel like you are blaming me for something that is not my fault. I mean, I have no control over Hollywood. I did not choose to have all of these movies feature white people. I cannot be held responsible for the decisions of Hollywood. None of this has anything to do with me. 

I know. You did not ask for this. But you have it anyway. Being able to make an arbitrary choice on Netflix and be pretty well certain that your race will be fairly represented in the movie is a freedom reserved only for white people and therefore part of white privilege. Maybe you never asked for this, but cannot get rid of it. And you can recognize white privilege for what it is and make a conscious decision to seek out opportunities to watch films that put the spotlight on people who do not look like you. This is one of those opportunities.

There are no white heroes in Black Panther (but there is a white man who learns a lot from black women). And that's why we need to see it.

3. Don't forget that the God-Man from Nazareth did not have blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. Christ is preeminent, and He is not white. This does not demonize whiteness, but it should adjust our perspective and cause us to question anything that suggests to us that whiteness is superior.

Do we believe that we are all one in Christ? (Galatians 3:28) Do we believe that Christ's sacrifice on the cross has not only broken the dividing wall of hostility between us and God, but also the dividing wall of hostility between every nation and tribe and people and tongue, all of whom will be represented for eternity in heaven as the bride of Christ, worshiping at the throne forever? (Ephesians 2:14, Revelation 7:9)

Is not our Jesus the one who saw and respected and listened to and valued and loved a disreputable Samaritan woman? (John 4) When we recall this, two things should happen in our hearts. First, we should be prompted to see the people around us who might be different from us, our Samaritans, with the same value that Christ saw in the Samaritan woman. And after we grasp that, we need to take one giant step back and stop relating to this story as if we are Jesus and the Samaritan woman is our neighbor, colleague, or friend from another culture. Jesus is Jesus and we are the Samaritan woman. We are the outsiders that were granted grace. We are the disreputable that were headed to eternal destruction. We are the totally depraved who have been adopted as sons and daughters. When we see ourselves in the Samaritan woman, we can no longer justify our supremacy.

In recognizing our position as recipients of grace unmeasured, let us assume a posture of humility as we look to those around us. Instead of allowing a white-washed Hollywood to inform our theories about our neighbors, may we look to Christ. When encountered with lies about our neighbors, may we respond with gospel truth that confirms and celebrate the image of God in our neighbors.

4. Use the momentum from this movie to ask hard questions, give honest answers, and push forward. Eventually, another movie is going to come out that captures the attention of the media and Black Panther will fade from the headlines. But as this movie becomes a historical moment rooted in February of 2018, continue to forge ahead and question your privilege.

In what other parts of your life does your whiteness give you an advantage, an excuse, a safety net? What other pieces of privilege can you recognize? How has the systemic racism in our society benefited you?

But I'm not racist, Hannah. I'm not racist. You're mistaking me for someone else; I am not racist.

I know. I'm not accusing you of being racist. I'm accusing us of living in a system that is inherently racist, benefiting from this system, and not doing anything about it. (And, actually... that might make us racist.)

I am not naive enough to believe that Black Panther can single handedly dismantle white supremacy and strip white privilege in America. The damage is to great for a box office hit to repair, but let's not miss this opportunity take a swing at these oppressive structures and continue to disable them, piece by piece.

How a thermal fuse and Corrie ten Boom are teaching me to value the voices of women

"It is the thermal fuse," Phil explained to me as he handed me a small part that he had replaced. Phil is the very knowledgeable and helpful home appliance service technician who came to my home not long ago to examine my broken dryer.

Phil pointed out to me that my dryer vent slowly narrows as it nears the wall and carefully explained that this could have caused the thermal fuse malfunction. He expressed concern that this could cause the new fuse break soon.

"If he has had to replace the thermal fuse before within the past year, I'd get this ventilation replaced," Phil concluded.

Huh?

If he has had to replace the thermal fuse before within the past year, I'd get this ventilation replaced.

I don't remember what Phil said next. I think I might have nodded and signed the paper that he slid my way. But I was stuck on that one word.

He?

Who is he? Where is he? What's his name? Is there a man hiding in my house that I don't know about? If so, what does he have to do with my dryer? Or perhaps Phil has the habit of personifying home appliances and assigning genders to them, and thus the word he actually refers to the dryer itself? Because, really, who else could Phil possibly be talking about? I live by myself, I called the company to request a technician by myself, I opened the door when Phil arrived by myself, I showed Phil the dryer and explained that my clothes were still wet after each cycle by myself, and I paid for the service by myself. There was no he involved.

After Phil left, I sat down. I couldn't shrug off that one little word. It stayed with me as I asked myself why I felt so irked. It was just one little two letter word, right? No big deal.

But I knew why it irked me.

Phil said, "If he has had to replace the thermal fuse before within the past year, I'd get this ventilation replaced," but that is not what I heard. What I heard went something like this:"There must be a guy somewhere who helps make decisions for this little lady. It is highly unlikely and would be borderline absurd to believe that she is actually surviving on her own. Whoever this guy is, she should probably talk to him about whether or not he has had to deal with this before."

Why did he assume that there must be a man involved in this situation? Why was it unreasonable for me to be the person in charge? Was he assuming that I must have a man taking care of regular wear and tear of my household appliances? Apparently being a woman makes me incapable of handling my dryer? Would it have really been that difficult for him to say you instead?

Why did that word flow out of his mouth so naturally? What is in him that made that comment instinctive?

I spent a few days pondering this from time to time, mildly annoyed and not without pride as I concluded that Phil has much to learn about women.

But shortly thereafter, my mild annoyance and pride melted into something closer to humility, perhaps mixed with some remorse and embarrassment. My palm nearing my face, I realized that Phil and I are actually in the same boat.

You see, while reading a book, I became aware that Corrie ten Boom is a woman.

I put the book down and picked up my phone. Google can settle this, I figured. And it did. Google confirmed to me, without a doubt, that Corrie ten Boom is a woman.

Corrie ten Boom lived on this earth from 1892 to 1983. I know her name. I have heard her quoted in sermons. I have seen her name under the quotes on the screens. But I thought she was a man. Not that I have spent any amount of time contemplating Corrie ten Boom's gender... I never had to contemplate it. It was obvious, I thought. Corrie had to be a man.

I know a few people with a name pronounced the same as Corrie ten Boom. I know Kori, she's a woman. And Corey, he's a man. And I always assumed Corrie was a man, not because of the spelling of the name, but because of the context in which I heard it. I didn't know anything about Corrie except that I have heard pastors cite Corrie's profound and deeply theological words in sermons.

My face now fully buried in my palms, I became aware of a blind spot that I didn't know I had. Being a woman myself, I never before considered that my own view of women could be skewed. Why has theological wisdom and the ability to be quoted in a sermon automatically indicated maleness to me? Is there anything in the Bible that suggests that ability to clearly express theological truth is assigned by gender? What lies have I internalized that make me assume that any profound expression of knowledge of God must come from a man? In what ways does my view of women fall short of Christ's model of honoring, hearing, trusting, and celebrating women? Do I hold a man's testimony of truth to be more valid than that of a woman? Why do I do this?

The incident with Phil is one of very few extremely minor incidents that have happened to me, so please don't interpret this post as a woman blowing a small incident out of proportion and using it as an excuse to point an accusatory finger at all men everywhere for imposing oppressive systems upon us females. Rather, this is me recognizing some ingrained misogyny in my own heart and challenging myself and the church to do more to make female voices heard, respected, and valued. I have been both a product of and a participant in a broken system that has silenced women's voices and oppressed women around the world - a participant because I myself have not seen women as Christ sees women nor sought to educate myself about women and hear the stories that are not being told, and a product because the last 28 years of sermons given by men containing references to countless respected men of faith (and the occasional Corrie ten Boom quote) has indirectly taught me to value a man's words over those of a woman.

I do not believe that the lack of references to women of faith is always due to the pastor's belief that women are inferior. I imagine that finding the voices of women of faith takes a bit more digging than finding a man's voice as women have long been left out of important conversations inside and outside of the church. As the church, let us magnify these female voices that we do have, work to uncover the voices that have been lost, and invite more voices to share more stories so that future generations won't have such a hard time finding female voices to learn from.

My blind spot is not gone. It's still there. But I'm grateful that I know it's there. I suppose that is progress. Being aware of a blind spot at least allows me to begin to ask more questions and slowly uncover what I have been unable to see. How do I plan on doing that? One way I have begun is by reading books written by or about women of the faith. Because one way to oppose lies about the inability or inferiority of women is by learning from and about women whose lives defy the lies. So I have started with Corrie ten Boom. After that comes Fannie Lou Hamer. And after that, well, women who look like me and women who don't, women from various countries and cultures and traditions, all whose lives expose the lies that many of us have come to believe. Send your recommendations my way. I want to hear the voices of women, because all of their voices have been muffled, some more than others. While men's voices have drowned out those of women, white women's voices have drowned out the voices of women of color. But I want to hear what these voices have to say.

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A note about Corrie ten Boom: Corrie ten Boom became the first female watchmaker in the Netherlands in 1922. After that, Corrie and her family helped approximately 800 Jewish people escape the Nazi Holocaust. Motivated by Christ's work on their behalf, she and her family created a secret room in their home to hide up to 6 people at a time. As a leader in the Dutch resistance movement, Corrie oversaw the network of safe houses across the country. She and her entire family were arrested in 1944 and she spent almost a year in a concentration camp before being released. During her time in the concentration camp, she and her sister held worship services with the other female prisoners. After the war, she set up a rehabilitation center for concentration camp survivors and wrote multiple books.

This is Corrie ten Boom.

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A note to Phil: Thank you for fixing my dryer. I suppose I made a lot of assumptions about you in this post. It possible that in using the pronoun he, you could have possibly been referring to the unknown and therefore unnamed and conceivably male home appliance service technician who would have been the last person to work on my dyer. If that is the case, Phil, I misunderstood you and I am sorry.