How is it that one of those who helped author the United States constitution had slaves? In the text, enlightened words express laudable thoughts from considered men, yet, the women and men of Thomas Jefferson’s household did not experience equality. 

Since being here I have been shocked at the colour of poverty. Almost all of the faces that have served me in stores are a deeper shade than my own pale-Irish; almost all the faces I see wearing a congressional seal on their lapels are not. So far, every talented busker and every gracious beggar has had skin that is darker than mine. 

There is a clear and tragic connection between the hierarchy of Jefferson’s home and the pigment of hands held out on American streets. History dictates and structures perpetuate. Poverty here has a colour. But this truth was not endowed, it was created and continued by hands with a similar skin tone to my own. 

Lord, forgive us, we need new truths. 

Washington DC, 24 June 2018

…

The words above were written almost two years ago during a summer that I was privileged to spend working in a congressional office in Washington DC. 

Privileged. 

I was then, I am now, privileged. 

Watching scenes of tragedy and turmoil unfold on the streets of America these last few days, I have felt angry and helpless. Just as I did when I scrawled thoughts on a page two summers ago. 

Angry on behalf of grieving families, yes. Angry at systemic injustice, yes. Helpless at the extent of the need, yes. Helpless because of my distance from it, yes. This is all true, but first and foremost I was then and am now, angered by my own ignorance and helpless in the recognition of my inescapable privilege. Two summers ago, was the first time I realised that ignorance is too often the facilitator of injustice. 

We all have blind-spots. Things we accept as inevitable but that ought not to be. Things we consciously and unconsciously, choose not to see. Reading the news this week I was reminded, and convicted, that one of mine is racial inequality. I have sought to learn more, particular since my US experience, yet I am still largely ignorant of how racial disparity plays out in my own community. And the majority of my bookshelves and playlists are still filled with the names of pale-skinned creatives. 

Reading the news this week I was again angered by my ignorance on the issue of race, but also newly resolved to become educated. Reading the news this week I again felt helplessly bound by my inescapable white privilege, but also in some way hopeful because if I am part of the problem then I can also be part of the solution. 

It is a self-evident truth that none of us can escape our own contexts. I cannot know what it is like to be from a black or minority ethnic community. I cannot know what it is like to be from another nation or culture than my own. But this is a truth that necessitates us all to humble ourselves, to seek to understand and most importantly, to listen.