By Andy Brack, editor and publisher | Some of the most welcoming places I’ve ever been are Southern black churches on Sunday mornings — halls of worship filled with bright eyes, toothy smiles and genuine warmth.
They have been places where the bonds of close-knit communities seem tangible, where voices lift to shake rafters and where a spirit of togetherness provides palpable strength to those in the room.
But those visits were before the shootings at Emanuel AME Church, where worshippers welcomed a disturbed white man who soon turned his gun on them. Those visits were before shooting after shooting of blacks by authorities and a grisly shooting by a black man of five Dallas police officers. Those visits were before a recoil of hope that seems to be shrouding America and splitting it along racial lines.
A few weeks ago, I attended a service at a well-known black church in Jackson, Miss. Members in their Sunday best filled a modern sanctuary. A choir sang praise hymns, their joyful sounds punctuated by organ music and the crisp snap of a snare drum. The pastor gave a riveting, moving sermon. There were testimonials and announcements — all of the features typical of the service.
But in people’s eyes, you could see something different. It wasn’t fear, but it wasn’t the kind of welcome that I experienced years earlier. More than anything, these eyes looked tired — tired of struggles that continued years after civil rights victories. These eyes wondered about the two white guys sitting at the back of the church. The eyes reflected an apprehensiveness caught in side glances that were far from those of normal curiosity.
After the service, the minister greeted us with the same reserve. But after a brief discussion and mention of a couple of mutual friends, you could see a hint of the old warmth upon realization that we were “good guys,” not unknown threats.
In Barack Obama’s 2004 speech that launched him onto the world stage, the future president wondered whether the country would participate in the politics of cynicism or the politics of hope. He expanded the discussion in a 2006 book, “The Audacity of Hope.” which helped to propel a presidential campaign that by 2008 had some wondering whether America was entering a post-racial phase.
Now after too many shootings and too much violence, it’s obvious the country is retreating on race, not embracing it. A new poll in The New York Times highlights how 69 percent of Americans think race relations are generally bad. Six in 10 say racial divisions are getting worse, up from 38 percent just a year ago.
Is Obama’s politics of hope being replaced by the politics of cynicism? His politics of hope was fueled by the vestiges of the civil rights movement that was at its height as he was a boy. But the tough realities of today’s world, fueled by pervasive media, a Nixon-esque politics of fear and the country’s silence in confronting a past that sent a disproportionate share of minorities to prison, has changed expectations in political and social debate and interactions. Cynicism is on the rise.
I worry about an America where hope becomes timid, restrained, fearful.
I worry about an America where life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness is threatened by greed, America First isolationism and fear masked as patriotism.
I worry about an America in which presidential candidates talk about building walls and spend an inordinate amount of time trying to top the previous day’s insult.
I worry about an America that rejects deep policy debates for made-for-TV, simplistic soundbites.
I worry about an America that doesn’t seem to dream anymore.
We can do better. In fact, we must. Our forefathers demand it. Our children’s promising futures hang in the balance.
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We Can Do Better, South Carolina!