I am the pastor of a historic African-American church in Circleville, built in response to slavery. The church was founded in 1856 by a African who escaped oppression and instead of running to Canada, planted a church in Ohio. At one time our church sheltered thousands of runaway slaves and served as a crucial stop in the Underground Railroad. Our church also fought for voting rights for African Americans in the city. I preach every week in the building where Black people drafted legislation that went to the Senate and the House of Representatives forcing then president Ulysses S. Grant to pass the Enforcement Act of 1870. The act imposed criminal penalties upon those who would interfere with the African American right to vote. I serve in a place with a very deep and rich history. However, this beautiful past is often at war with the burden of the present.
Just last fall, the current president staged a massive rally in Circleville as part of his re-election campaign, minutes away from our church. The rally was filled with ignorance and hate. The rhetoric was connected to the politics and platform of fear that he attempted to manipulate into a second term. I grieved as I was again reminded of where we remain as a country, and how much further we have to go as a democracy.
I had the same feeling last week, as the nation’s Capitol was attacked by a violent mob of agitators, the majority of whom were white. They scaled walls, ran through chambers, stood on tables, ripped through doors, and shattered glass. This was a riot to say the least, and an act of domestic terrorism by all accounts. I groaned inwardly as I witnessed yet another reminder of where we still are as a country.
While this was taking place in D.C., the recent police killings of Casey Goodson, Jr. and Andre Hill right here in Columbus, Ohio have left many of us to wrestle with understanding this moment. Some see the Capitol riot as an act of deep patriotism; others see it as a perversion of our constitutional rights, motivated by white supremacy (I fall into that group, by the way).
Regardless of where you may fall in your perception of the matter, one thing can certainly be agreed upon: We are a nation broken at the soul and at war with ourselves. Whether it is police- perpetrated loss of Black life in Columbus, voter intimidation in Georgia, or an attempt to hold democracy hostage in D.C., the common thread is the lack of accountability. It is lack of accountability that damages a democracy. The absence of accountability in a democracy ultimately results in anarchy.
The truth is when Black Lives Matter activists staged peaceful protests in D.C. last summer, five times as many of them were arrested compared with the violent white vigilantes who were taken into custody after Jan. 6. This is yet another regrettable reminder of the racism from which America has to move forward. If the soul of America is indeed broken, then the social construct of racism is responsible for the break.
What do we do with this moment? How do we move forward?
If we are to move forward from this place, if we are to heal the broken soul of America, then we have to be blatantly honest about what fuels the function of what we see. We can no longer allow words and phrases like racism, white privilege and anti-Blackness to be disqualifiers for dialogue. We cannot be so afraid to trigger the insecurity in others that we are not truthful about the trials we face.
We must also find the resolve to demand real democracy from our leaders. In 1857, Frederick Douglass gave a speech in which he proclaimed that “[P]ower concedes nothing without a demand.” Our response to this moment must not be rooted in partisanship. Even as we stare squarely into the ugliness of this moment, with tears in our eyes and uncertainty in our hearts, our response must be to demand accountability.
We must demand that violent white protesters be arrested at the same rate as non-violent Black ones. We must demand that officers found to be in the wrong be indicted in the name of what’s right. We must demand better from those whom we elect and those who are supposed to protect our communities.
We must not give into the rhetoric that says a demand for accountability is favoritism in disguise. A demand for accountability is not settling for anything less than what America is supposed to be for everyone. A demand for accountability is a demand for democracy.
