A Declaration to the Church

I invite the church to build initiatives to help the community. I hope they are more aware of how their fear of me was the product of a church sanctioned tradition of sending the homeless and mentally ill away - those most in need of their care.

I also invite local communities to build more resources for this church, so that those who may not feel supported within the congregation can grow with someone beyond those walls to ask difficult, potentially shame-inducing questions, and know they will be received with love. There will be someone here that they can lean on.

I want to build a bridge that links every church with AntiRacist initiatives that bonds them more with their community.

—

THE ADVENTURE

A week and one day ago this nation celebrated its Independence. I had recently moved out of my North Hollywood home and travelled to Oxnard to distantly visit with family. Given the rising Covid-19 numbers and in concern for all of our health, they kindly put me up in the Residence Inn down the street. On the evening of the 4th of July, I was learning about the failed revolution of The Reconstruction era & how The Lost Cause of the Confederacy was designed to erase & negate the black experience by corrupting America’s educational system. I relearned all of this in a post-Floyd-Pandemic-world from my room as firework bombs burst in the air all across the privileged greenery of my hotel golf course.

The next day I drove back to LA to finalize some last minute planning in preparation for a camping trip into the wilderness. My chance to socially distance safely among the stars. A leaf on the wind of adventure. Since I’d moved out of my home, and since I was excited by the idea of adventure, I found creative spaces to sleep safely; at times hanging from rafters in the sway of my hammock, and at others napping in my car. A friend of mine described my bohemian choice to rough it in this way as “lipstick homelessness”. I knew this wasn’t the case, since I still had my car, my belongings, and friends or family I could call - I had a roof if I needed it - but in respect of the health of others in this pandemic, and a stubborn penchant for agency over my life, I chose to remain socially distant.

I slept in a hammock last Sunday & Monday night. By day I would run errands, rearrange my car, and research which national parks I would like to revel in while in the wilderness. I had a mind to continue in this research when I chose to enter the lawn of St. Paul First Lutheran church.

DIG INTO THE PAST

Many of you have seen and read what occurred there. Before I revisit that experience, I must first give you some perspective of who I am & where I’m from. I am a child born of my parent’s trauma. Their trauma - my body processes that too. I don’t mean this metaphorically. I am quite sincere. I may not have been there for the occurrence of their pain. But science proves that the epigenetic effects causes my body to metabolize their trauma as if it happened to me. The effects of this goes back for generations. Their trauma is my trauma. I wouldn’t be me without them. These gifts my ancestors gave me are among many.

As you know within a week my entire online persona has been scrutinized. My world laid bare at your feet. Irrevocably exposed. Still I know that you do not know me. So please listen further as I give you more perspective;

As I said; I am born of my parents trauma. The trauma that they lived, as well as the trauma of my own experience. I lost both of my parents twice over the course of my life, the first by unfortunate circumstances and the second by death. I lost my mother for the first time due to a neurological disease, Multiple Sclerosis. All my life I’ve been armed with stories of her rebellious avant garde creativity, her stubborn righteous tenacity, and her willingness to question further into things she did not understand. I never had the opportunity to know that woman. The mother I knew was bedridden, and I watched her stay that way for over 20 yrs as her muscles atrophied and she repeatedly forgot who I was. I was never to know her in any healthy fully-lucid state for the remainder of her life. When it comes to a sense of ‘mother’ I am untethered. She was relatively healthy when I was 4yrs and my parents began their contentious divorce, but she declined very quickly and was relegated to a wheelchair within months.

I was placed in the care of my only healthy parent, and with my luck, my father was a determined man already on his path to change the world. He was my Dr. Dad & I clung to him at home, but when when we left the house I knew to stand on my own and witness my father, the Foreign Service diplomat, as he refused to let his blackness diminish the possibilities of his brilliant mind. This is how I first lost my father, in sacrifice to his mission to help the world. I also witnessed him suffer Imperialist and American white supremacy as he represented this nation abroad. White men that he worked with, remarking on my hair, would laugh

(presumably joking) with my father as he said that I looked like a lil plantation picaninny - a child slave. This is a term he used for a 5yr old. My father fumed with me privately explicating all the things that were wrong with that assertion. That was the beginning of my education in what it means to be Black in this world. My father lost law suits in which he deserved racial justice, & yet he valiantly continued to serve our country as Charge d’Affairs in impoverished nations, undeniably leaving the world a better place for Someone, Somewhere. He charged forward knowing that in the future there was a place for him. He deserved the right to be an Ambassador, he was supremely qualified, yet it was a title that was denied him and forced him into premature retirement. That weighed on him. The financial loss at his late stage in life, with four children and a wife that needed him was a circumstance that weighed on him. Pile on top of that the weathering of his lifetime of trauma & it all culminated in his death at the age of 64. He passed away a little over a year and a half ago. That was my second chance to lose my father. Both of my parents were the epitome of black excellence; along with their trauma, I was blessed to inherit that too. My black excellence manifests as hyper vigilance.

Hyper vigilant intellectualization of a problem. I fixate on my traumas desperately fighting for a way to excise those demons.

By virtue of my father I have travelled the world. Traveling with the privilege of being an American abroad. In the US I may be a minority but abroad we lived in countries where the majority of the population was black skinned bodies like me. Yet still, they were oppressed by an Imperialist white supremacist system. Even abroad I saw white systems of authority languishing and profiting with hands in pockets and knees on necks . I know the struggle toward truth and reconciliation is long, but I’ve lived in countries where they knew this was the path to their salvation. And I gotta tell ya at this point, mid pandemic, and in light of my newfound trauma this week; I will not abide by these abuses in America.

There needs to be a reformation of the systems of authority in this nation.

DIG DEEPER

It begins with an investigation into whiteness. The why and the how of it. The underlying reason behind the choices that are made. Only after an honest investigation into whiteness will we be able to build context into the black American experience to accurately recall the memory of this nation. We have to study our mutual history in order to reclaim our memories. This nation suffers from traumas so deeply ingrained that all our fears keep us from investigating & discovering our truth. We can not see who & what we are because we are blocking out the memories of this nation. We flee from the truth. That is a manifestation of our trauma. A lost and disjointed autobiographical narrative is a concept I am very familiar with as a result of my own childhood trauma.

I share all this because no one on Tuesday could possibly have known any of this about me when I was instructed to leave the lawn of St. Paul First Lutheran church. Sometimes our traumas are too dense to share upon meeting. There needs to be trust first. We could have built that if they had challenged their fear, approached me kindly, and asked me to leave. Instead they gambled on my life allowing their fear to bolster their continued comfort. They left me in that grass abused and alone. They were so afraid of me they did not even know what they did. Only by the grace of my friends, sent there by the panicked requests of my far away aunt, did I walk away from that place alive - because in that circumstance, after recognizing racial injustices and dispelling them as my father had taught me, I was planning to righteously & tenacious remain like my mother would, content to sit there and wait for death under the knee of authorities that primarily defend white bodies. When all along, we could have sat together, said hello, & built trust.

AFTERMATH - FOR YOU

That night I went back to my hammock. Alone and dreading the oncoming virality as I watched my trauma released into the world. I slept 2hrs that night.

On Wednesday morning, I drove to a park and napped in my car before acknowledging the value of returning to the place of my abuse, this time among friends and allies, for the chance to speak to the leadership of the institution that abused me. I came with love and high hopes sitting in a room filled with stained glass windows which honored mostly men and none of which looked like me. After our discussion, I left there optimistic at the possibility for change. I know love is a verb and AntiRacist changes over time will show the depth of their Love for me and other black bodies. On this occasion, the day after my undignified abuse on a church lawn, was also my introduction to the media, and the beginning of my continual repetition of my traumatic story. I see the value at this opportunity to speak. So I claim that sacrifice in the name of justice.

By Wednesday night I knew better. I couldn’t weather another night of virality alone in my hammock. Not now that TMZ and reddit, Ice T & the evening news, and my friends, and family began to call; sharing their love, expressing their concern. There were too many interactions and appointments, so I let that draw me away from my grief. It gave me something to fixate on. Luckily I had friends who could offer me refuge in their guest room. I felt driven navigating the newest dumpster fire this nation had thrown at me. That night I maybe slept 4hrs.

By Thursday night I could tell that my trauma and fatigue was manifesting in my frazzled nerves as my autonomic systems began to shut down. I’d shake & suppress the bodily request to lose control. That night I Slept 2hrs.

Friday morning my breath was insistently shallow, and I felt a bodily buzz that truly feels like the precursor of losing control. I spent the morning chanting “I’m ok, I’m ok. Breathe through this Alex, it’s ok” and then I’d shake some more paranoid of flipping the epigenetic switch that would gift me with the trauma of my mother’s multiple sclerosis. Friday was the onset of exhaustion for me, still I had a photo shoot with the LA Times and a decompression meeting with a friend. Both interactions were located across the street from the church of my abuse that still haunts me. That was the first day this week that I finally cried. I hope to not to be defined by this abuse but I acknowledge that it is a part of me forever.

A BEGINNING

Friday did end with some victories. After the discussion with the leaders of the church on Wednesday, the President of the Wisconsin Synod released a written statement acknowledging my experience, albeit erasing the severity of my pain, and acknowledging the existence of racism within the church.

"It is the position of WELS that racism in any form is not acceptable in the eyes of God or in the ministry of our synod.

Neither the actions of the congregation members nor the attitude they displayed is representative of what WELS or St. Paul’s First Lutheran Church and School teach or practice. We are very sorry for what happened and apologize for any pain or hurt this incident caused to the woman and to others.

WELS will continue to proclaim the saving truth of God’s Word and to foster a welcoming and loving atmosphere in our congregations and schools."

~WELS President Mark Schroeder

This reassures me, because to admit that racism, in any form, is unacceptable in the eyes of God, or in the ministry of their synod, is a bold acknowledgement of the virtues of AntiRacism. The Lutheran church doesn’t want to represent systems of oppression and their admission to racism suggests an awareness of the systemic ways it is used to oppress and dehumanize non white bodies. I found elation in my exhaustion.

I also learned that the Principal of the school continued to make valiant efforts to incorporate AntiRacist practices into the school & church, and I was pleased to discover that a book club was being formed within the congregation as a support system venturing into their AntiRacism education.

AFTERMATH II - FOR ME

Saturday I claimed for myself, because the exhaustion barely let me emerge from my bed. I finally called my therapist. I left only once, to record some voice over for a prior gig, & to recover these clothes I’m wearing from my storage unit. Everything else I had to wear was made for camping, & I wanted to wear something authentic to me while also showing respect for this church.

Today I woke up shaking as my body momentarily joined my mind fully. Uncontrollably, in revolt at my experience, I sobbed allowing my body the temporary pleasure of tear fueled catharsis. A chance for the trauma in my body to process in the way that it needed to. In the way that my hyper vigilance has denied because part of my traumad black excellence is an ability to compartmentalize. I remained hyper vigilant all week because I knew the value of being present for an event such as today. But the trauma scored in my body remains pent up even now. I must honor this new demon raging within me with loving words, the guidance of a skilled AntiRacist therapist, and the patience of time.

In reflection, Tuesday’s trauma remains, silently raging inside of me & it is demanding that I confront my newest demon. I must respect it with the time to talk it down from burning Everything like I want to in my rage. Please hear me when I say I owe my demon some time and some tea.

Do not look away from my experience. I have plans for the future for this nation. I have plans to save the soul of the church. I will need your help & organization to do it. It’s clear that we have a lot of work to do.

And there will be days when I have to walk away. I promise you that I’ll be back. All I can ask is that you return to fight as you also carve space for your own self care. Because I’m going to need the help of a healthy, emotionally intelligent army to help me carry the load.

The struggle is a long & painful one, but embrace it because salvation is always worth it. I’m so ready to live in an AntiRacist America, & I invite all of Christianity to join the struggle. Would you believe? I even dream of an AntiRacist world.

Join the Resistance because with me you can rest assured that in your dedicated fight against the tyranny of oppression you are fighting with the compassion that can reunite the world and finally heal the demons we have fled from for so long. You can join me with the confidence in knowing that of all the things on this earth worth fighting for, a future systemically structured around an education of AntiRacism is The future we ALL can believe in.

REMEMBER

"Those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it." However, we are a nation that is trapped by our fear to dig further into the trauma of our shared history. We do not, or refuse to remember our past, because it hurts. I know it hurts. We need to stop avoiding it or we will always cycle back to our systemic trauma that leaves black bodies dead in America due to the fear of apathetic and/or greedy systems of authority. Even here, "Fear is the mindkiller". You can’t think dynamically when you’re afraid. Parts of the brain shut down to simply focus on survival. Fight or flight. That is what forces us to run from the truth. So, believe me when I say that I understand. This work is hard. I’ve run from my traumas too, but I’ve also learned that no matter where you go, those traumas are the demons here on earth that will find you.

So I’ve learned to fight. I’ve learned to confront my fears & question them as I talk about my myriad of traumas. You should learn to healthily talk about your trauma too. White people, you have a history built on trauma worth exploring. It is your fear and your trauma that makes it so simple to dehumanize another and cavalierly take away their life as you post a sign, make the call, and walk away. Your fear kept you from thinking. Because if you hadn’t run from fear you would have discovered that I am simply a person. And your “Welcome” could have actually been sincere. "Fear is the mindkiller" Don’t let it rule you. Process your trauma, so you can reclaim your voice and arm yourself with the ability to authentically & compassionately speak through your Rage.

It is not a condemnation on your soul for someone to identify parts of you that unconsciously reveals your racism, on the contrary it’s an opportunity to salvage your soul. To self asses, come to terms, and learn how to exist more lovingly within your community. Do not hide from the word racist. It is literally the word that can show you a path to your better self.

Apply what you learn from your AntiRacism education to all systems, institutions, businesses, and governing bodies. Don’t be satisfied with performative diversity initiatives. The path toward equality requires you to be thorough. We need black bodies in positions of power, and we need to restructure systems to purge them of their default white supremacist tendencies. I’m here for the work if you are too.

STOP THE CYCLE

In reflection of my work this past week;

It has been a week in continual repetition of Trauma as I vigilantly suppress my emotions in order to speak with the press. It was my will to do so. I believe you needed to know. The event in the grass triggered a reemergence of a cyclical and historical trauma that the black community as a whole experiences with every new black body wrongfully murdered due to white authoritarianism and white fear. This week I watched my family, triggered by my experience, cycle through their trauma as they remembered their moments of oppression. They all had to talk down their demons who were raging in suffering at the injustices of their existence simply for being born Black in this country. It is a cyclical trauma so deeply ingrained that the negative effects of it are then gifted to the children of each subsequent generation. Along with the chains and the blood and the whips and the water, the successes & the trauma of all of our ancestors exists in us, within our DNA. It is our responsibility to excise their demons. Those who let their fear rule them are Lost as they flee from the joy & privilege of a healthy state of mind.

So when I tell you I was planning to go camping, I wanted to venture into the wilderness, for a chance to commune with my demons, ground my feet with the earth, and welcome them to sit with me for tea. Because I know they will follow me wherever I go until I speak with them. In the company of my demons, do I speak of my trauma, and by processing my hurt I journey closer to being whole.

Running from the problem exacerbates it. It forces us all to live, suffering in avoidance of the knee on the neck of America. And I will not abide. Neither should you. It’s abuse. And no one deserves that.

On Sat I finally spoke to my therapist. I was drained, devoid of feeling, and revealed that I was the woman in the church grass. She admitted that she did not know it was me. This was a week when my black bodied therapist chose to shield herself from social media as part of her own self care - but the moment I mentioned it, she knew exactly the abuse that I was referencing.

My trauma is her trauma. It’s the trauma of this nation.

MY TRAUMA ROBBED ME OF

The compounding trauma of my adverse childhood experiences caused me to lose the luxury of humor. I lost the appreciation for music. I stopped painting. I lost trust. I couldn’t laugh or create and never dreamed. My possibilities deferred. I’d simply stop at night then emerge the next day drawing a blank from all of my sleeping hours grasping at my dreams, the same way I drew a blank from my memories grasping at the emotional details of my past. I had no grip on my life story. Not until a pandemic did I have a chance to fully address the loss of my ancestors, my parents, and my last living grandmother.

“But Alex! I feel like you’ve done and achieved so much over your career.”

Yes, but I need you to know that that was an incomplete & sick version of me. I was psychologically ill with trauma. I couldn’t create or dream, or build new ideas as I battled the trauma in my head. It would leave me talented and able; so I could book work under the direction of others, & emote the trauma from within, but I could not create a narrative around my autobiography because I would always draw a blank. My trauma robbed me of my memories & my creativity. I had no bandwidth for structure or chronology. No grounded perspective. No heart for Art of my own. The trauma was ever processing. Which is why I was oddly grateful for a pandemic. For the mandated chance to slow down, get out of the rat race, throw money at my therapist, & get into deep difficult conversations with my demons; by trauma made manifest.

I healed so much & reclaimed parts of my soul right on time for this nation to throw a new gauntlet of cultural trauma at me. So as the world watched George Floyd breathe his last breath, I was well acquainted with my trauma and able to voice the ABUSES that this nation has remained complicit & complacent in. I watched myself as I cycled into my trauma, furious at the injustice of experiencing it at all. I knew it was abuse. This country abuses women, minorities, immigrants, children and white people of lower status. It abuses gender bent identities and people across the spectrum of sexuality. That is how this country thrives. On the traumatized souls of the oppressed. And I know with great certainty that we don’t have to live this way. But more than anything it is those who benefit from this nation’s systemic bounty that needs to do the work. Understand why you have the wealth that you have. Truly analyze the cost of your comfort. I always question the motives of the rich. They are the ones that easily lie to themselves believing they have something to lose by offering their kindness to others. That’s their fear fooling them, when really there is no scarcity in the world - all they’ve gotta do is sit and converse with their demons about the racist-presenting ways they conduct themselves in the world. Racism exists on a spectrum and the needle to shift toward the happy world of AntiRacism is in your control. It’s really only a conversation, so please don’t let fear drive you from it.

AND NOW

We can thank the tenacity of my mother, and the diplomacy of my father at this chance to grow more aware of our church institutions. Christianity must embrace reformation as it acknowledges the oppressed people it claims to serve. The church, like every other institution, must incorporate AntiRacism education and make it widely accessible to those newly awakened allies who want to know what it truly means to give back to their community, and learn to love the people who sit on their lawn.

They met a lipstick homeless artist, planning a camping adventure, and they leveraged their fear to threaten her life. I can’t help but think on the three individuals who feared and thought not on the implications of what they’d done to me. I’d love to connect with them in discussion of our trauma. I think it could heal all of us. I understand if they need some time - but know that I am willing. This is an invitation to rebuild trust;

But over time, you’ve gotta do the work.

Everyone needs to talk about their pain, speak through the trauma, & graciously listen to the pain of others. Learn to do this with patience & love. Learn to converse difficult concepts with compassion. You are not the only one that needs to speak on your trauma. And it will be hard. It’s hard to speak through the pain, but in the end it will be so worth it.

INSTITUTION REFORM

All institutions are long overdue for a system wide reset. And this pandemic is the appropriate time to do just that. As America goes back into quarantine, as it should, every institution, especially the church, needs to reboot itself in favor of the world we are currently living in. The oppressed, patriarchal white supremacist hegemony that continually rears it’s selfish head.

Every trauma manifested by racial injustice is a demon that needs to be excised from the soul of this nation. You can’t process your trauma unless you talk about it. So learn to weather the storm - with time you’ll learn to smile through it, because a nation that remembers where it came from will be so much more rewarding for all of us. Give your trauma a voice, educate yourself on the glories that AntiRacism can gift us, and work together so we can save the Soul of America.

To distant aunts, friends, & strangers; thank you for saving me from my stubbornness.

To my family; from the members still living who picked cotton share cropping the fields of Georgia to the babies, now proven survivors for being born into a pandemic. To the ancestors slung from my neck whose trauma and love I ferociously carry with pride. To the Allies whose conviction & dedication to the moral good continually astounds me. To the Allies whom I’ve never met, valiantly speaking in defense of my life. To the Allies who know that the key to saving black lives is truly at the heart of saving the white soul…thank you. I am earth shatteringly grateful that you are here with me to fight. I look forward to the future that we build together in the New Promised Land of AntiRacism.

Go forth and preach that gospel.

So please listen, love, and pay attention to the black voices who’ve been here all along. And above all else invest in the nation’s education of our true history as we build a better world built in the Love of AntiRacism.

Today taught me that we can do it. A veritable army of allies heard my call and arrived in droves willing to protect me with their bodies. This is the mentality that we need. This is the activation that black bodies need. In neighborhoods, in communities, in businesses, in churches and across the country. Ultimately across the world. Defend against tyranny with your bodies. Do it even when the black body is one you don’t know.

Not only do I need an ally, but I also need a soldier.

I need people willing to pay dire prices in the fight against racial injustice.

So make some time for your demons & learn to speak through your rage to compassionately convert more allies to the cause. Listen to and honor the pain of their stories, share your own, and get them registered to vote. Because this next election will make or break America.

Otherwise, a fascist patriarchal white supremacist regime awaits us all. And who’s got time for that?

Go forth and preach the Love of an AntiRacist America.

~Alex Marshall-Brown