I’m sure you’ve heard by
now about the tragedy that occurred on Wednesday night in my hometown of
Charleston, SC. As the reactions poured out on social media, I became
increasingly uncomfortable as people entered an almost ritualistic process of
putting distance between themselves and the perpetrator, Dylann Roof.
I saw the same thing
happen when white police officer Michael Slager killed Walter Scott, a black
man, in North Charleston. Then I couldn’t quite put my finger on what made me
uncomfortable, but now I understand—my fellow South Carolinians are unwilling
to accept that we have created a culture where this sort of tragedy happens. We
make them out to be ‘one bad cop’ or ‘one troubled youth’ instead of sons of
South Carolina who really aren’t that different from us.
Take, for example, South
Carolina Governor Nikki Haley, who defiantly declared at a prayer vigil on
Thursday, “What happened in that church is not the people of South Carolina… We
are a state of faith, we are as state of prayer, we are a state of love.”
But I’d like to take a
moment to say in fact, Governor Haley, we are a state that raised a white
supremacist that entered the prayer service of an historic black church and
murdered nine black people.
Most people immediately
proclaimed how different this killer was from them, but as I took in the story,
I was struck by how much we have in common. I fit the initial description
released by the police: “white male, early 20s, clean shaven, slight build.” (I
think I have a better haircut than Dylann, but I’ll let you decide.)
Kind of a strange
reaction, right? Of all South Carolinians that look like Dylann and me, I
probably have the most right to distance myself from him. I completed high
school. I went away to a fancy, liberal college. I moved to Philadelphia
(Yankee territory!). I’m a member of a black church. I live in a black
neighborhood and work at an organization that serves a largely poor black
community.
Indeed, there is great
distance between the path that Dylann took and the one I’ve followed. But
still, I couldn’t help but feel like we weren’t all that different.
For starters, Dylann and I
were educated according to the same state standards, which include SC history. I
love history, so I soaked it in. I would have remembered if we ever learned
about the black freedom struggle in South Carolina, for instance about the Denmark
Vesey slave revolt and the burning of Mother Emanuel AME Church. It wasn’t
until college that I had the opportunity to explore the South Carolina Civil
Rights movement. Black history wasn’t taught in my SC classrooms.
And I grew up
misunderstanding black culture that was all around me. Each week we drove past
an AME church on the way to our (almost exclusively white) church. And every so
often I would say, “I just don’t understand their name. How can you be
Methodist and Episcopal?” Dylann Roof
would probably have agreed when I rolled my eyes at such an ignorant name that
only black people would come up with. (If you know the history of the AME Church, you recognize
the irony of my thinking.[1])
And finally, I confess
that as a kid I was kind of obsessed with Confederate war history. I had books
about Confederate history, a replica CSA soldier’s cap, and for an elementary
school art project I used paper pulp to create a Confederate flag. Like Dylann,
I grew up celebrating that flag as a symbol of the glory days of the South. And
why shouldn’t I? When I was a kid it still flew high above the state capitol
building.[2]
White South Carolina, we
have rushed to put distance between ourselves and Dylann Roof, to say that his
actions don’t represent what we stand for. I’m not afraid to say that Dylann
Roof and Preston Hogue sound pretty similar; we were raised in the same white
South Carolina culture! We may want distance from Dylann, but if we’re honest we
can see a little bit of Dylann Roof in all of us.
We must confess that
Dylann Roof is a white South Carolinian. And we must confess that South
Carolina is a state where we would rather celebrate the glory days of the South
than admit they were purchased with black lives.
…a state where our
children only learn the white side of history.
…a state where we would
really prefer our kids to not have interracial relationships.
…a state where we ignore
black history and culture.
…a state where we would
rather everyone have a gun than everyone have healthcare.
…a state where symbols of
hatred are revered, defended, and celebrated.
We must confess that South
Carolina is a state that raised a white supremacist that entered the prayer
service of an historic black church and murdered nine black people.
White people of South
Carolina, let this tragedy be a wake-up call so that we can truly become the
state Governor Haley and all decent people long for, “a state of love.” But let’s
not deny where we are right now as we work toward that goal:
We are a state that raised
a racist mass murderer. Until we own that fact, we will raise another one and
face this tragedy again.
[1] The AME Church took its name from the white denomination they
left—the Methodist Episcopal Church
(now United Methodist Church)—because of discrimination against blacks.
[2] At the time of writing, the flag still flies on the grounds of the state capitol after a long fight to
have it removed from atop the building. [Update: the flag was removed from statehouse grounds on July 10, 2015.]
