A Letter to My Fellow Faith Activists

DEAR FELLOW FAITH ACTIVIST,

Over the years, I have seen how our country’s anniversary remains a source of pride for many, told as it is through the lens of cultural purity and exceptionalism. I regularly witness the country’s birthday celebration as if from a church overflow room, through a shiny screen—a flattened dream, as it were.

As the United States celebrates 250 years of star-spangled glory, I write as someone who loves this country enough to tell the truth about it. I know our history to be, partly, a story of who gets celebrated. But it’s also a story of who gets footnoted. Who gets sanitized. Who disappears entirely. All while the powers in our country remain invisible—until, when convenient, they make themselves extremely visible.

Through the years, I have come to see why naming and discerning power is a worthwhile pursuit. As Haitian American academic Michel-Rolph Trouillot wrote, “The ultimate mark of power may be its invisibility; the ultimate challenge, the exposition of its roots.” These powers have tried, time and again, to silence and erase us. At times they also attempt to make us hypervisible, only centering us when our communities are burning.

Our battle is more than just political and cultural—it is deeply spiritual.

I know this because I grew up in the ’80s in the Lower East Side of Manhattan’s housing projects. I’ve come to realize how invisible I felt in our little corner of Alphabet City. We drew outside attention only when we were surveilled by the NYC Housing Police, or when we were described by the media as the “heroin capital” of the country. It’s funny how negative attention puts us face-to-face with a distorted mirror. I’ve witnessed how these distortions grate against both our spirits and our nervous systems as a people. Novelist Viet Thanh Nguyen wrote, “While it is better to be loved than hated, it is also far better to be hated than ignored.” I find that the opposite of being ignored is more than just being seen—it’s belonging. To belong, to be truly accepted, heals a multitude of sins against people who have been traumatized.

Belonging will demand something different from each of us. If you are of European ancestry, I invite you to discern your relationship to whiteness. Become a beautiful blot on the canvas of purity and exceptionalism. Reclaim your own place in the world by locking arms with the dispossessed. Try to have their vantage point serve as your north star. For activists of color across the diasporas, work to build what bell hooks called “a culture of belonging” rooted in love. Our battle is more than just political and cultural—it is deeply spiritual. Therefore, love yourselves fiercely, and from this overflow you will feel at home with yourself and others.

Finally, remember how you are all tethered to an ecosystem of beautiful humans, past and present, who have pursued the vision of the beloved community. They are out there—of this, I am a witness.

Beloveds, may we weave a tapestry of belonging. May that become the story our country learns to tell about itself.