This Should Not Be (My Flint Lament)

Sometimes you grow so accustomed to something you forget it isn't normal, or at least, shouldn't be normal. Sometimes unhealth and dysfunction become so ingrained in the narrative that you forget certain things should not be.

Welcome to life in Flint. 

Where violent crime has us in the headlines as one of the most dangerous cities. Where sitting in my living room allows us a near nightly game of "gunshots or fireworks?" Where my children regularly ask if they are safe. Where there've been more efforts for mayorial recalls than I can count (here and here and here and here). Where, likewise, the relationship between the mayor (no matter who it is) and city council is one of the most dysfunctional, ineffective I've ever seen. Where residents elect unqualified, law-breaking men as councilman and then they are kept in office. Where the state won't trust us to run ourselves responsibly, and as infuriating as that is, we haven't proven to be capable of competent governance when we've had the chance. 

Yep, welcome to Flint. Just another day in our neighborhood.

And all the while, we are STILL living with water we can't drink but for which we pay exorbitant prices.
This morning was one of those mornings where the ridiculousness of it all hit me. I was pouring bottled water into my crock pot and I felt anger. It's probably a good sign, as feeling anger reminds me that what I live with everyday should not be. 

Most days I feel nothing and think nothing of it. As if contaminated tap water is what we should all expect. As if it's normal to have a filter on your bathroom faucet to brush your teeth. As if it's completely acceptable for your children to be suspicious of every water fountain outside the city limits.
This should not be so. It's now been 38 months since our water source was first changed that started this whole mess. It's been almost three years since those, who should have known better, used their degrees to finally come clean and say the water wasn't. Three years. And I'm still opening water bottles to clean strawberries, prep pot roast, and boil spaghetti. Three years living every single day with this reality, while those in charge shift blame, point fingers, cry foul, and then dare to claim "Flint Fatigue." We've been waiting three years for those with the power and influence to change our reality. You want to talk fatigue? Then talk to a Flint resident who still can't drink the water thats overpriced while the very officials who should be protecting citizens drag their feet debating whether Flint is worth the time or the money to fix the water problem (at least in a humane amount of time).
This should not be so. My city is 57% black and 42% of our citizens live in poverty. Apparently, elected government can't be bothered to leverage their position to get something done here. It's been shown that systemic racism has been a factor. That is completely and utterly unacceptable; and I'm angry that we still have to live as we do. Not to mention the thousands who are suffering more acutely in this city than I am. Many can't pay their water bills, and are now in danger of losing their homes because of it. Many don't have a means of transportation to get bottled water, filters, and the like. Many are suffering from skin rashes and irritations that my family has never had to endure through this crisis.
And to think this might not have been this way for this long if more Flintstones had lighter skin and made more money!?! This should not be so. I'm sick and tired of it all. And because I am white and hold privilege because of the color of my skin, I can not know how my African-American brothers and sisters are really feeling in all this. I am reminded of something I heard Tavis Smiley say last fall (following the election of President Trump) about how blacks are used to set backs; used to the struggle, and the shaft. That blacks are used to the cold shoulder, closed doors, and fighting for every square inch they gain. That's stuck with me as I sit here in Flint, three years after it was known that our water was undrinkable, getting just a smidgen of a glimpse into what Smiley meant. And I'm still white, so I can't ever understand fully. (I digress. This can be another post.) Three years. 
Over one thousand days without clean, useable water. 

This should not be so. Our family sponsors a young man in Kenya through Compassion International. His name is Francis, and we pray for him every night. Over the last 9 years, one of our prayers for him is that he would have access to clean water. Because after all, he lives in Africa; in a poor, underdeveloped, third world village. And now our family prays the same exact prayer for ourselves and our city. This should not be so. This issue isn't even a question of first-world problems versus third-world problems. Although, if that was the only argument, it would still be enough to expect some movement from those who can change this reality. No, this isn't just a first or third world problem. It's a human rights problem. It's a social justice problem. Clean water is a natural right every person should have. 

And, if that ruffles your feathers and you want to play the first-world/third-world game, then who would have imagined that a city in a first world country, considered a world power, would be living my reality in 2017? A reality that says our state and local government agencies made decisions that endangered the health and lives of its citizen; then chose to cover-up the evidence in hopes of not having to publicly disclose the findings. A reality that says those same agencies wasted time bickering and posturing, all while the water entering our homes was poisoned. A reality that has these same agencies burying any possible legislation on this human rights issue under a mountain of bureaucracy while making judgements about whether my city was really worth it anyway. You know, because we're mostly black and poor anyway? This should not be so. Today, I opened bottled water and filled my crock pot and I'm angry. Today is a day I remember that just because I've grown accustomed to something doesn't mean it's the way it should be. Normal doesn't necessarily mean helpful, beneficial, satisfactory, or right. 

Today, in Flint, our reality is normal, but it should not be.

This should not be so.

damn Tired

There’s been much news traffic and social media hubbub about this latest story.

Shootout in Flint

A shootout a block from the church where Paul and I served for 18 years. Guns firing a block from where we lived, up until 3 weeks ago, and were raising our children. We now live four blocks away from where this latest incident happened. Still a stone’s throw. Too close. Multiple houses and vehicles shot up. A water distribution site on lockdown. It’s unacceptable.

But here’s the thing. This is NOT new. This is NOT uncommon. For those of us residing in this neighborhood, it’s just another day. This incident was the fourth in one week’s time where shots were fired in these streets. Fourth. In 8 days. Wednesday to Wednesday. Every other day, on average, bullets rang out around us.

Last week, 15 - 20 shots broke the silence in the middle of the night. You know what makes that kind of racket? Automatic weapons. I was jarred awake. Heart racing, I lay still waiting to hear if one of our children would call down their familiar question: “Mom, were those gunshots?” “Mommy, how do you know I am safe?”

Do you know the anguish a parent endures when they can not realistically tell their anxious child there is no reason to fear? Do you know the injustice of living where the safety of your own home is in question at any given moment? Do you know the anger that builds when you invest everything you are into a community just to learn that teenagers are responsible for the latest terror? Teens. Not yet twenty years accumulated.

And the anger morphs to heartbreak as I wonder if any of these young men have been fed at the church? Are these youth whose smiles have warmed my heart or who’s friendly wave greeted us on the street? Are these armed teens ones that my children have played pick-up basketball with in the parking lot? 

My God, have mercy.

Drive these streets during the day and you might be tempted to think it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Children playing outside. Tulips blooming. Yards mowed and trimmed. Long-time residents taking pride in their property. Neighbors keeping their eye out for one another. Sometimes it only feels like an illusion.

Look a little closer and you might see something different. Those children are often unsupervised. There are a plethora of blue ADT security signs. Litter is prevalent. There are some bars on windows. Some houses falling into disrepair. The encroaching danger has arrived. 

I can lure myself into thinking it will all be okay. That the residents who love this city, my family included, will keep fighting, and advancing, and making progress. But let me be really honest here…

When you spend your days unable to drink the water that flows from the tap, 

and wash your vegetables with bottled water, 

and city officials seem more interested in building a name than replacing pipes.

When your backyard never feels completely safe, 

and you're tempted to give in to the stereotypes and prejudices deeply rooted in our country,

and helicopters hover above your streets with searchlights like an action movie come to life, and the nights are filled with the expectation of gunfire…

after a while you just get tired. 

Damn tired.

Yes, that’s right. Damn tired.

This is not what Jesus desired - for my family or for those teens who choose to settle disagreement with a .45 caliber weapon. The heart of God is breaking for the people in the city of Flint and the residents of Glendale Hills - regardless of their skin color, income level, marital status, or educational background. 

Our everyday reality is not a reality that should be tolerated or accepted. And sometimes, for those of us who live in the middle of it, we just grow weary.  Sometimes, we need to know there are others fighting against the darkness too. That we aren’t alone. That light really does win and fear won’t conquer love.

And if you are more upset about the fact that I, a home-educating mother and ordained pastor, used the word “damn” then you are about the fact that guns are an everyday accessory in our streets, then the problem is even bigger than I thought.

I want the Kingdom of God to reign on Mann Avenue, in the houses on Coventry, in the activities of Sunset Hills Apartments, in the homes of friends who have moved into this neighborhood to contribute to the light. I want the Kingdom of God to reign in my heart, even when my weariness is strangling out hope.

I want you to be enraged. My dear friends, with their sweet children, want you to care enough about their safety to offer more than empty words. My neighbors, who host their grandchildren each weekend, want you to fight so this present darkness will not remain the norm.

Because sometimes, citizens of the kingdom and residents of Flint, just get damn tired.