One Cross Too Many: The Execution of Troy Davis

“If he puts you in jail, you go in that jail and transform it from a dungeon of shame to a haven of freedom and human dignity. Even if he tries to kill you, you develop the inner conviction that some things are so precious, that there are some things so dear, some things so eternally worthful, that they are worth dying for. If an individual has not discovered something that he will die for, he isn't fit to live." –Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

The execution of Troy Davis was both tragic and devastating but not surprising. Jesus of Nazareth suffered a similar fate. One afternoon when the sun was exalted the Son of Man hanged and although innocent he died a criminal’s death. Parabolically, Jesus’ cross juxtaposed to Davis’ chamber of execution depicts a wretched picture: two black men, poor, powerless and pitted at the hands of imperialism. They both were left to hang regardless of their professed innocence. Jesus and Davis, by crucifixion and execution died a deplorable death. Darkness therefore encompasses the State of Georgia as it did Golgotha. Their hanging is no different than the mutilated body of Emmitt Till; or Billie Holiday’s Strange Fruit; or the burning of crosses to ignite White Supremacy and subjugation over blacks. It is no different than the bomb that killed four black girls of Sixteenth Street Baptist Church; and no different than the countless named and unnamed Blacks and Hispanics who are raised from the cradle – not to be properly educated– but to be criminalized, condemned and carried off to prison without any consideration for their humanity. Without mistake, as the arrow leaves the bow for the bulls-eye, the execution of Troy Davis points directly to the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth.

Thus, it is no surprise. A trail of blood pours not just from Jesus’ side on Golgotha, but it flows from Antiquity to Africa, from the Atlantic to the Antebellum and all across America ad nauseum. This hemorrhaging of justice is in need of a transfusion of values. For while a healthy body may endure a loss of 10-15 percent of its total blood volume, America cannot stand to lose the 99 percent of people who suffer daily and yet hope for the day to suffer no more at the hands of injustice. A transfusion of values is necessary to replace the blood that we have lost and that stains our flag and our hands every time there is a Troy Davis and every where there is a cross.

The proverbial African saying is correct: “I am because we are.” In this regard, we are because of Troy Davis. Likewise Troy Davis is because we must continue to fight in his name. We must fight to end retributive punishment. An eye-for-an-eye ethic that retributive punishment endorses is not only immoral but it is ungodly. The Christian mandate is to “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” Thus, the Christian response to punishment is love. It is to seek the restoration of malefactors and not their condemnation. It is to do as Martin King implored, to go into the “jail and transform it from a dungeon of shame to a haven of freedom and human dignity.” Because as King rightfully asserted, we must “develop the inner conviction that some things are so precious, that there are some things so dear, some things so eternally true, that they are worth dying for.” Perhaps Troy Davis knew this better than anyone – for regardless of his professed innocence he possesed the inner conviction to give his life for penal reform and considered it worthy to die for justice. Our inner conviction, therefore, must compel us to do the same – to scrap our silence, counter our complacency and abandon our apathy. We must engage the struggle for justice by acting in solidarity with the marginalized and disenfranchised. We achieve this when we break our silence.

Rabbi Joachim Prinz, a refugee from Germany, said at the March on Washington "The most important thing I learned under those tragic circumstances (Holocaust) was that bigotry and hatred are not the most urgent problems. The most urgent and most disgraceful, the most shameful, the most tragic problem is silence." May we heed the lesson of Rabbi Prinz and break our silence so that the blood trail ends here and a transfusion of value begins. Let us speak truth to the powers of a 1994 crime bill (passed by Reagan and Clinton’s administrations) that spurred prison construction and supported punitively harsh sentencing policies in which we continue to suffer today. Let us speak truth to the powers of a school-to-prison pipeline where more than half of black dropouts end up in jail and where three out of four boys dropout of high school. Let us speak truth to the powers of our country, where the US has become the world leader in incarceration, imprisoning more people (in absolute and percentage of population) than any other country at any time in the U.S. history. May we speak truth to power not merely in words but in action. May we live the gospel and proactively put our hands to the moral arc of justice until it becomes a bright rainbow hooked in a smiling sky representing a covenant between God and humanity: that although there may be a cross, there shall never again be a Troy Davis, for his cross was one too many.

Building Across Bridges: The Black Church and Proposition 8

Grace and Peace!

Again, my one and only objective for blogging is to embrace a tradition of African griots, in which I am commissioned to tell my story and to chronicle the genuine reactions of a new dawn (the ascendancy of Senator Barack Obama to Presidency) so that my unborn children and future generations can be benefactors of a trustworthy historical account through personal narratives. In this fashion, I am sharing with you my reflections (which are not indicative of any larger group) regarding the discussions that has emerged out of the queer community and the "Black Church" in light of Proposition 8.

As I have surveyed and to my knowledge, the main argument is that as President Elect Barack Hussein Obama won the election--making him the first African American President of the United States of America--70 percent of African Americans (according to a source I have not seen) voted to ban same-sex marriages in California (and at the same time voted against Prop. 102, which banned same-sex marriages in Arizona). This has evoked rage in the queer community and has exposed the overwhelming homophobic tendencies of the 'Black Church'. While the pot may have been brewing in the past, the steam between these two marginalized groups: the queer community and African-Americans, in light of Proposition 8, has blown the lid completely off!

I will share a couple of thoughts. First, and admittedly, I am still assessing this issue and have not derived a 'conclusion' or 'final answer'. Secondly, I admit my defensiveness of the claims directed towards the "black church" in which I belong to and as an African American I myself am a stakeholder of. Thirdly, I admit that I am sensitive to the homophobia in the black church and would like more information (esp. historically) that is perpetuating this ethos. Lastly and perhaps most importantly, I admit my concern for the internal spats between two marginalized groups.

On this issue, I have been an active listener and participant in this discussion between the queer community and persons of the African-American community who are members of a black church. Specifically, I have engaged in intimate discussions with a good friend of mine (who I would like to thank for allowing me to gratuitously borrow her term, "building across bridges"). She has also provided me with some insights that has emerged out of the queer community and I have engaged my own thoughts from my experiences in the black religious community. In essence, I submit this entry as an informed 'work in progress' in which I am still gathering data and processing.

My defensiveness of the claims against the ‘black church’ stems from the monolithic understanding of "the black church." I witnessed a panel discussion recently, moderated by Professor Yolanda Pierce of Princeton Theological Seminary, and she probed the panelist in defining how we exactly understand "the black church." In fact, I wish not to only know how we understand it, but I would be interested to know where is this "black church?" What is its address? How does it look? Is it one of those mega-churches; is it a store-front, a cathedral? Quite frankly, I can’t say that I have ever seen it and perhaps the panelist hadn't either because they struggled to offer any substantial response to the question posed. I agree with Dr. Pierce that the term "black church" does not need to be jettisoned completely, but it certainly needs to be re-defined. I think our ubiquitous understanding of the term, “Black Church”, has led us to make false generalizations about the religious African American community. For this, and for what I think is a good reason, I admit my defensiveness.

I also agree to my sensitivity to this topic, my readiness to forge an alliance with the queer community and my admonishment of the overwhelming homophobia in the black church. However, I cannot subscribe to the scape-goating of the black church because while they may be apart of the problem, they are not ‘thee’ problem. The fact is that while America voted for the first African-American president, America also voted against Affirmative Action in Nebraska. I think it becomes a slippery slope and precarious to prioritize evils. The bottom line is that there remains a codified current of bigotry and hatred that persists these “united” States of America.

Finally, and along the lines of my previous point, I think it is detrimental to pit one marginalized groups against another. I think in our commentaries we should be sensitive of how such internal schisms impact the larger perception of the struggle for justice. I think that although there is unrest amongst the marginalized communities, there is still a larger oppressor. Perhaps I am optimistic, but I believe that African-Americans are not the queer community's enemy and queers are not African Americans enemy, rather the enemy is systemic oppression that infuses our psyches. Malcolm X referred to this as the 'colonization of the mind.' Therefore, I opine, that we need to examine how our internalized fury, futility and frustrations have caused our lashing out towards "our other;" and at the same time, we must be careful that we do not invoke the same vicious cycle towards our partners in the struggle that has been lashed out against us.

In closing, in this new dawn of 'audacious hope,' I am resting on an optimism that future strides will evoke a family discussion (as families disagree but they keep their disagreements in-house and work to solve the problem together and not air their 'dirty laundry'). I am resting on an optimism that we can present a united front—a coalition of the oppressed. I am resting on an optimism that we will not perpetuate a divided front that will have larger ramifications on the grassroots movement for justice. I am resting on an optimism that that we can work together to dialogue our way to a beloved community and build across bridges.

In the Struggle Together,

Nikia Smith Robert
Activist-Preacher-Theologian
November 14, 2008

Let us Start Rebuilding **A debut blog and reflections on the 2008 Election

On November 4, 2008 I felt a sweet sweet spirit, a gentle breeze of fresh crisp air and a new pulse at the heart of Harlem, where I gathered with my church family during the night of the election. Encircled with praying mothers and fathers caught between hope and uncertainty, between their past recollections of the Civil Rights Movement and this very moment, we watched with great anticipation of what the future had in store. Upon hearing "CNN Prediction: Barack Hussein Obama the 44th President of the United States of America" it was as if our souls quaked and the grounds rumbled by the jubilee of our ancestors and the wailing cries of 'yes we did.' Perhaps a redeemed dream, but certainly a ripple of hope and a wave of change has prevailed the shores of this nation we know as the United States of America and world at large. I awoke this morning, one day later, to the illumined sun and the hope of brighter days to come.

There is so much to reflect on and I apologize in advance for the lengthiness of this submission. First, I could not pass this opportunity to make today my first commitment to blog. What better occasion and with what better thoughts in mind, than to chronicle my emotions and contemplations regarding this historical breakthrough. Blogging was important to me for one reason and for one reason only: it was essential that I be my own historian. Scorned by the history books of my generation that romanticized Christopher Columbus and demonized Malcolm, I could not concede to dominant society to muffle my story, twist or injure the truth. I could not allow a reporter to replace my role as a Griot. No, this time I have commissioned myself to be my own historian transmitting my story so that my children and my children's children may have a true account. This idea of ownership and the ethic to be pursuers of truth has not only inspired me to blog, but it has inspired a nation to vote and become partakers of a better American Union.

As I began my day, and perhaps significantly so, at a poll in a public school located on 134th street between Martin Luther King Jr. and Adam Clayton Powell Boulevards, I had mixed emotions, but for the most part I was honored and proud. Although I must admit, as I waited on line in an unusually crowded polling site, my patience grew weary. Determined not to 'freak out,' my mind took me to scenes from the PBS 14 hour documentary Eyes on The Prize. I began to see the dehumanizing atrocities that my ancestors endured--the white supremacy of Bull O'Connor, rape, lynching, vicious dogs and brutal fire hoses—and then inside I smiled because ALL I had to do was merely stand in line. I assured myself, that I could do at least that. After all, it did sound easy compared to the horrific bestial conditions that my ancestors endured, but it was not long before I found myself huffing in frustration. This time, I learned that for the past 30 minutes I was standing in the wrong line, of course due to no fault of mine but rather misinformation given by a volunteer. Again, determined NOT to 'freak out,' I remembered Fannie Lou Hamer, Shirley Chisholm and all the unnamed persons who wished to be alive just to realize this very moment. Suddenly, I moved from impatience and futile sighs to a profound gratitude for the opportunity to stand in line and vote.

With a veil lifted, I was able to look around and appreciate the atmosphere and in doing so I was able to see my surroundings for its beauty. I saw the unprecedented amount of young black voters who looked to savor the moment with their camera phones and to take ownership with their fashion statements. I heard expressions like "I am going to 'Barak' my vote" or "Obama is on it like swoooooosh" or simply "Obamanos!" I saw a rare twinkle and a dash of hope in these young voter's eyes. A twinkle that admittedly was not present in my own as I still had the scarred vision from the 2000 election. However, for many young voters this was their first time and simply said they were inspired. This inspiration, which has for too long been stifled by white supremacy and knocked down by deferred dreams, has been resurrected in our youth and by the ascendancy of our President Elect Barack Obama, a man who had the 'audacity to hope' and who under-girded a movement of change with the thematic echoes of 'Yes We Can.’ Obama, in his fight against all odds, had inspired those who had given up. Likewise, he had resuscitated the flat-lined pulse of Main Street America.

This moment of inspiration and pride is ineffable, yet I attempt, for my children’s sake, to describe my feelings. On November 4^th, I felt like someone who was heartbroken and caught between the crossroads of whether to love again or jettison love completely. There was a mixture of hope and fear of vulnerability. There was an internal warfare between optimism and cynicism. As I wrestled with these emotions and surveyed my peers who were struck by the same marred hope, it reminded me of a moment that King had when he contemplated the dire state of black people's ability to hope and continue the movement after the Watts riots. He realized at the movement's nadir, the people needed a 'win' to restore their faith. Like then, today, after the dismal days of police brutality, Jena 6, the fifty shots of an unarmed young black man on the night before his wedding, the astronomical rate of men incarcerated that surpasses the amount of men in college, failing public schools, gentrification and an economic crisis--the worse since the Great Depression--and that is wrapped in foreclosures and tumbling pensions, the poor and disenfranchised are in need of a 'win.' We are in need of a 'win' that will restore our faith in the penal system, a 'win' that will restore our faith that good ultimately prevails over evil, a ‘win’ that will restore our faith that God does indeed hear our cries, a 'win' that will restore our faith in immanent justice and a 'win' that will restore our faith in the fabric of a fairer American democracy. Some would say on November 4, 2008 that we, the people on Main Street, won.

Well, if we did, in fact win, I cannot help to want this moment to breathe before moving to critical reflection of ‘what does this win signify?’ I cannot help to want this moment to stand triumphantly according to its merit alone. And further, I confess, I cannot help to want to keep this moment to myself. Perhaps, this is the Malcolm or nationalism seeping out of me. As much as I respect and love my 'Anglo friends,' I for a moment needed to speak freely about how I felt and be able to comfortably throw out 'WE' and in doing so unapologetically refer to the souls of black folk. I needed just for a moment to speak in extreme terms about the depravity that 'our' ancestors endured and how 'we' finally, after being stepped on and pulled down for so long, won. I needed a moment to boast, a moment to run with the Holy Ghost and sing 'he's an on time God, yes He is. He may not come when you want Him, but He'll be right there on time. He's an on time God. Yes He is!" I needed for a moment to theologize how this moment could be likened to the realization of the Kingdom of God in which the last becomes first and power structures are turned upside down. However, after ceasing this moment and carving out this space, I eventually reconnected with my allies (including my associates across the globe in Australia and Europe) and was overjoyed by their support and shared enthusiasm for a 'win' that was as much theirs as it was mine. I realized that this experience of sharing with others and having the space for individual expression was a microcosm of King's envisioned Beloved Community.

To be clear, as the spirit of King permeates this submission, I must state that I do not see Obama’s election as a fulfillment of King’s dream. Rather, I see Obama’s ascendancy as an embodiment of King’s dream. Many factors distance King from Obama. Most obviously, King was a prophet and Obama is not, he is unmistakably a politician. Also, King embraced race, Obama kept race at arms length. Obama did not run as a black President, but as the President of the United States. However, the fact remains that race is embodied and as long as Obama has a BODY, he is a BLACK man. I don’t think Obama completely obscured race, rather I think he for the most part chose to address race subversively. For example, culturally he signified his blackness from giving fist pounds to Michelle Obama to not shying away from his athleticism and love for basketball. While we consider these points of contrasts between King and Obama, I would like to acknowledge a profound similarity: their charge to serve the least of these. So as much as I am not ready to consider the question of ‘what does this win signify’ I am forced by the overwhelmingly and pressing injustices to do just that. But in considering the question of ‘what does this win signify?’ I posit that we cannot respond from Lincoln Memorial in 1963 when King gave his famous I have a Dream Speech. No, we must answer this question from our context, in our voice, and from the merit of Obama in forging his own vision for the future of America.


With this said, while allowing Obama the space to forge his own identity, I can appreciate his use of King in his acceptance speech, when he urged that we must "put our hands on the arc of history and bend it towards a better day." In this light, I think it is fair that we attempt to answer the question of ‘what does this win signify’ while hearing the reverb of King's question: Where do we go from here? This question, and perhaps even a rhetorical question, is seemingly pressing considering that while we cheered "Obama" with a sense of pride that 'we won,' there were others who had not, particularly in California and Arizona where the approval of Proposition 8 and 102 respectively would ban same-sex marriages. While we were celebrating our first African-American President and Commander and Chief in the White House, at the same time Nebraska voted to end Affirmative Action. So how ever gargantuous this 'win' may seem in context, it is in fact not all encompassing. Rather, I suggest, that this 'win' is only one chisel at a larger stone of justice that we must bear collectively to carve.

Where do we go from here? Allow me to refer to Nehemiah 2:17-18, which states: "You see the trouble we are in: Jerusalem lies in ruins, and its gates have been burned with fire. Come, let us rebuild the wall of Jerusalem, and we will no longer be in disgrace", "They replied, ‘Let us start rebuilding.’ So they began this good work."

We must go from here in an effort to rebuild. This ‘win’ signifies the opportunity to rebuild on a renewed hope, revitalized faith and reignited zeal that ‘Yes We Can.’ So as I offer this submission while accepting my role as a Griot and with my unborn children and future generations in mind, I end with this charge: as we bend the arc of history towards a new day, recognizing that this 'win' is not an end but only the beginning of a good work, we must strive towards justice because this is 'our' America and so appropriately, like in Nehemiah, let 'us'—the poor and rich, marginalized and privileged, disenfranchised and dominant society—“start rebuilding.” Let us start rebuilding better schools, universal healthcare, less prisons, redistribution of wealth, a foreign policy of peace, a cure for cancer and HIV/AIDS, a better democracy and a beloved community. Let us start rebuilding a better and brighter tomorrow for our children and our children’s children.

Faithfully submitted in hope,

Nikia Smith Robert
Activist-Preacher-Theologian
November 5, 2008