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October 4, 2007
— M. Cooper Harriss
A curious coda was sounded in Jena, Louisiana this past week. In the
wake of explosive confrontations between black and white high school students
that have served, among other things, to bring to light just how poorly
human beings can treat one another, Jesus appeared.
For those familiar with the history of the freedom movements in the United
States—especially those of the 1950s and 60s—the Jena story is nothing
new. Racial tensions are ignited by one side's encroachment upon the other's
territory. Matters escalate, symbolic gestures lead to full-on violence,
someone is charged, the all-white jury decides, the nation reacts in horror,
a march is held, and a town becomes a symbol, a benchmark of shame that
serves in the grander scheme to signify a cathartic hope for progress.
Montgomery . Little Rock . Oxford . Birmingham . Selma .
And now Jena. Reed Walters, the LaSalle Parish District Attorney in charge
of prosecuting the "Jena 6," held a nationally televised press
conference on September 27 to announce that he would not challenge an
appellate court's decision overturning 17-year-old Mychal Bell's conviction
for aggravated second-degree battery and conspiracy because he was wrongly
tried as an adult. At the end of the conference Walters thanked "the
Christian community" for their prayers and made this observation
about the September 20 march that drew roughly 20,000 protesters—mostly
black—to Jena: "I firmly believe that had it not been for the direct
intervention of the Lord Jesus Christ last Thursday, a disaster would
have happened." When challenged, Walters clarified his statement:
"What I'm saying is, the Lord Jesus Christ put his influence on those
people, and they responded accordingly."
That Jesus prevented "disaster" in Jena by "put[ting] his
influence on those people" is a hard formulation to swallow. What
sort of disaster does he mean? What are we to make of the implication
that "those [black] people" would never have been able to behave
in a peaceful, civil manner without divine intervention? Having raised
these points, I set them aside. My purpose is not to pillory Walters but
to point out that by invoking Jesus, Walters, albeit unconsciously, falls
into line with other actors in the Jena events, all of whom are also actors
in a larger, religiously infused drama.
Religion has inundated this story at every step. Jena is a tale of black
and white, and as such it participates in the racial mythology of American
culture. Attempting to reconstruct the origins of this myth, Ralph Ellison
conflated the rhetoric of Genesis 1:1 with a primordial understanding
of "Africa." In this understanding the American creation story
becomes less about Adam and Eve and more about Africans and English—racism
is America's original sin. That the violence would escalate over a tree,
furthermore, signals the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, as well
as the broader religious category of trees that Genesis depicts. Likewise,
shade—the tree's benefit and presumably what made it prime real estate
in Jena's high school courtyard in August 2006—is rarely without troubling
biblical associations.
The events of Jena also resurrected symbols and rituals associated with
the racial ur-myth at the fringes of the American civil religion. By hanging
nooses from the tree, white students invoked lynching, a scapegoating
ritual in which an innocent victim is sacrificed as an expression of white
supremacy. The metaphor of a "strange fruit" in the haunting
song popularized by Billie Holiday ties lynching back to Genesis: "Black
bodies swinging in the southern breeze / Strange fruit hanging from the
poplar trees." Good and evil, indeed.
Finally there is the protest itself. No matter what "the Lord Jesus
Christ's" direct role was on September 20, the event certainly was
intended to recall the remarkable mass rituals orchestrated by Martin
Luther King, Jr. and the SCLC—a point that television coverage made certain
was not lost on its viewers. Expressive of God-given rights, the freedom
movement's protests dramatized the biblical essence of American racial
confrontation before a national and global audience, via the new technology
of television. King consciously took on the role of Moses. Police dogs,
fire hoses, firebombs, and nightsticks stood in for the lashes endured
by suffering servants and children of Israel. The carnage was terrible
and real, yet it was equally effective for the way it plugged into a larger
Christian narrative central to the mythology of "America."
In the end, perhaps, the most unsettling aspect of the entire Jena episode
is precisely how little it diverges from the past. Reed Walters has given
us the occasion to explore its religious implications, where we see a
continuing dialectic of racial violence and conflict in which the rituals,
symbols, and responses have changed very little. Though the tree was cut
down, there is nothing new under the sun.
References:
http://www.chicagotribune.com/services/newspaper/
printedition/friday/chi-jena_websep28,0,478726.story
M. Cooper Harriss is a PhD student in Religion and Literature at the University
of Chicago Divinity School, and managing editor of the journal Ethics.
Sightings comes from the Martin Marty Center at the University of Chicago Divinity School.
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