By Phoebe Farag Mikhail
There’s a family of Canadian geese that has gotten friendly with my children these days. They’ve been feeding them pieces of bread, and they keep coming back to our front lawn for more. The kids keep wanting to get closer to the birds, and for days I’ve been explaining, especially to my youngest, that the birds will run away if we make loud noises and run after them. Worse, they might peck my children in defense of their own young.
Today, my four year old tiptoed into the house and put his finger to his lips. “Shhhhh!” he told me, and then went back outside. I stepped out to find him sitting, silently, on the front porch, and the geese were getting closer. Delighted, he watched quietly as they walked within inches of where he was sitting. He’d finally figured out that in his attentive silence, they would draw near.
I thought about this attentive silence as I considered what I have been learning from my black friends these past few days, after the police killing of George Floyd and the ensuing nationwide demonstrations.
As a Copt who is an ethic minority in the US and a sometimes persecuted religious minority in Egypt, it can be very easy for me to rest on my experience as being similar enough to the black experience in America that I don’t need to learn or understand more. It can be easy to believe that I can speak for a community I am not directly a part of, or even to lecture that community on how it should respond to the challenges it faces.
I know what it’s like to grow up different than everyone else around me. I know what it’s like to be bullied and shamed for being different. I know what it’s like to wonder if I’ve been passed over for a job because of my religion, or searched at the airport because of my name. The benefit of my experience is that it allows me to empathize more.
What my experience does not allow me to do is assume that I therefore know what it’s like to live with systematic racism in America. I don’t. I still must listen, I still must learn.
I might be profiled at the airport, but my black friend is profiled every time she walks into a store. I might fear that my relatives in Egypt will be struck by a bomb while going to church one day, but my black friend fears that her husband or child won’t come home to her every time they go out. I can empathize – we all struggle – but our struggles are not the same. We can listen to each other and learn.
Last Monday, the Coptic Orthodox Church of Alexandria, the indigenous Christian church of Egypt, celebrated the Feast of the Holy Family’s Flight into Egypt. And although they fled to Egypt at the angel’s warning, the church doesn’t consider celebrate the feast because He was welcomed into Egypt, but rather it celebrates how He blessed the land of Egypt.
As Christ’s humble birth in a manger brought the Kingdom of Heaven to earth, as His death on the cross led to Resurrection and eternal life, His flight to Egypt escaping Herod’s decree fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah 19:19, led to the destruction of Egypt’s idols, and planted the seed of the spread of Christianity in Egypt sixty years later. As I wrote in my book, Putting Joy into Practice, “The metanoia of an entire nation began with the welcome of a refugee family.”
As I contemplate this now in the context of both COVID-19 and of America alight with protests over the killing of George Floyd, racism and police brutality, it dawns on me that now is the time for listening as a form of hospitality.
I’ve written about hospitality in terms of the literal opening of our homes to others; yet during a time when we’ve been asked to stay home and avoid gatherings, we’ve had to open our doors in other ways. Today, the doors we need to open are our ears to listen. When we are ready to listen, we’ll hear what our black brothers and sisters have been shouting, to no avail, for years. And when we listen in attentive silence, we will, like Christ did for Egypt, be blessed beyond measure.
With some listening, I’m learning so much from my black friends about their daily acts of hope in a system set up to drive them to despair. I’m learning from how they talk to their children as they try to teach them how to navigate their environments. I’m learning how much courage it takes to face the day when every day can bring pain, how much self-control it takes not to lash out at every racist interaction, how much patience it takes to explain why “I don’t see color” isn’t enough. I’m learning about forgiveness and grace.
I hope that as I work on listening during this difficult time, my friends feel safety, comfort, and welcome from me in our conversations. As I pray that they do, I am thankful for how much they, like Christ in the land of Egypt, are blessing me.
There are many resources and reading lists being shared online. This is a short list that has also helped me listen:
Resource for Parents and Sunday School teachers:
There are No Words: A Lesson on Racism by Kids in Church. Use code 200525 to receive the handout and study guide for free.
Books for Adults:
Love’s Long Line by Sophfronia Scott Bookshop | Amazon
Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson Bookshop | Amazon
Barracoon: The Story of the Last “Black Cargo” by Zora Neale Hurston Bookshop | Amazon
Middle Grade books:
From the Desk of Zoe Washington by Janae Marks Bookshop | Amazon
Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacquelyn Woodson Bookshop | Amazon
Bud, not Buddy by Christopher Paul Curtis Bookshop | Amazon
The Mighty Ms. Malone by Christopher Paul Curtis Bookshop | Amazon
Children’s Picture books
Overground Railroad by Lesa Cline-Ransome and James E. Ransome Bookshop | Amazon
The Secret Garden of George Washington Carver by Gene Barretta Bookshop | Amazon
Rise!: From Caged Bird to Poet of the People, Maya Angelou by Bethany Hegedus Bookshop | Amazon
Uncle Jed’s Barber Shop by Margaree King Mitchell Bookshop | Amazon
Nina: Jazz Legend and Civil-Rights Activist Nina Simone by Alice Brière-Haquet Bookshop | Amazon
The Girl with a Mind for Math: The Story of Raye Montague by Julia Finley Mosca Bookshop | Amazon
The Oldest Student: How Mary Walker Learned to Read by Rita Lorraine Hubbard Bookshop | Amazon
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Diana
June 4, 2020 1:24 pmQuiet listening is fast becoming a lost art with all the devices and noise inundating us. Growing up in the south, I felt like I was already aware of the problem of prejudice, but you’ve reminded me that every story is different and I need to continue listening. Thanks, Phoebe.
I loved the picture of A and the geese. Thanks for sharing.
This whole situation – a man’s senseless death and the rioting and looting that is occurring is proof of underlying prejudice and injustice. It sickens me that a policeman, whom we’re supposed to trust and turn to help for, would carelessly, willfully, take the life of George Floyd. I can’t bear to watch the videos of his death and see other policemen and bystanders milling around doing nothing. If so many people had time to record it, they had time to plead for this man’s life. I don’t know if it would have worked, but surely all of those people could have begged the other police to intervene or called the police department to get them to contact him. Maybe those things were happening to no avail, or there just wasn’t enough time, I don’t know, but how have we turned into a people who calmly stand by recording and watch a tragedy unfold? It’s wrong, so wrong. May God repose George Floyd’s soul.