CARLTON FLETCHER: Looking for an elusive Christmas miracle

How many must fall upon your swords? Preaching discrimination all in the name of your lord.

— Revocation

Not wanting to sound all Miss America-ish, but with Christmas being the season of miracles and all, I wish I could somehow give a special gift to the people of Albany and this region.

What I’d like to give the good citizens of Southwest Georgia — and everywhere else, but there has to be some kind of limitations on miracles — is freedom from your bigotry. I want to release the people in this land I love from whatever it is inside them that makes them hate, primarily in three areas: race, sexual orientation and religious choice.

The big three.

My ignorance in all things knows few bounds, so I guess it’s not a big surprise that I can’t, for the life of me, figure out how someone thinks they are better — superior being the operative word — than any other person on Earth simply because the hue of their skin is lighter or darker. And I can’t fathom how anyone — Mike Pence — thinks he or she can claim a moral high ground because they prefer the affection of one gender over the other.

And, the biggie, how in the world do people who call themselves adherents to a particular faith whose basis is love and respect for their fellow man sit piously in their houses of worship with hatred in their heart for others who worship — often the same God — differently?

We won’t get too deep into blind political allegiance here, but in 21st-century America, it seems that our political affiliation is now built around our prejudices. It’s like the Monkees sang (the Monkees?!?) back in the day: “Why don’t you hate who I hate, kill who I kill to be free?” (Those lyrics, it should be noted, were sang tongue in cheek in 1967; now, they ring so true.)

I’ve experienced both sides of racial bigotry in my life. I grew up in a household, sadly, with parents who’d been taught that people of other races should be shunned at all costs. Those parents attempted to hand their bigotry down to me, but when I grew mature enough to think for myself, I rejected it outright for the ignorance it was.

Moving to Albany and attending Albany State University at a time when few of my race did so, I had a considerable amount of mistrust and outright hostility directed toward me — by students, faculty and administrators of that time — just because of my skin color.

I also have had dear friends over the years — male and female — confess to me their homosexuality. Each did so tentatively, it being a different time when such revelations could be dangerous, and I remember being stunned at the relief of the individuals when I said to them, simply, “Who you are — as a person and as my friend — did not change just because you revealed this very private part of your life.”

I’ve always felt that, if there is something in your life that you have deep feelings for, and someone comes along and tells you you can no longer have those feelings because it’s “wrong,” you’re about as likely to stop having them as you are to stop breathing.

Ironically, it would seem, although the irony appears to be lost on so many, much of the condemnation of others in our society comes from people who claim to be religious. I’ve heard of — and heard — hatred preached from the pulpits of churches throughout this region, both black and white, and I’ve read the venomous condemnation of individuals who claim their viewpoint stems from their religious beliefs. (That group of nutjobs from the Westboro Church out west that proclaims at their hateful gatherings “God hates fags” is a perfect example. No, God hates people who use His name for their own evil purposes.)

Religious zealots point to all kinds of Bible verses to justify their hatred for others, but they have no answer to the same book’s admonition that they should love their enemies and their neighbors. There is no addendum, brethren and sistren, that indicates you should do so only if those folks are the same color, the same sexual orientation and share the same religion.

Once, another lifetime ago, I was in Albany architect David Maschke’s office with a small group of people. A man came in and offered to buy an item David owned. When he made an offer and David said he wasn’t sure that that was sufficient, the guy said, “I’m not going to try to Jew you down.” I sat there, stunned. David, who is Jewish and one of the kindest people I’ve ever known, was obviously taken aback, but he handled it with grace.

And you know what I did? I just sat there, didn’t say a word. And that haunts me to this day.

Email Carlton Fletcher at [email protected]. Follow @ABH_Fletcher on Twitter.

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