The reason for writing an additional letter this week is to address the national conversation around Springfield, Ohio, and the settling of Haitian immigrants in the small city not far from my house. I will guess that you have either heard the presidential debate last week, where Trump claimed that these immigrants are stealing residents’ pets and eating them, or that you’ve read about similar claims, which continue to be promoted by other Republican politicians including my state senator J.D. Vance. I am not even bothering with hyperlinks here because my assumption is you’re in the know.
In this story, as with many others, for every “fact” you try to substantiate, someone offers a countering “fact.” You can never reach the end of investigating every Facebook post and he-said, she-said account. Further, narratives are invariably insulated from criticism—because counter-narratives herald from “biased” media sources and are inherently suspect. I can simply say that city officials have denied any claims that pets are being abducted and eaten.
If you read my political post in July, “Let Intercessions Be Made,” you’ll know I offered readers a draft of my political rule of life. This rule expresses distinctly Christian commitments, particularly in a contentious election season when politics has become, for many, a primary moral and spiritual litmus test. You are good (or bad) if you are a Democrat (or Republican). But I reject that test wholesale. Christians don’t believe that party affiliation and the casting of a political vote can save or condemn. No, salvation is a work God does by his grace through Jesus Christ—his life, death, resurrection, ascension and return. Christian faith means that I trust God’s saving work on my behalf and seek no other source of forgiveness or righteousness.
In a democratic system, every political act is a compromise, never meant to reflect the entirety of one’s commitments of conscience and (Christian) faith. As John Stott wrote in his commentary on Acts, “The citizens of God’s kingdom loyally deny to Caesar the supreme loyalty for which he hungers, but which they insist on giving to Jesus alone.” In other words, when politics demands unalloyed allegiance, when political leaders insist on unqualified loyalty, Christians must resist at every turn. We are not partisans; we are little Christs.
One of the political commitments, drafted in my recent rule, has to do with disagreement and its rightful place in our society. “I will accept political agreement in our democratic system,” I’ve written. “I will not be personally threatened when someone opposes my judgments and opinions, though neither will I shy from expressing those judgments and opinions when it is appropriate. I will seek to be wise and well-informed, and I will follow the true, good, and beautiful rule of Scripture laid out for human speech, which is to say I will eagerly listen, hesitantly speak, and remember that the anger of human beings has nothing to do with the righteous ends of God. I will enter political conversation with the desire to learn, not shout.” This is all to say that I don’t want to disagree to be a cantankerous know-it-all. It’s got to mean something more if I am going to step into the fray and traffic an opinion.
Still, it does seem like one of those occasions to disagree with any who would use dangerous rhetoric in this particular situation, using words like “pests” to describe the Haitian population in Springfield and describing their settlement as an act of “invading.” These weren’t President’s Trump’s words during the debate but rather the words of some Springfield residents captured in a city council meeting. Still, Trump’s (and other politicians’) decision to spread the claim about Springfield’s Haitians seems to have the same effect. “We’re a failing nation” because of these immigrants, Trump said. They’re disgusting, he implied. “In Springfield, they’re eating the dogs. The people that came it. They’re eating the cats. They’re eating — they’re eating the pets of the people that live there. And this is what’s happening in our country. And it’s a shame.” Again, the mayor of Springfield has forcefully denied these and other rumors about the Haitians.
I can’t say it any more eloquently or forcefully than Russell Moore in his recent piece for The Atlantic. “The real world consequences [of Trump’s televised claims about Springfield’s Haitians] are chilling. The mayor of Springfield confirmed to reporters that elementary schools were evacuated in his town this week because of threats directly tied to lies about the Haitian community there.” We have ample historical evidence that violence against people begins here, with “teeth [sharpened as] spears and arrows,” with “tongues [wielded like] sharp swords.” Christians are people of whose God is a speaking God, people whose God came as the Word. We know the power of words, divine and human, and we understand the violence of careless speech. This is surely one reason for so many divine injunctions against evil words: lying, deception, flattery, violent threats, gossip, self-promotion, cursing, complaint, coarseness. We are people whose one vocation is praise: “O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise,” (Psalm 51:15). Our words matter.
Whatever your thoughts about immigration policy, whatever earnest concerns you have about the residents of Springfield navigating the real challenges of their new immigrant population, we must work together to honor the dignity of every human being, no matter their citizenship. Even if we can’t establish with certainty the “facts” of a case (and I have no real reason to believe we can’t in this case), we can always be on the side of careful words.
If it seems risky to write about this, it seems worth the risk for many reasons, not least that it might threaten a particular group of asylum seekers I care about in my own city. For the past year, I’ve been teaching ESL to a group of Mauritanians seeking asylum in Cincinnati. They’ve arrived en masse, and they keep coming. (In the last two years, the Mauritanian population in the United States has increased by 2800 percent.) Their needs are great; their stories are unimaginable. It’s a privilege to be with them, week after week, and see their diligence in learning English. The men we meet are funny, grateful, and desperate for work. Most have left families behind. Some have traveled through ten countries to arrive at our southern border. (If you don’t know the harrowing stories of the Darien Gap, please read this careful, on-the-ground reporting.) Although the numbers of Mauritanians in Lockland, Ohio, have not reached the numbers of Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, their arrival is similarly straining the city’s resources, and not unlike Springfield, there is rising resentment.
I am grateful that for whatever our political differences might be about immigration policy, our church is choosing to love immigrants. We have recognized the needs of these newcomers and has stepped in to help. There has been a massive campaign to distribute bikes. There has been concerted effort to teach these men English. There has been one-on-one building of relationships, in the hopes that in these practical gestures of love and concern, we might also be able to share the good news of Jesus Christ.
Every day, I pray for this community of Mauritanians. And now my prayers, in the wake of the Springfield news, have shifted. I know that even one incidence of theft or violent crime among the Mauritanians—which given the numbers, the desperation, and the sinfulness of human beings, isn’t implausible—will endanger the entire community. Even without evidence of criminality, their bodies congregated on street corners and in the public library, make people nervous. I pray for their employment, for protection against desperation and for civic goodwill. I pray for capable and creative governing at all levels: city, state, federal.
I do believe that we must responsibly patrol our borders and provide federal aid to cities welcoming large numbers of immigrants. I cannot change what has already happened at the southern border, bringing many millions of asylum seekers into our country. (Unlike European immigrants of the early 20th century who came to the U.S. then later returned home, many of our asylum seekers cannot do this.) But here is what I can do: refuse to believe that my political commitments (and identity) supersede my Christian commitments (and identity). Before I am an American, I am a Christian. And as a Christian, I don’t believe in scarcity of resources but abundance.
As a Christian, I am not beholden to fear.
Abraham Heschel, a Jewish theologian, once said (as quoted by his daughter):
“Words, he often wrote, are themselves sacred, God’s tool for creating the universe, and our tools for bringing holiness — or evil — into the world. He used to remind us that the Holocaust did not begin with the building of crematoria, and Hitler did not come to power with tanks and guns; it all began with uttering evil words, with defamation, with language and propaganda. Words create worlds he used to tell me when I was a child. They must be used very carefully. Some words, once having been uttered, gain eternity and can never be withdrawn. The Book of Proverbs reminds us, he wrote, that death and life are in the power of the tongue.”
Heschel's words have long since haunted me. They remind me that the character of who I vote for matters just as much, if not more, than their party or proposed policies. Because words create worlds.
His words also remind me, as a believer, that what I say and how I say matters. My engagement—whether on social media, one on one interactions, teaching, leadership, parenting marriage or whatever—is shaping the worlds of those around me. There are no neutral words. Words are incredibly powerful and must be stewarded with regard for that power.
Thanks for your voice and the way you steward words.
Jen. This is powerful.
From a Canadian up here north of you, we pray for peace. But also for good words.
Talk. Debate. Listen. Choose wisely. But look to Jesus as Lord and King.