Why I moved to Ferguson, Missouri

By Jonathan Tremaine Thomas

Since I was 12 years old, I’ve had an incredible sensitivity to race-related issues and have carried a significant weight of personal responsibility to address them. Maybe it was my dad’s fault. He played no games with me when it came to the classroom. At 14, his mom died and he started working full-time to provide for his siblings. He received a diploma but never made more than $10 an hour in over 40 years of working third shift in mills. He managed his money well and demanded academic excellence from me because he was determined for me to do “better” than him. As a result, in middle school I was the only black guy in my grade in the academically gifted classes. There was one black guy in those classes in the grade above me and one in the grade below me.

Pet Me

The three of us knew each other and shared somewhat of a camaraderie because of the similar experiences that we must have shared, though we never talked about it. Experiences like one of my female classmates leaning over and asking, “Can I touch your hair?” Agreeing to let her “pet” me, she would tentatively touch my head then pull her hand back quickly and find something to wipe off the imaginary grease that had gotten on it. This exchange, of course, opened up inquiries from across the classroom to touch my hair. 

My Duty

Daily, my white colleagues would ask some of the most offensive questions that one could imagine. But rather than getting offended, I quickly reconciled that I might be the only black person they ever ask these questions to and assumed that it might be my duty to answer them. This was a small, significantly racially-polarized, North Carolina town. At that age I decided that just maybe my existence and placement in that situation was to be a harbinger of truth. Maybe I could set the record straight and do my part to destroy the generational prejudice and unseat the stereotypes that were being handed down to these curious minds.

Not Invited

Although I rose to the occasion and tried to take everything in stride, at times it still hurt. One of my closest friends from school at the time came from a relatively wealthy family and would regularly take beach trips where he would invite a couple of his friends along. Routinely, they would return from the trip with souvenirs and stories while my young heart throbbed with envy.

Four or five years later, we were cruising along the highway in his high powered sports car (which was wild for a 16-year-old, but that’s another story) when he mentioned an upcoming beach trip and some of the people who were going. That old wound opened and the question busted out, “If we’re really so close, why haven’t you ever invited me?” He replied, “Well, you know how old people are. My grandparents go with us on the trip every year and they would just be really uncomfortable in a house with you. You know we aren’t that way but they just won’t have it.” That’s when the stinging reality of my position in the social order hit hard. I was smart enough to be in his classroom, cool enough to be in his sports car, but not white enough to sleep in his beach house.

Not Enough

But that wasn’t the greatest race-related hurt that I experienced during those years. When I attempted to hang out with other black kids my age, I was often ridiculed. Middle-school and high school kids of any color can be absolutely brutal, but some of the black kids could absolutely destroy someone with public humiliation through words. I’m pretty sure some of these cats could’ve given the best of today’s “roasting” comedians a run for their money when they went to town on me in between class changes.

While they attacked the shoes, a person had on or the way somebody looked, I was the “sellout.” With different classes, I never had the opportunity to bond with them during the school day the way they bonded with each other, so naturally, my friendships outside of the classroom reflected those with which I spent the most time. Realizing this to be a problem, I became very intentional about attempting to form relationships outside of school, but I had been excommunicated from the “brothahood.” Like so many of my white peers had assessed, my black peers had also decided that I was an “Oreo”— black on the outside, but white on the inside. As I wrestled with that meaning, the pain of being too black for the white folks and too white for the black folks drove me even deeper into an identity crisis.

Life Changing Encounter

The one place apart from home where my ethnicity and its implications had absolutely no bearing on my identity was at church. My church was the place that I felt the most accepted, loved, free, and secure, and since my parents were heavily involved, I spent a lot of time there. At 14, a white classmate of mine invited me on a trip with him and his youth group to Florida. Finally, it had happened. I was going to the beach!

Little did I know, I was riding 12 hours in a bus to Pensacola, Florida with a bunch of crazy white kids to have a face-to-face encounter with Jesus at a genuine outpouring of the Holy Spirit. I was dramatically accosted by the fiery presence of the One who knit me together in my mother’s womb, that it radically changed my perspective on who He is, who I was created to be, and what I would do with the breath in my lungs for the rest of my days.

Instantly, almost all of the deep frustrations, pain, confusion, and anger in my young soul was supernaturally taken away. I knew I was His son and that I had an inheritance in an eternal kingdom that is altogether just and right. Shortly afterward, I arrived back in my high school with a completely different demeanor and an uncanny security in my identity, for a high schooler, at least. I was by no means a perfect teenager; I made dumb choices at times, attempted various rebellions, and was quite goofy. But deep in my spirit, I began to believe that God had set me apart to lead for His glory and to participate with Him in writing history 

Freedom

For 11 years now, my full-time occupation has been mission-driven. Ironically, the most effective work that I’ve done has been in predominantly black communities. I live in a predominantly black community, and some of my closest friends today are black. However, to some I’m still a sellout because I’m married to a white woman. And, sure, I’ve described some lightweight experiences compared to the gravity of the needs that should be addressed. It would take a book to get into the deeper, more intense racial experiences that I and many others have had. 

But there are plenty of books already written about that, and I’m free from the bondage of living in the pain of the wounds that are consistently inflicted upon those who live as minorities in America. This doesn’t mean that I don’t feel the pain of the wounds. It just means that I don’t live in it. God redeemed me from my identity crisis so that living in crisis would no longer be my primary identity. 

Ferguson

From late August 2014 to today, my life has been consumed with the work of peacemaking in Ferguson, Missouri. For better or worse, other young men and women have also recognized the door that has been opened to them through the tragic events that continue to unfold in Ferguson and communities across America. Suddenly, a thousand yesterdays that have made little sense became crystal clear in the light of this moment and in an hour of great need.

We’ve had many opportunities for national media coverage with the work we’ve done in Fergeson. Still, I have refrained from making public statements about my position on the entire Ferguson situation or the recent Grand Jury rulings, because my perspective on it requires much more than a brief sound bite, Twitter post, or blog entry. The opportunistic vultures that have swooped upon the plights of the victims' families, the protesters, the authorities, Ferguson citizens, the black community, and this nation, in general, are too numerous to begin to audit. Typically, you can find them in front of the cameras.

Meanwhile, the comments section of every online posting is archived evidence of the depth of the racial divide and how intensely the vein of hatred runs in our nation. Blinded by our emotions, we cannot see each other; deafened by disgust, we cannot hear each other. I am convinced that the issues our nation is being forced to address some 50 years after the Black Civil Rights movement are at the very root spiritual. I am also convinced that it’s not just the police’s problem. This is everyone’s problem.

A Place of Rest in the midst of Chaos

Today, there is a great need for Godly leadership in the midst of these situations at a level that has not yet been seen or experienced in our generation. It would be arrogant and foolish for me to assume that I alone am that leadership, and indeed I am not. Though expression may look different from different groups - a “die-in” from one group of protesters, a riot from the unrestrained, or tear gas from the police - there is a universal question being expressed through all of the actions: Where is the God of Elijah? This is a question that can only be answered through His ambassadors, the disciples of Jesus who represent His unshakable kingdom. As one of those, there has never been a moment in my life where a landscape has been so perfectly designed, an atmosphere so uniquely set, and a need so greatly laid before me as today.

I assumed that my last few months in Ferguson were a short term assignment. However, it seems the war drums of conflict and the fires of St. Louis beckon me to establish a place of rest for God, in the midst of the chaos, generational pain, and systemic brokenness that is being exposed in this time. It is clear that Ferguson has become the “Montgomery” of today, and I feel that I must operate as a minister of reconciliation and an emissary of truth in the aftermath of the continuing crisis.

I’m A Sellout

As a result, I’m moving to St. Louis with my white wife and my biracial daughter to be a sellout. I am a sellout to the cause of Christ’s love for every people group on the earth. I am sellout to confront the unjust government rulings for the sake of black people in order to confront the injustice that exists within all of humanity for the sake of every people. It’s God who is shaking the systems of men and God who has caused our confidence in them to fail. Therefore, I believe that out of the pain and the ashes of the devastated peoples and places in America, God is going to raise up a beautiful and glorious multi-cultural expression of His heart for the nations. But, first, maybe we just need to let someone touch our hair.

Editors Note: JT Thomas started The Civil Righteousness Movement. A movement dedicated to racial reconciliation and restorative justice through spiritual, cultural and economic renewal. We encourage you to follow his work and support him in his efforts heal our nation through righteous love.

This article was originally written for the Winter 2018 Edition of The Journey magazine.