What I remember of America
When did evangelicals lose hope?
At risk of sounding ancient, the kids these days won’t remember things the way I do: they won’t remember the feeling of hopefulness that permeated the end of the Cold War or the first Black president; they were raised in the depressed mire of grief-stricken cynicism flowing out of the post 911 era.
And that said, maybe no one remembers things the same way; there was certainly a dark undercurrent of misogynistic abuse and unresolved racism during the 90s and early 2000s, well before our world came crashing down in an unprovoked attack, with scenes we cannot unsee, of people choosing to jump out of buildings, rather than burn to death.
And now, here we are, watching Russia attack its free neighbor, and threaten the beautiful European cities people like me traveled to in our teens and early twenties. We studied scenes like these, from our grandparents’ years. We came out of the Cold War, only to face down terror. But my memory is of more, than this global context.
What I remember includes the context of the local church, of evangelicalism in the UK and the USA. There were good times, alongside the bad. The griefs I went through back then were existential, not practical; I never imagined that I’d have to worry about my kids being safe from guns, in the country I grew up loving from afar.
I remember things through rose-colored glasses, as we all do, but it is a whole lot more than just that. The time between the Soviets and before the Russian rape of Ukraine really was a different time, and people were different then, too. We were united against the cruelty of mob violence, if only for a moment.
I’ve been asking a lot of questions, as I start to flesh out where we are right now. What did they think was going to happen, is a question that implies that we all think about the consequences of their actions. Our domestic enemies do not care who they harm. Our enemies foreign enemies are cool with the consequences of their actions. The chain reactions, of the fall of the twin towers, global terrorism and the refugee crises, were traumas that have pushed many Americans into a cult level of callousness I’d not understood as American.
I remember when we were known as “giving” to the point of being naive and too nice. I remember Americans for kindness and community, singing together on a Sunday, eating together at an Amish country restaurant in Pennsylvania or Ohio, or having barbecue or burgers in a Southern waterfront restaurant. Watching storms blow up and marveling at their beauty, we didn’t have to be afraid then, like we are now.
Yes, a lot of my memories revolve around food and rural locations. I know that isn’t everyone’s memory, but this is mine. I loved my American memories, and I didn’t have many, so every time we were with family was special, and a lot of it felt like a vacation.
What I remember most was the sense of unity we had when I was a kid and a teen.
There were certainly mean people everywhere, but Americans were mostly welcoming, and everyone seemed ready to talk to each other and interact. Surely the cell phones have something to do with our culture shift, but it is more than that. There was always an undercurrent, but it didn’t affect me just yet. It affected people who didn’t look like me; I remember the racist abuse I heard some people had. But I still thought Americans were mostly nice. I was naive.
So it was a shock to my system to see the same two flags I’d seen at the front of the church, the American and the Christian, storming the capitol on January 6th. I knew my parents and many of the people we had worshiped with had some extreme views on things, but I never imagined their kindness would turn to callousness.
I've been asking the question too, where do we go from here? I wonder now, if we should have asked that more after 9/11. I think we rode a wave of excitement at the election of President Obama, who was somewhat “normal” and a great communicator; even if you didn't like all of his politics, you could tell he is a good man.
I think we needed to have more of a moment of grief and reflection after 9/11, and instead we doubled down on America being great, elected a forward-thinking man and ignored the wounds left unhealed in our nation. We were the good guys, after all, hadn’t WW2 confirmed that? And as terrorism continued to threaten us, instead of growing together, we found ourselves being ripped apart.
I think white evangelical Americans gave up love and let the abuse they’d been covering up for decades just metastasize. They let Trump spread lies about their current president, and they let the Tea Party hang Obama in effigy without shunning all those crazy uncles (and aunts) who tacitly or openly endorsed it.
We should have faced down abuse a lot more strongly, and because we didn’t, the bullies won the next round. They were fighting to win, and we didn’t even know we were in a fight.
So what do I remember from the late 80s and 90s and just before 9/11?
I don’t remember worrying about war coming to us. We didn’t even consider the risk of nuclear bombs. Cooler heads, even in Russia, would prevail. We had a sense of optimism. I just remember hot summers and cool air, snow on the ground and a precious Christmas or two with the extended family at the cousin’s house. All the normal stuff of American life, compressed into a few select years, led to a romanticization of American life for me.
I imagined American life as easier, never mind the lack of healthcare or safety netting. I remember kool aid, peanut butter and jelly, brownies, ruffled chips, fake cheese, really good pizza, yes, mostly food I couldn’t get in the UK. Of course, the ironic thing is, these days I could die for a good fish and chips or curry, but there it is.
It’s hard to put your finger on the feelings and smells and thoughts of the past, but I remember American woods and fields and sunlight and breezes, and grandma’s house and talking about “Saving Private Ryan” with my WW2 vet grandpa. I remember the good things, not so much the family tensions, and I had cousins my age and places to see. We biked one time in the Deep South, away from our beach hotel, along shaded streets with Spanish moss. We didn’t have a care in the world, and we still didn't really know what had gone on in our own country. We were sheltered from the truth.
I never dreamed the people that loved me, and taught me about the good in life, were secretly prepared to threaten civil war if their values were not respected and imposed.
And yet here we are. The good stuff is all kind of shallow now, looking back. The kindness seems rather fake, now, when all is said and done. Instead of dealing with literally anything, deeply and honestly, the white Americans I grew up with decided to double down wholeheartedly, on a level of narcissism and hate that belies the faith they sang about and taught me. I don’t understand it. They taught me to live out the truth in love, and then, when I did, they told me I was wrong.
There’s a loss of innocence that happens with trauma, and our world is going through a lot. But the complete rejection of humble love by the evangelicals that raised me, in church pews or preaching about character being destiny, has been the cruelest disappointment. I still remember when Christian love and local church community wasn’t just a means to an end. I remember at least a measure of gentleness. I miss it.
“Where is that joyful and grateful spirit you felt then? […] Have I now become your enemy because I am telling you the truth?” Galatians 4:15a, 16, NLT.