I’m Still Here

Someone from my church recommended that I read Austin Channing Brown’s I’m Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness. If I accurately recall, the pastors and staff were reading it. We’re a diverse congregation for a church in Massachusetts, but still majority white then Asian with a healthy dose of everyone else and an open heart so it didn’t surprise me that in our church’s efforts to reflect their attitudes in their actions, the leadership would be reading the book. Channing Brown addresses her experiences as a black American and how Christianity in America conflates white supremacy into its view of how Christians should think and act instead of the Bible.
I’m Still Here is a collection of essays chronologically and thematically organized. It isn’t exactly a memoir because she does not discuss her entire life story, but it could be a memoir of dissonance, a growing epiphany that her reality is being obscured by others’ racist preconceptions at the intersection of her world with theirs: her neighborhood, her schools, her work place, her church, etc. There is an awful, but constant realization that coexistence and proximity does not naturally mean that you are seen, and if you are seen, you are treated as an exception to negative stereotypes of black people instead of a personal experience that could be used to extrapolate that stereotypes are ridiculous. She discusses her growth from a person existing to instruct to a person that can exist without being an unpaid teacher at all times.
If you are black or a person of color, the experiences related in I’m Still Here won’t surprise you though some of her suggested solutions will be helpful. It is more shocking that she chronicled the quotidian in such a tiny book (to be fair, it probably could have been longer), and you may finish it quickly. I read the entire book within twenty-four hours because it is well written and relatable, but also because if I take a break at work, I really didn’t want people looking at the cover of this book. When I read books about WWII, I get astonished questions. They’re not ready for an honest conversation about race, and I have a mortgage to pay. I had a person who actively harassed [just] me (thank God for witnesses and that didn’t even help), ask me if I saw I Am Not Your Negro. I can’t make this stuff up. I don’t get paid enough to add an unofficial task to my job description. I almost didn’t want to write the review of this book. After 2016, I quit. I can’t waste any more energy on this psychological money pit.
Even for the most progressive, open to criticism, eager to make the world a better place white person could be in for a shock if it is the first time that person is comparing and contrasting church experiences. I imagine that if I’m correct, and the leadership at my church read it, even though it wouldn’t have been their first rodeo, they spent a considerable amount of time earnestly discussing each chapter. I am relieved that I wasn’t in the room for that book discussion group. Some of Channing Brown’s experiences resembled situations that happened in our church, and I love my church with basically no caveats or reservations. Awkward! Call me when there is a book discussion on horror anthologies.
If you are white or a person of color who instinctually gets defensive and treat people discussing their experiences with racism as an opportunity to debate the veracity of their reality, you need I’m Still Here, but don’t bother reading it. You’re not going to get it. You’re just going to be mad and feel personally attacked without realizing that a hit dog hollers. If you think that the real racism is people noticing specific acts of racism, then bless your heart. Take a lesson from Pharaoh and just run from the word because if you hear it and don’t change, then the plagues come.
If I had to criticize I’m Still Here, and my criticism is ridiculous considering it is literally her job to deal with race and Christianity, I felt as if in most of the chapters, the God moments redeeming what dreadful moments preceded felt less real than the incidents as if she really had to force it and as a Jesus shield from criticism of her unflinching prose. The one time that I felt as if it was organic and really resonated was in the chapter titled “Nice White People.” Channing Brown writes, “That was work I was happy to leave between her and the Holy Spirit.” While her two chapters about her cousin Dalin were moving, it felt like the beginning of a new book and didn’t necessarily fit the theme of this book so I hope that she revisits and expands on those themes in a new book, and/or if there are new editions of this book, those chapters are removed and placed in the new book.
I’ve heard Ta-Nehisi Coates’ writing described as the second coming of James Baldwin, and while I have yet to read his books to decide for myself, I do adore Baldwin. While I’m Still Here does not read like a Baldwin book, the Holy Spirit must have touched Channing Brown with his same fearless willingness to use words to convey the truth. I really look forward to reading her future work.