The headline grabbed my attention: THOUSANDS WITHOUT WATER IN JACKSON, MISSIPIPPI.
A close family member lives in Jackson, and I immediately called him. He was fine but they were drinking boiled water. He seemed “unconcerned,” so I filed the matter in memory. But I couldn’t keep it there.
News sources kept reporting the issue, labeling it a CRISIS for thousands of people. Heavy rain caused the Pearl River to crest just below major flood stage. A major pump at the city’s main water treatment facility was damaged, but the city’s mayor said the water crisis was the result of years-long issues.
When I checked on my family member again, he and his family were ok, and were no longer needing to boil their water.
The Mississippi water crisis came to mind again recently when the news made us aware of crisis Hurricane Ian was causing in numerous states. Weather experts are saying it is sure to go down as one of the most impactful storms in U.S. history. Ferocious winds and surging waters tore through homes and businesses, taking the lives of more than 100 people.
I connect my reflection on these two crises by the fact that in both cases black people felt they were the last to get served. In a statement of the Mississippi Water Crisis, NAACP President Derrick Johnson addressed the disparities placed in sharp relief by the Jackson, Mississippi water crisis, “Somehow, in the year 2022, equality and justice remain out of reach for Black communities across America. The disparities facing our community are stark” …More than a hundred thousand people, the majority of whom are Black, are without safe access to drinking water for the foreseeable future. Somehow, in the year 2022, equality and justice remain out of reach for Black communities across America.” He went on to say, “A lack of investment by the political leadership has created this crisis and highlights the racial injustice that is associated with the distribution of state and federal funds for clean water.”
A similar assessment was made in relation to Hurricane Ian. Dunbar, a historically Black area of Fort Myers, Florida, also has a growing Hispanic and Latino population. Lining the roads were uprooted trees, fallen power lines, piles of fence remnants and storm debris. Residents were confident they would be the last ones to get attention. One person said, “Every time we get a storm, we’re the last ones to get power.” Another repeated the conviction, “It’s expected; where it’s Black and brown people—we get it last.”
Billions of dollars have been made available by the federal government over the last several years for investments in community water infrastructure, to avert crises like the one in Jackson. This funding has not made it to the communities that need it most.
I know. Radical philosophy like WOKE, the irresponsible and personal use of our gifts to Black Lives Matter, the vastly different political perspectives and self-serving of elected persons, have all made us numb, even aggressively opposed to consideration and conversation about “the problem.” A little used word describes where we are. We have become languid about the whole issue of racial justice.
LANGUID means lacking energy, or causing a lack of enthusiasm, “drooping or flagging from, as if from exhaustion.”
From an explicit Christian perspective, we must not be languid. Whether Republican or Democrat, our calling is clear: “Bear each other’s burdens, and in this way, you will fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2).
But not just as Christians, whether Red or Blue, as humans, created by God, in God’s image, we must not be languid. Our Creator binds us together in solidarity that should lead us to meet another’s need, and to “show honor” to every person in the human family.