The Clapback Mailbag: Some Disrespect

Our weekly response to emails, DMs, messages and comments from our readers.

“This boy don’t have no respect, Elder Johnson,” Sister Stevenson said indignantly. “Tell the church what you said, Mikey.”

Mrs. Emogine Stevenson had the Holy Ghost.

She carried a purse filled with prescription-strength peppermints, knew the second and third verses of every negro spiritual and, according to legend, Sister Stevenson hadn’t raise her voice since the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation. Whenever there was an argument or an incident of “roughhousing” in her Bible study class, Sister Stevenson would settle down students by lovingly saying her favorite phrase:

“Play purty, chirren. Play purty.”

At the Household of Faith Holiness Church of the Living God, where Bishop R.O. Johnson was the pastor, there were three levels of Bible school.

Sister Stevenson’s class was basically for elementary school-age kids. And because Sister Stevenson was also the director of the Sunshine Workers (the church’s children’s choir), being in her class consisted of her telling basic-level Bible stories and practicing a negro-ized version of her favorite song: “Share a Little Sunshine.”

When children reached middle school, they advanced to Sister Rosa’s class, where they sat in a circle and recited a Bible verse when Sister Rosa pointed at them. Once you reached high school, you would advance to Brother Donald’s class, which automatically qualified you for the Juniorettes, the church’s award-winning teenage choir.

Oh, how I wanted to be a Juniorette!

They sang all the good songs and occasionally performed on the church’s weekly radio program! At 12 years old, my oldest sister Sean became one of the youngest Juniorettes in Household of Faith history, even though she was still in Sister Rosa’s class! But alas, at 10 years old, I was stuck in preteen purgatory with the other Sunshine Workers …

Until the day I contradicted Sister Stevenson’s version of the Moses, Pharaoh and the Exodus …

I’m sure you’ve heard this one. Moses went down to Egyptland and told ol’ Pharaoh: “Let my people go.” Pharaoh says, “Nah,” so God sends a plague. Moses asks again. Pharaoh refuses again. God sends another plague. Repeat 10 times, until God has no choice but to kill the Egyptians’ firstborn kids, sparing the Israelites at "pass over.”

Except that’s not how it happened.

While preparing to become a first-round pick in the Juniorettes draft lottery, I had read this story. And, as I explained to Sister Stevenson, Pharaoh wanted to emancipate the enslaved Israelites. The Egyptians were cool with them leaving. But, according to the actual Bible, “the Lord hardened Pharaoh’s heart, so that he would not let the children of Israel go.”

Sister Stevenson had reached her final straw. She was done with my Biblical fact-checking, my constant eye-rolling and my overall refusal to distribute a modicum of my God-given sunshine. She called me up to the front of the entire church and pleaded with Elder Johnson to find a solution to her smart-mouthed Mikey problem. After I retold my more accurate version of the exodus, Elder Johnson agreed I was right. But Sister Stevenson wasn’t done.

“Tell him what you said, Brother Mikey,” she said, staring at me with her arms folded. “Why did God do it?” I knew precisely what Sister Stevenson was referring to, and I didn’t hesitate to give her what she wanted.

“God hardened the Pharaoh’s heart,” I proudly proclaimed to the entire Household of Faith.

“Cuz he wanted to do more magic tricks.”

Aside from holding the world record for becoming the youngest Juniorette in history, every Friday, I respond to emails, DMs, tweets and messages from our readers in the Clapback Mailbag. Because, despite being marginalized by a supposedly saved, soft-spoken children’s choir director …

I still want to share a little sunshine.

Our first two correspondences are about last week’s Tell-It Report

Tell-It Report: Black Women Lost 106,000 Jobs in April. It’s a Troubling Sign That Could Get Worse.

From: Lee
Subject: Yes there is Black privilege

No disrespect but maybe those 106,000 Black women lost their jobs because they were DEI.

You blame white people for everything instead of addressing the root cause of your problem. Do you think Black women would lose all those jobs if they were qualified. Is there one thing in the Black community that you don’t blame on white people?

I responded to Lee by asking if he had any proof about his hypothesis.

From: Lee

No disrespect but is thinking all white people got where they are because of privilege any dirrerent than assuming a successful Black person is successful bc of DEI

Dear Lee,

I wasn’t always like this.

During my tenure as a Sunshine Worker, I was a star student who always took responsibility for my actions. In fact, after my unfortunate storytelling controversy exploded, I became Sister Rosa’s star student. It wasn’t even a secret. She would always call on me to recite Bible verses and even recommended me for the Juniorettes. Everyone knew I was her favorite …

Until the VBS Math Bee.

Every summer, the Household of Faith Holiness Church of the Living God hosted a Vacation Bible School summer program. Every kid in the neighborhood — even students who weren’t church members — came to dine on the finest bag lunches of soggy baloney sandwiches, Fritos that cut the roof of your mouth like a rusty razor blade and a pint of warm whole milk.

Looking back, I realized that my church essentially provided free child care for the entire community. Vacation Bible School was basically like every other summer program, except it was seasoned with a little bit of Jesus. It was mostly kickball, worksheets and “activities” that offered prizes like Tootsie Pops and coloring books. The kids were separated into the same age divisions as church, but instead of our Bible study teachers, VBS paid high school seniors and young adults to serve as volunteer teachers. Because I had already been certified as a Juniorette, I was the youngest student in my VBS class.

Long before Juneteenth became a federal holiday, my church celebrated the day by organizing an annual bazaar. The Juneteenth Bazaar was so lit. There were games, arts, crafts and sports competitions with trophies. Instead of lunch meat, VBS students and parents could purchase hot dogs topped with Sister Joretta’s famous chili, Brother Charles’ fried fish and as much Nehi soda as their heart desired. And of course, there was the VBS Math Bee.

Before I was kicked out of Sister Stevenson’s class, I had never participated in the Math Bee because the competition featured Juniorette-level math. Plus, the same person won every year:

My oldest sister Sean.

Sean loved numbers. Not only did she major in math in college, but because I was homeschooled, she was basically my math teacher. However, I was bullied into competing against my sister by someone who was sure I was going to win:

Sister Rosa.

Long story short, Sean whipped my ass.

I knew I had no chance. Sean knew her multiplication tables when she was 3 years old, so I wasn’t ashamed that I had lost. But Sister Rosa was. Still, Sister Rosa wasn’t as disappointed as the founder of the Juneteenth celebration and host of the VBS Math Bee — my mama.

On the way home, my mama came precipitously close to cussing me out. And she had the Holy Ghost! As my mom ranted, demanding that I learn my multiplication tables, Sean and my other sisters just giggled. I was determined to beat Sean the next year, so after she taught me how multiplication works, I quietly set out to beat Sean. She only knew her multiplication tables up to 12; I was going to defeat Sean by committing twice as much info to memory.

When I entered the public school system a few years later, my class took a timed math test every Thursday. Every week, the number and difficulty of problems would increase, and the student who scored the highest would receive a prize out of the class grab bag. At first, I would win the prize every week, but as the year passed, my grades went lower, even though I had the correct answers. When I confronted my teacher about it, she informed me why I was losing points despite having the correct answers.

I didn’t show my work.

Work? I had no idea what she was talking about. Can’t every fifth grader do 17x19 in their head? What does “carrying the one” even mean? I still don’t know.

It means white privilege.

Every white person in America is competing in a system that was designed for them by your forefathers. When a Black person manages to succeed in the system you created and championed, you can’t fathom the idea that someone who was legally excluded from your system could manage to beat you at your own game. That’s why you think every Black person must be a diversity hire.

Because you don’t see our work, you think we didn’t do our work.

But how do you know, Lee?

What if those people are smarter than you? What if all 106,000 of those Black women managed to figure out how to navigate your system and then do the same work as you did? What if the only way we could win the prize is if we didn’t show our work? What if they had to keep their work a secret because the people who are in charge of teaching us are also trying to make sure we don’t win?

In America, 63% of Black children attend schools classified as mid-high poverty or high poverty schools, compared to 25% of white children. Majority-white school districts are funded, on average, at $2,226 more per student than non-white school districts. A Black high school graduate earns 85.3% of a white high school grad’s salary, but a Black person with a bachelor’s degree earns 77% of his white counterpart.

Not only did we succeed, we managed to navigate your systems while eating soggy sandwiches and creating our own institutions and teaching our children and shielding our children from the harm your system produced. We built Black Wall Street; white people bombed it. We built our schools; white people underfunded them. We created systems to repair the harm; white people dismantled them and told us our solutions were wrong.

Why the fuck would Black people ever show you our work?

But I don’t blame you, Lee. I don’t even blame white people. In a country where white supremacy is a national religion, I understand that Black people succeeding without white people is as unfathomable to you as a Black boy who learned how to do basic arithmetic without a white person’s instruction. But as Sister Rosa once told me:

“Just because you don’t see a thing doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

I can’t remember if she was talking about Black excellence, math or God.