The SEMI Winter 2014.4 by Fuller Office of Student Affairs

the semi winter 2014.4

BLACK HISTORY MONTH

Semi-Coherent

Editor’s Notes

Morgan Freeman once explained why he had a problem with “Black History Month.” “Black history,” he said, “is American history.” It is not separate from or a subset of plain old history. It is part of it. With this issue of the SEMI, we want to honor and celebrate those who were kept out of history books, celebrate the traditions and cultures that for so long were ignored, oppressed, or enslaved. We recognize that there are still injustices, still oppressions, and we want to take deliberate steps, to fight those evils in whatever way we can. This is a celebration of the African American and African victories, experiences, and spirits. We recognize that their stories belong as part of the mainstream history, not as subsets of it. A choir of voices have contributed to this issue of the SEMI to that end, of making history into a fuller vision of the human experience. May we have ears to hear. In assembling this issue, I was not alone. I received a great deal of help, most notably from Dr. Joy Moore (Assistant Professor of Preaching and Associate Dean of African American Church Studies) who acted in many ways as my Co-Editor for this issue. Tamisha Tyler (ASC President and really cool person) helped tremendously in terms of communication and the recruiting of writers. There was also a good deal of work done before my tenure by Randall Fredrick (Editor of the SEMI, 2011-2013) for which I am extremely grateful. My thanks to you all, friends. I have also been remiss in given proper credit over the last few months to Jonathan Stoner, our Production Editor at the SEMI (you might remember him as the one who wrote the great article about the Duck Dynasty fiasco). I may be responsible for collecting written content, but he alone bears the burden of visuals and layout; he has put in a tremendous amount of time into making every issue of the SEMI look amazing (including this one) and making each issue better than the last.

Reed Metcalf, Editor

The SEMI

Managing Editor Carmen Valdés Editor Reed Metcalf Production Editor Jonathan Stoner

Letters to the Editor

The SEMI welcomes brief responses to articles and commentaries on issues relevant to the Fuller community. All submissions must include the author’s name and contact information and are subject to editing.

Legal Jargon

The SEMI is published every other week as a service to the Fuller community by the Office of Student Affairs at Fuller Theological Seminary. Articles and commentaries do not necessarily reflect the views of the Fuller administration or the SEMI.

Write for Us

You read that correctly. Email us at semi@fuller.edu to add your voice to the SEMI.

W o r d P l a y Word search, only this time we are celebrating African-American women and men who have shaped everyone’s history. Some of them are on our cover. Some of them are not, because we didn’t have enough space on the cover for all the movers and shakers of society.

History Makers G V N A M E E R F N A G R O M G P X K E

R G O X D L A R E G Z T I F A L L E M C

G J T N O S N I B O R E I K C A J Y Q O

Y A G Q M W C S N I K R E P N H O J O R

L M N N O S Y T E S S A R G E D L I E N

R E I T I O P Y E N D I S V A O P M L E

C S L A A K Y G A I J T O X D L M L S L

1. BARACK OBAMA 2. COLIN POWELL 3. CORNELIUS WEST 4. DUKE ELLINGTON 5. ELLA FITZGERALD 6. FREDERICK DOUGLASS 7. JACKIE ROBINSON 8. JAMES CONE 9. JOHN PERKINS 10. LANGSTON HUGHES

O C L T B A R A C K O B A M A X H L F I

C O E W X B M E O N P Z S Z A M T E J U

E N E W R R J H H P O F O J J L K W W S

M E K G K H T U R T R E N R U O J O S W

T M U S R X G H H X U A U Y F C M P I E

O U D O D H K V T D I L H C B L G N C S

P U O L E G N A A Y A M N W P A J I S T

V N O S I R R O M I N O T I I M H L Z W

Z W I L W S H V L J Z C Q E T N L O P T

S S A L G U O D K C I R E D E R F C Q O

G X S S O V W N K V D R O S A P A R K S

Y G N U J N E C V X J X T Q M L L M E I

C Q E Z U D F H J V U Y W X J R N G J Y

11. MALCOLM X 12. MARTIN LUTHER KING JR 13. MAYA ANGELOU 14. MORGAN FREEMAN 15. NEIL DEGRASSE TYSON 16. OPRAH WINFREY 17. ROSA PARKS 18. SIDNEY POITIER 19. SOJOURNER TRUTH 20. TONI MORRISON

I AM NOT A TOKEN. By Tamisha Tyler

Photo of Sasheer Zamata, the first black female Saturday Night Live cast member in 6 years. Her hiring has been criticized in the media as a blatant PR stunt that reeks of tokenism.

BOUT A YEAR AGO, I WAS ASKED to write an article for Black History Month. At the time, I was trying to figure out what I wanted to focus on for a PhD program and was asking those I was in community with for some of their insights. One of their comments stuck with me, “well, whatever it is, I’m sure you will find a job, after all you are an African American woman.” Their comment bothered me in ways that I could not articulate at the time, but those feelings quickly solidified after hearing a comment though the grapevine that someone told the (then) editor (to his horror and offence) that I was the SEMI’s “token black writer.” I was not able to finish that article then,

WH A T IS TOKENI SM? TOKENISM CAN BE DESCRIBED AS “the practice or policy of making no more than a token effort or gesture, as in offering opportunities to minorities equal to those of the majority” or “any legislation, admissions policy, hiring practice, etc., that demonstrates only minimal compliance with rules, laws, or public pressure.” This does not negate the fact that there are serious gaps of representation in companies, schools and organizations that need to be addressed, but what it points to is the way in which we address the issue; namely by finding a person to fill a quota without any true regard, respect or acknowl-

TO SAY THAT I WOULD GET A JOB BASED ON MY RACE IS TO IGNORE MY YEARS OF TRAINING AND SKILL-SET THAT I BRING TO THE TABLE. IT IS TO MAKE ME ONLY MY RACE, OR ONLY MY GENDER, IGNORING MY ACTUAL PERSON. but the notion of tokenism never left me, and since the opportunity has presented itself again this year, I thought it would be a good topic to discuss. WHAT I HOPE TO CONVEY IN talking about tokenism and sharing my personal experience is the need for us as a community to understand the implications of the language we use and the expectations we unknowingly impose on others when placing them within those constructs. This is not just something unique to my experience of being African American or a woman, but is a situation which no one is exempt from experiencing. So, in this space that I have been allotted, I hope to offer some of my opinions (that you will hopefully take as some sort of insight) on the affects of tokenism as well as some theological insights and ways that we as a Christian Community can respond.

edgement of why the gap exists in the first place. Allow me to use my own experience as an example. When the comment was made that I would get a job simply because I was an African American woman, several implications were made; implications about my person, implications about the company/school/organization that would hire me and implications of the expectations that would navigate that relationship.

IMPLICATIONS OF MY PERSON TO SAY THAT I WOULD GET A JOB solely based on my race and gender is offensive. Period. This does not ignore the fact that there are systems in place that favor certain races or genders; systems rooted in a history of violent injustice in which our direct participation was not a requirement of placement within those systems, nor does it ignore the fact that this statement can be very true for some in ways that it is not for others. What it ignores,

particularly as it relates to tokenism, is the skill, knowledge, and work of the person to which the assumption is made. To say that I would get a job based on my race is to ignore my years of training and skill-set that I bring to the table. It is to make me only my race, or only my gender, ignoring my actual person.

IMPLICATIONS OF THE COMPANY WHAT THEN IS TO BE SAID OF THE company that would hire me? When that person made that comment, they were not only assuming certain things about me, but about the field that I was going into, which in this case is academia. Now, to say that there needs to be a shift in the types of voices allowed to participate in the theological discussion is a gross un-

could expect me to behave as a “model minority” that is, doing good work without causing too much trouble. On the other hand, they can place me in the role of “ambassador,” my constituents being those who share my particularity (be it race, gender, etc). To this end, any and all actions would be representative of all those in my group (unless of course, they do not line up to previous stereotypes; like being articulate when English is not your first language) and I would be forced into the constant role of historian and cultural exegete. In addition, I would be expected to (and sometimes only expected to) give insight as it relates to my group (“can you give us the female perspective?”), and any and all comments would only be attributed to that role, no matter their origin (like say, I know what I’m talking about and

ALL OF THIS TO SAY, IT IS MESSY. AND THE WAY IN WHICH WE APPROACH THIS, ESPECIALLY AS CHRISTIANS, SHOULD BE WITH GRACE AND HUMILITY. WE HAVE TO UNDERSTAND THE IMPLICATIONS OF OUR LANGUAGE IF WE ARE TO TRULY BE THE NEIGHBORS WE ARE CALLED TO BE. derstatement. But to imply that I am a token, as the person did to the SEMI editor, is to imply that the company doesn’t value my skills as a person, only an aspect of my particularly as a quota to fill. Maybe the statement as it stands hits a nerve on the hiring policies and procedures with some institutions, maybe not. But the expectations that accompany such thinking are an important factor in addressing the underlying issue of tokenism.

NAVIGATING EXPECTATIONS WHAT WOULD AN ORGANIZATION expect of me if I was only a token to them? Would there be much expectation at all? There are several ways to approach these questions. On one hand, the organization

I also happen to be a woman). Also, as a token my vertical mobility within that institution would be contingent on the institution’s comfortability and more so, the amount of opportunity and gain they would receive as a result of my promotion. AS YOU CAN SEE, THE NOTION OF tokenism carries a lot of assumption with it that reinforces the boundaries it claims to be tearing down. When we use language like this, whether it is direct or implied, we reinforce barriers of injustice that we as a Christian community are called to tear down. What’s more, we grossly generalize the complexities that surround this issue, including notions that we understand as “Affirmative Action” (which in and of itself is a loaded term) or real

efforts by institutions who seek to bring underrepresented voices to the table; not in a way that fills a quota but in a genuine effort in righting the wrong. This is why the comment about my relationship with the SEMI was so dangerous, because it makes assumptions about them that are just not true. While I don’t attribute Fuller to be an institution who would behave in this manner, I think it is also important

stereotypes. Give that person the grace and autonomy to be themselves. If their interactions with you prove otherwise, then so be it. But it is important that we do not allow our thinking to be dictated by categories that divide us, or make anyone inferior to another. Yes there are particularities of those we commune with; that is the beauty of the church and is what we must honor. And yes, there is injustice

THE NOTION OF TOKENISM CARRIES A LOT OF ASSUMPTION WITH IT THAT REINFORCES THE BOUNDARIES IT CLAIMS TO BE TEARING DOWN. WHEN WE USE LANGUAGE LIKE THIS, WHETHER IT IS DIRECT OR IMPLIED, WE REINFORCE BARRIERS OF INJUSTICE THAT WE AS A CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY ARE CALLED TO TEAR DOWN. to be honest and name those institutions that do act in a way of tokenism. There wouldn’t be a word for it if it didn’t exist. There are far too many institutions that seek out and expect minorities to do and act in the same way they do, not appreciating their skill or worth, but only in an attempt to look diverse while maintaining the same culture within the institution. ALL OF THIS TO SAY, IT IS MESSY. AND the way in which we approach this, especially as Christians, should be with grace and humility. We have to understand the implications of our language if we are to truly be the neighbors we are called to be. This can be as simple as removing words like token from our vocabulary. What’s more, it’s removing the assumption that is associated with it. If you see a person that is the only minority within a department or institution don’t automatically assume it’s because of their race, or gender, or anything other than their competence and skill to do the job they have been hired to do. Furthermore, don’t always expect that person to act in a certain way, especially if those ways are based on racial or gender

and dishonor to those particularities and a denial of community to our neighbors; that is a truth of the church that we must acknowledge. And yes, there is a responsibility of the church to be a voice to the voiceless and to care for the least of these; that is a task that we must never forget. May the God who created us all in his image give us the grace to love and value our neighbors as ourselves.

Tamisha Tyler (MDiv ‘14, Theology and the Arts) is what she calls an artistic theologian who seeks to bridge the gap between theology, art, and culture. When she is not studying theology she is often found immersed in the reading of literature or the writing of poetry. You can catch her random thoughts via www.honestconversationpage. blogspot.com.

Casualties of our

Racial History:

the

Complexities of

Interracial Marriage

By Toi Perkins-Prince

O, WHAT’S REALLY THE BIG DEAL about interracial relationships? What makes them any different from the miracle that happens when two people find each other and choose to be co-creators of love, in love? My very proud, very eager initial

replete with our own cultural, familial, psychosocial luggage. Yet, the look which often sours to a disdainful glare that I often get when some passers-by consider the juxtaposition of my husband and me tells me otherwise. “Oh, they’re just jealous.” That

THE FAULT OF HISTORY IS THAT RACE HAS BEEN MANIPULATED SO THAT WHAT MUST HAVE BEEN AT SOME POINT IN UNRECORDED HISTORY A MATTER OF NATURE, HAS BECOME A CATEGORY OF WORTH. THE COLLISION OF COLOR WHEN WE FINALLY ENCOUNTERED EACH OTHERS’ WORLDS CREATED CULTURAL, SPIRITUAL, AND SOCIAL CASUALTIES. response was: absolutely nothing. Every one of us embarks on the journey of relationship

wise old adage taught to us by our moms and grandmoms and the vain pride in imag-

ining that others covet what you’ve got suffices only so long until you realize...something else is going on. And then it happens: “You’re just another black monkey dancin’ for the man,” one man mutters and shakes his head when I pass him on the street.

table with a familiar orange glow, released from their plastic habitat into a decorative ceramic bowl are the Doritos. It is possible that at some point they were a little more related to corn than yellow#5, but there they are. Race identity is like that. It has been

I AM POSITIVE THAT MY HUSBAND FEELS FAR REMOVED FROM THE HISTORY OF THE DUTCH SLAVE TRADE AND I, LIKEWISE, FEEL DISSOCIATED FROM MIDDLE PASSAGE SLAVE SHIPS, BUT THE CASUALTIES OF OUR HISTORY LOOM AND LINGER IN THE SPACE AROUND US WITHOUT OUR PAYING MUCH ATTENTION TO IT. What adage, what pride serves here? There was something within me that was open to believing that there was truth in his words... and that seems the greater violation.

manipulated, emulsified, conveyed, sprinkled, placed in convenient containers, and distributed for consumption. Ah, additives, preservatives...and fun new shapes!

MY VERY PROUD AND VERY EAGER “absolutely nothing” is reduced to a syrupy puddle at my feet. There is a difference; race changes things. But what exactly is it about racial identity that spikes the rue? It is clear that the black/white mix that was so offensive to my friend on the street had less to do with my husband and I (though we were the catalyst for his soapbox retort) but with something systemic, something institutional, pandemic, and historically persistent. SO I STEP OVER THE STICKY MESS and concede that race is a dish served at our fellowship tables whether we like it or not, and we may not even be cognizant of what kind of dish it is. Yet, as any good host, we should know what’s on our table and who’s partaking of it.

THE FAULT OF HISTORY IS THAT RACE has been manipulated so that what must have been at some point in unrecorded history a matter of nature, has become a category of worth. The collision of color when we finally encountered each others’ worlds created cultural, spiritual, and social casualties. Some of us lost our humility (by indulging thoughts of superiority) and others of us lost our purpose (as a result of being re-purposed). These losses have been responsible for systematically pulverizing racial identity out of its “natural” state into one where race is the basis for evaluating worth or human-ness. Human-ness and individuality are further compromised by stereotypes, and stereotypes make for powerful preservatives. Not only are they addictive, but stereotypes enjoy a long shelf life.

THIS IS MY CONCLUSION: RACIAL identity is like processed food. Imagine that spread on your potluck table is a plethora of fresh fruits, crisp, newly picked vegetables, and homemade delicacies straight out of the oven. There, gleaming in the center of the

THIS NEW RACIAL PRODUCT IS NOW layered with some powdery, highly addictive substance that resembles truth. With its added ingredients, it rides down the conveyor belt into the neat packages of our family systems and economic, social, and

faith institutions. The shape and formula changes over time, but the basic ingredients remain. We don’t know who brought it, but it shows up at our table ready for consumption - and we have no choice but to oblige. So my soapbox friend on the street, pushes himself from the table after having had a healthy helping, and belches out his words in indigestion. HERE’S WHERE MY CONVENIENT metaphor shows its seams. If we were actually dealing with food we might simply choose not to partake, to “go unprocessed.” But in this case we have no choice but to consume what’s on the table because we often don’t know which dish has the additives and preservatives we’re trying to avoid. Despite our best efforts, we partake every day of some kind of racial “food” without even knowing it. MY HUSBAND IS FROM GRAND RAPIDS, I am from Detroit. He is curly blonde, I am curly black(ish). He calls his grandma “Grandma,” I call mine “Big Mamma.” His eyes are fresh deep-sea green, mine are Mississippi mud brown. I am positive that he feels far removed from the history of the Dutch Slave Trade and I, likewise, feel dissociated from Middle Passage slave ships, but the casualties of our history loom and linger in the space around us without our

THIS PAST CHRISTMAS, WE HAD THE opportunity to host my husband’s wonderfully caring and generally amazing parents. Crammed into our tiny house we ate, talked, watched movies, played games, and periodically gathered ourselves up for an outdoor excursion. They were vulnerable with me, their new daughter-in-law, and revealed themselves in the loving way that assures me that they are real family and not just some people I know. One lazy afternoon, my husband’s brother had also come up to visit for a few days and we were surveying some “greatest hits” online. Stand-up seemed appropriate for our collective mood so our search lead us to a well-known comedian/ventriloquist. We cozied up on the couches ready to laugh. What was at first funny turned sour for me very quickly. I tried to maintain an amused smile but the truth was that suddenly I felt uncomfortable in my skin. My ears caught fire, my tongue affixed itself to the top of my mouth, and my chest seemed to slowly implode. I wanted to be invisible. I left for the kitchen with a sheepish sort of grin and waited for the feeling to pass. But the words still accosted me from within the living room - something about “Kwanzaa” and “malt liquor” followed by thunderous laughter from my new family. My husband soon joined me in the kitchen. “We have to say something to them,” he said. I felt like I couldn’t even be-

THE FACT IS THAT MY FATHER-IN-LAW, LIKE ALL OF US, HAS UNKNOWINGLY PARTAKEN OF THE SYNTHESIZED PRODUCT, COMPLETE WITH ITS STEREOT YPE PRESERVATIVES, THAT HIS SOCIAL CONTEXT HAS OFFERED HIM. THUS BEGIN THE COURAGEOUS CONVERSATIONS. paying much attention to it. We don’t often consider our racial history and the deep furrows it has left behind, but every now and then, we’re forced to remember the Doritos on the table.

gin to explain what was wrong about what we were listening to. “It doesn’t feel like the right thing to do right now,” I answered and busied myself with whatever presented itself to me as a mini-project.

WHEN I FINALLY REJOINED EVERYONE in the living room, my father-in-law was trying to remember the names of some of his favorite television characters growing up. “Kingfish! That’s his name.” I had never heard the name but in the spirit of nostalgia, we quickly looked it up. To my surprise, and dismay, Kingfish was a character in the highly controversial and protested “Amos and Andy” series, a minstrel radio show featuring white actors portraying black characters. In the early 1950’s, the show, now employing black actors, enjoyed some

than fifty years ago. We live in the shadow, or rather, in the daylight of Loving. Yet what is there for us to do in that daylight? The first “to do’s” resemble the task list of any loving, committed relationship: listen, be attentive, present, and open without blaming or shaming - load up on the healthy produce of a loving relationship. With regard to racial difference, we find ourselves responsible for intentionally engaging in open conversation about race from a place of love and forgiveness. My husband’s and my racial difference is a place we bring our awareness occasion-

W I T H R E G A R D TO R A C I A L D I F F E R E N C E, W E F I N D O U R S E LV E S R E S P O N S I B L E F O R I N T E N T I O N A L LY E N G A G I N G I N O P E N CO N V E R S AT I O N A B O U T R A C E F R O M A P L A C E O F LO V E A N D F O R G I V E N E S S . success on television. And we watched. The house filled with unabashed laughter from the chair where my father-in-law sat. There was no malice in it, no reason for him to feel shame, and, oddly enough, I feel like it was part of a good-will offering to me as if to say “my favorite television characters growing up were black folk.” The sheer expressed joy at the opportunity to revisit his childhood friends set me, strangely, at ease. The fact is that my father-in-law, like all of us, has unknowingly partaken of the synthesized racial product, complete with its stereotype preservatives, that his social context has offered him. Thus begin the courageous conversations.

ally so that we might be good stewards of difference - so that we might learn, understand ourselves and others, and love more completely, so that we might share what we learn from each other and teach healthy habits to our kids (because they’re going to get the fast-food versions out in the world anyway)...and the courageous conversation continues.

OUR FAMILIES, CURIOUS PASSERS-BY, and my friend on the street, remind me that my husband and I not only bring ourselves, but institutions into our marriage. We bring social, economic, and political structures, ideas of beauty and worth that are all related in some way to specific racial constructs. It’s strange to consider that Loving vs. the State of Virginia, the trial that abrogated the law prohibiting interracial marriage, was less

D I

S P L A C E M E

N T &

b y S t e v e n G.

IDENTITY 12

HEN I WAS A KID I WAS told I could do anything. When I read the Bible I was told I could do all things. But as I grew in years and theology, I learned I could do nothing. Because despite how hard I work, how well I dress, how polite I am, how educated I may be, at the baseline of all these things, my skin tone still defines me in America. A SKIN TONE THAT IS ACTUALLY a color “black” and not an ethnicity, perhaps a more righteous classification of “African–American” would be sufficient, except I have never been to Africa and I was not born there. Therefore the “Africans” don’t really

men say that I am?” When I am home each night, in a seminary classroom, or at a public event, I wonder: Who do you think I am? PERHAPS IN THE BOX THAT YOU place me in, you think I am of the lower end of the spectrum, which would classify me as a gang member, thief, murderer, rapist, welfare recipient, drug user/seller, a criminal or convict, or a deadbeat dad. Perhaps because of my disposition you place me at the higher end of the spectrum, which would classify me as an entertainer, athlete, musician, hair stylist, or a rap star. Maybe I’m here at seminary because I was given some special

MY BIGGEST ISSUE AND PLIGHT AS A DARK TONED MAN IN AMERICA IS AN ISSUE OF DISPLACEMENT AND IDENTITY... JESUS ASKED A QUESTION OF HIS DISCIPLES: “WHO DO MEN SAY THAT I AM?” WHEN I AM HOME EACH NIGHT, IN A SEMINARY CLASSROOM, OR AT A PUBLIC EVENT, I WONDER: WHO DO YOU THINK I AM? accept me, but see me as an outsider. I guess I could be called Negro, but that word easily becomes substituted for what seems to be a more fun, accepted and derogative term that people love to use: nigger.

treatment. Maybe the school needed to have a certain percentage of black people, to show that they really do love Christ! Maybe they had sympathy on me, and let me in, or maybe I just qualified, just like you did.

MY BIGGEST ISSUE AND PLIGHT as a Dark Toned man in America, is an issue of displacement and identity. When I was a child and got into trouble, my father would angrily ask me a question: “Who do you think you are?” When I read the Bible, Jesus asks a question of his disciples: “Who do

SEMINARY SO FAR HAS DONE a great job of reminding me of the world from which I come from. A world of white privilege, disharmony, and a quiet tolerance of things we as “the body of Christ” should find intolerable. When you walk the campus, it blends in with the world around it.

THE AVERAGE PERSON WALKING through would not recognize this as a seminary. The issue is that at times the seminary is so much like the world that I can’t recognize it as a seminary either. This isn’t an attack or grievance against the school, but simply a man writing an article from a single perspective. CAN YOU BLAME ME? WHEN looking at classes that are mandatory for my degree, why is there no one like me teaching them? There are some elective classes taught, but even then how many? How many professors and staff look like me? Or Latino, or Asian? The library in itself has pictures of great men all around it, and again none of them black. Should I aspire to be like them? Should I find my identity in trying to become white in my skin tone? My thinking? My the-

us in the education of all things godly? WE MARCH THE STREETS OF Pasadena for immigration reform, but there was no march for Trayvon Martin. What does that say to students like me, who witnessed the murder of someone made in the image of God, and life continues, as it never happened? Where then should I find my identity? PERHAPS I SHOULD LOOK TO MY peers in my place of learning, except we are only peers on campus, as if the koinonia only covers the dimensions of the classrooms. Everyone is nice on Sunday morning in church, and everyone tries while on campus. Perhaps I should look to Christ, but which one? The white one? The black one? The one who looks Armenian? If God is not the author of confusion, then why

WE MARCH THE STREETS OF PASADENA FOR IMMIGRATION REFORM, BUT THERE WAS NO MARCH FOR TRAYVON MARTIN. WHAT DOES THAT SAY TO STUDENTS LIKE ME, WHO WITNESSED THE MURDER OF SOMEONE MADE IN THE IMAGE OF GOD, AND LIFE CONTINUES, AS IF IT NEVER HAPPENED? ology? I mean Jesus was white right? So was Adam, and so is GOD! But was not Adam made from the dirt? Where can I find white dirt in the desert? And if the first man was made from dirt, and in the “image” of God… what should I believe? So am I learning true theology? Or is the same theology that enslaved blacks in the 17th century being reinforced, by institutions in America that are instructing

is everyone walking around so confused? For me the truth is I don’t know a lot of theology. I don’t even know a lot of vocabulary words, because when I went to school I was skipped up a level. My athletic ability was placed before my education, and then when I came to Christ it was the same thing. CAN YOU LOOK THE PART, CAN you yell and shout, can you be a good

motivator. Black pastors were intimidated by me, and preached about me from the pulpits. They lashed out at me for challenging them, because they were “pastors”. They took advantage and at times tried to exploit the gifts of God within me, for personal gain. The white pastors, well.... They just

have to consider, and you never will. My “brothers and sisters” get to write the history books, teach the classes, and walk proud in a world that reflects their superiority in all things. I get to continue to be reminded of my place in society, live in an undying struggle for identity, placement and purpose,

SO I WENT WHERE I COULD FIND TRUE IDENTITY AND PLACEMENT, IN THE STREETS AND GANGS. PEOPLE TEAR DOWN THE GANGS, BUT THE GANGS SHOWED ME LOVE. IT WAS A LOVE I HAVE YET TO EXPERIENCE IN THE CHURCH, AND GOOD, BAD, OR INDIFFERENT, IT WAS AT LEAST GENUINE.

had no place for me. I just didn’t fit in. They had no idea what to do with me, or how God could use a dark face in the midst of so many light ones.

UNLIKE SOME I HAD A FATHER. A father who worked all-day and then brought his work home at night. He had to survive and so he sacrificed me in the process. Dreams weren’t encouraged; father/son things left unaccomplished, and I have been on my own since high school. His father experienced slavery first hand, as well as Christ through the ministry of Jim Jones. So I went where I could find true identity and placement, in the streets and gangs. People tear down the gangs, but they showed me love. It was a love I have yet to experience in the church, and good, bad, or indifferent, it was at least genuine. BUT LOOKING AT ME YOU MAY never know the fullness of who I am, and the truth is you don’t care to know. These are all things you don’t

and continue to tell myself I can do all things that the white Jesus gives me permission to. Christ was sold to me and I bought it, but I have yet to see real Christians.

Steven G. is a California native, US Army veteran, filmmaker, and ordained minister, Steven G is in year two of the Fuller MDiv program. He is an ex-gang member, has spoken on Capitol Hill in Washington D.C., published a poetry book in 2007, and been out of the country on a few occasions. Outside of theology he is engaged in film, photography, athletics, fatherhood, and many other passions and disciplines.

Both/And: Random

Confessions of a

Multiracial

BY REV. REBEKAH A. ROSSI

Woman

OS ANGELES MAGAZINE CAME out with a series of covers in 2012 about the new face of LA. One such cover pictured a caramel-colored woman behind the bold words: “I am Latina. I am Black. I am LA.” Beneath this was the subtitle, “20 Years after the race riots, the city has a different complexion. So what does race mean anymore? Everything.” I took a picture of this cover in awe, and sent it to my sisters. It was a very special moment for me. MY MOM CAME FROM THE mountains of Greece, my dad, from The Dominican Republic. They met in New York, and I was born near the Bronx as the fourth Dominican-Greek Rossi, and all of us could arguably be said to not look a thing alike. It was as if God had a laugh in heaven, dipping into swirling generations of DNA between Carib-

the world around me, I decided I must be white. After all, I definitely couldn’t be Lisa Turtle. There was no other representation of someone in-between in my world. I WAS, AND STILL AM (DESPITE passing seasons of inexplicable curl), the only one of my siblings with straight hair. My sisters had to spend time untangling and applying gel, and don’t you even think of going near them with a brush. (My mom figured that out after my oldest sister, Rachel… poor thing took one for the team with fluffy hair.) Some would say I had the “good hair”. This was hurtful, and I didn’t understand it. I loved curls, and tried so hard to create a wave. All my sisters were in the curl club, and I was… different. BEING DIFFERENT CAN BE HARD when you can’t share the same differences with

FROM A YOUNG AGE, I KNEW MY ANSWER TO THE COMMON QUESTION, “WHAT ARE YOU?” I KNEW WHAT THEY MEANT. bean Hispanics and Mediterraneans, choosing features at random from this mixed pool to carefully craft five “both-and” children. I LEARNED TO BE COMFORTABLE standing out, to the point where blending in actually began to make me nervous. (Save your comments, SOP students.) I took the badge “different” and wore it with pride, basing my identity and my special-ness on whether or not I stood out. The media and society both aided and confused me in my new venture, either attributing any connection of beauty or value to my being mixed, or by labeling me and sticking me in one racial category.

even your siblings. Everyone told me, “You’re the Greek one!” A compliment--but not the whole truth. They would decide my likeness based on straight hair. I already wasn’t Dominican enough around the Dominicans, and not Greek enough around the Greeks. Since my identity was uncomfortably unclear for those in either group, they delighted to define me. I hated this. They didn’t know that I was a spitting image of my Dominican Abuela Delores. They didn’t see that I had my dad’s smile. Every form I filled out made me choose one parent, and it was known that you were what your father was. I was hurt that I could not represent my mother, as well.

IT DIDN’T ALWAYS CLICK THAT I WAS what my parents were. When I watched Saved By The Bell, I figured I was Kelly Kapowski (which seemed like good news if you wanted to be sought by both Zack Morris and AC Slater). Of course none of my grandparents spoke English. Of course my mom sounded like she was hacking up flem as she spoke her native tongue to relatives over the phone. Of course my dad had brown skin and pronounced his z’s like s’s. That was my normal. But when I looked in the mirror, and then at media and

I JUST WASN’T ALLOWED TO BE both, and I wanted to be recognized as exactly that, nothing more, and nothing less. From a young age, I knew my answer to the common, super-flawed question, “What are you?” I knew what they meant. “Dominican and Greek.” I never budged on that. “So, you’re black?” Some would ask. “In part,” I would say, “But I’m actually Dominican and Greek. Dominicans are made up of African, Spanish, and Taíno, and their skin color can range from pale white to dark black.”

I ONCE HAD A LONG ARGUMENT IN college with an African American friend about my identity; she felt I was ashamed of my people by not admitting my blackness. I just couldn’t identify with the whole African-American history or experience, and felt it would be a lie to pretend to. I explained, and explained, but she still left saying, “Girl, you just black. Your daddy black—you black.” WHEN I WAS LIGHTER SKINNED, some would brush aside my explanations of ethnic identity to assure me, “Oh, don’t worry. I see you as white.” Was I supposed to say ‘thank you’? SOON, I REALIZED WHITE FRIENDS would admit feelings about other ethnic groups to me that they would never say around those ethnic others, even if I shared in those ancestries. My black friends would say things to me about white people that they would never say around our white friends. I felt both privileged and deeply offended on both ends, but didn’t know if I had that right. WHEN I DISCOVERED THE DANGEROUS fun of tanning in high school, comments such as “Girl, you Puerto Rican!” began. Thanks, J-Lo. When I would clarify, it wasn’t unusual for them to respond, “Oh, that’s the same thing as Puerto Rican!” No. those are two different islands with two different histories! (Sigh. It was so in to be Puerto

biography one day, and maybe even a Behind The Music story of pain and triumph depicted through black and white photographs of me being fabulously unique. I DIDN’T REALIZE HOW I WAS objectified and eroticized until I was older, but I did know that any guy that was interested in me somehow always had the same first question, “What are you mixed with?” And the common response to my explanation was too often, “Whatever it is, it look good on ya.” Ew! And thanks a lot for completely disregarding and reducing my ethnic makeup. I BECAME OBSESSED WITH CULTURAL and ethnic identity in high school, and advocated constantly for the beauty of each particular mix and language. I was frustrated when other mixed children didn’t seem as excited about their identity. I was angry when kids chose to fall into the “white” or “black” category when they were technically Argentinean and Jewish, or African and Irish. I didn’t understand, or always hear their story. AFTER GOING TO HIGH SCHOOL IN LA County for two years, my family moved to Orange County where I learned right away that it was now cool to be white, and even cooler to be Jamaican, as long as you weren’t actually Jamaican. Talk about cultural shifts! I saw more blond dreads those years than I

EVERY FORM I FILLED OUT MADE ME CHOOSE ONE PARENT, AND IT WAS KNOWN THAT YOU WERE WHAT YOUR FATHER WAS. I WAS HURT THAT I COULD NOT REPRESENT MY MOTHER, AS WELL. Rican in 2000.) After being asked if I spoke “Mexican” one time too many, I became vigilant. “I am not Mexican! I am not Puerto Rican! I am Dominican and Greek!” I’D MAKE MY VERSATILITY A JOKE AT times, saying things like, “I’m Greek from the front, but Dominican when I turn around!” I enjoyed the laughs and attention. My differentness gave me a reason to be misunderstood, to be exotic, and to have a really cool

ever care to see again. I remember a tall, painfully thin, blond-haired-blue-eyed friend of mine trying to make me feel better about my curves, except I’d never asked for the consoling. “Your butt looks much smaller today!” Then I must be buying the wrong jeans, I’d think. I once told her I liked my curves, to which I received a gaping-mouthed, horrified expression. I DIDN’T CARE. I’D FINALLY BEGUN TO

get curls in my hair at that point, and I wore them in crazy, voluminous pride. The bigger the better! I donned stacks of bangles and big earrings, desperately trying to maintain whatever it meant to be “mixed” in my mind. MY FRIENDS PRESSURED ME SO much to dye and straighten my hair blond my first year in Orange County, that I finally compromised with platinum streaks. I hated them. I liked brown hair. I tried to come back to a honey-brown, but with the platinum streaks beneath, the whole thing be-

that our full identity cannot be found in just one side of our heritage. MY JOURNEY OF SELF-DISCOVERY continues to unravel. Please continue to discover what it means to be you. Please share your story, and don’t let someone else decide it for you, or make you feel that it doesn’t matter. TO ANYONE WHO DOES NOT IDENTIFY as being racially or ethnically “mixed”: Please be a part of this complex conversation. Let’s

MY FRIENDS PRESSURED ME SO MUCH TO DYE AND STRAIGHTEN MY HAIR BLOND MY FIRST YEAR IN ORANGE COUNTY, THAT I FINALLY COMPROMISED WITH PLATINUM STREAKS. I HATED THEM....I FELT LIKE I’D SOLD OUT. I WORE BLUE, GREEN, AND VIOLET CONTACTS. WHO WAS I ANYMORE? came bright blonde. My friends praised me for finally coming into the light. I felt like I’d sold out. I wore blue, green, and violet contacts. Who was I anymore? Why wasn’t it OK to be in-between? I was depressed. I felt lost and unknown, and everything I wanted to be and thought I was seemed cringe-worthy to all my friends. THIS IS ONLY ONE STORY, INFUSED BY one particular personality and background. Every mixed person has a mixed story. For some, being mixed means being teased, or never being enough, or never fitting in. For others, it means having to choose one parent, or having to choose both, against their will. Whatever it means to be mixed, we’ve got to talk about it. I REALIZE THAT TO SOME WHO have spent years trying to fit into one racial group, identifying as mixed might be terrifying. To those who have spent years trying to please others by simplifying their multi-racial background, this may be a message of freedom. WITH RESPECT TO EACH MULTIRACIAL or multiethnic person’s story, I do believe

learn together. Race talk cannot just be Black and White anymore. If it is, I am forced to divide myself, and fit nowhere. SOMETIMES IDENTITY IS MESSY. Sometimes it’s painful. And sometimes, you look Dominican in the Summer and Greek in the Winter, and your friends don’t recognize you when you straighten your hair. Confused? Me too. Let’s talk about it.

Rebekah Rossi (MDiv, Isalmaic Studies, ‘13 [Pictured far-right with her siblings]) is a Children’s Pastor at Pasadena Christian Center, went to Bethany University for an Intercultural Communications degree with Biblical Languages Minor. She hopes to work with orphans and widows practically and spiritually in Egypt.

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By Christin Fort

HIS IS MY FOURTH YEAR OF SCHOOL at Fuller. I love this place, and I love the people who make this place what it is. Fuller has been such a formative space for me, and I’ve spent some time reflecting on my experience of community during the last 3 and a half years. Reflecting on community from this vantage point is especially meaningful for me, as an African American female, in this commemorative season in February. So I thought it might be useful to spend some time unpacking this idea of community a bit more. Particularly, I decided to unpack my experience of community on Fuller’s campus, and the role that race and ethnicity has played in my experience of finding, fostering and facilitating community. WHEN I ARRIVED AT FULLER, I WAS ready to see what type of community I would

find a community in which my ethnic heritage and racial identity would be acknowledged, accepted and understood in meaningful ways. I WAS EAGER TO FOSTER COMMUNITY in which genuine care for the whole person – race and ethnicity included – would be an intentional part of our engagement. Such relationships could blossom regardless of whether or not I shared the same ethnic heritage as the other person. But I was also hopeful that I would find a place of community in which some of my experiences did not require additional explanation. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN A RELATIONSHIP like that? A relationship where you feel like some parts of you just really don’t need a whole lot of explanation? Like being surrounded by a classroom full people who love C.S. Lewis as

AS EMBRACING AND OPEN AS I TRY TO BE OF PEOPLE FROM VARIOUS BACKGROUNDS, I ALSO KNEW THAT THERE WOULD COME A POINT IN TIME WHERE I JUST NEEDED TO “LET MY HAIR DOWN” (OR LET IT “OUT” IN MY CASE).... A SAFE SPACE WHERE MY CULTURAL HERITAGE COULD BE BOTH SUSTAINED AND ENRICHED. be able to build. I knew that I loved being with people from all walks of life, and that there were plenty of genuine, authentic, wonderful people all over Fuller’s campus. I was excited to begin making new friends and finding new mentors. I knew that Fuller took pride in the diversity of denominations, nationalities, and ethnicities that it represented, and I was eager to see what an experience in such a “diverse” place would be like.

much as you do? Or maybe finding a friend who came from a family where money was tight growing up, so when you share your current experience of finances they perceive your situation from a similar perspective? These little enclaves of people can be tricky to find, but – when you do find them – the relationships become invaluable. This is especially true when the shared experience, or common value, is a core part of your identity.

AFTER SEVERAL WEEKS ON AND AROUND campus, I discovered that the number of African American students was limited. While looking for African American fellow students was certainly not the first thing on my list of “things to find,” it didn’t take me long to discover that “we” were hard to find. I remember taking several weeks to consider how I could

I NEEDED A PLACE WHERE CERTAIN parts of me didn’t require much explanation. I needed a community in which some of my experiences would be more readily received and understood than they sometimes are in other circles. As embracing and open as I try to be of people from various backgrounds, I also knew that there would come a point in

time where I just needed to “let my hair down” (or let it “out” in my case, as my natural curls tend to spring up and out rather than down). A safe space where my cultural heritage could be both sustained and enriched. For me, my cultural heritage isn’t just a historical reality – it is a present experience. I REALIZED THAT NOT MUCH HAD been set up for this type of experience from an institutional vantage point, and I knew that I needed to find a place to get grounded pretty quickly. AFTER A FEW MONTHS, I CAME TO THE prayerful conclusion that it would be important for me to find a local body of believers that could help to cultivate my ethnic identity. Before Fuller, I had attended a Korean American

and even my experience of God and the development of my theology was, and is, shaped by ethnic/cultural values. (I’d argue that this is the case for anyone, regardless of ethnic affiliation. Yes – hints of my post-modern bias are seeping out.) And I needed to be in a place where this perspective would be valued. I was very grateful when I found a church home that provided that kind of space for me. MY SECOND YEAR ON CAMPUS, I WAS asked to join a new friend in the process of re-creating a student group on campus that was committed to fostering community intentionally devoted to encouraging and supporting students of African descent on our campus. And so, the Africana Student Association was formed. The group was not meant to be exclusive in any way. However, it was founded

I’M “EVANGELICAL” ENOUGH TO KNOW THAT FINDING A CHURCH CAN’T SIMPLY BE BASED ON THE TYPE OF PEOPLE WHO ATTEND THE CHURCH. BUT, I ALSO HAD TO COME TO GRIPS WITH THE FACT THAT I AM A WHOLE PERSON, AND EVEN MY EXPERIENCE OF GOD AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF MY THEOLOGY WAS, AND IS, SHAPED BY ETHNIC/CULTURAL VALUES. church for four years that I absolutely loved. Upon discovering the dispersion of African American students on campus, though, the importance of attending a black church had never been so pronounced for me. Until that point, I had been close enough to family, and surrounded by close enough friends that issues of race did not have to play such a strong role in my “church hopping” process. THIS TIME, THOUGH, I DIDN’T KNOW how else to ensure that these significant parts of my personal and communal identity would be cultivated. Don’t get me wrong. I’m “evangelical” enough to know that finding a church can’t simply be based on the type of people who attend the church. But, I also had to come to grips with the fact that I am a whole person,

for the explicit purpose of creating a safe space for worship and fellowship where issues of minority concern could be shared openly and honestly. For the next two years, the meeting of our weekly community became a source of encouragement and strength for me, and dozens of others. AS THE GROUP BLOSSOMED, I WAS delighted to discover that students from all ethnic and cultural backgrounds felt comfortable joining this campus-wide fellowship. Every once in a while I’d reflect on the make-up of the students that joined our fellowship, and was overjoyed by the presence of Asian, Latino, Caucasian, Native American and African American brothers and sisters. I was overjoyed to discover that a name such as The Africana

Student Association did not inhibit new and old friends from joining us each week for a time of prayer, meditation on the word, and fellowship. ALTHOUGH OUR MEETINGS WERE BY no means exclusive, I could sense the implicit sense of cultural grounding that existed in our way of expressing ourselves. Some of our (and by this I mean African/African American) most sacred cultural values were honored

those whom I consider my closest friends have been of a different race or ethnic group. I love that. But what I have also come to realize is that my ability to fully and truly be who I am, wherever I am, has been grounded in the access that I have to support and encouragement from members of my own ethnic community all along the way. THE DEVELOPMENT OF A SOLID SENSE of community – one in which every aspect of

TOGETHER WE HAD CREATED A SPACE WHERE WE WERE ABLE TO BE OUR AUTHENTIC SELVES – UNASHAMEDLY. THIS WAS A NEW EXPERIENCE OF FULLER FOR EACH OF US – ONE THAT ALLOWED US TO EXPERIENCE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY IN MUCH OF ITS RAW BEAUTY. in that space. Values such as sharing a meal, meditation on the word, having an open time of sharing, and cultivating the ability to hold in tension the importance of the present experience in tandem with our desire to be mindful of time. These were all symbols of a way of “being in community” that, while not exclusive to us, mark the African American Christian tradition. Our times together were precious, and invaluable.

my identity is not simply offered a passing acknowledgement, but valued deeply – has been invaluable to me. I am grateful to those in my community who see and value all of me. To those who love and affirm me from within the African American community, I thank you. To those who encourage and support me from outside of the African American community, you have my most sincere thanks as well.

I FREQUENTLY CHECKED IN WITH THE non-African (American) students and staff members in our gathering and was elated to discover that they were ministered to and encouraged right along with their African (American) brothers and sisters. Together we had created a space where we were able to be our authentic selves – unashamedly. This was a new experience of Fuller for each of us – one that allowed us to experience Christian community in much of its raw beauty. TAKING THESE MOMENTS TO REFLECT on my experiences has been very meaningful to me. I have always enjoyed the privilege of having a wonderfully diverse friend group. My community was, and is, rich with women and men from all walks of life. I wouldn’t trade any one of them for anything. More often than not,

Christin Fort is a 4th year Clinical Psychology PhD student who is dually enrolled in the Master of Arts in Theology Program. She hails from Detroit, Michigan and enjoys reading outside, eating with friends, and meeting new people. All correspondence can be sent to her via email at christinfort@fuller.edu.

RE: What do our WORDS say about JESUS when we SPEAK PUBLICLY about our FAITH? Very nicely written, Jonathan. You are an excellent writer. I enjoyed the article in GQ as well. Previous to this I had ONLY heard the now famous quotes, so I was glad to read the GQ article and thought it was funny and also very well written.

But as I read your article, I have to write my own response in Phil’s defense. I have to admit that, yes, Phil made some very unthinking remarks, but in my opinion, his stance against homosexuality and his remark about African-Americans does not define him. And I think the article read in its entirety clearly showed that. I think once again the media picked what they wanted from that article to blow up the image they want America to have of Christians.

The media could have focused on any of these quotes below and if they did, you would see a man uncannily similar to Pope Francis.

He is welcoming and gracious…. He is a man who preaches the gospel of the outdoors and, to my great envy, practices what he preaches…. The Robertsons are immensely likable. They’re funny. The more they reveal, the more people feel connected to them….The Robertson men greet you as they would a friend who just came back from a beer run….The Robertson family really believes strongly that if the human race loved each other and they loved God, we would just be better off…. ‘We ought to just be repentant, turn to God, and let’s get on with it, and everything will turn around’…. They have a standard of a “refusal to betray their faith or one another”…. They’re godly folk. “Real” folk…. Phil Robertson is hosting a private Bible study with a woman who, according to him, “has been on cocaine for years and is making her decision to repent. I’m going to point her in the right direction….” “If you simply put your faith in Jesus coming down in flesh, through a human being, God becoming flesh living on the earth, dying on the cross for the sins of the world, being buried, and being raised from the dead—yours and mine and everybody else’s problems will be solved.”

Those are all direct quotes from the article. If the media would have focused on those, you would have gotten a picture of an entirely different man than the one the media wants us to see.

There is an awful lot to like about him. And his family. His controversial statements were just a couple in a myriad of statements and actions. The media could have focused on any number of others, like “how in the world do you explain a man who was a drunken sex and drug addict, who abused his wife and children who now years later is a loving, gentle, godly, father and grandfather? Whose motto is, ‘Happy, happy, happy?’” Why doesn’t the media focus on that mystifying success story and how he got there?

They don’t hear and see the bigger picture: Phil is an imperfect person but also a man who was radically changed by Something. His family are people who are intent on loving people in action. [The Robertson’s] are intent on having a show that uses no profanity, that espouses kindness and good clean humor. They are intent on bringing prayer (in Jesus name) to the dinner table every evening. Something about all that must be touching the hearts of 14 million people in this country.

Do I want to be known as a Christian as someone who automatically stands against homosexuality? No— and I would dare say Phil doesn’t either. Not one of us gets it perfectly right or says and does all the right Christian things by a long shot. Phil definitely didn’t get it all right. But I certainly think he gets a lot right. *This email was sent to the Production Editor from his mother, Patricia Grace Stoner. She leads the discipleship program at The Potter’s House Christian School in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

Semi-Responsible The All-Seminary Council Column

Hello! So for the next few issues of the SEMI, we thought we would give you a little peek into the lives of the Council. Elections are soon approaching and there may be some of you who are thinking of running (if so let us know ASAP!). We wanted to share a bit about our time in our positions in efforts to encourage you to consider participating in the council next year. Though this is only a small taste, we hope it will encourage you to ask us questions about it! Below is a little about my time here. Stop by our office on Wednesdays and Thursdays on the first floor of the Catalyst if you have questions or just want to chat. My time as President: In the last six months I have had the opportunity to serve you as your All Seminary Council President. It has been crazy to say the least, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Not only did I have the chance to do really cool things like give a presentation to the Board of Trustees and participate in the Presidential Inauguration, but I was given the opportunity to advocate on behalf of the students, and offer some service back into a community that I have benefited so much from. Not to mention that it was a job and they actually pay me for it! Despite all of the crazy meetings and work it takes in working with different types of people, being a leader of leaders, guiding them and being a resource, I would say that the best part of my job is being able to engage with students, pray with students and encourage them in any way I can. I love it when I get the chance to say “Hi, how are you?” and actually mean it, and I am humbled and honored when students open up to me about how they are actually doing. I also love that I get to have an ear in conversations about the changes here at Fuller (particularly with vocation) and that I have a role in helping lend a student voice into that conversation. These are exciting times at Fuller, and I am honored to be a part of it. Tamisha Tyler ASC President

ART CALL FOR

a collaborative project between the SEMI and Fuller Arts Collective

ACCEPTING ALL FORMS OF VISUAL AND LITERARY ART submission deadline March 31st

submissions may be emailed to semi@fuller.edu For more information see fullerartscollective.tumblr.com

▪▪▪▪

THOMAS J. GOFF LITERARY AGENT Representing authors of nonfiction, fiction, film and documentary. [Mr. Goff served on editorial staffs at Fortune, New York Magazine and Esquire and has represented authors at the Los Angeles Times and the New York Times. He packaged and sold the film rights for the movie blockbuster Top Gun and sold the stage rights for the play The Quilters which was nominated for six Tony awards, including Best Musical.] Connect Thomas-Goff [at] hotmail.com and on LinkedIn