Semaj died this past Sunday morning, August 3, 2014. Kathleen and I had been up to see him at the Med a little more than a week ago. He was unconscious, as he had been since falling while being forcibly removed from a city bus in early May.
Semaj would be angry if I smoothed over his rough edges in remembering him. He demanded honesty. He was who he was, belligerent, cantankerous, abrasive, intelligent and well read, ill-adjusted to life, assured of his own rightness and the wrongness of most of the world, quick to argue and slow to agree, bitter and angry about how his life had turned out.
At the same time, Semaj was an engaging conversationalist, with interesting ideas and observations, a teacher about the injustices of racism, the harshness of poverty, the brokenness of the criminal justice system, and the opportunism of many churches ostensibly out to “help the poor.” He was also known by some as a friend, a person you could count on, ready to help you, compassionate under his gruff exterior. Semaj was a complicated person, not easily pigeonholed as wonderful or awful. He was uniquely Semaj. He was a child of God.
His name, “Semaj” was his own creation: “James” spelled backwards. Why “Semaj”? Because, as he would explain, James was a “slave name,” given to him out of the heritage of slavery endorsed by a white supremacist Christianity. Unlike other guests who called me “pastor,” Semaj liked to call me “Iman”—an Arabic word for “faith” though also used to refer to a religious leader. I was honored to be called such by Semaj. We had many conversations about Christianity and other faiths. His position on Christianity was much like Gandhi’s, “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”
I found Semaj to be one of my early and important teachers at Manna House. Certainly he was happy to instruct. Semaj was never short on words. So he taught me about his experiences on the streets. How he responded to those police who would harass him by asserting his rights and his dignity. How he foraged for food and shelter and found places where he could be left alone. How he questioned the constitutionality of being consistently denied his demand for a jury trial whenever he went to court. How poverty influenced justice, with wealthy people able to afford a personal attorney, but poor people being assigned overworked public defenders. How he lost jobs due to race, or wasn’t even hired. How he grew up in a segregated society marked by signs and enforced by terror, and how he continued to live in a segregated society marked by neighborhoods and selective law enforcement. There was much to learn from Semaj and he was a relentless teacher. And like any good teacher to student relationships, sometimes we agreed and sometimes we argued.
For the past couple of years I didn’t see much of Semaj. He was asked to leave Manna House one day when he was drunk and he didn’t come back. I think his pride prevented him from doing so. He began working steadily with Nathan Hill, helping with recycling computers for non-profits and people in poverty. He frequented Caritas Village. When I would run into him he was still the teacher, still ready to share some insight or observation.
Seeing him in the hospital, unconscious, I mourned that his voice had been silenced. There was so much more for him to say. I don’t think he will be joining a heavenly chorus; that would be too stifling for Semaj. I think he’ll find a picnic table and hold forth with whomever is willing to listen and learn. And I think he’ll have a few questions that he will want answered. Enjoy the conversation, Semaj, we will be missing you here, good teacher.
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