Good (Man)ners: Discussing Compassion, Integrity, and Unity with Reverend Derek Terry
Good (Man)ners is devoted to male-identifying dudes who share our belief that when you uplift women, you uplift everyone. Read on to hear from Cincinnatians who take allyship to heart.
Signing on to our video chat with a joyful hello and a sparkly golden background, Reverend Derek Terry has calm but invigorating energy at 9:30 p.m. on a Wednesday night. He’s no stranger to being welcoming; as the head pastor of St. Peter’s United Church of Christ in Pleasant Ridge, he interacts with people of all backgrounds. The openly gay Black man has been noticed around the country for sharing the journey of discovering his sexuality in the shadow of the church. With the overwhelming uncertainty hanging over our heads due to the novel coronavirus pandemic, we turn to Rev. Terry’s message of hope, acceptance, and equality.
Interview by Blaire Bartish. Photography by Ella Barnes.
Women of Cincy currently adheres to social distancing guidelines during all interviews.
Editor’s note: This interview took place prior to the recent protests sparked by the murder of George Floyd. Additionally, this interview contains strong language and reference to sexual assault.
What brought you from your home in Louisville to Cincinnati?
My church. I’ve been at St. Peter’s for seven or eight years. I’m really happy here. It’s multicultural, multigenerational, Black, white, gay, straight, Republicans, Democrats, Trump supporters, Trump haters… it’s really unique. And I’m the first Black head pastor.
The church has been around since 1876. It used to be a German, really strict Evangelical church – all the services were in German until the 1920s or ‘30s. It used to be all white, very conservative. They even used to do minstrel shows in blackface. And now they have an openly gay Black pastor!
It just shows growth and evolution. It’s not been an easy place to pastor, because most churches are very homogenous. Having that diversity is beautiful, but [it] has difficulties. It’s honoring everyone and everyone’s voice and holding space for everyone. It’s probably been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I come from the Black church experience and this is the first half-white church I’ve ever even preached at. But it keeps me on my toes and I appreciate that difficulty.
What are your thoughts on the sentiment “I don’t see race” or “I don’t see color?” Is that a positive sentiment? A negative? A little of both?
Whenever people tell me they don’t see color, I think, “Bullshit.” It’s just a lie! I’m 6 feet, 5 inches [tall] and over 200 pounds – and if you look at me, you’re going to see a big Black man, period. And I want you to see that! My culture and my race is something I’m extremely proud of. So, when people say that, I am offended. I want you to see.
Unfortunately, this country decided that there was going to be a caste system based on race. Those are social constructs: I didn’t have a voice in it; that’s just the way it is. Some people say Black men are an endangered species. I’m proud of my ancestors. I’m proud of what they invested in me and I don’t like that [heritage] being discarded because it makes people uncomfortable to talk about.
We can push for a little discomfort because that’s going to help all of us heal.
When I first came to my church, they voted unanimously to call me to serve, which should be noted. When I first came, I was just trying to toe the line and not be too problematic. But then, with the election in 2016, we started doing race and social justice work. And I literally had members who were like, “It makes me uncomfortable talking about this race stuff.” I said back to them, “How do you think it feels? I can’t turn on and off my color, my size, my presence I bring into a room. So this is something you get to be a little bit uncomfortable about.” We can push for a little discomfort because that’s going to help all of us heal.
What challenges do you see in your congregation and society with this new world of COVID-19? And how do you see yourself and your congregation overcoming these challenges?
So, what COVID-19 has done is point a spotlight on something many of us have been saying for years: The inequities in this country are gross between the have-a-lots and the have-nothings. There are people at home now griping because they can’t get a haircut or because they can’t go out to eat. And I’m one of those people – I get it. But there are people who, outside of a stimulus check, haven’t been paid in over a month. Unemployment [payment] is taking forever, and not everyone has even gotten a stimulus check yet! While people are at home and frustrated, there are literally people who have no income. And these are people who were struggling beforehand: marginalized and oppressed populations.
Then there’s the side where more Black and poor people are dying from complications due to COVID. So we’re really seeing all the holes in our society. Right now, the minimum wage of $15 seems perfectly malapropos. What would we do without fast food workers? What would we do without grocery clerks? They are literally keeping our country going and risking their lives and their health in the process. So for me, moving forward, it’s making sure we don’t forget this moment: that those oppressed, those marginalized populations that have been exploited and misused in the name of capitalism are protected and empowered.
What can we do to be caregivers to those who are struggling right now?
We have to side with the oppressed. If you see someone who is in a marginalized group – we can list them all from poor, to trans, to women, to LGBT, anyone – and you see something that is unjust, [you] have to say something. And not just say something, but use your platform or power to right a wrong. To paraphrase Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., he used to say, “In the end, we’ll remember not the words of our enemies but the silence of our friends.”
It’s not enough for us to post on Facebook and get angry, but to actually say, 'What can I do to change this?’
It’s not enough for us to post on Facebook and get angry, but to actually say, “What can I do to change this?” To call bullshit when we see bullshit, to push people to pay attention to what’s being done, what’s being said, what we’re voting for, to [pay attention to] where we’re spending our money. If we see there’s a company exploiting a group, we should not support that exploitation. We should vote with our dollars and our energy. That’s how we change things in this country. Our country was built out of protest. Unfortunately, the powers that be tend to only agree with the protests they support. But we all have the ability to stand up and speak out for those whose voices have been muted.
Right now during the stay-at-home order, we can’t protest in the way we typically protest. And while social media can be great, it can also seem very passive. What do you suggest doing that will actually make a difference right now?
All of us have a platform. We have people who follow us, listen to us, etc. So start with the people you have influence over. A lot of us shy away from certain conversations because we don’t want to cause friction, [but we can] understand who it is [we’re talking to]. Maybe not your 90-year-old grandmother – maybe that’s not the conversation you have to [spark] change. But maybe your cousin who posts something. Instead of [replying] back and forth and getting angry, maybe the next time you see them, ask if they realize what they posted.
We also have a very powerful tool that is talking to our politicians. All of those calls, visits, and emails are logged. They keep records of all of those things. I can’t tell you how many emails I’ve sent to my congressperson. He sends out these “Look what a good job the president is doing” things, and I’m like, [mimics typing] “BULLSHIT!” Because, I don’t have any kids, but if one day my nieces are researching, I want them to see that their uncle was on the forefront of trying to make a difference.
And also giving our resources, if we can afford it, to people and causes that are doing that work. Right now, we are a small church; we don’t have a lot – we can’t feed people or help [with COVID assistance] – though we’re still able to pay our bills and pay staff. But there are other churches feeding people everyday, so I’ll give them, like, fifty bucks to do that. If you see people fighting for those groups, give to those campaigns. It takes money, unfortunately, in the society we live in. And I understand that not everyone can tangibly write a check. But there are all types of opportunities these places are looking for. If you have a computer, there are administrative things you can do to make a difference.
What kind of world do you want to leave for your nieces? What do you hope for them?
I have three nieces; they are eleven, seven, and five. Because they’re Black, because they’re female, I’m constantly worried about what’s going to happen to them. Just because of the world’s treatment of women, especially women of color. I’m constantly sending them stuff and telling them how smart they are. I send them STEM and tech stuff. I get them “girly” stuff, too, but I want them to know they’re more than just [their looks].
If liberty and justice is for all, then I’m going to make America be true to what it said.
For me, it would be a world where we care about the planet; where equity, equality, and inclusion are not something we have to force, but is something that is so natural. And that pay disparities, sexual harassment, and rape culture are things of the past – things they read about, not things they have to endure.
I worked really hard locally on the Mute R. Kelly movement, before the documentary came out. When the first trial came out, with the video of him with an underage girl, I was in high school. I was completely repulsed that this was seen as okay by so many people – it really pissed me off! So I stopped listening to him then. So for me, it’s working and starting difficult conversations and standing up to force this country to be what it’s supposed to be. If liberty and justice is for all, then I’m going to make America be true to what it said.
Rev. Derek Terry and his nieces. Provided image.
Can you tell us about a woman who has been influential to you?
The closest woman in the world to me was probably my grandmother. She died five years ago. She was my cheerleader, my biggest champion, my biggest encourager. She is the one who told me I could do anything. If I was defeated in something, she would say, “Hang in there; that’s okay; you can do it; don’t worry; I’m so proud of you!” She said it so many times that I can still hear it in my head right now. And that’s just been the greatest gift of all, still being able to process that.
And also my great grandmother. She died when I was in college… she lived to be in her mid 90s. [She was] Black, and from the south – a rural community. She graduated college and had a really illustrious career as a nurse. She was the first Black director of nursing in the county where I come from, the largest county in Kentucky. So that has always been encouraging – if she could do this in the ‘30s, ‘40s, ‘50s, and ‘60s, then there’s no excuse for why I can’t graduate, or why I can’t achieve. So those are the two women that laid that foundation in me early on.
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