Another World Is Possible : Spiritualities and Religions of Global Darker Peoples 9781317490463, 9781845533922

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ANOTHER WORLD IS POSSIBLE

Cross Cultural Theologies Series Editors: Jione Havea and Clive Pearson, both at United Theological College, Sydney, and Charles Sturt University, Australia, and Anthony G. Reddie, Queen’s Foundation for Ecumenical Theological Education, Birmingham This series focuses on how the “cultural turn” in interdisciplinary studies has informed theology and biblical studies. It takes its leave from the experience of the flow of people from one part of the world to another. It moves beyond the crossing of cultures in a narrow diasporic sense. It entertains perspectives that arise out of generational criticism, gender, sexual orientation, and the relationship of film to theology. It explores the sometimes competing rhetoric of multiculturalism and cross-culturalism and demonstrates a concern for the intersection of globalization and how those global flows of peoples and ideas are received and interpreted in localized settings. The series seeks to make use of a range of disciplines including the study of crosscultural liturgy, travel, the practice of ministry and worship in multi-ethnic locations and how theologies that have arisen in one part of the world have migrated to a new location. It looks at the public nature of faith in complex, multicultural, multireligious societies and compares how diverse faiths and their theologies have responded to the same issues. The series welcomes contributions by scholars from around the world. It will include both single authored and multi-authored volumes. Published

Global Civilization Leonardo Boff Dramatizing Theologies: A Participative Approach to Black God-Talk Anthony G. Reddie Art as Theology: The Religious Transformation of Art from the Postmodern to the Medieval Andreas Andreopoulos Black Theology in Britain: A Reader Edited by Michael N. Jagessar and Anthony G. Reddie Bibles and Baedekers: Tourism, Travel, Exile and God Michael Grimshaw Home Away from Home: The Caribbean Diasporan Church in the Black Atlantic Tradition Delroy A. Reid-Salmon Working against the Grain: Black Theology in the 21st Century Anthony G. Reddie Forthcoming The Non-Western Jesus: Jesus as Bodhisattva, Avatara, Guru, Prophet, Ancestor and Healer Martien Brinkman Out of Place: Theologizing at Crosscultural Brinks Edited by Jione Havea and Clive Pearson Towards a Systemic Spirituality of Black British Women Marjorie Lewis Christian Worship: Postcolonial Perspectives Stephen Burns and Michael N. Jagessar

ANOTHER WORLD IS POSSIBLE SPIRITUALITIES AND RELIGIONS OF GLOBAL DARKER PEOPLES

Edited by Dwight N. Hopkins and Marjorie Lewis

First published 2009 by Equinox, an imprint of Acumen Published 2014 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa busines s

© Dwight N. Hopkins, Marjorie Lewis and contributors 2009 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notices Practitioners and researchers must always rely on their own experience and knowledge in evaluating and using any information, methods, compounds, or experiments described herein. In using such information or methods they should be mindful of their own safety and the safety of others, including parties for whom they have a professional responsibility. To the fullest extent of the law, neither the Publisher nor the authors, contributors, or editors, assume any liability for any injury and/or damage to persons or property as a matter of products liability, negligence or otherwise, or from any use or operation of any methods, products, instructions, or ideas contained in the material herein.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN-13 978 1 84553 392 2 (hardback) 978 1 84553 393 9 (paperback) Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Another world is possible : spiritualities and religions of global darker peoples / edited by Dwight N. Hopkins and Marjorie Lewis. Anthony G. Reddie. p. cm.—(Cross cultural theologies) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-84553-392-2 (hb) — ISBN 978-1-84553-393-9 (pb) 1. Blacks—Religion. 2. Religions. 3. Spirituality. I. Hopkins, Dwight N. II. Lewis, Marjorie. BL2400.A56 2009 200.89—dc22 2008029616 Typeset by S.J.I. Services, New Delhi

We dedicate this book to the memory of Lewin Williams, our friend and brother, who died in 2006. Lewin was the male delegate from Jamaica and attended the founding meeting of the IABRS held in Capetown, South Africa in January 2006. Rev. Dr Lewin Williams served the United Church as Minister in the Discovery Bay and Bodden Town Charges before migrating overseas where he continued his service. He returned to Jamaica and the United Church in 1990 and continued his service at the United Theological College of the West Indies. He was appointed deputy President in 1992, a position he held until he was appointed the 5th President of the College in May 2003. While serving at UTCWI he continued to serve the Church in various capacities such as Interim Minister and as Chair and member of Synodical Committees. He was a distinguished Caribbean leader and scholar who was characterized by humility despite his outstanding achievements. Rev. Dr Williams is remembered as one whose presence inspired others to do their best. He was also an exemplary family person and one who gave his all to whatever task he undertook. He went about helping those who were in need of assistance without fanfare and never seeking to be recognized. He was a good role model for all and especially for pastors. He was a gracious and dedicated theologian with a critical theological mind. As a scholar Dr Williams was an exponent of Caribbean theology and his publication Caribbean Theology represents a significant resource and a most comprehensive Caribbean theological reflection. This publication is widely used by teachers, students and other church leaders dealing with the mission of the Church in today’s world. He was a pioneering figure in helping to create the first course in Caribbean Theology in the region. Dr Williams also had many international involvements and contributed much to theological thought in this arena. Dr Williams had an unhurried style which was reflected in his walk and talk. He set about his tasks in an unassuming and unobtrusive manner, always making space for others and never demanding. He was faithful to his calling and served with distinction. He died on September 18, 2006. May 7, 2007 (United Church Synod)

Contents Acknowledgements

ix

Contributors

x

Introduction

1

Part I: India 1

The Untouchable “Dalits” of India and their Spiritual Destiny B. M. Leela Kumari

2

Dalits in India: Key Problems/Issues and Role of Religion James Massey

9 20

Part II: Japan 3

Recovering Jesus for Outcasts in Japan Teruo Kuribayashi

33

Part III: Australia 4

Tjinatjunanyi: Providing a Pathway to Freedom Hohaia Matthews

51

5

Spirituality Anne Pattel-Gray

64

Part IV: Hawaii 6

The Hawaiian Situation: An Overview of Hawaii’s People, Politics, Religion, Spirituality, and Culture, Yesterday and Today Toni G. Bissen

77

Part V: England 7

Theology, Violence and the “Other” Anthony Reddie

97

Contents 8

Another Kind of Black Kate Coleman

vii 109

Part VI: South Africa 9

“Impoverished on Harvesting Ground!”: Ruth 3 and African Women in an HIV-Positive South Africa Madipoane Masenya (Ngwan’a Mphahlele)

135

Part VII: Botswana 10 HIV+ Feminisms, Postcoloniality and the Global AIDS Crisis Musa W. Dube 11 Soliloquy of a Troubled Heart: Trying to Make Sense of Senseless Femicide Dumie Oafeta Mmualefe

143

160

Part VIII: Zimbabwe 12 Ritual and Spirituality among the Shona People Beauty R. Maenzanise 13 Economic “Shortage” as a Theologico-political Problem in Zimbabwe Edward P. Antonio

183

190

Part IX: Ghana 14 “Poverty is madness”: Some Insights from Traditional African Spirituality and Mental Health Elizabeth Amoah 15 Spiritual Challenges of Widowhood Symbolism in an African Religio-cultural Setting: A Christian Theological Perspective Emmanuel Martey 16 Sex and Sexuality in an African Worldview: A Challenge to Contemporary Realities Rose Mary Amenga-Etego

207

219

234

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Part X: Cuba 17 Eco-feminism and Yoruba Religion in Cuba: A Proposal for Inter-religious Dialogue Luis Carlos Marrero Chasbar 18 Black People and the Church Izett Sama Hernandez

253 264

Part XI: Jamaica 19 Social Conditions and Spiritual Solutions in the Caribbean Lewin Williams

273

20 The Church and the Jamaican Society Marjorie Lewis

281

Part XII: Brazil 21 Black Spirituality: The Anchor of Black Lives Antonio Sant’Ana

293

22 Black Heritage in Brazil Diana Fernandes Dos Santos

300

Part XIII: USA 23 Womanist Theology and Epistemology in the Postmodern U.S. Context Linda E. Thomas

307

24 A Home-place: Self-identity and God in African American Culture Kirstin Boswell Ford

313

25 Black Christian Worship: Theological and Biblical Foundations Dwight N. Hopkins

331

Endnotes

346

Select Bibliography

371

Index of Subjects

373

Index of Names

378

Acknowledgements We would like to thank the Ford Foundation for sponsoring the International Association of Black Religions and Spiritualities. Special appreciation is given to former Ford Foundation program officer, Constance Buchanan. From the very beginning, Connie had the deep vision and global perspective on the potential empowerment of religions and spiritualities. And she saw the importance and particularities of darker skin peoples internationally.

Contributors Rose Mary Amenga-Etego is from Ghana and is currently a PhD student at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland. Elizabeth Amoah, PhD, is Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Ghana in Legon, Ghana. She is also one of the leaders in the Circle of Concerned African Women Theologians. Edward P. Antonio, PhD, from Zimbabwe, is Associate Professor of Theology and Social Theory and Diversity Officer at the Iliff School of Theology in Denver, Colorado, USA. Toni G. Bissen is an attorney and the Executive Director of the P¯ u‘¯a Foundation in Oahu, Hawaii. Luis Carlos Marrero Chasbar has a BA in Theology, is a leader of the Fraternity of Baptist Churches of Cuba, and is a member of the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial Center in Havana, Cuba. Kate Coleman, PhD, is the first Black woman to hold the post of President of the Baptist Union of Great Britain (2006–2007). She is co-Pastor of The Regeneration Centre, a Baptist church plant in Birmingham, England. She is one of the leading Black women theologians in Britain having contributed many articles to various journals and magazines. She is presently working on her first book. Musa W. Dube, PhD, is Professor of New Testament Studies at the University of Botswana, Department of Theology and Religious Studies, in Gaborone, Botswana. Kirstin Boswell Ford is a PhD student at the University of Chicago Divinity School (USA), and the Program Associate for the International Association of Black Religions and Spiritualities. Izett Sama Hernandez is an ordained pastor of the Presbyterian Reformed Church in Cuba.

Contents Contributors

xi

Dwight N. Hopkins is the male Communications Coordinator of the International Association of Black Religions and Spiritualities, and is Professor of Theology at the University of Chicago Divinity School (USA). B. M. Leela Kumari, ML, PhD, is a research scholar who lives in Andhra Pradesh, India. She is Convenor of the Dalit Women Literary Parishad. Teruo Kuribayashi, PhD, is Professor of Theology at the School of Law and Politics, Kwansei Gakuin University in Kobe, Japan. Marjorie Lewis, PhD, is the female Communications Coordinator for the International Association of Black Religions and Spiritualities. She is a Lecturer in Practical Theology at the United Theological College of the West Indies, based in Jamaica. She is also a minister of the United Church in Jamaica and Cayman Islands. Beauty R. Maenzanise, PhD, is the first woman Dean of Faculty of Theology at Africa University in Mutare, Zimbabwe. She is also ordained in the Methodist Church in Zimbabwe. Emmanuel Martey, PhD, is an Associate Professor of Theology at the Trinity Theological Seminary, Legon, Ghana. He is currently the Executive Secretary of the Conference of African Theological Institutions (CATI), and VicePresident of the Ecumenical Association of Third World Theologians (EATWOT). Madipoane Masenya (ngwana Mphahlele), PhD, is the first African-South African female chair of the Old Testament and Ancient Near Eastern Studies Department at the University of South Africa (UNISA) in Pretoria, South Africa. She is Associate Professor of Old Testament. James Massey, PhD, is Director of the Centre for Dalit/Subaltern Studies/ Community Contextual Communication Centre, New Delhi; and Secretary, Board of Theological Education of the Senate of Serampore College (University), West Bengal, India. Hohaia Matthews is a leader in the Uniting Aboriginal & Islander Christian Congress South Australia; and a pastor, educator, and community development organizer among the Australian Aboriginals in Port Augusta, South Australia.

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Dumie Oafeta Mmualefe is a Lecturer in theology at the University of Botswana. He is also a church minister and chairperson of the United Congregational Church of Southern Africa, Botswana Synod. Anne Pattel-Gray is the first Aboriginal woman to earn a PhD in Australia. She was the former (founding) Executive Secretary of the Aboriginal and Islander Commission of the National Council of Churches in Australia, former Vice-Chairperson of the New South Wales Region of the United Aboriginal and Islander Christian Congress, and past president of Tauondi, an Aboriginal college. She lives in South Australia. Anthony Reddie, PhD, is Research Fellow & Consultant in Black Theological Studies, The Queen’s Foundation & The British Methodist Church. He is the editor of Black Theology: An International Journal. Antonio Olimipio de Sant’Ana is the Executive Secretary of the National Ecumenical Commission to Combat Racism (CENACORA), based in Brazil. Diana Fernandes dos Santos is President of the Youth of the Methodist Church in Brazil, a student of Education Management at Instituto Metodista Granbery; and she was elected by the World Council of Churches to be a WCC representative of the youth of Brazil and Latin America (2007–2013). She is also Director of Institutional Relations at the Methodist Institute Granbery. She lives in Brazil. Linda E. Thomas, PhD, is Professor of Theology and Anthropology at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago (USA). Lewin Williams, PhD, was president of the United Theological College of the West Indies, based in Jamaica until his death in 2006. He was also a founding member of the International Association of Black Religions and Spiritualities (Cape Town, South Africa, January 2006).

Introduction Another World is Possible: Spiritualities and Religions of Global Darker Peoples represents voices of darker skin peoples throughout the world. What they have in common is the mobilization of their own created religions and spiritualities to forge self-identities. Some claim direct links to centuries of indigenous spiritual practices which have survived relatively in tact despite the invasion of foreign religions. Others have appropriated externally introduced religions and greatly modified these belief systems by combining or syncretizing them with indigenous perspectives and practices. All authors indicate the celebration and positive utility of their communities’ spiritualities and religions. Without them, not only would individuals have died, but entire cultures and contexts would have perished. Thus, religion and spirituality suggest survival and pragmatic purposes. From creation narratives to Trickster heroes and heroines, spirituality and religion incarnate meaning, as well as fashion meaning so that humans can make surviving and thriving sense of the ecology and all breathing realities. The gods, God, and ancestors give life to peoples and their cultures, ecologies, and economies, all in the service of aiding the human community to be more fully human as servants to what spiritualities and religions have facilitated on earth. For us spirituality is an ultimate vision, state of mind, social interaction, and balance and harmony within and among creation and the visible and the invisible. It is akin to a primordial sense that something or someone is greater than the individual self and that self has obligations to her or his family ancestors, those who created them, and all that the human person can see, feel, smell, taste, hear, and access through dreams and intuition. There is no such thing as an individual spirituality for peoples whose very existence is brought into being by and relies upon the family, the extended family, and millions of peoples and beings connected to but beyond the solo individual. And religion can be understood as the institutional and ritual clothing through which many communities accept and increase their spiritualities. Darker skin global peoples enjoy the family, fun, and freedom that the best of their religions and spiritualities enables them to realize. At root is a comprehensive outlook on life. That is to say, all darker skin peoples celebrate life with their sacred beliefs. In fact for us, many times there is no separate word for “religion” in our indigenous languages (that is to say, the tongue we speak in our parents’ or grandparents’ home away from our professional or public roles). Why? Because the human and divine

.

2

Another World is Possible

connections embrace all of life, for example, when we are asleep and when we are awake, when we suffer from loneliness and when we share the intimacies of our bodies, when we confront the hard times and when we celebrate the favorable opportunities. Tragedy does not over rule trust that a better day will come for our children. The predicaments of the now are superseded by the fact of a higher power and extraordinary communal, emancipatory vision. And if the individual self subordinates its individualistic impulses to serve the collective well-being, then all of creation (the humans, the animals, the plants, the total ecology) will have a better possibility of a balanced interaction with each supporting the other in harmony. In a way, culture is spirituality or religion due to the fact that the sacred is always embedded in everyday functions of life in addition to the intentional rituals set aside for scheduled enactments or commemorations. Only an emotionally immature group and an anemic spiritual people would box in their ultimate ties to their ancestors, gods, and God within neat and fixed days and boundaries. In this sense, it might be more accurate to speak only of the word “spiritualities” of darker skin peoples internationally. Still we recognize that many of these communities and countries, resulting from historical and current colonialism, neo-colonialism, and super power missionary activities, have adopted the word “religions” from contact with the foreigners who brought them a strange belief system. Therefore a deep combination of spirituality and religion as life-giving and joy-practiced unites the voices of the darker skin communities presented in these essays. So too does their darker skin status, contextualized in their definite countries, become a broad thread. Furthermore, for the authors, darker skin is also a loose synonym for ‘black’. What gives definition to “black” is how each voice of darker skin peoples in their own countries describes and lives out her or his own unique circumstances. The spiritualities, religions, politics, economics, languages, cultures, gender relations, traditions, rituals, family histories, and so forth determine the meaning of black for each author in each country. Here an intimate relationship unfolds. The paths pursued by each community represented in this book are unique. Out of that uniqueness of varied tapestries and vibrant stories, defined by each community’s own self, emerges the conditions that make possible all talk about global black peoples or an association of international black communities. Still, it is striking that these diverse peoples, across the globe, share some cross sections when it comes to their encounters with the positives and negatives of religions and spiritualities. The authors of this book are all delegates or alternates to the International Association of Black Religions and Spiritualities. Funded by the Ford Foundation, the Association had its founding meeting in Cape Town, South

Introduction

3

Africa in January 2006. Eleven countries sent delegates and, since that time, three additional nations have joined the Association. They are Dalits from India, the discriminated against Burakumin from Japan, Aboriginals from Australia, indigenous peoples from Fiji, native Hawaiians, representatives from South Africa, Botswana, Zimbabwe, and Ghana, Afro-Cubans, Afro-Brazilians, Jamaicans, blacks in England, and blacks in the USA. The theme of the Association is: Another World is Possible. And the Objective Statement reads: The objective of the International Association of Black Religions and Spiritualities is to draw on the progressive religions and spiritualities of darker skin peoples globally in the struggle for human dignity and social justice. Perhaps the Vision Statement offers a fuller understanding when it explains how the International Association of Black Religions and Spiritualities (IABRS) is a global network of darker skin peoples focused on education and advocacy around the issues of human dignity and justice for poor communities and oppressed people. It draws on the progressive spiritualities and religions of darker skin peoples because we believe another world is possible. Darker skin or black peoples in Africa, Asia, the Caribbean, Europe, North America, Latin America, and the Pacific Islands survive, thrive, celebrate, and resist using their spiritualities and religions. All forms of sacred practices among darker skin peoples (for instance, indigenous religions, African Traditional Religions, black Judaism and Islam, Dalit spirituality, Australian Aboriginal and New Zealand Maori cultures, native Hawaiian spirituality, Candomble, different types of Christianity, Santeria, black Buddhists, and others) offer important examples for better human relations. To model new, collective human interactions, the IABRS combines half female and half male participation at all levels of the international network. It includes young people in order to pass on the wisdom of the older generations. It has a presence of practitioners, religious leaders, and academics. It works in solidarity with other marginalized movements. And it seeks to impact policies that will be helpful for poor people. The Association works with existing organizations and institutions to put them together through a global network. Also, the IABRS offers solidarity among its own members—both individuals and the various darker skin peoples and countries represented in the network. A sense of values glues our peoples, communities, and oppressed nations together. For us, spiritualities and religions unite the sacred and secular as one. The sacred covers all reality—the rituals of worship and even how we collect firewood and water, the naming of our children, and our ties to land inheritance.

4

Another World is Possible

In progressive religions and spiritualities, the value of social justice and change of earthly systems unites with the value of healing the pains of individuals. In social analysis and self analysis, we see another world is possible. A major experience of spiritualities and religions or our sacred values is collective and individual human dignity. The necessity to have human dignity stands at the center of what it means to be a human being. Being human is dignity for the identity of oppressed peoples and of the individual self. And individual human dignity takes place within the context of community human dignity. Moreover, we are developing new knowledge about what spirituality, religion, race, ethnicity, and justice entail for people, on the ground, who are trying to make sense out of the new global realities. We want to advance a view of religion and spirituality that promotes democratic values based not just on the forms of electoral activity, but centered on the criterion of the well-being of people at the bottom of societies. In these populations, women and others are disproportionately affected in negative ways. Religion, spirituality, and democracy controlled by ordinary people, in this sense, ask the question whether or not everyday citizens have ownership of the resources and governing mechanisms in their countries. Here religion does not start with whether or not a doctrine or dogma is correct or not. Nor do we start with how formal electoral mechanisms are functioning or not. We pose a new way of conceiving religion; one that goes beyond notions of civil religion, church-state relations, or the doctrinal statements of systematic theology. Public religion or spirituality, for us, asks the question about the pains and empowerment of people locked out of the dominant systems and conversations in their respective contexts. Religion or spirituality is the everyday life of people rarely featured in media headlines, or focused on in national religious institutional gatherings, or, for that matter, studied as central to theological education. Religion or spirituality is a way of life for people at the bottom of communities or those forced to the margins of the normative status quo. In certain areas of the world, the religions and spiritualities of darker skin peoples (loosely defined as black religions or spiritualities) have become a public force and not simply a privatized practice. The surfacing of such a religion or spirituality is accompanied by what we could call the rise in the collective consciousness of darker skin peoples and nations. Again, we can see how, when people become aware of their own identity and the potential power that identity gives them to redress certain wrongs in society, the previously silent, invisible communities rediscover the public possibilities of their religions or spiritualities. They begin to increase their

Introduction

5

self-love, self-esteem, and self-confidence to change themselves and society. They announce their own voice. But we also have to admit that just as spiritualities and religions have been positive by sustaining us, helping us to survive and thrive, and resisting negative forces outside of our communities, our own spiritualities and religions have a deep negative side. This negative side comes from the unhealthy aspects of our own traditions and from us accepting the negative influences of powers seeking to control us and our land. Not all parts of our religions and spiritualities are positive. A key sign of our harmful spiritualities and religions is the extra oppression faced by women. We have to be aware of negative external and internal factors. But our main vision is to live out now those religions and spiritualities that give us hope for a future society of individual healing and collective transformation. We want on earth healthy individuals and healthy communities. This means darker skin peoples developing their human dignity. This means darker skin peoples controlling the resources of their communities so all can share equally in food, shelter, land ownership, education, health, recreation and sports, jobs, small and large businesses, and forge a new politics based on the bottom of society. It is an objective fact that within all countries and among the family of global nations, it is the darker peoples and countries that disproportionately endure the negative hardships for themselves and children. This commonality is furthered deepened by similar historical developments, particularly and intensely in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries when European colonial powers and, subsequently, the USA, carved up the countries of Africa, Asia, the Caribbean, Latin America, and the Pacific Islands. Similarly, darker skin peoples within the United States of North America and the United Kingdom of Great Britain have endured painful acts of discrimination. Because these peoples and countries fall at the bottom of societies and the family of nations, when darker skin peoples become healthy, they help the rest of the world to be healthy. When darker skin peoples and nations are no longer poor and oppressed, they remove immoral and unjust systems and then all peoples and countries can simply be human beings celebrating the beauty of all peoples and the gift of all sharing equal ownership in the earth’s resources. Indeed, another world is possible. Perhaps the essays in this collective work will be an invitation for you to commit yourself to bringing about that world.

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PART I

INDIA

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1

The Untouchable “Dalits”* of India and their Spiritual Destiny

B. M. Leela Kumari Introduction Untouchability forbids the very presence of fellow humans. It is banned in the constitution of India. But it is prevalent in every village of 700,000 villages in India. In 1991 there were 160 million Dalits in number. At present there are more than 200 million Dalits in India. Untouchables (Dalits) are third-rate citizens, who reside on the outskirts of the villages. They are not allowed to draw water from village wells. They are not allowed to walk in the village main streets; they are not allowed to wear shoes and neat and decent dresses. Separate glasses greet them in hotels and restaurants. Their entry into temples, parks, recreation centers and other public places is banned. Inter-dining and inter-caste marriages are strictly prohibited. Menial jobs are allotted them. The Indian Hindu religious caste system is the root cause for this Untouchability.

The Indian Caste System Castes are the building blocks of the Hindu religious social order in India. The caste system contains three important characteristics: (1) Mutual repulsion; (2) Hierarchical unequal socioeconomic organization; and (3) Heredity (descent based discrimination). The Hindu society recognizes the caste hierarchy of four classes (Chaturvarnas)1: (1) Brahmins2 (Priests), (2) Kshatriyas (Kings), (3) Vaishyas (Merchants), and (4) Shudras (Servants). Those who are outside of this caste system are “Out Castes” or untouchables (i.e., Dalits or Scheduled Castes); the Brahman Hindu scriptures, Gods, and Law givers have always accepted and maintained caste inequality. Hatred is inbuilt in the very social stratification of caste.

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Another World is Possible

Thus the caste system for centuries came to acquire the following principles: (1) Placement of a person in the scheme of hierarchy based on birth; (2) Prohibition of marriage outside one’s own caste; (3) The principle of purity and pollution; and (4) Hereditary occupation. The caste system not only propagates division of labor but it divides laborers also. The caste system in India embodied an organization of economic production and a mechanism of distribution giving monopoly of all privileges into the hands of the upper castes and all sufferings to the lower caste Shudras. The conditions of the untouchables were worse than those of the Blacks in America during the slave trade; even today, untouchability, though abolished according to the constitution of India, still exists in society in different forms in some of the remote villages in India.

Untouchability Inequality is the official doctrine of Brahminical Hinduism. The out-caste untouchables are a byproduct of the caste system. Untouchability conveys a sense of impurity and defilement. It implies certain socio-religious disabilities. It includes customs and practices sanctioned by the Brahimincal Hindu caste system whereby persons belonging to the scheduled caste, Dalits, were debarred from entering Hindu temples, public places, streets, public conveyances, eating places, educational institutions, etc. There are other disadvantages—segregation in colonies (separate ghettos) and in the village, denial of land rights, low wages for manual services, and denial of access to services (e.g., by barbers, washer men) and to health care and education. The untouchable Dalits’ occupational work assigned by the Hindu caste system are unclean and hard jobs such as sweepers, scavengers, cobblers, cremation workers, hide and leather works, agricultural laborers, etc. At present there are more than 120 forms of Untouchability practices prevailing in India. In addition, the Hindu caste system encourages forcible prostitution among Dalit women by treating them as prostitutes of God (e.g., naming them Devadasi, Basivi, Jogini, Matangi, etc.) and sexually exploiting them.

Untouchability—Its Source Untouchability is an infliction and not a choice.3 The thesis on the origin of Untouchability is an altogether novel one; according to Dr B. R. Ambedkar: “It comprises the following propositions:

The Untouchable “Dalits” of India and their Spiritual Destiny 1. 2.

3. 4.

5.

6.

11

There is no racial difference between the Hindus and untouchables; The distinction between the Hindus and untouchables in its original form before the advent of Untouchability was the distinction between Tribesmen and Broken men from alien tribes. It is the Broken men who subsequently came to be treated as untouchables; Just as Untouchability has no racial basis so also has it no occupational basis; There are two roots from which Untouchability has sprung: (a) contempt and hatred of the Broken men as of Buddhists by the Brahmins; b) continuation of beef-eating by the Broken men after it had been given up by others. In searching for the origin of Untouchability care must be taken to distinguish the untouchables from the impure. All orthodox Hindu writers have identified the impure with untouchables. This is an error. Untouchables are distinct from the impure. While the impure as a class came into existence at the time of the Dharma Sutras (Hindu Religious Laws) the untouchables came into being much later than 400 A.D.”4

According to Dr Ambedkar, Untouchability resulted from the war between Brahminical Hindu Religion and Buddhism. The defeated Buddhists were made untouchables and segregated into separate ghettos outside of every village in India. They are considered to be polluted because they continue to eat beef. The untouchables of India face two problems: (a) the problem of discrimination and (b) the problem of isolation. Discrimination and isolation in every field of life manifest itself in the exclusion of untouchables from schools, wells, temples, means of conveyances, securing land, credit, and jobs, and denying them dignity and status of an equal human being. The problem of Untouchability can be attributed to the “observance of Untouchability as an act of religious merit, and non-observance of it as a sin” as found in the Hindu Religion.

Dalit Emancipation Movements in India Pollution and poverty, being integral parts of Untouchability, manifested in discrimination, isolation and social exclusion. The Dalits of India revolted against this several times in the history of India. But, thanks to the western colonial ideology of equality, their rebellion took the shape of social movements which are visible in their magnitude, their number and their impact.

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Ancient Movements The struggle for equality by the ancient Chandalas (Dalits) was manifested in the teachings of Buddha; and Buddhism may be considered to be the first spiritual and socio-religious movement in India which fought against inequalities of caste and Brahminical Hindu Religion. As caste and Untouchability are the byproducts of the Hindu Religion, the protest movements also emerged as religious movements with a revolutionary content of equality. These religious movements, known as Bhakthi (Devotional) movements, challenged the doctrine of inequality propagated by Hinduism. Important among the Bhakthi movement are Veera shaiva (1131–1167 AD) movement by Basava, Sant (saint or holy man) Ravi Das (1376–1427 AD), Sant Kabir (1440–1518 AD), Sant Eknath (1533–1599 AD), and Sant Chokhamela movements. They propagated equality through their devotional songs about divine love and declared that “all human beings are equal in the eyes of God.” The fact is that these movements did not unsettle the caste system and even less Untouchability because they never challenged the basic inequality concept of Hindu hierarchical Chaturvarna (four classes) philosophy. On the whole, the upward social mobility of the untouchables is a mirage until the start of the nineteenth century with the advent of colonial rule.

Post-colonial Movements The colonial government in India, through its census enumeration, had evoked the sense of caste identity, consciousness, mobilization and articulations. Prior to that, caste was a limited notion confined to the Asiatic model of enclosed village systems. The census operation on the Indian national level has contributed to the caste consciousness among different castes. The early nineteenth century saw different events; important among them are the inclusion of untouchables in the British army, starting with colonial education, employment and industries. These opportunities, though limited, provided a base for anti-Brahmin movements. The most prominent leaders among the anti-Brahmin movement are Mahatma Jotiba Phule (1829–1890 AD ) and Periar Ramaswamy (1879–1970 AD). The above two non-Dalit leaders tried their best to uplift the untouchables.

Dalit Aboriginal Movements After this the Dalit aboriginal (Adi) movements started all over India: Adi Dravida (aboriginal Dravidian) movement in Tamilnadu state in 1890, Adi Dharma (Aboriginal religion) movement in Punjab (1926), Nama Shudra (a Dalit caste) movement in west Bengal (1920s), Adi Hindu movement in Uttar Pradesh (1920s), Adi Andhra (1917), and Adi Arundhatiya (1931)

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movements in Andhra Pradesh. These movements strived for the dignity of Dalits and asked the colonial government to accommodate them in new opportunities in the fields of education and employment.

Religious Protest In this era, the Dalits also carried out religious protests. In 1898, Pandita Ayoti Das, a south Indian Dalit leader, started a Buddhist movement. But the impact of Christianity spread among the Dalits and particularly in south India they converted into different Christian denominations (from 1700 AD). In Muslim dominated areas, they also converted into Islam (from 1000 AD). Even today Dalits form more than 70 percent of the population among Indian Christians. These conversions can be seen as seen in the form of the religious protests and the spiritual thirst of the Dalits, who in Hinduism are never allowed into the so-called “Holy temples.” But unfortunately for the Dalits, almost all religions in India have been polluted by the “bad breath” (caste and Untouchability) of Hinduism.

Ambedkar’s Emancipatory Struggle The beginning of the twentieth century witnessed the birth of a great leader of the Untouchables, Dr B. R. Ambedkar (1891–1956). He is the greatest figure ever born to the untouchable community. The personality of Ambedkar is fascinating and an inspiration to all Dalit communities. Ambedkar was keenly aware that caste was the principal impediment to social justice, liberty, equality and fraternity and he was in agreement that caste and Untouchability could not be separated from the beliefs and institutions of Hinduism. In his opinion, “Untouchability is cruelty as compared to slavery” and “the hope of removing Untouchability without destroying the caste system is an utter futility. Untouchability is only an extension of the caste system. There can be no difference between the two. The two stand together or fall together.” Ambedkar first took up the cause of educational access for untouchables in British India. From 1927 to 1947, he led socio-political and economical struggles of Dalits in British India. He achieved constitutional civil rights (basic socio-political rights) for Dalits by heading the draft committee of the Indian constituent Assembly. Ambedkar proposed four major tenants for an egalitarian India and emancipation of Dalits. They are (1) Annihilation of caste, (2) State Socialism, (3) Political power to the Dalits, and (4) Conversion to Buddhism. Apart from his material contribution (providing reservations in government education, and employment) to the cause of Dalit emancipation, Ambedkar advocated spiritual emancipation of Dalits by

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converting to Buddhism. He himself paved the way for spiritual liberation by converting to Buddhism and, along with 500,000 Dalits, he converted to Buddhism on October 14–15, 1956, in Nagpur, India. The social democratic revolutionary philosophy of Ambedkar is located in the ideas of justice, liberty, equality and fraternity which he draws from the teachings of Lord Buddha. Ambedkar felt that the existence of graded inequality of the caste system is detrimental to any democratic principle. To Ambedkar, the caste system and Untouchability, which are sanctioned by the Hindu religious creed, perpetuates inequality, injustice and hatred. He believed that Buddhism was the only alternative to meet the social, psychological and spiritual needs of the untouchables to discover a new social identity. He considered Buddhism, as a religion, to be an important source of moral teaching based on justice, liberty, equality and fraternity because Buddha denied the existence of super human (god), heaven. And his teachings centered on human enlightenment (emancipation).

Pollution and Poverty Infliction of pollution and enforcement of poverty on Dalits can be treated as two major issues that the dark skinned untouchables are facing today in India. Dr B. R. Ambedkar believed that Untouchability arose out of the category of pollution inflicted on Dalits by Hindu religious dogma. In his opinion, “It is also beyond dispute that caste and Untouchability are not innocuous dogmas to be compared with other dogmas relating to the condition of the soul after death. They are parts of the code of Conduct which every Hindu is bound to observe during his life on earth. Caste and Untouchability, far from being mere dogmas, are among the foremost observances prescribed by Hinduism. It is not enough for a Hindu to believe in the dogmas of caste and Untouchability. He must also observe caste and Untouchability in the conduct of his daily life”5 and this religious dogma not only showed negative impact on Dalit spirituality but also on material progress. Ambedkar believed that pollution (the Untouchability concept) and poverty are an inseparable pair that oppressed Dalits in India: “Untouchability is more than a religious system. It is also an economic system which is worse than slavery.”6 This understanding led Ambedkar towards Buddhism; he believed that “Buddhism was a revolution. It was as great as the French revolution. Though it began as a Religious revolution, it became more than a Religious revolution. It became a social and political revolution.”7 The concept of pollution led to the practice of the inhuman system of Untouchability and it also contributed to the poverty among Dalits. The

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greatest evil born of this Untouchability was manifest in the field of psychology. It gave rise to the complexes of superiority and inferiority. It was this mentality that maintained a few as the hereditary masters and reduced the “untouchables” to the condition of hereditary serfs. This mentality has weakened the spirituality of Dalits in India and made their “human personality” a servitudinal (slave) image. This can be seen in the behavior of Dalits, in their names, attitudes and language. For example, Dalits are suppose to name their children low sounding names and behave like a slave whenever they meet their “Hindu touchable” counterpart. The Dalit greets him with “Nee Banchen Kalmokkuta Dora” (I am your slave, salute to your feet), keeps at a distance so that even his shadow must not fall on the “touchable Hindu,” and lives in the south of the village in a separate ghetto, since south is the most inauspicious direction. The untouchable must cover his mouth whenever he speaks to a touchable Hindu, etc. One must take note that these attitudes and behaviors are the sacred “Fatwas” given by the Manusmriti (Law of Manu) of the Hindu Religion. The entire systems in the Hindu Religion made the “Human personality” of a Dalit “nobody,” “alienated” and “polluted.” A Dalit in the eye of the Hindu religion is nothing, nobody and a sinful image. This “empty” and “negative” image haunts untouchables from womb to tomb. Antagonism, discrimination, isolation and alienation in social, economic, religious and political fields have resulted in an inferior spiritual image for Dalits. The graded inequality in the arrangement of the caste system is like a ladder. The higher caste receives reverence and the lower caste experiences contempt and isolation. The social structure of Hindus is given below. HINDU RELIGION ↓ Caste Hindus (Savarna Hindus) ↓ Class I High Caste priests (Brahmins) Warriors (Kshatiryas) Traders (Vaishyas) Castes evolved out of Three varnas from The creator Lord Brahma

↓ Non Caste Hindus (Avarna Hindus) ↓ Class II Service castes (Shudra or fourth varna)

↓ Class III

↓ Class IV

1. Primitive tribes Untouchables 2. Criminal tribes

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Hindu Religion The idea of pollution and lesser human image created by the Hindu religion suppresses the “untouchable” mind and spirit so that he/she thinks that he/she is a person with low qualities, low spirit and low descent. This thinking forms a “low and inferior” image. The “religious state of mind” of the untouchable is empty. To be accurate, it is filled with negative concepts about his/her own image and spirituality. “Homo Heirarchicus,” a monumental work by French anthropologist Louis Dumont, states that the political and economic domains of social life in India had always been encompassed by the religious domain, articulated in terms of an opposition between purity and pollution. This inflicted pollution has resulted in hate crimes against Dalits in India. For example: In India every hour 2 Dalits are assaulted Every day 3 Dalit women are raped Every day 2 Dalits are murdered Every day 2 Dalits’ houses are burnt.

Almost all governmental records declare that 80 percent of Dalits suffer from landlessness, poverty, hunger, and migration, and still they are engaged in inhuman occupations like manual scavenging and vicious Hindu religious prostitution like Devadasis, Jogins and Basivis.8 Eighty-one percent of the Dalit population live in rural areas. They depend on land for their livelihood. Fifty percent of Dalits have no land and work in the agricultural sector as daily wage laborers, without land. The agriculture sector provides only 100 days of work in a year and wages are less than 50 rupees (i.e. approximately one USA dollar) per day. The remaining 265 days, they are unemployed and underemployed, and thereby forced to migrate to other places. The liberalization, privatization, and globalization policies are encouraging mechanization and blocking the livelihood of the Dalits. The results are large-scale unemployment and migration. One important reason for high incidences of poverty among Dalits is high incidences of landlessness and Dalits’ heavy dependence on agriculture. The Hindu caste system’s failure at reforms in India benefits upper caste feudal landlords. This failure in reducing inequalities in the distribution of land and stagnation of the growth rate in the real wages of agricultural laborers are found to be important factors contributing to high occurrences of poverty among Dalits. Consequently, Dalits endure starvation and hunger. Thus the Hindu religious idea of “pollution” excluded Dalits from all mainstream activities and made them poor.

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Religious Destiny of the Untouchable Dalits Dalit Spirituality Dalits of India have their own religion or spirituality. Their religion, based upon materialism and matriarchal principles, used to be expressed in a mystic way. This materialistic mysticism is a Tantric cult grounded in a proto-scientific methodology. Dalits, irrespective of their “new” religions, worship mother goddesses in almost all villages where they reside. Though they have different mother goddesses with varied names in south India, all these mother goddesses push forward one principle, i.e., a matriarchal ideology prevalent among Dalits. These mother goddesses are not “divine” but “human” in conceptual understanding. These goddesses were ancient discoverers of wisdom, science, and medicine. Some goddesses are remembered and revered because they protected Dalits from enemies. For example Maremma, a popular south Indian Dalit goddess, discovered the antibiotic nature of neem and turmeric against diseases like small pox, chicken pox, etc. The worship of Maremma still contains the offerings of neem, lemon, turmeric, etc. Dalits offer only “male animal” sacrifices to these goddesses as the mystic expression of their matriarchal culture. Worship of these Dieties (i.e., Maremma, Pochamma, Yellamma, and Matamma) symbolizes that the world originated from female sakthi (power); and all these goddesses, though they differ in names in different villages, are the offspring of the ultimate female shakthi (power). Dalits still worship natural elements like trees and stones and they revere mountains, thus keeping alive their tribal totemic and mystic materialistic culture. Quite interestingly, all these mother goddesses are not part of the dominant religion (i.e., Hinduism) in India. All these Dalit goddesses are treated as demons (Asuras) in Hindu Scriptures and named as Kshudra Devatas (Dieties of the lowest people). In addition, Dappu (drum) forms an intrinsic part of Dalit cultural life. The drum can be treated as a spiritual symbol of Dalits. The Dalits can beat a drum and produce more than 40 different sounds of music useful at different occasions: birth functions, marriages, funeral processions, and religious functions. Sathianathan Clarke, in his Dalits and Christianity, beautifully summarized the religious/spiritual aspect of this Dalit musical instrument by stating: The analysis of the drum provides an important key to understand the particularity of the religion of the Paraiyar (A Dalit Community of South India). The drum is their unique, creative and constructive text of resistive and emancipatory theography. Through a synchronic (the multiplex functioning of the drum in the life of a paraiyar individual and community) and diachronic (the functioning of the drum through the

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Another World is Possible history of the pariayar) study, the creatively resistive and emancipatory characteristics of the drum as a ‘dominant symbol’ of the paraiyar are established. Two contextual significances of the drum are underscored. First, the drum is a fitting counter-image to the caste Hindu conception of the word in a historical setting in which the paraiyar were severed from the sacred word. Second, the drum represents the functional power of the Divine that operates on behalf of the paraiyar. It functions as the agent of Divine power both to resist the co-operative tendencies of dominant caste Hinduism and to empower the collective subjectivity of this subaltern community.9

This mystic power of the drum expresses the psychological feelings such as sorrow, depression, anger, happiness, etc. Restated, the drum connects the material world of the Dalit to his/her mystic spiritual world.

Emancipatory Religion of Dalits—Ambedkar’s Buddhism Dr Ambedkar clearly understood the role of religion in the untouchables’ life. According to him: Religion emphasizes, universalizes social values and brings them to the mind of the individual who is required to recognize them in all his acts in order that he may function as an approved member of the society. But the purpose of the religion is more than this. It spiritualizes them. As pointed [out] by Prof. Ellenwood: Now these mental and social values, with which religion deals, men call ‘spiritual’. It is something which emphasises as we may say, spiritual values, that is, the values connected especially with the personal and social life. It gives man a social and moral conception of the universe... Religion, therefore, is a belief in the reality of spiritual values, and projects them, as we have said, into the whole universe. All religion—even socalled atheistic religions—emphasize the spiritual, believe in its dominance, and look to its ultimate triumph.10

Ambedkar thought that the inferiority complex of the untouchables was the result of their isolation, discrimination and the unfriendliness of the Hindu social environment.11 He raised a question: “can religion alter this psychology of the untouchables?” and answered that religion can effect this cure provided it is a religion of the right type12: one advocating “liberty, equality, fraternity and justice.” Furthermore, Ambedkar found these right values in Buddhism. This ideological commitment to Buddhism led him to a public adoption of Buddhism at a diksha (conversion) ceremony held in Nagpur on October 14–15, 1956. “Ambedkar’s conversion was motivated by his belief that only in leaving Hinduism could his people (i.e. the untouchables) free themselves from the burden of pollution and Untouchability.”13 During his speech at this great conversion moment, Ambedkar reminded the public of the saying of his German professor Winternitz in his famous book, The Watergang Rabelan Depth. And from there quoted: “it is only the poor who need Religion.” Ambedkar felt that Hinduism, founded on the ideologies of inequality and injustice, leaves no room for development

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and keeps untouchables slaves under the yoke of Hinduism. He believed that the main object of Buddhism is to emancipate the suffering humanity and give a clarion call to the untouchables to “go forth with the message of Buddha and go forth to liberate people”14 for the spiritual well-being of Dalits. In his Religion as Emancipatory Identity,15 G. Aloysius points out that the religion of the oppressed, set against the dominant, is a self-conscious, self-differentiating and self-defining sacralized ideology in ethical challenge and superiority. According to him, the religion of the oppressed must evoke a consciousness of oppression and this consciousness is also an urge, a will, towards change in social praxis. And in the analysis of Sathianathan Clarke,16 there are three major characteristics of the subaltern religion of Dalits. They are (1) True consciousness, (2) Complex interweaving of profuse, resourceful, creative use of alternative forms to express collective experiences, and (3) Realistic elements in its manifestation. Ambedkar found “identity” and “dignity” in the teachings of Buddha for Dalits’ material as well as spiritual gain. According to him, conversion of Dalits to Buddhism is “spiritual gain,” and he specifically stated that “Man is not for religion, religion is for man.”17 Religion is to become human, “human” in letter and spirit; and it must encourage Dalits to live with dignity, respect, and human rights such as liberty, equality, fraternity and justice based on the foundations of morality. The only religion which passes these above tests is Buddhism.

Conclusion The central belief of Buddhism—PRAJNA (i.e., enlightenment and emancipation) as salvation—proposes human identity and dignity for the Dalits in India so that they can achieve their lost spirituality and regain their alienated personality. The equality and fraternity concepts of Buddhism cleanse the inflicted pollution and Untouchability with its human subjectivity. The doctrinal basis of Buddhism is morality and only this morality, being a guiding force, can bring back the lost spirit of Dalits in India.

2

Dalits in India: Key Problems/ Issues and Role of Religion

James Massey The Term or Name “Dalit” The term “dalit” is perhaps one of the most ancient terms, which has not only survived until the present day, but is also shared by a few of the world’s oldest languages. For example, Hebrew and Sanskrit, though they differ in their grammatical structure and in their lexicographical connotation, share the term “dalit” almost with the same root and sense. The Hebrew root of “dalit” is “dall,” which means hang down, to be languid, be weakened, be low and feeble.1 On the other hand, the Sanskrit root of “dalit” is “dal,” which means to crack, spilt, be broken or torn asunder, trodden down, scattered, crushed and destroyed.2 The meanings referred to here are the literal meanings of the two roots (Hebrew and Sanskrit) of the term “dalit.” But beside these definitions, in real usages in specific contexts these words have been used to define the identity of some groups or communities, which have been excluded by the dominant communities. For example “dall,” or its other grammatical forms (dal, dalah, dalat or dalot), has occurred more than fifty times in the Hebrew biblical literature and these references have been used for those people, “whose prosperity and social status have been reduced. In this respect they are the opposite of the rich (Exodus 23:3, 30:15; Leviticus 14:21; Proverbs 22:16 and others). In physical strength, in psychological ability, they are also impaired and helpless (Job 34:28; Psalms 83:3; Jeremiah 40:7, 52:16 and others).”3 The important point here to be noted is that the dal or dalot people are not only economically or physically poor or weak, they are also poor in their “psychological ability.” And their being has been “impaired” to such an extent that they have become “helpless.” So in other words, the Hebrew term dall denotes a much deeper side of the state of the people known as dalot, which cannot be covered by a simplistic English term “poor” as has been always rendered in English translations of the Bible.

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What has been said above about the meaning of the Hebrew term or name dal or dalat is even more true with the Sanskrit term dal or dalit. This term has been used for many centuries in Sanskrit as well as in most of the North Indian languages. Some of the dictionaries of these languages have included, in the list of meanings, a special meaning, which refers to a section of Indian people who have suffered oppression throughout history, because of the accepted religious and social or caste-based norms of the Indian social order.4 But its use as a specific name or title is a more recent one. It is the first time Dalits chose to give themselves a common name with the title “Dalit.” The most important point to remember is that it is the first time in the history of the Dalit struggle, when the Dalits themselves have chosen a name for themselves. They have chosen a name to describe the present state of their community or communities into which they have been forced through a systematic historico-religious process of trampling them down. It refers to the broken or trodden-down state of these people. This is not a mere name or title for them. In fact it has become an expression of hope for them, in recovering their past selfidentity. Because of these historically considered “outcastes” or “untouchables” people and their struggle, this term or name “Dalit” has acquired a new connotation, which has a more positive meaning.5 Given this analysis of the meaning of the term or name “Dalit,” in the next section we will be dealing with the key problems/issues faced by the Dalits. The next section will also further help us to understand the meaning of this name or term “Dalit.”

Key Problems/Issues Faced by the Dalits The Dalits, who number about 240 million, out of which 200 million live in India alone, are facing some major problems/issues resulting from two basic factors. The first factor is an old one, which basically is responsible for their present state in which they are living in. This is the Indian castebased social order. The second factor is a new one, which is the process of globalization. Globalization has both enlarged and deepened the problems of the Dalits, which the Dalits already were facing. Now to understand the nature and depth of the problems of the Dalits and the two factors behind these and their relationship, we have to look briefly at both the caste-based social order and the process of globalization from the perspective of the Dalits and their impact upon them.

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The Caste-based Social Order The story of the present social order of India had its historical roots in one of the earliest wars, which took place between the first settlers of ancient India and the late comers. The second group addressed themselves as Arya (noble) and the first group they called Dasa (slave). The detailed story of these two hostile groups is found in the ancient written source of Rigveda (around 1500 BC).6 It is in the Rigveda that we find the first reference to this social order, with which we are concerned here. According to Rigveda, human society has divine origin and was formed out of the body of the Creator God, Brahmma.7 It is significant to note that the social order thus described in the Rigveda was confined only to the Arya, and not to the first dwellers of India. Also after going through the text of the Rigveda, it becomes clear that the first dwellers of India were those who call themselves today either Dalit or Adivasi (Indigenous people). One result of the conflict described in the Rigveda was that at a later stage, the opponents of the Dalits were able to divide themselves into a number of groups by assigning them the lowest considered jobs. Today the Dalits are divided into more than 850 subgroups. The Dalits are not only horizontally divided, but they have also become vertically divided by their opponents, based upon the purity or cleanliness of their prescribed (forced) occupations.8 It is indeed interesting to note that through the cumulative domination of the caste system, the kind of severe oppression which the Dalits have been subjected to has turned their life into a most degraded inferior status, and even they have accepted this state of their existence. This conditioning of the mind of the Dalits makes them different from other Indians, who are considered low caste in the framework of the caste system and who have also suffered either various ritual debasements or are economically poor and politically powerless. This state of the Dalits has in fact given them an identity of “Untouchable.” Linked with their untouchable state is the extreme economic poverty into which Dalits are pushed through ongoing economic exploitation. They are assigned the lowest and most ritually polluted jobs, which include landless labourers (in fact, it is bonded slavery) or jobs which are considered unskilled (though by any standard most of these are skilled in nature), such as skinning animals’ carcasses, tanning leather, shoe-making, weaving, butchery of animals, playing in musical bands, cleaning the public roads and streets, and scavenging . The Dalits in general are completely conditioned with regard to these jobs even today.9 The Dalits as a corporate body (because of the economic slavery coupled with the conditioned psyche) not only became helpless, but also powerless. They did not lose only their basic economic, social and cultural rights, but their political rights as well. And this has turned them into a “non-people”

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politically and in due course they became, in essence, the “subject.” And their oppressors, belonging to the so-called upper castes, became their masters and rulers.10 In this way the three-fold problem—inferior social status, political powerlessness and economic poverty (slavery)—has today become the part of the inner being of Dalits and they have accepted this as part of their natural life. This has given them a multi-faceted identity, which tells them that they are untouchables; they are subjects and they are economic slaves. This in brief is the state of affairs into which Dalits are forced to live in.

The Process of Globalization Globalization is primarily understood today as the free movement of goods, services, people and information across national boundaries.11 The definition of globalization may look simple as well as harmless. But to understand the meaning and to fix a Dalit perspective, we need to look into the meaning and implication of globalization more critically. First, we all will agree with the view that: “Globalization is now a fact, not an option. The communication revolution has turned the world into a global ‘village’ where everyone knows what is going on and what is available.”12 The supporters of this process claim that “The process of globalization is a central source of change in the world today. It can lead to widely shared inclusive prosperity or highly uneven development from which a significant number of countries and people are excluded. To benefit fully from it, to turn it into an opportunity, India has to adapt its policies.”13 Now what are the policies behind globalization? Human Development Report 1997 summarized the answer to this question by pointing out: “A dominant economic theme of the 1990s globalization encapsulates both a description and a prescription. The description is the widening and deepening of international flows of trade, finance and information…The prescription is to liberalize national and global markets in the belief that free flows of trade, finance and information will produce the best outcome for growth and human welfare.” This Report in the same place also adds: “The principles of free global markets are nevertheless applied selectively. If this were not so, the global market for unskilled labour would be as free as the market for industrial country exports or capital… Lacking power, poor countries and poor people too often [have] their interests neglected and underminded.”14 Globalization has its winners and losers. The gainers include output, people with assets, profits, people with high skills, educated, professional, managerial and technical people, capital, creditors, those independent of public services, large firms, the strong, risk takers, global markets, sellers of technically sophisticated products, global culture, global elites and firms with market access and branding. The losers include:

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employment, people without assets, wages, people with low skills, uneducated workers, labour, debtors, those dependent on public services, small firms, the weak, human security, local communities, sellers of primary and standard manufactured products, local culture, global poor and firms without market access and no branding.15 Now in the case of Dalits, without any doubt we can say that as it stands today, they are among the losers of globalization. Here it is also interesting to note that all the human development reports, which offered the analysis of the impacts of globalization, agreed that it is not only the interests of the poor countries and the poor in general that are neglected, but also the benefits of this process mainly have gone to the more dynamic and powerful countries of the North and South. These reports also agree with the fact that liberalization, privatization and tighter intellectual property rights are shaping the path for the new technologies and determine how they are used. But then all this is controlled by the powerful corporations, and in the process: “Poor people and poor countries risk being pushed to the margin in this proprietary regime controlling the world’s knowledge.”16 Besides this, the global gap between haves and have-nots, between know and know-nots is widening, because of the following reasons: (a) as in private research agendas money talks louder than need; (b) tightened intellectual property rights keep developing countries out of the knowledge sector; (c) patent laws do not recognize traditional knowledge and systems of ownership; and (d) the rush and push of commercial interests protect profits, not people, despite the risks in the new technologies.17 All this actually means that the right to knowledge or education is limited to a small minority as part of the strategy. In addition, when we talk about education in relation to globalization, it means universal quality basic education both at the secondary as well as at higher levels of education. Also there is a definite need for commitment to government social reforms, without which globalization will not succeed either in transforming the local society or economy in any situation. Since we are restricting our discussion here only to the Dalit perspective mainly, we can not deal here with all the aspects of globalization. But one last point here needs our attention: the history of globalization. Though the history of globalization goes back to the colonialist era of the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, yet its real history began after the Second World War. From the beginning, this process was established to formulate some global rules for trade to manage the global economy. For this purpose of coordination, three world institutions were founded: the International Monetary Fund (IMF), the World Bank (WB), and General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT)/World Trade Organization (WTO). With these, within the given time of the last decade of the twentieth century, the present form of globalization came into

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existence. This manifestation went beyond the territories of nation-states by the process of economic exchanges, political homogenization, technological advances and cultural influences. Presently globalization, in the form of human power, is in truth without any control, because it does not recognize any boundaries such as political or national and even the boundaries of the natural world. All that is said about the history of present globalization is true. But for Dalits, the history of their colonization cum globalization goes back more than 3500 years. In the case of India, both the promoters as well as beneficiaries of globalization are the traditional groups belonging to the so-called upper castes. The victims of the caste-based social order are also the victims of globalization. Dalits have been the most victimized community among these groups. Globalization, through the process of privatization and liberalization, especially has added to the woes already faced by Dalits in the areas of economics, politics, society, and culture. In these areas of their life, divisions already have been imposed upon them both horizontally and vertically. Because caste is not only an instrument of division of labours, it was/is also an instrument through which Dalits as labourers have been divided or graded. To understand this we have to look into the constitutional rights and how these get affected by the process of globalization. In India traditionally as well as historically, the people’s rights—which include cultural, religious, economic, social and political rights—always have been restricted and controlled by the State. It is because the State always has been controlled by a minority group, in whose favour the major role has been played by the Indian caste-based social order. This social order has literally followed these three fundamental principles: the principle of graded inequality, the principle of fixity of occupations, and the principle of fixation of people within their respective classes.18 These principles were to be followed as part of the dharma of a human being. If broken there was a prescribed punishment. These principles have been followed for the last 3500 years. But thanks to the framers of the Indian Constitution, the latter has recognised the follies of the Indian social order and has offered ways and means to deal with these follies. For example, the Constitution has not attacked the caste system, yet it has offered the basic fundamental rights to all citizens based upon the principle of equality (article 14). It also has legally abolished untouchability (article 17). It offers everybody equal opportunity of employment in public sectors (article 16). It also prohibits any form of discrimination on the basis of religion, race, caste, sex or place of birth (article 15). The preamble of the Constitution also makes its intention very clear concerning the equal rights of all citizens in social, economic and political matters. The principle of justice also has been

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fully applied to these areas of citizens’ lives in the text of the Constitution. Besides upholding the principle of equality, the Constitution, moreover, has offered special safeguards for the rights of weaker segments of Indian society, which include religious and linguistic minorities, women, scheduled castes, scheduled tribes and other backward classes. In the case of Dalits (the constitutional expression used for them is scheduled caste), the Constitution has granted them special rights to share political power by offering them the reservation of seats at all levels (articles 330–34). On the economic end, the Constitution not only prohibits any form of forced labour (article 23), but makes special provision for Dalits to occupy reserved jobs in various government departments and public undertakings (articles 16, 320, 353). These reservations have been offered to the Dalits according to their percentage of the total population of the country. Article 46 of the Constitution offers a special provision to promote with special care the education and economic interests of Dalits and it also offers them protection from social injustice and all forms of exploitation. Thus the Constitution of the country at least gave the Dalits an opportunity to share the economic rights through reservations in government jobs as well as in the public sector. But since the early 1990s, one of the essential elements of the globalization of the market economy is privatization (which is one of the main recommendations of the Structural Adjustment Programme [SAP]). Consequently, India has opened its markets and now the speed of this process has increased. The privileges enjoyed by Dalits under the Constitution, especially with regards to jobs in the public sector, are going to be directly affected. With the introduction of a privatization policy in the public sector, Dalits are going to lose even the possibility of having jobs there, which presently they are enjoying substantially.19 So the major threat faced by Dalits is to their Constitutional rights, which are being taken away through the process of privatization of the public sector. The most serious aspect of this problem is that successive governments continue to sell the various government-owned enterprises. On the other hand, the State is supposed to be the guardian of the rights of the people. But if the State itself gets involved in the process, which will take away the rights of the people, then in that situation who will protect the people’s or Dalits’ rights? It is this question that demands new or alternative ways of protecting or restoring the rights of groups of people like Dalits. One possible way will be to take a fresh look at the role of our respective religions or faiths. In the next section, an attempt is made towards this direction.

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The Role of Religion among the Dalits A Study on the Role of Religion(s) I have investigated in detail the ten religions of India as part of my post doctoral study. This study, Dalits in India: Religion as a Source of Bondage or Liberation with Special Reference to Christians,20 is directly related to the theme of this essay. Besides the detailed study of Hinduism and Christianity, the other religions referred to in this research are: Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism, Lingayatism, Islam, Judaism, Zoroastrianism and Baha’i.21 Here it will not be possible to go through the detailed contents of this investigation except to refer to some of the findings and conclusions of this work. The first finding of this study was the power of the caste system supported by the concrete written scripture of Hinduism and its role in creating the problems of the Dalits in India. Besides affecting the Dalits’ human aspect deeply, the power of the caste system becomes clear from the way this system influenced the other religions—which include Buddhism, Jainism, Islam, Zoroastrianism, Sikhism, Lingayatism and Baha’I—which are supposed to be egalitarian in nature. Even the most progressive egalitarian religion, Christianity, was contaminated by the caste system, as a result of which it failed to deal with the problem of the Dalits in general and Dalit Christians in particular. The British rulers, having a Christian background, were not only forced to support the caste system, but also extended full official protection to it. In the post-Independence era, the Indian national and state governments continued to perpetuate the old social system based upon the hierarchical caste system. At the same time, they tried to offer some ways and means to improve the conditions of the Dalits. These efforts also failed, because these were and are limited to the various external symptoms of the Dalits’ problem, instead of dealing with their psyche deep down. This mindset has been conditioned by centuries of oppression and exploitation supported by both religious and political structures. The moment of history, from which the history of the present people known as Dalits began, was around the middle of the second millennium (BC). This conclusion is based upon the content study of the oldest literary source (i.e., Rigveda) and the findings of the archaeologists during the twentieth century. It has also become clear from this research that the Dalits are the descendants of the earliest inhabitants of India. The problem of Dalit Christians is an existing reality. In addition, my research discussed how the history of the missionaries, both in South and North India from the fifteenth century, is responsible for the continuing problem of the Dalit Christians. The missionaries’ understanding of the

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Christian religion of the medieval period (which included emphasis on other worldliness, personal holiness, individual spirituality-based salvation, and so on), instead of helping the Dalit Christians to have the experience of full liberation, provided a way to escape from the realities of life, which further entrenched them in their inner captivity. In the postIndependence era, the Dalit Christians have to suffer more on the basis of religion. For being Christian, they have not only lost their fundamental constitutional rights, but also their basic human rights. The main point of this study was the basic issue of identity, which the Dalits in India have lost. To regain that lost identity, the Dalits have been making a number of efforts, including change of religion. The recent awakening among the Dalits themselves has shown that they are keen to regain their basic rights, which are linked to the question of their selfidentity. Two possible strategies can particularly help the Christian community or the Church in India to take part directly in the process of regaining fuller humanity. Political action based upon fresh religious understanding is needed in order to strengthen the Dalits. If Christians in India are interested in being in solidarity with the Dalits in general and the Dalit Christians in particular, they have to look for a fresh understanding of the Christian religion or faith. Here comes the need for Dalit theology (a political theology), which will enable the members of the Christian Church to take part directly in the struggle of the Dalits. As part of the final conclusion, it may be stated without doubt that if historically the Hindu religion, through its caste system, is responsible for the beginning and deepening of the problem of the Dalits in India, it is also true other religions, both indigenous (Jainism, Buddhism, Sikhism, Lingayatism) as well as foreign faiths (i.e., Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Zoroastrianism and Baha’i) were and are unable to fully help the Dalits in recovering their lost human identity. These religions either could not save themselves from the powerful influence and impact of the caste system or could not face it. An egalitarian religion like Christianity, if it is to enable the Dalits to recover their human identity, has to change its present form and free itself from the influence of the dominant religious culture (including the caste system) because that is not at all relevant to the need(s) of the Dalits. Instead, it must move towards a fresh understanding of its faith based on the needs and experiences of ordinary people, particularly the Dalits, which will provide a possible way out for the Indian Christian community or the Indian Church to become an enabler of the recovery of the lost humanity and the basic rights of the Dalits in India.22 How can this happen? Possibly by re-reading and re-looking at the basic teachings

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of Christian faith, particularly the teachings of Jesus Christ found in the Gospels.

A Fresh Look at Jesus’ Teachings There is no way we can go into the details of Jesus’ works and teachings, which are found in the four Gospels. Here we only can give a summary of his teachings where he rejected the various patterns of exclusion of people by the dominant groups of society of his time. One of the focal points of his instructions was that all persons are equal. Groups considered socially, economically and religiously low were his targets for empowerment. He challenged the dominant groups in every area of life and made it clear to them that their claims to superiority have no foundation and are contradictory to the divine will. The best examples of how Jesus tried to teach ordinary people and empower them through stories and entering into a direct dialogue with them are found in the Gospels. Here are a few examples for our reflection and action. The first example is the parable of the Good Samaritan as told by St. Luke in his Gospel (10:25–37). According to St. Luke, Jesus told this parable to a teacher of religious law, who came to Jesus to ask about the way to receive eternal life. While entering into a dialogue with the teacher, Jesus asked him what the Scripture says about it. The teacher in his answer gave the summary of the Ten Commandants, which tells: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with your mind”; and “Love your neighbour as you love yourself.” Jesus told the teacher his answer is right, so do according to it and you will live. But the teacher of law asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbour?” In response to this question, Jesus told him the parable of the Good Samaritan, according to which a person was robbed and became seriously wounded by robbers and was left on the road side. Then two persons belonging to two socially considered highest groups (in our Indian context, so-called high castes), a priest and a Levite, walked by. But they did not even look at the wounded person. In contrast, the third person, a Samaritan, belonging to a lowest considered socially group (untouchable or today’s Dalit), came along the same way. When he saw the wounded, he took care of the person and saved his life. Another dialogue takes place between Jesus and an untouchable woman (a Dalit), who also happened to be a Samaritan. St. John narrated in detail the conversation in his Gospel, chapter 4:1–41. In Jesus’ time, Jews used to consider Samaritans as untouchables, to the extent that even Jews would not use the same cups and bowls used by Samaritans. Because of this social distinction, when Jesus asked for drinking water from a woman of this untouchable community, she, instead of giving him

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water, raised a question by saying: “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (4:7–9). In Jesus’ time, no religious teacher would ever talk to a woman. This was why, when his disciples saw him talking with this untouchable woman, “they were greatly surprised to find him talking with a woman” (4:27). But the whole point of this story is that Jesus showed his disciples how there is need to reverse the existing caste or race or gender-based social order. From the third example from Jesus’ teaching, we can refer to the parable of the labourers in a vineyard as recorded by St. Matthew in his Gospel, chapter 20:1–16. Here, according to the parable, which Jesus told in order to explain the meaning of the Kingdom of heaven or God, the owner of the vineyard hired some labourers at different times during the day. But when at the end of the day he asked his manager to pay all the labourers equal wages, the labourers who were hired first and worked for longer hours objected to this action of the owner of the vineyard. But he did not change his decision of equal payment to all labourers. Here we see Jesus introducing an alternative economic order; one radical in nature based not only on the principle of equal opportunity of employment, but also equal wages to all. These three examples present the teachings of Jesus Christ from the Dalit perspective, which represent the core message of Christian faith/ religion. From these three readings, it becomes very clear that Jesus, the founder of the Christian religion, wanted to establish an alternative social as well as economic order, in which all human beings will have an equal space. This is also the need of the Dalits and a basis for establishing a “Just Society” founded upon the principle of justice.

PART II

JAPAN

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Recovering Jesus for Outcasts in Japan

Teruo Kuribayashi “We have learned to see the great events of world history from below, from the perspective of outcasts.” — Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison “The Suiheisha Declaration is our Bible for the unliberated Burakumin.” — Imai Kazuichi, The Crown of Thorns

Suffering and Liberation The basic theme of this chapter is the suffering and liberation of outcasts in Japan. This theme is the natural outgrowth of my belief that our theological task in contemporary Japan is to reflect critically on the liberating activity of God in the midst of oppression, taking as our focus the concrete sociohistorical context of Japan’s three million outcasts, the Burakumin.1 This chapter, therefore, seeks to analyze the suffering and pain historically experienced by the Burakumin and to discuss their situation as it relates to the biblical theme of liberation. The sole purpose of such theological reflection is to articulate the meaning of God’s redemptive work in the anguished communities of Japan, thus conveying to the Japanese outcasts that their striving for freedom is not only consistent with their legitimate desires and expectations as human beings but also is itself the central theme of Christian faith. I do not intend to imply by my specific focus on the suffering of the Burakumin that their victimization alone is worthy of meaning granted by Christian theology. In Japan other minorities are discriminated against in various ways—Korean residents, Ainu and Okinawan people, the physically and mentally handicapped, women, and so on. However, the condition of being a Burakumin best illustrates what oppression means in Japanese society today. Every conceivable brutality visited upon its least-valued members—humiliation, persecution, social marginalization—has been

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suffered by the Burakumin minority, and their communities are paradigmatic of victimization in specifically Japanese terms. Although this article also deals extensively with the theme of liberation, I disclaim the mere extension of “liberation theology” that has become fashionable in the ecumenical world. “Liberation,” as I am using the term, is actually a translation of a Japanese word kaiho, which has been used for more than seventy years by the Burakumin themselves in their struggle for justice and freedom.2 The Buraku Liberation League, for example, uses kaiho as opposed to a word such as dowa (integration) or yuwa (assimilation). Its function here reflects the Burakumin’s self-understanding as oppressed people and their recognition that their marginalized state is the result of mechanisms of domination. This is a harsh revelation to assimilate—that one’s marginalization is not a matter of being “insufficiently integrated” into society or “not yet fully equal” with common Japanese but of being systematically kept outside of society and dominated as inherently unequal. It is true that during the Meiji period (1868–1912) the Japanese government tried to implement a policy of integration with respect to the Buraku communities, but the policy incorporated no long-term goal to eliminate discrimination against them. Indeed, the policy presupposed the continuation of oppression and served instead to create a safety valve to prevent radical opposition on the part of the Burakumin. The price paid for this process of alleged “integration” or “assimilation” was excessive: the growing alienation of large sectors of the outcast communities and the consequent repression of all forms of self-respect. The situation eventually culminated in the Burakumin’s critical opposition to integration and in their opting for the language of liberation. Thus the language of liberation implies a need to go beyond the possibility of integration to self-determination. The first principle of the program adopted by the National Levelers’ Association (Zenkoku Suiheisha), the first militant organization for Buraku liberation, established in 1922, was that the Burakumin “shall achieve their liberation through their own acts.” The policy of self-help thus introduced a new way of consciousness and action among the Burakumin, and the language of liberation has retained a tremendous overall function of increasing self-awareness and pride among them. Rooted as it is in the historical experience of the Japanese outcasts, our theological language of “suffering” and “liberation” cannot but assume a sociopolitical dimension, which must affect the content and the methodology of reflection on faith as a specific historical event. But this vocabulary can be easily deprived of its radical character. “Suffering” and “liberation” can be used in an exclusively spiritualistic sense to imply that Christian suffering is the endurance of pain and Christian liberation is the

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liberation from self and pride. This personal affirmation cannot be denied wholesale. Faith is not merely a psychological process. A human being is undeniably a social entity, and a reflection on faith in a context of societal repression necessarily goes beyond contemplation of individualistic terms. “Suffering” and “liberation” both acquire another dimension, becoming a condemnation of those who repress social and political contradiction as the locus of genuine Christian awareness and praxis. The new social consciousness among the Burakumin is to be understood as an occasion for renewing the theological debate on the meaning of the liberating activity of God. Challenges to the theme of this debate are often raised by reducing the issue to an either/or proposition: “What is the good of changing the structure of the social system without first changing the human heart?” But psyche and structure are not opposed in the way this question implies. Changing a discriminatory social structure is one way of changing the human heart. The relationship between the human heart and its social milieu is reciprocal, one of mutual dependence. To believe that political change will somehow make for a new humanity is naive and mechanistic, but so is the idea that a “personal” change guarantees the transformation of an oppressive social structure. This either/ or proposition denies the radical dialectic unity of self and society. To change a social structure is to change the way in which the self perceives reality, to change the reference points required to maintain a discriminatory system of beliefs. As stated at the beginning, the main purpose of this chapter is to model the kind of theological reflection possible in the context of liberation for the Japanese outcasts. The main questions to which my discussion will constantly return include: What challenge do the Burakumin pose both to our theological reflection and to the church in Japan as a whole? How might our theological agenda be set within their concrete historical context? What fundamental contribution can theology offer to the ongoing reflection on and the attempt to overcome the discrimination against the outcasts in Japan? What new perceptions and directions can theology gain from their struggle for equality?

The Suiheisha’s Adoption of the Crown of Thorns On March 3, 1922, at the inaugural convention of the Suiheisha, the following declaration was read aloud to some two thousand representatives from almost all the Buraku communities in Japan: Burakumin throughout the country, unite! ... Brothers and sisters! Our ancestors sought after and practiced liberty and equality. But they became the victims of a base

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Another World is Possible contemptible system developed by the ruling class. They became the martyrs of industry. As a reward for skinning animals, they were flayed alive. As a recompense for tearing out the hearts of animals, their own warm, human hearts were ripped out. They were spat upon with the words of ridicule. Yet all through these cursed nightmares, their blood, still proud to be human, did not dry up. Yes! Now we have come to the age when men and women, pulsing with this blood, are trying to become divine. The time has come when the martyrs’ Crown of Thorns will be blessed. The time has come when we can be proud of being Eta.3 ... Let there be warmth in the hearts of people, and let there be light upon all humankind. From this, the Suiheisha is born.4

The official flag of the Suiheisha was unfurled for the first time. It was black, emblazoned only with a round crown of thorns dyed blood-red, intentionally symbolizing the Passion of Jesus. The flagpole was fashioned in the shape of a bamboo spear, symbolizing the militancy of traditional Japanese peasant uprisings against injustice. Similarly, a year later, when the central office of the Suiheisha sent out a message urging the Burakumin to attend the second national convention, the text repeatedly emphasized the crown of thorns in a messianic manner as the symbol of the association’s militancy: The flag with a Crown of Thorns of the color of blood should be the symbol of our suffering and martyrdom. Come and gather in front of an altar and mourn for the tens of millions of our ancestors groaning underground. Once we were lowly people (senmin). Now, we are chosen people (senmin). Three million beloved brothers and sisters, for a “better day,” let us unite.5

“Martyrdom” and “suffering” are Christian terms rendered by the Japanese outcasts as symbols to express their pain, their groaning, and their long history of oppression. “Chosen people” and “blessing” have been rendered in like manner to express their “eschatological” expectation and hope for liberation. Most of the Sui-heisha founders, including Saiko Mankichi, the principal author or the declaration, were not Christian. It is significant, therefore, to note their utilization of Christian symbols, along with their use of Buddhist and Marxist terms, to recall and interpret “their experience in the past and to express hope in the future.” 6 In the declaration, Saiko denounces the dominant class of his country who have systematically oppressed the Burakumin on the basis of their “mean and filthy” occupations such as animal-slaughtering, butchering, and skinning. It is the rulers themselves, says Saiko, who have “ripped out” and “flayed alive” the human hearts of the Burakumin to make them scapegoats of a semi-feudalistic society. He also challenges that oppression. Indeed, his voice is prophetic, echoing the similar cry of Micah, who fiercely denounced the rulers who did “flay men alive and tear the very flesh from their bones.”

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And I said: Listen, you leaders of Jacob, rulers of Israel, Should you not know what is right? You hate good and love evil, You flay men alive and tear the very flesh from their bones; You devour the flesh of my people, Strip off their skin, splinter their bones. (Micah 3:1–3)

The various biblical stories with their themes of suffering and liberation, such as the Exodus story and the parables of Jesus, provided rich symbolism for the Japanese outcasts to understand and to interpret the destiny of their people. Their instinct sharpened by the experience of oppression, they rightly found in the Bible images that could bear the weight of both their struggle and thirst for justice. The appeal for the second national convention in 1923 evoked the event of Exodus, comparing the enslaved Burakumin to the people of Israel led by Moses. It reads: March 3rd of 1922 shall be remembered as the glorious foundation day of the National Suiheisha. It was the day when our three million brothers and sisters under curse chose the path towards liberation. It reminds us of the people of Israel who used to be the despised in Egypt, tried to be free from oppression, led by day in a pillar of cloud and by night in a pillar of fire, and marched into the desert of Paran. Since then a year has passed, and now our day of the Second National Convention has come. Though the wilderness is endless and the promised land of Canaan is still far, our marching tone is even higher and more brave. History is a process of liberation. Three million brothers and sisters and six thousand unliberated Buraku, unite under the flag of the crown of thorns!7

More than anything else, however, the Burakumin came to relate their experience to the biblical symbol of Jesus’ Passion. For these people, the crown of thorns is not a symbol of militancy in the sense of conquest of triumph over others in society, nor does it function to adorn in the manner of the Japanese imperial family’s use of the “throne of chrysanthemums” crest. It is a symbol that has led the oppressed Buraku communities to experience fellowship with one another and to extend solidarity to other exploited and marginalized people. It is a symbol that calls all people under oppression into solidarity with one another. It should be emphasized that it was the Burakumin themselves who first took Jesus’ crown of thorns as the symbol of their suffering and liberation. Most of them were not churchgoers. They simply took the Bible and read in it their daily experience. Some Christians, however, have found in the Burakumin’s interpretation of Jesus’ crown a symbolic vehicle for their identity of faith, witnessing to the dimensions of divine activity working among the outcasts in Japan.8 For them the crown of thorns has become a symbol of the solidarity of God with the marginalized, the oppressed, and the exploited. It has come to signify the person of

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Jesus, who makes the groaning of the despised his own cry for liberation. The symbol reveals that God is also suffering with them, while promising their freedom from that oppression. The crown of thorns has become a sign of the divine purpose that redeems history from the effects of human evil. But is this process of symbolism and interpretation by the Burakumin and some Japanese Christians really legitimate in the light of Christian faith? Or is the symbol of the crown of thorns merely used as an image corresponding to a pseudo-messianic character of the Suiheisha? Do we really have here a new way to articulate the truths inherent in faith, or do we have a “false ideology,” divorced from authentic Christianity? One way to approach these questions is to examine the original meaning of the crown of thorns, as it has been understood in the Bible and theological traditions.

The Crown of Thorns in the Bible and the Church The first obvious meaning of the crown of thorns is in its implicit and explicit differences between the priestly and princely crowns of the Old Testament. The Hebrew kings and aristocrats were thought to be set apart by Yahweh in the wearing of royal crowns (nezer).9 Josephus describes the priestly crown as a three-tiered diadem worn over the turban around the nape of the neck. Both crowns indicated “dedication and consecration” to Yahweh. They signified not only the noble rank and authority of the wearer but also the sacred religious nature of his office, given by God. They were called the holy crowns; they were engraved with the words “Holy to the Lord” and decorated with pure gold. Among the priestly class, only high priests could wear this crown, and they were few. It conferred authority to intercede for the nation of Israel and to offer sacrificial rituals to Yahweh in the Holy Temple of Jerusalem. In a word, a crown in the ancient world of Israel was a symbol of high rank and special achievement in society. Jesus’ crown of thorns is significantly different from those of the high priests and kings of Israel. It is a mere crown of thorns (akanthinos stephanas) that accords him neither glory nor respect in this world. According to the description of Jesus’ crowning with thorns (Mark 15:17, Matt. 27:29, John 19:2, 5), Jesus was first scourged, then clothed with a mock royal cloak, crowned with thorns, beaten on the head with a rod, spat upon, mocked by soldiers, reclothed with his own garment, and finally led out to be crucified. The crown that was forced down on Jesus’ head was nothing more than a braided circle of thorny stems, which the

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Roman soldiers used to deride Jesus after Pilate sentenced him to death. This crown was intended to mock and humiliate him as a criminal who had imagined himself to be the King of the Jews. The crown of thorns signifies mockery, humiliation, and dishonor. The apostle Paul, however, saw in Jesus’ crown of thorns the exaltation that was the ultimate outcome of his humiliation. A symbol carries the freight of what was, what is, and what is to come, and the crown of thorns is not limited to its past meaning as a sign of mockery. At the very center of Paul’s faith lies the assertion that a humiliated and despised man named Jesus was, and is, and will be the glorious Son of God, the messiah who delivers the world from sin. The most high and powerful God has been incarnated in the human figure of the lowest and most powerless. From the very beginning, this central paradox marked the difference between the new faith in Christ and the various religious streams current in the world of his time. Paul was aware of the fact that the proclamation of a suffering messiah was foolishness to enlightened Greeks and a scandal for orthodox Jews. But for Paul as well as for the people of the early church, Jesus’ crown, together with the cross, was a symbol of victory. The New Testament states that the faithful would wear the crown of rejoicing (1 Thess. 2:19), of righteousness (1 Pet. 5:4), and life (James 1:12; Rev. 2:10). The crown given by Jesus Christ to the persecuted is “an unfading crown of glory” (1 Pet. 5:4). God crowned Jesus with thorns so that he would taste suffering and death for the world, but as God redeemed him from death, exalting him and turning his dishonor into honor, God will crown men and women in their sufferings “with glory and honor” (Heb. 2:7). In the faith of the early church, Jesus’ crown of thorns became the symbol of the solidarity of God the Father with Jesus the Son through his Passion and resurrection, inviting the rejected and despised of the World into the joyful fellowship of the Kingdom. According to Lanternari, the Christian faith among the poor in medieval Europe preserved the character of a “religion of the suppressed,”10 and the poor farmers and artisans knew their faith would bring them into spontaneous fellowship with a mystical Christ. The cross and the crown of thorns became the objects of popular faith among them, and during times of persecution, war, poverty, and starvation, a Christ crowned with thorns was often experienced as directly present. At the great Christian pageants during Lent and Holy Week, the wretched people would carry in their processions a statue of the crucified Jesus crowned with thorns. Jesus’ Passion was a major Christian pageant for the marginalized in general. Here we could contend that their daily experience rightly grasped the authentic element of the Christian faith in the Passion story; a profound insight into the meaning of the gospel for the poor and the marginalized underlies that emphasis.

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The official church, however, did not recognize the crown of Jesus as a radical symbol of the authentic originality of the Christian faith. Reflection on the crown of thorns was generally devotional or contemplative, and by the end of the Medieval Era, church tradition had elaborated around it a “mystique of sorrow and suffering.” That is to say, Jesus’ crown was grasped in passive terms, understood to represent an inward experience for each individual and not for communal transformation. Its message of suffering and liberation was understood to imply endurance in this world and freedom in the next or at the end of time. The symbol had become dissociated from Jesus’ historical cause for the poor and the oppressed and was utilized as a cult object—fragmented, as it were, from the whole, along with Jesus’ “Five Wounds,” “Precious Blood,” and “Sacred Heart.” When the period of the Enlightenment began to affect the church, theologians and modern humanists came to despise and abhor the miserable image of the suffering Christ; it was understood as a contradiction of everything that modern and progressive spirituality represented. Instead of seeing the crown of thorns as a symbol of suffering and liberation, liberal theologians exchanged the dark cultic image of medieval faith for the bright crown atop the glorious figure of a triumphant Christ—more representative of the righteousness, beauty, and morality of the humanist ideal. In a time of progress and human advancement, the longing for fellowship with an abandoned and tormented Jesus and his unpleasant crown appeared to deny the evolutionary impetus toward the good, the true, and the beautiful. The crown of thorns of the suffering Christ has never been a valued symbol for a bourgeois faith in modern society. It is the oppressed Burakumin themselves, and not the church theologians and biblical scholars in Japan, who have rightly recovered the radical meaning of Jesus’ crown of thorns. Their revived focus on the crown of thorns is much more praxis-oriented in character than either modern or medieval European counterparts. Among them Jesus’ crown is no longer seen as an object of personal cult nor as an expression of misery or inescapable fate in one’s individual life. It is not, as seen in many medieval paintings of the Passion, or Anfechtung, an expression of the inward wrestling of the tormented soul with self and sin. On the contrary, when interpreted in the eyes of the Japanese outcasts, Jesus’ crown of thorns has become a symbol representing, in an oppressive world, the Kingdom of freedom and justice to come. It goes beyond the “golds and roses” draped around the crown by an interpretation formulated to fit the needs of civil religion. It has become a symbol that both points to the pain of the marginalized and reveals the hope of their final victory. Recovered through the eyes of the Burakumin, the symbol of the crown of thorns confirms Christian faith as the faith in the liberating work of God for the outcasts in the world.

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A New Name for Jesus How can we in the church recover the originality of Jesus’ crown of thorns when the way we think about him has been so conditioned or, one might say, “distorted”? Pastors and theologians in Asia, orthodox and liberal alike, have presented images of Jesus that are mostly alien to the daily experience of the Asian people in general, and to that of the outcasts in particular. One powerful voice protesting this alien image of Jesus is that of playwright Kim Chi Ha, a Korean Catholic, who was tortured and imprisoned during the 1970s for his human rights involvements in Korea. The setting of his play, The Gold-Crowned Jesus, is a ghetto in a small town.11 A leper, a beggar, and a prostitute—the three main characters— are obviously the social victims of Korean society. They sit down together, with empty stomachs, and lament their misfortune. Nearby stands a statue of Jesus with a golden crown on his head. It was constructed by a company president who, in the play, prays the following prayer: Jesus, the gold crown on your head, it really suits you. It’s perfect. You are truly the king of this world, when you wear that crown. You are the king of kings. You are handsome, you are really handsome in that crown. Dear Jesus, never forget that your gold crown was made from the cash contributed by yours truly last Christmas. ... Please, Jesus, help me make more money. And if you do that for me, Jesus, next Christmas I will cast your whole body in gold.12

One cold night, however, this statue suddenly cries out to the leper, one of the most despised groups in the Asian world, that he must liberate Jesus from captivity. The statue says that if he is to come and save those who are toiling, he must first regain his own freedom. Priests, bishops, business industrialists, not to mention powerful government officials, will not free him. The leper asks in awe, “What can be done to free you, Jesus, to make you live again so that you can come to us?” To this question, Jesus replies: It is your poverty, your wisdom, your generous spirit, and even more, your courageous resistance against injustice that makes all this possible. ... It is sufficient that I keep the crown of thorns. The crown of gold is merely the insignia of those ignorant, greedy, and corrupt people who value only displays of external pomp and showy decorations.13

In the statements “I keep the crown of thorns” and “the crown of gold is merely the insignia of those ignorant, greedy and corrupt people,” Kim pits the crown of thorns against the crown of gold forced on Jesus’ head by the rich and the powerful. And this is the hermeneutical principle by which we need to find Jesus anew in the church and to recover him for

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the Asian outcasts. Needless to say, the mission of the church is to proclaim Jesus’ Good News to those who are suffering and tormented. But this is not the whole story. Paradoxically speaking, those who are suffering and oppressed are not only the objects of evangelization, but also the subjects of evangelizing the church from which they received the gospel. The true figure of Jesus could be revealed through their “poverty, wisdom, generous spirit, and courage.” It is the church that needs to be evangelized by the suffering people if it is to retain its vigor and strength for the proclamation of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Discussing this exact part of Kim’s play, C. S. Song argues that it is not a shock to hear that Jesus first asks the outcast to release him from the cement statue.14 Song asserts that the church in Asia has alienated Jesus from the poor for a long time by allying itself with the establishment. Those who control society dress Jesus in golden splendor, hoisting him high above the altar. They have taken him away from the hands of the marginalized, sealing his mouth with solemn liturgies and sophisticated sermons. “Kim vigorously protests this captivity of Jesus in the institutionalized church,” says Song, “and Jesus’ image has been identified with the titles and names of the powerful in the world.” If Jesus is to have any meaning for the Asian peoples, he must take off the gold crown as Kim alludes to in the play. He must regain a simple crown of thorns and join the oppressed in their suffering and joy. If Jesus is a savior merely for the powerful, he has nothing to do with the wretched in Asia. It is an obvious fact that churchgoers in Japan belong mostly to the middle-class intellectuals and that they understand Jesus Christ through their position in society. But the Burakumin outcasts understand him quite differently. They have understood him and the preaching of the Kingdom in terms of their sociohistorical experiences of suffering and dreams. They would interpret him from the underside of history and start to liberate Jesus from the captivity of those who boast of rank and honors. Confronted with the person of Jesus in the Bible, the Japanese outcasts have begun to associate him with images that would correspond to their living experience of his inexhaustible reality. For example, as early as the 1920s, a man named Mori Yuichi said that “Jesus crowned with thorns” is a “liberator for us, the Burakumin.”15 He related the New Testament story of Jesus to the story of fellow captives in Japan. He argued that Jesus had made the declaration of emancipation nearly two thousand years ago, long before the Emancipation Decree was issued by the Meiji government in 1871. What impressed him particularly was Jesus’ opening words of his ministry in Luke 4:18–19: “The spirit of the Lord is upon me because he has anointed me; he has sent me to announce good news to the poor,

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to proclaim release for prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind; to let the broken victims go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

Unless our Christotogy is analyzed in the light of the Japanese outcasts’ anguish, hopes, and dreams, we cannot bring out what Jesus’ good message means for the segregated villages, crowded ghettos, and daily battles for freedom fought in their communities. The most serious weakness shared by Japanese academic theologians and biblical scholars is that they grant the sociohistorical life of Jesus with the oppressed only a secondary role. Salvation is understood to occur at the ontological level rather than being genuinely historical and communal. Liberation is interpreted only in terms of the individual dimension. In order to avoid that co-optation of academic tradition, our investigation of Christology must study what Jesus Christ did in terms of the concerns of Asian outcasts. Our questions are: What name can we give to Jesus that expresses a liberative understanding of his message and person? Who is Jesus for those who suffer under the oppression of casteism? What title would emerge from their analysis of the figure of Jesus?

Jesus as the One Crowned with Thorns Jesus as Co-sufferer Of all the possibilities, the “One Crowned with Thorns” could become the Christological title par excellence for the Burakumin. Jesus as the “One Crowned with Thorns” has two main characteristics. First of all, Jesus appears before them as a co-sufferer. Because the Japanese outcasts are suffering discrimination and suppression, the Christological importance must be found in this reality of suffering with the marginalized. If Jesus is not suffering as they are, then his life and death will have little significance for them. We must make clear that the Spirit of Jesus is suffering with them. Even now, the exact pains of the outcasts in Japan are felt as his own. What was absurd to Greeks and offensive to Jews (1 Cor. 1:8) was the Christian faith in which a messiah suffers. A suffering messiah was a totally absurd notion for the highly cultured Greeks. A messiah, as conceived within the powerful city-state of Athens, would have been a sage-king full of power, wisdom, and glory who would preside over the world of generals, philosophers, and thinkers with leisure time in which to mediate and to argue; meanwhile, the rest of the slave population would have to toil and

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labor. Such a messiah would possess military skills and would be able to lead his armies into battlefield, conquer enemy territories, and enslave captives. His messiahship would be consolidated by his capacity to empower the nation. On that basis, the Greeks dismissed Jesus as the suffering messiah, absurd and useless. For the Jews, a suffering messiah was also a highly offensive notion. Like the emperor of Japan before World War II, the messiah awaited by the priests and the Pharisees had to be free from every contamination of the world. That is what “sacred” and “holy” means—to be set apart from all people and things that are unclean and defiled. In the figure of Jesus, however, the concept of messiah took a radically different form. Moltmann observes: “As an outcast Jesus brought the gospel to outcasts through his death. Through his self-sacrifice he brought God to those who had been sacrificed. Through his death under curse he brought liberating grace to those who are cursed according to the law.”16 Jesus took the form of an outcast and thus the identity of the despised and the powerless. This identification reached its climax at the Passion, when Jesus was crowned with thorns and crucified. As Hebrews 13:13 reminds us, Jesus not only died once and for all but continues to bear upon himself the affliction and wounds of all the despised. He shall continue to be crowned with thorns until the day of the final redemption. He is still present among the forsaken, the wretched, and the marginalized. If all of this statement is christologically true, then it must also be true that Jesus stands today with the three million Burakumin in the midst of their sufferings. Wherever there are cries and groaning, there is the Spirit of Jesus; he is suffering together with the marginalized in Japan. Shusaku Endo, a Japanese Catholic novelist, pictures Jesus as co-sufferer most vividly in the last part of his well-known book In the Vicinity of the Dead Sea. He describes a Jew named Kobarsky, who is about to be handed over for execution in the Nazi concentration camp: I looked at Kobarsky as he waddled along accompanied by a German guard on his left. For a moment—just a flash—I saw with my own eyes another man waddling along beside Kobarsky, a person who was dragging his feet just like the prisoner. The man on his right also wore the same prison garb and like Kobarsky had a stream of urine dripping to the ground behind him.17

From the context of the novel, “the man” accompanying Kobarsky on his death march is understood to be Jesus himself. This is Endo’s image of Jesus as co-sufferer. Though Endo himself employs the word “companion” (dohansha) rather than “co-sufferer” (kyokusha) for Jesus, it is clear that Endo is depicting the person of Jesus as present in the life of the people who toil and suffer. He argues that insofar as Jesus has assumed the identity of the hurt and the weak, he is with them.

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A theology of Buraku liberation must affirm that Jesus continues to be identified with those who are discriminated against under suppression. It must be announced that he is present among the Burakumin farmers in the villages and low-paid workers in the cities. Jesus took the form of an outcast in his Incarnation, becoming totally identified with humanity in its most miserable form. To call him the “One Crowned with Thorns” is the ultimate symbolism of this identification. But our understanding of the person of Jesus remains one-sided if we see this meaning only in his being a co-sufferer. A new life in Jesus means also the overcoming of suffering and bondage. Endo’s one-sided emphasis on Jesus as a companion leads to a dead end wherein Jesus is conceived as merely meek and docile and cannot serve as a source of strength to break the cause of sufferings. One cannot proceed from Endo’s standpoint to criticize the traditional images of Christ that do not foster liberation.18 A Christ who suffers but does not liberate is a Christ embodying the “interiorized impotence of the oppressed” (Hugo Assmann). The image of a suffering Son of God might serve as a critique of the powerful and monarchical Christ, or of God as the Almighty King. But it little supports efforts to achieve political, social, and historical liberation for the Burakumin. This is why it is also important for us to cultivate theologically the person of Jesus as liberator.

Jesus as Liberator We have seen previously that the Burakumin themselves explored the image of Jesus as liberator of the oppressed. For our concerns, however, Kim Chi Ha’s ballad, Chang II Tarn, which portrays Jesus as a man for Asian outcasts par excellence,19 is also useful. It was confiscated by the late Park regime as proof of his “conspiracy to publish subversive materials.” Chang II Tam, the hero of the ballad, was born at the bottom of society as a son of the Paekchong (Korean outcasts similar to the Japanese Burakumin). Since childhood he had seen the misery of his people, and his experience of agony eventually led him to become “a preacher of liberation.” He followed the way of Im Kok Chong, a legendary Korean thief, believing that the Paekchong and other poor people of Korea ought to regain what the rich and powerful had taken from them. He started robbing affluent aristocrats and giving money to the poor. He was arrested and thrown into prison, but even there he shouted to his fellow prisoners, “We must be liberated! Down with the degraded bourgeoisie!” He then escaped from the prison and, chased by the police, ran into a ghetto where some women were being forced to work as prostitutes. Chang

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called those women his mother and kissed their feet, declaring, “The soles of your feet are heaven,” and “God’s place is with the lowest of the low!”20 Later Chang climbed Mount Kyeryong and preached to beggars and prostitutes that a new Kingdom could be established on the land of the Eastern Sea. He advocated social change, political resistance, and the practice of “the communal ownership of property.”21 His major theme, “the transformation of the lowest into heaven,” required radical praxis and the consciousness raising of the outcasts themselves. He asserted that the most despised is God’s noble agent to bring justice and peace into the world. He openly claimed that it was the sacred duty of the outcasts to “purge the wild beast that lurks within human hearts,” which alluded to a symbolic act of the Paekchong’s traditional occupations of butchering and cleaning. Then one day, Chang asked the people to gather around an altar in the wilderness and organized a march to “the evil palace,” the capital city of Seoul. Led by him, the poor and the marginalized started their march to make the “eternal journey toward paradise where food is shared by all.” The story continues, but it is enough to know that Chang II Tam is Kim’s image of Jesus who offers the hope of freedom to the outcasts in Asia. The heaven to which the beggars and prostitutes are marching is a kingdom of this world where justice and peace prevail. It is not an otherworldly place after death, as is often preached by the church. Kim’s approach to Christology is mediated through an analysis of the communal reality of sufferers. But, contrary to Endo’s work, Kim attempts to detect the social mechanism that generates the agony of the people. He tries to elaborate a praxis that is liberative in a historical context. Chang II Tam does not simply seek an inner-directed conception of compassion as the oriental sages often do to reach enlightenment by themselves. Like legendary sages, he climbed the mountain of Kyeryong, but he did not stay there forever. He came down to the reality of the people, strove to be truly with them, and proposed that they change the oppressive structure itself. In our present historical situation in the various Buraku communities, a Christology devoid of a liberating praxis would signify acceptance of the existing discriminatory society and lend support to those who oppress. A Christology for the Burakumin must not only take the side of the outcasts and give them consolation but also compel one to emancipatory praxis by faith in Jesus as liberator. We have followed the person of Jesus in the light of our concerns with the contemporary Buraku issue. We have found that Jesus was crowned with thorns as a result of his mission to the marginalized and the despised

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in the world. He was hostile to the religious ideologues of his day and was eventually condemned because of his relentless attack on an ideology that promoted oppression of the poor. He was resurrected from death to show that the final victory will be in the hands of the socially abandoned. He not only suffers with them but also gives hope for their liberation in history.

Towards a Church with the Crown of Thorns Jesus was folly to the wise, a scandal to the devout, and a disturber of the law in the eyes of the mighty. That is why he was crowned with thorns and ridiculed. As Paul says, if anyone identifies with Jesus, this world is negated to him or her. When a person realizes that one has been on the side of discriminators against the powerless but wants to walk in the light of Jesus’ freedom, that person has to give up his or her previous identity and gain a new identity in Jesus. That person has to obtain a new citizenship in the world of the despised to make a real conversion from the sin of discrimination. This is why struggling with the Burakumin is a necessary part of the church in Japan. The church in Japan, however, has long failed to recognize its own inherent oppression against the Burakumin.22 Some may try to tone this down, or to offer various interpretations of it, but that does not change the fact. It is not widely known in the ecumenical church community that Japan is guilty of oppression and continues to discriminate against its own minority. Much attention has been paid to the “miracle” of Japan’s economic prosperity, but certainly among the Japanese who did not benefit appreciably from that success are the Burakumin. A report of the World Council of Churches states: Perhaps the least-known case of the group oppression is that against the Buraku in Japan, which shows only too vividly that once an identifiable group has been marked out for oppression at some point of history, it is extremely hard to eliminate the stigma.23

Long gone is the time when the church in Japan could handle the question of Buraku oppression by simply stating that God created all men and women equal and that there exists no discrimination in the church. Today it is the church itself that is called to answer for oppression. It is being called into question by many who have experienced in their daily lives the terrible distance that separates the church from the issue of Buraku discrimination. It is even being called into question by non-Christians who are far away from the life of the Christian community but who are

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involved in the struggle for liberation and see the church as an obstructive force in the effort to eliminate Buraku oppression and construct a more just society. The dominant churches in Japan have been mirroring the North American and European churches, uncritically borrowing their theologies, institutions, canon laws, spirituality, and even lifestyles. They have not found new forms appropriate to the world of the outcast communities in the process of liberation. The people who want to shape their life to the demands of those communities find it extremely difficult to accept ecclesial structures that do not take serious account of the causes underlying the present social reality of Japan. Today a new type of ecclesiology has begun to be worked out among Burakumin Christians. The reflection of the church that identifies with Jesus’ crown of thorns is being conducted from within the concrete experiences of suffering and hope in their communities. It is trying to proclaim solidarity with the pains of the Burakumin and to do a liberating praxis with them. If this mission is seriously promoted, a new church could eventually emerge that takes seriously the figure of Jesus Christ who was born as and died as an outcast and was resurrected for the despised. The majority of churches in Japan have not given much attention to the problem of Buraku oppression, but I am convinced that the time will come for them to assume a more active role in the struggle for freedom. Beyond the undeniable fact that Buraku oppression exposes millions of people to daily hostilities ranging from verbal intimidation to segregation in marriage, housing, and employment, ultimately the credibility of the gospel of Jesus Christ—and thus the future of the church in Japan—is at stake. The task of the church in Japan is somewhat comparable to that of the prophet Isaiah, who was struck by a vision of God to liberate his people, but he was also keenly aware of the blocks in himself that served to negate that vision. “Woe is me! I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips” (Isa. 6:5). He understood the deep sense in which he was a part of the problem. But in spite of this difficulty in himself, in a moment of faith and decision, he responded courageously, saying “Here I am! Send me” (6:8). In the pursuit of the vision of a liberated society in which there exists no oppression, the church in Japan must rise above the blocks within itself and respond to the call of God, as the prophet did, even though the church, too, has been a part of the problem. The responsibility of the church is to proclaim the vision of the Kingdom of God, transcending the narrow boundaries of caste and bringing justice to the world. The church in Japan is facing a great challenge. It has been chosen for great causes. It

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is being challenged on its ability to speak the truth of faith. Its trial has just begun, and before it are only two choices: either the church keeps the golden crown for the powerful and the respected, or it takes it off and recovers the crown of thorns that has been revealed in the eyes of the despised and the forsaken in Asia.

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PART III

AUSTRALIA

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Tjinatjunanyi: Providing a Pathway to Freedom

Hohaia Matthews …darker skin people controlling the resources of their communities so all can share equally in food, shelter, land ownership, education, health, recreation and sports…when black people and nations are no longer poor and oppressed, they remove immoral and unjust systems that allow all peoples and countries to be simply human beings... Indeed, another world is possible. International Association of Black Religions and Spiritualities’ mission statement

Christian Mission History In land area, Australia is the sixth largest nation after Russia, Canada, China, the United States of America and Brazil. It has, however, a relatively small population. Australia is the only nation to govern an entire continent and its outlying islands. The Australian federation consists of six States and two Territories. The largest State, Western Australia, is about the same size as Western Europe. Australia is an independent Western democracy with a population of more than 20 million. It is one of the world’s most urbanized countries, with about 70 per cent of the population living in the ten largest cities. Most of the population is concentrated along the eastern seaboard and the south-eastern corner of the continent. Australia’s lifestyle reflects its mainly Western origins, but Australia is also a multicultural society which has been enriched by over six million settlers from almost 200 nations. Four out of ten Australians are migrants or the first-generation children of migrants, half of them from non-English-speaking backgrounds. Aboriginal1 and Torres Strait Islander peoples inhabited most areas of the Australian continent. Each people spoke one or more of hundreds of separate languages and had lifestyles and cultural traditions that differed according to the region in which they lived. Their complex social systems and highly developed traditions reflect a deep connection with the land and environment. However,

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Another World is Possible Since coming to the land of Aboriginals White man thinks he is god Poor Aboriginals has been rounded like sheep Like on the sheep stations allotted to different paddocks The paddocks are the states and different communities of this country Named by the white-man Australia2

“Terra Nullius (the European view that Australia was an empty land without indigenous people) stems from absolute ignorance of true Aboriginal society, and from racist English and Anglo-centric views of alleged superiority. The invaders simply ‘closed their eyes’ to the facts of history.”3 It would prove to be the beginning of the end for Aboriginal people in Australia. After the “discovery ” of Australia by Captain Cook, the colonization juggernaut was set in motion to implement the necessary structures through the Church of Christendom. The church’s role was an ambiguous one, whereby it “structured itself to address mission beyond the Empire. That meant it built parish systems, regional structures, and national entities that could gather and deploy resources to the critical point on the missionary frontier.”4 Interwoven within all of this missional church structure was the incorporation of the law of the empire. The law of the empire was masked within this whole Christian process, and certainly its enforcement was implemented swiftly wherever the so-called “natives” had transgressed these foreign laws of the empire. Its role was critical to the cause of colonization for the betterment of the empire via the missional front. It became very clear who were to be the aggressor and oppressor of Aboriginal people. The taking of the so-called “empty land” also removed the livelihood of Aboriginal people. The enforcement of foreign laws upon Aboriginal people did nothing more than reinforce the ideals of the oppressor. From all the historical material available, one thing had become abundantly clear. There was no place for Aboriginal people in the grandiose plan of the British Empire. They were basically regarded as second-class citizens in their own country and were only given the right to vote in 1967 after a change to the Australian Constitution had been made. On May 27, 1967, 90.7 percent of Australian voters recorded a ‘yes’ vote in a Referendum to alter Australia’s Constitution. Two questions had been asked of them: 1. Should the Commonwealth Government be allowed jurisdiction over Aboriginal people, a right hitherto given to the States?, and 2. Should people of Aboriginal descent be counted in the national census? The change, after nearly two hundred years of white occupation and over fifty-five years of Federation, finally enabled Aboriginal people, like white Australians, to be counted in the national census and to be subject to Commonwealth rather than just

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State laws. In this way the indigenous people of Australia were, belatedly, acknowledged fully as citizens of the nation. Many Aboriginal people considered that changing Sections 51 and 127 of the Federal Constitution was essential to their gaining formal recognition of the fact that they actually existed as a race of people.5

The Missions: The South Australia Experience The setting up of Aboriginal mission homes throughout Australia was a deliberate second attempt since the original plan of taking missions out to the Aboriginals had obviously failed. Samuel Marsden noted with much regret that Jesus’ commission to spread the Christian gospel to all peoples was failing in its application towards Aboriginal people. Marsden became less convinced that this was a people who could be brought to the ways of a god-fearing culture. Marsden concluded that failure to convert the “matured aged natives” was inevitable unless a new approach was taken. Consequently, in South Australia there were 15 Aboriginal mission homes that were set up by overseas missionary societies. Their role was simple but a disturbing one. If “mature aged natives” weren’t going to be proselytized into the Christian faith, then how was the great commission going to be fulfilled? The target audience was now focused on Aboriginal children who were institutionalized into various mission homes after being taken away from their natural parents. The children of those parents would later become known as the stolen generation. “The missionaries usually saw their best opportunities to convert and Christianize in the children…”6 through religious education that served as a divisive tool that masked the ongoing process of assimilation. Changing the ways of Aboriginal children to be like white children was now the priority. In Port Augusta, South Australia where I am currently ministering, the mission home was called Umewarra Nguraritja (meaning place or home). It was a mission home that was set up by the Brethren church in the 1930s. It would become home for many Aboriginal children from the surrounding areas of the mid-north region of South Australia. With the closure of the Umewarra mission home officially in 1995 and with the ensuing retirement of the Brethren missionaries also, many of the children who were now adults had to fend for themselves. Reliance upon the missionaries was now no longer possible and the outcomes would prove disastrous. There was no infrastructure in place that would allow these children to mature into adults, thus giving them some sense of hope. They were now subjected to: • •

long-term unemployment breakdowns of the family group

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suicides substance and alcohol abuse no leadership no education.

Alternative Indigenous Leadership At the Assembly of the Uniting Church held in Sydney 1985, the Uniting Aboriginal and Islander Christian Congress (UAICC) was fully recognized as an agency of the Uniting church in Australia, and was welcomed with much jubilation. In due course, this newly established partnership would enter in a covenantal relationship. The mandate of the Uniting Aboriginal and Islander Christian Congress in Australia was to liberate Indigenous Australians from the bondage of imposed structures. Therefore, any structures that are created must be flexible and open for review as the Uniting Aboriginal and Islander Christian Congress grows and develops. Historically the Uniting Aboriginal and Islander Christian Congress and the Uniting Church in Australia have had a relationship that extends back to 1891 when the Presbyterian Church established a work at Mapoon, Queensland. In 1916 the Methodist Church also established missions at Goulburn Island, Milingimbu, Yirrakala, Elcho and Croker Island in the Northern Territory. In 1965 the Congregational Church worked amongst the Aboriginal people in Alice Springs, Central Australia. With the advent of union in 1977 the continuation of ministry amongst the Indigenous Australian would soon become formal within the Uniting Church in Australia. The idea of having an Indigenous Church without revisiting the missional concept of the Empire had strong support from a prominent group of Aboriginal Christians, including the Rev. Charles Harris, who had gathered at Crystal Creek in Queensland. From his visit to Aotearoa New Zealand with the Maori people, Rev. Harris’ vision of an Indigenous Australian church gained serious momentum with the eventual formation of the Uniting Aboriginal and Islander Christian Congress in Australia (UAICC). The Port Augusta Congress Faith Community is a faith community that is under the aegis of the UAICC, and was formed in January 2002. From very small beginnings, the worshiping community has grown so that it now includes a significant representation of the diverse groups of Aboriginal people in Port Augusta. Right from its inception, the Port Augusta Congress Faith Community has been actively involved in community activities, providing services to those in the community (both Indigenous and nonIndigenous) whom government organizations have had difficulty reaching.

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Education has become a central focus of the work being done by the Port Augusta Congress Faith Community. There are huge concerns as to its outcomes for Indigenous Australian children/youth. Nearly 1 in 10 (9%) Indigenous youth will not attend school or will leave school before the age of 14 (compared with 2% of non-Indigenous youth). Less than half (49%) Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander 15–19 year olds are attending school (compared with 90% of other youth). Only one third (33%) of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students complete year 12 (compared with 77% of other students). Children with poor levels of education have difficulty in finding employment as they are uncompetitive in the job market. In rural or remote areas with a depressed economy, employment opportunities are already severely limited.7

As a result of little or no education, 38 percent of Indigenous Australians are unemployed. Those figures are a damming indictment upon a country like Australia that prides itself on economic growth, social development, and lifestyle. In 2007 there are little signs to indicate an improvement in those figures. It only serves to strengthen the argument that the future for many Indigenous Australian children is bleak. The provision of a suitable education program for Indigenous Australian children/youth is problematic on two fronts. The first is developing a program that is going to work; and the second is working out the mechanics as to the delivery of such a program for the children/youth. Both these issues are fundamental to ensuring success for what is already a limited area of involvement for many Indigenous Australian children: education. When Indigenous Australian children/youth are not engaged in education, they become more disadvantaged. Education is the main doorway to employment opportunities, improved housing and health. Employment is already limited for Indigenous Australians in Port Augusta, particularly with the demise of some key Indigenous Australian organizations which were the main employers of Aboriginal people in the town. Young Indigenous Australians in Port Augusta are over-represented in the juvenile justice system and not being involved in education is one of the reasons for this. Although this entails a relatively small percentage of the Indigenous Australian youth in Port Augusta, this makes things more difficult for young Indigenous Australians who are doing the right thing because they are “painted with the same brush” in a town where racism is a fact of life for all Indigenous Australians. Lack of education means that many young Indigenous Australians do not participate fully in society as is their democratic right. For Indigenous people education provides the means of empowering them to assert their knowledge and skills across the wider community, and to demonstrate to all Australians, and especially their own communities, that they deserve respect, that they are valuable contributors, valuable leaders. Success in education will have a flow on effect, like the successes achieved by Aboriginal sporting heroes. Education will also equip them to manage their own affairs, to administer the delivery of

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Another World is Possible services in education, health, and community development… For the non-Indigenous community, education holds the key to expanding understanding of pre-European history and culture in Australia. In time it will lead to recognition, if not understanding, of the spiritual connection Indigenous people have with their land.8

Tjinatjunanyi The advent of the Tjinatjunanyi program is a means whereby Indigenous Australian children, who have become totally disengaged with any sort of education, now have a chance to learn. That learning process can take many forms in Tjinatjunanyi and that’s what makes the program an exciting venture to be involved in. Loosely translated in English, Tjinatjunanyi is the Pitjantjatjara word for “Footprints to freedom.” It is a foundational statement to the philosophical framework of Tjinatjunanyi that is based on Paulo Freire’s model of transformative education where hope is experienced to bring about positive life changes. In the Tjinatjunanyi program, the idea of hope is expressed through a process that includes both action and reflection to bring about transformation. As an Indigenous Australian Christian organization, we [the Port Augusta Congress Faith Community] refuse to accept the status quo, “the way things are,” in regards to education; it is not a satisfactory solution. Therefore, the Tjinatjunanyi program focuses on bringing about change, not only within the individual, but also within the connected community of the students. Traditional western education was largely based on a process of banking knowledge which was supposed to address the needs of a person’s future. In this context: • • • • •

Knowledge was seen as a readymade package of reliable information that needed to be passed on from one person to another. The teacher was seen as possessing all essential information. Pupils were seen as empty vessels needing to be filled with knowledge. The teacher provided the information. Pupils absorbed the information passively and regurgitated it when required.

Although the current emphasis on constructivism in the curriculum framework in South Australia has tried to change this, there are many teachers who still cling to this traditional western approach to education. Also, within the curriculum framework of education in South Australia, there is relatively little emphasis on meeting the emotional needs of the students, an aspect of education very important for marginalized students.

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We appreciate that it is important to pass on knowledge; for us, cultural knowledge is particularly important. However, if this knowledge is not placed within a meaningful context for students, they will not engage with that knowledge. Also, not every student has the background or ability to learn things simply for the sake of learning, to achieve academic success or as part of planning for their future. Therefore, in the formal education setting, they may be perceived as “failing.” Tjinatjunanyi is a diverse program that recognizes the energy and potential within each person and each community, and tries to empower individuals and groups to make a meaningful contribution towards meeting their own fundamental human needs. The attainment of those needs will be based on a problem-posing approach where: • • •

An animator provides a framework for thinking creatively and participants actively work towards finding solutions to what they identify as common problems. The animator raises questions: Why? How? Who? All participants actively describe, analyze, suggest, decide, plan and act.

At different times the animator may be the teacher, a community resource person, a community elder or one of the parents involved in the program with the students. All participants are learners, actively involved in the social construction of knowledge. We see the delivery of the Tjinatjunanyi program along the lines of Freire as an authentic attempt to embrace and empower those children who are marginalized by a system of education that is not compatible with their own lives. Another world is possible for these children/youth living in Port Augusta, South Australia. Tjinatjunanyi is providing a way forward. What follows is a brief outline of how Tjinatjunanyi came into being, and the immense task that is required to bring a program like this into reality.

TJINATJUNANYI (Footprints to Freedom)— ACTION PLAN Pre October 2004 Many expressions of concern from the Aboriginal community, about the poor attendance of Indigenous Australian students in Port Augusta.9

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October 2004 Discussions within the Uniting Aboriginal and Islander Christian Congress nationally, regarding the possibility of setting up a Christian School for young Indigenous Australian students in Port Augusta to address issues.

November 2004 Formal meeting of Aboriginal community members, particularly the Port Augusta Congress Faith Community and Davenport Aboriginal community members concerned about educational and social concerns related to Aboriginal students in Port Augusta. Special focus on exclusion and suspension rates and the lack of options for students when out of school.

January—April 2005 Fledging first attempt with the setup of the First Footprints program by the Port Augusta Congress Faith Community to support Aboriginal students at risk of being excluded. Setting up the program and working with the Department of Education and Children’s Services (DECS) in Australia regarding how this could support them. First Footprints Coordinator appointed: Mrs. Denise Champion.

Term 2, 2005 First students referred to the First Footprints program and Coordinator who worked with them and their schools.

August 2005 First Footprints Coordinator presented information on the literacy needs of the Aboriginal students involved in truancy and/or excluded at the local high school. Opportunity for the family via the coordinator to express their own concerns. Coordinator started working with a trained primary teacher to plan learning programs for the students.

September 2005 Challenged a Parliamentarian Cabinet Meeting at a Community Forum on Education in Port Augusta, South Australia.

November 2005 Port Augusta Congress Faith Community proposal to the Premier regarding how his office could work with DECS to support Aboriginal students ‘at risk’. Requested use of facilities. (Response Feb/Mar 2006—not at this time.)

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December 2005 Further year’s funding for First Footprints Coordinator.

January–May 2006 More students identified than the First Footprints program could cope with. Areas of concerns to be addressed: • •

Definite need of a teacher Limited physical and financial resources.

The Port Augusta Congress Faith Community and the Davenport Aboriginal Community identified another group of students with a more urgent need— chronic non-attenders, some students not even enrolled in school. Many meetings are involved in this process. Program heading in another direction possibly.

May–July 2006 Many informal discussions about issues relating to these non-attending students, almost weekly. Included discussions with experienced educators who knew the town and had broad experience in Aboriginal Education. Developed a proposal to work with DECS to address this problem. Engaged the services of Dr Di Russell of Pipalya Solutions and the support of the Covenanting Coordinator of the Uniting Church in Australia, South Australia (UCA SA) Synod (Peter Russell). Many meetings—most Sunday evenings.

July 19, 2006 Port Augusta Congress Faith Community members, a representative of Davenport Aboriginal Community and support persons met with the District Director to discuss the viability of this proposal and the need for further research into the issues behind the non-attendance. Introduced to Innovative Community Action Networks (ICAN) funding possibility.

August 17 & 18, 2006 Members of the Port Augusta Congress Faith Community, Davenport Aboriginal Community and the Congress Education Consultant attended the ICAN Conference in Adelaide.

August 21, 2006 Members of Davenport Aboriginal Community met with the District Director and some of his staff concerning the proposal from Congress to clarify issues.

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August 26, 2006 Whole-day consultation and working out the details of the program with representatives of the Port Augusta Congress Faith Community and Davenport Aboriginal Community and the Education Consultant. Letters of support were written by these organizations.

August 31, 2006 Working on the funding submission, including meeting with the ICAN Manager.

September 8, 2006 ICAN submission put in to funding body.

September 11, 2006 Meeting of representatives of the Port Augusta Congress Faith Community, Davenport Aboriginal Community and DECS who will support the program.

Rest of September 2006 Appointment of the teacher. Obtaining details of students to be part of the program. Checking their current enrolment status. Applying for Flexible Learning Option funding for these students. Informal get togethers with the students and their families to prepare for the term 4 program. Steering committee gathering. Communityship for administrative support for the program. Criminal history checks for adults to be involved in program (ongoing). Consent forms for student participation in the program. Start head-hunting for a full-time teacher for 2007.

October 2006—Beginning of Term 4 Tjinatjunanyi as a pilot program commences. Opening celebration. Steering committee meeting. Case managers appointed. Individual learning programs developed for all students.

Rest of October 2006 Student and family gathering. 2007 planning and budget submissions. Action research begins.

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Continue head hunting for a full-time teacher for 2007.

November 2006 Steering committee meeting. Student and family gatherings. Participant case studies. Interviews for new referrals. Action research continues. Continue head hunting for a full-time teacher for 2007.

December 2006 Discussions with case managers relating to what is next for each student. Developing alternative programs for those: • •

transitioning to school in 2007 (support required, etc.); for whom this program is not really working and who we believe will never transition back to mainstream schooling.

Reviewing the current model and modifying it for continuing and new students for 2007. Action research continues. Induction of teacher to be appointed for the 2007 school year. Reports for students and celebrations of achievement involving the whole community. Steering committee meeting.

End of Term 4, 2006 January—April 2007 Tjinatjunanyi students completed the first term for 2007. 90 percent attendance by Tjinatjunanyi students. ...the struggle continues.

5

Spirituality*

Anne Pattel-Gray In the beginning, God created the world. In the center was a small island rich in food, vegetation, minerals and life. To the rest of the world, the creatures there seemed very unusual, because the humans who inhabited this world were black. They were a very spiritual people. They had Dreaming stories, telling of their deep spirituality, and one of their stories speaks of a great white spirit that came and walked this land at the beginning of time. (In this case, white does not refer to the color of the skin, but to the spirit world because in our culture white signifies death.) This great white spirit then handed down to our ancestors the laws which we were to follow. This spirit is believed to be God, and our laws are similar to the biblical ones. We were to share everything equally; we were to love our sisters and brothers; we were not to steal; we were to care for the land, and to respect every living thing. So, in general, these people were a very loving, caring and sharing people. For over 60,000 years, these people lived in peace and harmony with the land, maintaining the God-given integrity of the land. Unlike Europeans who migrated from one continent to another, the Aboriginal people never moved from the land that they were born to. The Aboriginals never believed that they owned the land, but rather that the land owned them. Then one day, in 1788, came the invasion of white people. At first Aboriginals were welcoming. They were not to know that this would become a living nightmare for them, which would last more than 203 years. Through misinformation, many historical factors have led to a lack of knowledge among some Aboriginal people about their own culture. For example, Australia federal laws forbade Aboriginal spiritual practices, and a majority of Christian missionaries actively discouraged Aboriginal beliefs. Large numbers of Aboriginal children were placed into government and church institutions and forbidden to speak their native tongues. So today many Aboriginal people are dispossessed of their religious and cultural roots. Their sense of cultural identity is often confused and undermined by a negative self-image which is reinforced by a non-Aboriginal society. Under such circumstances, the successful rebuilding of Aboriginal life seems an impossible task.

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Aboriginal spiritual traditions teach us a positive way of living in harmony with the land that is respectful to ourselves and to all of God’s creation. Christian people and religious hierarchies from the European tradition have been especially limited in their ability to see the profound religious and spiritual qualities of the Aboriginal tradition. Aboriginals are profoundly religious in their character. The formalities of our life, the mode of our life and thought, and our every act have spiritual significance. Our most deliberate words and deeds revolve around religious considerations. We have a highly developed sense of the sacred, and our views of ourselves and of the world are pre-eminently religious. We have always centered our lives in the natural-spiritual world. We are deeply committed to God the Creator and to the earth in consciousness and in instinct. Only through our spiritual connection to the earth can we continue in our own identity. This is why we conceive of ourselves in terms of the land. In our view the earth is sacred. It is a living entity in which other living entities have origin and destiny. It is where our identity comes from, where our spirituality begins, where the Dreaming comes from; it is where stewardship begins. We are bound to the earth in our spirit. By means of our involvement in the natural world we can ensure our own well-being. One of our great strengths lies in our ability to communicate with the spiritual world around us. This is manifested in our extensive use of symbolism, in our visionary experiences, in our Dreaming, and in our use of language. These forms of communication and these symbols have found clear expression in the creation of myths, the initiation ceremonies, the sacred sites, the healing rituals, and the Corroborees. They are evident in our oral literature. The Aboriginals are true lovers of nature. We love the earth and all the things of the earth, the attachment growing with age. Aboriginal people come literally to love the soil, and we sit or recline on the ground with a feeling of being close to a mothering power. The feeling of our relationship to the earth is so strong that we feel parts of the land which belong to our Dreaming are like parts of our body. We even describe them in terms of parts of our body. It is good for the skin to touch the earth, to walk with bare feet on the sacred earth. The birds that fly in the air come to rest upon the earth and it is the final abiding place of all things that live and grow. The soil is soothing, strengthening, cleansing and healing. That is why Aboriginals sit on the earth instead of propping themselves up and away from its life-giving forces. For us to sit or lie on the ground is to be enabled to think more deeply and to feel more keenly; we can see more clearly into the mysteries of life and come closer in kinship to other lives around us.

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Aboriginal people are wise. We know that humanity’s heart becomes hard when it is away from nature; we know that lack of respect for growing, living things soon leads to lack of respect for humans too. So we keep our youth close to softening influences.

Aboriginal Values Aboriginal people require education to provide the setting in which we can develop the fundamental attitudes and values which have an honored place in our tradition and culture. The values which make us a great race are not written in any book. They are found in the history, the legends, the Dreamings, and the culture of the indigenous people. If we are fully aware of the important Aboriginal values, we will have reason to be proud of our race and of ourselves as Aboriginals. We desire our behavior to be shaped by those values which are most esteemed in our culture. Educational programs for Aboriginals should be influenced by these values, which respect cultural priority and are an extension of the education which parents give children from their first years. These early lessons emphasize attitudes of wisdom, respect for nature, respect for personal freedom, generosity, love, caring, sharing (and) self-reliance. All of these have a special place in the Aboriginal way of life. While these values can be understood and interpreted in different ways by different cultures, it is very important that Aboriginals have a chance to develop a value system which is compatible with Aboriginal culture.

Four Principles of Aboriginal Being 1. Wholeness: Everything is connected in some way to everything else. It is only possible to understand something if we understand how it is connected. For example, to kill the environment is to kill ourselves because one cannot live without the other. 2. Change: Everything is in a constant state of change. One season falls upon the other. People are born, live, and die ... to become new in the spiritual world. With the changes comes the living. We are not to fear changes but to be challenged by them, because changes come in the growth process of living. 3. Change occurs in cycles or patterns: It is not random or accidental. If we cannot see how a particular change is connected, it usually means that our standpoint is affecting our perception. 4. The physical world is real, the spiritual world is real: They are two aspects of one reality. There are separate laws which govern each, but

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they affect one another. The breaking of a spiritual principle will affect the physical world and vice versa. A balanced life is one that honors both.

Universal Principles 1. People are physical and spiritual beings: People must learn to be in harmony with both physical and spiritual worlds if they are to grow in strength, wisdom and love. 2. People can acquire new gifts, but they must struggle to do so: The process by which to develop new gifts is the “true learning.” The Creator calls people to complete surrender (conversion). If people are to achieve this, then they must recognize their failure to obey God. This can sometimes be a very painful process to go through. 3. There are four dimensions of “true learning”: A person learns in a whole and balanced manner when the mental, spiritual, physical and emotional dimensions are involved in the process. 4. The spiritual dimension of human development has four related capacities: (a) the capacity to have and to respond to dreams, visions, ideals, spiritual teachings, goals, and theories; (b) the capacity to accept these as a reflection of our unknown or unrealized potential; (c) the capacity to express these in speech, art or dance; (d) the capacity to use these symbolic expressions for action, directed at making the possible a reality. 5. A person must decide to develop one’s own potential: the path of conversion will always be there for those who decide to travel it. 6. People must actively participate in the development of their own potential: Only in full surrender to God can they know what God’s will is for them, and only then can they actively participate in their own process of conversion. 7. Any person who sets out on a journey of conversion and selfdevelopment will be aided: With God as our master, guides, teachers and protestors will be given to assist the traveller. 8. The only source of failure is a person’s own disobedience to God’s teachings.

Knowing the Aboriginal Heart To understand is to respect, and to respect is to love, and to love Aboriginal people is to love God’s creation because God is also our Creator. To understand us, you have to understand our spirituality. It makes us unique. It shows respect to mother earth in thankfulness to God. This distinguishes us from non-Aboriginals who even today destroy and abuse God’s creation and the very gifts that God gave them. Some

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non-Aboriginals are now realizing the gift of Aboriginal spirituality in relation to God’s creation, and are now choosing to learn more about it. Our spirituality begins from the day we are born, and continues in how we live, how we care for our brothers and sisters, how we deal with our extended family, and how we care for God’s creation. It is all balanced and cannot be divided. Let us share with you some different aspects of our spirituality and how they are ingrained in our Aboriginal way of being in our relationship with God: our centeredness in Aboriginal law, our caring and sharing, our relationships (the extended family), our traditions and customs, the land, community and stewardship.

Centered in the (Aboriginal) Law, Reinforced by the Bible We never had a “Bible” per se. Our law is the closest thing we had to the Bible. The colonizers said that we were satanic, that we worshiped idols. In a white person’s eyes, the church is sacred, but does that mean that they worship the church? When they have the cross or Mother Mary as a symbol (what in our culture would be considered totems), does it mean that they worship the cross or these symbols? Look at Aboriginal worship: we had our sacred sites and sacred ceremonies to worship and recognize God the Creator in our cultural way, the way that we know. And we have our totems, just like the white people have theirs. But did the white people ever stop to think that we, the Aboriginals, could have something to offer in a spiritual way? They never once thought we had anything to offer to help them in their development and growth in God and in their stewardship of God’s creation. All the Aboriginal ceremonies and sacred sites are based on our Dreaming. In our Dreaming, God the Creator gave to us everything that is here now: the birds, the trees, the rivers, the lakes, the food, the caves, the mountains, the morning, the day and night. Then God created man and woman, and with that creation God came to walk this land with our people, to lay down the law between God and the people, thus teaching us the worth and value of this law of God’s creation.

Caring and Sharing, and Relationship (the Extended Family) Caring and sharing and the extended family are the basis of our law. Everything is shared equally; all needs are met. Selfishness was a sin; it was punishable by death in our law. To be selfish was unacceptable. Therefore, you suffered severe penalties for breaking this law, such as in some cases hands being cut off, or even death. God had given us everything

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we could ever want and it was in abundance. And so there was no need to be selfish. In the Aboriginal law, when a man married a woman, he not only took a wife, he also took care of the wife’s family such as her mother and father, her brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts and cousins. It was his responsibility to care for them, hunt for them, feed them, and shelter them, and this explains why today Aboriginals share everything such as food, housing, clothes, cars, money. An example of caring is seen in the Aboriginal community’s relationship to children. In white society, the very center is the nuclear family and the two parents (mother and father) are responsible for disciplining and caring for the children. In contrast, in present-day Aboriginal society the center is the extended family, and the Aboriginal community cares for all children, not just their own. They chastise each other’s children when necessary, and there is no resentment when this is done because it is done out of love and caring. An example of sharing is the story of Albert Namatjira, the famous Aboriginal artist. Because of Namatjira’s status and recognition around the world, at home he was given the right to partake of alcohol, a right denied to Aboriginal people under white law. In 1959, however, he was convicted of supplying wine to his relatives and was sentenced to six months in prison. Shortly after his release, he died. He had broken the white man’s laws concerning alcohol, whereas traditionally he had maintained the cultural law of sharing with his people. The penalty under his own traditional law was death for not sharing; so in Namatjira’s eyes, he had broken no law. And yet under the white man’s law, he was a criminal. The law tells you what is right and what is wrong, what has worth and what is worthless. If you look at Aboriginal law, everything—which includes all of God’s creation—has worth. Everything was meant to be. So also in the Bible: ‘So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them... God saw all that he had made, and it was very good’ (Gen. 1:27–31). Because they gathered food on a daily basis (as opposed to the white method of hoarding enough food to last for weeks), Aboriginals had more time to appreciate the bounty of the Creator and to be in touch with God and creation. They could be more in tune with what God would desire of them, and have more time in ceremonies to worship God their Creator.

Traditions and Customs Aboriginal traditions and customs still affect many thousands of Aboriginal people even today. To look back over the years, it would be interesting to know when the last significant change happened either in hunting, marriage, or any of the ceremonies. In fact, it would be very hard to say if any

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change has occurred within the last 10,000 years. While some Aboriginals were forced to assimilate into the white culture (e.g., driving cars, living in houses, using money), their Aboriginal life was kept separate and protected. Indeed, the ceremonial life of many Aboriginal tribes was strengthened because of the threat of European culture. Identity: When an Aboriginal child is born, a specific identity is allocated to him or her which will determine his or her place within that society. His or her identity will determine almost everything that happens in that person’s life, for example, whom to love, respect, whom to look after, whom to avoid, whom to fight with or against, whom to marry, and so on. Identity also means: (a) membership of a tribe or language group; (b) membership of a moiety (half) within the larger group, which begins to spell out things like who may marry whom; (c) possession of sub-section or “skin” classification, which further clarifies possible marriage partners; (d) possession of a totemic affiliation, which then determines a ceremonial role; (e) membership of a clan, which will determine an individual’s right to land and food collection; (f) membership of an age/status group, indicating seniority in initiation terms. It is for every Aboriginal to know the complete details of a person’s identity, so as to know how their behavior has to be modified and regulated. This demonstrates the great sophistication of the Aboriginal lifestyle. It also shows how difficult it is for an Aboriginal to display individual initiative because that would go against everything embodied in the traditional Aboriginal way of life. At some stage of an Aboriginal person’s life—not necessarily at birth— a name (or names) is given. These names may or may not be used by other people. It usually depends on location, but in most cases a person’s name is very private and often goes out of use for a number of years, and sometimes for ever, after a person’s death. More often than not, a person is addressed by a kinship term, a nickname, an initiation grade name or by a term indicating age or status. Initiation: Because of the male-dominated society that was imposed on us by the invaders, the early anthropological reports of Aboriginal society are somewhat distorted by the male-dominant point of view. The white male anthropologist did not realize that the Aboriginal women, in fact, have an equally meaningful sacred ceremonial life, with the same restrictions as those of the male counterparts on participation or observation. The Aboriginal elders—both women and men—are entrusted with more and more knowledge as they gain in maturity and status. Aboriginal women provide more than 80 percent of the food and have a far greater knowledge and experience in tracking, locating, collecting, preparing and, more

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importantly, respecting different food sources—vital to maintain harmony with mother earth. Marriage: Intricate marriage laws have enabled Aboriginal people to live for thousands of years in small isolated communities and not become inbred. Even if the rules are sometimes broken there are corrective means available to restore the balance. Marriage in Aboriginal society was—and is—often polygamous, or, more correctly, polygynous. Marriages are strictly organized and arranged, for there is little leeway for personal whim in a society that must avoid the possibility of inbreeding. Ceremonial life: The main purpose of Aboriginal life is to live in complete harmony with nature. Humans are not accorded any superior status: the land and all its creatures, including humans, are one and inseparable. Any of the component parts in this total relationship is at risk if separated from its contact with the others. The great ceremonies are organized to pay tribute to nature in all its forms: ceremonies for initiation, mourning or retribution are minor in significance. Trade and exchange: The ceremonial exchange of trade goods and ceremonies is still a feature of Aboriginal society, although nowadays the exchange may be effected via aeroplanes rather than the long walks of earlier days. Ochres, weapons and ornaments, along with song cycles, have been traded among tribes for probably as long as Aboriginals have been on the continent. In central Australia exchanges are still carried out by what is called the “red ochre movement.” Still alive today are many men who have walked from the Great Australia Bight (in the extreme south of Australia) to Arnhem Land (in the extreme north of the country), exchanging stage by stage song cycles and trade goods. Playabout: “Playabout” corroborees are great fun, and the degree of lighthearted singing and dancing as well as the level of originality varies from group to group. This is the “hearth,” common to all races of the earth, where children learn the “open” songs through constant repetition, where court jesters strut the stages, and where, occasionally, a very old person will suddenly find the energy to leap into the ring to show the young ones how it was done in the good old days. In the far north of Australia, there is nothing as reassuring as the drone of the didgeridoo, the clicking of sticks, and the sounds of uninhibited singing and dancing. Death: The level of concern about a person’s death is usually determined by the age or initiation status of the deceased. In the case of a young child the death will not unduly affect those outside the immediate family

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mourners, whereas the death of a respected old person or elder will involve all. In older days bodies were disposed of by burial, or by exposure to the elements on rock shelves, in caves, or on tree platforms. In some areas a buried body is (even today) disinterred after a period, the skeleton carefully re-assembled, the bones cleaned, painted, and then lodged inside the hollow log coffin. The log coffin is then itself buried, usually after being carried around the region for ceremonies. After the final disposal of the bones or body, a mourning ceremony is usually held. Mourning: The aim of mourning ceremonies is to pay tribute and to express sorrow in realistic and ritual terms. The immediate death of a person might prompt self-inflicted “sorry” cuts or burns. The forehead bleeds profusely and obviously, and it is common to wield a sharp stick or stone to inflict on oneself wounds on the forehead, while wailing and keening announce the death to all others.

Land The law is the basis on which we become one with the land. As the Bible says: “By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are, and to dust you will return” (Gen. 3:19; Eccl. 3:20). This reinforces earth as our Mother, the giver of life. Just like a mother, Mother Earth feeds us, shelters us, nurtures us and teaches us. The land makes everybody one. It determines relationships between clans in their social life as well as in their spiritual life. To educate them about the land and their association with the land, they must be able to see the objects and feel the sense of security which nature produces.1

The Aboriginal people’s love for the land is the same love that white persons would have for their mother.2 Aboriginal people are proud of our mother earth, and the beauty which she gives us every waking day: the beauty of sunrise, the singing of birds, the aroma of flowers in bloom, the color of the mountains, the cleansing smell of rain, the learning of wisdom from our native animals. All these things show us how we all could live together in harmony in God’s creation without abusing the precious beauty which God has given us, not only for this generation but for every generation which is to follow. In the Aboriginal way of thinking, we are a vital link in God’s chain of creation and one cannot live without the other. When we look back over the two hundred years of white invasion we see how white people raped, murdered, stole and crucified our mother earth and its beauty which God had given to us as a gift. It pains us greatly to see our mother suffer in such a manner at the white people’s hands.

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All this was for the sake of their own greed and power and status—to “have it all,” when God gave it for all of us to share.

Community For Aboriginal people it is difficult to think of themselves as individuals when their lives revolve around communal living because of the vastness of the extended family. Our every thought and action revolves around what is best for the entire community, as they are usually inter-related. An illustration of this is education: when Aboriginals gain education it is not for themselves that they achieve this. It is for the betterment of the whole community, so they come back with their gifts and their talents so that everyone can use them and grow through them. They find more fulfilment, satisfaction and joy at watching their loved ones grow in the knowledge that they can share with them when they return from school. This is the Aboriginal way. In the white people’s eyes, though, there is not a great deal of glory, status, power or money in this. But these things Aboriginal people are not looking for. For a long time now, Aboriginal people have shown love of God’s creation, including all of humankind. They have nurtured it, sung songs about it, and have lived it. You will see this in a story we shall share with you. At a young age, a certain white man got into trouble with the law and ended up in jail. Upon his release, he found himself rejected by white society. He was, as they would call him, a misfit. He was lost, lonely and starving for human love and acceptance, which he never received from white society. As he was wandering, lost, a carload of Aboriginals pulled up beside him and offered him a lift. Upon hearing his story, they took him home, fed him, and accepted him into their extended family. They accepted him, in spite of his failures. Today this man is a minister, and he is now sharing with others the love and the warmth that gave him direction many years ago. White society also rejects its elders and casts them aside as worthless human beings, whereas in Aboriginal society, age brings respect, knowledge, and wisdom. Elders play a major role in our learning by sharing with us their wisdom and knowledge of the Dreaming. We have a deep sense of love, pride and honor amongst us and share in each other’s joys, achievements and pains.

Stewardship Through Aboriginal spirituality, you can pick up the kind of examples of what God meant for his people when he placed them as stewards of creation. Aboriginals never abused the land; they lived in harmony with the land, always moving great distances together in their search for food so as to not exhaust one area and to give it a chance to replenish.

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All we can ever be is stewards, and every time that God speaks in the Bible about the second coming of Jesus Christ, God speaks of it in relation to us and our stewardship. Were we obedient to the God who trusted us with these resources? And did we use our time and talent to glorify ourselves, or to glorify God? That is the issue, but we usually forget that God gives back to the giver a “... good measure pressed down shaken together and running over ... for with the measure you use, it will be measured to you” (Lk. 6:38). God doesn’t give to the receiver but to the giver, so we’ve got to give in every way. God wants to use us as vessels through which people can be empowered with God’s spirit, but this is going to require a lot more than just the giving of our lives in love.

PART IV

HAWAII

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The Hawaiian Situation: An Overview of Hawaii’s People, Politics, Religion, Spirituality, and Culture, Yesterday and Today

Toni G. Bissen* Introduction This paper addresses the following questions: (a) what is happening to the indigenous Hawaii community, and (b) what is the role of spirituality or religion in the situation of the indigenous Hawaii community. Before the foregoing specific questions are answered, an overview about Hawaii will be provided. Section 2 will cover background and historical information and sections 3 to 6 will cover the specific topic and current conditions of the indigenous population of Hawaii.

Hawaii: An Overview Hawaiian Oral Tradition In ancient Hawaii, the Hawaiian people had no written language. However, down through the centuries, they composed rhythmic oral chants to preserve their history, myths, and legends and passed them down from generation to generation. Through these means, ancient knowledge of the birth of the Hawaiian Islands has survived to the present. There is an old genealogical chant known as the Kumulipo that tells the Hawaiian story of creation. It describes how the world and everything in it came to be. The chant traces the genealogy of the ruling chiefs back through the ages to the first spark of life in the universe. The first eleven lines of the chant are:

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Another World is Possible O ke au i kahuli wela ka honua O ke au i kahuli lole ka lani O ke au i kuka‘iaka ka l¯a E ho‘om¯alamalama i ka m¯alama O ke au i Makali‘i ka p¯o O ka Walewale ho‘okumu honua ia O ke kumu o ka lipo O ke kumu o ka P¯o i p¯o ai O ka Lipolipo, o ka lipolipo O ka lipo o ka L¯a, o ka lipo o ka P¯o P¯owale ho‘i At the time that turned the heat of the earth At the time when the heavens turned and changed At the time when the light of the sun was subdued To cause light to break forth At the time of the night of Makali‘i (winter) Then began the slime which established the earth The source of the deepest darkness Of the depth of darkness, of the depth of darkness Of the darkness, in the depth of the night, It is night, so was night born

The Kumulipo later goes on to describe the dawning of the day and with it human beings who multiplied by the hundreds. According to ancient tradition, among them were the first ancestors of the people of Hawaii.

Geographic Location and Early Settlement of the Hawaiian Islands The Hawaiian Islands are located in the western hemisphere, in the northern central portion of the Pacific Ocean. Situated almost midway between Asia and America, the islands are 2,400 miles from North America and 3,800 miles from Japan. The eight major islands that make up the Hawaiian Islands are: Hawaii, Maui, Kauai, Oahu, Molokai, Lanai, Niihau and Kahoolawe. As part of Polynesia, the Hawaiian Islands are included with four other island groups in the Pacific: (1) Western Polynesia, including Samoa and Tonga, (2) Central Polynesia, including the Cook, Society and Marquesas Islands, (3) Easter Island and (4) Aotearoa (New Zealand). According to scientific research, the first to be settled was Western Polynesia, estimated at 1100 BC. Venturing toward the west, Central Polynesia was settled next, estimated at 500 BC–AD 300. From there the Hawaiian Islands, Easter Island and Aotearoa were settled, in AD 300–750, AD 300–900, and AD 1000, respectively. Although there is still much scholarly controversy about the initial dates of the settlement of Polynesia, including the Hawaiian Islands, archeological and linguistic evidence suggest that the first

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people to arrive in Hawaii were from Marquesas Island dating between AD 300–750.

Hawaii’s First People and the Kapu System These first people, along with subsequent waves of Polynesian migration, including migration from Tahiti, developed over time into the aboriginal or indigenous Hawaiian population, herein after referred to as Native Hawaiians. With the emergence of an advancing society, Native Hawaiians came to live in a highly organized, self-sufficient, social system, with a sophisticated language, culture, religion, and land tenure system. Central to the societal order of ancient Hawaii was the kapu system, which interwove Hawaiian religion, government, and social organization. Kapu is defined as sacredness, taboo, prohibition or restriction. Under the kapu system, four classes of people were established: (1) Ali‘i—the chiefly ruling class, that were likened to the gods, (2) Kahuna—the priestly and professional class, (3) Maka‘ainana—the commoners, and (4) Kauwa— the outcasts. People were members of a specific class, primarily based on their family genealogy. All aspects of daily life involved kapu, including but not limited to, medicinal practices, agricultural endeavors, social protocol, fishing, canoe making, and religious and spiritual activities. For instance, the ai kapu was the kapu that provided for the separate eating arrangements of men and women. It prescribed what women and men could eat. The men ate in the mua, the women ate in the hale aina. Women could not eat pork, coconuts, bananas, and certain fish and seafood. A woman found to have broken the ai kapu was put to death. Strict adherence to the various kapu was required.

Ancient Hawaiian Religion Hawaiian religion involved a set of communal values, beliefs, rituals, and traditions that sought to explain the mystery of a person’s place in the world, the relationship to nature, and the supernatural. The institution of Hawaiian religion was highly structured and hierarchal. There were four primary male gods worshiped in ancient Hawaii: (1) Kane, (2) Kanaloa, (3) Ku, and (4) Lono. These gods represented the atmosphere, Earth and the ocean. The four primary female gods were: (1) Haumea, (2) Papa, (3) Hina, and (4) Pele. The place of worship was called the heiau. Prayer or pule was an integral part of everyday life for Native Hawaiians. The ali‘i and maka‘ainana had different protocol for worship according to each respective occupation and dependant on the situation, ceremonies could be extremely formal or informal. Families had their own guardians known as aumakua whom they sought for protection and spiritual guidance.

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Ancient Hawaiian Governance and First Western Contact The governance of ancient Hawaii was in the hands of the ali‘i or the ruling chiefs. For generations, separate island territories had numerous and varied rulers. Warfare was common and it was through military conquest that beginning in the late 1700s one ali‘i, Kamehameha, emerged to consolidate power under one rule. Kamehameha became the sole ruler of the island of Hawaii in 1791. By 1795 he took over Maui, Molokai, Lanai, Kahoolawe and Oahu. He took control of the two remaining islands, Kauai and Niihau, in 1810 through negotiations that avoided the need for war. During this period of time, it was common for battling chiefs to utilize traditional, as well as introduce, weaponry and vessels. For over 1,400 years the Hawaiian society lived virtually isolated from the rest of the world primarily due to its geographic location. However in 1778, a British navy officer, Captain James Cook arrived on the shores of the Hawaiian Islands commanding the ships Resolution and Discovery. Kamehameha was a lower-ranking young chief at the time Captain Cook came to the island of Hawaii. It was then that Kamehameha was first exposed to western technology and he eventually incorporated it into his military arsenal, as did other chiefs of the time. Subsequent to Captain Cook’s visit, other traders, explorers, and various sea captains from Spain, France, America and England made their way to Hawaii. The impact of foreign contact was dramatic and Hawaii was forever changed as a result. As Kamehameha was the first to unify the Hawaiian Islands, he became known as King Kamehameha I, ruler of the Hawaiian Kingdom. Between 1810 and 1819 he ruled his kingdom by the traditional kapu system whereby the laws, regulations and Hawaiian religion utilized for generations were followed. He also incorporated new methods of governance to address evolving and changing times. Upon the death of Kamehameha I in 1819, his son and named heir, Liholiho (Kamehameha II) became King. Kamehameha II was twenty-one years of age when his reign began. He shared his leadership with the favorite wife of his father, Kaahumanu who became the Kuhina Nui or Premier. This newly created position was an example of the modifications made to the existing governing system. In addition to Kaahumanu, Kamehameha I had three other wives, among them Keopuolani, the mother of Liholiho, who was the highest rank of ali‘i. Both Kaahumanu and Keopuolani played major roles in bringing about societal change. The year 1819 was extremely significant in Hawaiian history. It marked the end of an era. Not only did the powerful warrior King Kamehameha I pass away, but Kamehameha II, by the act of eating with his mother Keopuolani, and Kaahumanu, abolished the ancient kapu system. Kamehameha II broke the ai kapu, the eating kapu, and sent a message

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throughout the kingdom that free eating was allowed. This act caused civil war to break out. Leading the charge to maintain the ancient ways was Kekuaokalani, Kamehameha II’s cousin. A battle was fought at Kuamo‘o on the island of Hawaii, with Kamehameha II’s forces ending up victorious. In line with ending the kapu system, Kamehameha II ordered the ancient temples in the kingdom to be destroyed. Consequently, the people abandoned the old religion, the old kapus were no longer enforced, and a void was created in the social order of the nation.

The Arrival of Christian Missionaries At the very same time the Hawaiian Kingdom was undergoing considerable internal change, missionaries were preparing to leave Boston for Hawaii to spread Christianity. The American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, an interdenominational body predominantly made up of Presbyterian and Congregational Protestants, left on October 23, 1819 and arrived on April 4, 1820. Kamehameha II and Kaahumanu permitted the missionaries to stay temporarily at first. Eventually the ruling class beginning with Kaahumanu and Keopulani became Christian. This began the major conversion of the Hawaiian population. To fill the void left by the abolishment of the kapu system, Christian inspiration entered into all aspects of life in Hawaii, becoming the state religion and the newly developing rule of law. With the authority and support of the King and the ruling chiefs, the early Christian missionaries were allowed to make significant contributions to the Hawaiian society. They converted the oral Hawaiian language into written form, developed the Hawaiian alphabet, established the first printing press, opened schools, printed textbooks, and translated the Bible from English into Hawaiian.

Hawaiian Monarchs Over the next 83 years the Kamehameha line held political power for most of that time period. The following lists all the reigning monarchs of the Hawaiian Kingdom with their corresponding dates of rule: • • • • • • • •

King Kamehameha I—1810 to 1819 King Kamehameha II—1819 to 1824 King Kamehameha III—1824 to 1854 King Kamehameha IV—1854 to 1863 King Kamehameha V—1863 to 1872 King Lunalilo, first elected monarch—1873 to 1874 King Kalakaua, second elected monarch—1874 to 1891 Queen Lili‘uokalani, succeeded King Kalakaua, she was the last reigning monarch of the Hawaiian Kingdom—1891 to 1893

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Transition from an Ancient System of Governance to a Constitutional Monarchy In the national development of the Hawaiian Kingdom, it is perhaps Kamehameha III who contributed the most by transforming the ancient ruling system of government into a formal constitutional monarchy. Arguably his three greatest accomplishments were: (1) establishment of the Declaration of Rights in 1839, (2) the creation of the first Constitution in 1840, and (3) securing international recognition of the Hawaiian Kingdom. Hawaii was the first non-European nation to be recognized as an independent and sovereign State by the French, British and the United States of America. France and Great Britain explicitly and formally recognized Hawaiian sovereignty on November 28, 1843 by joint proclamation, and the United States on December 20, 1849 by treaty. As a recognized State, Hawaii maintained more than ninety legations and consulates throughout the world, and entered into extensive diplomatic and treaty relations with other States. The Hawaiian nation prospered and developed as a peaceful multi-ethnic country.

The 1893 Illegal Overthrow of the Hawaiian Monarchy However in 1893, a small group of revolutionists, made up primarily of Christian missionary descendants and American businessmen, conspired with the United States to illegally overthrow the Hawaiian Constitutional Monarchy. On January 16, 1893, these revolutionists along with John L. Stevens, U.S. Minister to the Kingdom of Hawaii, and naval representatives caused armed naval forces to invade the Hawaiian nation. Canons and armed soldiers were positioned near government buildings and Iolani Palace to intimidate Queen Lili‘uokalani. The next day, on January 17, 1893, the revolutionists, calling themselves a “Committee of Safety,” deposed the Hawaiian Monarchy and proclaimed the establishment of a Provisional Government. When informed of the risk of bloodshed with resistance, the Queen issued a statement yielding her authority to the U.S. Government rather than to the Provisional Government: “I Lili‘uokalani, by the Grace of God and under the Constitution of the Hawaiian Kingdom, do hereby solemnly protest against any and all acts done against myself and the Constitutional Government of the Hawaiian Kingdom by certain persons claiming to have established a Provisional Government of and for this Kingdom. That I yield to the superior force of the United States of America whose Minister Plenipotentiary, His Excellency John L. Stevens, has caused United States troops to be landed at Honolulu and declared that he would support the Provisional Government. Now to avoid any collision of armed forces, and perhaps the loss of life, I do under protest and impelled by said force yield my authority until such time as the Government of the United States of America shall, upon facts being presented

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to it, undo the action of its representatives and reinstate me in the authority which I claim as Constitutional Sovereign of the Hawaiian Islands.”

Eleven months later, and after a thorough investigation of the matter by U.S. representatives, on December 18, 1893 in a message to Congress, U.S. President Grover Cleveland reported on the illegal acts of the conspirators, and described such acts as an “act of war, committed with participation of diplomatic representatives of the United States and without authority of Congress.” President Cleveland concluded that a “substantial wrong has thus been done which a due regard for our national character as well as the rights of the injured people requires we should endeavor to repair” and called for the restoration of the Hawaiian monarchy.

Failed Annexation Attempts Between 1893 and 1894 the restoration of the Hawaiian monarchy should have been effected; however, the Provisional Government refused to adhere to President Cleveland’s orders. Instead, the members of the Provisional Government attempted to lobby Congress to annex Hawaii. A Treaty of Annexation was submitted to Congress but failed to secure the required two-thirds of the Senate needed to ratify it. Thereafter the Provisional Government renamed itself and created the Republic of Hawaii. Continuing to maintain its self-proclaimed authority, in 1895 the representatives of the Republic of Hawaii arrested Queen Lili‘uokalani and forced her to reside under armed guard in Iolani Palace, where she was forced to abdicate her throne. With President Cleveland being replaced by the newly elected President William McKinley in 1896, the Republic of Hawaii reinstated its efforts to lobby Congress to annex Hawaii. In another effort to annex Hawaii, a second Treaty of Annexation was submitted to Congress by representatives of the Republic of Hawaii in 1897. Totally against annexation, on June 17, 1897, Queen Lili‘uokalani filed an official protest with the U.S. Department of State, which was accompanied by 38,554 signatures of loyal Hawaiian subjects and residents. The Treaty failed to obtain the required two-thirds vote in the Senate.

Seizure of Hawaii by the United States In the continued efforts to take control of Hawaii, the Newlands Joint Resolution was created as the vehicle by the United States. The joint resolution did not require two-thirds vote in the Senate and passed out of Congress for approval by President McKinley. As the Spanish American war got underway with fighting in the Philippines, the need for the U.S. military to utilize Hawaii’s strategic location in the Pacific, especially use of Pearl Harbor, motivated the U.S. to take Hawaii. President McKinley signed the Newlands Resolution on July 7, 1898. Thereafter in 1900, the Organic Act was passed to transition the Republic of Hawaii to the U.S.

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Territory of Hawaii. In 1959, the Statehood Act was passed to transition the U.S. Territory of Hawaii to the 50th State of the United States.

100 Years after the Overthrow, Apology and Reconciliation Efforts In 1993, 100 years after the illegal overthrow, the U.S. formally apologized and enacted P.L. 103—“To acknowledge the 100th anniversary of the January 17, 1893 overthrow of the Kingdom of Hawaii, and to offer an apology to Native Hawaiians on behalf of the United States for the overthrow of the Kingdom of Hawaii.” That same year, the United Church of Christ (UCC) apologized for its complicity in the overthrow and began a redress and reconciliation process. On behalf of the UCC, its President, Reverend Dr. Paul H. Sherry, came to Hawaii and made a public apology. He stated: “We are gathered in this place at the request of the 18th General Synod of the United Church of Christ, to recall with sorrow the unprovoked invasion of the Hawaiian nation on January 17, 1893, by forces of the United States. We are gathered here so that, as President of the United Church of Christ, I can apologize for the support given that act by ancestors of ours in the church now known as the United Church of Christ. We do so in order to begin a process of repentance, redress and reconciliation for wrongs done. We are here not to condemn, but to acknowledge. We are here to commit ourselves to work alongside our na Kanaka Maoli sisters and brothers—both those in the United Church of Christ and those beyond—in the hope that a society of justice and mercy for them and for all people, everywhere, may yet emerge.”

After the public apology by the UCC, a three-part redress and reconciliation plan was developed whereby: (1) monies would be given to Native Hawaiian Churches in existence at the time of the 1893 overthrow; (2) monies would be given to the newly developed Association of Hawaiian Evangelical Churches created to represent Hawaiian Churches within the governing structure of the Hawaii UCC organization; and (3) land and monies would be given to an independent entity created outside the UCC for the benefit of all Native Hawaiians. That organization is the Pû‘â Foundation; additional information on its work will be provided in section 5 covering healing and reconciliation efforts.

Hawaii: 50th State of the United States or Independent Nation? Given the U.S.’s formal apology in 1993 for the illegal overthrow of the Hawaiian Constitutional Monarchy in 1893, the question of Hawaii’s

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political status is a major topic of debate in Hawaii and beyond. Within the academic communities, contemporary scholarship addressing this question yields two primary divergent views: the first deals with Hawaiian indigenous political theory, which places much importance on ethnicity and the second with Hawaiian Statehood, international law and U.S. occupation, which places much importance on citizenship. To illustrate each position, Professor Jonathan K. Osorio, former director of the University of Hawaii Center for Hawaiian Studies, which is now known as the School of Hawaiian Knowledge, in his article, “Ku‘e and Ku‘oko‘a (Resistance and Independence) History, Law, and Other Faiths,” compares two distinct initiatives that aboriginal people of Hawaii seek self-government. Professor Osorio discusses how Ka Lahui Hawaii (“KLH”) and the Council of Regency (“Council”), two “sovereignty groups” as he describes, are employing two strategies along the lines of race on the part of KLH and citizenship on the part of the Council. KLH struggles to secure recognition as a Native nation within the larger American nation; the Council of Regency pursues the reestablishment of the independent Hawaiian Kingdom. He observes that there is a wide ideological chasm that separates the Council from KLH because according to the Council, ethnicity is not the basis for citizenship within the independent Hawaiian Kingdom. He concludes that the distinction between these disparate approaches as, “requir[ing] their own articles of faith. One side places faith in the rituals of law; the other believes in the importance of ancestry and ethnic distinction.” To further illustrate the two differing views, Figure 1 provides a side by side comparison. Hawaiian indigenous political theory takes the position that Hawaii was “colonized” by the U.S. and asserts that Native Hawaiian ethnicity is the basis for rights to land, natural resources and political autonomy within the American system. The efforts of KLH, and the indigenous peoples’ movement within the United Nations arena, come under this theory. Hawaiian Statehood, on the other hand, asserts the position that Hawaii is an independent sovereign state, has its own nationality Figure 1: Divergent Views: Hawaiian Statehood vs. Hawaiian Indigenous Political Theory Hawaiian Statehood

Hawaiian Indigenous Political Theory

Hawaii is a sovereign State Hawaii is Independent Sovereignty is established Citizenship is multi-ethnic Hawaii is occupied There needs to be a process of de-occupation

Hawaii is a non-sovereign nation Hawaii is Dependent, as a state of the U.S. Sovereignty is sought Ethnicity—Native Hawaiians Hawaii is colonized There needs to be a process of de-colonization

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which is not based on ethnicity, and is currently occupied by the U.S. The efforts of the Council come under this theory. A good source of information on Hawaiian Statehood is the Hawaiian Journal of Law and Politics and can be found at http://www2.hawaii.edu/ ~hslp/journal.html. Additional resources on Hawaiian indigenous political theory include: (1) Dismembering Lahui: A History of the Hawaiian Nation to 1887 by Jonathan K. Osorio, (2) From a Native Daughter: Colonialism and Sovereignty in Hawaii, by Haunani-Kay Trask, and (3) Aloha Betrayed: Native Hawaiian Resistance to American Colonialism, by Noenoe K. Silva. Further research is needed to analyze the societal ramifications of the 1893 overthrow, as well as to resolve the aforementioned disparate views to come to terms with the true political status of Hawaii.

Current Conditions of Native Hawaiians The total population in Hawaii today is approximately 1.2 million people. The Native Hawaiian population is approximately 240,000 or 20% of the total population. The breakdown of the population based on religious affiliation reveals that approximately 540,000 make up the total count reported, 80% are Christians, 18.6% are Buddhist, 1.3% are Jewish, and the other category is at 0.1%. Within the Christian category 44.7% are Catholic, 9.0% are Mainline Protestant, 18.3% are Evangelical Protestant, 0.1% are Orthodox, and 7.9% are Mormon. Although there are no statistical data that count the number of Native Hawaiians in each religious category, a current study that profiles the Native Hawaiian community suggests that religion and spirituality are important. The study is entitled, Ka Huaka‘i: 2005 Native Hawaiian Educational Assessment. It was conducted by the Kamehameha Schools, a Native Hawaiian private primary and secondary educational institution, and provides current educational and well-being statistical data about the Native Hawaiian people. There are five categorical areas of well-being within the study: (1) emotional, (2) social and cultural, (3) physical, (4) cognitive, and (5) material and economic. The study takes a strengthsbased approach that analyzes data to assist in policy decisions and program development. Users of the study include those concerned with the present and future of the Native Hawaiian community including politicians, educators, community organizers, physicians, pastors, parents and their children. Initial findings indicate that Native Hawaiians rank poorly in most socio-economic and health areas. Despite the dismal statistics, however, the study suggests that there are “definite signs of progress among Native Hawaiians and [the authors of the study] share the hope and inspiration

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found in the significant gains occurring.” To illustrate, several key findings of the study are provided:

Challenges Economics • Native Hawaiian families are nearly twice as likely to live in poverty as the average family in Hawaii. • Native Hawaiians consistently exhibit higher rates of unemployment than the state average. • Native Hawaiians are increasingly underrepresented in white-collar jobs and remain overrepresented in blue-collar jobs. Health/Emotional Well-being • Native Hawaiian youth are more likely than their peers to have smoked cigarettes. • Native Hawaiian youth are more likely to be sexually active than are other groups. • Young Native Hawaiians are slightly more likely to commit suicide. Incarceration • Native Hawaiians account for almost four of every ten inmates (39.5%) in the state’s correctional facilities—both male and female institutions. Educational Well-being • Native Hawaiian elementary students have consistently scored roughly 15 points lower than their peers on SAT-9 Reading tests over the past decade. • The achievement outcomes for Native Hawaiian children remain among the lowest throughout elementary and secondary schools. • The math achievement scores of Native Hawaiians continue to be significantly lower than those of other ethnic groups. • Native Hawaiian adults are less than half as likely to hold either a bachelor’s degree or a graduate/professional degree as compared to all adults in the state.

Strengths Emotional Well-being • Native Hawaiians are more likely to trust in support from their families than non-Hawaiians. • Native Hawaiians exhibit greater pride in their ethnic roots than do non-Hawaiians. Approximately 82.9% of the Native Hawaiians

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•

• • • • •

reported being proud of their heritage compared with 73.4% of non-Hawaiians. Spirituality serves as a prominent coping strategy among Native Hawaiians: nearly half of all Native Hawaiian respondents reported that they pray or meditate when faced with difficulties (48.8% v. 35.9%). More than one in ten Native Hawaiian respondents were involved in religious activities or organizations. Religiosity, as a protective factor, was more common among Native Hawaiian students than in the larger student population. Native Hawaiians exhibited the second highest rates of religiosity at 46.5%. Native Hawaiians generally were slightly more likely than nonHawaiians to report being happy (56.6% v. 53.7%). Native Hawaiians generally tend to meet the practical problems of daily life with positive emotional and spiritual resources. The suicide rate among Native Hawaiian elders is almost half the statewide rate.

Social and Cultural Well-being • Native Hawaiian families are more likely to include children. • Nearly 80% of Native Hawaiians feel it is important to “live and practice” Hawaiian culture daily. • Roughly three-quarters of Native Hawaiian families express desire for Hawaiian language courses. • Over half of Native Hawaiian adults report active participation in community groups over the past three years. Educational Well-being • The majority of Native Hawaiian families provide educationally supportive environments to their children. Based on the foregoing, despite difficult socio-economic and health challenges, Native Hawaiians are a resilient people and are utilizing family, ethnic heritage, religion and spirituality to cope, survive and thrive.

Role of Religion or Spirituality among Native Hawaiians As stated above, religion and spirituality are important factors in the daily lives of Native Hawaiians. Although the Ka Huaka‘i: 2005 Native Hawaiian Educational Assessment study does not identify the specific religion of the

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Native Hawaiian respondents, an inference can be made that a high percentage of Native Hawaiians are Christian by virtue of the majority of the total population in Hawaii being Christian. The current status of religion and spirituality among the Native Hawaiians can be termed as “pluralistic”—both ancient traditional practices and Christian. Although the formal ancient Hawaiian religion is no longer practiced per se, spirituality and cultural practices today are still common. There is no “co-mingling” of beliefs between the Hawaiian and Christian ways, but rather a mutual respect for each. For example, John Keola Lake, who recently passed away, was a highly respected kupuna (elder) who was a practicing Catholic, a kumu hula (teacher of ancient Hawaiian chant and dance), and a practitioner of ancient Hawaiian traditions involving rituals and ceremonies at an ancient heiau (temple). He easily reconciled being both. Concerning the revitalization of ancient practices related to religion and spirituality, ancient temples that have survived over time are being preserved, studied, and utilized by Native Hawaiian groups. Ancient Hawaiian burial practices have been revitalized and used to care for skeletal remains and sacred burial sites. Burial rites, prayers and funerary protocol are conducted to re-inter Hawaiian remains. The hula (ancient Hawaiian chant and dance), healing and medicinal practices, fishing, canoe making, and taro farming are all thriving in today’s society as practiced by Native Hawaiians. Thus, there continues to be a strong connection between nature, the ‘¯aina (land), Native Hawaiians and a higher power, making the role of culture, tradition, religion and spirituality among Native Hawaiians important factors of daily living today.

Healing and Reconciliation Efforts—The P¯ u‘¯ a Foundation As the Ka Huaka‘i: 2005 Hawaiian Educational Assessment study suggests, “On the whole there are few statistical gains in Native Hawaiian wellbeing. However, there are definite signs of progress among Native Hawaiians.” The study goes on to recommend that collaborations and partnerships, which involve many disciplines, organizations, and service providers, are key to improving the community’s well-being. As one such community organization, the P¯u‘¯a Foundation endeavors to contribute to the improvement of Native Hawaiian wellness through its efforts in the healing and reconciliation area.

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There is a definite need for healing in the Native Hawaiian community. The historical injustices and aftermath of the 1893 illegal overthrow, for example, have been devastating for the Hawaiian people. An undercurrent of spiritual, psychological, and emotional hurt still exists and carries its negative consequences across generations as evidenced by the dismal socio-economic and health statistics of the Native Hawaiian population. These direct indicators underscore the importance for the development of societal problem resolution methods to address the wellness and wellbeing issues in the Hawaiian community. Moreover, there appears to be much confusion about the societal impacts of the 1893 overthrow, be it political, legal, economic, social, and/or cultural. Within the “Hawaiian sovereignty movement,” for instance, an effort spanning over 30 years formulated as a response to Hawaiian political and social issues, there are two primary divergent views that include Hawaiian indigenous political theory, on the one hand, and Hawaiian Statehood and U.S. occupation on the other. The combination of existing hurts, coupled with mass confusion among Native Hawaiians and others, lead to community animosity and ethnic divisiveness, resulting in an “unhealthy” and “broken” Hawaii society. The P¯u‘¯a Foundation, a tax-exempt non-profit organization incorporated in 1996, was created as part of the apology, redress, and reconciliation process between the United Church of Christ and the Native Hawaiian people for the Church’s complicity in the 1893 overthrow of the Hawaiian Constitutional Monarchy. Its vision is that through p¯u‘¯a, the process of nourishment and strengthening, there will be the emergence of enlightened and empowered communities and society. The Foundation’s mission is to actively engage, facilitate and serve communities and their efforts to build a resilient society and improve upon their quality of life through healing and reconciliation efforts that address consequences of the 1893 overthrow. Through its work, the Foundation seeks to empower others with knowledge, skills, and resources and to facilitate opportunities for healing and reconciliation. Conducting research, analysis, documentation, and dissemination of that information to bring about a deeper and clearer understanding of the historical, cultural, spiritual, economic and political environment of Hawaii is one strategy that the Foundation employs. Through its programs, the Foundation endeavors to be of service to those in the Native Hawaiian community and beyond by creating experiential opportunities and hopes to make a positive impact on the collective societal psyche of Native Hawaiians as a key component to healing and reconciliation. The three primary program areas of the Foundation are: •

Research Development—focus is on research development, documentation, and analysis. The Foundation supports multi-

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disciplinary research in the area of Hawaiian history, political science, law, theology and peace studies which are used as the basis for a deeper and clearer understanding of the historical, spiritual, political, economic and cultural environment of Hawaii. Product Development—focus is on producing and sharing resource materials. The Foundation supports the production of resources based on conducted research. Forum/Dialogue Development—focus is on creating opportunities for deeper conversations that can lead to pono (harmony), connection, understanding, and healing, one example of a societal problem resolution approach.

Conclusion In conclusion, Native Hawaiians have a rich ethnic heritage, with a history dating back hundreds of years. Today, this population faces certain socioeconomic and health challenges. However, despite these challenges, Native Hawaiians are incorporating religion and spirituality as key coping strategies to meet the stresses of everyday life. Prayer, meditation and being involved in religious organizations and activities are a few examples. By the continued efforts of those in the Native Hawaiian community, and beyond, working together to improve the well-being of Native Hawaiians, a better future is possible not only for Hawaiians, but for the whole of the Hawaii society.

Bibliography BOOKS Beckwith, Martha Warren, The Kumulipo: A Hawaiian Creation Chant (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1972). ——Hawaiian Mythology (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1977). Cahill, Emmett, The Dark Decade 1829–1839: Anti-Catholic Persecutions in Hawaii (Honolulu: Mutual Publishing, 2004). Day, A. Grove, History Makers of Hawaii (Honolulu: Mutual Publishing, 1984). Kalakaua, David, The Legends and Myths of Hawaii (Honolulu: Mutual Publishing, 1990). Kamakau, Samuel Manaikalani, Ruling Chiefs of Hawaii (Honolulu: Kamehameha Schools Press, 1961). ——Ka Po‘e Hawaii: The People of Old (Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press, 1991).

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——Tales and Traditions of the People of Old Nâ Mo‘olelo a ka Po‘e Kahiko (Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press, 1991). Kanahele, Edward and Pualani Kanahele, Atlas of Hawaii—Hawaiian Religion (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1998). Kirch, Patrick V., Atlas of Hawaii—Archaeology (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1998). Kirch, Patrick V., and Roger C. Green, Hawaiki: Ancestral Polynesia. An Essay in Historical Anthropology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001). Kuykenday, Ralph S., The Hawaiian Kingdom, Vol. 1 1778–1854 (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1938). _____The Hawaiian Kingdom, Vol. 2 1854–1874 (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1953). _____The Hawaiian Kingdom, Vol. 3 1874–1893 (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1967). Liliuokalani, The Kumulipo: An Hawaiian Creation Myth (California: Pueo Press, 1978). _____ Hawaii’s Story (Honolulu: Mutual Publishing, 1990). Malo, David, Hawaiian Antiquities (Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press, 1951). Onipaa: Five Days in the History of the Hawaiian Nation (Office of Hawaiian Affairs, 1994). Osorio, Jonathan K., Dismembering Lahui: A History of the Hawaiian Nation to 1887 (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2002). Pukui, Mary Kawena and Samuel H. Elbert, Hawaiian Dictionary (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1986). Silva, Noenoe K., Aloha Betrayed: Native Hawaiian Resistance to American Colonialism (New York: Duke University Press, 2004). Thrum, Thomas G., “Hawaiian Register and Directory for 1893,” Hawaiian Almanac and Annual (1892): 140–41. Trask, Haunani-Kay, From a Native Daughter: Colonialism and Sovereignty in Hawaii (Monroe, ME: Common Courage Press, 1993). Tuggle, H. D., The Prehistory of Polynesia (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979).

Journal Articles Craven, Matthew, “Hawaii, History, and International Law,” Hawaiian Journal of Law & Politics 1 (Summer 2004). http://www2.hawaii.edu/~hslp/journal/vol1/ Craven_Article_(HJLP).pdf Osorio, John K., “Ku‘e and Ku‘oko‘a (Resistance and Independence),” Hawaiian Journal of Law & Politics 1 (Summer 2004). http://www2.hawaii.edu/~hslp/journal/vol1/ Osorio_Article_(HJLP).pdf Sai, Keanu, “American Occupation of the Hawaiian State: A Century Gone Unchecked,” Hawaiian Journal of Law & Politics 1 (Summer 2004). http://www2.hawaii.edu/~hslp/ journal/vol1/Sai_Article_(HJLP).pdf Young, Kanualu, “Kuleana: Toward a Historiography of Hawaiian National Consciousness, 1870–2001,” Hawaiian Journal of Law & Politics 2 (Summer 2006). http:// www2.hawaii.edu/~hslp/journal/vol2/Kanalu(HJLP).pdf

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Internet Sources The Hawaiian Kingdom—Political History http://www.hawaiiankingdom.org/political-history.shtml The Hawaiian Kingdom—U.S. Occupation http://www.hawaiiankingdom.org/us-occupation.shtml

Proclamations/Treaties Anglo-Franco Proclamation, November 28, 1843 http://www2.hawaii.edu/~hslp/journal/vol1/1843_Dec._(HJLP).pdf Hawaiian-American Treaty of Friendship, Commerce and Navigation, 1849 http://www2.hawaii.edu/~hslp/journal/vol1/1849_Treaty_(HJLP).pdf Hawaiian-American Treaty of Commercial Reciprocity, 1875 http://www2.hawaii.edu/~hslp/journal/vol1/1875_Treaty_(HJLP).pdf Austria-Hungary (June 18, 1875) Belgium (Oct. 4, 1862) Denmark (Oct. 19, 1846) France (July 17, 1839 and Oct. 29, 1857) Germany (March 25, 1879) Great Britain (Nov. 16, 1836 and July 10, 1851) Hamburg (Jan. 8, 1848) Italy (July 22, 1863) Japan (Aug. 19, 1871) Portugal (May 5, 1882) Netherlands (Oct. 16, 1862) Russia (June 19, 1869) Samoa (March 20, 1887) Spain (Oct. 29, 1863) Sweden and Norway (July 1, 1852) Switzerland (July 20, 1864) The Free Cities of Bremen (Aug. 7, 1851) These treaties can be found in their original form at the Hawaii State Archives, Honolulu, Hawaiian Islands; see also on the web at http://www.hawaiiankingdom.org/treaties.shtml

Other Kana‘iaupuni, S. K., N. Malone, and K. Ishibashi, Ka Huaka‘i: 2005 Native Hawaiian Educational Assessment (Kamehameha Schools, Pauahi Publications, 2005). http://www.ksbe.edu/pase/pdf/KaHuakai.pdf

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Native Hawaiian Data Book, Office of Hawaiian Affairs (June 2002). http://www.oha.org/pdf/databook_6_02.pdf Religious Distribution in the State of Hawaii http://www.ksbe.edu/pase/pdf/Reports/Demography_Well-being/DataBoard/ ReligiousDiversityInHawaii.pdf

PART V

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Theology, Violence and the “Other”

Anthony Reddie One of my earliest memories is of standing in a playground of my primary school, aged five, as the only Black child being taunted by a larger group of White pupils. This was Bradford, in the North of England, and the year was 1969. I was the eldest child of Caribbean migrants who arrived in Britain in the winter of 1957. They came to Britain as strangers who were different and found the experience a painful and dispiriting one.1 Admittedly, 1969 seems like a whole lifetime away. As I reflect upon my life as a Black British person in his early forties, in the year 2006, I believe that things are so much better for Black people now in Britain. Britain in 2005 is very different from what it was in 1969. It is argued that the lessons of multi-culturalism have supposedly made us all a more tolerant nation. Britain, as a nation, is now able to deal with strangers and outsiders differently than it did all those years ago. However, a number of weeks ago, there was an incident in my home city of Bradford. A family of asylum seekers living on a housing estate in the city were subjected to a prolonged bout of intimidation and harassment from the locals. This was not 1969, nor was it in a seemingly innocent playground orchestrated by primary school children who did not know any better. In fact, this was 2005 and the bullies were adults.

The Ongoing Legacy of Being the “Other” To belong to British society and that of the church, for a Black person, necessitates a denial of one’s self. To be Black is to have one’s experiences, history and ongoing reality ignored, disparaged and ridiculed. It is to be rendered an insignificant presence, amongst the many who are deemed one’s betters and superiors.2 Reflecting upon a Caribbean aphorism, which states that “Who feels it knows it”—to be Black and “other” in twentyfirst century Britain is to find that what I know or have felt is of no consequence to the nation or world as a whole.

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What I know and have felt is dismissed as untrue and without any social, political, cultural or theological consequence. As Robert Hood has shown, within the development of Christian thought and tradition, the established church has drunk deeply from the well of Western epistemological thought, but shown scant regard for the contribution of African cultures and traditions in the shaping of Christian doctrine.3 As I have demonstrated in a previous piece of work, it is interesting to note the privileging of Eurocentric knowledge claims, as partial as they are, over and against the substantive oral traditions and wisdom of African peoples. 4 In short, whatever Black people know is of supreme unimportance because in the final analysis, we do not matter. Although many people from these disaffected and unpromising backgrounds have progressed from the enclosed confines of poverty, alienation and marginalization, it should be noted, however, that there are many who cannot point to any sense of improvement, social or otherwise. These often forgotten, faceless and voiceless figures inhabited the often unchanged world of the inner city. Writers such as Kenneth Leech have written extensively about the marginalization of the urban poor and their estrangement from the wider society and the church.5 This sense of being “other” is not a new experience for Black people. It can be argued that the limited gains of multiculturalism and integration have been played out most perniciously on Black people within the British State education system, the impact of the latter leading to the disaffection and alienation of Black young people, Black young boys in particular. The continued failures of the State education system to meet the needs of African Caribbean children has led to the growth of an alternative arena in which the education of Black children has been undertaken. The seminal work of Edward Coard gave expression to the, hitherto, anecdotal frustrations that had been articulated by many parents and guardians of Black children in Britain.6 Many Black parents had long felt that the British educational system was failing African Caribbean children. One of the chief products of this continual failure has been the development of the supplementary school. George S. Richards defines the supplementary school thus: “Supplementary education may be defined as a system of schooling which is provided outside, and in addition to, mainstream state education.”7 Richards outlines the development of supplementary schools which have been instrumental in providing a communitarian ethic that attempts to offer assistance with curriculum subjects found in State schools. Supplementary schools often incorporate an African-centred approach to the teaching and learning process in order to promote self-esteem and emotional growth. 8 The importance of supplementary schools is also discussed by Corinne Julius who reports on one such community venture in Brixton. Julius highlights the positive benefits accrued by Black children

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from supplementary schools, where Black cultures, traditions and history are the norm. “British State schooling , despite a recent history of multicultural initiatives, still operates with predominantly taken-for-granted assumptions of Whiteness as normative. Black supplementary schools provide a space to challenge such assumptions.”9 Reva Klein believes that many of the principles found in supplementary schools are beginning to emerge within the State education system in Britain. Klein describes the eclectic nature of the curriculum in a large secondary school in Sheffield that incorporates African Caribbean cultural norms and traditions.10 Within the ongoing discussion of the education of Black and minority ethnic children, questions of attainment and expectations are never far from the surface. Klein propounds the belief that when teachers have greater expectations and belief in the Black pupils in their care, and are able to communicate this commitment, the attainment levels of such individuals [will] rise as a corollary.11 Klein, in a later piece, questions whether the findings of the Swann report of 1985, which highlighted issues relating to the education of minority ethnic children, have been understood fully and implemented. Klein perceives that teachers still seem to possess pathologized ideas in relation to the Black child and this manifests itself in predicted notions of underachievement.12 Klein believes that the British State education system is continuing to fail African Caribbean boys.13 Black underachievement and poor attainment are not inevitable, argues Rasekoala. There needs to be a concerted effort to raise the collective vision beyond the horizon of myth and ignorance.14

The Legacy of Christianity in Britain The awful truth that a so-called Christian country like Britain has to face is the extent to which its own Judaic Christian traditions have been and continue to be a source for violence and hatred against the other—the foreigner and those who are “not one of us.”15 The violence that exists within Judaic-Christian practices (sacrifice, atonement and crucifixion and the cross) has contributed to the development of a set of thinking and ideas, which ultimately make violence seem like an acceptable and redemptive idea.16 Attempts to reify Christian culture and learning have led, almost axiomatically, to the exclusion, marginalization and oppression of others.17 When Christianity has insisted on parading human constructions as metaphysical, essentialized truth, this has often led to the reification of

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the aesthetics and conventions of the powerful, whilst marginalizing and oppressing those outside the traditional hegemonies that govern many societies.18 This tendency is exemplified and has had deadly consequences for Black people when we assess the seemingly rigid determination of mainstream Christian thought to cling onto patriarchal, Judaeo cultic beliefs and doctrines such as our often violent, bloodthirsty doctrines of Atonement. The corollary of this for Christian education has been the reification of suffering, mutilation and servitude for Black women and those groups whose existential experiences would seem to suggest such eventualities as being their normative lot in life.19 There has been much emphasis upon poor, marginalized and oppressed Black people identifying with Jesus’ suffering and death.20 For Black people, there is a necessity for us to live with and accept our suffering and oppression with a stoical fashion, à la Jesus “who never said a mumbling word.” Within Black theological thought a number of writers have located within the suffering of Jesus (whose struggle and ultimate death, it is believed, is foreseen in Isaiah 53) a sense of divine solidarity with their own historical and contemporary experiences of unjustified and unmerited suffering. Scholars such as Douglas,21 Cone,22 and Terrell,23 to name but a few, have all explored the theological significance for Black people of Jesus’ suffering on the cross.

The Relationship between Religion, Terror and Violence The relationship between religion and terror has gained a greater potency since the events of September 11th 2001 in New York and the 7th of July 2005 in London. Historically, religion was often seen as something “to fall back on.”24 In terms of Christianity, this meant salvation and the assurance of everlasting life. Since the rise of the social sciences in the twentieth century, a religion to “fall back on” took on a different meaning, now becoming linked with notions of improved consciousness and social and individual identity. One of the implications of this change was the removal of religion from most aspects of corporate life in the West.25 Religion has become linked with individual awareness and now has become privatized truth. A consequence of the latter is that individuals can utter outlandish claims and subsequently gain some form of immunity by claiming a particular exemption by way of their affiliation to some religious code. The work of Rudolf Otto in the area of phenomenology shows how the study of religious experience highlights the way in which the human

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experience of God has often been one that has been described in terms of “terror” or “dread.” 26 Being confronted with the holy is to often experience a sense of the “awesome.” Some of the theories for the relationship between terror and religion come from the world of religious experience where it is often believed that the extreme emotions generated by an encounter with the Divine can result in extreme behaviour, often leading to religiously inspired action.27 James Cone, the “founding father” of Black Liberation theology, once remarked in an address given at the Queen’s Foundation in Birmingham in 1997 that the most dangerous people in the world are those who claim to have an untrammelled line of communication to God and know exactly what God wants and what can be construed as God’s will. In effect, these are the people who later claim, “God told me to do it,” when they are arrested for some extreme atrocity. One only has to recount the events at Waco in Texas and in Georgetown Guyana to see the grisly truth of this contention. The great Christian missionary movements from the sixteenth through to the early twentieth centuries were marked by the use of violence.28 One can see the relationship between biblical and theological traditions and violence by looking at how particular classic theories of the Atonement have given sustenance to the notion of violence and the shedding of blood as being redemptive and indeed necessary.29 The work of René Girard has shown how violent images that are inherent within Christianity can lead to communal and societal violence. The scapegoat is vilified and then worshipped.30 Girard’s work has been helpful in assisting Black British theologians to locate a framework in which the scapegoating tendencies of the British state can be located. In times of social unrest and public tumult, Black people become the scapegoats for the collective, systemic ills that have plagued Britain, problems that existed long before non-White people were ever visible in significant numbers in this country. At aged five, my experiences of being taunted in that playground was simply the symptomatic playing out of the intrinsic disease that was prevalent in that poor, largely uneducated White workingclass environment of inner city Bradford. I became the sublimated “other,” whose presence and conspicuous difference offered a cathartic and therapeutic outlet for the latent aggression, malevolence and vitriol that existed in this marginalized and deprived urban context. The anger, shame and frustration felt by many Black people in Britain is a direct response to the “othering” of their Black selves within post-colonial Britain. Kelly Brown Douglas’s latest work is a stunning dissection of the impulse towards violence that lies deep within the belly of the beast of Imperial top-down White Christianity.31 Douglas offers a historical and theological analysis of the trajectory from the Platonized epistemological foundations of Christianity to the construction of White privilege and Eurocentric norms

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that demonize the Black body whilst creating an unhelpful and heretical dichotomy for the preservation of the Black soul. Douglas tackles the seeming paradoxes (indeed makes a very helpful distinction between paradox and dualism)32 that run through Christianity like the manufacturer’s name in a stick of rock/candy. Christianity follows the “Prince of Peace” and yet has developed a particular predilection and penchant for violence to the “other.”33 Notions of reconciliation and redemption are based upon the relinquishing of power from within the Divine self and yet many believers in “The Way” have found it convenient to monopolize power and use it shamelessly in their own plans for self-aggrandisement and hegemony.34 Most tellingly of all, perhaps, this faith that has enslaved and destroyed the Black self remains the religious code of choice for millions of Black folk the world over and remains a force for self-affirmation and survival; this can be summed up in the words of the author who exclaims “I am a Christian because my grandmothers were, and it was their Christian faith that helped them to survive the harsh realities of what it meant for them to be poor Black women in America.”35 One of the concomitant effects of this constant “othering” of Black people, in which violence is the physical and psychic end point of an escalating continuum of societal negation, is the debilitating and destabilizing existence of psychological rage. In God of the Rahtid,36 Robert Beckford tackles one of the most pressing issues affecting Black people in Britain—namely, that of rage. This text commences with an analysis of post-colonial Britain, particularly in the aftermath of the Brixton nail bombing in April 1999. Beckford argues that Britain is a country in which racialized oppression permeates the very fabric of the nation.37 In twenty-first century, post-colonial Britain, Black people are trying to come to terms with and exist within a context that both validates and legitimizes the institutional and casual incidences of racism against people of colour.38 It is within this climate that Black people are struggling with a phenomenon Beckford terms “low-level rage.” Beckford defines the latter as “related to internalized rage in that it is experienced in mind and body. It is manifested in anger, depression and anxiety.”39 The high incidence of mental ill health (particularly schizophrenia) amongst African Caribbean communities in Britain adds substance to Beckford’s contentions. Having initially analysed the many contexts in which Black rage is to be located, Beckford outlines his own personal collision with the pernicious and debilitating nature of Black rage.

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The Theological Legitimization of Violence against the “Other” The centrality of Jesus’ death, when juxtaposed with the almost complete removal of his life as depicted in the narratives of the gospels as evidence of liberative praxis, leads almost inevitably to Christian theology finding convenient ways to ignore the claims of those who were different from them, whether on grounds of ethnicity or nationality.40 Once Jesus is removed from his socio-political context, he can be commandeered to become the mouthpiece for a form of epistemological conscription in which his silence becomes the justification for the oppression of others41 (especially Black bodies). If Jesus’ Jewish identity were to be emphasized, then White Euro-American Christianity would need to engage directly with the “otherness” of Jesus, which would quickly call into question their notions of cultural and political hegemony through the conscription of Jesus as one of them.42 By eradicating his otherness (by downplaying the historical Jesus who is depicted in the gospels) and concentrating upon his more abstract saving acts on the cross, White hegemony has been able to ignore the materiality of Jesus’ life. Once Jesus’ materiality is downplayed (and in some cases ignored altogether), he can then be construed as “one of us,” whose presence then sanctions the otherness and oppression of those who are deemed not “one of us”—i.e. Black folk. This pernicious Christological construction is predicated on the notion that Jesus is White and is in opposition to the bestial and fallen nature of Blackness. As early as the sixth century, there were already signs that Christian communities were beginning to exhibit prejudicial notions about Black people. 43 But given that Jesus’ two great commandments indicate the centrality of the cross-shaped formula for love and reconciliation (Matt. 22:37–39), namely, loving God and your neighbour as yourself, how did Christianity manage to exploit and enslave Black people? The answer lies in the wholesale way in which the concrete nature of Jesus’ life was ignored. Jesus’ life as depicted in the gospels totally undercuts any notion of ethnic, cultural or national prejudice. In his dealings with women, as seen in his encounter with the Samarian woman (John 4:1– 45) or the Syrophenician woman (Mk 7:24–30), Jesus went beyond the gender, cultural, ethnic and national boundaries that had traditionally defined the covenant between God and Israel. With the rise of slavery, Christian apologists for Black chattel exploitation could rest assured in their individual salvation, by grace through faith (the vertical axis), but could completely ignore the humanity of Black people, and, therefore, their claims as neighbours who should be loved as

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themselves (the horizontal dimension). By downplaying the concrete reality of Jesus’ life, Christian theology could focus upon the spirit and the abstract notion of the atoning work of God’s son, which reconciles us to God and makes possible salvation for all people. In effect, despite the reality of Jesus being a human, born within a specific setting (this can be seen in the Incarnation), Christianity quickly jettisoned the desire to locate its concerns amongst the material and physical in favour of the abstract and the spiritual.44 In this spiritualized and abstract state of affairs, Jesus is the fair, kind and “decent sort of chap” who loves everyone and does not take sides. This is the kind of Jesus who will not get his hands dirty nor involve himself in the nasty, unfortunate and “can’t be helped” forms of racism that have stalked the world and blighted the life experiences of Black people for the past half millennia. There are many educational implications for dealing with the relationship between religion and terror. There is a need for education as a means of preventing religiously inspired violence. The cross is central to how Christian educators deal with violence. How do we deal with the cross and the violence associated with that act? Too much Christian education that takes place in churches lacks the necessary theological resources to help believers make sense of the seeming justification of violence that lies at the very heart of the Christian faith. There is a challenge to those who might be described as educators to commit themselves to directing their work towards enabling their learners to walk the paths of peace, not by ignoring the realities of terror and violence, but by dealing with it in our work. This is the challenge of enabling those who profess to follow Christ to become critical thinkers able to handle the ongoing threat of terror in an increasingly complex and violent world. The ways in which a violently executed White Jesus is placed alongside the oppression of Black and Asian people in Britain is much too complex to detail at this point, in this brief essay. What one can say, however, is that being non-White in Britain, and having to deal with the reality of one’s demonized Blackness, is to be in a context where you are always perceived as a threat. The truth is we do not belong. We are the enemy within and are policed and detained on the basis that our presence is not conducive to the country as a whole. It is interesting looking at the assumptions governing Black and Asian bodies in Britain as they are predicated on the notion that too many of us means trouble! Good “race relations” in Britain is about limiting our numbers because at some intrinsic, intuitive level, we somehow don’t belong. Hence the apparent impunity with which disproportionate numbers of Black people are stopped by immigration officials and then refused entry into the country.

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This form of policing and monitoring is sufficiently severe to lead to significant numbers of Black young people believing that they have no legitimate place in this country.45 Many consequently choose to vacate the mainstream for their own subversive forms of subcultures and constructed identities.46 The irony of our residency in this country is that it has never been a benign or non-contested existence. The socio-political nature of Black and Asian bodies residing in Britain is neither a new nor is it a surprising phenomenon.47 Once you start from the premise that some people really do belong and deserve to do so and others do not, then it becomes almost selfevident that particular practices and customs will develop, which in turn, lead to the penalizing and detrimental treatment meted out to Black people. The racist frameworks of “them” and “us” create the template in which stereotyping, discrimination and struggle become commonplace, leading to the blunt instrument of Black detention and incarceration in disproportionate numbers in our prisons. The punishment of Black people fits into a long established pattern, deep within White religious discourse, that Black people and other people of colour deserve to be ill-treated because deep down, they are not of the same substance as “normal White people.”48 I long for the day when my Black body will not attract any racist action from White authority when I am going about my lawful business in my own country. Maybe one day, there will be the fair play for which this country is so famed, within the context of immigration policy, custom and practice. The death of the Black teenager, Anthony Walker, in the Huyton area of Liverpool on 29 July 2005 has once more reminded us of the ongoing and pernicious threat of racism and racial violence that continues to stalk British society. It is interesting to note the extent to which the largely White-run media made much of Walker’s grief-stricken mother’s Christian ethic of love and forgiveness for the murderers of her son. I do not want to comment on the merits or otherwise of the mother’s decision to forgive the murderers of her son. I am not in her position nor do I know anything of her own faith journey or relationship with God to interpret her actions. What is interesting to note, however, is the ease with which the media felt able to support her declarations of forgiveness as opposed to their ambivalence regarding the Lawrence’s more trenchant call for justice following the death of Stephen, their son. Walker’s death was not a new phenomenon. Prior to Anthony Walker’s violent murder at the hands of a group of White assailants, there was the death of Stephen Lawrence, another Black teenager of blameless character. Stephen was brutally murdered on 18 April 1993, in the South-East London

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borough of Eltham. This was a horrific racist assault by a group of White youths. Two of the suspects—Neil Acourt, then seventeen, and Luke Knight, who was sixteen—were initially charged with the murder but the Crown Prosecution Service (equivalent of the District Attorney in the United States) dropped the case citing insufficient evidence. Following Stephen Lawrence’s death, his parents led a vigilant and prolonged anti-racial campaign, in their efforts to attain justice for their murdered son. This faith-based campaign (both parents were Methodists), in conjunction with other Black-led social and cultural organizations, challenged the might of the British establishment. The Metropolitan police force49 was specifically targeted due to their role in the initial investigation. Stephen Lawrence’s close friend, another young Black British youth, had initially phoned the police, after Stephen and himself had been attacked. The lengthy (and largely unexplained) delay in arriving at the scene of the crime, coupled with their decision to initially arrest the young Black victim, was cited as being instrumental in the later failure of the case in court. Monumental mistakes were made in this case, as a largely White run and staffed police force displayed inherent racist practices in their investigation. Crucial pieces of evidence were overlooked and key people not interviewed. The ongoing political agitation of the Lawrence family finally led to a government commissioned inquiry, which was overseen by a notable member of the establishment, Sir William MacPherson, a retired High Court Judge. MacPherson’s report, in February 1999,50 was a landmark publication because it enshrined in the British lexicon the term “institutional racism.” The British police and other members of the White-controlled establishment (including the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) and other public state-run bodies) were forced to concede that systemic and systematic racialized practices were endemic to their corporate ways of working. The MacPherson report ended, once and for all, the denial of White authority over their complicity in terms of racial injustice as it collides with Black bodies in Britain.51 Whilst the British government continues to create new legislation as a response to the continuing threat of terror from those who are perceived to be enemies of the British way of life, comparatively little is being said or done in terms of responding to the underlying threat caused by racism, which has proved a potent force for alienating Black and Asian young people. This essay seeks to analyse the means by which Black people are constantly seen as the other within the fabric of British life. I believe it is the central task of the Christian faith, through a prophetic Black theological approach to education, to raise the critical consciousness of Black and White people in Britain, in order to overcome the threat of violence that

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emerges from racism.52 It is my belief that a radical and prophetic practical model of Black theology, by means of Christian education, can contribute to challenging the ongoing scourge of racism in Britain and so offer a new paradigm by which Black and White might work together in solidarity to effect a working model of inter-ethnic discourse.

The Challenge for the Church and Christianity As a Black theologian and Christian educator, one of my primary interests is looking at the Bible, the Christian traditions that accompany it, allied in turn to historical and contemporary experience, in order that these sources should inform our present-day practice. How are we to relate to one another, our environment and to issues of justice and equity? Looking within Scripture we are given examples of the importance of welcoming and affirming the stranger. In the Hebrew scriptures, in the book of Ruth, we read of the experience of Ruth who is a foreigner in Judah. Personal and domestic difficulties lead Naomi (who was originally from Bethlehem) and Ruth (who is from the country of Moab) to travel to Bethlehem in order to start out anew. Prototypical economic migrants perhaps? In chapter 2, Ruth, a foreigner, is offered sustenance by Boaz, a wealthy landowner. We are told that Ruth through her later marriage to Boaz becomes an ancestor of King David. In the New Testament, Jesus, in one of his teachings that have been interpreted as a comment on the final judgement, remarks upon the seemingly harsh treatment that will befall those who fail to show due care and concern for those described as the “least of these” (Matt. 25:40). Clearly, within Jewish and Christian traditions there is something significant about the stranger—about those who are different. In the Gospel passage I have just mentioned, Jesus suggests that Christ will be found in those who are amongst the “least,” including the stranger. In making recourse to the stranger, I am not suggesting that Black people are strangers in Britain in terms of our presence in the body politic of the nation. There is clear evidence to suggest that Black people have lived in Britain for over a thousand years.53 Rather, what I am asserting is the sense that our otherness—our not being White—marks us out as strangers to the construct of the White romantic rural idyll of Englishness, from which Black people are so conspicuously excluded.54 It remains the case that Black people know far more about White people than vice versa, particularly within a so-called multi-cultural, post-colonial context that is Britain. The truth is, Black people and their concomitant cultures are largely strangers to many White British people.55

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In amongst the vitriol and vituperative comments that are often levelled at those who are deemed undesirable to the body politic of post-colonial Britain, we should remember the salutary warning of Jesus in his response to those upon whom judgement is being made. In response to their entreaties Jesus states “Truly, I say to you, as you did it not to one of the least of these, you did it not to me” (Matt. 25:45). There is much rhetoric pertaining to those who are different and are often deemed to be strangers—those who are identified as “not one of us.” I still remember being different in that playground. The difference and apparent strangeness of Stephen Lawrence led to his death in South London. As Britain continues the slow, painstaking journey towards being an equitable nation that affirms and even celebrates difference, we have much to learn from our Judeo-Christian heritage. Those who are perceived to be different and are seen as strangers offer us renewed opportunities to show hospitality and care. They enlarge our capacities to be human. In their very presence we may even see the benevolent presence of the Divine.

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Another Kind of Black*

Kate Coleman Conceptualizing métissage In anthropological and literary terms, métis(se) and métissage are generally associated with France, French-speaking Canada and certain Francophone countries such as Senegal. However, as a cultural discourse it has antecedents within colonial histories with distinctively diverse demographic and nationalistic terrains. Ann L. Stoler asserts that: Although conventional historiography defines sharp contrasts between French, British and Dutch colonial racial policy and the particular national metropolitan agendas from which they derived, what is more striking is that similar discourses were mapped onto vastly different social and political landscapes.1

In the French-African (Senegalese) context, in its conventional masculine (métis) and feminine (métisse) forms, métis(se) refers to someone who by virtue of parentage embodies two or more world views.2 This French word métissage has been defined as “the crossing of two races.”3 Together with the Spanish term mestizo/as, which also means “a person of mixed blood,” they register the idea of a mixing of races and/or cultures. Both terms are related to the theme of creolization, which has traditionally been applied to the process of intermixing and cultural change that has produced “new world” societies, in particular, the Caribbean and South America.4 “Braithwaite stresses that creolization is not a product but a process incorporating aspects of both acculturation and interculturation, the ‘former referring…to the process of absorption of one culture by another; the latter to the more reciprocal activity, a process of intermixture and enrichment each to each.’”5 Caribbean culture has a distinct social and geographical basis and is the product of a unique historical experience affected by numerous crosscultural influences, among them African, East Indian, British, Spanish, French, Dutch, Portuguese and Chinese. Indeed, it is one of the most highly colonized sites in the world. Métissage, like creolization, is a cultural process encompassing the material, the spiritual and the psychological. It is based upon the response

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of individuals within a given society to their new environment. Such exposure predisposes these individuals to both consciously and unconsciously produce totally new cultural constructs. Gloria Anzaldua reveals its similarity to an emerging consciousness that she theorizes through an ideology of “new mestiza”: the experience of being caught between two cultures; for her, Indian on the one hand and Spanish on the other.6 This term mestizo/as differs from Creole and métissage in its developmental trajectory. The cultural specificity of both has quite distinct historical and cultural roots. Whereas mestizo/as of Latin America were decolonized by 1826, the British colonies in particular initiated decolonization after World War II. In addition it more popularly suggests a person of mixed European ancestry and was distinct, but not separate, from the mulatto/a, whose ancestry was part Black. Historically mestizo/ as have been of Spanish, Portuguese, and native or American Indian ancestry. The relatively early date at which Spanish and Portuguese colonies in the Americas achieved their independence, means that in Latin American cultural discourses the idea of mestizo/as is much more developed as a positive “national cultural sign, as a sign of shared if disputed indigeneity.”7 Unlike the British, French and Dutch cultural formulation of métissage, the mestizo/as social identity was seldom reduced to racial signifiers.8 Jayne O. Ifekwunigwe utilizes the term métissage to demonstrate how individuals who descend from lineages that cut across so-called differently configured and gendered Black/White “races,”9 ethnicities, cultures and classes have to negotiate the cultural paradoxes of “race” and colour. In varied cultural and historical contexts, countless terms are employed to name such individuals—“mixed race,” mixed heritage, mixed parentage, Mestizo/as, mestiza, mulatto, mulatta, Creole, colored, “mixed racial descent,” mixed origins, dual heritage, duel parentage, “multiracial,” “bi-racial,” multiethnic to the more derogatory half-caste, zebra, half-breed, mongrel, oreo, Heinz Fifty Seven.10

Although her work concentrates upon the marginalized spaces of “mixed race” identities, such multiethnicity is also a product of human movement and mixing. It requires the tacit recognition that complex specific transnational histories, and social, cultural and political dynamics also give rise to the many and varied Black communities in Britain who represent cultural métis(se). The roots of such migrants are both endogenous, sometimes sharing facets of imperial history with their country of abode, and exogenous, in that they are able to identify with both “routes” from and “roots” within a specific “distant” territory.11 The magnitude of mobility among human populations in the modern world has developed on an unprecedented scale. This has been further

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fuelled by the revolution in transportation technologies as well as by economic, political and ecological changes. Slavery, colonialism, political upheaval, famine, the search for jobs and security are amongst the myriad of forces responsible for the phenomenal movement of people from rural to urban centres, from nation to nation and from one continent to another. The result has been a degree and complexity of mixing never before seen in human history.12 Emanating from two or more cultural assemblages the cultural métis(se), in spite of a shared cultural history or Black consciousness, may experience an externally enforced alienation from each one. Ifekwunigwe utilizes the term métissage as a “shorthand stand-in” to counter “the inadequacies of previous terms, which either reify ‘race’, are too ambiguous to be useful or do not adequately address the complexities of bi-racialized transnational belongings.”13 Anzaldua positions herself as a “new mestiza,” and comments that: Living on borders and in the margins, keeping intact one’s shifting and multiple identity and integrity, is like trying to swim in a new element, an “alien” element. There is an exhilaration in being a participant in the further evolution of humankind, in being “worked” on. I have the sense that certain “faculties”—not just in me but in every border resident, colored or non colored—and dormant areas of consciousness are being activated, awakened. Strange, huh? And yes, the “alien” element has become familiar—never comfortable, not with society’s clamour to uphold the old, to rejoin the flock, to go with the herd.14

Thus to identify oneself as métis(se) is not to describe a fixed identity but to create a new, contingent position capable of linking apparently exclusive identities resulting in radically subversive potentialities. In this way métissage offers glimpses of a process rather than a product. Specifically, a process that is descriptive of emerging Black British identities capable of crossing between ethnic communities, national boundaries and colour divides. It recognizes the interplay between racist, nationalist and ethnically absolutist discourses that suggest that West and non-west, Black and White, masculine and feminine subjectivities are mutually exclusive. Métis(se) theological and anthropological constructions must therefore counter an easy reductionism and oppose all forms of stereotyping. An adequate theoretical base would thus be one that engages with the theme of interculturality. Lartey identifies intercultural as the attempt to capture the complex nature of the interaction between people who have been influenced by different cultures, social contexts and origins and who themselves are often enigmatic composites of various strands of ethnicity, race, geography, culture and socio-economic setting.15

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Segovia advocates intercultural criticism as a reading strategy for a postcolonial hermeneutic that underlines the importance of the context of readers and texts in the field of Biblical Studies.16 However, unlike interculturality that is capable of granting racial privileges to lighter-skinned and White cultural assemblages, concepts of métissage have attributed no such privilege given that colour as a signifier for the discourses of race, racism and immigration is prevalent in Britain today. For example, I am always a “Black woman” in the colonial gaze, making colour and gender greater determinants of class oppression than education and wealth.

Métissage and the Limitations of Hybridity The term métissage initially emerged from a colonial discourse that privileged the idea of racial purity and justified racial discrimination by employing quasi-scientific idioms of physical anthropology resulting in a complex and largely fictional taxonomy of racial admixtures (mulatto, quadroon, octaroon, etc.).17 The term has moved from a pejorative usage to a more positive one. This development was due largely to the emergent perception of cultural critics that new synergistic cultural forms are most prevalent wherever cultural and racial exchanges take place. Paul Gilroy, in his study of identity construction, writes that people who occupy the space between identities that “appear to be mutually exclusive trying to demonstrate their continuity” are engaging in “a provocative and even oppositional act of political insubordination.”18 Basing her observations on the “relationship between inclusionary impulses and exclusionary practices” of the colonial rulers of French IndoChina and the Netherlands Indies at the turn of the century and early 1600s respectively, Ann L. Stoler re-presents the case for métissage in these contexts from the perspective of the culturally hybrid communities themselves. She writes: Recast, these discourses may be more about the fear of empowerment, not about marginality at all; about groups that straddled and disrupted cleanly marked social divides and whose diverse membership exposed the arbitrary logic by which the categories of control were made.19

She adds that: For those who did not adhere to European bourgeois, cultural hybridity may have affirmed their own new measures of civility.20

Such cultural hybridity is also affirmed as theologically productive. In his text Marginality: The Key to Multicultural Theology, Jung Young Lee

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recasts liminality as a creative response to the exigencies of a pluralistic world. The new marginal person, who represents the ideal of all marginal people, experiences both in-between and in-both simultaneously. The experience of being inbetween expresses itself in alienation and existential nothingness. In-between is categorized as neither/nor. On the other hand, the experience of being in-both worlds with a renewed identity is categorized as both/and. Since the new marginal person includes experiences of being in-between and in-both, he or she thinks simultaneously in neither/nor and both/and ways. Such marginal thinking is also a Christian way of thinking, because Jesus was the new marginal person par excellence. As the new marginal person, Jesus was beyond without being free of the worlds that marginalized him.21

Postcolonial biblical scholar, R. S. Sugirtharajah, recognizing that the discourses of both colonized and colonizer are inextricably linked to the process of decolonization, writes: What is new in the current anti-imperial contestation is that it goes beyond the essentialist and contrastive ways of thinking, East-West, us-them, vernacularmetropolitan, and seeks a radical syncretizing of each opposition. Where the current postcolonialism differs from the earlier form is that while challenging the oppressive nature of colonialism it recognizes the potentiality of contact between colonizer and colonized. Distancing itself from both the reverent admiration of native values and a cringing attitude towards all that is Western, the present postcolonialism tries to integrate and forge a new perspective by critically and profitably syncretizing ingredients from both vernacular and metropolitan centres.22

In spite of such positive developments the term itself cannot ultimately escape from the history of the idea of race much in the same way as the designation Black although reconfigured remains anchored to such a history. In encompassing the idea of hybridity, an increasingly popularized term marking, in Mireille Rosella’s words, “the fractual, opaque, fragmented structure of what originally appeared as a cohesive whole,”23 there lies another contrasting and contesting theme of fixity. “Hybrid” and its associated terminologies of “impurity,” “racially contaminated” and “genetically aberrant” was inextricably related to the development of “race” and the resulting pseudo-science that denoted the results of “mixed race” unions. In a more modern epoch there has been a contemporary reappropriation of the terms, “hybrid,” “hybridity” and métissage to signal cultural synthesis, such that cultural “hybridities” have replaced negative constructions of biological “hybridities.” The concept never succeeds as a means of escaping from the totalizing tendencies of racialized signifiers. Robert Young, elucidating upon these themes, insists that the idea of hybridity ought always to be considered as “double voiced.” Such that even when the critical emphasis is placed on

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a radical promise of absolute heterogeneity, disruption and discontinuity, hybridity perpetuates foundational presuppositions that fusing or mixing implicitly assumes “the prior existence of pure, fixed, and separate antecedents.”24 This very ambivalence and paradoxical essentializing yet non essentializing logic establishes its usefulness as a theoretical tool for theorizing the Black British cultural context. It also reveals its suitability as a theological paradigm in a milieu where expressions of what it means to be Black are continuously being re-informed and re-inscribed as a result of the introduction of new cultural content. This inherent blending cannot be simply understood as the interchange between fully formed and mutually exclusive cultural communities.25 Instead, culture must be viewed as a living, ever mutating entity.26 In the words of Stuart Hall: Cultural identity… is a matter of “becoming” as well as “being”. It belongs to the future as much as to the past. It is not something which already exists, transcending place, time, history and culture. Cultural identities come from somewhere, have histories. But, like everything which is historical, they undergo constant transformation. Far from being eternally fixed in some essentialized past, they are subject to the continuous “play” of history, culture and power. Far from being grounded in a mere “recovery” of the past, which is waiting to be found, and which when found, will secure our sense of ourselves into eternity, identities are the names we give to different ways we are positioned by and position ourselves within the narratives of the past.27

Although cultural production cannot be momentarily arrested, it is implicated in the process of identity production. Black identity in Britain is not unitary but multiple revealing the existence of various layers as well as diverse perspectives. In spite of the lack of continuity and consistency and in view of its occurrence as a contested reality, this Black identity continues to persist with remarkable tenacity. Jean-Loup Amselle asserts: For there to be an identity, society, culture, or ethnic group, it is not necessary for all parties to agree on what defines this culture; it is sufficient that they are able to establish the terms of identity as a problem about which they can debate or negotiate. Put differently, one could hold that identity is the agreement on the very subject of disagreement.28

What it means to be Black may differ depending upon the individual or group in question and the specific dynamics of the immediate context. However, as a designation it continues to function as an organizing factor in the lives of many people. It is clear that people are not simply “Black” or “White” in the sense of binary oppositions but are rather complex, multilayered beings with a capacity to move between positions, create new ones, and constantly

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negotiate and renegotiate identities as they struggle to make sense of a world in which fixed categories are constantly subverted and changed. A result of this site of contestation of human identity has been the ever increasing emergence of women and men inhabiting the postcolonial borderlands of European communities who exhibit culturally hybrid lifestyles which, if employed strategically, are capable of disrupting both nationalist and racist discourses. “Métissage represented not the dangers of foreign enemies at national borders, but the more pressing affront for European nation-states, what the German philosopher, Ficht, so aptly defined as the essence of the nation, its ‘interior frontiers.’”29 However, the question of what constitutes the culture of a métissage cannot be asked independently of the interrelationships existing among different cultures. The forces that shape and direct such processes of mutation and hybridization are neither neutral nor passive. By and large they lack spontaneity and tend toward the predictability of identity politics. For the culture that dominates spatially maintains the ability to assign other cultures to their respective places within the system, thereby making them into subordinate or determined cultures. Thus there are cultures that have the power to name other cultures and to delimit their own field of expression, while others are only capable of being named.30 It is important to note that this power to predetermine the contours of cultural expression does not necessarily result in the production of pathologically racialized consciousness. The experience of racialization textures rather than determines Black social and emotional life and can act as a catalyst in the determination of new ethnic formulations. Kobena Mercer states that: In a world in which everyone’s identity has been thrown into question, the mixing and fusion of disparate elements to create new, hybridised identities point to ways of surviving, and thriving, in conditions of crisis and transition.31

There is no escaping the fact that the identity that others assign to us can be a powerful force in shaping our own self-concepts although it is clearly not the ultimate determinant. It has been shown that Black consciousness is no more monolithic than Black cultural and historical traditions.

Black and/or métissage Historically, Black terminology as a form of self-designation has met with some ambivalence as a marker even amongst politically Black groups in Britain. Such groups have objected to their identity being viewed as fixed

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and ideologically confined and have sought more expressive modes of self-articulation. As a counter to this, scholars such as Kadiatu Kanneh have presented compelling arguments for the retention of a communal politics of “Blackness.” Rejecting what he portrays as the proliferation of self-designations that effectively deprive Black communities of the power of self-representation and identification, he argues that “belonging may not be a simple biological fact, but may be signalled by inescapable codes of scrutiny.”32 Since White prejudice against Caribbeans and Africans stems primarily from racial/colour differences, the term Black seems a most appropriate designation for approaching communal politics, particularly when it has the advantage of covering people from different regions of the world, the West Indies and Africa. Kanneh claims that: The attack on essentialism has resulted not only in positive re-evaluations of the “identity trap” of Blackness but also in disempowering the voice of a very real oppositional status.33

According to Kanneh, the expression of identity politics based upon a radical and stable Black subjectivity continues to exert a powerful influence in the field of shared racial politics.34 Therefore, he disputes the notion that conceptualizations of a distinctive Black identification have lost currency in contemporary racial discourses, asserting that racial politics is essentially the politics of colour. He thus poses and answers his own question: Can there be a narrative of Black identity?—I would be forced to insist both on the narratives and on their significant difficulty.35

Kanneh espouses a politics of opposition in preference to one of articulation, asserting that as a signifier of political collectivity Black has historically been a tool of empowerment in Black political engagement. Kanneh insists that an emphasis on the new cultural politics of articulation with its emphasis on difference and the concurrent problematizing of essentializing ideas of cultural “roots,” pointing rather to the influence of disparate “routes” travelled, [u]ndoes the “natural” link between race, immigrant and Blackness, the askew balance between neutral centre and racial periphery. But once racism and discrimination are added to cultures or ethnicities, an important political reading is demanded, which takes the new-found safety out of relativism, plurality and the one-world time of centre subjectivity.36

Subsequently Kanneh establishes a case for the retention of Black identity and terminology as a political tool, asserting that “having been robbed of the power of self-representation, owing to the experience of an external identification as Black and/or female, it is choking then to be robbed of the power to represent the validity of that experience and the reality of that identification.”37 He further elucidates that:

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Identity politics has received a bad press in contemporary critical debates, where claiming a radical identity on the basis of belonging to a specific community has often been condemned as an unsophisticated belief in the authentic self. The borders between cultures, falsely reified, or races fiagrantly imagined, or sexes, socially constructed blur or disappear under scientific or theoretical analysis. Those living on the margins, crossing the boundaries, ambiguously placed—as post-colonial or second-generation migrants, or refugees or mixed race people—are often seen as proof of the unhinging of static differences.38

However, the significance of a politics of articulation cannot be so easily discounted, for ideologically, politically motivated articulation is inseparably connected to a politics of opposition, representation and, consequently, empowerment. Historically both Black and feminist ideologies have escaped from the totalizing tendencies of Eurocentric discourses precisely because of their claims to present new and distinct perspectives. Changes in the self-definitions of racial minorities from definitions based upon colour to more regional or continental origins have partially occurred due to a need to claim an equal political identity in opposition to White, and to assert an autonomous, positive, national identity while excluded by British nationalism. The heterogeneity of Black cultures, their frequent political incommensurabilities, nevertheless admit of vital racial and historical narratives. Kanneh’s failure to valorize the need for agency amongst those for whom the signifier Black holds potential for disempowerment as well as possible empowerment is at once counterproductive and contradictory, sanctioning the disempowerment of “some” whilst simultaneously arguing for the politics of their empowerment. Whilst decrying the potential loss of oppositional politics, Kanneh overlooks the fact that the politics of the marginalized are invariably oppositional. He also fails to sufficiently acknowledge that increasingly unsubtle variations in the definition of Whiteness require differently configured oppositional approaches. The desire to apply a proverbial hammer (Black) to a screw (racism) is a major shortcoming of his argument. Rather than viewing the emergence of multifaceted oppositional marginal approaches as negative developments reducing an already limited pool of communal representation, the focus on processes of identity formation and change at the margins could instead be viewed as illuminating rather than as obscuring the processes of hegemonic “ethnicity” thus placing the problematic of “Whiteness” at the centre.39 In the increasingly complex and developing British ethnic minority communities, multifaceted oppositional approaches can just as easily be interpreted as a welcome proliferation of multifunctional tools for dismantling myriad institutionalized forms of oppression. In her essay on “Postmodern Blackness,” bell hooks acknowledges that in view of the changing face of racisms and nationalisms: “It has become necessary to find new

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avenues to transmit the messages of Black liberation struggle, new ways to talk about racism and other politics of domination.”40 It has been similar recognition that has empowered and multiplied the theological expressivity of third world theologians espousing liberationist ideologies capable of impacting divergent and virulent forms of imperialism. The proliferation of vernacular theologies has also aided self-understanding and the articulation of indigenous discourses in politically productive ways. Sugirtharajah writes: It is a struggle for the historical and political presence of groups suppressed or marginalized by colonization and modernization. It is, by definition, an oppositional category which has come to challenge the very idea of Eurocentric modernism and internationalism.41

Although Kanneh purports to explore the Black British context in his treatment of the Black identity in Britain he does so by almost exclusive reference to “new” Caribbean migrations to Britain. In so doing he reifies the hegemony of Caribbean discourses as being commensurate with a Black identity and subjugates the various (often continental) African identities (those he claims to be writing about) within them.42 Kanneh rightly acknowledges that: [t]he problem seems to be about whose voice defines “collective” experience, and what exactly is being opposed or (re-)claimed. If identities are given a political reality in racist Britain, where difference is emphatically not equal, can we talk of (a) narrative(s) of Black identity? Even if we disengage narrative from notions of stable origins, historical beginnings and endings, terrible—because insistent—choices come all at once onto the agenda.43

However, his failure to adequately attend to the divergent conceptualizations of the term Black as a politicized marker within Black populations in diverse socio-political, cultural and geographical locales is stifiing. Paul Gilroy, in an essay on diasporic identification, discusses how Black identity or resistance does not always add up to the same thing. Like Woman-ness, Black-ness is a diverse, complex, sometimes contradictory category, which forms itself in opposition to a multiplicity of oppressions, and in response to different creativities. Gilroy asks: What is being resisted and by what means? slavery? capitalism? coerced industrialisation? racial terror? Or ethnocentrism and European solipsism? How are the discontinuous histories of diaspora to be thought, to be theorised by those who have experienced the consequences of racial domination?44

Pratibha Parmar’s statement that “Black British women are part of many diasporas”45 makes the general point that the term Black in Britain covers a range of cultures, races, even nations, and the more radical point that

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each of these ethnicities contains a stunning and difficult range of narratives, of meanings. Kanneh claims that: the sense of a new collective identity is formed. Migrants from Africa and different Caribbean islands, with distinct languages and dialects, form a new Black British identity in response to migration and racism, and radically change the identity of London itself, claiming London for their own.46

However, this suggestion of a coherent collectivism has never been a feature of British life; instead the constitution of “Black” identity has been determined by the socially or numerically dominant group within the “collectivity.” Thus a politicized “Blackness” is both historically and internally contested. It is the politics of articulation that enables a form of representation in the Black British population that is capable of dismantling distinctive yet historically contingent forms of British imperialism and exclusion. In this respect the term “Black” still has significant currency as a racial signifier, although it does not do enough for the particularity of hybridity. Consideration should thus be given not so much as to whether the term “Black” has currency, but as to when it has currency. Kanneh’s analysis is largely limited to the problematic of racial politics within the dimension of institutional and national structures and within Black political organizations. What he fails to address are the parochial and provincial relationships that are also pertinent to the Black experience that have also been employed to address the issues of Black exclusion within British society. An oppositionally exclusive construction of the term Black is not the only construction of Black identity under consideration. Black identity is hybrid and therefore layered; it is situated, not just as an oppositional category but also as an agential articulation in many different contexts. It may also be a category of coalition. At the parochial level the Black/White divide is not simply one of binary oppositions, whether institutional, political, social or theological. With specific reference to the Black churches, Gouldbourne elucidates regarding the youth uprisings of the 60s and 70s: Paradoxically, however, the Black churches’ proximity to White churches and the sharing of a common faith by Black and White practising Christians prevented the Black churches being active participants in the youths’ radical protest against marginalisation. The churches’ message seemed too quietist in the face of massive police brutality and state repression; to the churches, the radicalism of Black youths was simply bewildering. Yet, in the longer view, the different forms of social action in which Black radicalism and the conservative churches were respectively involved were largely responses to more general processes of exclusion in British society. Both responses of conservative quietism and militant radicalism were also deeply rooted in Caribbean social and political traditions and these were being established in the emergent Caribbean diaspora in England.47

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Kanneh’s critique significantly overlooks the fact that the term Black poses considerable difficulties for Black women in the African diaspora precisely because it has often been conflated with the identity of Black males who have shared both points of contact and significant divergences with Black women. Whereas Black British Caribbean male socio-political traditions have proven to be pervasively individualistic,48 the creation of Black women’s or Black feminist cultural traditions by contrast has largely relied on notions of community and heritage; on oral communication between mother and daughter; or on mourning or imaginatively reconnecting links broken through historical violence.49 The emergence of theological formulations based upon women’s perspectives, including that of African American Womanism, have interestingly often excluded the term “Black” in their expressivity (though significantly not in their ideology). Métissage recognizes both the flexibility of non-essentialist notions of Black identity and the limits of hybridity; it thus has currency both as an oppositional political identity and as a category of articulation. It permits one without discounting the other. I am not suggesting that dominant views of “race” no longer inform popular representations of Black people or that these do not often serve to “racialize” subsequent interactions, but rather that there is a complexity and movement here, which is itself a product of social and discursive processes mediated through cultural forms.50 In the course of this work, I have delimited my researched group to that of Black women in leadership within the mainstream churches51 in Britain. In this study, I have identified both a métissage community and a community of métissage individuals. Their multiple self-expressions are not easily reducible to Kanneh’s binary opposites of identity politics. In seeking to make sense of their diverse experiences and multiple subjectivities I am subscribing to the three-way multi-dimensional formulation of interculturality. These Black British women assert a minimum of a three-way multi-dimensional approach in their anthropological expressivities. As an anthropological paradigm, métissage does not only attempt to describe multiple identities that exist in parallel as in multiethnic designations but also those identified as multi-layered and multiperspectival. Commonalities and connectivities take on increasing importance in theorizing such a diverse group and overlapping and marginal discourses become central features. Within this formulation, centres and commonalities, things that people have in common, rather than boundaries, become important. As an anthropological construction the term métissage

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can employ the related but not identical (as I have established earlier in this paper), theme of interculturality. Emmanuel Lartey stresses that: interculturality values diversity most highly. In an intercultural approach, culture’s influence on belief and behaviour is taken very seriously, without it being seen as determining them, nor as the sole factor to be explored in examining them. Interculturality is a creative response to the pluralism which is a fact of life in present-day society. It calls for the affirmation of three basic principles, contextuality, multiple perspectives and authentic participation.52

In the context of this research, I noted that these Black British Christian women expressed themselves differently and sometimes paradoxically at a parochial or local level, at a national level and at the level of diasporan expressivity. It is at this juncture that the theme of interculturality becomes useful, because it promotes the “trinitarian” formulation of personhood proposed by Kluckholn and Murray in 1948 that “every person is in certain respects: like all others, like some others, like no other.”53 This attention to the “unique and simultaneous influences of cultural specificity, individual uniqueness and human universality” Speight purports is essential to gaining a fuller understanding of human persons.54 Within the ideology of métissage the priority of each assertion is situated and determined by the immediacy of contextual and circumstantial demands. In the arena of postcolonial biblical studies, concerns regarding interculturality relate to the ability of local and global hermeneutical declarations to adequately scrutinize and challenge the other. Sugirtharajah explicates “a hermeneutics which is capable of distinguishing between local and non-local and yet achieves continuity and unity between vernacular and metropolitan is one that is worth upholding and promoting.”55

Theorizing Parochial and Local métissage Identities—Black British Christian Women’s Discourse Having identified herself as Black British, Amy went on to explain further, “My parents are from Jamaica and I was born in Birmingham and… [I am] a person of Black African-Caribbean descent.” In interactions with one another, many Black people pay a great deal of attention to their country of affiliation—personal concerns and affiliations that other Black people may or may not share in common. Emmanuel Lartey’s exposition of interculturality recognizes an aspect of the individual which is “like no other.” He writes:

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Each person has a unique genetic code, voice pattern, fingerprint and dental configuration. Each person has a distinct life story, developmental history and particular lifestyle. No other person will ever see, think, feel, celebrate or suffer in an identical way.56

Sociologist George Simmel, referring not to the theme of ethnicity but to the multiplicity of group affiliations that characterize modernity, noted that no two individuals share the same set of affiliations. Part of what distinguishes each individual is the particular set of affiliations that come together in her or him.57

In this way each individual is portrayed as a unique and unrepeatable human being forging distinctive communal coalitions. The individual circumstances of each woman differed even when they belonged to the same denominational grouping. Whilst Amy described her church context as follows: Majority Black, I would say 80%. People are from Ghana, Nigeria, Sierra Leone and [the] Caribbean. Of the Black people, half Caribbeans, half Africans. Then we have people from Sri Lanka, lady from the Philippines, lady from Malaysia, so it’s a nice mix and they do get on well with each other.

Caroline’s description of her church was quite different: “it’s 80% White and 20% Black.” Her overall reflections of this context and its relation to the positive spiritual development of Black people within it were decidedly negative. Commenting on a family member’s experience, she relates: My niece used to go to church… She’s 20 now and stopped going when she was 14 or 15, she’s not interested in it. I have no reason to tell her you must go back to church for this or that, but I have no reason to tell her that, with any conviction.

Janet, having explained that her home was overseas, defined herself in broad terms as “Caribbean” but then went on to explain that over the past two years she had began to “detach herself ” from that selfidentification. Although this may have been related to the pain of personal family difficulties it is clear that the notion of Blackness means different things to the various women participants in this study, particularly at an individual level. Lartey concurs: It is also important to point out that membership of a particular social group does not imply endorsement of every aspect of the group’s culture. There are significant individual differences within each social group. This also is an important social reality.58

Given the proximity of Whites, and peoples from cultural contexts other than Britain, Blackness at the individual level is not an exclusive but inclusive ideology. It is capable of incorporating mixed perspectives based upon personal friendships, social alliances, the need to belong and personal

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convictions about human dignity. The Black women in my study were committed to interracial relationships, to the ideology of multicultural church and intercultural partnerships without any loss of an overarching oppositional and marginalized identity. Like Les Back’s South London youth they assert a parochial identity that positions them within local discourses. Back identifies this tendency to develop a group identity across racial categories that may also exhibit exclusive tendencies as “neighbourhood nationalism.”59 A number of the Black women in my survey are married to White men, a reality that did not appear to undermine nor contradict their very clear denunciations of the exclusivity of British culture and White hegemony. Claudette contrasts her own affinity to the Indian constituents of the community amongst whom she grew up with that of her mother’s, a first-generation Jamaican migrant: “she can’t understand why I like everybody and I just have this thing about Indian people.” This ability to locate certain Whites and those of other cultures within a discourse that defines them as insiders, crucially, calls into question the idea that Black and White cultures exist as mutually autonomous phenomena and offers an alternative identity emerging out of shared locale, concern and commitment. The establishment of relationships and strategic coalitions that go beyond the narrow confines of identity politics is a clear feature of the selfunderstanding of these Black women and offers an alternative identity to the prevalent divisive and exclusive notions of race. For example, Amy, during the initial stages of ministerial accreditation, had experienced her greatest support from a White woman. When I was considering ministry, I remember going to see the only woman I knew I had access to, to go and speak to,… because she had been part of that group who came to my church,… So she was one of the few women ministers I knew and when I was feeling worried about it and I needed to go and speak to somebody, I asked if I could go and speak to her.

Rose had also received her most significant encouragement to enter ordained ministry from a White woman she was familiar with as a preacher and teacher. Whereas Amy could have located other Black women from within her own network, she chose to approach someone she knew. However, the challenge in these collaborations is to avoid losing the specificity of the concrete struggles of Black women whilst avoiding the simultaneous danger of being co-opted into colonial paradigms. In addition, for Amy it was a fellow Black male minister who had presented the greatest resistance to her pursuit of ministerial recognition.

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In fact, yes, I did speak to a Black minister in fact, I think, yes. But he wasn’t very encouraging… I was quite surprised and don’t really understand why he wasn’t supportive.

This pattern of opposition from a Black man within her chosen profession foregrounds the nature of oppositional politics within the relatively circumscribed groups of Black ordained ministers in the mainstream churches. It highlights the sometimes problematic relations between Black men and Black women leaders in Black British communities. Rachel reported similar resistance from Black people, particularly those of an older generation: What I’ve sometimes found is that particularly with some of the older Black people if you mention Black a little too often they ask, “Why do you do that?”… sometimes those who can sabotage what we do are your own; as long as I’ve got the partnership and the friendship of conscious people then I know I’ll be okay; as long as I know that GOD is with me I know I’ll be okay. But it’s interesting, I wrote an article for my diocese magazine and I mentioned Black three times toward the end of the article and someone said to my mum “she shouldn’t have mentioned Black that often.”

Les Back confirms how exclusive and divisive forms of “neighbourhood nationalism” are also a feature of Black interactions with other Blacks and are often activated by perceptions of competition, distinctive significations and shared postcolonial experience. It is these “subcultural” and microcontextual identities that tend to be the ones that most completely organize daily experiences and agendas. They are outcomes of local conditions, needs, interests, experiences and understandings—that is, these are the situations, groups and persons dealt with everyday. This sharing of centres around the organizing features of daily existence is described by David W. Shenk and Ervin R. Stutzman in their book Creating Communities of the Kingdom: New Testament Models of Church Planting, which identifies how shifting self-perceptions and the forging of new ethnicities also affects the sharing of centres. Many first-generation immigrants to the United States or other countries are attracted to a congregation which worships in a language and cultural style like that of their mother country.60

As long as new immigrants come to be a part of the church, language group and ethnic churches can flourish. However, the second or third generation of such immigrants are assimilated into the primary culture, and will often be attracted to churches that reflect a greater diversity of practice.61 Roswith Gerloff ’s outline of the proliferation of the Black Majority Churches in Britain between 1952 and 1990 confirms that, to some extent, their development followed a similar logic.

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Individuals “shopped around” until they found the church that would meet their daily needs, cultural values, spiritual expectations and devotional preferences.62

So significant was the organizing power of these core characteristics that the establishment of particular denominations could often be identified with the establishment of populations from specific Caribbean islands, communities, African nationalities and language groups. All of the women cited in this article (although not in the wider study) were of Caribbean origin, and utilized some notion of a vernacular ethnic identity in addition to some form of British affiliation. Both proved to be an important aspect in the way they developed their identity. Again Lartey elaborates on the development of sub-cultural and micro-cultural affiliations: Whilst some discourse within a post-modern climate, others live in pre-modern conditions. Often these exist within the same locality. For many, the technological trappings of postmodernity sit alongside pre-modern cultural assumptions, neocolonial political forces, post-colonial resistance struggles through art and music, and postmodernist frustration with globalized discourse.63

Such considerations have informed the development of local and situated theological discourses. These are not always overtly liberative, and for my research participants would subsequently require a liberationist critique. A quest for a “situated understanding of Christian theology” 64 is a feature of vernacular hermeneutics which privileges locally produced knowledge. R. S. Sugirtharajah defines this as follows: Vernacular is integral to what anthropologists call nativism. It favours the indigenous over the exotic. It focuses on cultural nationalism and self-affirmation in which the colonized, and others who have been marginalized, seek to vindicate the primacy of the local over the national and international through the language, idiom and culture of the common people. It implies fierce self-esteem, an assertion of selfhood and self-respect instead of slavish conformity to received ideas or abject helplessness regarding one’s colonized state.65

Here Sugirtharajah clearly enunciates the significance of emerging “context-sensitive vernacular texts” with their emphasis on the mobilization of indigenous cultural nuances. Theologies of this kind almost entirely arise from “Third World” locales that are concerned with the recovery and reassertion of indigenous cultures. They share many assumptions with liberationist texts and are applicable to the Black British women in this study, in as much as they are oppositional discourses, imbibing liberationist themes that emerge from the specific local conditions of each Black woman participant. Such discourses appear to be geared toward facilitating communal harmony whilst struggling for the historical and political presence of groups suppressed or marginalized by colonialism.

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Vernacular hermeneutics is postmodern in its eagerness to celebrate the local, and postcolonial in its ability to disturb and dislodge the reigning imported theories.66 However, vernacular theologies also tend toward ethnic determinism and ghettoization. Their applicability is valuable yet limited by its site of enunciation. At the level of “like no others,” métissage theology valorizes and affirms the emergence of specifically local and parochial theologies and anthropological expression. It recognizes that each context is unique, unlike all others, and demands particular approaches and application deriving its specificity from the peculiarities and particularities of diverse situations. In this regard métissage theology, rather than competing with all others, simply acknowledges its own specificities and concerns, in this case Black, British and woman focused, as métisse (i.e. specifically female centred) theology. It attempts to describe the particular exigencies of each provincial Black British context and to apply these to the task of theological reflection. It affirms that in addition to national contextual and international diasporan identities there are also parochial or vernacular identities activated by the microcosmic conditions of local life that result in the assertion that these Black British Christian women are “like no other.”

Theorizing National métisse Identities The recognition amongst Blacks in Britain of multiple group affiliations does not negate the parallel development of separation and consolidation. Being of African or Caribbean ancestry and the holder of a British passport in Britain is a very different experience to being a White Anglo-Saxon, Scot or Welsh holder of a British passport in Britain. It is a context that often forces one to choose to walk in solidarity with those people who most share that destiny. Amongst my research participants, this sense of connectivity with other Blacks regardless of where they came from was regarded as an extreme necessity; a survival mechanism in a hostile and oppressive environment, as well as a means of identification with a largely invisible and marginalized community. Rachel described this necessity as a survival strategy: I was the only Black person in [ministerial] training at one point you know; another person joined in my final year of training. So I read people like Joan Riley, The Unbelonging because it kinda related to how I saw myself within that environment. I had relatives that were in London so I was out there every weekend or most weekends when I could, seeing them you know, just being with them. I listened to jazz, blues and ragga, whatever Black music in general and that sort of thing really.

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I hadn’t come across Black theology at that time really but you know yea, I kinda put a little survival kit together for myself to survive the environment, you know I just jumped the hoops.

Emma relayed this necessity as a humanizing experience, a sensation that enabled her to “become” herself: I need to be able to see Black people, I need to be able to get Caribbean food when I need it and there are times when I pine after it and I need to be able to have it … erm I think it’s important that my children grow up in a community too where they can see Black people and realize that they’re ordinary.

This “choice” to walk in solidarity with other Blacks, however, is really no choice at all. For when it is not freely appropriated it is usually enforced upon Black individuals by the exigencies of the British context. The British environment is such that individuals who cannot be categorically classified as White are invariably categorized as “other.” Those who are perceived to exhibit characteristic or stereotypical phenotypes are further designated “Black other.” This is a theme with which Jayne O. Ifekwunigwe engages as a result of interactions with “mixed race” métis(se) individuals: With the criteria for Black membership as limited as they are, society at large generally “sees” métis(se) people as “just Black.”67

Although mixed-race people often inhabit both Black identity and an ideology of mixed ethnicity simultaneously without any contradiction, the identity that they assert at any one instance often depends upon a perception of survival needs in a pervasively racist environment. Back quotes Matthew, a seventeen-year-old mixed-race youth: I am mixed race but I am also Black. I mean there are many shades of Black you know. I mean if a man sees you on the street and he is a racist he isn’t going to come up to you and ask how much Black blood you’ve got in you is he?68

Black identity is also informed by the ideology of “roots,” cultural affiliation and group socialization. Emmanuel Lartey identifies this latter theme as a recognition that precisely because we are human we are each shaped, influenced and patterned to some extent by the community within which we are socialized. This matrix of values, beliefs, customs and basic life assumptions which we call culture, as we have previously indicated, is shared to a large extent with those who share or have shared the community.69

A concern that assertions of Black identity need be exclusive is largely based upon fears about the reification of imagined boundaries. Ifekwunigwe expresses this concern from the perspective of the mixedrace community:

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In the long run, I maintain that embracing an exclusive Black identity—as a political strategy—is counterproductive. In the name of elusive solidarity, this monolithic Black identity masks the many differences that exist across cultures, nations, ethnicities, classes, religions, gender, regions, and generations. However, what this recommendation ignores is the indelible impress of individual circumstance, which makes the process of identifying with Blackness, Black people and Black culture painful, mystifying, and gradual for many métis men and métisse women.70

Within Britain the construction of Blackness increasingly lacks a unitary identity. Although it has traditionally been identified with an idealized working-class Jamaican identity, the introduction of large groups of continental and diasporan Africans has irreparably breached such definitions consequently calling into question the fixity of supposed boundaries. I argue that in a society characterized by increasing rates of movement, mixing and intermarriage, and by growing numbers of persons who assert their multiplicity, boundaries become less obvious, less potent and far more difficult to maintain. Within such a context it is not the boundaries, lines of exclusion and division that have the greatest potency. Instead it is the centres, the factors that people share and have in common that have the greatest significance. Emma spoke simply of the need to “see” other Black people, while Claudette relayed how the knowledge of another Black woman in ministry had provided her with encouragement despite the fact she was African whilst Claudette was of Jamaican heritage. Amongst individuals who employ multiple subjectivities, the qualifications for acceptance into any particular group, ethnic or otherwise, are decreasingly determined in the case of Black British identity by the language of border guards except in the vernacular conceptions of “neighbourhood nationalism.” Instead of boundaries, solidarity against nationally oppressive characteristics in the Black British milieu is increasingly focused around central unifying themes such as African or Black ancestry, family commitments, personal practices, commitments, migrant designation, rejection/unbelonging and the experience of oppressive and discriminatory practices with a uniquely British flavour. National identities may arise under various circumstances, such as a migrant identity in solidarity with other migrant communities in the United Kingdom. This forming of principled and strategic coalitions as various facets of their identity is central to the project of decolonization. However, such alliances present risks of their own, as identifying with one group at a national level may entail involuntary opposition to another. As members of colonial centres expressing forms of multiple consciousness, métisse identity recognizes both the value and limits of individuality. Such an identity also asserts that it is necessary to acknowledge and challenge assertions arising from internalized notions of Britishness rather than to permit the kind of pyschosocial suicide that arises from seeking to deny

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its presence entirely. Métisse denotes a theological approach that is capable of appropriating and subverting existing discourses as well as seeking to develop and produce new ones. However, as an anthropological construct it recognizes that while individuals can belong to a number of different communities, enjoying the privileges of each involvement, yet they retain simultaneous rights to critique these very same communities. At the level of “like some others,” métissage theological anthropology is avowedly contextual and liberationist in its stance. Like some theologies arising out of experiences of oppression and marginality, métissage has at its heart a desire for human liberation. The particularized and contextual nature of theology does not prevent solidarity of purpose across a whole spectrum of difference. Third world theologies, African American and South African Black theologies, together with Black feminist, Womanist and African feminist theologies, share similar concerns and themes even when differently configured. This theological anthropology also resonates with expressions of Asian, postcolonial theologies and valorizes these without loss of its own identity. It recognizes that in Britain there are specific national contextual themes that result in particularized forms of Black identity, making these Black British women “like some others.” Parochial and national conceptions of the group tend to be “thicker,” unlike diasporan ethnicities constructed through longdistance cultural exchange.

Theorizing Diasporan métisse Identities In interactions with non-Blacks, particularly Whites, and when engaging with global racialisms, the politics of under-development and relationships with other Blacks of the diaspora, a larger supranational Black identity is evoked. It is often diasporan in nature and is more likely to enter the foreground in thinking, discussion and action. This collective identity, although narrower than the first assertion of interculturality’s threedimensional formulation, is nonetheless related to it. The first assertion points to the universal characteristics of all human beings, namely that “we are all born helpless, grow from dependence toward relative selfmanagement, we relate to other beings and to a physical environment and ten out of ten die!”71

The works of William Safran and James Clifford have contributed significantly to the study of diasporas. Safran applies the concept of diaspora to the definition “expatriate minority communities,”72 dispersed from an originary centre to one or more peripheral settings. A diasporan community exhibits signs of dislocation, neither “feeling” nor being fully accepted

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into the host country. Such communities often retain memories and increasingly romanticized myths regarding the ancestral homeland. A deep sense of communal commitment and solidarity towards the place of origination is fostered, together with strong desires for its restoration.73 Although these points may be true of first-generation diasporan communities they are less true of second and ensuing generations whose experiences are textured by liminality, a sense of unbelonging in either the “home” context or the “host” context. This antipathy is cogently expressed by British-born Amy while reflecting on a trip to her parental “homeland” of Jamaica. I went with the expectation that, I thought at last, I’ll be going to a place where I’ll just fit in. And I won’t be different from anyone else and that was the expectation I went with. And that was completely shattered because people saw, “oh, you’re from England, you’re from England” and they could see your difference straight away. That you walk differently, obviously, you talk differently. And your difference was being pointed out to you all the time, just as your difference is pointed out to you all the time here. And I came back with this real sense of rootlessness that I didn’t belong anywhere. I was depressed. I was depressed for weeks and weeks after coming back. ’Cause now, there was a complete loss of identity. Because up until then, I’d always thought, well, I don’t belong to England but at least in Jamaica I’ve got somewhere that is my own place. And when I went there, because culturally I didn’t grow up there, people didn’t see me as belonging to them, although I was related to them. But I wasn’t Jamaican, I was an English person and that got on my nerves when they said that. And, therefore I had a sense of not belonging anywhere, it was really overwhelming and the only way I could deal with that, was to say, “OK, I don’t belong anywhere on this earth but at least I know who I am, I am a child of God” and that’s how I tried to heal myself of that pain. It was amazing, I didn’t expect to feel that way at all.

An appeal to a sense of rootedness in God ameliorating the ensuing sense of alienation and isolation is a salient feature illustrating a sensibility to a divine immanence, and is characteristic of these Black women’s lives. Segovia writes: On the one hand, we live in two worlds at one and the same time, operating relatively at ease within each world and able to go in and out of each in an endless exercise of human and social translation; on the other hand, we live in neither of these worlds, regarded askance by their respective populations and unable to call either world a home.74

Diasporan identity essentially characterizes universal features of Black identity, acknowledging that all Black women bear certain basic traits. Métisse have a transnational and deterritorialized existence. Black people are scattered throughout most countries of the world. The métisse diasporan identity, like multi-ethnicity, involves mixing, but like separation it involves difference. It cuts across political, economic and to a large extent social

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boundaries. Black populations in the United States, Canada, Britain, the Caribbean, and Latin America can see themselves as carrying, to some degree, a common identity. They share African roots. They share the historical experiences of slavery or other systematic forms of exploitation or discrimination. They share, historically at least, the experience of migration and adjustment to countries and cultures in no way their own. This large-scale movement of people, within and between countries, has created dislocation, homelessness, and disorientation; it has variously resuscitated old identities and inspired new ones, differentiating people from each other in new or altered ways or, at the very least, introducing new conceptions of difference. 75 Within diasporan communities homesickness has thus become the cultural characteristic of our time. This strategic privileging of a universal Black identity allows Black women to transform their particular, often marginalized, views into a universal perspective. Increasingly, thanks to the globalizing effects of mass media and the facilitations of communication and transportation technologies, Black women can share a language of identity and a set of symbols and practices that universalize certain features of Black femininity. Because of the global nature of the institutions with which they have to contend, 76 this construction of a feminized Black ethnicity can be construed not only as a local but also as a global phenomenon. Les Back discovered this same propensity toward a diasporan identity among the South London Black youth in his survey. Young Black people plot the interconnections within the African diaspora through the cultural construction of Blackness. Blackness is defined not just in terms of Caribbean origins but through making connections with the entire diaspora. The prime medium through which this identification takes place is expressive Black musical culture.77

The materials used in constructing these global identities may draw from far and wide and have universal effects, but their use and interpretation is mediated through local conditions and understandings, thereby underscoring the necessity of both particularized and universalized Black British anthropological explications.78 A diasporal or universalizing perspective is important in theorizing the personhood of Black British Christian women, particularly in view of the totalizing tendencies of Eurocentric theologizing. Métissage promotes a multiperspectival, multilayered dialogical theology. Although hybridity is a theme of métis(se) perspectives, difference is subsumed as particularity and subjectivity is asserted. This multilayered discourse allows métisse individuals to critically evaluate the various individuals, institutions and systems that limit and oppress them. Métisse

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anthropology goes beyond the theorization of “racialized” identities and permits an investigation into how racialized subjectivities intersect with other aspects of identity such as gender. As a diasporan term, it denotes a universal consciousness and connectedness to other marginalized Black communities, evoking a global identity located in centres of expressivity rather than boundaries. As the feminized form of métissage, métisse is capable of evoking a conscious Black femininity. As a parochial anthropology it engages effectively with particularized forms of neo-colonial oppressions and constraints associated with the metropolitan centre. The aspects of Black British women’s Christian anthropology that resonate with interculturality inevitably lead the Black Christian woman to engender a disposition that challenges and critiques all non life-affirming behaviours and attitudes dangerous to her health. Gorringe writes: It ought to be obvious that we do not automatically have to respect cultures: Nazi culture, or Afrikaner culture, are obvious examples. It may be true that different ways of life cannot be measured in terms of a single master value or principle, but some forms of evaluation are nevertheless essential.79 Métissage permits neither the essentialism that reifies destructive positivistic and objectified human expression or that which formalizes non essentialism, thus tolerating and affirming annihilistic political and social behaviours. In this, it foregrounds specificity and particularity. It allows the Black British subjects to situate their struggle within the local, national and international struggles of all Black peoples. In addition, by highlighting a specific aspect of the three-way multi-dimensional formulation, it enables the postcolonial métisse (feminine) subject to centre the margins whilst decentring the Euro-classical centre that prohibits inclusive and gendered approaches to theological and anthropological reflection.

PART VI

SOUTH AFRICA

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9

“Impoverished on Harvesting Ground!”: Ruth 3 and African Women in an HIV-Positive South Africa

Madipoane Masenya (ngwan’a Mphahlele) Blackness, Femaleness and the Christian Bible: Reminiscing on the South African Political Past If there is any country in the world whose political history has been greatly shaped by the race factor, it is South Africa. In this country, the policy of apartheid was used to support the claim that people of different races not only needed to develop separately, but also needed to receive different treatment. The latter, then, depended on one’s skin colour. As can be expected, preferential treatment was given to the South African white minority. The darker one’s skin colour was, the more disadvantaged one became. Worthy of note for the present text is the painful observation that the Christian Bible, a book which is still highly esteemed in many African-South African Christian circles, was also used to support such an erroneous claim.1 Having been born during the heydays of apartheid, one still has vivid memories of how repressive the status quo of the time was to Black peoples. Being Black meant the following among others: no citizenship to the country of one’s birth, a heathen, a human being whose education was geared at serving members of the minority yet dominant race, to name but a few. As can be expected, being born a Black female meant being pushed even further to the margins. African female persons were not only marginalized by African patriarchy, but also the sexist, racist apartheid regime and the patriarchal religion of the state. All served to exacerbate the situation of these women. An important question to be asked is: How is the present post-apartheid South African situation? Unfortunately, not a lot has improved in terms of the undesirable conditions into which Black South Africans have been

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plunged by previous regimes. As a matter of fact, it will not be an exaggeration to argue that in many instances the situation has deteriorated, as is evidenced by the following factors among others: pronounced patriarchy reflected in the violence perpetrated against women and children; a high unemployment rate (experienced even by those who have acquired high levels of education); poverty and its soul mate, the HIV/AIDS pandemic; the widening gap between the rich (which now includes an emerging class of Black elites); corruption in government circles, and so on.2 Although Black South African peoples (African-South African peoples) have been disadvantaged in many respects, this article will foreground the socio-economic disadvantages on the following grounds: First, elsewhere David Mosoma3 has rightfully argued that political liberation apart from economic liberation cannot be helpful to South Africans. In his view, the “Truth and Reconciliation Commission” instituted in South Africa could not do a fair job if economic justice had not been achieved. The harsh reality of what Mosoma wrote, just after South Africa’s political independence almost ten years ago, is evidenced by the plight of poverty faced by many Black South Africans today. As a matter of fact, it seems to be a universal phenomenon that at the bottom of the socioeconomic ladder of predominantly Black countries, one usually finds Black women. It is no wonder that even the face of HIV/AIDS, in many parts of the globe, is that of a Black woman. Second, and also related to the preceding factor, poverty seems to me to be the basic force which usually prepares fertile soil for other lifedenying forces with which marginalized sectors of our communities are confronted: illiteracy (non-literacy), unemployment, pronounced levels of oppression against women, violence against the powerless in our communities, and so on. Lastly, in this paper, I intend to reread Ruth 3 from an HIV/AIDS gendersensitive perspective. As the pandemic of HIV/AIDS is almost always linked to the challenge of poverty (one’s low socio-economic status), it makes sense to foreground this specific legacy inherited from South Africa’s political past.

The Bible, African-South African Women and HIV/AIDS Historically, and even in the present, the Christian Bible has played an important role in the lives of African peoples, not only in the AfricanSouth African context, but also on the African continent and in the Diaspora.

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In the South African context, it is a well-known fact that Black liberation theologians refused to dichotomize life into the secular and the sacred, as was the pattern of apartheid theology. They used the same Bible not only for spiritual purposes, but also to serve as a weapon of struggle for the political liberation of the oppressed Black masses of South Africa. Says Maimela: …just as God liberated Israel not only from spiritual sin and guilt but also from oppressive political and economic deprivation, God will again liberate all oppressed people not only from personal sins and guilt but also from the historical structures that are evil, exploitative and alienating.4

Though the racial struggle in South Africa has been won, at least on paper, the gender struggle, particularly as it is uniquely experienced by Black women in this country, has, depending on particular contexts, either barely begun or is far from being won. This lamentable state of affairs, the glaring inequalities between women and men in the South African church, family and society, has been exacerbated in recent years by the prevalence of the deadly pandemic of our time, HIV/AIDS. As has already been noted, what is disturbing for those of us who struggle for the gender transformation of our communities is the gendered pattern of the sufferings inflicted by the pandemic. As can be expected, given the historical subordination of African-South African women in terms of race, class and gender, the epidemic has taken on a Black feminine face. Black women are the hardest hit by this scourge of our time. Why is this the case, one may ask? Several published works by some women scholars from the Circle of Concerned African Women Theologians have addressed the plight of African women in the HIV/AIDS era. Phiri, for example, lists several factors which are responsible for the vulnerability of African women to the HIV virus. Among these are the social differences and physiological differences, religious, cultural and economic norms, religious factors and violence against women.5 In the same volume, I show how African-South African Christian women, in their search for ideal womanhood in differing HIV/AIDS contexts, find themselves trapped between two canons, the canon of the African culture and that of the Christian Bible.6 Other scholars7 reread certain biblical texts from an HIV/AIDS gender-sensitive perspective. On the latter topic, the reader is referred to a whole volume titled: Grant Me Justice: HIV/AIDS and Gender Sensitive Readings of the Bible edited by Dube and Kanyoro (2004).8 In the same year, a volume titled: People of Faith and the Challenge of HIV/AIDS edited by Oduyoye and Amoah was published. In an article titled “HIV/AIDS and African Biblical Hermeneutics: Focus on Southern African Women,” published in Chakana, the intercultural

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forum of Theology and Philosophy in Aachen, Germany, I have used the South African context as a point of departure to show the challenge which Southern African women face as a result of the advent of the HIV/AIDS pandemic. I have argued that factors such as the colonial/apartheid histories, missionary activities, migrant labour and economics have contributed to the vulnerability of Southern African women to the spread of the HIV virus. 9 Suffice it to say that in accord with the 2000 United Nations’ Report, countries in the Southern African Region were recorded as having the highest HIV/AIDS incidences between the ages 15 and 49.10 In recent years, a similar pattern is occurring in the African-American context.11 A painful expression: “hunger will kill you now and AIDS will kill you after a long time”12 is an expression of desperate poor African women with fewer survival choices to make in the context of HIV/AIDS. Such a cry is ironic in the post-apartheid South African context. Why? Poverty, a social evil which continues to haunt our context today, contributes significantly to AIDS-related deaths. In my view, such a social ill should have been dealt a heavy blow with the ushering in of the new democratic system. Exacerbated by the pandemic as well as the widening gap between the few rich and the many poor, the situation of poor South African peoples has instead grown from bad to worse. AIDS sufferers, depending on the resistance of their bodies, usually end up dying. It therefore becomes a matter of transitioning from one form of fatality to another. The former deaths were caused, among others, by the determination of the agents of the apartheid regime to wipe out whoever attempted to stand for the course of justice. The present AIDS-related fatalities can be linked with poverty, non-literacy, patriarchy, violence against women and children, and also the negative use of the Bible/sacred texts to perpetuate the marginalization of Black women. It is to the latter factor that we now turn.

A Gaze at the Harvesting Floor: Rereading Ruth 3 in an African-South African HIV/AIDS Context Aware of the plight of our time, which is not only plaguing Black South African women, but also many Black women in different parts of the globe, let us take a look at Ruth’s visit to the threshing floor. Before we make this gaze, suffice it to mention that in my view, the Scroll of Ruth, though it bears the name of a woman, is not necessarily about female agenda. It is about a foreign woman’s commitment to the God of Israel, a commitment which is ultimately rewarded by her giving birth to a son who would be the carrier of the Davidic line.13 To achieve

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this goal, the narrator has presented a story which reveals the socioeconomic significance of heterosexual marriage as a means of survival for women in those days. The events which occurred at the threshing floor should be read against such a background.

Who Reaps What on the Harvesting Floor? The scene at the threshing floor (Ruth 3:6–15) should be read in conjunction with Boaz’s first encounter with Ruth in the previous chapter (cf. Ruth 2:1–16). In my view, the latter sets in motion the events which unfold on the threshing floor. In that context, securing the future of a young widow through marriage seems to have been the only option, hence Naomi’s advice to her daughter to “wash and anoint yourself and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing floor” (Ruth 3:3; cf also 3:1; 1:9). Ruth, in a typical feminine style, a way of a woman who is prepared to seduce a man (for marriage), prepared herself accordingly. According to the old woman’s advice, this foreign woman was not supposed to introduce herself to a sober and alert Boaz. It therefore also makes sense that such moves were to be conducted in the night! She had to make sure that he was “unconscious”: drunk and sleeping! “When he lies down, observe the place where he lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down; and he will tell you what to do” (Ruth 3:6). Why is such problematic advice given to a “devout” daughter-in-law? This is the daughter-in-law who was initially prepared to take security (“to cling to”, davaq) not in a man, but in an old widowed mother-in-law (cf. Ruth 1:15–17). Was she so committed to her mother-in-law that she was prepared to embrace whatever advice she received from her? In chapter 2, Naomi, aware of the vulnerability of females to male molestation at the time (cf. the use of the word “bother” in this textual context), had warned Ruth to remain with the young women in Boaz’s field (2:23). An important question to be asked at this stage is: What if Ruth was not a Moabite woman? What if she was an Israelite? Would the threshing floor episode be narrated in this same problematic way? Could one argue with assurance that what happened on the harvesting floor is problematic, particularly in view of the ambiguity of the language of narration? Many commentators are agreed that the events which unfold at the threshing floor are full of ambiguities: Though the language used is highly suggestive of a sexual encounter between Boaz and Ruth, it is not clear that there was a definite sexual relation between the two. The following examples, however, can persuade the reader to suggest such a possibility: Ruth’s preparations in terms of dress and toilette (3:3) and the repeated use of the verb “to lie” (3:4, 7, 8, 13). This is even more compelling when one recalls Boaz’s initial “interest” in the woman who is now lying next to him! (cf. 2:8–9, 14–16). The Hebrew word translated as feet (in

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the expression “uncover his feet” cf. 3:7) is used in some Old Testament texts as a euphemism for male genitals. The plot of the story has so far allowed the readers to see Naomi as seeking security for her daughter-in-law through marriage. Therefore, the line: “…spread your cloak over your servant, for you are a next-of-kin” (Ruth 3:9) should be understood in the same light. Ruth has proposed marriage to Boaz.14 Ruth, a woman with many strikes, eventually succeeds in acquiring a husband for both her mother-in-law and herself (cf. Ruth 4). If viewed through a traditional African cultural lens, it may be argued that Ruth ended up with a good harvest: the maintenance of a good relationship between a daughter-in-law and a mother-in-law, a husband and a son. However, we might benefit better by asking yet another question: How “good” is this harvest in terms of Ruth’s identity as an individual person? In my view, as an individual person, Ruth has been impoverished on the following grounds: 1)

2)

The preceding “good” harvest assumes that a woman, particularly a poor woman, can only survive by being a wife. Contrary to this assumption, in the HIV/AIDS era, being a wife has as a matter of fact proven to be risky. For as long as the post-apartheid South African context adamantly continues to legitimate patriarchy, many married women (and men) may not hope to be very successful in their fight against the pandemic. How can negotiation for safe sex happen in a context of unequal power relationships? Related to the preceding point, is the assumption that poor single women should be so desperate for spouses that all sorts of unconventional ways of securing men could be welcome (nocturnal activities, drunkenness, no alertness/sleeping, availing one’s body to a man). A particular reading of such a text may encourage problematic practices such as child trafficking and the sex work industry. In many instances, poor young women (cf. Ruth) become the victims of rich older men (cf. Boaz). Commenting on crossgenerational sex and its impact on the spread of HIV, Oduyoye remarks: The issue of cross-generational sex falls within the subject of the instrumentalisation of the sexuality of another person for one’s own pleasure and needs. On the part of the younger person it is usually a case of economic need and cultural deference to older persons making one vulnerable to the solicitation of the older person who is economically endowed.15

These practices have only helped to breed fertile soil for the entry of the HIV-virus to the bodies of many African female persons. In

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3)

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the process, these become more impoverished and ultimately die, on many a threshing floor! Ruth, as a person, is impoverished by a man-friendly (womanunfriendly) patriarchal system. This is a system which says that it is okay for a woman to lose herself, even at the cost of her life, for the sake of male interest. In our fight against the pandemic of HIV/AIDS, it is therefore not enough to focus on male/female, men/women relationships. It is even more urgent to challenge those unjust structures which in most cases make the historically disadvantaged persons to be even more vulnerable! Elsewhere I have argued: The complex nature of factors such as poverty, patriarchy, oppressive biblical hermeneutics, globalization, unfriendly government policies on HIV/AIDS, complacency on the part of governments and many more factors, should caution biblical scholars and theologians alike, to apply the optimistic philosophy of rewards and punishment to AIDS victims with caution. Our sensitivity to the urgency caused by the plight of our time should compel us to develop a responsible HIV/AIDS-conscious critical biblical hermeneutics.16

Conclusion A justice-seeking community should not have the capacity to allow injustices to take place on its threshing floors. Such is a community committed to the plight of those who are on its margins. The community has a responsibility to make sure that justice and fairness are exercised during this South African harvesting time, that is, during this time when South Africa as a country is supposed to be harvesting the fruits of a democracy that has caused many Black peoples’ lives. The South African structures, government, and theological institutions, among others, should do a little more to make sure that the historically weak are compensated for, not least in their challenge against poverty. As we do this, we will be heading at least one step in the right direction in our fight against HIV/AIDS.

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PART VII

BOTSWANA

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10 HIV+ Feminisms, Postcoloniality and the Global AIDS Crisis Musa W. Dube The link between inequality, poverty and gender discrimination on the other hand is very strong…. The starting point for an adequate response is the understanding that any bid to halt the AIDS epidemic has to include determined efforts to eradicate poverty. (UNDP 2000: 53, 56)

Introduction: Have You Heard Me Today? The subject of HIV+ feminisms and postcoloniality in the global AIDS crisis is appropriate for several reasons. In 2003 the United Nations Secretary General, Kofi Annan, set up a commission to investigate the relationship between women, the girl and HIV and AIDS. The resulting Southern African based report pointed out that women and girls were highly affected and infected by HIV and AIDS in the areas of the spread of the disease, care-giving, stigmatization and access to treatment. Indeed, it has been found that “young girls and women 15–24 years of age have 2–8 times higher infection rates than men of the same age” (Weinreich and Benn 2004: 27). Following the UN commission, the 2004 AIDS epidemic report noted that: Around the world, the epidemic’s escalating impact on women is occurring in the context of profound gender, class and other inequalities. This is also evident in industrialized countries in Western Europe and North America, where about one quarter of people living with HIV women are, and where HIV has become increasingly lodged among women who belong to marginalized sections of populations, including minorities and refugees.

Consequently on December 1, 2004, the World AIDS Day adopted the slogan, “Have you heard me today?” seeking to bring the world to focus on how HIV and AIDS affect women and girls. This theme, expressed in the form of a question, still demands a conversation, a dialogue, a discussion

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and the attention of womanists, feminists, gender activists and all justice seekers. “Have you heard me today?” is a thematic question that begs a response from all listeners. Whatever way that one wishes to interpret the response to the 2004 World AIDS Day thematic question, it certainly must not be silence. The theme warrants that we should reflect on HIV+ feminisms, postcoloniality and the global AIDS epidemic. That is, how is the HIV and AIDS epidemic linked to our colonial relations of yesterday and today; how is our response, or lack of it, inscribed within the same? In her speech given in Claremont, California, October 15, 2002, “Feminist Spiritualities: the Justice Connections,” Mary Hunt pointed out that: HIV/AIDS that began as a northern, western white gay male phenomenon has now morphed into a mirror of poverty and marginalization for the world, affecting women of color and their dependent children with increased frequency. While tens of millions have died and tens of millions more are infected, the disease is literally a death sentence in [Two-Thirds World countries] while it has become a somewhat manageable chronic illness for many … in the United States. We have only seen the tip of the iceberg as India and China with huge populations show signs of widespread infection. Yet it is the US pharmaceutical companies and the US government with its foreign aid policy that keep much-needed [drugs] from people around the world…. [emphasis added]

HIV and AIDS is a Mirror of Poverty and Marginalization for the World As Mary Hunt rightfully points out, the HIV and AIDS epidemic tide has long since turned, showing its gendered, class, racial and international relations’ side. That is, while HIV is a virus that eats at our body ’s immunities, it is an epidemic that unfolds within the past and present constructions of sexuality and within our current relations of gender, race, age, and international and class inequalities. Consequently, Mary Hunt correctly notes that HIV and AIDS is “a mirror of poverty and marginalization for the world.” It functions more like an apocalyptic text that vividly paints and reveals to us the social script of unequal relations of our world (Dube 2008: 102–6). Because of its social injustice face, Teresa Okure has argued that HIV and AIDS in fact consists of two viruses. The first one, she maintains, is the virus that assigns women an inferior status to men in society. The second virus, she says, is the virus of global economic injustice (quoted in Ackerman 2004: 35–36). International research and documentation thus underline that “any bid to halt the AIDS epidemic has to include determined efforts to eradicate poverty and drastically reduce

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inequalities” (UNDP 2000: 56). There is “awareness that a health or medical response alone is insufficient, and that success in containing and reversing the epidemic will depend significantly on how effectively poverty, inequality and gender discrimination are addressed” (57). Since gendered oppression works with class, race, sexual identities and global relations of the past and present, women who inhabit the margins of power in our world have experienced the most severe impact from all the five areas of the epidemic; namely, prevention, care, stigma, treatment and social justice. Now almost all our HIV and AIDS national surveillance reports indicate that the infection rate among young teenage girls is much higher, at times almost double that of teenage boys (UNAIDS 2004a). The 2004 global documentation indicates that “in 1998, women made up to 41% of adults living with HIV. Today, nearly 50% of adults living with HIV globally are women—close to 60% in Sub-Saharan Africa.” In the USA, 80% of new infections in 2004 were among African American and Hispanic women (UNAIDS 2004b). In the area of care, women as wives, daughters, widows, sisters, aunts and grandmothers are at the centre of the storm. If, for a moment, we reflect on the fact that in 2004, 3 million people died due to AIDS, then we can grasp the magnitude of the demands of care-giving, since it is correct to assume that prior to death, there were long periods of intensive care-giving. Most of those who die of AIDS are people from the TwoThirds World, who have no access to affordable ARVs (anti-retroviral drugs). According to S. Weinreich and C. Benn, “of the 800 000 people globally who take ARV drugs, around 500 000 live in industrialized countries” (2004: 80). This state might have improved, but the picture remains largely the same. The majority of persons with AIDS in the Two-Thirds World are thus terminally cared for, since millions face death each year. In 2004 alone, some 3 million or more women have had to give care on a daily basis (and in many cases on a 24-hour basis) to critically ill patients. Such women often cannot make it to their farms nor can they run their informal businesses. Poverty then kicks in, especially since they also have to spend money on food and medicine for the sick. Due to the high demands of care-giving, young girls are most likely to be taken out of school to give care to their parents, relatives or other siblings. Or where they are orphaned, they are likely to drop out of school to care for their siblings (Weinreich and Benn 2004: 30; UNAIDS 2001: 1–20; AIDS/STD Unit 1998: 20). Sexual exploitation and abuse of orphaned girls leading to teenage pregnancy also contribute to school drop-out and vulnerability to HIV infection (Weinreich and Benn 2004: 29; AIDS/STD Unit 1998: 21). The future of orphaned girls is, no doubt, troubling. The epidemic is notably reversing three decades of feminist/womanist’s efforts to empower girls and women by putting women back into poverty

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and firmly into gendered roles of poverty and sexual violence and impoverishing care-giving roles. With the number of orphans estimated to be around 14 million worldwide, grandmothers have emerged to carry a heavy load of care for orphans, in most cases with very little financial or physical power (AIDS/STD Unit 1998: 22). Wives who care for their children, relatives and husbands are most likely to be neglected when they fall sick. Research and documentation indicate that most often they are sent back to their parents or dispossessed and thrown out of their homes when their spouses die. In this arena of stigma and discrimination, where patriarchy connects women’s bodies with uncleanness and illness, women are associated with evil and with both life and death—views entrenched by the HIV and AIDS epidemic. Given that most national monitoring centers are, by and large, dependent on prenatal and postnatal centers, women are the most likely to be tested and hence to be the first to know if they are HIV positive. Similarly, mothers, who take care of their children, are usually asked to take an HIV test when their children are repeatedly ill. Reporting the news home to their spouses has earned many women the blame of “bringing HIV home,” and, sometimes, a good reason for being thrown out of their homes (Dube and Kanyoro 2004: 11). The patriarchal association of women with evil, be it blaming them for the fall of humanity to evil or labeling them as witches, has meant that many wives are often blamed for the death of their spouses and hence thrown out of homes and dispossessed in widowhood (Dube and Kanyoro 2004: 11). In this (rightfully labeled) “global crisis,” all of us who are twenty-five years and above have been living with the story of HIV and AIDS since its medical discovery. We are living in an HIV and AIDS positive world. We are, in one way or another, witness to the HIV and AIDS epidemic that has infected 60 million people, claimed 24 million people and orphaned 15 million children worldwide within our lifetime. HIV and AIDS, in other words, is truly unique to our age and history.

My Story and that of Global HIV and AIDS It was one day back in the early 1990s, when I was doing my graduate studies in the USA, that I was fully forced to identify with the HIV epidemic. A mobile blood donation clinic had stopped on our campus for volunteers. I was told that “the blood of black people of African descent was not wanted,” since they are most likely to be infected by the HIV virus. I was really shocked at that moment, for I had never seen anyone with HIV in my country, Botswana, nor did I know anyone who had died of AIDS.

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The experience at that moment made me feel that I bore the wounds of HIV and AIDS on my body for I was certainly black and from Africa. As I reflected on this experience in a poem later, I wrote: Ask me How I feel about HIV and AIDS Ask me how I am affected and I will tell you that long time away Back in 1989 I had gone far away To a far away country To do my masters in New Testament Studies I heard then on a road paved with golden leaves of the fall That no black person of African descent was allowed to donate blood in that country For their blood was infected by the HIV virus And I was black I was from Africa I knew then That I bear upon my body The wounds of HIV and AIDS

But at that moment, I did not know that there were other social factors that further wrote my body down as HIV+. I did not know then that the fact that I was also from a Two-Thirds Worlds region, young and a woman were social categories that made me even more vulnerable to HIV and AIDS. Although I was given this early identification with HIV and AIDS, being black and African, I had time to forget that the storm might be gathering. I was young and had a right to dream about the future and a career. By that time (late eighties to early nineties) our national (Botswana) government had begun to embark on an Information Campaign and Education on HIV and AIDS. But since, once again, very few people in Botswana knew anyone with HIV or who had suffered and died of AIDS, the government’s message seemed to be some myth about a killer disease on the loose. HIV and AIDS remained named as a foreign disease. When it was localized, it was named as a “government disease” or “a radio disease,” for it was in these two places where it was known and discussed, but not in the real experiences of people (Dube 2008: 113–14). This was compounded by the fact that HIV and AIDS was not named with a local name or language. People were unable to imagine and categorize HIV and AIDS within their lives, without an experience, without a name and without a language—without permission to name the epidemic. I think it is not an exaggeration that the two names that have been used—

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HIV and AIDS, chosen by English speakers, and VIH and SIDA, utilized by the French—are in foreign/colonial languages (Dube 2006: 134–35). Early efforts to identify AIDS with the known diseases in Botswana (as elsewhere) were not really encouraged, since it was thought better to keep the distinctiveness of HIV and AIDS, for the sake of clarity. However, there was more to this approach. It reflects the long unequal histories of international relations, founded on postcolonial histories, where a few languages are often thought sufficient to name and construct reality for all “Other” worlds. Indeed, this attests to the colonial legacies and current global international relations. The consequences of imposing one universal name, that is, HIV and AIDS, and one approach to its prevention are yet to be measured (135–40). It was only when I was doing my PhD studies in the USA, in the mid nineties, that people whom I knew began to die of AIDS. Still, I never grasped the magnitude of HIV and AIDS as I was studying and dreaming of a career as an academic biblical scholar. HIV and AIDS, however, had exploded under our feet as a country and as a world. Indeed, it was only in 1981 that the story of HIV and AIDS was first discovered and introduced to our world, and that, within twenty-five years, it has claimed at least 24 million people worldwide and infected a total number of about 60 million. 40 million of these are currently living with HIV and AIDS, and in 2004 alone we lost 3 million people to AIDS. With these figures, I believe, we should agree that the problem exploded under our feet and the explosion is continuing to escape the ears of many. Obviously, when a massive explosion takes place, if you are standing, you will either be thrown off, shaken, seriously injured and, sometimes, killed. If you are far from the blast you will hear the sound, and you will be challenged to find out the source and cause of the blast. Many things happened to me as a biblical scholar when the HIV and AIDS bomb finally exploded in my country Botswana. The first thing that confronted me was the relevance of my profession at that time. As I narrate this story elsewhere (Dube 2008: 61–76), I struggled with the meaning and relevance of teaching the New Testament to my youthful undergraduate students, given that it was statistically estimated that 37% of young reproductive people, between the years of 20–40 in Botswana, were infected. I could not put away the question of “Why should I be teaching these students synoptic gospels, redactional criticism, and narrative criticism, etc., if this knowledge cannot help them to stay alive and if it cannot help them to become part of a caring and healing community?” (10–15). My dilemma was further confounded by the contents of the synoptic gospels, which are characterized by Jesus’ reckless acts of kindness and healing. In the gospels Jesus healed all, including those with incurable

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diseases. He healed people for free. But my class and I were occupying a ground where there was no healing, and buying HIV and AIDS drugs was unaffordable to millions. Contracting the HIV virus was then equal to death. This moment of personal crisis over the meaning of my career as a university academician led me along many quest paths. Eventually, I had to leave the academy and gather African theologians and church leaders, continent-wide, to think and re-imagine ways of teaching religion and theological studies in the HIV and AIDS contexts (Dube [ed.] 2003: vii–xiii). During this process, I discovered that there were often no religion or theology books or articles to refer to, although there were lots of materials about HIV and AIDS “facts” and other issues. I usually began each workshop, on training of trainers, with a medical doctors’ presentation, focusing on the “facts” about HIV and AIDS. Thereafter we spent the whole week imagining ways of mainstreaming HIV and AIDS and gender in our teaching, be it biblical studies, theology, African Religions, Islam, ethics, church history, counseling, homiletics or liturgy. Specifically we structured our approach into three interconnected processes. First, we interrogated how our specific disciplines contributed to the spread of HIV and AIDS, stigma and discrimination, lack of quality care and social injustice. Second, we brainstormed how our subjects can contribute positively to arresting the spread of HIV and AIDS and its stigma and enhance the availability of quality care and justice to and with all. Third, we then began to review our existing courses to mainstream HIV and AIDS and also to design completely new courses. I want to recall two stories from the workshops of Cameroon and Kenya respectively. The first story is from Yaunde, Cameroon. I had gone there to run a workshop for and with French-speaking central African theologians and scholars of religion. We had a good attendance of about fifty-five. As usual, I had a medical doctor to open for us with a presentation on HIV and AIDS “facts.” During the process he read a small paper recounting how HIV was created in a laboratory by some German doctor and deliberately targeted to kill black people of African descent. The members of the workshop were not amused nor I by the Cameroonian doctor’s theory of conspiracy. In fact, I was furious as I had to spend some time doing some damage control, to get the workshop to refocus where it needed to pay attention; namely, what they could do as scholars of religion and theology to be part of healing. I argued that we needed to focus our energies on how we could be part of the solution in the area of prevention, advocacy, care and breaking the stigma and silence, and accessing treatment and social justice, rather than focusing on the unproven claims about the origin of the virus. The second story is from Limuru, Kenya. My agenda in Kenya was to train theological distance educators on mainstreaming HIV and AIDS and

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gender in their programs. Kihumbu Thairu was the doctor who came to present on HIV and AIDS “facts.” Beginning from colonial times and recounting the geography of subjugation and annihilation through disease, he showed how some colonized groups were virtually wiped out when new diseases were introduced in their midst (Thairu 2003: 1–13). Medical facts proved that there are some diseases that are common among white people and some that are common among black people. Using the United Kingdom example, Thairu said that at present the UK has an epidemic of sexually transmitted infections (STIs), but it does not have an HIV and AIDS epidemic. In other words, British people are having unprotected sex and they are getting infected with STIs but not HIV. Thairu pointed out that black people are susceptible to HIV wherever they are. In the Americas, in the Caribbean, in Africa or Europe, they have the highest HIV and AIDS infection. Although poverty and other social issues are contributing factors, Thairu maintains, it is not the main reason (27–29). Thairu also has a conspiracy theory. According to Thairu, the policy of confidentiality, used for the HIV and AIDS epidemic, contravened the normal medical practice that allowed medical doctors to carry out full medical investigation and to discuss the results of their findings with their patients. The new confidentiality approach, which denied medical doctors to test for HIV without the instruction of the patients, Thairu argued, was designed to allow HIV and AIDS enough time to permeate and entrench itself among Africans (30–34). Dr. Thairu held our singular attention for a good two hours. Much of what he said and the reasons he gave to support himself were quite persuasive. Indeed his perspective does not override the social injustice face of the epidemic; if anything it is consistent with it. Perhaps it is worth recalling one of the most controversial HIV and AIDS discourse, when South African President Thabo Mbeki said HIV does not cause AIDS. Rather, what causes AIDS is poverty, a perspective that is notably different from Thairu’s. This was back in 2002. There was an international outcry against this viewpoint. But a few years down the line it could be said, “AIDS is an economic disease,” with very little contention. Whether one progresses from HIV+ to the AIDS stage and whether one dies or does not die of AIDS is very much determined by one’s economic status.

Postcolonial and Global Power Rhetoric and the HIV and AIDS Story From these stories, the Cameroonian and the Kenyan doctors’ and President Thabo Mbeki’s perspective, we glean that while HIV and AIDS is a virus

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that eats at our immunities and communities, it is not separated from colonial politics of yesterday and current global/international relations. The stories also attest to HIV and AIDS as a gendered and postcolonial global epidemic. That is, it is an epidemic which cannot be treated separately from the history of colonial domination, how it was linked to race and disease and the subsequent current international relations that have condemned millions of people to poverty. Much as I tried to refocus the Cameroonian workshop to what we can do now, I knew that in the global politics of colonialism and racism, it is well documented that disease and medical abuse have been used to eliminate and subjugate the Other (Davis 2003: 353–67). Indeed, it is well documented that colonialism was not only achieved through greed, trickery, guns and slavery, but also through wiping out populations by introducing new diseases (Crosby 2004: 212; Thairu 2003: 1–13). Colonial discourse is also replete with the discourse of constructing black sexuality as wild and dangerous, for purposes of authorizing the subjugation and exploitation of the other, and also for purposes of Christianizing. In the form of sterilizing black people without their knowledge or consent (Davis 2003: 353–67) and subjugating some to long suffering, stigma and death by STIs by denying them medical attention for research purposes, once more, without their consent, medical abuses are historically documented (Anderson 2004: 33). The HIV and AIDS discourse of sexual morality is thus inscribed within these colonial and colonizing constructions of black sexuality. President Thabo Mbeki’s perspective on AIDS was widely criticized and he was indeed quickly silenced, for distracting the focus away from where energies should be directed (like I did with the Cameroonian doctor). Yet nothing is as well attested as the link between HIV and AIDS with poverty and other inequalities, particularly gender (UNDP 2000). Twentyfive years after the scientific discovery of HIV and AIDS, the popular ABC strategy of abstain, be monogamous and use condoms has proven largely ineffective, for people’s choices are dependent upon their economic and social power. Indeed UNAIDS research and documentation attests to the limitedness of the sexual morality strategy, pointing out that: Focusing programmes on persuading girls to abstain from sex until marriage is of little help to many young women. In some places, the main HIV risk factor for a woman is the fact that she is faithful to a husband with previous or current other sex partners…. The fact that the balance of power in many relationships is tilted in favor of men can have life-or-death implications. Women and girls lack power to abstain from sex or to insist on condom use even when they suspect that the man has had other sexual partners and might be infected. (UNAIDS 2004a)

It is, therefore, interesting to interrogate, for example, the George Bush HIV and AIDS funds and foreign policy, which insists on the ABC

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strategy, despite its documented ineffectiveness. In their edited volume, Women’s Experiences with HIV and AIDS: An International Perspective, Long and Ankrah point out that it is far less threatening to sing the song of abstinence, faithfulness and to pass out condoms to women than to provide the same women with joint title to property or access to employment and housing programs (1997: 6–7). Moreover, because of the high infection rate among women, any failure to practice abstinence, be monogamous, and use condoms (i.e., ABC) leads to the stereotype that African women are immoral and overly sexual.

Sex, Silence and Colonial Constructions In 1999, when it became clear that the story of HIV and AIDS had become a central feature of our lives in my region, I wrote a call for papers on reading the Bible in the HIV and AIDS context. In 2004 this became a published book, Grant Me Justice! HIV/AIDS and Gender Readings of the Bible. When I sent out a call for papers to all African women, I received a protest that I was subscribing to the colonial stereotype that associates Africa with disease and stereotypes of sexual immorality. Consequently there was a debate over the issue. This objection was understandable to me, since the HIV and AIDS campaign had overly used the ABC slogan, thus simplistically reducing HIV and AIDS to sexual morality. Some of those who protested declined from participating in the project, for one could not easily break the silence concerning HIV and AIDS without walking too close to embracing colonial constructions. This attitude prevails in varying degrees, but certainly widely, among feminist biblical scholars, as the cases below illustrate. In 2005, while teaching in Scripps College (in southern California, USA), I taught a course on “Topics in Feminist New Testament Studies in Contemporary Contexts of HIV and AIDS and Violence.” The course sought to explore how feminist biblical studies could address HIV and AIDS and how they are in fact addressing it. The course was a global approach featuring Africa, Latin America, Asia, Europe and North America. We used fairly recent texts in our quest and found that hardly, if ever, did feminist biblical writers, especially in the so-called “First World,” address HIV and AIDS. This applied to both white and womanist scholars. For example, we used a Semeia Studies volume on Pregnant Passion: Gender, Sex and Violence in the Bible. The volume had all the ingredients that should have made HIV and AIDS an issue to address, but it didn’t. And some articles that were written by African Americans did not address HIV

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and AIDS even though the statistics indicated that the highest infections are among African American women. Similarly, as I was researching for this article, I indulged myself in bell hooks’ book, Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center, and found the same trend. Hooks reviewed the feminist movement as a whole, including the challenges that black women bring to the feminist movement. Although her book was first published in 2000, bell hooks remained silent on HIV and AIDS as a major issue in African American womanist/feminist discourse. Meanwhile HIV and AIDS research and documentation highlight that “African Americans represent just about 12% of the country’s population [yet] over half of new HIV diagnoses in recent years have been among them” (UNAIDS 2004b). The report further underlines that “Especially affected are African American women, who account for up to 72% of new HIV diagnoses in all US women” (UNAIDS 2004b). What then leads to such silence amongst the most affected and articulate feminist voices? It is my submission that part of the silence is connected to colonial constructions of black sexuality and the current approach to HIV and AIDS which almost equates HIV and AIDS with sexual immorality, rather than what it is; namely, an epidemic of social injustice.

HIV Positive and Healing Feminisms What, then, are HIV positive feminisms? Do they even exist? Yes, HIV+ feminisms exist and take many forms. HIV+ feminism is evident among women living with HIV and AIDS who rise to take control over their lives and to empower other women against infection and live positively with the virus. In her book Workable Sisterhood: The Political Journey of Stigmatized Women with HIV/AIDS, Michele Berger studied the lives of HIV+ women in the inner city of Boston, following their lifestyles before and after they were diagnosed. Berger highlights how gendered oppression exposed them to infection and their experiences of stigmatization and discrimination and how they responded to their new HIV status. What comes across is that HIV+ women are not helpless victims of the virus and the social circumstances that exposed them. Rather, upon learning of their status, they become fighters for their own human dignity and the dignity of other HIV+ women through support groups, counseling and working towards breaking the stigma and discrimination (Berger 2004: 105–142). HIV+ feminism is expressed by the armies of women who step in and provide care for millions of people who cannot be handled by public and national government budgets anymore. I was stuck by this reality when I

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visited the Botswana national HIV and AIDS Council to ask for any documented stories of women living with HIV and AIDS. As I entered the hallway, they had a large poster with an elderly woman sitting with a child. And under the poster they had the national slogan that was used by our current president, Mr Festus Mogae, to declare HIV and AIDS a national crisis that we must fight to eradicate. The slogan says, Ntwa e bolotse, that is, we have launched war on HIV and AIDS! And the soldier of this national and international war was an elderly woman holding an orphan. The soldier in defense of life is not a man with a gun or flying a twin bomber. Rather, it is an elderly woman giving a hand of care to an orphan, often with very little, if any, material resources to carry out the formidable task. HIV+ feminism, therefore, includes grandmothers who, with little or no physical and financial strength, are doing all that is in their power to raise orphans to be socially-equipped human beings. HIV and AIDS feminism raises the ethic of care as the social cornerstone for building and maintaining justice-loving and liberated nations and world. HIV and AIDS feminism of care-giving challenges structures of oppression by demonstrating that at the heart of any form of marginalization/oppression is the lack of care for another human being. Patriarchy, racism, sexism, ethnic cleansing, colonialism and religious intolerance are driven by the lack of care-giving for the other whom we refuse to acknowledge as deserving full human rights. The ethic of care, as a liberating concept, might be best described by the Setswana concept of Botho, which is defined as “a process for earning respect by first giving it and to gain empowerment by empowering others … and encourages social justice for all” (Vision 2016: 1996). HIV+ feminism is also evident in economically desperate widows who, nonetheless, refuse to be inherited by other men and choose to remain alone through their struggles to survive (SAFAIDS and WHO 1995: 20). They refuse to pass on the virus through re-marriage within the family. In their acts of resistance, they stop the virus from moving from one person to another. HIV+ feminism as a movement is evident in women volunteers who, from January to January, work in day-care centers for pre-school orphans and for “AIDS patients.” HIV+ feminism is also vibrant in NGOs and developmental agencies that work tirelessly for women’s empowerment and push the gender issues in HIV and AIDS prevention and care projects and programs. HIV+ feminism is, in addition, displayed in Faith Based Organizations (FBOs) that run hospices for “AIDS patients,” thereby relieving millions of women (who are caring for relatives, children and spouses) from burn-out and from the chain of poverty, by enabling care-giving women to continue with waged work. HIV+ feminism is shown in Community Based

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Organizations (CBOs) of women volunteers who follow “AIDS patients” at home during working hours to talk to them, feed them, turn them, walk them and pray with them while their relatives have gone to work. The day care centers, for both pre-school orphans and “AIDS patients,” which are largely dependent on women volunteers, are therefore a chain of organized women empowering women care-givers and seeking to ensure that the dignity of AIDS patients and orphaned children is fully respected. At the heart of HIV+ feminism are grassroots women acting individually and corporately, with little or no finance to protect life from the invasion of the HIV virus. Through their ethic of care-giving they reject the structures that deny “AIDS patients” the right to affordable medicine. Their ethic of care-giving challenges stigma and discrimination that write off many people living with AIDS to social and physical death. Through their ethic of care, they assert the full humanity of “AIDS patients” and their right to be treated with full human dignity and their entitlement to life. The acts of care-giving grassroots women in the struggle against HIV and AIDS insert a song of liberation—accentuating that any struggle for justice must have at its centre the ethic of care for each and every human being to ensure that we all receive our human rights in all aspects of our lives. In so doing, grassroots women’s ethic of care-giving challenge the patriarchal ideology of gendered care-giving—accentuating that care-giving must be given by both men and women and to both women and men regardless of their health status, age, race, class, ethnic or sexual identity. Outside Africa, HIV+ academic feminisms, especially in worldwide theology and religious studies, are rather far behind the above outlined HIV+ feminist acts. In academic feminist theology and religious studies (save among African women)1 HIV+ feminism/s is yet to be an established subject of research, thinking, analysis, writing, debates, discussion and passion. 2 In short, it is vital that academic feminisms in theology and religion interrogate their own silence and map creative ways of involvement in the HIV and AIDS struggle for justice. Feminisms/womanisms have been struggling for decades to bring communities and institutions to recognize that patriarchal structures and social injustice are bad news for all of us, but the HIV and AIDS epidemic has managed to vividly put across this point to our world. The era of HIV and AIDS should therefore be a time of more intensified movement for gender justice. It should also be a period when we find more support across the board than before. It should be a time for “workable sisterhood” and effective coalitions globally in the fight against patriarchy and all forms of oppression. Such workable sisterhood, proposed by Michele Berger, would begin by women, in various global contexts, standing up in solidarity

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to interrogate the global structures that create, sponsor and maintain poverty and inequalities of all forms. Indeed, Mary Ann Tolbert, in her article, “Reading for Liberation,” has contended that the failure of feminism to move from rebellious and reformative movement to a revolutionary movement is precisely because as women we fail to go beyond what affects us personally to commitment to the eradication of all forms of oppression. Our focus on the specific wounds of our pains, be it gender, race, ethnicity, or age, means that we only seek to reform the society, instead of revolutionizing the whole society towards serving justice with and for all our members of the earth community. Towards this end, HIV+ feminism will have a role in healing through working for a social framework that recognizes that, justice for and with all, is health for all of us in the earth community. Academic feminisms in religion and theology have a lot of catching up to do in the struggle against HIV and AIDS, which is a struggle of social justice against patriarchal and colonially based relations.

References Ackermann, D. 2004. “Tamar’s Cry: Re-reading an Ancient Text in the Midst of an HIV and AIDS Pandemic.” In M. W. Dube and M. Kanyoro, eds, Grant Me Justice! HIV and AIDS Gender Readings of the Bible, 27–59. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. AIDS/STD Unit. 1998. The Rapid Assessment on the Situation of Orphans in Botswana: Report. Gaborone: Ministry of Health. Amoah, E., D. Akitunde and D. Akoto, eds. 2005. Cultural Practices and HIV/AIDS: African Women’s Voices. Accra: SWL. Anderson, Cheryl. 2004. “Lessons on Healing from Naaman (2 Kings 5: 1–27): An African-American Perspective.” In Isabel Phiri et al., eds, African Women, HIV/AIDS and Faith Communities, 23–43. Pietermaritzburg: Cluster. Aprodev. 2000. HIV/AIDS: Grasping the Reality of its Gender Dimension. Oslo: Norwegian Church Aid. Berger, Michele. 2004. Workable Sisterhood: The Political Journey of Stigmatized Women with HIV/AIDS. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Carby, Hazel. C. 2003. “On Threshold of Woman’s Era”: Lynching, Empire and Sexuality in Black Feminist Theory.” In R. Lewis and Sara Mills, eds, Feminist Postcolonial Theory: A Reader, 222–40. New York: Routledge. Cohen, C. J. 1999. The Boundaries of Blackness: AIDS and the Breakdown of Black Politics. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Crosby, A. W. 2004. Ecological Imperialism: The Biological Expansion of Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Davis, Angela. 2003. “Racism, Birth Control and Reproductive Rights.” In R. Lewis and Sara Mills, eds, Feminist Postcolonial Theory: A Reader, 353–67. New York: Routledge. Dube, M. W. 2005. “Rahab is Hanging out a Red Ribbon: One African Woman’s Perspective on the Future of Feminist New Testament Scholarship.” In K. Wicker et

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al., eds, Feminist New Testament Studies: Global and Future Perspective. New York: Palgrave. Dube, M. W. 2006. “On Becoming Healing-Teachers of African Indigenous Religion/s in HIV&AIDS Prevention.” In I.A. Phiri and S. Nadar, eds, African Women, Religion and Health: Essays in Honor of Mercy Amba Ewudziwa Oduyoye, 131–56. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. Dube, M. W. 2008. The HIV&AIDS Bible: Selected Essays. Scranton, PA: Scranton Press. Dube, M. W. 2009. “In the Circle of Life: African Women Theologians’ Engagement with HIV and AIDS.” Forthcoming in E. Chitando and N. Hadebe, eds, Gender Perspectives of HIV and AIDS: The Female Child, Women and Faith Institutions. Geneva: WCC. Dube, M. W., ed. 2003. HIV/AIDS and the Curriculum: Methods of Integrating HIV/AIDS in Theological Programmes. Geneva: WCC. Dube, M. W. and M. Kanyoro, eds. 2004. Grant Me Justice! HIV and AIDS Gender Readings of the Bible. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. Hunt, M. E. “Feminist Spiritualities: The Justice Connections.” The Patricia A. Reif Memorial Lecture, October 15, 2002, Claremont California. hooks, bell. 2000. Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center. London: Pluto Press. Long, L. D. and E. M. Ankrah, eds. 1997. Women’s Experiences with HIV/AIDS: An International Perspective. New York: Columbia University Press. Messer, Donald. E. 2004. Breaking the Conspiracy of Silence: Christian Churches and the Global AIDS Crisis. Philadelphia: Fortress Press. Oduyoye, M. A. and E. Amoah, eds. 2004. People of Faith and the Challenge of HIV/ AIDS. Ibadan: Sefer. Phiri, I. A., B. Haddad and M. Masenya, eds. 2003. African Women, HIV/AIDS and Faith Communities. Pietermaritzburg: Cluster. Phiri, A. I. and S. Nadar, eds. 2006. African Women, Religion and Health: Essays in Honor of Mercy Amba Oduyoye. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. SAfAIDS and WHO. 1995. “Facing the Challenges of HIV/AIDS/STDs: A Gender-based Response,” 1–52. KIT, SAFAIDS WHO. Thairu, K. 2003. The African and the AIDS Holocaust: A Historical and Medical Perspective. Nairobi: Phoenix. UNAIDS. 2001. Investing in Our Future: Psychosocial Support for Children Affected by HIV and AIDS: A Case Study in Zimbabwe and the United Republic of Tanzania. Geneva. UNAIDS. 2004a. “Women and AIDS.” In AIDS Epidemic Update 2004. http// www.unaids.org. UNAIDS. 2004b. “North America, Western and Central Europe.” In AIDS Epidemic Update 2004. http//www.unaids.org. UNDP. 2000. Botswana Human Development Report 2000. Towards an AIDS-Free Generation. Gaborone: UNDP Botswana. Vision 2016. 1996. Towards Prosperity for All. Gaborone: Botswana Government. Weinreich, S. and C. Benn. 2004. AIDS: Meeting the Challenge, Data Facts Background. Geneva: WCC.

11 Soliloquy of a Troubled Heart: Trying to Make Sense of Senseless Femicide Dumie Oafeta Mmualefe Peacemaking is gathering around the hearth where we learn the hearth of love, we hearth the song of peace, we develop the hearth to give and become one with God’s creation in the whole hearth!

The year 1999 did not only mark the end and a beginning of a millennium but also marked the birth of a new century. With the approach of the end of the twentieth century came a lot of millennial excitement, which as expected was clothed in apocalyptic anxiety. It is unfortunate that the reading of the apocalyptic literature, in particular the book of Revelation, has given birth to viewing violence as inevitable and somewhat necessary as it points to the coming of a new era, an era of God’s shalom for the chosen few. Reading the apocalyptic scripture this way is unfortunate as it justifies violence. Of course this reading cannot be completely blamed on the reader as such literature is littered with militaristic violence of proportions not known to humanity. The year 1999, therefore, marked “the end of the most violent century in human history.”1 The year 2000 marked the new era, a new beginning, and a century of hope, “peace and goodwill towards humans.” It is in this regard that the World Council of Churches declared a “Decade to Overcome Violence” which was hatched at its Harare Assembly. The Decade to Overcome Violence is a journey that points beyond itself. Like any other journey it has rough places, crooked ways, slippery patches, ravines and other features that may discourage the faint-hearted. We have in the last few years witnessed violent acts, in America, Afghanistan, Iraq, Russia, India, and Ethiopia, to name a few. Despite this, “A voice [still] cries out: ‘in the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord’” (Isa. 40:3). The way of the Lord is the way of peace and not violence. We hear this cry again as “People around the world wait with eager longing for Christians to become who we are: children of God embodying the message of love, peace and reconciliation.”2

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The year 2006 marks the second lap of our journey as we seek peace and goodwill towards all. Even with the challenges and violence that have marked the past four years, our Christian conviction should point us to the hope and peace that awaits us beyond the tempest and the storm. Even now, looking back at the last violent century, everyone yearns for peace. Everyone values peace. Yet we do not somehow all work for peace; peace seems to be a thing yearned for by the weak. Peace is cheap (financially speaking, yet in a world where poverty is rife, where money is not plentiful); however, more capital resources are used for the very opposite of peace: war and injustice! War and injustice do not come cheap; they are very expensive machines of human degradation and destruction. But it will be, unfortunate, as it has been, to think about wars and violence on a larger scale whenever we hear or talk about violence, and of peace. The danger of this is that the violated individuals are, as has almost become normative, pushed to oblivion. Those who suffer greatly in this regard are victims of domestic violence.

Passion Killing or Femicide? Ngwaga o sa nthateng feta, that is, the year that does not love me pass on by. This is a Setswana saying which is not so much an expression of pessimism on the prevalent situation as it is an expression of hope for the future. There has never been a year that fits this expression than 2005, which was the most violent in Botswana by far. Botswana has witnessed a spate of unprecedented killings dubbed “passion killings.” The use of “passion killing” to refer to killings of women by the men they are in love relationships with has brought objections as many believe “passion” does not kill. This is from the understanding that passion denotes love and compassion. The president of Botswana, Mr Festus Gontebanye Mogae, is one of those who have gone on record to denounce the use of this phrase for these murder-suicides. It is, however, important to underscore the fact that from a purely etymological perspective, there is an element of obsession, fixation, force, violence, craze, vehemence, infatuation and mania. Looking at these, one cannot avoid a sense that passion has for a long time also carried a meaning inclusive of the use of force in order to get what you want or in ensuring that “if I cannot get it, no one else would” or the “my way or the highway” mentality. Passion in the Christian tradition, which informs this article, has been used mainly in reference to the single-minded dedication, eagerness and commitment of Christ to die on the cross to save humanity. For us, the word passion is redefined by factors other than just its etymological roots;

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it is redefined by our understanding of the cross and the people we are. Passion has led Christ, his disciples, saints and martyrs of all ages to sacrifice their lives for the sake of others or for the sake of certain values and beliefs. Passion here represents self-sacrifice, not for the detriment but for the benefit of others. It has been used to describe a situation where one lays down his or her life for the benefit of the other. The agenda of the passionate person in this case is always to protect and safeguard the lives and interests of his benefactors. It was never to expose them to risk or loss of life or status. Passion in the Christian tradition is therefore positive and beneficial through and through; no wonder there is resistance and even anger at the use of the word passion in reference to activities that can only be accounted for as acts of senselessness and murder. “Passion killings” have caused many unnecessary and avoidable deaths. They have deprived many children of the love, care and support of their parents. They have deprived many elderly parents of the love and support of their children and grandchildren. But above all they have terminated many precious lives prematurely. One can therefore understand the opposition that is mounting from many fronts against this use of the word. “Passion killings,” which some prefer to call femicide, have sent the otherwise peaceful people who believe in ntwa kgolo ke ya molomo, which means problems must be solved amicably, into desperate confusion. At the heart of all this is the question, “what has gone wrong with this nation?” In 2005, by 29th December, 75 so-called passion killings had been reported. By the 31st, the number had gone up by four, with one perpetrator travelling more than 35 km from Thamaga, where he committed the heinous crime, to hang himself in the restroom next to my office on the second floor of a University of Botswana building in Gaborone. Another story was reported in one local newspaper about a 24-year-old unemployed man who shot to death his 22-year-old University of Botswana student girlfriend. Another newspaper heading read: “A vow of a passion killing survivor.” This was a story of a young woman who escaped being burnt inside a house by her jilted lover; as a result of having a close brush with death, she now considers all men murderous and vowed never again to have a love-relationship with a man. The most gruesome story was under the heading: “The killing that shook Lentsweletau,” where a 29-year-old man beheaded his former 17-yearold lover and mother of their child, wrapping her head in plastic and taking it to her uncle. The Mmegi newspaper of 4th October 2005 describes this murder as “the gruesome murder that shocked the residents of Lentsweletau and sent relatives into psychological trauma.” The Sunday Tribune newspaper of 11th December 2005 drew the year towards its close with “Kanye murder shocks residents,” as a 73-year-old father, a

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retired and revered top civil servant, shot his wife and daughter before turning the gun on himself.

The Vicious Trap: A Cursory Look at Causes Several theories have been advanced to make sense of the senseless violence meted against women by men. While it may not be disputable that there are men who suffer and even die at the hands of women, the reality is that women are more on the receiving end than men. I take a cursory look at some of these theories.

Leina wee! (oh name!) In Setswana one is always reminded to die for the family name. Women are often under pressure especially in marital relationships to protect their maiden family name. One is often reminded “ö seka wa re tlhabisa ditlhong,” that is, “do not shame us!” One is expected to die for this name if need be! When there are serious disputes within the marriage, a woman is expected to hang on; to leave will bring shame upon the paternal name. Those not yet married are socialized into viewing things this way. They are expected to learn how to approach marital problems, as they are potential spouses. This means whether women are within marital relationships or not, they remain the “property of the men who father them” 3 as it is the names of these fathers that must be protected over and above the lives of the women. It is partly because of this that women find it difficult to call it quits even in abusive relationships. Women in marital relationships are expected not only to protect their paternal names; once they are married they are expected to protect their marital name. This calls into question the issue of self-importance, dignity and personal identity of women. Kanyoro observes that African women are treated as without independent identity: those not married derive their identity from their fathers while those married derive theirs from their husbands’.4

Suffering as a Virtue Setswana culture and many other cultures see suffering as a necessary evil. Human religion seems to stress “the elevation of pain to the status of essential—even consequential.” 5 Among the many positive things people learn at traditional initiation schools is perseverance and standing up to pain. During wedding celebrations songs that remind the bride of this virtue are sung: “dikuku di monate, lenyalo le boima” (“fat cakes taste good, marriage is a heavy load”) and “o itshoke, o itshoke ngwana mme, rona re jele dikgomo…” (Persevere; hold on, as for us, we have eaten

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meat…). Even during one of the most celebrated of the African rites of passage, the destructive power of an ideology of self-sacrifice and denial is recalled. This ideology demands of women to be sacrificial lambs throughout their lives, even unto death. The Christian challenge of the suffering must, however, remind us that Jesus of Nazareth “agreed” to be the Sacrificial Lamb and, therefore that “true and living sacrifice is that which is freely and consciously made.”6 Suffering should not be seen in this regard to be part of a woman’s ontological definition. It is also evident that the ideology of self-sacrifice and denial mostly takes root among the oppressed.

Social Learning Theory As little boys and girls, we used to play husbands, wives and children. We would build houses out of boxes, sticks and grass. It is during this roleplay that one is able to see how learned behaviours have a way of rooting themselves in the lives of people. A “husband” would, for instance, take a plate or a bowl and put it on his head like his father would do, address the “wife” as one would a minor, verbally and even physically “abuse” her. All what was happening was the re-presenting by the children of what they had learned at home. In so doing, they show that they are made to believe that to be male or husband is to abuse one’s wife, and to be a wife or woman is to accept abuse. Children of abused mothers are abused themselves; they become as bonded to violence as their mothers are. As they grow up to be men, they find themselves trapped in this unholy bond of violence and the absence of counseling facilities. And the thinking that to seek counseling is a show of weakness exacerbates this evil.

Structural and Economic Factors Economic and political imbalances, not only in our societies but right inside our homes, have added to the prevalence of male-on-female violence. Under the structural and economic factors in most African cultures, man is considered to be the sole provider of the family; as such, he takes the position of looking after and being looked up to by the family. Being the provider and the protector, the man expects the family to give him due recognition. He expects to be the lawgiver whose laws are obeyed; he expects to be obeyed to the point of being worshipped. A man is expected to ensure discipline in the home. The woman, as the first among the dependents, must lead the way in “good behavior.” Failure on her part (or the children) will bring physical abuse masquerading as discipline. Being the provider and protector, the man assumes the position of a mortal god.

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Today, there are many women who are economically stronger than their boyfriends or spouses. Even here, cases of abuse are prevalent. Some men, due to an inferiority complex, feel very insecure, fearing the women would move on to find men of their own economic standing. Others simply feel intimidated and therefore struggle with their self-worth. Some men, due to changes brought about by the influence of women’s organizations such as Emang Basadi and the government’s shift in policy towards equality between men and women, feel threatened. Often some men are heard bemoaning the current state, claiming women are favored to an extent that men are perceived to be always on the wrong whenever there is a problem between them and women. Consequently, to compensate their diminishing self-worth, they employ violence “to keep and remind the women of their place.”

The Blame Game: Is There Anything New? These so-called passion killings of women have set people asking what the problem could be. The questions asked border along the lines of blaming the victims not the perpetrators. The question that is constantly asked is “what could she have done to drive him to do such a thing?” Often the victim is blamed for either having exploited the man materially before leaving him, or having been unfaithful to him. However, these false accusations have a basis in historical traditions. Looking back, one is inclined to see nothing new in this “victim blaming game.” My attention is drawn to the story of Adam and Eve. This tradition, which unfortunately is believed by many to be a historical fact, believes that women are the cause of all problems and deserve to be dealt with. Such a patriarchal society was answering questions like: why a woman has to undergo birth pangs and why women are and have to be controlled and looked down upon. To keep the status quo, through the ideology of the powerful, the patriarchy—or the kyriachy as Fiorenza would prefer to call it7 —“made God” ordain the man’s way of doing things. In this story, Adam blames Eve for their disobeying of God’s rule not to eat the fruit. Yet nowhere in the text is there a suggestion that Adam was absent when the snake tempted Eve. One could blame Adam for failure to protect Eve from the snake. Rather Adam, having seen Eve eat the fruit, which must have looked succulent between those lips, willingly participated, out of deep lustful craving, and could still say to God in defence, “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me the fruit from the tree, and I ate it” (Gen. 3:12). What a God! HE gobbles up the story without a blink! This God pronounces HIS judgment on Eve. The man is never

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cursed; instead it is the woman who becomes his scapegoat! It is also interesting that in his defence, Adam reminds God that He gave him Eve, that is, for his own utilitarian benefit. In view of this message, someone came up with another version: “In the beginning God created heaven and earth, then God created man and he rested. God then created a woman, and no one has since rested!” This version, funny as it may seem, vilifies femininity. The restlessness, the crime, the problems throughout human history are blamed on women. Women are seen as temptresses. I am reminded of several ordination services of male pastors I have attended. Candidates are often warned against women. There is also the story of Samson and Delilah. Samson was a nazirite, that is, one consecrated, one in the Lord’s company. He was endowed with strength, which was in fact God’s spirit (Judg. 14:5–6); every time there was what seemed like an impossible task, “the spirit of the Lord rushed on him” and he won the day (14:6, 19; 15:14). Somehow he had an affinity to “nagging” women; his unnamed wife deceives him into telling her the riddle he had made a bet over with his companions. Later comes in Delilah. After Samson’s escapade with a prostitute in Gaza, the nazirite falls in love with Delilah who asks him to reveal where his strength lay. Her demand and reason for it is simple and straightforward: “tell me how you could be bound, so that one could subdue you” (16:6). Three times he tells her lies; each time she says, “The Philistines are upon you Samson!” (16:9, 12, 14), only to realize she had been lied to. She does not give up until he is tired of being “nagged” and “pestered” (16:16) and reveals the secret! Because of the nagging and pestering of Delilah, the Lord departs from Samson (16:20). From then on, the spirit of the Lord rushes on him no more! What could be worse than to make the Lord depart from one? The story of Adam and Eve is replayed here; Samson’s relationship with the prostitute is underplayed. I must confess I only came to know about it and make sense of it as I read this story when writing this article: it is the part of the story I never heard in Sunday school or in church services and Bible studies! Also downplayed, like in the case of Adam, is Samson’s stupidity; Delilah had made it known why she wanted the secret revealed. Again, what a God! This God let it happen and simply walks away from stupid Samson! Women are the cause of all problems; this is what we learn from childhood. Unfortunately these stories are a hit with children; I learned them, and I loved them! Unfortunately they touch the deeper self; they build into our psyche and form our worldview, all of us, both males and females. They become like self-fulfilling prophecies and we grow up to live them. They become to us the right way. Does the Bible not say “Train children in the right way, and when old, they will not stray?” (Prov. 22:6). Patriarchal stories impact child development. And that makes us all

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guilty, but not to resign ourselves to helplessness; instead to take up the responsibility to “unteach” the bad lessons we were taught.

God and Violence: Marcion and the Hebrew Scriptures Marcion, a native of Sinope in Pontus, is regarded as an early heretic whose interpretation of the message of the early church was the most dangerous. He posits a dualistic theology where there are two gods: one of the Jews, the creator, and the other, the god of Jesus. The creator god delights in bloodshed and bloody sacrifices. This god leads people to battle, instructing them to kill and destroy everything on their way, “a jealous god, visiting the iniquities of the fathers upon their children to the third and the fourth generation” (Exod. 20:5). The god of Jesus, unlike the jealous, fierce, pugnacious and vindictive god, is full of mercy, peace, and infinite goodness.8 No doubt Marcion detested the creator god. His dualistic theology, “which made him one of the most dangerous rivals of orthodox Christianity,”9 resulted in him creating his own “anti-Jewish god” canon which included Paul’s epistles to the churches and to Philemon, and the Gospel of Luke.10 This in turn gave impetus to the canonization of the New Testament as the Orthodox Church sought to counterblast his action. My interest in Marcion is his hermeneutics of suspicion. He refuses to accept things as they are told; instead he makes use of his hermeneutic antenna to more clearly see things the way they are portrayed and accepted by orthodoxy. Orthodoxy has accepted and embraced an often male aggressive God without question. While Marcion is portrayed as one of the most dangerous heretics, his was a voice of heterodoxy that we often refuse to hear. He points us to the reality of criminal violence that can be justified by how people read the scriptures. As a people of the book, Christians are what they read. The Bible is the window through which, though in part, they see and know who and what God is. The unfortunate reality is that the “only in part, in a mirror, dimly” (1 Cor. 13:9, 12) is colored by violent acts attributed to God. If violence is viewed as somewhat godly, the perpetrators of violence are more likely to be seen as less than what they really are. This also makes violence more “acceptable” as it is seen more as an act pointing beyond the victim, perpetrator, and beyond itself. This results in people treating “the wound of my people carelessly, saying, ‘peace, peace,’ when there is no peace” (Jer. 6:14). As readers of the twenty-first century, we are in a position to look deeper into what prompted Marcion to see things the way he saw them. He perceived what Nelson-Pallmeyer calls “troubling images of God.”

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These are the images Marcion saw, the same image we see and continue to make our children internalize. Nelson-Pallmeyer outlines seven such images,11 which I take liberty to comment on: •

God orders the murder of disobedient children (Lev. 20: 1–2a, 9) The sixth commandment calls for children to honor their fathers and mothers. This commandment goes with a promise for a long life. This commandment is a good one as long as it is not read side by side with the Levitican one which calls for those who curse their mother or father to be put to death. The latter, if read together with the former, seems to clarify why those who do not obey the sixth commandment would not have a long life. One is left to wonder what kind of God would be so cruel as to be a child hater!

•

A Means to Test a Measure of Faith: Willingness to Murder our Children (Gen. 22:2, 9b–12) The story of Abraham and the helpless Isaac has for a long time been one of the favourite illustrations of what faith in God is. Most people who went to Sunday school know this story from childhood. Nelson-Pallmeyer calls to mind the psychological trauma God caused both the father and the son. No thought is ever given to the trauma the children told such stories in Sunday school might experience. I sometimes wonder if the ultimate test could not, to this God, have been the death of Isaac; after all, is this not the same God whose ultimate test of faith included Job’s loss of his children? (Job 1:13–22). One is surely left to wonder whether or not children have dignity before this God, or are they simply objects that can be used, abused or disposed of?

•

An Angry, Punishing God Destroys the Earth (Gen. 6:13; 7:23). Re-reading this story I cannot help recalling the temptation story in chapter three. God wanted to keep the fruit away as Adam and Eve would become like him (verse 5). Now the sons of God visit the earth and, not surprisingly, they like what they see! I am inclined to believe that the sons of God will be like God. The thought of humans ultimately assuming the “likeness” of God seems to throw God into an emotional tantrum. God’s anger is misdirected, again to the woman folk! “Why on earth did they have sex with my sons?” God must have lamented. Instead of chastising his “Adams,” he conveniently went for “Eves.” The reason given for God’s horrific violence is “the wickedness of humankind” (verse 5). God is so angry that he uses wickedness to correct wickedness. Those who do wrong deserve to die according to this God. Violence and killing, according to this God, can be justified.

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This is yet another famous story often told to children that can be traumatizing to them. The attention is usually on the rainbow, which sometimes decorates children’s classrooms. This rainbow is supposed to remind God of the covenant between God and creation (9:16), but Zaphaniah 1:2–3 portrays a possible untrustworthy or anaemic God who threatens to replay Noah’s flood episode. •

God the Land Thief The World Council of Churches’ study guide for the “Decade to Overcome Violence” notes five reasons why violence is used. Among these is “To take something from other people.”12 The God of the Exodus story seems to be driven by this same reason to use violence. It must be noted that the land “given” to Israel is not an unoccupied virgin land. It is a fertile land with grapes, figs and pomegranates among other good things; it was a land flowing with milk and honey (Num. 13:23–29). Because of the produce of this land, the people there were very strong and healthy. These healthy people are said to be the Nephilim, descendents of the sons of God who married daughters of human beings, which caused God to destroy the earth. Is this yet another murderous visitation by God on those likely to be “like” him? Is God here finally finishing what he left unfinished in Noah’s story? Finally God violently robs people of their land.

•

Girl-child sacrifice: Judges 1113 Judges carries the story of a mighty warrior Japhthah, a son of a prostitute. While he was rejected by his own and made an outcast and outlaw, he was lured back to fight for Israel against the Ammonites. Though a selfless sacrifice on his part, it came at a cost. He vowed to God that should the Lord give the Ammonites into his hand, he would give to the Lord as a burnt offering: “whoever comes out of my doors to meet me, when I return victorious from the Ammonites” (11:31). Japhthah had only one child, a daughter: who else would come out of Japhthah’s house to greet him after a long time of absence but this nameless child? Three things come to mind here: (a) Japhthah is a son of a prostitute; it is therefore on account of the conduct of his mother that he faces this predicament. (b) He had only one child, and this child is a girl, a virgin who is burnt to bring to an end the chapter of Japhthah’s prostitute mother’s progeny. Japhthah suffers because of a woman “Eve,” his prostitute mother. His mother is seen in his daughter, so God finally gets to punish her. (c) This seems like a ruthless opportunistic God. This God wanted Israel to win the battle anyway. He did not need Japhthah but jumped at the

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·

God Orders Humans to Commit Genocide As the quest to “Take something from other people” continues, God gives the enemy into the hand of Israel in the battle at Edrei. Everybody is killed according to the dictates of God (Num. 21:31– 35). This is a God who instructs Israel to kill and show no mercy (Deut. 7:2). From the very beginning of the Exodus, this God will do everything to see his violent ways accomplished. He prides in hardening people’s hearts so that they do not listen to the voice of reason and in turn suffer his wrath (Exod. 7:3, 13; 10:1, 20, 27; 11:10; 14:4, 8, 17; Josh. 11:20). The most despicable act is when after one of the several conquests, the Israelite warriors elected to keep among others, as booty, women and children. This rubbed Moses the wrong way; he became angry and instructed them to kill all male children and women who had lost their virginity. Only young virgin girls were to be spared for Israeli men’s lustful sexual gratification (Num. 31:15–18). Here we do not only see the legitimization of murder but of incest, rape and dehumanization. Again it is the children who are treated with the utmost contempt. The legacy of Eve’s violation seems to be a consistent theme!

•

God destroys God’s people Consistent with “passion killing”, God kills those he loves “in anger, in fury, and in great wrath” (Jer. 21:5). This is a very pathological God who does not spare those who act against his statutes, whose day “comes, cruel, with wrath and fierce anger, to make the earth desolation…” (Isa. 13:9). His anger against children shows itself as “Their infants will be dashed to pieces before their eyes…and their wives ravished” (Isa. 13:16). Rape is again legitimized here. This God will have the women raped (ravished) as a way of getting back at Israel. The victims are not essential here; what happens is not really directed to them; it is a punishment to Israel.

Re-Imaging God: African Folklore The above portrayals of God call for the re-imaging of God who is not a God of violence. The problem with these images is that they form human

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beings, indeed creating them in the image of a pathological killer God. The challenge is to re-imagine a non male-chauvinist God who enjoys seeing the suffering and extermination of women and the girl child. There is no doubt a need to re-imagine a God who takes no joy and pride in femicide. While this paper deals especially with male-on-female violence, it is important to visit the female corner to cast and read divining sets in order to unravel this very intricate-almost-near-impossible problem. Women are known liturgists who preside at the altar around the hearth. Here they impart the knowledge of life to both children and the elderly. I have been blessed to be in the presence of a great liturgist and priest, my own grandmother who would recite life-giving stories from the great African, non-literary though authoritative, canon. In response to Musa Wenkosi Dube’s call to reconsider the creative space offered by the oral-Spirit framework, 14 I have elected to appeal to this great hearth spirituality passed from generations through the mouths of our mothers. While there are other positive images of God in the Bible, I have elected to consider this one from African folklore from the Lozi people, which explains why and how God (Nyambe) withdrew from the world. The tale goes in part: It is said: Nyambe lived on earth with his wife, Nasilele, long, long ago. It was he who made the frost and the river and the plain; it was he who made all the animals, the birds and the fishes; and he made also Kamunu (the man) and his wife. Kamunu distinguished himself from other animals. When Nyambe carved a piece of wood, Kamunu also carved his own. When Nyambe carved a wooden cup, the man also carved his own. When Nyambe forged iron, the man also forged his iron. Nyambe was amazed, and began to fear man. Then a man forged himself a lance, and one day he killed the male child of a big red antelope. He killed other animals as well, and ate them. Nyambe scolded him, saying: “You man, your way of acting is bad. Why do you kill? These are your brothers. Do not eat them: you are all my children together.” Then Nyambe chased the man away, and sent him far away. There Kamunu ate for one year, and then he returned. When he arrived at the place where one drinks water, he was seen by Kangomba, the large antelope. She went to speak to Sasisho, the messenger bird of Nyambe, and said, ‘the one whom I saw down there, who holds a magic pot and a club, is that not the same Kamunu who killed us?’

As the tale unfolds, Kamunu’s magic pot, dog, and child die and are found at Nyambe’s house. Kamunu reports their death to Nyambe who responds, “my own things end like that.” Displeased with Kamunu’s love for blood, Nyambe decides to leave, first to the Island. But the ingenious Kamunu finds a way to follow him. To appease Nyambe, he brings him sacrifices of meat and fish, but Nyambe would not eat them “because they were his children.” Nyambe kept looking for a place to escape “the children of man.” He then tries to convince animals to come with him to

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escape death at Kamunu’s hands but they would rather stay. It is at this stage that to some Nyambe gave speed, some strength, others wings; to others the ability to live both on land and water, while to others he gave the ability to disguise themselves—all to evade death at Kamunu’s hands. Creation, according to the first four chapters of Genesis, was meant to be vegetarian; paradise is virtually vegetarian. This is underscored by the Lozi tale. It seems to say, “Do not spill blood for blood is life and all life belongs to God.” Like the folk tale above, human beings have drifted into becoming blood-spillers, first of animals, then of fellow human beings. In his response “mine are dying in the same way,” Nyambe seems to be calling Kamunu to the realization that it is he who called death upon himself. In so saying he is reminded that he holds the key to stopping the killings. I wonder whether our anthropocentrism, which leads us to treat God’s creation recklessly and without regard, has gone to unimaginable extremes. Has anthropocentrism mutated into egocentrism bordering on solipsism? Perhaps only the individual self is important. Yet life is sacred because it belongs to a holy creator God. Sacredness is holiness and in African culture and theology that which is whole is holy because “the sacred is manifested not so much by separation as by unity. Thus [a person] finds fulfillment not as a separate individual but as a participant in a family and a community.”15 To strive for holiness demands “preservation of a sense of communal wholeness,”16 as to do otherwise is to sin against Nyambe, or Modimo in Setswana. Community in the spirit of the Lozi folk tale, and indeed in African cosmology, points beyond humans. Sin, which is un-wholeness, “indicates a violation of relationships, resulting from alienation from God, nature, one another, and the self.”17 Kamunu represents the state of affairs where life is viewed not in terms of what it should be (i.e., wholeness), but in a very fragmented way. God shuns un-wholeness. Therefore I believe that this new spate of killings in Botswana reflects on who we have become before God and all creation. One cannot help but wonder whether or not there is any relationship between our thirst for blood in terms of the way we recklessly kill animals, birds and fish and the value we place on human life. Have we become so violent to the rest of God’s creation that violence defines us? Is there no relationship between the way we plan to execute wars and the way we plan our game hunting? Does the way we violently slaughter animals not affect our way of viewing suffering of the other self? It is such inhuman acts that drive Nyambe away. God is not pleased and chooses ex-hodos (exodus, a Greek derived word meaning, to get on the way, or go away as the Israel does in the book of Exodus). Nyambe images a God who is diametrically opposed to the violent biblical God. Nyambe does not repay violence with violence; for Nyambe, violence is not inevitable!

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To be Human is to Work for Peace God as being-itself is the ground of every relation; in his life all relations are present beyond the distinction between potentiality and actuality. But they are not the relations of God with something else. They are the inner relations of the divine life.18

Every time we celebrate the birth of our Lord, the nativity doxology in Lk. 2:14 seems to speak a new and different language from that I have heard before: “Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth!” The power of this doxology comes out more clearly and persuasively in Hendel’s “Messiah.” The musical arrangement therein brings about a serene mysterium; there is an air of peace which caresses not only the ear but the heart of the listener. My hearing and re-reading of this doxa, which was sung by a multitude of angels, seems to suggest that there can be no way we can glorify “God in the highest” unless we become instruments of “peace on earth.” There is, I believe, a reason for the glorification of God being set in juxtaposition with the pronouncement of peace on earth. Those of us on earth have an obligation to glorify God through working for peace and justice. For us to achieve peace we need to revisit, among others, what it means to be human. As Christians we believe people have been created in the image of God. To work against peace is to mutilate the imago Dei. Not to work for peace is to participate with those who actively work against peace. Peace is only possible if we, irrespective of ethnicities, nationalities, colour, gender and religion, can look each other in the eye and declare from the depth of our hearts: “you are my sister, you are my brother!” To be human is to coexist with others and to see oneself in the light of others. To be human is to be God-like. To be God-like is to love one’s neighbor as oneself; this is the second greatest commandment (Matt. 22:39). Loving the other, is not only loving God (1 Jn 4:20), but knowing and abiding in God and, more importantly, it is God abiding in one (1 Jn 4:7–8). In revisiting what it means to be human, I would like to appeal to my African heritage. To be created in the image of God seems to suggest that there is something of God in us. In Setswana we say Motho ke Modimo, that is, a human being is God. This, however, need not be seen to denote polytheism or pantheism. In so saying, Batswana (the plural name of the people in the country of Botswana) do not confuse Mmopi, the creator God, with human beings. They mean there is something of God in each human being. To be human, therefore, indicates having and manifesting this “something of God” which I elect to call “Godness” as opposed to “Godliness.” What we do to others does not only show our

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dehumanization of “the other” but our “dedivinization” of the same. In “The Parable of the sheep and the goats,” Jesus seems to point to this very fact when he says whatever we do or fail to do to “the other,” we do that to and not for him. Violence, which is the opposite of peace, is sinful because when we commit it, we try to be what we are not and will never be. In committing violence, by omission or commission, we try to violently remove bo-Modimo; “Godness” in others. We further learn from the pot of African heritage that Motho ke motho ka Batho; that is, “a person is a person by/through/because of/as a result of people.” This saying sums up the African philosophy of Botho/Ubuntu. Simply put it means “I relate therefore I am,” or as John Mbiti put it syllogistically: Motho is one who is “conscious of himself in terms of ‘I am because we are, and since we are, therefore I am’.”19 This is about one’s being; being defined by one’s relationality. We can only be if we see in others the Imago Dei. It is about the respect of others’ integrity, and indeed the integrity of all God’s creation. Botho philosophy sees our good and bad actions defining us rather than the recipient of the act. A non-person disrespects the integrity and well-being of others, violates others, and cannot bring glory to God! Our violent action, especially of those who call themselves by the God of shalom’s name, makes blasphemy an understatement as it points to our representation of who God is in us, is to others and us. God is not only seen as Motho ke Modimo, but as one who brings reality to being or a state of being communitas. Suchocki is therefore right in saying: God incorporates the world into a divine life; the world becomes a complexity of God in an apotheosis that is participating in the divine life. The embracing reality of the divine life is an ever-increasing divine complexity in unity. God as trinity becomes a symbol to indicate the sense in which the unity of God embraces a complexity of a magnitude greater than which none can exist.20

Nyambe is a God of peace in people’s hearts, working them towards the glorious paths of peacemaking. In moving away from Kamunu, Nyambe was actually distancing himself from activities and tendencies that promote violence and hurt against the “divine complexity,” 21 the very “inner relations of the divine life.”22 To be human is not just to work for peace, it is to image the God of peace; it is to image Nyambe.

Lessons from Setswana Sagacity Etymology of Tswana Batswana are people of Botswana, and also those beyond the borders who speak the language Setswana. The latter also mean the way of doing

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things by the Batswana, their culture and tradition. Denoting one person, Motswana is the singular for Batswana. Legend has it that Batswana got their name from their tendency to leave rather than engage in violence over kingdoms. It happened that male siblings would contest for control over a kingdom. Among other peoples it was not uncommon for such differences to be resolved militarily; but among Batswana, they would get out, go away with their supporters and not shed blood. Interestingly, the exodus story is God’s response to the cry of Israel. God appears to be saying to Israel concerning the Egyptians, come out of them. Instead of fighting and killing each other, both the “tswana” and “exodus” concepts demand separation as an alternative. This motif seems to be one of the most appropriate in dealing with the question of “passion killing.” Like the situation of Israel in Egypt, the life of the victims of “passion killing” is that of oppression, degradation and dehumanization. The act of killing is but a symptom of what has been going on explicitly or implicitly. The killing has been, for the victim, a process. Israel cried because she was being killed. Upon hearing the cry God calls out to Israel: “come out of them, and come out of that murderous situation.” Often separation is viewed as undesirable, something that must be avoided. Among the religious, especially Christians, separation, for the divorced, is almost anathematized. A friend of mine was in a very difficult relationship; we discussed the matter and decided the best way was to “ex-odos.” Upon sharing his decision with his pastor, he was prayed for and pointed to the marriage of Hosea and the prostitute; needless to say, it was used out of its context. He was told that what he was going through were trials; and the intercessors “prophesized” that God willed that they be together. He was convinced. They ultimately got married, had two beautiful children who grew up to see their parents fight, and, fortunately, opted for divorce instead of death. The process of divorce and everything that leads up to it is a very traumatic experience for children. This experience could have a devastating effect on children, the worst of which could be factors that may lead to “passion killing.” Such trauma was avoidable as was this marriage, which had all the signs of disaster. The traditions of the Tswana people teach us about how the community relates to and is affected by individual violence. •

Matlo go sha mabapi (huts that environ each other burn together) Tswana people traditionally live in huts. The huts of the family formed what is called lelwapa (a compound), the compounds comprised kgotla (a ward), and kgotla made up a village. These huts were normally thatched with grass, which is very flammable. When one hut catches fire, all others will soon be enmeshed by

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•

Ngwana o’ sa lleng o swela tharing (a child who does not cry dies in the shawl) Crying is a matter of great significance both culturally and theologically. Crying is the first activity a child does at birth to signal the beginning of a new life. As people develop into adulthood, they almost outgrow this habit. Crying becomes something that is shunned. Children are often scorned for crying which is seen as a sign of immaturity and childishness. Communities are particularly harsh on boys and men in this regard. Some writers, including

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those from beyond Africa, have suggested that a man should not cry unless his heart is broken. It is never clear when a heart is about to break though, and even who determines that it is about to, since one is always advised to be “man enough.” The issue about crying, however, is that it is a sign of life and not death; it is therefore a sign of strength and not weakness. Crying is a sign of hope that someone will hear and come to one’s rescue. It is in this same vein that the Bible records multiple cases where the children of Israel cry out to God for help and intervention, and, consequently, help comes their way. There are two lessons to learn from this saying: (a) It is okay for a boy, and a man, to cry! Not crying is suicidal as one bottles up harmful emotions and frustrations until such a time that they are way beyond one’s control. Statistics show that more men commit suicide than women and this could be because women deal with their emotions better by crying, as opposed to pretending a situation is okay when it is not. The propensity towards violence among men also shows that the men folk are actually not strong, courageous, bold and tough, as society would like us to believe. We realize that they are very fragile, delicate and vulnerable. (b) It is a challenge for people to be a listening communitas. Whenever Israel cried, God listened and heard. The hearing of a cry is an opportunity for service and exercising compassion. The challenge is that those who hear the cry must be responsive. A cry of those in pain, of those in need, is a call for compassionate response. A cry is a sign of life that calls for the sustenance of the same. •

Se nkgananng se nthola morwalo (the thing that refuses/rejects me takes the baggage off me) Normally we would expect things to go our way. It is human to want to establish particular relationships, and to hope that such relations could work out for the best. We, however, know from real-life experiences that things do not necessarily always work out the way we want. One relationship begins very well with a very strong bond of love and affection among the partners, but does not necessarily work out very well or does not have a long life. Another relationship starts weakly as an infrequent casual contact between two partners who see themselves as just sexual partners, but such a relationship may strengthen through the years and end up in a very stable marriage. Some relationships come and go. It takes a long time and many years of searching to find your ultimate life partner. One person may start a relationship with another and after a while realize that they do not really love

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Another World is Possible or like this person and would not like to be in a relationship with this person; such a person must be allowed to terminate such a relationship without any force, duress or coercion. Relationships are voluntary unions into which people enter on the basis of a freely given consent. People should therefore never be kept in any form of relationship against their will. People should not be intimidated into staying in a relationship in which they are not happy.

Conclusion This article probed the difficulty facing the people of Botswana. While it was not my intention, it could have sounded like male bashing that the male folk at times feel. While we must be careful not to seem to be making excuses for perpetrators of wrong, we yet have to turn a listening ear to all God’s oppressed children, even those oppressed by their own oppressive ways. Often some male folk feel bashed by feminist theologians when they engage in reconstruction. It is easy to write them off as crybabies or those who do not want changes due to the fact that they gain from the subjugation of women. However, we ought to be careful lest we blame them for the socialization they, together with those they sin against (i.e., women), have been brought up in. Some complain that they are blamed for what was written by some men hundreds and even thousands of years ago, thus acting like the God who visits iniquities on people’s grandfathers and on people’s great-great grandchildren for generations. However, like the current women folk, they have been socialized into the same patriarchy embedded in the scripture. All of us, male and female, need healing. We all need to be saved from our fore-parents’ past worldviews. At the same time, blaming those that have gone before may not bring any good results; it was their time and that is the way they came to terms with their world. The way the Bible is, is the way the ancients understood God to be relating and working in their history. We need to exorcise the Bible, especially the men who give it meaning regarding the evil of oppression. This anti-life demon spells doom for the whole human community. Botswana, like many other developing countries, has been experiencing a new wave, with women’s movements making progressive inroads. Laws of the country have been changed to make them more gender sensitive and equal. There are debates about equitable representation in the National Assembly and at local government levels. Issues of gender inequality are heard everyday, sometimes in a blame spirit that vilifies the male folk.

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The concern is whether or not the male counterparts have not been in fact left behind, ironically by the systems they drive themselves. Some men, due to cultural expectations, feel always pressed against the wall since in matters of abuse men can never be abused by women. Often abuse is thought to be physical and men are culturally expected to be stronger and therefore the abuser. A man reporting physical abuse at the hands of a woman would be laughed at by everyone, including law enforcement officers. Our male folks are as fragile and vulnerable as their female counterparts, yet they are not treated as such. They then feel they are the enemy, and that they do not have a listening ear or shoulder to cry on. There is, therefore, a need to journey with everybody, males and females, to interrogate the scripture in a way that it forms or rather reforms all of us. The sound of “behold, I make everything new” needs to reverberate even louder and further than before. We ought to be, together, part of the new heaven and earth that God is re-creating. As Batswana, as all God’s people’s, we need to dig deeper in the wells of our heritage, our God-given heritage and embrace those customs that are life affirming while rejecting those that are demonic. Men, all men, need to be molded anew. We are challenged to look deeper into our hearts and listen anew to what God is saying to us, in our own idiom.

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PART VIII

ZIMBABWE

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12 Ritual and Spirituality among the Shona People Beauty R. Maenzanise All people are entitled to know their history and to preserve it. But, in many cases, people are deprived of finding their identity and meaning of life in their past. Zimbabwe has a very rich liturgical history some of which I would like to probe in this article. Zimbabwe, as a country which went through the liberation struggle for years, has been and still is faced with the issue of alien spirits. The liberation struggle has caused many people to die. In the Shona culture, shedding blood, especially innocent blood, is not acceptable. In trying to respond to the challenges posed by these spirits, the Shona people had to conduct different kinds of rituals at different times during and after the liberation struggle. Unlike some western secular ways of thinking, the Shona religion is filled with elements of spiritualism. By spiritualism we mean their continued connection with the spiritual world. Michael Gelfand notes: When one studies the Shona religion one is immediately struck by its elements of spirituality. Mediums are encountered through whom messages are transmitted from particular spirits… Therefore, strictly speaking, any spirit is a mudzimu1 to the Shona, and included in the term would be the dead ancestors or a tribal spirit.2

There are different kinds of the ancestors in this religion. To begin with, the highest level is the mhondoro (tribal spirit/s) who oversees the whole tribe or clan. Gelfand expounds the mhondoro’s duties, saying: The duties of the tribal spirit … are manifold. He is primarily a prophet, since he foresees the future and his advice in almost every matter is highly prized. There is no subject upon which he is not considered an authority… 3

There is also a mudzimu or midzimu (pl) (ancestral spirit). Gelfand tells us: It is believed that after death the mudzimu or spirit of every married person is concerned with the living members of the family left on earth. But an unmarried man or woman does not become a mudzimu with power to act on or influence humans. This spirit is interested only in its immediate dependents. Thus the spirit of

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a deceased mother or father hover round their own children and grand children protecting them and showing a constant concern with their welfare and with what they say or do. The spirits of grandparents are usually considered more important than those of parents…4

Shona religion does not happen in a vacuum, but within the community with designated leaders. These are at different levels of the family. The first level is made up of vatongi vemusha (chiefs/chieftess, and headmen), who carry out the duties prescribed by the spiritual world on behalf of the tribe or clan. The second level is that of the svikiro or masvikiro (pl) who is a spirit possessed person through whom messages are transmitted from a particular departed person, mudzimu, to the living members of the family. This svikiro is the one who gives instructions to the vatongi vemusha so that they can carry out whatever needs to be done. Another type of svikiro is also possessed by a mhondoro (tribal spirit). These leaders are the ones who perform rituals on behalf of their families or communities. Ritual’s wider impact in the Shona sense is on how the community sees itself in relation to God, the spirits, the ancestors and each other. This connection is not only among the living, visible community but also among the spiritual world and their interplay with the living community as already noted. The means used to communicate with the spiritual world depends on many factors: the particular forces believed to be involved; the particular situation, for example sickness or other circumstances; and the status of the living person. In the Zimbabwean thought process, ritual is done to preserve the community’s identity and strengthen the connections with the ancestors and their connection with God for the traditional believers and connections with God through Jesus for Christians.

Ritual During and After Independence Data in this section are going to be based on information obtained from an interview conducted by the author with an ex-combatant at the United Nations, New York, on March 12, 1998. He asked for his name to be withheld and we shall call him Mr. P. We shall also rely on written material, my personal experiences as a Shona, and some Shona oral information. The words of the mhondoro are powerful because they are believed to come from beyond the world of the ancestors. This means they are coming from God who informs the ancestors who in turn inform the mhondoro. A svikiro does not become possessed by the spirit without good reason. Possession generally happens on special ceremonial occasions

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or whenever the necessity arises for the spirit to give advice. Gelfand points out that when the time to call upon the spirit comes, Music is provided and the medium takes part in the ceremonial dancing until finally he/she begins to show signs of becoming possessed by the spirit. He/she may quiver, utter strange sounds, roar, and breathe more and more deeply as if sighing. At this stage his/her nechombo (acolyte) quickly clothe the svikiro with the praying shawl and the feathered headgear. The dancing continues and any pronouncements made or views expressed by the svikiro are now no longer his/her own but those of the spirit. When the music stops, the svikiro sits down with the rest of the people. The nechombo claps hands respectfully, then, tells the seated crowd what the spirit has been saying. He/she will also ask the spirit the questions the people wish to ask the spirit. Whatever the situation, there can be no direct approach to the spirit. All communication with it must take place through the nechombo who also arranges the ceremonies.5

Throughout the struggle for independence, the Zimbabwean people did not leave behind their spirituality. Answering the question on how the traditional rituals played a part in the quest for Zimbabwean independence, Mr. P. said, “To begin with, the rituals were a unifying force.” He reminded me that the freedom fighters were of different ages. This meant that the older generations were teaching the young how to communicate with the mhondoro or their own midzimu. It is important to note that each time the freedom fighters arrived in an area, their commanders first consulted the svikiro of that tribe. At other times they chose other options. “Sometimes we did not have the time to consult the community svikiro because the war was at hand, so each person would just put tobacco on the ground asking his/her mudzimu to protect him/her” said Mr. P. He pointed out that the contribution of the masvikiro made their relationship with the communities comfortable. He informed the author that there were a number of rituals which were imposed on them. David Lan also echoed this statement: [It] was only within the freedom fighter’s army that the belief in the participation of the ancestors was elaborated into a system of ritual practices believed to place the combatants under their protection. While on active service within the borders of Zimbabwe, the freedom fighters were not allowed to kill animals in the forest, they were not allowed to have sexual intercourse, and they were not allowed to eat certain foods. These rituals’ prohibitions were imposed on them by the masvikiro of different areas they passed through. It was believed that by observing them the freedom fighters could protect themselves from the danger of war and increase their chances of victory.6

The rituals used during the quest for independence were not invented by the freedom fighters or by the masvikiro but were part of a wider pattern of beliefs and rituals that existed during the Shona people’s lifetime. All masvikiro believed in the vital importance of God’s role in the struggle.

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In representing the directives and guidance of the midzimu to the freedom fighter, the masvikiro also represented God, the ultimate authority in charge of the spiritual world. This brings us to the question of healing, after independence. Now that colonial powers have been defeated, political independence achieved, there is yet another war to be fought. There were many issues which needed to be dealt with concerning the total health of the ex-combatants and their kindred, and those civilians who helped them throughout the war and their kindred. It is well known in Zimbabwe that there are many people who did not deserve to die who were purposely or mistakenly killed by freedom fighters, their male or female helpers, the Rhodesian soldiers, or some other groups, in the name of war. In the Shona tradition, because of the strong belief in the power of the spirits, the people, whose innocent blood was shed during the war, were and are still believed to be coming to fight back. As spirits they fight with more power than they had while still living. This kind of spirit is called ngozi (aggrieved or revengeful spirit). Gelfand elaborates on how this kind of spirit is brought back into the world of the living to fight its enemies: If a person is killed or deliberately poisoned by an enemy, his spirit is aggrieved and carries this grievance into the spirit world. It will seek revenge from the guilty family until full compensation for the misdeed has been made. It makes its presence known by appearing in the dreams of its nephew (muzukuru or dunzvi), telling him that he was killed and wishes to be brought into contact with the living. For instance, the dunzvi may begin dreaming this every night after the grandfather had died. As soon as he realizes these persistent dreams he procures a calabash (mukombe) known as a mukombe unovava (sour calabash, because it has been used for a long time in the preparation of beer or cereal). He fills it with millet meal (rukweza) and covers it with mhanda (medicine). In the evening he takes it to the grave of the murdered man. But he must go on his own, and no one must see him. At the grave he kneels and speaks to the spirit, ‘sekuru, if there is someone who has killed you, you must wake and go and tell him all that you want from him.’ With these words he breaks the calabash on the grave over the spot where the dead man’s head was laid.7

These spirits are what many people have been afraid of since after the liberation struggle and people try to act fast. It is a major psychological illness especially for those who know that they have shed innocent blood. Although some bodies are never recovered, their families have ways of calling their spirits back home by conducting rituals. The Shona people knew that this situation was a reality soon after the war. They sought religious rituals for cleansing. Both Christian and traditional believers sought their religious leaders. Before talking about the healing process, I would like to discuss the traditional healers themselves. In Shona tradition, the spiritual leaders can be either male or female depending on the choice of the spirit. The same

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applies to this category of healers. The commonly used name for such a person is n’anga.8 He/she acts as diviner, intermediary between midzimu and their living descendents, and also healer. The n’anga is credited with the inheritance of magical healing powers from his/her ancestors, and with the ability to contact the spirit world to learn the causes of illnesses or the misfortunes of life. Thus, as the intermediary between the living and the ancestors, he/she is a minister of religion as well as a healer. In supporting this, Gelfand says that: The true nganga is endowed with the power of healing and of divining the cause of an illness or indeed of any difficulty by means of the spirit of an ancestor who was also a nganga during his or her life. The healing spirit may enter a person when he is still a child, causing him to dream of medicine… The Shona nganga who inherits his skill from a relation bears the hall-mark of quality and is looked upon with greater awe than the one who acquires his skill in some other way.9

The n’anga also has a moral role to play. In the Shona tradition, it is a firmly held belief that illness is caused by an outside force. In his diagnostic questioning, the n’anga brings to light the fault that calls for repentance and reparations. As mentioned before, the life of the Shona people is communal. This connection was echoed by Richard Katz when he wrote about the Kalahari Kung saying, …healing is more than curing, more than the application of medicine. Healing seeks to establish health and growth on physical, psychological, social, and spiritual levels; it involves work on the individual, the group and surrounding environment and cosmos. …its vital life of the spirit and strong community, are expressed in and supported by the healing tradition.10

As a result of fear of endangering their families and communities, soon after independence was achieved, those who participated in the war and their kin were in constant fear that the spirits of those innocently killed could come and possess their perpetrators without their knowledge until their families were affected by illness or deaths. Thus, they sought family healing. In consulting the n’anga, the murderer’s family is informed about whose spirit is involved, if there is one, and they are told what the spirit wants, along with measures to be taken immediately to satisfy it. Gelfand recounts the procedures of countering the ngozi spirit. An unspecialized nganga would not dare to treat for ngozi as it is feared he might die on the spot. He certainly would not attempt treatment while the ngozi’s medium is possessed lest the spirit might fight him. He is able to fight with the medium until the latter is defeated. Then the ngozi speaks and explains where it has come from and how many people it has killed. The nganga asks why it killed so many, and it replies, ‘I was killed and I had done nothing wrong. This is why I became a ngozi, and unless

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these people pay me I shall not stop killing them.’ Then the nganga turns to the guilty family and asks whether they can pay the ngozi. They are only ready to comply with its demands, and the district nganga then asks whether the ngozi wishes the payments to be made. It usually replies that it is ready to receive them under a certain special tree… Finally the nganga asks the ngozi, ‘Have you seen all your payments? I do not wish you to come back again.’ The nganga allows the goat to escape and it is said that the goat and the cattle find their own way to the ngozi’s village…11

This liturgical aspect of Shona treatment explains the possible recourse to singing, dancing, and dialogue between the officiator and the audience, and with the invisible beings which include the ngozi spirit. Sometimes the people involved with the problem were asked to hold a beer ceremony in the ngozi’s honour, at other times slaughtering a bull or a goat. It is the result of the Shona people’s lives being intertwined with their religion which gave and still give families the power to seek their traditional or Christian help. Those who felt that they could not deal with these spirits in the ways explained above found themselves going to churches for help. Like traditional rituals, Christian rituals played a big role after the liberation struggle and influenced the transformation of people’s religious beliefs. We are surrounded by host of spiritual beings – some good, some bad – which are considered able to influence the course of human lives. For that reason calamities are attributed to personal forces of evil. In such a setting it is an important role of religion to help free humanity from the tyranny of those forces of evil. It is useless to debate the reality of such spirit beings … whatever the philosophical issue at stake, the thinking of traditional Africa appears to be not dissimilar to what we read in the New Testament: that ‘our struggle is not against enemies of flesh and blood, but against the rules, against authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places’ (Eph. 6:12). In this sense, AICs12 reminds us of a part of the apostolic tradition which the historic churches have tended to explain away.13

Although no written material was found in which Christian rituals were sought soon after independence in Zimbabwe, we are going to attempt to give the reader what is known based on the Shona tradition, Zimbabwe Christianity, and personal experiences as a Zimbabwean clergy. In the Shona tradition, exorcism is carried out in a number of ways such as approaching a traditional diviner, a n’anga or svikiro as discussed earlier. As for Christians, they go to the church priest, pastors, or prophets, depending on the type of church, mainline or indigenous/independent. In Zimbabwe nearly every church was, and still is, concerned with healing. Post-war rituals in Zimbabwean churches had to deal with spiritual more than physical healing. Talking about his experience of dealing with

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the total healing of people from spiritual and physical illnesses, Rev. Kingston Kahlari, a United Methodist pastor, says: The healing of the people is happening more today. I am busy with healing prayers. Even yesterday, I had a woman who came from very far away; at Murambinda who came to he healed. During the healing process of some people, they will be troubled by demons which will be causing them to be sick. So we exorcize them and their sickness will be gone.14

We need to note that some missionaries had led many Zimbabweans to believe that there was nothing good in their culture. Many people believed what they were told but when problems came and they could not explain the reasons why they were happening, some people continue to be Christians by day and traditionalists by night. Because of the fear of being labelled “heathens” within their Christian traditions, some families, who were faced with spiritual warfare coming into their families or were anticipating it because of what they knew their family members had done during the war, chose not to consult n’angas so that they could remain members of their respective denominations. Instead, they went to the churches for help which was a better alternative. In some churches, people seek uncontrolled inspiration by the Holy Spirit. Spirit possession, discernment of the spirits and exorcism seem to have drawn and still draw a lot of people to them. The prophets can tell people where the problem is coming from, what kind of spirit is troubling them, and finally how they can pray those spirits away. The most important aspect of Christianity for the Zimbabwean church is the experience of deliverance through a restored relationship with God in Jesus Christ. Jules-Rosette gives us a clear picture of strong belief in faith healing in one of the Independent Churches in the Mashonaland Province in Zimbabwe: The Vapostori have abandoned traditional Shona customs relating to supplication and sacrifice to the ancestors. Instead, they say their prayers are filled with the Holy Spirit and cannot be possessed by vadzimu (ancestral spirits) or influenced or harmed by ngozi (avenging spirits) or mashavi (evil spirits)… Pagans who are possessed by midzimu or ngozi or mashavi at the time of conversion must be exorcized by the prayers of the vaprofita (prophets). The Vapostori say that the Holy Spirit fills the place of the other spirits and protects the person from their return.15

These are several of the reasons why some of the victims of the spiritual world after the Zimbabwean liberation struggle had to seek help from churches and traditional healers alike. These religious rituals brought the Zimbabwean people closer to God which also led to church growth. These rituals did not end soon after war but still happen today because of the day-to-day spiritual challenges people have.

13 Economic “Shortage” as a Theologico-political Problem in Zimbabwe Edward P. Antonio

The crises have engulfed the working world, the learning world, the consumer world, the world of the supermarket and even of sport. The economy limps along, agriculture crawling, tourism virtually defunct, manufacturing crippled, and mining, the one still flickering light of the economy, under recent assault from government policies. Electricity comes and goes at will, water likewise in many places; fuel supplies (black market only) are erratic and prices exploitative. Schools are places of confusion, teachers demoralized, pupils unable to afford textbooks if they manage to pay fees, and only finding bus fare for half the school days. Courts barely function, police cells are filthy putrid hell holes, prisons even worse.1

In this article I offer some reflections on what on the face of it are rather pedestrian themes. Zimbabwe is frequently in the news these days. All of it is bad news. The picture that emerges, whether one reads OpenDemocracy, the BBC, the New York Times, etc., is one in which Zimbabwe is a failed state, a state in almost irrecoverable collapse. The reporting and the official response to it in Zimbabwe are framed by the rhetoric of blame. The international community blames Zimbabwe for having “expropriated” white commercial farms outside of the “rule of law,” i.e. , without compensation and sometimes by force. The Zimbabwe government has responded by blaming its political and economic distress on a western plot to topple or remove it from power. In the remarks that follow, I neither blame nor absolve Zimbabwe; I neither agree nor disagree with news reports on the causes of Zimbabwe’s official woes. Instead I take as my subject a series of events (small and big) which constitute the basic and undeniable experience of economic and political collapse and which in different ways are realized by both the rich and the poor, the ruling class and the classes of the ruled. These events are summed up in what I call the everyday collapse of the economy which is experienced in severe food shortages, widespread electricity blackouts, lack of clean water, shortage of medicines, doctors, nurses and medical

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supplies, the problem of housing, etc. To be sure, these events have their own overlapping economic and political logic in terms of which they can be described and explained. It is possible to make sense of them through social and political theory or even to give philosophical (interrogating their ontological status) and historical (tracing their causes and origins) accounts of their character and how they have come to shape Zimbabwe’s place in Africa and in the “global” economy. But here I am less interested in such theories and the direct contributions of the theoretical disciplines to our understanding of what is going on in Zimbabwe. I am rather interested in the “life world” in which they occur and which they describe. Liberationist discourse has taught us that the discursive practice of genuine freedom begins with and from the “common” experience of the “people,” from their everyday encounter with the realities of oppression and injustice. This reference to the everyday is crucial for the reflections that follow. The everyday is the place of play and work; it is where our experiences of home and love take place. Here we drink, eat, complain, make love, reflect, remember, deliberate, build, worship and mark the time of our existence. We are always situated there and all our activities proceed from there. This place of the everyday is prior—and is in this sense fundamental—to everything else. It comes before science and theory and serves as their basis. Although deeply implicated in them, the everyday precedes the setting up and operation of governmental structures, economic policies and legal systems. The everyday is the realm of immediacy, that which we take for granted, of the unquestioned and the unnamed; a place of achievements and failures, dreams and nightmares, reverie and reality as well as hopes and despair. This is the world that concerns me here not, however, so much as the generality of its being— the everyday as such—but as the concrete events, moments, experiences, relationships, rituals, things, etc. in and through which it comes to have significance and meaning for Zimbabweans. As I indicated earlier, the everyday in Zimbabwe is marked by economic collapse expressed though shortages of all sorts: food shortages, widespread electricity blackouts, lack of clean water, shortage of medicines, doctors, nurses and medical supplies, the problem of housing, shortage of foreign currency, etc. In this paper I initially take shortage to mean both the systemic unavailability of goods, services and commodities as well as the disparities in supply and demand which the manipulation of such unavailability produces. What role have these shortages played in shaping how Zimbabweans think about their lives? How have the harsh constraints been absorbed and sedimented into the national self-understanding? My claim in this article is that these shortages have become an integral part of the structure of life and thus of the consciousness of the majority of

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Zimbabweans. In other words, these shortages affect everyone, albeit in different but powerful ways. I propose a twofold project in which I make some theological remarks about each of these shortages. Each of these shortages carries an implicit theological load, essentially negative in character, which I want to try and release here. Thus, in this article I want to reflect phenomenologically on the idea of shortage itself.2

On the Heuristics of Shortage The heuristics of shortage derive from the function of this figure in posing the question: what do economic shortages in Zimbabwe disclose politically and what do they disclose morally and theologically? Shortage is not simply an economy of scarcity, it is also an economy of desire; or rather shortage is a double economy whose basic constitutive elements are scarcity and desire. By scarcity I do not just mean the given or natural limits of resources or shortages wrought by excessive consumption of those resources. I also do not mean the differential threshold that marks off demand from supply as the arena within which scarcity is postulated and produced. Furthermore, while I acknowledge that some forms of scarcity may simply be part of the expression of nature, I reject the idea that shortages in Zimbabwe can legitimately be explained in this way (for example by appealing to drought as Zimbabwean politicians have tended to do). There is a difference between, on the one hand, the deliberate and hence “normal” manipulation of economic or market processes in order to produce episodic scarcity or the kind of scarcity which is produced as a result of the deep innervations and dislocations within an economy (for example a command economy) and on the other hand, the structural scarcity wrought by economic breakdown or by state failure to prevent such a breakdown. It is important to make these distinctions and qualifications in order to avoid hiding behind economistic explanations—doctrinaire explanations that crudely reduce everything to economics. I want to use the term “shortage” in a very specific sense to refer to the political inability of the state to meet as adequately as possible the basic social needs of its citizens. In the particular case under consideration here, the point is not so much that society or the state does not have the resources to meet its social and economic needs, the more important point is about the loss—for whatever reason—of state capacity to manage effectively whatever resources are at its disposal. Thus a country might be rich in natural resources, it might have a reasonably good infrastructure, a

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sound banking system, a highly educated population, a dedicated work force and a working economy. All these things can be said of Zimbabwe throughout much of the 1980s and 1990s. But being well endowed in all these respects does not necessarily translate into being able to operate structurally and functionally. It is not a matter of blaming the state but of observing and describing where the state is and of asking its leaders to ask themselves how Zimbabwe got into this place to begin with, what the responsibility of the state and its functionaries has been, whatever role external factors may have played. Instead of the rhetoric of blame, I am advocating an ethics of self-criticism. I will come back to this later. Let me return to the phenomenon of shortage. Shortages represent a reduction of and decline in human well-being . There is hardly a Zimbabwean today who does not think that there is a correlation between the shortage and hardship. The spiralling price of basic commodities, runaway inflation, expensive transportation and a thriving black market economy are all aspects of the consciousness of most Zimbabweans which are no longer explained but simply remarked with the resignation of a distant hope for a better day. Perception is everything here because it is in the perception of ordinary Zimbabweans that the everyday experience of shortage takes shape; it is in their daily perceptions of economic hardships that they discern and normatively represent to themselves and to each other their relationship to the state. It is in the public perception of how shortage manifests itself and how it is managed that people become aware of their economic, social and political status. This is why it is important to pay attention to the jokes, slips of the tongue, the spontaneous and often “banal” comments in homes, public transport, and bars about economic suffering and its causes. What meaning or significance does shortage have in the public consciousness? This is not simply a question about facts (what is publicly known about the circumstances behind the existence of shortage) and policies (how have government and business or industry responded to shortage). It is also an existential question (what, if any, social and subjective meanings does life have in the face of the destructive economic pathologies which constitute shortage). Taken together the three moments of this question (i.e., facts, policies and ethics) construct a symbolic system (a culture of shortage) in which the meaningfulness of the world inhabited by all Zimbabweans is perceived by them in terms of the content and structure of the economy of shortage, how that economy functions and how it affects people. Since to perceive involves coming to form a view of the world and how to function effectively within that world, I wish to suggest that the perceptions which are produced by and through the symbolic economy of shortage are significant indicators of the personal,

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social, and political responses of ordinary Zimbabweans to their plight. While I do not have the time or space to interrogate these responses here, it is clear that any phenomenological analysis of the cultural forms of the everyday reality of shortage must regard them as the bedrock of the stories and narratives out of which the discourses of “protest,” “political patience,” “endurance” and “survival” are emerging in today’s Zimbabwe. For these responses and the stories they contain express and articulate the morphology of social distress, mundane details of economic life, concerns or fears about the future as well as the shape and symptoms of the current crisis. More importantly, they also disclose the strategies and tactics of intervention by which “political patience,” “endurance” and “survival” are rendered possible. Using the idea of a symbolic system to describe the meaning dimension of the experience of shortage can be justified in two ways: first, in terms of the extent to which the economic crisis has penetrated public awareness as a formative social experience, and second, in terms of the far-reaching changes this has wrought in the culture. First, Zimbabweans generally describe their lives today in terms of the politics of shortage. This is evident in the many ways in which in the rituals of daily greetings, in jokes, sermons, and conversations on public transport and many other sites shortage is routinely enlisted to explain things. In this symbolic system the everyday character of shortage is encoded in at least four existential articulations; as crisis, as hardship, as poverty and marginality, and as struggle. Crisis is a time of trial, transition or turning point; it is also represents breakdown, instability and abrupt change. It is a traumatic event or cluster of traumatic events marked by all these features. The majority of Zimbabweans experience this crisis in terms of material hardship. By hardship I mean suffering, adversity, affliction, and ill-being due to poverty. Whatever the debates about relative and absolute poverty, having grown up under its unremitting constraints, I take poverty itself to be largely a condition of being deprived of the basic goods—food, housing, clean water, medical care, education, etc.—necessary for life and well-being. Marginality carries an important referential force which is internally traced in the social divisions inscribed at the heart of the shortage economy itself. Thus, first, it refers to the status and site of the poor as those who inhabit undesirable social spaces or those who are excluded from desirable spaces within society. Second, it also refers to the economic line that marks the material threshold of their existence, the so-called poverty line—the thin limit that, for most Zimbabweans, barely separates life from death. Third, because the effects of shortage are disproportionately felt by the poor, especially women, children and the unemployed, marginality refers to and describes the unequal and unfair distribution of hardship. Although

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the shortage economy incorporates every aspect of life and every social group, it goes without saying that different social classes experience shortage differently. The wealthier classes, or at least those with access to money, compete among themselves for whatever commodities are available in the shops or on the black market. Among this group those with access to foreign currency do better than those without. On the other hand, the poor are effectively excluded from all the spaces of officially and unofficially sanctioned production, exchange and consumption.3 This plane of marginality produced as a function of exclusion is characterized by the reduction of the life of the poor to bare existence, a condition consisting of the negation of the very meaning of what it means to be human. Bare existence means the condition of being abandoned by the state exercising its sovereign power to make life or not. It means defenceless exposure to the forces of death.4 In this context the all-encompassing material hardship experienced by the poor is linked to social and personal struggle understood here not only as strenuous, anguish-ridden, bodily and psychological effort to combat the recurrent pain of poverty, its causes and structures, but also the fight to live. 5 As I have already suggested, the immediate context of the experience of these phenomena is the obscene reality of economic shortages. It is because of this immediacy, the everydayness of shortage as I have called it, that shortage and overcoming shortage has become the medium through which the possibility of life itself is culturally, socially and politically envisaged. The second way in which shortage can be understood as a symbolic system is through its impact on the social structure. This follows from the fact that the kind of shortage Zimbabwe is witnessing is inevitably accompanied by fundamental changes on at least three interconnected symbolic levels: the personal, the cultural and the social. First, at the personal level, shortage has brought about changes in individual consciousness. Whereas before individuals could sometimes rely on government and community for their physical well-being, under the new economy of scarcity individuals are no longer as integrated into the larger social reality. In a country where unemployment stands at 80 per cent and university degrees have become worthless both in value and utility, individuals find that they have nothing to look forward to; they suffer high levels of despair. Some have turned to crime or have become blackmarket traders or dealers. Second, one example of the impact of the economic crisis on culture is the erosion of the traditional values of generosity and hospitality. Shortages make it impossible for families to share food with those outside the family circle—in its immediate and extended forms. This imposes serious social constraints upon relationships. Furthermore, because of these shortages

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the diet of many Zimbabweans is rapidly changing. When I was in Zimbabwe in 2005, I was surprised to see foods such as broccoli and potatoes, typically regarded as western, on sale in township supermarkets. On the other hand, shortages have meant going back to traditional foods where these can be found more cheaply. The same thing applies to medicines; shortage of modern medicines means many people, irrespective of education or social class, now rely more and more on traditional healers. Finally, the social costs of the crisis have been harsh, consisting of a sharp decline in the provision of public services such as health and education, and an acute food security crisis. This combined with widespread corruption and criminality, chronic government inefficiency, the devastating effects of the HIV/AIDS pandemic (one of the highest in the world with a prevalence rate of 20.1 per cent), as well as the flight of literally millions of Zimbabweans to other countries has severely impacted the social fabric. Again, what is striking about this situation is what has become its ordinariness or the extent to which it has been normalized and has become a part of the everyday so that, for example, even the rituals of daily greetings and spontaneous exchanges of humour are consistently littered with informal references to shortage and to the overcoming of shortage. In other words, the destructive objects and properties of the economy of shortage and its consequences have, as the quotation with which I opened this essay illustrates, infiltrated and colonized every level of the “life world” or the everyday. In this situation reality presents itself in and through shortage; the meaning of life is literally interwoven with everyday struggles to surmount and survive the demands of shortage. Witness, for example, the long, often pointless, hours Zimbabweans spend queuing for fuel, medicines, bread, sugar or meat. If the everyday is the realm of the basic and the visceral, what could be more everyday than fuel, medicines, bread, sugar and meat? Is this not the meaning of give us this day our daily bread? Yet it is precisely this which the state has failed to provide. My argument is that the immediate gaps, disparities and absences which constitute this failure (shortage) in the circuit of supply and demand of commodities, goods and services severely curtail and frustrate human possibility, on the one hand, and threaten life itself, on the other.6

On the Heuristics of Abundance Over and against shortage as a figure of state failure, economic lack, want and absence (desire in its negative form), the Christian scriptures present another, opposing figure, that of abundance which I want to explore briefly

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here. Very specifically, Jesus says I came so that you may have life and have it in abundance. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full (John 10:10).

These words occur in the context of Jesus’ discussion of his role as “shepherd.” In the ancient Near East “shepherd” was a metaphor sometimes used to describe a type of leader or a style of leadership, something along the lines of what Foucault has called “pastoral power” operative in a culture developed on the basis of a pastoral social system.7 Subject to this power was the “flock,” i.e., the people under such power or leadership. The metaphor was used in Egypt, Assyria, Babylon, Palestine and, as Foucault has pointed out, it was also sometimes used in ancient Greece and Rome to describe the role of gods, kings and other functionaries in society. It is thus a metaphor with profound political, religious and social implications. The logic of Jesus’ view of religious and social leadership is essentially “oppositional.” It opposes several varieties of leadership by appealing to the ethical framework within which they function. There is first alienated leadership. Jesus describes this in terms of a shepherd who is regarded by the sheep as a stranger and thus is denied their recognition; the sheep do not know his voice and so not only refuse to follow him. They actually run away from him (think of millions of refugees or those in exile). Second there is a leadership that is sustained by an economy of killing and kleptocracy (government based on violence, theft and robbery). Third, there is a style of leadership driven by a cost/benefit analysis mentality rather than by commitment to the well-being of the flock. Here the shepherd thinks of his role primarily in terms of doing a job or performing a task for some gain. When the cost of shepherding becomes too demanding the shepherd flees (notice that in a dramatic expression of alienation from the sheep, it is the shepherd, and not the sheep, as in the first example, that flees from the flock). Jesus describes this as an alienated labour relationship motivated not by service or commitment but by the exigencies of being a hired labourer. In contrast to these three negative approaches to shepherding or leadership, Jesus posits a fourth approach in which he declares himself as the good shepherd. First, he is good because of the legitimacy of the way he enters the space of the flock. He comes in through the gate rather than through an illegitimate entry point (consider the rigging of elections, the use of violence and the manipulation of the constitution or legislative process of a country in order to gain or retain power). He is also good because he recognizes his sheep by name and they recognize his voice. Indeed, throughout this passage Jesus emphasizes his intimate knowledge of his flock and the latter’s intimate knowledge of his leadership. This

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process of mutual recognition is the basis of the legitimacy and integrity of his role as shepherd.8 Moreover, Jesus is “the good shepherd” because of the depth of his commitment according to which he is prepared to die for his flock; the model of sacrificial leadership. Finally Jesus claims that he is “the good shepherd” because he is the gateway into the space of salvation and well-being. In the New Testament the role of a shepherd is that of feeding, leading, guiding, providing security or protecting. These activities have their counterparts in the role of government today in ensuring food security, the provision of health, work, and housing I wish to suggest here that in making these claims and offering these contrasting views of the exercise of “pastoral power,” Jesus establishes an irreducible gap between two antithetical orders; on the one hand, the order of theft, murder and destruction, and on the other, the order of life and abundance. This gap has two main interconnected features: the ethical and the political. On the side of ethics we may say that the affirmation and promotion of life is good. We may also generally condemn all acts of theft, killing and destruction (whether by the state or by any of its citizens) as morally unacceptable. On the side of politics, we may observe that it is the duty of the state to affirm and promote life by, for example, upholding human rights, providing infrastructure, security, social stability and by meeting the basic needs of its citizens. The state is also under an obligation to prevent, wherever possible, and to punish all acts of theft, killing and destruction. These two orders—the political and the ethical—represent the operation of what, following Foucault, I want to call biopolitics.9 In other words, what is at stake in these orders of governance is the practice of biopolitics— the control and ordering of what it means to be a living being, (le vivant) of life. The practice of biopolitics (the regulation of life and an ethics of care) presupposes state capacity—the conditions, resources, instruments, structures, processes—through which government takes place. Here the aim of government is understood as “optimizing the life chances” of the population. My claim in this article involves the idea that Zimbabwe’s current economic meltdown is the result of the loss of state capacity. But if state capacity is so important, what do we mean by it and what should we mean by it? Because I make much of this loss of capacity let me describe what I mean by capacity. There are, to be sure, many definitions of this. Some see it in terms of administrative technical efficiency, or the aptitude of an institution to survive over time, or such an institution’s ability to efficiently provide goods and services as well as to allocate resources to all its citizens. Other definitions understand capacity as the increasing rationalization (rationality) of the operation of an institution or how (the means) an institution achieves its goals and objectives. Still other

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definitions focus not so much on the how of institutional operations but on what an institution does. Because there is considerable discussion and disagreement among economists and political theorists working in the field of international development about the meaning of this term I shall avoid adjudicating among their competing definitions. Instead, I propose five basic inter-related modalities or categories for defining “state capacity.” These include all the basic elements of the definitions I have just mentioned. The five modalities through which I define “capacity” constitute an integrated political formation such that they must be taken together and not in isolation. In other words, taken singly or individually these categories do not tell us very much about “state capacity.” The first category in my definition of state capacity is what I call structural capacity. This refers to the institutions, organizational apparatuses, i.e., structures, functions, procedures and processes of government. These exist alongside a second category, that of economic capacity. Economic capacity is characterized by the existence and effective use of the resources at the disposal of a state. These resources include its physical infrastructure, assets, investments, its money as the medium of domestic and international exchange, its foreign currency reserves, its economic policies and the human resources available to it, and so on. Of particular importance with regard to the latter is the quality of those human resources. Economic capacity is one important measure of the extent to which a government is able to use its resources not only to pay for its activities but more importantly to do so in a sustainable manner. The third category that I want to mention is that of political and military capacity. Under this category I include not only the overall formal and coordinated framework of institutions—parliament (or the equivalent), the judiciary, the police, and the military—through which the state represents and exercises power—but also political rites, policies and procedures as well as the symbolic beliefs which define the “ideological” self-understanding of the state and which guide its practice of government. Now, none of the forms of capacity I have so far discussed drop readymade from the skies. They are continuously created and constructed through the work of governing. Over time this involves a fourth form of capacity which I call iterative capacity. This, as the term “iterative” suggests, conveys the idea of repetition, the ability of the state to produce, reproduce and sustain itself. One way in which a state or government is judged viable is in terms of this kind of historical and moral continuity in structure and function. Finally, I shall call the fifth category, instrumental capacity. Modern governments claim to exist not for their own sake but to serve the nation and its people. It is this idea of service that I want to fasten upon here as a basis for articulating a notion of instrumental capacity. Insofar as

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instrumental capacity designates the ability of government to deliver basic services, meet the fundamental needs of its citizens and generally care for their well-being, by ensuring their freedom, self-respect and dignity, this form of capacity is closely connected with the notion of pastoral power discussed earlier. Indeed, in some key respects it may be said to be the goal of good government. Again, there is nothing exhaustive about these five categories of state capacity. I simply use them here as a rough analytical guide in discussing some of the ways in which the logic of economic shortage in Zimbabwe corresponds to the loss of state capacity at the five levels I have isolated here. To be sure, it is possible to extend the list of state capacities for further analysis. But the five I have mentioned here are good enough for my purposes. I have described capacity but not loss. Yet I have claimed that economic destitution in Zimbabwe is a function of loss of state capacity. Does this mean that the government of Zimbabwe is literally bereft of capacity in the five categories I have outlined? Does it mean that Zimbabwe is a collapsed state? I do not have the time to go into this important question here but I want briefly to distinguish between loss of capacity and state collapse. First, ordinarily, genuine state collapse represents a complete and radical power vacuum characterized by the decomposition of most structures of government, the outbreak of social havoc, lawlessness, the rule of violence by paramilitary groups and warlords, the veritable absence of a functioning economy and the lack of international legitimacy. Although it is possible to argue that some of these features of state collapse are more or less evident in Zimbabwe, it would obviously be wrong at the time of this writing to claim that there is a power vacuum there. Indeed, one of the paradoxes of my argument is that while economic shortage is a consequence of loss of capacity by the state, this loss of state capacity is, however, itself the outcome of what I described above in my third category as political and military capacity and thus does not count as genuine state collapse. It is for this reason that state collapse should not always be regarded as a zero-sum game. Second, and somewhat similarly, loss of capacity ought not be thought of as some sort of all or nothing circumstance in which for something to count as “loss” there must exist a condition of total impotence whereby a state or government is deprived of all power and strength effectively to perform even its run-of-the-mill functions. One important consideration to keep in mind in discussing the meaning of loss of state capacity is that the capacities of the state must be understood in terms of making life possible in the most basic and concrete of ways. This brings us back to the closely related notions of “biopolitics” (the politics of life) and “pastoral power” (the power to care or, better still, the

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power of an ethics of care) which I mentioned earlier. In biopolitics, as I define it here, the state makes it its business to regulate life. I am aware that elsewhere, in Foucault, for example, this notion is quite complex. But as Foucault himself argued, traditionally the power of the state has derived from its assumed “sovereign right” to manage peoples, the production and distribution of goods, institutions, and legal, economic and political processes. There is a powerful moral aspect to this idea as well as to the idea of pastoral power which connects them with the fifth definition of capacity discussed above, namely instrumental capacity, the capacity of the state to serve its people. If biopolitics is the political regulation of life and pastoral power the care of and for life, then both must involve activities that promote life such as state provision of jobs, ensuring a viable, that is, structurally functional, open, universal and fair health system for the population, providing and underwriting a decent education for its citizens, sustaining the conditions for freedom of speech, movement, belief and expression. In short, I mean everything that can be done not only to make life possible but to make it sustainably possible. Education, food security, freedom, health, a sound economic and political system are some of the basic ways in which the population of a country produces and reproduces itself. By ensuring the existence of these things, a state ensures a healthy citizenry. These are basic and obvious functions of the state that in our times we should not have to remark upon.10 Biopolitics in this sense is clearly about the question of life itself as well as the question of the control and management of life and death. Thus while in modern times the state is the only institution with the legal and politically sanctioned power to frustrate and destroy life, its moral duty is, in fact, that of making life possible (making live) by enabling and empowering citizens to live decent lives. This calls into question and denies the validity of the claim that the reason for the existence of the state is the state itself—the so-called reason of state. In suggesting that the state does not exist for its own sake, it does not wield power for itself and on its own behalf but on behalf of its citizens, we are linking up with Aristotle’s demand that a just society is one that, as far as possible, is able to provide the necessary resources for its citizens to develop their capabilities. As Amartya Sen and Martha Nussbaum have argued,11 in addition to this being a political and economic requirement, it is also fundamentally a moral obligation. Both Sen and Nussbaum have developed a “capability ethic” premised on at least two ideas: first that, because of its obvious concern with the direction and benefits of social change as well as with the goal of improving life for human beings, the language and practice of international economic and political development necessarily presupposes

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moral and ethical considerations; and second that the goal of development is to promote and expand human capability to be and to do, to promote, that is, basic human functioning. The goal of government policy and activity is to increase well-being. Sen and Nussbaum put such functioning at the heart of the good life. Since development is essentially a moral project, any adequate analysis of its achievements and failures must go beyond scientific, technical and political frameworks to encompass morality. They point out that development failures are often failures not only at the level of technical performance but also, and perhaps primarily, at the level of moral imagination and vision. I have explicated these views here for two reasons. One is that if Sen and Nussbaum are correct, what I have been calling loss of state capacity in Zimbabwe entails failure of the state to meet the Aristotelian demand which guides their argument that a just society must be measured in terms of its effectiveness in promoting basic human functioning or capability. I have been suggesting that in Zimbabwe the figure of economic shortage inscribes the state’s abject failure to do just this. On this view, loss of state capacity, whatever other residual technical and political functions may still be in place, is loss of moral vision about the reasons for the existence of the state. This entails a circular logic which binds the state and its citizens in a mutual relation of structurally contagious loss of capacities. Thus, the loss of state capacity itself translates into shortage (loss) of moral capacity which then translates into economic shortage. If people are not fully themselves, if they are deprived of the capability to be and to do, if they are denied the necessary conditions for basic human functioning, they cannot be fully economically productive. Economic shortage then translates into shortening of human potential and capability. My other reason for appealing to Sen and Nussbaum is that their “capability ethic” is enormously fruitful for what I want to say about abundance as a counter economy to the figure of shortage. This takes us back to the theological part of this discussion where I invoked the words of Jesus in John 10:10 about abundant life. What is abundance? Although abundance has many dimensions: economic, cultural, spiritual/psychological, social, political, etc., under the logic of global capitalism it is a term that has been co-opted to mean material wealth and success. Its other philosophical associations with more comprehensive notions of the good life, well-being, fullness of life, and happiness have been reduced to the effects of bare economic relations. I do not have the space here to canvas the vast literature on this topic. I shall thus confine myself to a few remarks. Needless to say, abundance as Jesus uses it has nothing to do with the gospel of prosperity (achieving wealth through manipulating Christian or other religious symbols), nor is it something to be spiritualized away

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(abundance is a matter of being spiritually rich and has nothing to do with material well-being). Rather, abundance here refers to human flourishing. This means at least three things: first, that to flourish means to be free, to have the capacity to exercise one’s will without undue constraints; second, flourishing also means one must have the basic necessities of life: food, shelter, clothing, good health, etc. These first two points are the double condition without which any attempt at human flourishing would be still born. Yet this is precisely what is lacking or is characterized as lack or absence by the figure of shortage. Third, human flourishing is not reducible to having food, shelter, etc.: a full stomach and a shirt on one’s back are not in themselves tokens of human flourishing; though this is a condition for realizing human flourishing. To put it positively, human flourishing has spiritual, social and psychological dimensions in terms of which the meaning of a person’s life involves the ability to satisfy that person’s wants and needs as well as to plan and pursue his or her goals, the realization of his or her potential, the exercise of his or her freedom to express him or herself. When Jesus promises abundant life it is this that he promises. To come at it from another angle, Christian theology accounts for human dignity in terms of the claim that each person is made in God’s image.

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PART IX

GHANA

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14 “Poverty is madness”: Some Insights from Traditional African Spirituality and Mental Health Elizabeth Amoah This article is set in the Ghanaian context, which continues to be complex and changing. Ghana, formerly known as the Gold Coast,1 has been severely affected and shaped by its continuous contact with Western, Arabian, Asian as well as other cultures. The effects of these expressions have been as varied as the nature of the encounters. For example, while in some situations the encounter has been an exchange between indigenous Ghanaian thought forms with Western and the Arabian thought forms, as in the case of the current expressions of Christianity and Islam in Ghana, in other situations, especially in the economic, moral and political spheres, Western economic, moral and political ideologies have become predominant, influencing and controlling the daily lives of people. Inevitably, Ghana has become part of the global culture. Under intense pressure from complex modern processes, the core of the Ghanaian community is, to some extent, being torn asunder by modern factors such as the various effects of globalization, migration from the rural areas to the urban centers, immigration to other countries, bad governance, etc. In consequence, the society is gradually falling prey to individual acquisitiveness, excessive competition, and malicious envy and vile cupidity and godless commercialism even in religion. The national wealth, in its broad sense, is unevenly distributed in such a way that a few people are filthy rich while the majority of the people both in the rural and urban centers are shamefully poor, often living under harsh conditions. Some people are very frustrated and constantly live with the acceptance that they have totally failed in life. To vent out their frustration and sense of failure, some resort to all forms of violence and alcohol or substance abuse. Invariably, women and the youth bear the brunt of such violence

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and abuse, which lead to the increase in the emotional and psychological trauma of the victims.2 Some of the divergent religious systems and teachings are also making some people confused and unrealistic. While some teachings put great emphasis on instant and miraculous solutions to the diverse and complex problems, others instill in the members the belief that demons and witches are the causes of their problems, thus making them live in constant distrust and fear of people around them. These scenarios are gradually eroding the cherished, traditional and communal coping mechanisms that gave stability to individuals. One thing leads to another. This complex interplay of the social problems enumerated above is triggering numerical increases in various forms of mental disorder. In a recent article in the Ghanaian Daily Graphic,3 it is reported that a World Health Organization survey on mental health in Ghana indicated that 10 out of 100 Ghanaians experience some form of mental illness. Though cold statistical figures may be misleading at times, the fact is that as long as the factors that lead to mental illness are on the increase, there will be a corresponding increase in the number of people who suffer from various forms of mental disorder. Since scholars in the field of mental health are unanimous in their claim that there is a steady increase in mental illness, nations and communities should be very concerned about and deal with the issue before many families and lives are destroyed. There is an urgent need for serious commitment and interest in searching for viable ways of dealing with the current issue of mental health care. Besides, there are all forms of mental ill-health emerging in the country. As an illustration, the use of hallucinogenic substances such as cocaine and marijuana has become a major factor in mental health in modern society, especially in the urban communities. The increasing use of these hard drugs makes the factors that lead to mental illness very complex. In Ghana, we are told that the age of the mentally disordered in psychiatric hospitals ranges from 14 to 40 years and this means that many young people including women are becoming mentally ill. An implication is that the country, which is already losing some of its members through the outbreak of the HIV/AIDS pandemic, is also gradually losing a sizable proportion of its economically active population through mental illness. Paradoxically, whereas the numerical value and strains of mental illhealth are on the rise, the modern institutional capacities to tackle this situation are inadequate in terms of personnel and logistics. Ghanaian print media and researchers are constantly making the public aware of the gravity of the situation at hand. In a country of an estimated population of about twenty million people, there are only three major psychiatric centers, all clustered in the southern part of the country. We are told that

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the ratio of psychiatric personnel to the mentally disordered person is woefully inadequate given the fact that the nation has about 10 psychiatric doctors, 339 psychiatric trained nurses, and 135 community psychiatric nurses, most of whom, are in the southern part of the country.4 This definitely calls for serious commitment in searching for viable ways of dealing with the various forms of mental disorder on the increase in the country. Given the complexity and the urgency of the situation, a resourceful and thoughtful search for viable and sustainable ways of dealing with the issue of mental health is pressing and timely. Hence the focus of this article is on the need for a constant search for effective methods of dealing with the challenges at hand. We strongly believe in such a solution: a careful blend of the traditional comprehensive methodology of dealing with mental care with the modern system will go a long way towards dealing effectively with the diverse types of mental ill-health in the country. This is the thrust of this article. Mental health is an issue that has been with humanity for a long time. It crosses cultural and religious boundaries and is as old as time. This ageold human condition has devastating effects not only on those living with mental illness, but also on the families,5 and the entire community. In some cases the community and, sadly, friends and members of the family discriminate against and stigmatize the mentally disordered to such an extent that they are committing acts of human rights abuse. Mental illness, when it lasts a long time, may be an economic and emotional burden for families and, at times, on the entire community. Even though the issue of mental health is cross-cultural, there are varied opinions on the causes of this mental malaise and how various cultures grapple with its solution.6 This article is a quest for viable ways of restoring mental health, at least in Ghana. It takes a critical look at the traditional Akan7 comprehensive way of perceiving a person’s mental condition and the multifaceted approach of dealing with all forms of mental illness. We are strongly convinced that it is so effective that modern mental care systems can learn a lot from it. The first part of the title of this article, “poverty is madness,” which is rendered in Akan as “ohia ye adambo” is one of the wise sayings of the Akan ethnic community, the largest ethnic grouping which occupies almost the southern half of Ghana, a West African country. Though intended to capture Traditional African spirituality, this work narrows itself to traditional Akan spirituality and intends to be regarded as a microcosm of traditional African spirituality with little or no alterations. The reason for limiting oneself to the Akan tradition is that the African continent is so vast and complex that it will be very problematic for one to cover the entire continent in such a brief article. Despite the complexity of the reality on the

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continent, one can still argue that there are certain typical elements which are common in the different traditionally-oriented communities in Africa. Again, Africa is not static but changing with the wave of developments. Thus, in using the word tradition, we are not in any way claiming that the accumulated ways of life of and the world views of the Akan8 people have remained the same. Undoubtedly, foreign factors such as cultural, economic, political, social, moral and other systems and values have made tremendous impact on the traditional systems in such a way that the indigenous traditions have not remained the same. However, despite the change, one can still decipher what is indigenous to the people from the hybrids of traditions that continue to give them multiple identities. Such resilient features are what this article is focusing on. We need to emphasize here also that spirituality, as used in this article, is defined as one’s way of life shaped by cultural, moral, religious, social orientations and the environment. It is, in sum, how individuals or communities deal with or live in balance with the scheme of things. Spirituality is life long and the totality of life. Akan traditional spirituality is, therefore, the various ways in which the Akan people have over the years accumulated and adapted for existence and survival. A central concept of the indigenous Akan spirituality is “ahoto,”9 an Akan word for the wellbeing of individuals, the community and the entire universe. Other related concepts, which the indigenous Akan spirituality focuses on, are “nkwa” which is translated as holistic and comprehensive life, and “asomdwee,” calmness and coolness within the ear that is peace. These embody further concepts such as mercy, love, good relationships between human beings and between human beings and nature, lack of conflicts, good health and healing of individuals and community, etc. That is to say that these complex concepts have physical and material dimensions and that concrete realization of such concepts depends, to a large extent, on a healthy and enabling environment. Indigenous Akan spirituality includes a continuous life in which there is a proper balance and harmony between the various spiritual dimensions of the human members of the community and the numerous spirit powers that are believed to reside in nature and are part of the community. These spirit powers include the Creator Spirit, which the Akan call Onyame, the numerous gods and goddesses, abosom, and the ancestors Nananom Nsamfo who continue to be part of the community. A cordial relationship and well-balanced harmony between the human, the physical as well as the spiritual is a prerequisite for health and healing of individuals and the community at large. Lack of balance and harmony between the human, the physical and the spiritual has in its trail all forms of psychological and social strains that may eventually result in psychological and mental disorder of individuals.10

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One of several ways to ensure physical and spiritual harmony is through constant performance of varied rituals which play major roles in the indigenous Akan spirituality. Rituals are performed to ward off or prevent anything that will create disharmony within individuals and in the community. All types of rituals are performed to remove guilty feeling and eventually to restore good relationships as well as provide inner stability and spiritual strength to individuals and the community for effective management of stress.11 We need to emphasize, again, that the Akan understanding of the state of well-being12 is the ability to provide for one’s self and one’s kith or kin, as the case may be, basic biological needs of food, clothing and shelter as well as being able to abide by religious, social and moral norms and mores of the community; in addition to living in harmony and peace with the members of one’s family, friends and the members of the entire community. Therefore, the Akan concept of well-being, ahoto, literally translated as the soundness of the body, has internal and external implications. It has material, psychological and spiritual as well as individual and communal dimensions. By contrast, individuals who are unable to provide the basic biological needs for themselves and their kith and kin, let alone being able to fulfill their social, religious and moral obligations of the community, are, in this sense, described by the Akan as being in need, namely “being poor.” Appropriately chosen in this circumstance, this Akan proverb, “poverty is madness” (in the title of this essay), is in some respects similar to the ancient Roman saying “Mens sana incorpore sano,” which reads as “A sound mind dwells in a healthy body”; that one’s condition of mind is a function of one’s state of physical and spiritual being. We are very much aware that as a proverb it is open to several interpretations depending on the intention and the mindset coupled with the context of the interpreter.13 One may, for instance, interpret the proverb to imply that acute poverty can physically disorient one’s mental state. It may also imply that acute poverty can make individuals resort to all sorts of activities and certain lifestyles that the society, depending on its criteria for sound mental health, may label such individuals as mentally challenged. For example, individuals who are extremely poor and who want to get out of their poverty situation by any and fast means may allow themselves to be used by drug dealers by agreeing to swallow pallets of harmful drugs such as cocaine even when they know they may lose their lives in such acts. Poverty, like mental illness, may make people behave in ways and do things that they will “normally” not do. Similarly, the inability to meet the economic and social demands of oneself or one’s family may lead to psychological and mental confusion. In other words, in

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real-life situations, there is an inter-play between mental illness and poverty in the comprehensive sense. Poverty, from the Akan perspective, is evil and multifaceted.14 It has economic/material, psychological and spiritual and communal dimensions, which can be devastating. The evil nature of poverty is concretized in specific ways in Akan proverbs. We learn from the proverbs that poverty specifically is the lack of the basic necessities in life such as food and shelter. The lack of the basic life sustenance as an essential aspect of poverty is seen in the following proverbs.15 1. hia onipa da wuramu: If a person becomes poor he/she sleeps in the open forest. 2. hia wo a, na wowe sumina-due: If you are poor you eat from the rubbish dung. 3. hia wu a wowe aberekyi were: If you are poor you eat goat’s skin.

The symbolism of sleeping in the open forest and eating from the bin is very significant. Normally, wild animals live in the forest while human beings live in homes. Again, scavengers such as vultures, considered as dirty creatures, eat from the rubbish bin. One may, consequently, infer from the symbolism that within the Akan system of thought, poverty reduces human beings to the status of animals. Poverty, therefore, has a wider implication than the deprivation of material goods. It completely destroys the dignity of people. Poverty transcends material wants. It has social, economic, political and health dimensions as well. As expressed in the proverb: Nnyε ohia nko ni ka. Poverty is not only being in debt.

The loss of dignity and personhood is again illustrated in the proverbs: Ohiani bu mfu The poor person has no right to be angry. Ohiani bu bε a ennhyε A poor person’s proverb does not go deep. That is, a poor person’s intelligent contribution is never accepted by anyone. Ohiani mpow dabrε A poor person has no choice in deciding where he or she sleeps. Ohiani hye sika a yεbu no se awowa. If a poor person puts on gold ornaments they are considered as brass.

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Ohiani tumi nnyε tumi pa. A poor person’s power is no power. That is, the poor is powerless.

Poverty does not only imply loss of identity, self-esteem and power, but also alienation and loss of community. This is implied in the following proverbs: Ohiani nni yonko. The poor has no friend. Ehia wo a wo da wuram. When you are in need you sleep in the bush.

The various proverbs illustrate that poverty is also lack of things considered basic to human survival. One can infer from this comprehensive traditional view of the state of being poor that if one is found wanting in any of the components of the “full life,” some form of dislocation may be ignited, resulting in the worst scenario—“madness.” The Akan use several euphemisms to describe the mentally challenged person. Some of them are, w’ato wura mu or ode ne ho aka wura. These may be literally translated as the body of the mentally disordered person has touched the forest or is roaming in the forest. In other words, such a person lives outside the human community for some reason. It must be said that situations equivalent to taking to the bush and eating from the rubbish mound, acts that human beings are not supposed to do, are believed to be the traditional symptoms of lunacy. In other words, in a typical traditional Akan scheme of things, homelessness and eating from rubbish heaps, which are currently signs of material poverty, were not part of human community or communal living. Another phrase that the Akan use to describe the mentally challenged person is ne saafee ayera. This may be translated as the mentally ill person has lost a key. The allusion to the key here is the key to life, namely all necessary tools for achieving the total well-being that individuals strive for. Inability to have the tools or the “secret” for life (such as living in harmony with oneself and the individual members of the community, being in tune with the spirits, fulfilling social, moral and spiritual obligations as well as a sense of achievement) may lead to confusion, disorientation, ill-health in general and the loss of the will to live. Thus, the traditional Akan community encourages hard work and frowns on the life of a mendicant. However, cognizant of the enormity of the task facing the individual who needs to achieve a state of well-being, the community comes to the individual with complementary ancillary services. These services manifest in various forms. They could take the form of proxy representation of a sojourned individual by a family member in the performance of a custom typical or essential to the community. For

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example, it may be expressed in the form of performing spiritual rites for absent members, paying funeral contributions and sponsoring a travellingmember’s share of communal contributions towards the well-being of the entire community. To reciprocate the family’s or the community’s proxy representation, the absentee members regularly send financial or other contributions to the families or members left behind. In this way, individuals continue to remain connected with and fulfill their diverse obligations to the community, no matter where they find themselves. Additionally, communal assistance could come in the mode of continuous education through the use of a treasure trove of wise sayings and symbolic forms in what may be described as social tools to equip the individual for life worth living. In the light of the scope of this work, some of the proverbs cited here should be regarded in a conclusive but inexhaustive sense. The essence of the Akan proverb, “nsu anso guare a oso nom” which, for example, reads as “if the water is insufficient for bathing it can be used for drinking” is to acknowledge the uniqueness and usefulness of every human being . The golden thread in the aforementioned proverb is captured in a similar wise saying which is så bafan nne biribi, otume bo ne nsam mu. Literally this saying translates into “if the cripple has nothing to offer, at least he/she can applaud when the situation arises.” In other words, the idea that no one is completely useless, no matter one’s condition in life, instills confidence in individuals. The proverb employing the imagery of water was set in antiquity when women had to walk long distances to fetch water from the nearest sources. Similarly, the one with regard to the physically challenged was set in an era when modern gadgets such as wheelchairs and artificial limbs etc. were simply unavailable. Suffice it to conclude with this last symbolic form, Nyame nnwu na me wu, infusing resilience and tenacity to live regardless of the circumstances of the individual. This last proverb could be packaged figuratively to read as “Onyame, the creator spirit, does not die, so I shall never die come sunshine, come high water.” One may not be wrong to say here that it is this aspect of African spirituality that kept the flame of life burning in our people as they trekked from their homes, through the filthy dungeons in the castles, via hostile cargo ships to confront the sordid reality of life in the “new world.” Let us at this point not forget that it was the drudgery of harvesting that led our Brother Joseph Anderson to invent the combine-harvester16 (The Black Book). Again, this same spirituality underpins the endurance of Africans’ lot on the continent of “progressive miserization” in the socalled Global village. This proverb touching on Onyame, the creator spirit, is urging us to see all forms of impediments placed in our way either by nature or human systems as creative challenges to unleash our capabilities.

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In a nutshell, traditional Akan societies had their expectations and demands for individuals; at the same time the community had various mechanisms to accommodate the not-so-great achievers. Arguably, however, it was the under-achievers who often became subjected to disadvantageous stigmatization by the community, a phenomenon that eventually led to mental disorder. Putting two and two together, one could say that from the Akan tradition, adambo, mental disorder is not viewed solely on the axis of physiology. It is a multi-faceted condition mirroring one’s total life experience. Rightly so, because for an individual to have lived among the community using all the facilities it offered and later become demented was regarded as strange and challenging. Unraveling this “strange” behavior involves a multidimensional approach ranging from physical to spiritual. The first line of action to deal with the situation at hand is for the demented person’s family to consult an oracle for diagnosis and cure. If the diagnosis points to an invitation by one of the numerous deities for service, the family meets the prerequisites for that specific spiritual vocation. Then, the said person is taken to the custody of a renowned spiritual specialist for training in careers such as priesthood, healing, divination, etc. In this way, the “abnormal” person is assisted by the family to find the appropriate place in the community; that is, the community of spiritualists or religious leaders. As it often turns out, the biblical saying that “the stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone” plays out since the rehabilitated mentally-disordered person invariably becomes a member of the spiritual leaders who in turn carry out the spiritual needs of the entire community. Where there is a different diagnosis, the family is often called upon to seek help from a renowned healer who combines physical, spiritual and psychological therapy. The healing centers are usually small villages. Depending on the gravity of the condition, the person is either treated at home amongst the family or taken to the healing village in the company of, at least, one member of the family. Until total recovery, this family member does not part company with the “in-mate,” seeing to his/her daily needs. As healing progresses, the mentally disordered person is gradually encouraged to participate in the daily chores of the community and in this way they are eventually absorbed in the entire community. At the healing centers, those with mental disorders are encouraged to go through all forms of healing rituals which combine and employ a variety of approaches including the application of herbal medicine, confession and reconciliatory processes, and sacrifices to the spirits. If, for example, the healer diagnoses that the cause of the mental disorder is due to any form of broken relationships which has resulted in guilty feelings, the

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person is encouraged to openly confess. After confession the appropriate reconciliatory sacrifices are made to restore the broken relationships. This traditional healing methodology which is comprehensive and integrative is a significant departure from modern mental health care at least in Ghana. During the colonial era, the colonial government passed a law in 1888, known as the Lunatic Asylum Order. This law ensured that the mentally disordered, called lunatics or mad people and seen as dangerous and shameful to the community, were barricaded in high-walled psychiatric centers as if they were prisoners. Even though governments after independence have tried to modify the law, the treatment and the prison-like conditions in the psychiatric centers have not changed much. This modus operandi completely ignores the communal angst of a typical traditionally oriented Akan culture: a situation that aggravates their condition to such an extent that some of the “in-mates” find ways of running away from the centers never to return again. At times, the relatives find the centers so gloomy that they literally dump them there forever. In fact some “normal” people feel ashamed and uneasy if they are found in the centers. The arrival of the Western mental health care system brought different Western understandings of the causes and the cures for mental disorder. Some of them have been aptly discussed by Sefa-Dede. There is the psychodynamic system pioneered by Freud that believes that repressed emotions have to be relieved through strategies that increase insight into one’s feelings, attitudes and behaviours… Humanists and existential therapists believe that given the right type of nurturing environment sufferers themselves have the ability to explore their feelings and grow towards a deeper understanding of self and finding of purpose of life.17

One can infer from the above that there is no one form of mental health delivery system in the country and that people have different notions of the causes and cure of mental ill-health. There is, moreover, a clear indication that some Ghanaians hold onto the traditional understanding of mental health in which the spiritual played a major role. Yet they resort to Western delivery systems of mental health care which does not put much emphasis on the spiritual. Although this re-echoes the accommodative and receptive nature of traditional spirituality, it is also a reflection on how people are desperately searching for viable ways of dealing with mental health care. In a recent survey conducted by Ghanaian and Western scholars,18 they found out, after screening 332 mentally disordered people in Kumasi the capital city of the Ashanti region of Ghana, that before these patients resorted to cure in the hospital, about 6 per cent had already visited traditional healers and about 14 per cent had also visited pastors or leaders of the prayer and healing centres organized by some Christians in the country.

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Obviously, the changes that have affected and shaped the lives of people have not completely destroyed the strong belief in the spiritual dimension of mental health care. Both the traditionally oriented Ghanaians and Ghanaian Christians strongly hold to the belief that diseases including mental ill-health have a spiritual dimension as well. The process of change in the country has taken on various dimensions. In certain instances, old and new systems have been synthesized into new forms, while in others they operate side by side. In such circumstances, a resourceful and thoughtful reclaiming of some elements of the past to smoothly blend with the new appears the only solution. This prescription is captured in the symbolic bird, Sankofa.19 Sankofa implies “to go after the past that is relevant to the present.” For as it is said among the Akan, tete wo bi ka, tete wo bi kyere, to quote the famous Ghanaian musician Dr Ephraim Amu: “the past has something good always to offer and teach the present.” The pertinent question is how does one effectively blend the old and the new with regard to mental health care in the country in ways that will be useful to those in need of such care? Scholars in the field of psychopathology and traditional medicine in Ghana have attempted to deal with the above question. In handling this question, Sefa-Dede, a famous clinical psychologist, argues that one way of using the two systems effectively is that the modern psychiatrist or the clinical psychologist should: Understand the belief system and to be willing to explore the individual thoughts, emotions and behaviours concerning it…. This is essential within a belief system where only the religious is highlighted. However, it is possible and essential that this expertise be integrated into the original belief system in order that there is consonance between some aspect of the religious world view and the help being offered.20

She goes on to argue that this will, in a way, bridge the traditional and the scientific thinking as a means of “strengthening personality internally rather than externally…” The clinical psychologists can effectively apply this methodology if in training they are taught to consider and not ignore the traditional “worldview pathological.”21 In as much as the above suggestion is plausible, we think mental health care providers should seriously think of the physical and social needs of those who seek mental care as was the case in the traditional system of mental health care. So far the impression has been given that mental disorder was precipitated by a myriad of factors, which could be described in generic terms as lack of total spiritual and material well-being. Prescriptively, when this situation arose, the community was responsible for seeing to the restoration and re-integration of the individual concerned. The question is: is this traditional understanding and care for the mentally disordered static?

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In light of this, we propose that the ministry of health take the issue of mental health care seriously by encouraging thorough research into the traditional understanding of and comprehensive approach to mental health care. Western trained specialists in psychopathology who solely rely on purely Western methodology should study and collaborate with traditional healers and Christian healing centres to see how they can blend the physical and spiritual dimension of mental health. This is because, within the Ghanaian context, “there is no room for a purely naturalistic or physical notion of illness.” 22 A careful blend of the traditional comprehensive methodology with the modern system will go a long way towards effectively dealing with mental health care.

15 Spiritual Challenges of Widowhood Symbolism in an African Religio-cultural Setting: A Christian Theological Perspective Emmanuel Martey Introduction … Africans celebrate life, and preserve it by hedging it with taboos. The African concept of life is essentially religious, because they see the world as a vast spiritual arena. For them, life is precious. There are certain happenings which can make the attractions of life difficult, but at the same time enjoyable. A case in point is widowhood.1 The widow is perceived as taboo … She is subject to hopelessness, punishment, neglect, contempt, suspicious about her treachery, or lack of good care. She is perceived as threatening to other couple’s relationships and suspected of adulterous living. The result is that a widow is usually a neglected and deserted lonely woman. These perceptions of widowhood become strategies of emotional and spiritual violence.2

In every African society, hearing the “saga of the widow” is not pleasuregiving. Although there are many cultural variations within widowhood rites in the same country on the continent, the stories, when told, are not different. The African widow does not only suffer emotional and psychological trauma, she also goes through untold spiritual violence. Widowhood, as practised among many traditional African societies, places the widow in bondage whether she is a Christian or non-Christian, literate or illiterate, young or old. For the Christian widow, the burial and mourning ceremonies she goes through do not augur well for her spiritual well-being, as she is sometimes coerced to perform certain rituals that are contrary to both biblical faith and the Christian Church’s principles. Widowhood therefore presents real-life and spiritual challenges, not just to the Christian widow, but more importantly, to the whole community of believers—the Church.

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It is, however, heart-warming to note that some churches in Africa currently reject and resist traditional widowhood ritual mourning procedures. They have “intervened to take over some rituals in order to forestall abuse.”3 Yet, in the churches’ efforts to meet the needs of their members through the rites of widowhood, they ought to have a wider perspective of the religio-cultural needs of these same members—as Africans—that is also inclusive of spiritual formation.

Widowhood Symbolism in African Religious Communication Widowhood in traditional African contexts is a religio-cultural symbol that can communicate and have profound spiritual implications and consequences on the widowed. In Africa, widowhood therefore points to a spiritual reality. As a symbol, widowhood opens up different levels of consciousness and reality.4 Africans are aware that evil spirits can harass or harm human beings in various ways and, therefore, all the necessary precautions are taken to prevent this. For example, among the Avatime of Ghana and the Igbo of Nigeria, there is the belief that evil spirits harass and oppress the widowed and thus steps are taken within these religio-cultural milieux to drive away these evil spirits. Among the Avatime, pepper, which is part of the ritual meal given to the widow, is thought to be very potent in driving away evil spirits. Rebecca Ganusah writes: After the bath in the morning, the officiant roasts a finger of plantain, adds salt and pepper and serves the widow . . . Some of the chewed plantain, salt and pepper is spat on the wall. Two explanations are given: A sign of bitterness for the present situation [and] to drive away spirits. Pepper, especially, is very powerful in driving away spirits (evil ones especially) from people.5

Among the Igbo, during widowhood, the widow is given a short knife which is believed to drive away not only “the spirit of her husband” but also “all evil spirits, and that the Earth goddess will lead her throughout her mourning period.”6 With the Igbo of Nsukka, the widow is “confined to her room and it is ensured that there is always light in the room to drive away all evil spirits.”7 There is an agreement between the African traditionalists and the Christian Church that there is spiritual harassment from evil spirits. So while the former uses pepper, a short knife or light to ward off evil spirits, the Roman Catholic Church in the Avatime area, in the Keta-Ho diocese, also uses prayer, Holy water and incense to drive away from the widowed

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“the devil and all other evil forces which may try to use this occasion to instill fear into this man/woman and his/her children.”8

Oppression, Poverty and Violence Apart from this spiritual consciousness, other levels of reality that widowhood symbolism opens up include the awareness that African society is oppressive, impoverishing, and violent towards women. African society is male-dominated and hostile toward the widow in particular. In most traditional societies, widowhood rites are meant for both male and female who have lost their spouses. However, the rites apply more to the female with men taking advantage of the patriarchal nature of the African societal strata. While some men do not go through widowhood at all, others only have their heads shaved, but observe no confinement and do not go through any weeping or eating rituals. Besides, their movements are never restricted. Referring to the Igbo of Enugu State of Nigeria, Angela Umeh laments: The widow will be sitting on the palm kernel with her hands on the corpse [of the deceased husband] and will continue to cry until the man is buried. The widower is never subjected to this type of inhumane treatment.9

Continuing her lamentation, Umeh noted, with sadness, how the rituals of widowhood render widows bankrupt as they are made to provide food for large numbers of people even if they are unable to afford it. “This type of situation,” she writes, “can lead widows into abject and perpetual poverty, low self-esteem and psychological imbalance.”10 But in the case of the widower, people bring food items to him to enable to him feed his children well. In most societies of traditional Africa, “the customary norms have no law of inheritance for the widow.”11 Although in modern Africa, some governments are trying to improve laws concerning women generally and widows in particular, it has not been easy for them. Take Uganda, for example: the Succession Act (Cap. 139 Laws of Uganda) and Succession [Amendment] Decree 1972 (Decree 22 of 1972) allow a widow to inherit any property, “including land, bequeathed to her under her deceased husband’s will.” But as Florence Butegwa has observed, in practice, only few men make wills in Uganda since it is considered “a bad omen for one to make a will.”12 In case of intestacy, the Ugandan widow has no claim to her husband’s land; it goes to the customary law heir even if she acquired it together with the husband. At best, the widow was traditionally allowed to remain on the matrimonial land until her death or remarriage. Unfortunately, this custom is being eroded these days as heirs tend to sell off the land and use the proceeds for their own benefit.13

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The situation in neighbouring Tanzania is no better either. Even in matrilineal communities, women do not have effective control or ownership of the family land; the men (father, son, uncle) have. It is the men who show a woman a piece of land to use. In patrilineal societies where a wife is not a family member to own or inherit land, the situation is more serious. A widow’s contribution “toward the acquisition of the property is not taken into consideration either.” Butegwa’s reference to a High Court ruling in Tanzania in this regard is self-evident: A widow does not acquire any proprietary rights in her husband’s landed property simply because she contributed labour in developing them [sic] and therefore she gains no inheritance rights therein.14

Widowhood in Africa also opens up the reality of violence against women. Throughout the continent, most women undergoing the ritual are maltreated, beaten, tortured or disgraced. Among my own Ga people of Ghana, during confinement, the widow is to sleep on a flat mat spread on the bare floor and is to use stone (called kua te) for a pillow. The mat is not to be removed until the period is over. Any intruding reptiles or insects during confinement are not to be killed since this is regarded as a good omen. Pepper is sometimes put into the eyes of the widow (most often by the sisters-in-law) and she is also made to have a ritual bath at the sea and the refuse dump between the hours of 2.00 to 3.00 a.m. In areas where there is no sea, the cleansing bath is carried out at crossroads in an isolated area with brine. In Zambia, Mulambya Kabonde has demonstrated how widows have been beaten when relatives have discovered that the deceased was not shaved as is customary. Traditionally, a woman should always see to it that a man is shaved under the armpit and around the genitals. Long hair in either of these two areas indicates that the wife is very irresponsible.15

Among the people of Umudunu Agbirigba in Nsukka in the Orumba Local Government Area of Anambra State in Nigeria, it is a taboo for a married partner to see the corpse of the deceased spouse. A Christian couple from the Catholic Charismatic group took an oath that if one of them died, the other would see the spouse’s corpse. And, as Umeh has quoted from a newspaper report, so the man died, and the wife saw his corpse and the man’s brothers flared up and called the attention of the elders to the abomination committed. When the Christian group went to bury the corpse they were attacked by the natives and three people lost their lives. The President of the Christian Women Organization was stripped naked and beaten mercilessly, they did the same to the widow. The family did not allow the man to be buried in their land and they exhumed the dead body and threw it back into the church premises.16

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In the name of culture, many atrocities are being committed against women. Does the African woman have no life of her own? It is not at all surprising that “some Christian widows have ended up killing themselves as a result of their oppression.”17

Transformation Takes Place The symbolism of widowhood does not only open up different levels of spiritual consciousness, oppressive and violent realities, it also transforms a person; and such a transformation also affects the way the person behaves and acts. Roger Haight has eloquently demonstrated how this occurs within the context of religious communication: Symbols transform persons. They mediate conversion … This transformation reaches into a person’s action. Symbols influence action. This transformation of action is the exact measure of the degree to which the symbol has been a communication which effectively transformed a person. If a religious symbol mediates an experience that really transforms a person, it must flow into personal behaviour.18

Like in any sacramental symbolism, widowhood, as a symbol, communicates and mediates changes in behaviour and transforms experience. This explains why sudden changes occur in the behaviour of a person (especially relatives of the husband) who has a good or excellent relationship with a widow before the death of the husband, but things turn different after the death. The change then affects one’s behaviour that makes one act so cruelly towards the widow. This is also what could make a widow commit suicide as she is unable to understand why a husband’s relative, whom, perhaps, she had always assisted (financially etc.), should turn against her so suddenly and also maltreat her. Many writers have given accounts of the various atrocious acts relatives of the deceased husband commit against widows. For Angela Umeh, “the family members who deny widows of their rights are the brothersin-law in their craze for inheritance and the daughters of the lineage, who by the maltreatment of the widows render them psychologically insecure.”19 In Igboland, the “daughters of the lineage” of a particular family dictate the kind of treatment to be meted out to a particular widow and they make sure that the widow “cries very early in the morning and late at night daily until they are satisfied enough to relieve her of the cry.”20 The transformation and changes that take place are not limited to the relatives of the deceased husband. They also occur in the life of the widow and her family, especially the children. Apart from the impoverishment and the suicidal tendencies mentioned earlier, the widow may also encounter other destructive emotional problems including fear

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and anger, both of which are physiologically involving and spiritually oppressive. In the first place, most women opt or accept to go through widowhood for fear of either being haunted by evil spirits, especially those of the deceased spouses, or because of what other people in the society might say against them. In African traditional settings, it is not easy to just disregard these things. Thoughts about these things could bring discouragement that, in turn, could lead to depression and oppression. In Romans 8:15, the apostle Paul speaks of the “spirit of fear” and, again, tells Timothy that he has not been given the “spirit of fear” but “of power, of love and of self-discipline” (2 Tim. 1:7). Here, the Christian is encouraged against the crippling spirit of fearfulness. The biblical panacea or antidote for such a demon of fear is love—for, “love drives out fear” and “there is no fear in love” (1 John 4:18). Anger is a destructive emotion that weighs down heavily on the widow. For most women, widowhood is a symbol of anger. It makes them bitter and resentful. As Daisy Nwachuku has rightly observed, most of the demands and insults directed at the widow by the so-called “daughters of the land” and other female pressure groups “are aimed at getting the widow angry so that she incurs a heavy fine or penalties or draws further accusations upon her.”21 But such a resultant anger from all the taunting also has some spiritual implications and consequences. In Africa, popular spirituality, a Christian view more represented in contemporary scholarship by Neo-Pentecostal or Charismatic theological hermeneutics, takes evil spirits or demons and their activities very seriously. Anger, from such a perspective, opens a person up for demonization or for demonic attacks. Anger is one of the demonic doorways through which evil spirits gain access into the Christian’s life.22 The link between anger and Satan (prince of demons) has also been established in Scripture. Paul cautions the Christian not to let his or her anger lead into sin, and not to be angry all day long so that the devil is not given a chance or foothold (Eph. 4:26–27). Anger is a propensity. However, this natural tendency should not be used as a basis for committing any sinful act that will, in turn, allow Satan to act against the Christian. Doubtlessly, the whole ritual phenomenon of widowhood is so demeaning and taunting that it makes women bitter and angry. Is there any wonder, then, that in Christian Crusades, revivals or healing and deliverance services women are seen to be more susceptible to demonic attacks? Another repulsive element in widowhood ritual is the fact that it is mainly the women who are responsible for the maltreatment and plight of widows. Both Nwachuku and Umeh reveal this unpleasant truth that,

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as far as widowhood goes, women are their own enemies. Speaking generally about the invidious and objectionable acts meted out against women, Nwachuku declares: Some of the obnoxious and repressive role functions of women, whether in religion or in social matters, were formulated in the distant past by powerful elderly women for the purposes of female discipline in the areas of wifely submission, chastity, good maternal care, and for maintaining the aura of femininity.23

Among the Igbo, for instance, the female pressure groups that monitor widowhood rituals are the “daughters of the lineage.” For Angelina Umeh, “all the inhuman treatment meted out to widows came from the women themselves.”24 Veritably, all these reveal one undeniable fact of oppression. And this has been eloquently stated by Steve Biko, the father of the South African Black Consciousness Movement, that the strongest tool in the hands of the oppressor is the mentality of the oppressed. Just as racism makes its black victims hate and shoot each other in an incurably racist society (such as what is happening in North America), so also women, in a patriarchal society, tend to victimize each other. In both instances, the sufferer as well as the one imposing the suffering are all victims of a sick and broken society. In whatever form it takes, oppression dehumanizes both the oppressed and the oppressor—albeit in different ways. In understanding the theology of the cross, the victimizer will never triumph over the victim.

Widowhood Initiates into Mystery One major function of a symbol in religious communication is to introduce a person into mystery. According to one writer, this understanding “flows from the premise that the object of faith is transcendent and hence incomprehensible mystery.”25 For example, the Christian believes that God is revealed to humankind and is revealed as the Mysterium Tremendum, a vast and absolute mystery impossible to comprehend in any ordinary manner, granted the dual fact of human finitude and sinfulness. Unless God reveals God Self, God cannot be known. If there is going to be knowledge of God, God must grant it: it must come from the side of God, out of God’s mystery—across the chasm of finitude and sin. A religious symbol therefore draws human response into the mystery. Such a symbolic mystagogy (i.e., symbols drawing or initiating humans into the mystery) has epistemological relevance to the divine and the spiritual universe. Explaining the epistemology involved in such religious symbolic communication, Haight writes: This is an epistemology of transcendence … It has its grounds in the power of the human spirit to transcend itself and to stand out and above nature and finitude itself … Thus the focus of attention in symbolic communication does not rest on the

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symbol in itself; attention moves through the symbol and reaches beyond it. The symbol serves as an instrument or vehicle by which the human spirit is drawn out of itself, and through the symbol beyond finite reality as a whole, in a quest for and then a dwelling in the transcendent sphere of absolute mystery.26

Consequently, the focus of attention on widowhood symbolism in Africa should not just rest on the visible signs we meet in the rituals. Our consciousness as African theologians and Christians must reach beyond the symbols’ spiritual meaning and how this meaning relates not just to the widow, but also to the rest of the community. Take, for instance, the concept of defilement in widowhood and the cleansing procedures — which include sexual cleansing and ritual baths — that widows go through before they are reintegrated into the community. More theological research is needed in this whole area of defilement and cleansing to unveil its mystery. We need to investigate why in traditional society the widow “must not visit the home of priests and priestesses, chiefs and medicine men” and how or why their presence there “would be an abomination to whatever spirit powers that are found there.”27 Again, why in certain communities should ritual baths take place nowhere but in the sea or rivers where, according to popular beliefs, there exist marine spirits including the Queen of the Coast or what is commonly called Mammy Water, and other river gods and spirits such as Bosompra (meaning the “god of the Pra River”). Abamfo Atiemo has referred to the tremendous influence which Emmanuel Eni’s book, Delivered From the Powers of Darkness (1988) had had on the Ghanaian-Christian psyche so that “people refused to buy a brand of sardine called ‘Queen of the Coast’ because of allusion in that book to a spirit-being called by that name.”28 Unfortunately, theological education in African academic institutions and seminaries tends to focus only on the Supreme Being, leaving out other spirits that matter so much to Africans. Popular spirituality in contemporary African society takes all other spirits seriously, including evil spirits or demons and their activities on individuals as well as on families.29 If, as Paul Tillich has pointed out, “the function of theology is to explain, conceptualize, and criticize religious symbols,”30 then African theologians have an obligation not just to explain the concepts in widowhood religious symbolism. They should also provide an analytical critique which will be able to inform, educate and transform African religio-cultural action in a positive way to effect healing of human brokenness and to bring about authentic liberation. Such a reconstructive religio-cultural emancipation should be our theological endeavour in the twenty-first century. Veritably, one cannot help agreeing with Daisy Nwachuku that

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When a religious custom jeopardizes the full human development of a total person and impedes progress, as exemplified in normative ritual prescription for a widow, a continuation of that ritual is questionable in modern times.31

Definitely, one such religious custom that is questionable in widowhood symbolism is sexual cleansing. Ganusah has reported that among the Avatime of Ghana, the widow is culturally allowed to cohabit “with an outsider at the end of the widowhood”—a practice known as Kutiti.32 Mulambya Kabonde’s account of sexual cleansing in Zambia until the outbreak of the HIV/AIDS pandemic raises a lot of questions. She writes: Most tribes in Zambia have a common way of … [cleansing] the widow. Previously most of the tribes would only ensure a widow’s freedom after she had slept with or had sexual relationships with a cousin or brother of the deceased. The practice is now discouraged because of AIDS. The cleansing is performed instead by giving the woman white beads and smearing her with white mealie meal.33

No doubt, one might conclude that such an obnoxious practice “is now discouraged” when it began having adverse effects on men. For instance, will a “cousin or brother of the deceased” cohabit with a widow whose husband is known or even suspected to have died from AIDS? Are the gods not angry this time? Or, are the ancestors upset for changing the ritual of cohabitation? African theologians have a liberating role to play in explicating religious symbols in traditional religion and culture for the benefit of the Christian Church and its members. If, as Roger Haight has affirmed, symbols “live and die in culture,”34 then our theological consciousness and obligations as Africans should compel us to wrestle every cultural symbolic reality that is oppressive particularly against women; even if for generations that “symbol” has been held as “truth” and has brought false cohesion and cementation to that society. We need to remind ourselves that tradition tends to perpetuate its own symbol within a culture. All oppressive symbols within a culture must die for new liberative symbols to emerge.

Hermeneutical Principles for Widowhood Symbolism and their Theological and Pastoral Implications Widowhood as a symbol is a finite reality, having its own identity and integrity. It can therefore be understood, first of all, in its own terms. In many African societies, widowhood has not just served as a symbol of mourning or separation; it has also been viewed in various ways. For instance, while in certain cases it has served as an embodiment of cultural

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identity and social cohesion, in other instances it has been a social strategy for survival.35 However, as a symbol, this finite reality also points to and reveals something else. In point of fact, it is such a function that makes a symbol a symbol.36 Its function as a symbol points beyond itself to something other than itself. A symbol then can negate itself: It can be dialectical or paradoxical in nature. This is what happens in widowhood as a religiocultural symbol within the African setting. It may be intended for something good but ends up denigrating, stigmatizing and dehumanizing human beings created in the image of God. Vincent Shamo has provided a positive picture for the whole widowhood ritual: “Widowhood rites,” he declares, “provide the means for spiritual regeneration: the hair of the widow is shaved, her nails cut and clothing ritually changed periodically as she comes to the next stage of separation/ transitional rites.” Shamo goes on further to conclude that widowhood “symbolizes a dying to the old self and putting on the new self in a consistent and progressive manner rather than a one-time symbolic event.”37 Unfortunately, such a romanticized picture is contradicted when examined under the searchlight of the Bible or through the spectacles of feminist hermeneutics. For example, the Bible condemns the shaving of hair and forbids lacerations or cutting any part of the body during the time of mourning for the dead because these are symbols of mourning among idol worshippers; they are therefore abominable to the Lord (Lev. 19:27– 28; cf. 1 Kgs 18:28). From a feminist or African women hermeneutical viewpoint, Daisy Nwachuku has questioned both the biblical and theological bases for some of the rituals that go with widowhood—some of which are practised by certain Christian churches. These include: head-shaving; the long period of confinement; wearing of specific mourning clothes (white, black, coloured); the second burial and memorial services; burial entertainment and heavy burial expenses; the Christian unveiling of tombstones; the yearly remembrance of the dead in ceremonial mourning styles; and so forth.38 Paradoxically, widowhood at once demands chastity and promotes unchastity and sexual delinquency through the ritual of sexual cleansing. For example, among both the Ga and the Avatime of Ghana, the widowed is prohibited to cohabit and is to control the self for a certain period of time—at least one year. However, among the same Avatime and some ethnic groups in Zambia, the widowed is culturally permitted to either “play sexual truancy” by cohabiting with a stranger outside her community as in Avatime or cohabit with a member of the family of her deceased husband as in Zambia.39

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Certain symbolic rituals in widowhood may not refer to data or consciousness that could be overtly verified or confirmed by empirical observation even though the whole widowhood ritual process may contain concrete symbols. 40 Such a situation therefore calls for both deep theological insight and spiritual praxis. For instance, how can one gain this epistemological insight that, by going through widowhood, the Christian has been exposed to demonic harassment, as is the belief of some Evangelical, Pentecostal and Charismatic Christians? African widowhood symbols are generated by the African traditional religious experience. They communicate from and are meant to communicate to an engaged existential and participatory religio-cultural experience. They open up the awareness of African spiritual reality and its mystery; and this mystery “cannot be understood in any other way than existentially and experientially.”41 Therefore, in African widowhood ritual, the widow participates in the spiritual reality to which widowhood symbolism points. Differently put, the Christian widow who accepts or is forced to undergo the traditional widowhood rites participates in traditional religious beliefs and practices which may go contrary to her faith as a Christian or to biblical principles. Thus, the acceptance of widowhood, its efficacy or truth, should depend on the experience of the widow and, if a Christian, include her faith: Does this experience promote her full humanity? Does it advance her freedom? Or, does this experience dehumanize, stigmatize, and pauperize? Does it build or destroy faith? Certainly, vital research questions need be asked as far as widowhood is concerned. If, as one theologian has observed, “the intentionality of religious symbol is to transform persons and their actions,”42 then African theologians need to investigate the kind of transformation that widowhood symbolism promotes or brings the African widow; how such a change affects her action—whether in a positive or negative way; whether or not it promotes Christian’s prayer life, daily Bible reading and study; and whether or not it is responsible for nominalism by opening the Christian widow up to spiritual harassment and violence. Unfortunately, spiritual investigations fashioned in such a manner or engaged spiritual praxis has been a theological blindspot in mainstream systematic theology. The kind of theology Africa inherited from Western Christianity lacks spiritual praxis. Consequently, theological education in Africa is more focused on academic achievements than on spiritual formation. All the major theological movements in Africa, namely Inculturation, Liberation (including Women’s), and recently Reconstruction theologies, have not been able to incorporate popular spirituality of African Christianity into their theological systems. Doubtlessly, one challenge that justifies the Christian Church’s existence and which will give credence

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and legitimacy to its theology is the contribution it can make in alleviating the plight of the African widow. If by inculturation is also meant the dynamic process by which Christianity, with its gospel message, comes into African traditional culture, changes that culture, and also becomes part of that same culture, then inculturation theology has the task of translating African religio-cultural texts or mystic symbols into reality. If that branch of theology cannot assist the Christian Church to interpret the religious symbolism that widowhood represents to help the Christian widow to know whether or not her faith is contradicted, then theology will be scratching where it is not itching. Ever since liberation oriented theology began irrupting from oppressed communities of our divided world including Africa, it has done well to respond to oppressive structures that dehumanize the African in the areas of gender, race, class, and culture. In point of fact, feminist consciousness has played a leading role in unveiling the obnoxious practices of widowhood. However, liberation theology in Africa is yet to produce a sharp-edged sword to face the challenges posed by popular spirituality. Liberation theological expression today has no answer to satanic or demonic oppression, which as we have observed, may be present in African widowhood practices. Deane Ferm has pointed out that another factor of liberation theology in Africa is the importance some theologians attach to spiritual healing; and these theologians also affirm that all other liberation components (cultural, political, economic) should be the by-product of the spiritual healing process. However, we are yet to experience and incorporate this spiritual liberation in theological praxis.43 Recently, Theology of Reconstruction advocates have made significant inroads into the theological scene in Africa. The different levels of reconstruction which this theology’s main exponent, Jesse Mugambi, discusses in his book From Liberation to Reconstruction: African Christian Theology After the Cold War do not incorporate the spiritual component either.44 Perhaps the most promising theology which, when fully developed, would address and incorporate popular spirituality into systematic theology is “Charismatic Theology.” This is still in its infancy. A recent South African publication on the different strands of theology in Africa, co-edited by Simon Maimela and Adrio Konig, entitled Initiation into Theology: The Rich Variety of Theology and Hermeneutics,45 which contains articles on this new theology as well as “Pentecostal Theology,” gives us a sign of hope for the twenty-first century. In his article, “Charismatic Theology,” Jacques Theron writes:

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Charismatic Theology is still in its infant phase of development and has not grown to full maturity. This is a young movement and much theology is done in an oral way … Charismatic Theology will grow … It can be hoped that this branch of Christendom will eventually have a positive and creative influence on theology in general.46

The challenges facing African theology in the twenty-first century as far as the plight of women is concerned are enormous. But perhaps those challenges facing the African Church are even greater. The Church is an institution known to have been inherited from the Judaeo-Christian tradition—a tradition with a long history of consideration and care for widows. In the pre-Mosaic period, the widow’s predicament was recognized and all arrangements were made for her (cf. Gen. 38:1ff.). These arrangements were formally enjoined under Moses (Deut. 25:5–10). Furthermore, under Mosaic Law, widows were to be treated with justice and consideration and those who did otherwise were severely dealt with (Exod. 22:22–24; Deut. 24:17–18). Widows were allowed to glean in fields and orchards (Deut. 24:19–21); and the tithe of the “third year” was divided among them (Deut. 14:28–29). The early Christian Church inherited the duty of providing for widows and saw caring for them as marks of a pure and genuine religion (Jas 1:27). Jesus of Nazareth condemned the Pharisees for taking advantage of widows and robbing them of their houses (Mk 12:40), and praised the magnanimity of a poor widow who offered her whole money to the Temple treasury (Lk. 21:2–4; Mk 12:41–44). The Church in apostolic times took care of widows who were recipients of systematic charity when they grew old or had no relatives to support them. The Church enrolled widows that became an embryonic order of church workers, praying and sympathizing with fellow Christians (Acts 6:1; 9:39; 1 Tim. 5:3–16). This group of widows was the beginning of an institution that was described by later Christian writers from the second to fourth century as the “order of widows” whose duty was to serve the church, overseeing the women of the community, especially widows and orphans. However, this office was abolished in AD 364 by the Synod of Laodicea after the Constantinian accommodation of Christianity when the Church was completely taken over by the ruling class and its intellectual representatives. Patriarchy then became firmly established in the Church. Christian dogma began to reflect this change so that the Jesus Christ of the oppressed class (cf. 1 Cor. 1:26–28) became the dogmatic Christ of the ruling class.47 This dogmatic change also had Mariological consequences. Judging from the way the Church has regarded Mary, the mother of Jesus who was believed to have outlived her husband Joseph thus making her a widow,

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one wonders whether—as one writer has pointed out—“widows and widowhood are an embarrassment to the Church” since the Church is only “interested in keeping Mary a perpetual Virgin and a Mother and maintains that cultic figure.” 48 Such a doctrine of Mary (Mariology) doubtlessly demeans and derogates the personality and status of widows in the Church. The situation of the Christian widow in contemporary African religiocultural contexts calls on the Church to come to the rescue of widows. It challenges the Church to provide essential services that would alleviate the sufferings of widows and their dependants. The Church ought to make use of its support systems—pastoral counselling, visitation, prayer, singing, worship, Bible study, charity etc.—to assist the widow. The Church’s counselling ministry should be handled more effectively to bring realistic adjustments to widows so that they are neither plunged into penury nor expect too much from society. Effective counselling procedures should enable widows to develop tactics to handle grief, neglect and loneliness. We agree with Nwachuku that The therapy sessions within the Church’s counseling ministry [should] provide the widow with an opportunity to reevaluate herself as real person and not as someone with a social stigma or taboo … [and also] provide viable psychological support and a solidarity base for resisting those areas in which the deliverance of widows from bondage is still most predominantly unchallenged.49

As part of its counselling ministry, the Church can further provide “befriender of widows” services free of charge regardless of status or creed. Such a programme can easily be implemented at the diocesan, presbytery, district or regional level depending on church denomination; but perhaps it could best be taken at the ecumenical level if local councils of churches rally together to provide such a service in their respective communities. Moreover, giving legal advice to widows, including property rights, should be the concern of the Church. The Church should develop a handbook or pamphlets for widows in both English (or French) and the local languages to serve as a useful source of information on widowhood, detailing how and where to find help when in need or when being molested by the family of the deceased husband. Such pamphlets should also contain information to educate families on how to handle and treat a daughter- or sister-in-law who lose a husband. It should also give guidelines that will help promote non-violence against widows. Again, such information should include telephone numbers (and email addresses, if available) of who or where to contact in times of need. In this regard, churches can network with other agencies such as NGOs dedicated to the cause of women in need.

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The Church should stimulate gender-awareness to combat gender inequity in traditional, secular and ecclesial communities. The ecclesial community should also focus more on capacity building and poverty alleviation programmes by improving women’s opportunities that will contribute to the economic growth of widows. Churches that have already started programmes in some of these areas need to be commended. If the gospel “offers healing and salvation to cultures and societies which have become sick,”50 then theology in Africa should do well to remind the Christian Church of this liberating heritage. It is when the Church has started fulfilling its liberating role that it can justify its existence and gain credibility. It is when this is done that the Church could truly be described, in the expression of Gustavo Gutierrez, as a symbol or a “sacrament of liberation”51; that is, the Church becoming for the African widow an efficacious sign and manifestation of God’s salvific work in Jesus Christ construed as human-historical liberation taking place right here in Africa.

16 Sex and Sexuality in an African Worldview: A Challenge to Contemporary Realities Rose Mary Amenga-Etego Of all the “variations” of sexual behaviour, homosexuality has had the most vivid social pressure, and has evoked the most lively (if usually grossly misleading) historical accounts. It is, as many sexologists … have noted, the form closest to the heterosexual norm in our culture, and partly because of that it has often been the target of sustained social oppression. It has also, as an inevitable effect of the hostility it has evoked, produced the most substantial forms of resistance to hostile categorization and has, consequently, a long cultural and subcultural history. A study of homosexuality is therefore essential, both because of its own intrinsic interest and because of the light it throws on the wider regulation of sexuality, the development of sexual categorization, and the range of possible sexual identities.1

Introduction Contemporary discourses on sex and sexuality have revealed the need for critical investigations into these two concepts within traditional African societies. The view that conventional ideas on the subject matter are no longer tenable underlies this quest.2 It is also increasingly evident from cross-cultural studies that, despite the hegemony of heterosexuality, the question of normality in sex and sexuality discourses is culturally relative and, generally, ambiguous.3 Nonetheless, the fact that sex and sexuality remains a sensitive domain poses a great challenge to both researchers and the researched alike.4 As R. W. Connell and G. W. Dowsett rightly observed, “The scientific gaze could not be neutral because sexuality is inherently a domain of power relations (between women and men, between heterosexual and homosexual, between races …), inherently a political arena.”5 Intriguingly, however, the search for “variations” and for a better understanding of the subject, in light of current realities, continues to present the area as a phenomenal research field.

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The general understanding of sex and sexuality from the traditional African perspective is notably one in which the concepts are considered within the context of heterosexual relationships, the major preoccupation of which is sexual intercourse. The core of this construction is procreation.6 The problem arises because this traditional frame, hypothetically, excludes all other notions regarding sex and sexuality. Unfortunately, that which has been excluded is now a core issue in both contemporary reality and scholarly debates. In this new perspective, desire, passion and companionship, as well as freedom regarding one’s sexual identity and orientation, are viewed as essential components of these phenomena. The juxtaposition of these two perspectives within the current state of affairs in African society—where the present blend of tradition and modernity are competing for space and recognition—is a great challenge to the existing religio-cultural and socio-political structures of the society. These systems, though to a lesser extent, continue to form the guiding principles on which the standard notion of morality is judged. Supported and strengthened by these existing systems therefore, the pivotal role of heterosexual relationships and its sequential development, marriage and childbearing, is heightened by the traditional concepts of maturity and development.7 Enshrined in this configuration is the traditional soteriological worldview, a futuristic goal of attaining ancestorhood. Within this interrelated thematic network arose an overwhelming code of ethical principles. These ethical codes, which have been formulated and classified within the religio-cultural boundaries of taboo, continue to inform and guide the general notion of sexual identity, roles and orientations. Under the distinctive guidance of taboo, human sexuality has been carefully regulated and controlled within distinctive African communities and society as a whole. This control mechanism, taboo, has subsequently placed the very subject, sex and sexuality, outside the normal domain or ordinary daily vocabulary. This has inadvertently placed discussions on the subject matter within a strict conventional sphere, erecting, in some respect, a mythical wall between the conventional and the present reality. Consequently, to transport the subject matter back into ordinary speech, demands adequate knowledge of the society’s norms and its proper use of euphemism. It is not surprising, therefore, that Rosemary Haughton titles her chapter on this discussion “The Hot Subject.”8 For her, “Sex is a hot subject to handle; discussing it seems to bring out the worse in people.” 9 Obviously, this places tremendous tensions between the traditional worldview and the contemporary reality where normal discourses and conduct on sex and sexuality are traversed casually and frequently.10 This article seeks to examine the concepts of sex and sexuality in the traditional worldview and the challenge it poses for contemporary Ghanaian society. Although there are varied perspectives to which the understanding

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of sex and sexuality in the Ghanaian context may be sought, the thrust of this article is wrapped around the theoretical supposition on ancestorhood and the inference that death alone is an insufficient index for the attainment of this noble and ultimate status.11 To substantiate this discussion, the article examines the subject among the Nankani and its neighbouring communities in the Upper East Region (UER) of Northern Ghana. This is because the belief in ancestral spirits is core to the religio-cultural and socio-political structure, forming the substratum for many of the traditional practices in this area.

Contextualizing Sex and Sexuality Among the Nankani, the general understanding of the word sex connotes two things. These relate to the biological manifestations of the male or female characteristics of the body and the act of sexual intercourse. While the former is associated with gender, identity, roles and the perceived standard orientation, the latter tends to lean towards issues of desire, passion and procreation. The notion of sexuality, however, encompasses sex. It entails all the characteristics of the individual’s behaviour with respect to the prevailing religio-cultural norms, especially that which is related to sex. This deals with the issue of sexual preferences, relative to love and relationships. Whereas the biological ascription is traditionally perceived as static and divine by nature,12 that of passion and/or sexuality is understood within the context of upbringing and other socio-cultural conditioning and, in special cases, destiny. In this context, the latter reinforces the former. The need for guidance and control is greatly associated with sexuality, giving an added importance to heterosexual orientations. Subsequently, these traditional societies resorted to strict measures of training, sanctioning and taboos, making guided exceptions only in very special or what may be termed critical circumstances. It is interesting to note that, while the term sex is traditionally referred to as garigë (sleep/sleeping) [by implication, sleeping with a member of the opposite sex in which sexual intercourse presumably occurs], sexuality is often conveyed through the word nyasi (sex drive or in Freudian terms, “libido”). In these contexts, sleeping with a member of the opposite sex among mature people outside marriage is not allowed. Similarly, relating in culturally unapproved manners with members of the opposite sex is not only frowned upon but greatly associated with nyasi. Consequently, many of the traditional cases of ritual chastity and female sexuality, with special reference to married women, involved all these nuances. Together,

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the traditional worldview provided and supported the boundaries in which people lived in terms of sex and sexuality. Unfortunately, it is precisely these traditional perspectives that contemporary realities question. With the rapid breakdown of the traditional system, these hitherto ideals of training and control mechanisms are perceived to be losing their grip on both the individual and community as a whole. This is especially so with the ushering in of modern individualism. The question now is: to what extent, if any, will the traditional construction of sex and sexuality have on the contemporary African? It is important to note that the very process of change, these contemporary realities, is associated with colonialism, the Christian missionary activities in the continent, Western education, modernization, civil rights movements and, currently, globalization. These aforementioned factors, which are in themselves different, are perceived as alien and, to some extent, contrary to the traditional realities. Nonetheless, it is these which have formed a composite part of the current discourse, creating multiple perspectives from which the subject can be tackled. Carol S. Robb, for instance, has observed that there are “multiple challenges to the view that sexuality is primarily instrumental and should be controlled.”13 Similarly, many gender and feminist scholars, including Robb, find particularly perplexing the way these control mechanisms operate in traditional societies. This has specifically influenced the current state of the discourse where sexual domination and other forms of abuses and/or exploitation have evolved into common grounds within the sexuality debate between traditional societies or structures and modern civil rights movements. In the latter context, women’s sexuality as well as other sexualities, such as bisexual, homosexual and transversal, are perceived as mediums of oppression. Despite the current state of discussion, however, some societies, both Western and non-Western, remain adamant on the call for sexual inclusiveness. In many non-Western societies, women’s sexuality is still upheld traditionally as a male property, at the expense of the former’s rights and liberty. Central to this discussion, as noted earlier, is the denial of other sexual manifestations and/or orientations in the traditional system. Hermaphrodites and/or sexless differentiations are traditionally categorized under the designation chinchirisi (spirit children). Here, reference is made to children born with both or none of the biological sex genitalia. Consequently, these are traditionally or ritually eliminated under the context of anomalies. 14 Unlike the chinchirisi, however, differences in sexual orientations or identities such as homosexual, bisexual or transsexual/ transversals, which manifest themselves later, are classified as deviant behaviours and treated differently. Although this is often treated within the general context of destiny, their association with deviant behaviour

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leads to stigmatizations. The most common local phenomenon of this stereotyping is clearly found in the titles pognindo-o (woman-man or womanly) and budapoka (man-woman or manly). It is worth noting that the link with destiny is primarily because the traditional measures have failed. The connection thus enables relations to seek spiritual measures with the aim of correcting the anomaly. It is not surprising, therefore, that in the current context, where these other sexual orientations are imbued with new understandings and meanings, their members hold the former views at arms-length while at the same time providing new and vibrant reinterpretations for the phenomena. The challenge, however, is not simply one of a traditional worldview versus a contemporary one, as it is a situation in which the current blend of traditional and contemporary realities presents confused statuses for many ordinary Africans. For the majority of Africans today, the desire is one of a mixed feeling. This is greatly linked with the desire to maintain an African heritage and culture as a distinct cultural heritage in the global world. Commonly expressed in the Akan idiom sansofa (return and take/retrieve), there is also an inherent fear of the past, which in itself carries a number of uncertainties for the present generation. Thus for those whose daily lives are meshed in contemporary lifestyles and realities, the question is not so much a choice as it is a genuine search for understanding.

Sex and Sexuality among the Nankani According to the Nankani, life is cyclical. Forming an unbroken chain, made up of the living, dead and unborn, it must be held in place with purity and dignity. This cycle, which is believed to have been set in motion by Naba Awinå (Chief Deity or God), must be kept paramount and sacrosanct. Although Naba Awinå continues to maintain control, this is minimal and relative to the granting of individual choices of destinies. For the rest of his creation, this he made self-sustaining. The word “he,” in this context, is used by virtue of the fact that chieftaincy is masculine in this society. Conceived as a chief therefore, he is attributed a masculine identity. In terms of the maintenance of this cycle, child bearing is held paramount. As such, dying childless is expressed as nimbuo (pity), while the opposite is noted with the words, la ka saam (it is not spoilt). “It is not spoilt” because the chain is maintained by the deceased’s offspring. Consequently, the purpose of sex and sexuality is directed towards the maintenance of this worldview. Thus, the conception of sex and sexuality is structured in such a way that it supports and enhances the traditional

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worldview. It is also at this intersection that the related issues of purity and dignity arise. In this respect, the process of maintaining the worldview must be devoid of what is generally classified as sexual immorality. At the same time, an achievement of this expected standard is the social gratification of dignity and integrity. The core element of this theme—expressed in such words as cyclical, an unbroken chain, sustenance and maintenance—is the place and role of ancestors in the African worldview. Second only to Naba Awinå in the Nankani context, they epitomize the whole notion of life and death, maintenance and so on. To understand this, there is a great need for an examination of this worldview. The questions—who is an ancestor, how does one become an ancestor, and what is the role of the ancestor— need to be understood. To do this, we may need to turn to some of the theoretical perspectives on the subject matter. In a discussion on the theoretical underpinnings of “Ancestor Worship,” Meyer Fortes and Germaine Dieterlen delineated three interconnected factors of ancestral spirits in the African worldview. These three can be summarized in this context as: procreation-centred, the Dogon “sex-linked souls” system, and the concept of reciprocal development between ancestors and their descendants. In the first theoretical supposition, procreation-centred, they stated categorically that: It appears that death alone is not a sufficient condition for becoming an ancestor entitled to receive worship. Proper burial, that is with the funeral rites appropriate to the deceased’s status and by the person designated by the right and duty to see to it, is the sine qua non. The responsible person is normally either the deceased’s oldest son and heir or his successor. Strictly speaking, therefore, a person who leaves no descendants cannot become an ancestor spirit.15

The importance of this statement lies in the view that, under normal circumstances, a person without children cannot attain ancestorhood. Principal to this understanding is the view that s/he has left no children behind to perform the appropriate rituals. It is worth noting, however, that there are other forms of attaining the worship status of ancestorhood. In these circumstances, other virtues including heroism are considered sufficient for ancestor worship. In this latter scenario, the ancestor spirit might even transcend the domestic lineage to the clan or community ancestral level, giving it a very wide coverage and honour. For the purpose of this discussion, however, the preoccupation is within the domestic ancestral sphere where an overwhelming interest is placed on procreation. The perception that sex and sexuality are subject to heterosexual relationships, therefore, assumes the focus of this perspective. To understand the traditional emphasis on heterosexual relations, there is need to return to the traditional perception of sex and sexuality outlined above.

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The second theoretical stance is the vested notion of relationship between the “sex-linked souls” and ancestral spirits derived from the Dogon cosmology. In this scenario, some form of divine authority or religiosity is placed over one’s sex and sexuality. According to this worldview: The Dogon cosmology shows how complex the doctrines concerning personality and the soul can be. The Dogon attribute eight souls to the person, four having reference to the body and four to sexuality and reproduction. It is only the latter that become enshrined as the ancestor spirit, whereas the body souls return to God when a person dies. More importantly, only two of the sex-linked souls eventually become the ancestor spirit. These two are associated with the reproductive faculty upon which the perpetuation of the lineage depends… Ancestors intervene beneficially in the lives of their descendants but they also act punitively if anything takes place that endangers the social structure.16

This “sex-linked souls,” ancestor spirit and descendants serve to reinforce the cyclical notion of life. Similarly, it emphasizes the centrality of sex and sexuality as the source of the unbroken chain, the one on which the traditional worldview is dependent. 17 Consequently, three important viewpoints emanate from the above text. One relates to the link between the two essential “sex-liked souls” in Dogon ancestral cosmology. The second reveals the purpose of these two “sex-liked souls” and the role they play in establishing the social structure. Finally, the third relates to the authoritative and punitive rights of ancestral spirits over those who might otherwise endanger the social structure. Here, the social structure is limited to the perpetuation of the lineage. The third and final theoretical category relates to the concept of development. Correspondingly, “The deceased’s progress in the spirit world is paralleled by that of his son and his successors in the world of the living, as they assume his former statuses.”18 Irrespective of one’s material wealth and personal dignity, real progress in the traditional context is tied to one’s number of wives and/or children. This is still observed in the African context and continues to form a challenge to the Christian concept of monogamy. The correlation of development between the spiritual and physical worlds is dependent on the security enshrined by procreation. From this perspective, the reciprocal relationship between the deceased spirit and its descendents share in fostering the unbroken cycle of life. Just as the deceased spirit depends on his descendents to ritually initiate it into worship status ancestorhood, its descendents eagerly await its benevolence in their earthly lives. An important component is the continuous perpetuation of the lineage so that they may also, in the future, attain their share of ancestorhood.

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It is this reciprocal cycle that Fortes substantiates in his study of the Tallensi. With the Tallensi, Fortes notes the subtleties in the general constructional frame of childbearing. [P]ersonhood is not regarded as completely fulfilled until ancestorhood is assured and for this one must have surviving children, at least a son to install one as an ancestor. To die childless, therefore, not only condemns one to oblivion, it negates the entire personhood that might have been achieved during a life time. To have and to rear children is therefore the highest aim of life.19

The emphasis on the birth of sons is of specific importance to patrilineal societies. It is the son who is heir in the patrilineage. As heir, the son maintains the household in which the deceased is remembered. As heir and successor, it behoves him to acknowledge, instate and to bestow honour on the deceased as an ancestor, deserving of worship. Similarly, the heir and successor awaits his turn of blessings from the ancestral spirit to secure and show his own maturity, manhood and his futuristic prospects. The fact that marriage is perceived as a sign of maturity and responsibility is widespread in Africa. This maturity is fully ushered in or fulfilled with child bearing. Traditionally, even though one achieves the status of manhood in this patrilineal society through child bearing, the status is satisfactorily honoured with the birth of a son. This places undue weight on a sound and copious reproductive health system. It is within this reciprocal concept of need and fulfilment that we can locate and derive understanding of the traditional perspective on sex and sexuality. Moreover, it is within this reciprocal thrust on procreation that an understanding can be obtained on the body of moral values surrounding the subject of our discussion. What a person can and cannot do in relation to his/her sex and sexuality is vested in and guarded by, first and foremost, the ancestral spirits, with the jural right to punish and reward and secondly, the issue of sacredness, manifested in diverse forms of purity and dignity.

Traditional Practices Traditional practices on the African continent have become a highly contested area in current discourses. To a large extent, this contestation stems from the inherent ambiguities exposed by some of these practices. In many instances, the drive to meet or fulfil one religio-cultural element exposes some other weaknesses or loop holes in other parts of the system. Although this often leads to the exploitation of the situation or system, there is a need for a critical engagement with some of these contexts or themes to elucidate the practice in the light of current realities. It is within this viewpoint that this section engages some of these practices.

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Notwithstanding the apparent strict moral code on sex and sexuality in many African societies,20 on which this study cannot elaborate, certain traditional practices serve as fertile grounds for raising critical questions. Although culturally explainable, these practices appear contradictory. To illustrate this, two interrelated but considerably different practices among the Nankani and the other Gurunne speaking communities in the region are drawn upon. In as much as these practices serve to emphasize the premium placed on procreation, the desire to sustain an unbroken chain, and the traditional patrilineal worldview of these people, they might continue to form the basis through which a number of questions relative to the current trends of sexual orientations can be raised. In her book, Male Daughters, Female Husbands, Ifi Amadiume observed that, “In rare cases, women owned land as ‘male daughters’ when they had been accorded full male status in the absence of a son in order to safe guard their father’s obi, line of descent and the property associated with it.”21 Unlike the Igbo of Nigeria, however, even though a Nankani daughter may assume a male role and consequently attain the status of a “female husband,” these assumed roles are only superficial and temporary. Secondly, the process of assuming son-ship roles has nothing to do with one’s family’s wealth or property. The main aim of this practice among the Nankani and the Gurunne communities is to raise male heirs for an otherwise extinct male headed family system. In this respect, property rights, which are also a male domain and are often easily absorbed by the nearest next of kin, are excluded from this arrangement. Although these practices under discussion are employed only in extreme and desperate cases, the focus on preventing the patrilineal family system from extinction, through other culturally appropriate means (i.e., the proximate use of a close kin), gives it that unique character. In so doing, the family’s name and genealogy, in particular, is restored and maintained; hence the balance is restored. The focal point of this practice is traditionally directed at the name being used. In the two practices, both the married woman and the heir or children bear the family name (surname) and not the names of the women involved. Of course, while this continues to raise questions on the exploitation and oppression of women and their sexuality, this perspective cannot be undertaken in this article. In the first practice, not of any traditional importance, a daughter whose family of birth produces no male heir may be asked to stay home, marry another woman or women using her family name (surname) and ancestry. It is important to also note that, in some cases, daughters who were already married returned home, of their own free will, to undertake this practice. It must however be understood that this is a socio-cultural process to which such women are already socialized into. The essential quality of this practice is that the daughter marries using a male identity. The married

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woman becomes the wife of the deceased kin whose name is used. The married woman’s role is to help the daughter beget the needed children or heir to safeguard the family and ancestry. In this case, the two women become facilitators and the traditional gender roles of these women, hypothetically, remains intact. They are the obedient dutiful females of their “beloved” society. Even though the married woman is referred to as a wife, she is not seen as a wife of the daughter but of the deceased whose name was used during the marriage rite. Thus this is unlike Amadiume’s narrative, where references to such daughters are clearly established, as she points out in, “Her epithet referred to the fact that she was a woman who had nine wives.”22 In the Nankani context, although the daughter’s role is acknowledged, the credit and reference is in relation to the surname and not the daughter. In this traditional woman-to-woman marriage arrangement, the marriage is organized within set rules. Although very limited in nature, it is now very scarce. Remnants are found mainly among very few elderly women. What is important or distinct in this contractual arrangement is that this marriage is not considered as a union between two women and all the parties insist it is not sexual in nature. The marriage is symbolic. Yet, to facilitate its reality, there must be a physical presence in the house. The daughter’s role is, therefore, to facilitate this reality by her presence; a reality that finds its essence in the expression, “a woman marries into a family and not a nabo? (ruined house).” In this context, the woman-towoman relationship is enabled by the culturally accepted use of the family (male) name. Similarly, the ability of the wife to replenish and reinstitute the family’s male status is enshrined in the traditional marriage rites, which bestows cultural identity and responsibilities on children and the ancestry. In this case, both women are made to marry and given into marriage symbolically through the name and symbolic representation. Consequently, the family or name that is used to perform the rite owns the children that are begotten through such a marriage. The other aspect of this scenario is that the married woman is neither bounded by the taboos of chastity nor restricted to any man as in the case of an ordinary marriage or a wife inheritance (levirate marriage). She is married to the ever living name but not the physically dead. She has the choice of her sex partners and these partners are also aware that children from such a relationship are not theirs. Actually, their relationship with such a woman is clandestinely made. In modern terms we may see the man’s role as a surrogate or sperm donor. In other words, he has no cultural claim to the children born in such a relationship and the children are named and identified within the marital context. As a matter of fact, nobody is interested in the man who fathered the children and he remains an unidentified being.

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The second example in this discussion deals with a situation in which a daughter is retained to personally bear children. Again, this is done with the hope that an heir may be produced to bear the family name and to continue its perpetuation. In this context, the daughter neither marries nor is given into marriage. Instead, she is encouraged to pursue heterosexual relationships that are capable of procreation. These sex oriented relationships must, however, be devoid of incest and, at the same time, any other possibility of legitimate parental claims. In other words, such relationships must fall between these two important traditional poles in order to secure the grounds for what we might call a posthumous child bearing status of the deceased whose name is given to the children. The problems arising from these two examples are that the women involved are not restricted in their choice of sexual partners, provided they meet the criteria set above. The choice of a sexual partner is theirs to make at any given time. In the case where the daughter stays at home to beget the heir, her only restriction is not to choose a marriageable man. The man must be distantly related in such a way that marriage between the two is normally impossible, while at the same time a case of incest cannot be clearly established. Thus, the women risk their lives and deny themselves of the choice of a normal lifestyle of marriage and child bearing in order to secure and protect their family’s name and its lifespan. At the same time, a number of gender related issues can be raised from these practices. For now, however, we will concern ourselves with the issues of women-to-woman marriage and the possibility of remaining unmarried within traditional systems. In the light of current gender and legal debates, these situations present serious challenges. Nevertheless, within the context of this article, the desire is to outline the complex and ambiguous manner in which traditional societies created some contested spaces, 23 yet, at the same time, circumvented the current realities of homosexual relationships and “spinsterhood,” with cultural legalities and religio-cultural taboos. Founded on patriarchal and patrilineal bias, these practices are justified and the possible profanity associated with them are disassociated and eliminated. All the same, we still realize that the scenarios present specific nuances from which we can draw understandings of current trends. Still in line with current non-heterosexual relationships, we must not neglect or ignore the stereotypical manner in which the two genders and heterosexual relationships were structured and sustained. This process went with strict sanctions. As indicated above, although there were avenues in which women could marry other women, these were initiated and instituted by the power holders in the patrilineal system. The freedom and right of choice of the women were often not considered. Who knows, perhaps, things might have been different. The fact that some people

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were carefully ridiculed or coerced into assumed culturally accepted gender roles is still evident in the names pognindo-o and budapoka, already noted. One issue that cannot be overlooked is that this article has introduced yet another perspective to the discourse on woman-to-woman marriage on the African continent. That is to say, unlike the views presented by Amadiume from the Igbo, Nigeria, and Wairimu Ngaruiya Njambi and William E. O’Brien from Kenya, 24 the Nankani scenario presents complementary yet quite different insights to the subject. It is evident that woman-to-woman marriage is not the focus of this article, thus a critical and analytical perspective on some of the issues raised cannot be discussed here. Nevertheless, one brief observation can be made. That is, woman-to-woman marriage among the Nankani is not an alternative marriage system; hence, no personal option can be made for it.25 Principally, it is a culturally formulated desperate and final attempt to rescue a family from annihilation. This statement is still subject to the Nankani worldview where children by married daughters are not family in the first category but relations, thus, are not counted. For the Nankani, family membership or identity is dependent on one’s family of birth home, where birth identity is linked to a male figure. The proverb, “you do not use your left hand to point at your fathers’ house,” emphasizes this view. Like Njambi and O’Brien, the terminologies “male daughters” and “female husbands” also present conceptual challenges to the Nankani system.26 At the same time, the Nankani system disagrees with their alternative. As outlined, these women do not really assume male status and their personal identities are not strategically recognized. Yet, underlying these Nankani scenarios is the issue raised by feminists on the role of women in maintaining and perpetuating patriarchal structures.27

Conceptualizing Purity and Dignity According to the Nankani, that which is pure is dignified and thereby ascribed. In like manner, the opposite is true. What is important is that both states are acknowledged as likely possibilities. To forestall the unwanted possibility, various categories of prohibitions are devised and people prone to the opposite are redirected and coerced into the accepted frame. This is because, irrespective of the general understanding that purity is not necessarily religious, due to such inclusions as honesty and diligence, they are, nevertheless, qualitative grounds for spiritual blessings and ancestorhood. Fiona Bowie notes that human beings: continually create patterns of meaning out of our individual and collective experience. Once a pattern is established it is often reinforced and we become blind to or

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consciously ignore what does not fit into it. There is an in-built filtering mechanism— human beings don’t like ambiguity and anomaly, as they upset and challenge the foundations of our systems of meaning.28

In her chapter on “The Body as Symbol,” Fiona Bowie sheds more light on the focus of this discussion.29 Bowie observes that the understanding and subsequent classification of the human body, as distinct from other bodies, is the crux underlying our perceptions and our varied symbolic categorization of its gender orientations. The traditional perception of the divine origin of our individual sexual identity, given at birth and taken back at death with a possible reward in the form of ancestorhood or a cyclical return, underscores this perceived sense of purity and dignity. In this context, even though the mystical connotation of the body as God-given makes it pure, it is subject to impurity through its contact and relationship with the natural or physical world. This notwithstanding, the body must, or is at least expected, to return to its mystical abode in purity and with the dignity according to its role. It is in the light of this cyclical return that people must keep in mind and consequently guard against impurity and/ or pollution. In Bowie’s understanding and emphasis on Mary Douglas’ work on Purity and Danger, she states that “dirt is not a ‘thing-in-itself’ but a symbolic category.” 30 As ascribed by Douglas, “It is a relative idea.”31 Yet it is within this symbolic category and relativism that produces the most profound effect and greatly impacts on contemporary society. Why should one’s symbolic views affect the other, most especially in this age of individual rights and freedoms? Here, a reading of Natural Symbols sheds light on this. According to Douglas, there are two bodies, the physical and the social. In this classification: The social body constrains the way the physical body is perceived. The physical experience of the body, always modified by the social categories through which it is known, sustains a particular view of society. There is a continual exchange of meanings between the two kinds of bodily experiences so that each reinforces the categories of the other. As a result of this interaction the body itself is a highly restricted medium of expression. The forms it adopts in movement and repose express social pressures in manifold ways … all the cultural categories in which it is perceived, must correlate closely with the categories in which society is seen in so far as these also draw upon the same culturally processed idea of the body.32

This connotes some forms of power relations between the individual and collective ethos of society. In this context, the collective power often exercises power over the individual power in order to obtain the needed decorum. In this process nonconformists are perceived as deviants; hence, the socially “other,” to which, in the traditional sense, something must be wrong spiritually.

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These traditional notions stand in contradiction to modernism. Scholars like Judith Butler, for instance, have called for some forms of subversions to this otherwise patriarchal hegemonic ordering of sex and sexuality.33 Although scholars like Slavoj ºZ i| z ek are critical of Butler’s theory of “subjectivity and social transformation,” the theory continues to engage scholars from diverse perspectives, perhaps due to its seminal character.34 For ºZi|zek, we “cannot break free from the stronghold of the symbolic order” because it is much too strong and “deeply rooted” to be undermined by marginal subversive acts.35 Yet, the opposite seems to be true. The call for a rightful acknowledgement of the different sexes and/or sexual orientations now spans a relatively large scholarly terrain.36 Thus the issues surrounding the different perspectives of sex and sexuality are gaining some collective social momentum.37 In this respect, the relative notions of purity and dignity, foreshadowed by Douglas’ elaborate work Purity and Danger, presents new spectacles for a re-examination and a reconceptualization of sex and sexuality in the current blend of tradition and modern lifestyles of the African.

Change and Resistance to Change Generally, change comes in varied forms. This can be interpreted as natural, forced or influenced. Each of these is not a haven unto itself. They are all, to some extent, interconnected. Underlying each are certain complexities. Thus whichever scenario we might encounter, there are always questions to ask and decisions to make. In those instances where change is effected slowly, people may have time for reflection, and this could be done in relation to their religio-cultural or political history. On the other hand, when this is not possible, they may feel usurped and ill-treated, presenting some forms or notions of a social upheaval. Regardless of the manner in which change is ushered in, there are always some forms of resistances, and, despite their divisive roles, they help to draw attention to the impending change. This enables the different categories of people to engage the subject matter from within their respective backgrounds with the hope of shedding light on it. Unfortunately for Ghanaians and, for that matter, many Africans, many of these contemporary changes are often interpreted as distant unrelated issues. In some cases, the changes are perceived as Western influences. As a result, such changes are denounced, branded foreign and their presence in the society hastily denied. It is nevertheless evident that proper investigation of some of these issues either reveals concrete examples and/or ambiguous instances from which an engagement can be

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made possible. The outline above presents such a case. The need for critical studies of the African worldview, the current manifestations of religion and culture in relation to religious pluralism and secularization, is therefore an important step for the understanding of, and a reflective engagement with, the contemporary realities in our African societies. One thing is clear. We live in a dynamic religio-cultural society. From the “purely” African religio-cultural society, we are gradually transcending into a modern/global society. 38 This eventual shift sheds light on the Ghanaian statement, “no condition is permanent.” As a matter of fact, we are already into the process of change, a change that involves the whole of our humanity, religion and socio-cultural lifestyles. The question now is: what is our stand on these evolving phenomena? Are we going to behave like the proverbial ostrich and bury our heads in the sand or are we going to engage in discussions so as to arrive at some form of enlightened understanding? “Over to you, Joe Lartey,” the former idiom of the Ghanaian football commentary may be appropriate in this context. One thing is clear at this point in time, Ghanaians can no longer deny the realities of the different sexual orientations in society; and so, the game cannot stand still. The ball must be played. Yet, unlike any other football game where a win is often anticipated, in this case, a well-played game is what is essential and desired. In some respect, a draw is, perhaps, desirable. This is because it provides necessary opportunities for us to learn from our weaknesses and strengths. Aside from that, it paves the way for a better understanding of ourselves, our society and humanity as a whole.

Conclusion The ambiguities surrounding this discourse are quite obvious. The question as to what is spirituality is clearly brought to bear in the discussion on chinchirisi and destiny. Similarly, the practice of woman-to-woman marriage raises further questions regarding the traditional notions of hetero- and/or homosexuality issues. Hence, the question of what is homosexuality remains. As illustrated, the traditional woman-to-woman practice presents a scenario that shows that it is not so much an issue of same-sex relationships as it is about a perceived notion of sexual intercourse in such relationships. Does the implied lack of passion and/or sexual intercourse in the Nankani system set it apart? Does the modern lack of distinction or clarity in homosexual relations or lack of concern for conventions in sexual or sex-related language make it impure and, therefore, undignified? It is apparently clear that even though this article presents the discourse from a particular traditional perspective, it offers no clear-cut solutions.

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The aim is to provide further avenues for a broader engagement, one that helps to widen our knowledge and understanding on the current situation, even as we engage in this dialogue. As David Westerlund points out, there is a need to understand, perhaps acknowledge, the fact that “like religions, cultures are heterogeneous and changing entities.”39 Thus, difference and change have always been a part of our lives and societies, and will continue to be. The question that remains is: how do we or can we experience and manage change efficiently?

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PART X

CUBA

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17 Eco-feminism and Yoruba Religion in Cuba: A Proposal for Inter-religious Dialogue Luis Carlos Marrero Chasbar Being black is experiencing one’s own identity being denied but it is also, and above all things, the experience of committing to rescue the history and re-inventing oneself in its potentiality. Maria Salete1

In the beginning, down here on earth, there was only fire and burning rocks. Then Olofi,2 the Almighty, wished that the world existed and turned the vapor of the flames into clouds. From those clouds fell the water that extinguished the fire. In the huge holes, between the rocks, took form Olokún, the ocean—which is terrible and makes all fear. But the sea is also good because water is the source of life and the water formed veins on the earth so that life could spread around. That is Yemayá,3 the Mother of the Waters. This is why it is said that before anything existed Yemayá was lying down and suddenly said: “Ibi bayán odu mi: my womb hurts” and she gave birth to rivers, orishas and all that breathes and lives on Earth.4 During the last few decades, we have witnessed the rebirth of different theological manifestations from black women in Latin America, the Caribbean and Africa. These theologies were met with the memories and history of black people, but also with ancestral religious experience. Our approach is meant to acquire knowledge about something that also belonged to us. We claimed that it was knowledge from outside. However we felt embraced and loved by the Goddesses of our female ancestors. We did not give up our Christianity. Therefore we affirm that it is our challenge to reflect and produce theology from that twofold feeling of belonging. It is an intra-religious dialog that occurs in the deepest corners of our self and that is expressed in different religious practices.5

Re-discovering history is an important step for rescuing memory. That memory was rooted deep in the heart, hidden in the grandmothers’ and grandfathers’ secrets, kept in the very foundations of religion, and passed on orally in the wisdom of elder women and men. It is a liberating memory as it treasures the principles of black identity and dignity and it modifies

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them in the dialogue with the challenges present in the world in each period of time and in each concrete reality. And so it is from this memory that we start this journey. Together with our grandmothers and elderly women, we will knit the African eco-feminist nets. We will do poetry, we will produce theology with the colourful threads of that net. Along with our female ancestors, we will sing: “God is on the leaves, on the earth, in the water… with his Aché.”

Theological Evaluation of African Eco-feminism Gaining deep knowledge about African eco-feminisms becomes impossible unless we approach the religious and cultural background of African religions. African religions or traditional religions are those religions practised in Africa and other places around the globe. All analyses of traditional theses are faced with certain problems. First, the languages of many African ethnic groups lack a term to define religion, in the European sense, as an activity or entity separate from daily life. While Western people consider it as an organizational structure or an independent system of beliefs, religion in Africa is a way of living. Second, the use of the classification “African traditional religions” is risky as it implies uniformity among African cultures when, contrary to that, diversity characterizes the continent in this respect. Forty modern nations exist to the South of the Sahara, each of them with a particular history and numerous ethnic groups that at the same time possess their own languages, customs and beliefs. African religions are thus as diverse as those groups. (To the North of Sahara, Islam has been the predominant religion for a long time.) Yet, and third, there are some traits that allow us to distinguish between religions from Western Africa and those from Eastern Africa. Such characteristics result from the long record of commercial and cultural contacts between those regions. Although there is not a single system of beliefs and practices that characterizes African religions as a homogeneous whole, some similarities in terms of conceptions of the world and ritual processes cross geographic and ethnic barriers.

Conceptions of the World and Divinity in African Religions African religions in general believe in the existence of only one God, the Creator, the maker of a dynamic universe who, after setting the world in

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motion, withdrew and keeps away from the issues of daily human existence. That is why believers do not normally offer sacrifices or organize any cult around this Most High God. Instead, they turn to secondary deities that serve as messengers or intermediaries for the Supreme. These secondary gods appear sometimes as sons of the Supreme; however, in religious teachings, they are considered also as refractions of a divine being. As European travellers, missionaries and explorers did not find any tangible manifestations of worship of a supreme god, they discarded African religions and labelled them as superstitions, animism (i.e., attribution of a soul to non-living things like trees or rocks) or cult to the ancestors. However, these systems of beliefs do acknowledge the existence of a supreme creator. In Eastern Africa, particularly around lakes Malawi, Victoria and Tanganyika, Mulungu, the supreme God, is always present, but he is invoked through prayer only as a last resort. The inhabitants of the Nile valley also recognize a supreme being whom they call upon in their request prayers, only after having used all prayers to secondary deities. In the tradition of the Yoruba people of Nigeria, Olorun, the almighty creator, rules a group of secondary gods called orishas, with whom the believers lead a close personal relation. According to Yoruba tradition, there are 401 orishas that line the way to paradise. Diviners (i.e., seers with special powers) identify the specific orisha whom the believers need to appeal to for orientation, protection and blessings. Yet, it is considered that the final fate of each individual has been decided by Olorun before birth. African religions do not demand that believers abide by one single doctrine. Its primary core is practical: their religious rites work as strategies of reinforcement of life, fertility and power. The main principle shared by these religions is that human beings must be careful in maintaining a harmonious relationship with the divine powers to be able to prosper. These systems of beliefs have the objective of controlling and channelling those powers for the community’s well-being. Rituals are their means to attain this. Rites help to ensure that the community is developing a responsible relationship with the ancestors who are the keepers of the moral order, with Nature’s spiritual forces, and with the gods. Other rituals mark transitions between life stages, such as puberty or death, which are accompanied by changes of social status like from child to adult or from community member to ancestor. Transition rituals are appropriate moments for initiation, a socialization and education process that allows the newly initiated person to assume the new role in society. The transition from birth to growth, to illness, to death and decay also proves that human existence is part of the fundamental dynamics of the universe: transformation.

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Eco-feminism, Theology and Black Culture All the above will greatly contribute to our work. As Rosemary Ruether has rightfully indicated, eco-feminism is the merging of two concerns: ecology and feminism.6 It has to do with the historical and cultural feminine associations. It has to do with women and nature. It has to do with the relations between men and women and their rapport with nature. How should the cultural and eco-feminist issue in black communities be understood? This question will serve as a background for our analysis. First, we understand culture as a network of relations between meanings and senses, in which the African, African-American and Caribbean peoples re-create and re-vindicate the right to be and to exist within different contexts of oppression, racism, marginalization, sexism and poverty. The question of the ancestry is fundamental to attain comprehension of black communities. It is the backbone of a group; it is what holds its identity together—an identity that presently mourns disassembling and re-vindicates the universal principles, also known as basic principles: earth, water, justice, life, fertility, love, peace, and richness. Ancestry is a form of perpetuating the sacred in a person’s life. The sacred stems from the life of communities, people, things, and nature. And that presence of the sacred in the latter allows them to realize that all that exists is alive. That is the force that some people call Aché. Theology with Aché pertains to black communities and particularly to women. It is a theology relevant to humankind. The vision of Christ and his Spirit, which springs from the Aché spirituality, certainly contributes to black communities and, at the same time, it sheds light on the way of the Christian communities around the world. We constitute a multifaceted, cross-cultural, inter-religious Christianity. God’s love embraces us all (men and women), whatever our differences and commonalities. Another theological approach of African eco-feminism can be observed at an anthropological level. It is what some of its female advocates have called: “the wisdom of inclusion.”7 African men and women do not elaborate anthropology in a Western fashion or following the patterns conceived for this science nowadays. On the contrary, they develop an inclusive school of thought, where human beings are regarded as nature and community at the same time. Such community is expressed through the cult to ancestors whose memory is kept in every newborn (boy and girl) that is received as a Baba Tude (returning father or mother). Hence the difference with Western ecofeminism, in terms of how the African approach regards human beings in relation to nature and not as part of it. “Any theological production intending to cover the needs and expectations of African, African-American and Caribbean men and women must take these facts into consideration.”8

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In general, African wisdom, understood as memory, teaches how black communities produce their own knowledge, talk about themselves, represent and express themselves through concrete “forms of life,” built according to each group. This points to the principle of solidarity, whereby the universe appears not only as an interconnected whole but also each element can be observed playing a specific role in that whole. It is noteworthy that for African men and women the experience of the sacred not only is a premise of social life, but also—and prior to this—it overtakes all dimensions of communities’ lives. Beyond foundation principles, ancestors manifest themselves in people and in nature as a whole.9

This element was kept when the time came to preserve and re-create these forms of life in Cuba;10 and, more than that, a dialogue occurred with several symbolic universes like Catholicism, that was so real and concrete. Being part of the house means to share shelter, care and protection with all. The house becomes the great common house: Earth. During the process of initiation, the initiated (man and woman) learns to be a house, a home of the sacred. The human being thus becomes another referent. She/He represents the Sacred, or better said, all of the Sacred, based on the notion that we are part of ancestral matters. Hence the phrase: The human being is a body. It is a condition to experience God. Within this approach the feminine figure will stand out.11

This has not prevented black communities from speaking about God in their own ways. They talk about a God that is present, alive and active, who is manifested in nature, in every natural sprout and at the same time in every person born as an ancestor who returns. All these thoughts lead us to a significant contribution by these ecofeminisms: capacity to relate and tenderness. Both the challenge and the right of men and women to tenderness are put forth.12 Tenderness is expressed as a form of fraternity and sorority among human beings, and also as a manifestation of God’s affection and friendship to humankind. In the face of social strata undergoing a process of such an accelerated destruction, it is an urgent task for theology to unite with those men and women seeking to rebuild the relations and rescue the values of respect, love and life in common.13

Eco-feminism does not inaugurate an unprecedented school of thought in our continents. Rather, it encounters other theologies14 that have creation as their theological core. Inter-religious dialogue must focus on the protection of our planet. This is no time to limit God to concepts that have nothing to do with God. As Silvia Regina de Lima has indicated: In such turbulent times, when it is not about change but loss of paradigm, when the temptation of imposing a truth grows and fundamentalist groups multiply, it is a challenge for theologies to listen, to make room for silence, to know how to bow

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before mystery … the mystery that is life, the mystery that is God. It is time to stand up, to wait … actively, for those who believe, those who know who they wait in. Outside the tombs, at crossroads and gardens…; it is no time to leave, but time to wait.15

Main Contributions to Inter-religious Dialogue in Cuba Observing the context of inter-religious dialogue in Cuba, clear-cut limitations can be identified. One of these has been formulated as follows: “In Cuba there has not been a serious systematization of Inter-religious Dialog on the part of churches.”16 This assertion, with which we agree, is significant relative to “some” attempts at dialogues that have taken place on the island. Another challenge is the general lack of knowledge that our churches have about other religions or the persistent Christ-centric vision of them, particularly when those other systems of beliefs are looked upon and analysed from our Christian realities. It is certainly difficult to shake off all our Christian, Western academic, andocentric and white education when the time comes to systematize the studies about what is different. When Christians study other religions, the former uses its own analytical instruments, leaving no room—or very little space—for important visions and contributions by other men and women. The Christian discourse prevails. An attempt is being made here to lay out a theory and practice of a new inter-religious dialogue in Cuba, based on African eco-feminist contributions and its implications for the future relations of friendship and fraternity with those men and women “whose fests and dances [were] demonized [by] Western rationality when it was impossible to find answers to the magic of their divinities.” 17 From that “sacred space,” several proposals are presented to establish an inter-religious dialogue with Cuban religions of African origin.

From the Perspective of God In African traditional beliefs the basis of the idea of God is the existence of only one Supreme Being, creator of human beings and of all they possess. In Cuba, this conception of God is represented by Olofi—in Santería— the personification of the Divinity, the cause and reason for the existence

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of every thing. Olofi made the world, the saints, the animals and the human beings. It was he who distributed the powers among the orishas so that all things would be created. This is why it is said that they possess the secrets of creation. However, as a result of a racist policy towards African cultures, some have pretended to attribute an absolutely out-of-date metaphysical meaning to the Yoruba conception of the Divinity. Natalia Bolívar has commented: An analogy has been intended between the trilogy Olofi, Oloddumare, Olorun and the Christian Holy Trinity. To our mind, the Yoruba meant to express the conceptual need for an absolute principle that would be above the other orishas and that would comprise all the archetypical characteristics of the functions and activities in action in the world. That Supreme Being, nonetheless, expressed itself in three different identities according to the diverse relations in which it entered: the Creator, who deals directly with the orishas and the human beings, was Olofi; the respect of nature’s laws, the very universal law, Oloddumare, and the vital force, the universal energy, connected with the Sun, Olorun.18

From this relation with God, eco-feminism renders Him recognizable in many faces, as people participate in the plural eco-human project of liberation. Regarding the Christian tradition, an interpretation should be made of the multifaceted relation with God, expressed in the Trinity and its universal economy of salvation. Taking this mystery into account, our theologies and communities should listen and learn how Cuban religions of African origin develop different approaches to God. The dialogue with these religions will assist us in preventing our discourse on God from being abstract and farfetched with regards to everyday life realities.

From a Hermeneutic Perspective African religiosity in its different manifestations is a sound reminder for biblical studies in the context of other religions. This is due to the fact that in most Old Testament texts a dichotomy can be observed between the official religion and the popular one—the latter being practically wiped away by the priests’ mindset. Our hermeneutic challenge here is to recuperate the wealth of Israelite religious and popular plurality, to study the diversity of gods and goddesses found in biblical texts as well as in historiography and archaeology. This is important not to authenticate or justify the existence of African religions but to foster a dialogue whereby it will be possible to live in our common home, respectful of religious diversity.

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The biblical approach using genealogies is an important hermeneutic element. Every people (every culture) remembers its ancestral traditions. The question about our ancestors is a constant in all religions, including those of African origin. Therefore, a key to reconstruct our African inheritance can be found in biblical genealogical traditions. Another significant contribution from African eco-feminist hermeneutics is the valorization of the black woman’s body, re-vindicating it as a sacred space where the divine is revealed. In this respect, Silvia Medina has declared: Consideration of the whole bodies of black women in their vital cycles poses a challenge before us in the endeavor of recuperating our ancestral inheritance. We proclaim a hermeneutics that is intertwined in flavors, prayers, gazes, in the silence, in the touch, in women’s resistance. We regard the human body in its three phases: youth, maturity and old age.19

From the Body’s Perspective In African cultures, the body has a relevant meaning. It becomes a sacred, prophetic space when fulfilling the function of a receptacle of the orishas, who dance and manifest themselves through it. Unfortunately, these experiences have been demonized by Christian specialists. However, what would our African brothers and sisters think of the body in charismatic experiences, when it becomes the space for the manifestation of the Spirit? It would be necessary to come up with a convincing answer. More than likely, they would simply not ask such a question because they have experienced this long before Christianity did. In Afro-feminist theology, especially in some African eco-feminisms, the body appears in other forms, besides the hermeneutical and epistemological categories: It is present in the individual’s claim against that violence that denies and kills him/ her—a body as a claim also from those men and women who did not get a chance to stand up, whose voices were silenced by the forces of power. These claims for justice and dignity remain incarnated in our own claims. The body is regarded as a claim but also as a place of joy and gaiety.20

Additionally, it is with our bodies that we dance. Dance tunes the person in with the Universe’s original rhythm exactly as interpreted by ancestral memory. In African religions, dance is found in celebrations like funerals, fests, enthronization of chiefs, initiation rituals, marriages, births, and harvest fests, among others.

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The African Woman’s Perspective An important figure within Santería is the Iyalocha. She becomes a mediator between the orishas and the participants in a ceremony, followed by the ancestors and the senior santeros. That charismatic recognition is the choice of the orishas. The Iyalocha, also known as Mother of Santo, is a charismatic leader in the framework of a symbolic universe, conceived as the matrix of all meanings that are socially materialized and subjectively real. As the orishas’ priestess, she has a divine gift consisting of a group of special leadership qualities, derived from the very divinity to satisfy the needs of the house-temple. A relationship, a mutual link between mother and sons is thereof established. This guidance by the Iyaloricha is justified by consensus of the community’s believers.21

The de-construction and re-thinking of the feminine identity, of anthropology, of cosmology and of the theology that supports the patriarchal discourse are derived from these experiences. These women question the predominant theology so that it overcomes (a) both the traditional interpretation of black women’s identity, which presents the woman as that being who was always identified with the ideology of sacrifice, renunciation, resignation, service and (b) dualisms. In contrast, women offer a more integrated and integrating life in common in the world.

Everyday Life Perspective In order for theology to assume daily life as a hermeneutic space, it is important that it is not a place for the reaffirmation of truth but rather one where the meaning of life is sought after. Otherwise, theology would become a sort of fundamentalism trying to make sense of itself. Re-affirmation of the individual must be done in the dialogue among different meanings paying respect to his/her right to be different. Theology is a space to retrieve sense as much as it is a space for the manifestation of subjectivity, understood not in opposition to knowledge but rather as part of it. Daily life appears as a possibility of building new relationships that strengthen human dignity and life of women and men. This concrete life, with accomplishments and contradictions, is a space for the manifestation of God. It is a place where we gather to talk about God, His acts upon life, but also about His silences and abandonment. Theology in everyday life is transformed into a way of being, a way of staying in this world. It is a hermeneutic place as well.22

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From Nature’s Perspective African tradition is one of the areas most attached to nature; it fights for nature because it regards it as sacred. Therefore, nature is to be “served.” African men and women do everything possible to protect nature and even to help it survive. Their life creates alliances with all that comes from nature. The land is one of the main references when it comes to thinking about the African groups’ symbolic universe. All living things are part of the earth and the latter is expressed in various moments: on the floors we walk on, and in the skin that covers the animals; in sum, it is in everything. Everything represents the world (aiyé) or simply the land where the ancestors live (ilé). Certainly the earth is the starting point, the beginning, while the water (omi) represents the origin. This is why earth and water are combined in all African rites. Earth and water are elements that generate life. However, this condition is also shared by plants, where healing powers against so many diseases are preserved. For African religions, nature becomes their protective shelter. They look at the world not from outside but from within the universe.

Conclusion Given the abovementioned discussion on inter-religious dialogue with Cuban religions of African origin, the following are some possible areas to work on: Expand and systematize Black Feminist Theology in Cuba: It is necessary to take our basic experience as a starting point and build on a whole methodology from our land. Grasp all of the blackness: At times we get the impression that we are referring just to black Christian men and women and we are not aware of the fact that the black world is much wider. This poses the challenge of establishing dialogues with non-Christian realities and local experiences of pain and exclusion. Acquire deeper knowledge about the values of our culture and history and about the participation of black men and women in the building of the Cuban identity: We must go over the history of the life of black men and women and their participation in the Cuban struggle for independence. Be open to a dialogue with and knowledge of Cuban religions of African origin: We must recuperate the spirituality and the sense of identity that have made those religions survive to date. In addition, we must discover

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the spiritual and symbolic richness contained in each one of them, as well as their respect for nature. The latter would contribute to the development of eco-theology and eco-feminism. Elaborate more on hermeneutics and biblical exegesis: It is necessary to revisit texts that have been misinterpreted and bring them back into the original sense in which they were written. It is the job of black hermeneutics to deconstruct those interpretations that are used to justify racism and slavery and re-locate them constructively in the space and time where they truly belong. Gain full awareness of and act upon racism among blacks: It is not infrequent to walk on the streets and notice, among the black people, expressions that reveal an underestimation towards one another. It is important to go deep into the process of black men and women’s selfawareness and self-valorization by means of workshops and studies on the topic. Such investigations can start at the level of local churches led by qualified personnel and then spread to the whole of society. Although some mass media have discussed this issue, a joint effort between church and society is required in order to collaborate to this end and so make visible the signs of God in our time.

18 Cuba: Black People and the Church Izett Sama Hernandez It is very complicated to talk about the reality of today’s Cuban society and the church in Cuba. Everyone talks about Cuba, for better or for worse. But the truth is, the Cuban reality is much more complicated and different than what is told by a person who visits the country for a short period of time. For this reason, and taking into account the purpose of this essay, I wish to share with you some aspects of the cultural and ecclesial spheres in Cuba from the perspective of a young, black and Christian Cuban woman, in order to help us understand the type of work that we Cuban Christians carry out. I write primarily about the condition of the black Cuban population and its role in different Christian churches. What I share comes from my point of view and the investigations that I have performed.

A Historical View of Cuba In order to understand the process of formation of the Cuban nation, it is important to learn something about the country’s history, the different cultures that have influenced its formation, and the ways in which these are viewed by different sectors of our society. The Spanish and African cultures have clearly the most influence, but we cannot ignore that of the Chinese, English and other global regions that have intervened in the process of forming the Cuban nation. Cuban-born citizens repeat with pride the first words Christopher Columbus uttered after disembarking in the land of Cuba in October 1492: “...the most beautiful land that eyes ever beheld.” In fact, many people believe this, live this and enjoy this. However, under some circumstances, it is regretful that this beautiful phrase turned out to be the prelude of a history full of suffering and death. This phrase turned beautiful Cuba into the centre of greed and avarice for those who had no qualms in initiating and executing the extermination of a group of human

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beings and the imposition of one of the most horrid systems humanity has been victim of: the merciless kidnapping of human beings who, snatched from their native Africa, ended as slaves in the Americas. The estimated number of slaves brought to Cuba during the time of slavery was approximately 816,378. The slaves brought to Cuba during the Spanish colonialism came predominantly from the villages of Yoruba, Arara, Bantu and Carabali. Each of these groups kept alive their natives languages, customs, beliefs, music and dances. The influence of African civilizations is obvious in the formation of Cuban culture, not only in the religious realm, but also in its music, dance, literature and customs. Moreover, from Africans, we have inherited the love for freedom, the love for human dignity and rebelliousness against abuse and injustice. Many are the stories of slave rebellions during the colonial period. Well known are the acts of fleeing to the hillsides, even though escaped Africans faced eminent dangers. Well known also are the rebellions in mines and plantations, despite the exhibition of the heads of many black men and women who were captured. With more exploitation came a greater number of rebellions and acts of fleeing. With fewer rights given to the enslaved, greater was their search for freedom. The presence of African slaves conclusively influenced the consolidation of the Cuban nation and the interactions of the country’s different social groups. Of course, the black population would be the least favoured and the one that had to fight in order to earn a space within that society. From the onset of the Cuban nation, contradictions existed based on the colour of a person’s skin. We observe in history that, regardless of the fact that whites and blacks fought together in several Cuban independence battles against foreign colonialism, black people would soon be continuously discriminated against and excluded from their rights as Cuban citizens. The abolition of slavery and existing principles of racial segregation did not eradicate racial discrimination. Even though the black population officially acquired civil and citizen rights, it was very difficult to change the preconceptions of colonial Cuban society. From the beginning of the Cuban nation, black people were viewed as animals; they were denied any chance of development and they were subjected to legal and moral restrictions. How could this perspective suddenly be changed? Today we can observe that this viewpoint has not changed. Perhaps it transformed itself; perhaps it did not get worse; however, it keeps on generating discrimination.

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After 1959 One of the first problems faced by the 1959 Cuban Revolution was that of racial prejudice and discrimination. Discrimination was seriously fought against since the start of the Revolution. Fidel Castro incorporated this subject into his public speeches, raising consciousness within the population that this inherited illness from the colonial period had to be eliminated. However, despite the fact that the Cuban Revolution officially gave a moral punch against measures that promoted racism, several prejudices still remained within Cuban society. This demonstrated, in a certain way, that neither education by itself nor the improvement of the economical status of some of the black families guaranteed a respectable position for the black population to enjoy in society. And, likewise, prejudice and discrimination against this black people failed to lessen. In the years following 1959, racist prejudice declined among a great sector of the population, due to the fact that this did not coincide with the principles of equality promoted by the Revolution. Still, more subtle ways of discrimination were adopted. Nevertheless, the politics of the Revolution have had a strong impact on inter-racial relationships, allowing for certain changes in society’s conscience to slowly occur. These changes, however, are not homogenous; they depend on personal experience, family upbringing and the social environment of each individual. Recent investigations demonstrate that racial prejudice persists within the Cuban nation, despite the assurance of certain government jurisdictions that racism has been eliminated. I even dare to affirm that racial prejudices have increased due to new social-economical conditions of the country after 1990, when Cuba began to interact more with visitors from other countries. One way of noticing prejudice is through stereotypes created and still present in the social sub-consciousness. Stereotypes, which can be positive or negative, constitute an oversimplification of reality, because they are constructed from the portrayal and omission of specific characteristics that serve to strengthen the prejudice of a group of people towards others. Among black and white people, it is common to hear expressions such as “to have good/bad hair,” “to improve the race,” “to camouflage as a white person until you are discovered,” etc. There are also many connotations within language where the black colour represents evil, sin, difficult situations, mourning , and many other negative portrayals. Furthermore, within popular sayings and jokes, it is possible to find many more remarks that undoubtedly establish a sense of superiority of whites over blacks. This is simply one of the many examples that demonstrate how racial prejudice persists in society; but it is not the only one.

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Within interpersonal relationships, racist attitudes can also be evidenced. For example, the coexistence of black and white relationships within the neighbourhood, at work, in social activities, and in daily endeavours is permitted; but intimate inter-racial relationships as a couple are rejected and harshly criticized by society. The biggest dilemma, in my opinion, is the one we have witnessed during recent years, making it evident that the racial problems in Cuba go beyond our daily experience. More than forty-nine years since the Revolution, it is the black population that comprises the majority that occupies shanty towns, jails, and jobs involving minimal intellectual requirements. Members of Cuba’s security corps and public order, who are also mainly black and mulattos, identify the black sector as more prone to delinquent activities in comparison to the rest of the citizens. The Revolution has given equal opportunities to everyone. We continue to see, however, more young black men and women in academies of technical instruction compared to Universities. At the same time, the presence of black people in different political-administrative functions of the country is minimal. This, of course, goes against the basis for the construction of a new society and the ideals that the Revolution established from its beginning.

The Church and the Black Population The church has not been exempt from this situation of racism. In fact, in the past it has participated, for various reasons, in discriminatory relations. No matter the reasons undergirding these acts, the church cannot continue to shield itself behind them in order to ignore the present circumstances. The church should always confront these acts in order to report any attitudes that goes against Christian principles and life as a community. For instance, people question why there is not a higher attendance rate of black people in Presbyterian congregations. There are many answers to this question. One of the most frequent answers is that missionaries came from southern USA and thus rejected black people. Another response is that missionaries targeted their evangelization efforts towards the middle socioeconomic class. Still another answer is that black people do not like the soberness of the Christian practices, among additional reasons given. The mindset of the missionaries, who came to Cuba from different historical backgrounds, was introduced through educational work and the implementation of ecclesiastical labour. The black population, which in the beginning was kept from the country’s best educational institutes, did not have the opportunity to

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develop intellectually in a formal sense. If we add to this fact the existence of racial prejudice, not only due to the influence of the missionaries, but also due to the history of discrimination and rejection within Cuban society, we can discover some possible insights into the scarce presence of black people in Presbyterian congregations today. In conjunction with the aforementioned issues, it is worth mentioning the cultural circumstances. No one is unfamiliar with the cultural influence of the United States and its repercussion in the Cuban church. Such influence can be clearly observed within the liturgy: the adoration services, the hymnody, the sermon, and the attire—all responses to a cultural reality radically different from the Cuban experience. Such foreign influences elevated the Spanish dimensions and rejected African traditions. In this lack of a Cuban cultural identity, another element can be found that determined the reason behind the scarce black presence in several historical Protestant communities today. Protestant churches began by establishing themselves as communities composed predominantly of white middle-class persons with high formal education. These communities distanced themselves culturally from the popular sector of Cuba’s society. Moreover, these communities had a classist and racist mentality, inherited principally from the missionaries. Thus the influence of Cuba’s social and religious history cannot be denied. In the last few years, there has been an increase in the number of black people visiting Presbyterian congregations. Although some of these churches have increased the number of blacks in leadership positions, racist manifestations persist within these religious gatherings and affect the development of people within the community. Despite this fact, this problem is not frequently recognized nor treated within the different ecclesiastical practices. This reality hinders the possibility of a social and communitarian transformation within the church. This is only part of the problem that we, black Christians, face. In recent years, and thanks to the influence of Latin American methodologies, many black persons who participate in Christian communities are now conscious of the need to fight for respect and the consolidation of a black identity. Many of us are born without knowing what this means. Yet only recently have we been able to break out of the restrictions established by prejudice that exists against religions of African origin and behaviors associated with the black population. The recognition of the right to racial/ cultural self-affirmation was due to our participation in various gatherings that promote critical reflection. Today, although some Cuban theologians believe that in Cuba a theological reflection with regards to blackness or women is unnecessary because the “Cuban theology by definition is already black and must be feminist” (so the common-sense belief goes), a deeper reflection is taking

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place regarding different ways in which black spirituality is manifested. Theological reflections performed by black Christians from different ecclesial realities are, therefore, increasing in number. On the other hand, although my reflection is focused predominantly on the condition of the black Cuban population, it is necessary to point out that thanks to the aforementioned methodology—also known as popular methodology—our critical reflection goes beyond the world of the black population because it is difficult to forget, in my case particularly, that as a young person and as a woman, I also have my own struggles. For instance, the prototype of humankind that dominates the world is not only white, but also masculine, heterosexual and adult; thereby converting our societies into racist, patriarchal, adult-centred, and homophobic relationships. For this reason, in our reflection as black theologians, we try to include the struggle of all who are excluded in the world today.

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JAMAICA

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19 Social Conditions and Spiritual Solutions in the Caribbean Lewin Williams The title of this essay is purely academic at this juncture; and the reason for such a disclaimer is quite simple. There was a time when the problems of the Caribbean region could be summed up in the broad stroked assessment of colonialism and neo-colonialism. Then spirituality would have been the viable suggestion as a solution, because it addressed the consequences of colonialism and neo-colonialism through the demands of the principle of equality under the rubric of the imago dei—we are all made in the image of God. Colonialism brought with it and imposed standards of superiority/ inferiority within established cultural patterns. The European colonizers enforced a cultural stratification from which developed racism, classicism, ageism, sexism, colorism, etc. It made sense to suggest solutions of a spiritual nature because the colonizers had introduced the subject in their cultural debate. At the time slavery was being questioned for the rightness or wrongness of its existence, a prominent part of the debate was whether the African was in possession of a soul. “All human beings are created in the image of God” was a good overarching answer, and a spiritual one indeed. The difference with neo-colonialism was thought to be that it came without the militant intrusion and occupation of colonialism. By then, Vietnam had left such a sour taste in everybody’s mouth that the tragedy of the 1980s overthrow of the legitimate government of Grenada (in the Caribbean), the interference in Panama, and the occupation of Iraq were not imagined. Yet at the heart of neo-colonialism, we discover that the assumptions of racism, classicism, and economics are the same. The same superior/inferior equations exist regarding life, human worth, economics, etc. In such cases, the suggestion of a spiritual resolution is again viable since the imposed stratification, which lies herein, begs questions related to standards. By whose standard does one live, one type of economic strategy, one cultural pattern (e.g., capitalist cultural pattern) becomes more important and divinely acceptable than another?

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However, although there is no doubt that the many problems of the contemporary Caribbean have their roots in the colonial, neo-colonial structure mostly called by the post-modern name, globalization, the complexity they demonstrate is so huge that they demand more complex assessment and solutions than the title of this essay suggests.

The Complexity of the Caribbean Situation in Contemporary Times The Problem Even if globalization is just another name for the colonial/neo-colonial structural impediments that caused underdevelopment in Third World countries and prevented them from pursuing what could have been the normal development of affairs, it is no longer enough to label what is wrong about us as merely a major power conspiracy to cause underdevelopment in our small nation states. We may not give up on the idea that callous major power dealings have served as a catalyst in some of our problems, but now the demand is that we at least spell out and trace the route back to that root cause. By the same token, since the complexity of the problem is so apparent, change by whatever agent is just as complex. The problems of drug trafficking and its attendant volatility—general crime and violence (murders by guns and knives), organized thievery (from petty larceny to white-collar corruption), gangs and turf warfare, violent political tribalism, craving for big and instant money, careless speeding and carnage on the roads, erosion of values (for life, work-a-day living and civility, respect for women and children), and “donism”—wreak their own wrath and create their own penalty upon society. That litany alone is quite threatening to a society that places its “bottom dollar” on a trade as fickle as tourism. The lack of real community within the Caribbean society as a whole, no doubt, has its root in the original polarization strategies of the dominance of colonial and contemporary major power dealings. In addition it can also be said with conviction that the European Union is no further ahead, despite the Europeans’ claim for being “more developed and civilized.” Yet the responsibility for the trust that will cement the Caribbean into community is the Caribbean’s. In other words, territorialism is only a bigger version of the political games played locally for power and recognition. It may not be childish naivety to believe that good community, socially ordered, can bear the fruits of economic growth and development. Jamaica should not have to turn to Venezuela for better oil deals when Trinidad has the capability in Jamaica. Guyana should not have to fear that

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its rice will not be bought on the Caribbean market, and that its citizens will not be treated with respect in Barbados. And it is a fact that the greed of persons can multiply into the greed of nations, depending on who is at the “political steering wheel” in the nation.

The Remedy In the early 1970s when Henry Kissinger, former USA secretary of state, was dividing the world into two influences, capitalist and communist, he began to focus on the Caribbean. At that time non-alignment, without influence from the USA and the USSR, had become an option for the Caribbean. Kissinger decided that there was no such option as nonalignment. You were either capitalist or communist, in his world. He had to answer at least two questions. What makes the Caribbean important? If it is important, whose Caribbean is it? The answer to question one was that it did have assets that were important to the world of commerce: bauxite, oil, lumber, sugar, banana and undeveloped mineral deposits. Whose Caribbean was it? It was a toss up, but only if the United States allowed it. After all, the “Caribbean is situated in its back yard,” and people like Fidel Castro and Michael Manley (former Jamaican prime minister—1972–1980 and 1989–1992) were dispensable. No wonder Kissinger, then United States Secretary of State, could fly to Jamaica and order Prime Minister Manley to meet in Kissinger’s hotel room. Moreover, the dispensability of Jamaica and the U.S.’s utilitarian approach toward it was shown by the fact that Kissinger was prepared to not have on any shoes in his meeting with Prime Minister Manley! The Caribbean belongs to itself and a major part of its struggle is to make it so. This remains a fact even when the U.S. verbally attacks and bullies these island countries. For instance, P. J. Patterson (who retired as Jamaica’s prime minister in 2006) gave a speech on self-actualization at the United Nations. The office of former U.S. Secretary of State, Condoleezza Rice, responded with spurious retaliatory charges that Patterson’s government had not been sufficiently concerned with the prevention of trafficking in children and would be punished. The churches appear to be absent from the geo-political debates about who controls and directs the resources and policies of Jamaica. Perhaps if the influential Jamaican religious leaders were not so preoccupied with the prosperity gospel, they could influence deep thinking in the restructuring of right values and better attitudes. Their present emphasis on individual salvation and individual wealth, especially their own, encourages the capitalist thrust toward cut-throat competitiveness in the world of finance. And their “name it and claim it from the Lord” theology does not help curb the “get rich quick” dealing of the dons, drug lords, and pushers. The

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strange thing is that while these church leaders grab wealth and preach how to order from and have God supply wealth and income, they remain dead set against links between church and society, sacred and secular. Hence it is debatable whether spirituality has anything to do with the practical issues between faith and praxis in a worldly society. Of course, the problem may just lie in how spirituality is defined by them.

Church and Society Debate We may argue successfully on both sides when the subject of debate is the sacred and secular. That is to say, there are as many arguments for their separation as there are for union. Indeed, as said above, there are pro-religious people who argue for their separation, even as there are the non-religious who just as strongly argue for their separation. Many who argue, one way or another, are convinced either that the secular counteracts the religious or that the religious is not viable in modern society. The latter persons, who are brave enough to say their positions on talk shows, mention the claim of Karl Marx, even if they do not name him, that religion is the opiate of the people. Yet it must be remembered that the world view of Marx should be understood not so much as godlessness, but through an observation of the world as a place of conflict between the economically powerful and the economically powerless. From that vantage point, he saw religion as a powerful entity, always seeking to control the “mind” and “will” of people. In so doing, religion pacifies them into inertia; to be exploited by the status quo. The masses are no longer prepared for the revolution by which they claim that which is rightfully theirs On the other side of the debate, some religious people take the attitude that religion comes with the kind of spirituality that counts any association with society’s social matters an unholy union. This attitude is rooted among the pietists with their desire to elevate the things of the Spirit. Needless to say that by the time this theology arrived in the Caribbean, it was used as a tool for imposing a lot of inhumanity. Distortion of the meaning of spirituality makes for such confusion. Liberation theology had already said that the Euro-American tradition has spiritualized the gospel out of all proportion to its socio-economic and political value. This did not mean that spirituality is to be forgotten, but that it should work in conjunction with the socio-economic and political. When Caribbean theology declared itself in the liberation category of perspectives in theology, it experienced the same complaint. In fact, from the very genesis of its chief thoughts, Caribbean theology was so radically opposed to such an abstract spirituality emphasis that it called for disengagement with the Euro-American tradition. Given the fact that missionary theology came to the Caribbean in an unholy matrimony with

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colonial ideology and practice, while pretending to be genuinely spiritual, it made disengagement a salable concept, once the indigenization process of Caribbean theology began. It follows suit that this total disengagement does take place when radical movements are born. In the beginning, there is always the pendulum swing to the most radical extreme where the mood is absolutely confrontational. However, even with the most radical movements, the pendulum has a return swing; and in that return swing, there is always some amount of accommodation. Let me hasten to say here that it does not mean that themes of serious objection are beaten into subjection. Rather, it means that there is a movement from confrontation to dialogue. Here the adjustment that takes place is negotiation for positioning on both sides. In the Caribbean and with the extreme pendulum swing, context is defined, ideology declared and the perceived attitude of God toward the particularity of context established. The next move is the struggle for self-inclusion, not again into the engagement from which disengagement is sought but into a system of recognition of the covenant in which God holds in Chesed (covenental relation) all the contexts of the world. At this point, there can be negotiation between Caribbean’s Neville DeSouza’s definition of spirituality as the “life of God in the affairs of humans” and Europe’s Paul Tillich who includes in his definition of spirituality, reason, imagination, eros, and passion. “The life of God in the affairs of humans” eliminates the separation, then, between sacred and secular and leaves the world open for the permeation of the Spirit of God. Then reasonableness eros, imagination and passion place spirituality in the ebb and flow between glory and earthiness where contextual realities reside. Between both ideas, spirituality is the deliberate appropriation of the will and presence of God in the particularity of contextual activity, whether to bless or to correct. If religion, or, more specifically, the church, can accept this definition of spirituality in the Caribbean context, then it must hear the theological call to missionary zeal and prophetic intentionality and functionality. Without question, we must here put a contextual spin that European theologians do not necessarily mean when they use such phrases to imply missionary involvement. We cannot forget that what the Caribbean indigenous process discovered as one problem was that there has to be a distinction between the colonial missionary church and the church in the mode of missionary awareness; that is , the latter understanding its task as an agent of change within the context it is called to serve. Functionality means that the Church, the embodiment of the “Spirit,” has an understanding of ministry in which the function of its spirituality matches the sociological, political, and economic needs of the context.

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Prophetic, a once overused word, has been reintroduced to remind us that we ought not to lose the ability to read the signs of the time so to prevent spirituality from deteriorating into concern about the irrelevant. In the Caribbean, spirituality has come to mean an emotional vacuity whose interest is only to make people feel good for a while. An awful lot of people, far too many, mistake it for “righteousness.” In the distinction of people such as the eighth-century prophets, righteousness is “right relations.” Therefore, when these prophets spoke their “thus saith the Lord,” it was toward the correction of the socio-economic problems that had developed in their context. This explains the prevalence in their use of the words tsedaqual and tsedeq. Tsedaqual is righteousness, people doing right by one another; and tsedeq was repairing the breach created by people doing wrong by one another. In a real sense tsedeq means justice, and tsedaqual means righteousness and justice done.

The Praxis of Spiritual Concerns There is absolutely no shortage of preachment from pulpit and podium in the Caribbean about the ills of the time. The problem is that finding solutions remains in the area of theoretical moralizing. Thus, using the word “praxis” at this point to introduce a practical application of ideas of solutions for the Caribbean problem is deliberate. The fact is that here we would like “praxis” to mean practical action to cause change in society, without apologizing for the fact that when Marx used it, this is what he meant. Furthermore, there has to be both distinctions and linkages between action for infra-structural change and action for super-structural change. Cuba, Jamaica, and Grenada have known what that means. Under the Michael Manley regime, it was made abundantly clear in Jamaica that change for the better would not come otherwise. In a situation of debilitating poverty, treating the infrastructure with immediate short-term effort was absolutely necessary. It was a case of appreciating the Jamaican proverb: “while the grass is growing the horse is starving.” Under such conditions, the religious bodies, especially the ‘established’ Christian churches, were quick to raise funds and goods from their partners to feed the hungry. However, it was quite another matter to treat the super structure—the level of systemic power. As a first principle, the organization for super structural change has to ask and answer the question, “why is there poverty to the level it is in this context?” The answer may very well lie in a super power’s manipulation of market conditions in order to exploit small nation states and their small

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economies. Thus, although Michael Manley of Jamaica never expropriated one blade of grass, muzzled one newspaper, or placed sanctions upon the opposition party, the moment the super structural question was asked, he was labelled Marxist Leninist communist by the United States. The religious bodies believed and, instead of employing their energies in organizing for super structural development, they spent those energies fighting the “godlessness in Marxism.” Using Jamaica as a Caribbean case in point, quite a number of ways exist where spiritual concerns may be acted upon. Survey after survey point out that the most debilitating factor in Jamaica is violence. The consequential ties to other areas of life are staggering: • • • • •

Dons or leaders Turf warfare Involvement of youth in crime Importation and use of guns Economic fall out, lack of investments, deterrent to tourism.

Most of the killings, among other crimes, are committed by youths who, having been raised in zones with the prevalence of weapons of death and killing, have very little regard for life, including their own. They believe that they will not live out their teen years, therefore will not hesitate to take a life. Here the recovery of values—the value of life and property— is a spiritual concern. The basic training for guidance counsellors for schools, taught in places such as the theological colleges, should be infused with a spiritual quality to be utilized in schools to instil reverence for life. The Government’s programme of Reformatory Justice does no more than decide whether young criminals should be tried as adults or not. The spiritual bodies should make Reformatory Justice mean much more than that. Instead of allowing children to be tried as adults and sent to prison, they should develop alternative organizations to provide government reformatory care outside of prison. Some should not go to prison, as they only get hardened there. The part of the violent tendencies which are encouraged through the victim syndrome could be counteracted, not by pulpit condemnation upon young people as standing before God as nothing but sinful creatures. They should be treated to the positive vibrations with an understanding of the principle of the imago dei—we are all made in the image of God. Programmes to help eliminate selfishness and greed are within religious capabilities. The main idea in this effort is to get people to focus on nation building, not out of nationalistic exclusivity but out of love for God who makes a nation a sacred space. Thus people may be asked to care whether the news about the nation is good or bad.

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Our religious systems often make the mistake of identifying themselves so completely with a political persuasion, so that when they try to be independently prophetic with the Word of God they are not heard. Besides, if and when the political systems fail (and they often do), the religious systems give the impression of having failed as well. And yet they cannot afford to be apolitical. The church, for example, is not an apolitical institution. Jesus never meant it to be. Jesus, in what we refer to as his cleansing the Temple, confronted not just a few of what we call “higglers” in Jamaica (informal traders). He actually confronted, in this event, the official financial establishment of his day. Therefore, he has bequeathed to the church, for its mission concentration, a concern about injustice demonstrated in public policy. There is quite a debate in the Caribbean on the matter of public theology for the sake of influencing politically determined policy. Duncan Forrester once asked: “Is it possible for Christians to check their conviction at the entrance of the public forum without losing integrity?” When the Jamaican government called everybody together except the church in the negotiation of a social contract, it may have thought the church is apolitical. The irony is that in a complex situation like ours, part of the complexity must have been theologically caused. Therefore, the least that can be done now is that the organizations of spiritual content must seek to include themselves in the search for solutions.

20 The Church and the Jamaican Society Marjorie Lewis The physical location of Jamaica in the Caribbean hints at the historical, cultural and economic and political dynamics that have shaped its reality. The historical rivalry for countries in the Caribbean among Europeans, starting in the fifteenth century in the Christian Era and the subsequent struggles by oppressed and disenfranchised groups for freedom from enslavement and colonialism, has resulted in variety in language and political systems among Jamaica and its nearest neighbours. Jamaica’s neighbours include Cuba, Spanish speaking and socialist, the island of Hispaniola, with Spanish-speaking on one side (The Dominican Republic) and Creole and French speaking on the other side (Haiti). To the north, simultaneously somewhat like the sword of Damocles (a potential source of economic and political calamity), and a source of desire as a ticket out of poverty, is Florida, the southernmost tip of the United States. The language differences and the differences in political systems, between Jamaica and its nearest neighbours, speak of the colonial enterprise of Europeans who conquered the Caribbean and the Americas, who exterminated the indigenous Taino population, enslaved and imported Africans to work for the profit of the Europeans. In response to the protest of the enslaved population, pressure from emerging economic interests and theological dissent in Europe, the Africans were grudgingly granted freedom from slavery in 1838, and Chinese and Indians were recruited as indentured workers. Political independence was granted in 1962. Political independence did not remove external domination, as the powerful United States of America soon replaced Britain as the power that exerts the greatest influence over Jamaica’s economic, political and cultural affairs. Today, Jamaica has a population of approximately three million people, the majority of whom are of African descent, along with some of European, Chinese, Indian and other ethnicities. Jamaica has been classified as a “middle income country” because of the average income in the nation. The calculation of the average income, however, does not accurately reflect the large number of persons who live in poverty, but it ensures

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that Jamaica does not qualify for the concessions given to poorer countries by international development agencies. The country currently has one of the highest levels of external debt in the world. The neo-liberal economic model that now dominates the world has resulted in Jamaica having a large proportion of the population poor and vulnerable. This economic model means that trade and investment barriers have to be removed, and the most “efficient” means must be used to produce goods and services to supply the consumers in the world, through a “free market.” Those who support the “free market” are of the view that this is the best system to increase wealth and economic growth in the world and to distribute goods and services. For the poor in the world, the “free market” has not been able to deliver opportunities or wealth. International organizations like the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Trade Organization (WTO) regulate the conditions for granting development assistance and trade arrangements among countries. In the 1970s Jamaica attempted to protest against the conditions under which loans were disbursed to developing countries, and to develop a socialist path of development. Pressure from the United States of America and business interests were among the factors resulting in the abandonment of the socialist model of development. In addition, the conditions imposed by the IMF and the World Bank are prerequisites for receiving loans from other financial institutions. Although Jamaica no longer has a loan outstanding with the IMF, the government’s financial policies are set in conformity with IMF standards. The overall global economic model and Jamaica’s (and most developing countries’) relatively low level of influence in affecting global economic models is the framework within which the Church must respond to the needs of contemporary Jamaican society.

A Gendered Overview of Jamaica The economic, social and political conditions in Jamaica often affect men and women differently. The Jamaica Bureau of Women’s Affairs, in planning for a National Gender Policy aimed at equality for men and women in Jamaica, identified key differences in the effects of poverty, educational choices, employment and the general economic model on men and women. Women face significant disadvantages. A large percentage of the households in Jamaica are headed by women, who are often single parents. Between 2002 and 2004, the ability of female headed households to buy goods and services declined by as much as 14 per cent, while for male headed households, consumption

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fell by 1.7 per cent. Women often have the triple burden of child bearing, responsibility for most of the housework, as well as being employed in the job market. In many cases, they do not have the skills and resources to help them improve their employment choices and escape poverty. In some cases, women have sought to survive by colluding with criminals, in activities such as smuggling drugs, or protecting criminals from the police. In the absence of fathers from many households and the lack of financial support from fathers, some women have migrated, notably to the USA. The absence of primary caregivers from homes and the absence of traditional extended family support have in turn generated social problems in children who often lack proper adult guidance and supervision. Women in Jamaica have higher levels of literacy and out-perform men at all levels of the education system. The comparative advantage in education does not, however, translate in better economic and employment status. The options provided in the education system have not been changed sufficiently to meet the available jobs in the current world economic market. The ideas about the types of studies that girls, versus boys, should do also affect the choices women make. At the higher levels of education, girls are over represented in the arts and the humanities which lead to lower paying jobs than those in the traditional male dominated areas of science and technology. Given the above situation in the education system, the ideal of “decent work” and “decent pay” for both sexes remains elusive. Males make up the majority of the employed labour force, at 57.9 per cent in 2004. The unemployment rate among women in 2004 was 16.4 per cent, while the rate for men was 7.9 per cent. Women also tend to be employed in the lower income earning jobs, many of which are in the service sector (for example as household workers) and are not unionized. The world economic climate has a greater negative impact on women than men; for example, the economic “restructuring” of the formal economic sector has resulted in more women than men losing jobs, as has the relocation of multi-national companies from Jamaica to Mexico. Even where women do similar types of work as men, the women are often paid lower wages. The difference in the types of work done by men and women is increasing and for there to be equality in the work done by men and women, 35.8 per cent of each group would have to change their occupation. Opportunities provided by the government for temporary work abroad (for example, farm workers who help with harvesting fruit in the USA and Canada) are available in greater numbers for men. It should be noted that women are in the majority of those employed in the hotel industry. In the highest levels of decision-making in the business sector, the government and most other institutions, men greatly outnumber women. The

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vulnerability of women who are employed is also affected by the absence of legal recognition of sexual harassment. A review of health issues also indicates significant areas in which women are at greater disadvantage in comparison to men. Infant mortality and maternal mortality rates have not improved to a sufficiently satisfactory degree. There has been an increase in the number of unplanned pregnancies among adolescent girls, with the increase in younger adolescents being of particular concern. Cultural practices influence the rates at which men and women access health services, with women tending to seek medical care more often and at earlier stages of illness than men. Men are more likely to die because of seeking medical attention at an advanced stage of illness, from road accidents and suicide. Girls and women tend to show a higher incidence of depressive disorders. The Caribbean has the second highest prevalence of HIV after sub-Saharan Africa. The most rapid rate of increase is in women in the 15 to 25 age group. The evidence suggests that women’s relatively low economic status and cultural norms affect the power of women to insist on condom use. In the area of agriculture, men own more land than women, and the men tend to also have larger farms. As is the case in the general labour market, women receive lower wages than men employed in agriculture. Women who sell agricultural produce often operate at subsistence level and work in harsh conditions. Both male and female agricultural workers have been negatively affected by the new trade regulations which have been applied to the sugar and banana industries. How are men and women coping with the above-mentioned conditions? An important means of survival is the remittances received from relatives abroad. Women have the advantage, in that they receive more financial help. There is a concern, however, that this reliance on hand outs encourages dependency. The dependency is not only a dependency by the poor, but the government also benefits from the foreign exchange coming into the country by way of remittances. Both men and women sometimes explore illegal activities. Although more males than females are involved in these activities, the women support and protect criminals and sometimes act as drug couriers. Children suffer from the absence of parents, starting with a single-parent household, usually headed by the mother, with the children’s vulnerability being increased when in desperation poor mothers migrate illegally or become incarcerated overseas when convicted of smuggling drugs. Added to these challenges is the poverty that sometimes makes parents keep their children home instead of sending them to school, increase children’s vulnerability and limits their life chances.

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The Role of the Church in Jamaica It is reputed that Jamaica has more churches per square mile than any other country in the world. Although Christianity is the official religion of the majority of the population, other world religions (Judaism, Hinduism, Islam), indigenous religions (Rastafari and Revivalism), and New Religious Movements are also present. The record of the Church’s role has been varied, sometimes siding with the dominant classes, sometimes advocating justice for the oppressed, sometimes advocating a meek acceptance of suffering as ordained by a God who would relieve suffering in God’s own time. In Jamaica the Church has played an active role in development in the society, notably since the period immediately before emancipation. The Church provided, through the work of the non-conformist missionaries (often unwittingly) and Black leaders, a space in which enslaved Africans could organize, receive an education, nurture the instinct for freedom and plan resistance to slavery. In the period after emancipation, the Church, notably the Baptist Church, was instrumental in helping the newly freed Africans to set up independent communities known as Free Villages. The early development of social services in education and health benefited from initiatives by the churches. One writer summed up the role of the Church in this way: The Jamaican church has been a silent doer with a low profile and she has not sought fanfare before or after the work was done. During the celebrations to mark Jamaica’s independence in 1962 there was a float parade and the Church’s float was at the back, which is symbolic of her working in the background in the cause of nation building and perhaps the reflection of a society that considers the church as an afterthought. Nevertheless, there have been myriad ways in which the church has significantly contributed to national development.1

Currently the Church, whether as individual congregations, denominations or through ecumenical organizations like the Jamaica Council of Churches, continues to participate in programmes to enhance the welfare of the poor and to speak out against violence and injustice. This paper will examine more closely the work of the Church in meeting the challenges of HIV/ AIDS and violence.

HIV/AIDS The presence of HIV in Jamaica was identified in the early 1980s. At first many thought it was a disease associated mainly with homosexuals, and stigma and discrimination were blatant and painful for those infected with

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and affected by HIV/AIDS. While there is now greater knowledge about HIV/AIDS, and the statistics indicate that infection is predominantly among heterosexuals, stigma and discrimination still exist today. Many people therefore do not choose to disclose their HIV status. More men than women are currently infected with HIV, but the fastest growing rate of infection is among young women in the 15 to 25 age group. The relatively high prevalence among young people has implications for the country’s development, as this is the population expected to be making an important contribution to economic and social development. The loss of young adults who are parents, the increased costs to the health sector, and the demands on family members who care for those who are ill, divert resources that could be used for production and place great strain on care-givers, especially on the poor and on women. Factors contributing to HIV/AIDS in Jamaica include early initiation of sexual activity (average age of 14 for boys and girls), sexual violence, inability of women to demand condom use, and difficulty (especially of school girls) in accessing condoms and health services. The incidence of young girls having sex with older men, often for economic survival, or through coercion, presents significant risk factors for contracting HIV. The high incidence of multiple sexual partners and the sex industry linked with tourism present opportunities for HIV infection. Male-dominated notions of sexuality greatly impeded women’s ability to practice preventive behaviours. These gender dynamics contribute to women being more infected by HIV through their husbands and long-term partners.2

Dr. Edward C. Green also noted that the Church has played an important role in responding to HIV/AIDS.3 Dr. Green pointed out that religion affected the age at which young people had their first sexual experience, and that the boys who delayed sexual activity tended to be raised in a Christian home. He concluded that although there had been allegations that “fundamentalists” objected to condom use, there was no evidence to support the allegation. On the contrary, faith-based organizations have been involved in efforts to combat HIV/AIDS, often in collaboration with the Ministry of Health and other national and regional networks in the following ways: • • • • •

face-to-face community-based HIV/AIDS education voluntary testing and counselling (VCT) behaviour change and communication promoting fidelity and abstinence as well as condom use where appropriate providing care and support for persons infected with and affected by HIV/AIDS.

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In addition to work already being done by churches, many indicated future plans to be involved in advocacy, care, education, counselling and support groups. Two ecumenical institutions, the Caribbean Conference of Churches (CCC) and the United Theological College of the West Indies (UTCWI), have instituted programmes to help churches to be more effective in their response to HIV/AIDS. The CCC drafted a policy document Guidelines for Caribbean Faith-based Organizations in Developing Policies and Action Plans to Deal with HIV/AIDS, which the CCC invited all faithbased organizations to adopt. With theological justification, the faith-based organizations were encouraged to be informed and develop an action plan in response to the HIV/AIDS pandemic. The need for policies with respect to leaders and members in the organizations, prevention strategies, care, support and counselling, education, human rights and advocacy, theological and spiritual resources and gender analysis were outlined. The policy was developed in conjunction with inter-faith organizations in select Caribbean territories and in collaboration with Caribbean governmental structures. The policy has been recently developed, and the response of the faith-based organizations is as yet unknown. The United Theological College of the West Indies in conjunction with the Webster Memorial United Church Counselling Centre, the Anglican Church in Jamaica and the Cayman Islands’ Diocesan HIV/AIDS Committee has been involved in training lecturers, clergy and church members in HIV/AIDS education strategies and counselling. The College hired a theologian who also had expertise as an experienced trainer in HIV/AIDS education and counselling in the region. Between September 2004 and November 2005, over sixty persons (including all final year students at the College) were trained as VCT counsellors, eight persons (lecturers and other clergy) were trained as trainers of counsellors, two persons trained as Advanced Trainers and one person as a Master Trainer (with expertise in curriculum development). The VCT training and Group education programme used is one developed and accredited by the Ministries of Health in the Caribbean and Johns Hopkins University in the USA. In Jamaica and other Caribbean territories, this qualification is required before one is eligible to volunteer as an HIV/AIDS counsellor in Government clinics and hospitals. UTCWI is also collaborating with other organizations, and is currently testing material on sexuality developed for use with Sunday School/Sabbath School teachers. A major challenge which the Church is yet to address is the prejudice against homosexuals in Jamaica. Male homosexual acts are illegal in Jamaica, and the attitudes of many Jamaicans to homosexuals is extremely negative, if not phobic. This attitude has been reflected in the lyrics of some popular musicians. Is the Church in Jamaica willing and able to be

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involved in advocacy for the human rights of gay and lesbian persons? What type of theological reflection will be needed to undergird the discussions and actions? Currently, local and international funding agencies are eager to fund faith-based organizations doing work in the area of HIV/ AIDS. Experience has shown that the priorities of funding agencies change from time to time, and that programmes can end because funding has been withdrawn, even if the need for the programme still exists. The availability of external funding can also result in competition among organizations for doner funding, sometimes leading to wasteful overlaps in work and divisiveness at the community level. Will the churches and other non-governmental organizations be able to continue effective collaboration to benefit the Jamaican people in this climate?

The Church and Crime and Violence The Constitution of Jamaica, Chapter 3, section 13 (a) states that “Every person in Jamaica is entitled to life, liberty, security of the person…and the protection of the law.” The United Nations, in carrying out a consultative assessment of conditions in Jamaica, noted that the concepts of justice, peace and security were interrelated. The report4 stated that there are high levels of crime and violence, including violence against children. The pattern of crime has changed over the years, with violent crimes accounting for 17 per cent of all crimes in 1974 compared to 36.7 per cent of all crimes in 2004. Jamaica has one of the highest homicide rates in the Caribbean and the world. While most of the victims and the perpetrators of violent crimes have been young men, there has also been a marked increase in the number of women and children being killed. An increase in the use of violence to settle disputes has also been noted. The impact of the high crime rate has included: •

• • •

economic costs; for example, it has been estimated that in 2002, the Jamaican government spent one billion Jamaican dollars treating injuries in public hospitals; in addition, there is an economic cost in lost working hours and increased need for social services for persons disabled and traumatized because of violence loss of capital and income. Investors are often deterred and business sometimes have to close because of violence in the communities in which they are located social unrest psychological trauma.

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The situation is made worse by the low rate of prosecution of criminals, delays in the court system and intimidation of witnesses. Many resort to vigilante justice, as the judiciary system often fails to deliver redress. Mistrust between the police and citizens, especially in communities with high levels of violence, often impede police investigation. Violence is, of course, not new to the country. Violence was a dominant reality from the beginning of the European capture of the island. Under the Spanish occupation, beginning in the fifteenth century, the indigenous population was exterminated by a combination of forced labour, torture and murder. The enslavement of Africans was also maintained by brutality. With the ending of slavery, the legal system and the security forces maintained the dominance of a White minority leadership through legal and physical violence. The economy of Jamaica, designed from the fifteenth century to supply the needs of Europeans and currently subjected to a world economic system that favours the wealthy industrialized nations, continues to deliver the violence of poverty to many citizens, as well as the threat to physical safety at the hands of criminals. The churches, notably through the Jamaica Council of Churches (JCC), have since the 1970s issued statements condemning violence and deploring the collusion of politicians in the violence that has sometimes accompanied the rivalry between political parties, notably during election campaigns. A joint press release from the Jamaica Council of Churches, the Caribbean Conference of Churches, the Church of God in Jamaica, the Jamaica Association of Full Gospel Churches, the Jamaica Pentecostal Union, and the Jamaica Association of Evangelicals, in 1995 reads as follows: We the representatives of Christian churches in Jamaica note, with alarm and concern, the recent killing of twelve year old Kemar Burrell … this latest brutal murder of a child is another in a series of atrocities that has been unleashed on the people of Wilton Gardens (Rema) … We deplore this senseless waste of human life, especially of children, and the accompanying rupturing of community life … and declare these acts to be contrary to the Christian message of justice, love and peace. We condemn these acts of brutality as violations of the basic rights of human beings to life, freedom of movement, freedom of expression and freedom of association. … we call upon political leaders … to refrain from inciting violence by inflammatory speech or otherwise and to address atrocities committed by party supporters. We invite all political and community leaders of goodwill to meet with the churches to discuss and implement measures to bring about lasting peace. In faithfulness to the call of Christ, we declare ourselves to be in solidarity with the people of Rema …We further declare our intention to redouble our efforts as peacemakers and not pacifiers to ensure that people in these communities will experience the dawning of the Kingdom of God where the lion will lie down with the lamb and where swords will be turned into ploughshares.5

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In addition to joint statements, churches at local and national levels have been involved in the following activities, aimed at promoting peace in Jamaica: • • • • •

mediation between factions in communities promotion of dispute resolution strategies for domestic issues challenging politicians to sign codes of conduct for election campaigns and to deplore and delete violence from within the political party structures provision of income-generating and skills training programmes, especially for youth at risk of entering criminal activity as a response to poverty counselling victims of violence and chaplaincy services for the Correctional Services and the police

Challenges still exist for the Church, among which are: • •

• •

•

a theology that “becomes flesh” in the lives of the poor and the victims of violence, and can provide hope the need to revise intervention strategies, ensuring that a gender analysis informs all efforts, and that skills training and income generating programmes are available in areas that can lead to employment in the current global climate ensuring that clergy are equipped to respond to current needs, by providing specialist training , for example in the area of Post Traumatic Stress Counselling critique of the current dominant global economic model which results in “the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer,” and participation in the search for and promotion of viable alternate models of development collaboration with international Church and other organizations engaged in advocacy for economic, social and political justice in the world.

PART XII

BRAZIL

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21 Black Spirituality: The Anchor of Black Lives Antonio Sant’Ana For me, spirituality is the coming together of the human spirit with the divine spirit. In other words, the divine spirit involves us totally in the mission for another possible world. In the Bible, the book of Numbers 11:21–25 states: “And Jehovah came down in the cloud, and spoke unto him”; indeed, I feel that the Spirit of God is preparing darker skin peoples globally for this fantastic mission. This Spirit encourages and strengthens all of us to help the development of human dignity for oppressed peoples and communities around the world—our world, our Mother Land Africa, our Americas, our Caribbean, our Asia, our Oceania, our Europe. This essay seeks to strengthen and deepen my own self-love, selfesteem and self-confidence by participating in this special book that reflects the struggle of blacks around the world. For the first time, contributors have the opportunity to collaborate in one publication with brothers and sisters from many parts of the world. Indeed, though from diverse contexts, these essays express a common objective: to heal the individual self and transform social structures. I would like to share with you all the pain, the suffering, and our (i.e., black Brazilians’) reaction as darker skin people, in addition to explaining our advances in our struggle for more dignity. What does human dignity mean in a racist country like Brazil? Dignity here means food, occupations with decent salaries, housing, schools, and freedom to have faith as AfroBrazilian believers without persecution. First of all, let me give you some general information about the black situation in my country, Brazil. Official classification of the Brazilian population comes out of the Institute of Geography and Statistics (IBGE). The IBGE derives its data collection by starting with what is called the “solemnity-classification.” In this categorization, a person chooses from a list of five options—white, black, brown, yellow and indigenous people— and names themselves based on their own perception of where he/she fits. However, this classification is flawed and limited because race is not a biological category, which means people can choose to name themselves

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not on a scientific biological basis. Still, the IBGE census becomes official. Consequently, it is used as actually portraying the pattern of national racial comparisons. For instance, what is the official definition of black (negro) in Brazil? Based on official demographic analyses, black in Brazil is termed preto (black) as well as pardo (brown). But we cannot forget that preto (black) is a colour, and black (negro) refers to race. In other words, the latter does not denote colour. There is no such thing as the colour negro; rather there is a preto (black) colour. The designation black (negro) in Brazil represents a political choice. When the black person accepts his/her blackness intentionally in self-designation, he/she is reflecting a political option and conscious decision.

Statistics When we speak about statistics in relation to blacks, especially black women, we are describing deep suffering reflected in the disproportionate and preponderance of negative realities. Yet the statistical numbers do not fully reveal our pain, suffering, and poverty. In fact, official numbers sometimes hide the actual numbers of suffering when they claim how many blacks there are. The skewing of actual harmful conditions threatening blacks is due to how citizens, participating in the census, choose either preto (black) the colour or the more intentional, political term, black negro the race. Thus choosing either “colour” or “race” on the census allows one to not be part of the black race (i.e., black-negro), but dark in skin colour (i.e., preto-black). With this clarification, we can now turn to official statistics on black Brazilians. The population of Brazil in 2004 was 182,060,108 people, of whom 51.4 per cent were White, 42.1 per cent were Brown, 5.9 per cent were Blacks (i.e., preto skin colour), and 6 per cent were Indigenous peoples and others. The Brazilian Institute’s research indicates that the 48 per cent (i.e., the combined total of Browns and Blacks) number in the census is how non-whites or darker skin people designate themselves. But, in reality, it means that the majority of the population is black, from my conception. Why? Because the white technicians of the IBGE (i.e., the census givers) artificially divided us into browns and blacks. There is a clear ideological intention on the part of the official census givers to misrepresent and dilute the actual numbers of black Brazilians. In addition, because of how society has imposed negative definitions and connotations on the word “black,” many black Brazilians prefer to choose brown as their self-designation.

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Moreover, other statistics indicate the suffering of black Brazilians. For instance, women make up 51.3 per cent (i.e., 93,396,836) of the total population of the 182,060,108 Brazilian people. 88,663,272 are men. Thus women surpass men by 4,733,564 million. And the official 2004 category of illiteracy includes 14,700,000 people, the majority of whom are black men and women. In 2004, only 45.5 per cent of females 10 years old and over were working. In 2003, the comparable category was 44.4 per cent. For men, the 1999 figure was 72.4 per cent and the 2004 statistic was 67.9 per cent. Here the employment of women has increased more than that of men. In 2004, 1.51 million women received jobs in contrast to 114 million men. But still there is a greater problem. Women have the worst jobs, with poor quality working conditions and lower salaries. Women are employed in the worst occupations (i.e., ones paying very poor wages). The difference between male and female incomes has remained an adverse factor for women. On average, men earn R$835.00, while women are paid R$579.00 per month. Clearly women’s wages are lower than those of men. But the black women’s wages are the worst and the lowest of everybody. Consequently, black women suffer triple discrimination in the job market—they endure race, class, and gender differences. As domestic maids, they are the most vulnerable. Here they lack both a good salary and social protection. More recently, on November 20, 2005—the National Day of Black Consciousness—new research was published. This data indicated that black women’s average monthly income was R$279.00 (i.e., equivalent to $121 U.S. dollars). Similarly, the black man’s average income per month in Brazil is R$428.30 (i.e., $186 U.S. dollars). Not only is the black man’s income higher than that of the black woman, the white woman’s wages are almost 50 per cent higher than the black woman’s. Below is the comparative picture: Black women: R$279.70 ($121 U.S. dollars) Black men: R$428.30 ($186.22) Non black women: R$554.60 ($241.13) Non black men: R$931.10 ($404.82) In the state of Bahia, an area with a huge black population, the black woman’s salary is less than 50 per cent that of white men. For instance, overall in Brazil, we have 6 million domestic workers: 5 per cent men and 95 per cent women. 57 per cent of the domestic workers are black women. Such racial stratification begins at a young age in Brazil. Take, for example, “Until When,” a Brazilian documentary regarding the murder of black adolescents. This is relevant because one of the major foci of the International Association of Black Religions and Spiritualities is to pay special attention to the survival, thriving, and future of youth and students. But

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what does the future hold for black youth in Brazil—a country that doesn’t provide the conditions for young people to survive in a worthy manner? In “Until When,” an October 2005 documentary, we witness thousands of adolescents who are killed annually in Rio de Janeiro and other cities in Brazil as a result of confrontations with the police and traffic officials, or are murdered by death squads. The documentary, produced by film director Belizário França, substantiates clearly and definitively that these deaths are linked to issues of colour, gender, and age. The majority of the victims are black. Every day, 16 adolescents, between 15 and 18 years of age, die in this “dirty war” perpetrated against our youth in Rio de Janeiro and all over Brazil. Thousands of adolescents and black youths are murdered in the streets and slums of Brazilian cities. A comparison shows the depths and severity of these deaths. For instance, in the conflict between Palestine and Israel from December 1987 to 2001, 467 adolescents died from weapons. During the same time period, in the city of Rio de Janeiro alone, 3,937— a frightening number of similar aged youth—died in Brazil. Even more recently, this startling number was confirmed by the Program of the United Nations for Development (PNUD). In 2005, it released its Report of Human Development in Brazil. The report found that blacks in the city slums of S. Paulo are the largest group of victims of the police. In the broader state of Rio Janeiro, blacks compose 11.1 per cent of the population, but they account for 34.4 per cent of deaths by the hands of the police force. In contrast, the situation for the white population is inverted; that is to say, whites are 54.5 per cent of the population and only 19.7 per cent of the victims of deadly violence administered by police. These more recent statistics were calculated based on the 1,538 occurrences involving death at the hands of police between January of 1998 and September of 2002 in the state of Rio Janeiro. Studies were carried out specifically in the city of S. Paulo, where researchers concluded that the high proportion of blacks among the dead victims clearly indicated signs of racism in the police repression apparatus. Indeed, the entire black population throughout Brazil led in the different racial categories of violent murders. According to the PNUD, the rate of homicide for every 100,000 black Brazilians is 46 per cent—almost double that of whites. Let’s make the point in a comparative sense. The rate of black Brazilian homicide is worse than that of Columbia, a country involved in a civil war. However, this state of affairs is not new. In a World Council of Churches document that I wrote in 1982, I revealed the intensity of the assassinations of our black youth: The black population has been the victim of repressive police violence throughout history. From colonial times until the present, police violence has sought to keep

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blacks compliant, powerless, frightened and ‘in their proper place’. The myth of racial democracy makes all the people equal, but if a black is unemployed it is because he is vagrant (even though he cannot get a job because he is black); if he claims his rights he is subversive. For vagrant and subversive elements, there is a whole police apparatus ready to act anywhere, at any time and under any circumstances, like before the ‘abolition of slavery’, when the hiding places of fugitive black slaves were raided and destroyed, and after ‘abolition’ when raids started on black recreational clubs, on samba schools (where there is less persecution today because millions of cruzeiros are brought in for the whites who control public entertainment), on places where voodoo ceremonies and rites were practiced, and in the bars and streets where blacks tend to congregate.1

In that decade, oppressed people were looking for one way to combat the oppressor through intentional activities of resistance. Yet it is important to answer the following question: Is it possible to reduce racial domination and exploitation simply by perceiving it as an isolated problem detached from all structural realities faced by the entire population of the poor in society? Pablo Richard, a Chilean theologian, maintains that: in every instance of class domination, there is always an element of racial segregation and discrimination. The oppressor always considers the oppressed to be of an inferior race; the poor are always of another colour. We cannot set the racial struggle against the class struggle [Richard says], nor can we reduce one to the other. The strength of the popular struggle for freedom lies in the dialectical combination of the two, which mutually reinforce each other within the same process of political liberation.2

So from one perspective, we should recognize that all people who are oppressed by whatever system of exploitation should develop a struggle together. From the concrete reality of Brazil, however, we Brazilian blacks have learned that our fight is very specific, beginning with the racism that we experience. The specificity of this fight has been difficult to share with other oppressed sectors in Brazilian society. For example, the words of Professor Ana Paula Maranhão, of the Black Observatory, make this plain when her argument, in effect, surmises that “AGAINST THE RACISM, we are ALONE. Many jurists, feminist organizations dominated by white women, trade unions, many partners with us in many activities, etc, all of them think that racism is one problem of the blacks and not of the Brazilian society.”3 Yet the race issue is intricately tied to the class question. The face and reality of poverty in Brazil is black. Just as the spread of violence and murder has colour, just as gender has colour, so too does the intense poverty have a black Brazilian dimension. Therefore, race is not simply a black Brazilian issue, but a Brazilian societal issue. Professor Dr. Ricardo Henriques, a former social researcher at the Institute for Applied Research in Brazil, studied extensively the black

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situation in Brazil from the seventeenth century to the 1990s. From his scientific evidence, he concludes that poverty is black in Brazil. Research substantiates the fact that the economic and political system willfully maintained blacks in poverty, kept them out of schools, and forced them into the lowest salaried jobs even when they performed the same functions or activities as non-whites and were, therefore, just as competitive as other ethnic groups. Black Brazilian women, moreover, were the most discriminated against, receiving the smallest wages than any group. Therefore, we conclude that academic research destroys the loud voice of the Brazilian racists and unpacks and demolishes that position which asserts blacks are incompetent and naturally possess an inferior intelligence. These negative views are especially exemplified when we organize to implement various forms of affirmative action in Brazil. In particular, racists in the academy argue that to admit blacks into the universities based on quotas results in lowering the quality and ethos of higher education. However, facts have proven contrary to these dire racist predictions. As we say in Portuguese: ELES QUEIMARAM A LÍNGUA (they burned their tongue). In other words, for example, after two years of black matriculation in universities, all the universities that adopted the quota system concluded that black students earned good or excellent grades in their studies. Thus we are proving that if we have the same opportunities like the dominant ethnic groups, we can reach our objectives and excel in all areas, such as schools, housing, food, employment, leisure, etc. Professor Dr. Ricardo Henriques, Secretary of Continuous Education and Diversity of the Ministry of Education in Brazil, has declared that racial inequality is at the heart of what he calls the “naturalization of inequality.” In this connection, the amount of research done by him and others at the Brazilian Institute of Applied Research in 2000, and presented to the World Conference on Racism in Durban, South Africa, shows that racial inequality in Brazil is mixed with social inequality. Professor Henriques states that there is an over representation of blacks in poverty because this social ill is not distributed democratically. When his research was done, he found that 34 per cent of the Brazilian population was poor, about 53 million people. If this poverty was distributed democratically with the white population, 54.6 per cent, or 54 million whites, would be poor and the remaining would be blacks. But the actual numbers show another reality. 64 per cent of the black population is poor, while 36 per cent of the white population is poor. In our country, Brazil, poverty has colour—unfortunately, my colour: black. Professor Henriques, in his analysis, unpacks his phrase “the naturalization of inequality.” Black Brazilian inferiority does not occur randomly and periodically. On the contrary, the preponderance and persistence of the black face of poverty hints at inequality being naturalized.

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The naturalization of inequality actually has its historical roots in Brazilian slave society. As a result, the social division between whites and blacks was naturalized. After slavery established this institutional arrangement and after years of this tradition, racial and social inequality in Brazil is now being overcome with difficulty. Perhaps in this “naturalization of inequality,” the group and lives most affected adversely by the social and racial inequality are the youth and children. In a real sense, Brazilian poverty is racialized as black and stamped with a young age. Despite these deleterious factors and conclusions from social scientific research, black Brazilians have always been able to survive and resist at different levels. Our power results from our strong black spirituality. Our power, we believe, is derived from the Holy Spirit which has sustained us and inspired us in our years of struggle against racism, discrimination, prejudices, intolerance and xenophobia. In fact, the Holy Spirit has strongly helped all of us to keep our human dignity as blacks and as humans who were born free, without a price in the market. Thankfully, the Spirit has always made us free and undergirded our survival in the name of this very spirituality. In other words, the dominant society thinks that we only come into the world to be servants of the white Brazilians. However, through black Brazilian participation in the International Association of Black Religions and Spiritualities, we are learning that international networking among the world’s darker skin people is one gift from God to facilitate the strengthening of our dignity, our self-love, our self-esteem, and our courage TO BE ONE against racism, discrimination, intolerance and prejudice around the world.

22 Black Heritage in Brazil Diana Fernandes dos Santos Faraon “[...] we have the Africa in our kitchens like the America in our jungles, and the Europe in our halls [...] Run the specialists, since the poor, moçambiquences, benguelas, monjolos, congos, cabindas, caçangas ... go dying...” Silvio Romero

The origin Brazil is the largest country in Latin America. Discovered by a Portuguese navigator who commanded an expedition chartered toward India in 1500, it includes in its history, since the beginning of its colonization, a past of conquest, private ownership and slavery. It is a country extremely rich in cultural, natural, racial, social and religious diversity. Brazil is considered one of the countries that expresses most the real meaning of diversity, multi-culturality, and difference than any other nation in the world. Colonized by the Portuguese, inhabited by aboriginals when discovered, but with the forced enslavement of blacks from some parts of Africa, Brazil is a country with a population of around 188,440,947 inhabitants. It is comprised of a mix of coloured peoples, the majority of whom descend from blacks and aboriginals, but also descendants of Europeans, Asians, and Arabs. Most immigrated in search of wealth or better conditions of life. The first blacks arrived in Brazil as slaves in the middle of the sixteenth century around 1538. In the beginning, they were brought in small numbers mainly from the West African coast and represented three cultural African groups. The first one—Yorubá (nagô), Dahomey (gegê), and Fanti-Ashanti (minas)—came from Gambia, Sierra Leone, Costa da Malagueta, and Costa do Marfim. The second category of the enslaved exemplified the Islamized African culture, especially the Peuhl, Mandinga, and Hausa from the North of Nigéria, identified in Bahia, Brazil as black male and in Rio de Janeiro as alufá. The third African cultural community entailed a mixture of integrated groups made up of Bantu tribes, composed of blacks from Angola and Mozambique.

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After the sugar cane business developed, more and more Africans were brought in as slaves to serve the Portuguese–Brasilian economy for exactly three centuries, thus facilitating the arrival of millions of blacks. As a cultural agent, the participation of the Africans in the Brazilian culture was more passive than active. But Africans had a crucial relevance not only as workers but also as great contributors of their African culture to the Brazilian society. When they arrived in the land of Brazil, blacks needed to be incorporated into the “luso-tupi” traditions that were already established. That is to say, Portuguese (“luso”) and indigenous aboriginal (“tupi”) customs preceded the enslaved Africans’ arrival. Thus blacks had to learn how to speak, to cook, and to live as the pioneers. Dispersed throughout the new land, among other slaves with the same colour but with different languages, cultures and tribes, Africans were forced to incorporate passively the cultural universe from the new society. Also, though today an overarching black religion expresses a common black consciousness, initially there existed different religions that put further distance among Africans. The discrimination and the exploitation of blacks in Brazil are sufficiently explicit since the period of colonization of the land. For example, the labour exploitation of black men was shown in their servile status; they worked in the lowest jobs without recognized rights and without a respected dignity. Similarly black women were oppressed as they became objects of pleasure upon which their owners tested their male virility and their owners’ adolescent sons experimented with their sexual freedom. The forced sexual union with black women resulted in a “mulatto” class that assumed some functions, previously not reserved for them, due to the scarcity of white workmen. In this way, the black person was integrated into the day by day negative realities of his or her white owner, thus curtailing the broad range of social mobility that Africans experienced prior to slavery. Indeed, these inhumane and restrictive measures indicate the birth and intensity of racist Brazilian violence. Society, with these extreme practices, intended for blacks to become white, thereby destroying African Brazilian identity as black and denying their rights as citizens. The injustices against blacks intensified with the passing of years and of centuries; consequently, the abolitionist movement spread throughout the whole country. These struggles became more intense during the War of Paraguay where millions of blacks were used on the battle front. This war, 1864–1870, pitted Paraguay against the alliance of Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay. During this period, especially in the southeast region of the country, the economy was growing in Brazil due to its coffee industry. The abolitionists in the coffee aristocracy of São Paulo were the main actors

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responsible for the process of abolition in Brazil. Furthermore, at this time, Brazil encountered strong pressure from England to abolish slavery because England, a major player in the international slave trade, was moving to end the selling of black flesh. Yet the abolition of slavery in Brazil in 1888 did not shift blacks unambiguously from chattel to equal and just relations among all human communities. Rather, Africans and their descendants left the imprisoned life of chains and fetters for a sinister condition of social and economic inequality, thereby furthering their lives of submission. They were now, in a word, marked by the stigma of the colour black. After the initial euphoria brought by emancipation, blacks found themselves in the middle of a crisis. They had a roof to sleep under and food and other minimum conditions for mere survival. But freedom gave way to exclusion from society and a lack of land, soil, sustenance, and work. They congregated in cities and lived as beggars. They inhabited alleys and invaded abandoned lands. Thus slum quarters were born.

The Religion Below is a small panoramic view regarding contemporary religions in Brazil. The oldest Afro-Brazilian religions were formed in the nineteenth century when Roman Catholicism was the unique normative religion in the country and the basic way to prove one’s social authenticity. It was, therefore, vital to be Roman Catholic in Brazil even before being a free black. Because of this religio-cultural fact, blacks, who created in the country the African religions of the orixás, vodums and inquices, considered themselves as Catholics; and this self-affirmation could be clearly seen in their behaviours. Since the beginning, the Afro-Brazilian religions were constituted by syncretism, with a large number of connections between African gods and Roman Catholic saints—specifically seen in Candomblé. Until recently, these Afro-Brazilian religious ceremonies were forbidden and strongly fought against. Even today, Pentecostal Christians, the selfdeclared rivals of African derived religions, have launched an aggressive offensive to oppress African religiosity. So until recently, Afro-Brazilian practitioners of their syncretic religions had preferred to call themselves Roman Catholic to avoid intense religious persecutions. They masked their identity despite having the freedom of religious choices as members of Brazilian culture. Another African religion has formed in the twentieth century in the southeast of Brazil. It is named Umbanda. The latter is a synthesis of the old Candomblé of Bahia, Brazil transported to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil between

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Data about Religion in Brazil Demographic Census 2000 Geographic Unity State Gender Religion Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil

Total Total Total Total Total

Total Total Total Total Total

Brazil

Total Total

Brazil Brazil

Total Total Total Total

Brazil Brazil Brazil

Total Total Total Total Total Total

Brazil

Total Total

Brazil

Total Total

Brazil

Total Total

Brazil

Total Total

Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil Brazil

Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total

Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total Total

Contingent

%

Total 169.872.856 Roman Catholic apostolic 124.980.132 Evangelical 26.184.941 Evangelicals—of mission 6.939.765 Evangelicals—of mission Evangelical Adventist of the 7th day 1.142.377 Evangelicals—of mission Evangelical Church of Lutheran Confession 1.062.145 Evangelicals—of mission Baptist Church 3.162.691 Evangelicals—of mission Presbyterian Church 981.064 Evangelicals—of mission others 591.488 Evangelicals—of pentecostal origin 17.975.249 Evangelicals—of pentecostal origin— Christian Congregation Church of Brasil 2.489.113 Evangelicals—of pentecostal origin— Universal Church of the Kingdom of God 2.101.887 Evangelicals—of pentecostal origin— Evangelical of the Quadrangular Gospel 1.318.805 Evangelicals—of pentecostal origin— Evangelical Church Assembly of God 8.418.140 Evangelicals—of pentecostal origin— others 3.647.303 Evangelical—other evangelical religions 1.269.928 Witness of Jeová 1.104.886 Spiritism 2.262.401 Spiritualist 25.889 Umbanda 397.431 Candomblé 127.582 Jewish 86.825 Buddhism 214.873 Other Oriental religions 158.912 Islamic 27.239 Hinduist 2.905 Esoterics traditions 58.445 Tradições indígenas 17.088 Other religiosity 989.303 Without Religion 12.492.403 Not determined 357.648 Without declaration 383.953

100,00 73,57 15,41 4,09 0,67 0,63 1,86 0,58 0,35 10,58 1,47 1,24 0,78 4,96 2,15 0,75 0,65 1,33 0,02 0,23 0,08 0,05 0,13 0,09 0,02 0,00 0,03 0,01 0,58 7,35 0,21 0,23

P.S.: Relative percentages to the total of the population according to the geographic unity selected. Source: Censo 2000, Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística IBGE

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the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and the Kardecist Spiritism which arrived from France at the end of the nineteenth century. The Umbanda religion kept the Catholic syncretism from Candomblé and, therefore, in its internal constitution, Umbanda is much more syncretic than Candomblé. More specifically, Umbanda was born from a strong participation of white practitioners, thereby breaking with the symbols and African characteristics and opening itself to represent “the religion of everybody.” Umbanda acts as a symbol and identity of a mixed race country and is considered the “Brazilian religion by excellence” with a syncretism combining white Roman Catholicism, orisha traditions from the African perspective, and spirits of indigenous origination. Somewhat in a similar vein, in its sixtieth year, Candomblé understood itself evolving into an openness or universal concept of faith and being more flexible with the traditions it received from people everywhere. It suggests to people that its religion is part of the culture, art and beliefs of all Brazilians. Umbanda and Candomblé are considered by their followers as magic religions. The spiritual force of the orishas and saints (i.e., gods and supernatural powers) is very much respected by their believers—an expression of spirituality very close to the Pentecostal churches in Brazil. Candomblé and Umbanda are religions of small groups that respect the authority and self-sufficiency of the local group. Each is comprised of and formed around a father and mother saint. Both religions are manifestations of the black heritage formed in Brazil throughout centuries and represent real movement of bodies, symbols, art, and traditions of a people who saw in their faith a way to express and identify their roots, their blackness. African expressions of faith, furthermore, exist in some Christian churches in Brazil. Whether preserving European or American traditions and doctrines, the birth of Christianity in Brazil was impacted by an African heritage, a heritage influencing liturgy, body expressions, ceremonies, music, and dance.

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23 Womanist Theology and Epistemology in the Postmodern U.S. Context Linda E. Thomas During the first half of the 1980s, two black women writers, one African and the other African American, used the terms “Womanist/Womanism” independently of each other to signal the unparalleled experience that black women have in the particular institutions, cultures, and societies of which they are a part. Both Alice Walker and Chikwenye Okonjo Ogunyemi, as novelists, suggested Womanism as a distinctive praxis for gathering and narrating spheres of knowledge about the lives of black women. 1 Divided into three parts, this article examines Walker’s and Ogunyemi’s approaches to Womanism, explores the Womanist experience in the postmodern U.S. context, and considers what feminist and Womanist theologians in the U.S. might gain for their constructive work in the postmodern context of the United States.

Walker and Ogunyemi: Approaches to Womanism In 1983, Alice Walker’s In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens2 set the pace for Womanism in the black North American context. This Womanist text is an inspiration to African American women who daily deal with and defiantly expend energy resisting multiple oppressive structures. Moreover, black women resonate with Walker’s work because it speaks of our uncompromising commitment to the African American community, which is a source of both nurture and suffering. Through Walker’s Womanist prose, we, African American women, see reflected the ambiguous nature of our everyday lives. As we move in and out of black and white cultures, we fight against issues of race, unequal gender relations, and class stratification. Even our struggle with black male sexism does not deter our commitment to the black communities of which we are an indisputable

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part. Walker’s Womanist paradigm advocates unity, allegiance, and a bias toward values that bring promise and renewal to our community. Black women, men, and children are connected in self-affirming and communitysustaining ways. Womanist energy works against racism, sexism, class schism, heterosexism and desecration of the earth; it embraces the totality of our black personhood in its various forms. Chikwenye Okonjo Ogunyemi’s article “Womanism: The Dynamics of the Contemporary Black Female Novel in English” was published in 1985. She asserts that black women writers are philosophers who have a well-defined method, “black Womanism,” which celebrates black roots, the ideals of black life, while giving a balanced presentation of black womandom. It concerns itself as much with the black sexual power tussle as with the world power structure that subjugates blacks.3 Moreover, Ogunyemi claims that the Womanist must take seriously “racial, cultural, national, economic, and political considerations.”4 In her view, every realm of life and all complex systems are in the purview of the Womanist. Ogunyemi outlines an elaborate argument for the reasons that black women writers cannot follow the contours of the white feminist method. She argues that the social construction of race and its negative effects upon people of African descent is the singular reason why black women write about their experience in ways that disassociate them from the white feminist project. Ogunyemi maintains that black women must deal with the effects of sexism as all women do, but she understands sexism to be one of many assorted categories with which black women must concern themselves. She claims: While the white woman writer protests against sexism, the black woman writer must deal with it as one among many evils; she battles also with the dehumanization resulting from racism and poverty. What, after all, is the value of sexual equality in a ghetto? Black woman writers are not limited to issues defined by their femaleness but attempt to tackle questions raised by their humanity. Thus the Womanist vision is racially conscious in its underscoring of the positive aspects of black life. The politics of the Womanist is unique in its racial-sexual ramifications; it is more complex than white sexual politics, for it addresses more directly the ultimate question relation to power: how do we share equitably the world’s wealth and concomitant power among the races and between the sexes?5

Thus, Ogunyemi’s notion of Womanism articulates a political and economic perspective from a global point of view. This is an important extension of Walker’s approach, which is specifically intended for the African American women’s community. Like Walker, Ogunyemi recoils from male dominance generally and in the black community in particular. Related to black patriarchy and black male novelists, she writes:

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Black women writers distinguish Womanism from feminism, just as their critical perception of black patriarchy and particular concern for black women distinguish the themes in their works from the acceptance of obnoxious male prejudices against women often found in writings by black men.6

In sum, while Walker and Ogunyemi arrived at their use of the terms “Womanist/Womanism” autonomously, their experience as black women writers necessitated that they reflect critically about the unique nature of their work and the importance of developing a black woman-centered methodology to speak the “black woman’s tongue.”7 Thus, two daughters of African ancestry were inspired to use the notion of Womanist/Womanism to articulate the peculiar experience of black womanhood in the world.

Womanist Experience in the Postmodern U.S. Context In this next section, I will present three ways that the concepts, methodologies, and experiences inherent in Womanism, as presented by both Walker and Ogunyemi, can advance the work of women doing theology in the post-modern North American context. First, I raise the experience of African American women who navigate multiple oppressions. African American women living in the U.S. daily confront, resist, survive, and dismantle systems of race, sex, gender and class. The successful management of multiple systems of oppression can serve as an immediate and historical source for an examination of the limitations of traditional approaches to theology that may only examine oppression from a singular source. For example, feminist theologies choose to filter theological concepts and constructs through the single lens of sex. Latin American theologies tend toward an examination of liberation through the single lens of class. Womanist theologians cannot afford such a myopic lens. We bring to theology a deep and clear understanding of the confluence and interrelationship of multiple systems of oppression. Second, and similarly, African American women bring to the theological table a complex system of moral deliberation and an ethical framework that allows for conscious and conspicuous compromise within each of the many oppressive systems. We cannot afford idealism or absolutism; survival is at stake. We make compromises with black men that may, at times, violate our core beliefs about sexual equality. We make compromises, when necessary for our short- and long-term advancement, with systems of racism. We have learned well how to function willingly and knowingly within multiple systems of oppression in ways that reject certain hard boundaries and “purist” ideologies in favor of a methodology that embraces

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ambiguity and learns well how to operate in ways that are not always black and white, so to speak. Black women living in the U.S. context can add to the theological discourse a much needed lens that is more prismatic than it is linear or exclusive. Third, the experience and methodologies of African American women in the United States fits well into the post-modern conceptual framework. A Womanist approach, in literature, film, economics, cross-cultural studies, theology, etc., could prove a valuable resource for articulating the value of postmodern perspectives. Postmodernism decries absolutism, elevates multiple ways of being, and encourages deliberate movement between systems of thought. Postmodernism sees through the holes of meta-theories and exposes the ways that systems break down when they collide with “real life.” Postmodernism claims at its core that the search for pure fundamentals is flawed; it will not produce an accurate, real or true understanding— precisely because postmoderns claim that individuals, movements, and events cannot be reduced or deconstructed to a single element. The history of African American women overflows with the need to deny absolutism and to accept the multiplicity within ourselves. Culturally speaking, postmodernism grew out of an age of disillusionment and severe experiences with the faults of previously accepted ways of understanding and acting in the world. It concluded that experience and knowledge could not be contained in old wineskins. The new wine, and the visions it offered, could no longer embrace as valid the accepted ways of thinking and being in the world. The origins of postmodernity generally range from the mid 1960s to early 1970s. For the first time in the U.S., the violent failures of the systems that previously went unchallenged en masse suddenly impacted a large enough spectrum of the population to bring about a large-scale change of thought. There was a collision—and it was televised: Martin Luther King’s assassination, the rise of feminism, televised death in Vietnam, the racially charged political events of the late 1960s—and the cultural context exposed with fervor both the gaping holes in U.S. ideals and the limits, in practice, of hegemonic pressure.

Womanism and Postmodern Constructive Theology The Womanist integration of ambiguity and understanding of the need to adopt and apply tactics from a variety of systems of thought could serve as a tremendous resource for the study of post-modernism. As a Womanist,

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I challenge us to consider that the experience and methodologies of African-American women could serve as a significant and central source for constructing postmodern theologies. I will present three ways that Womanist theologies can positively influence constructivist theologies. First, Womanism brings to theological constructivism a keen and relentless focus on the complexity of multiple oppressions and the severity faced by those forced to live without privilege. Womanism reminds theologians that even with the scour of sexism, white-skinned women benefit from the privilege of their skin color. Womanism brings to light an intentional awareness and commitment to exposing the depth of struggle faced daily by those who must navigate without the privilege of sex, class, and race simultaneously. Second, and related, Womanism brings to light the complicity of white feminists in perpetuating racism and poverty. White feminists and others who have color privilege must recognize that cordial personal relationships with women of African descent are not a substitute for women of African descent having institutional power in a nation. While white feminists may talk about equality for all women, Womanism provides an acute reminder of white feminists’ need to provide conscious and deliberate support that will provide access for women of color, who are committed to justice and liberation of oppressed people as a starting point for their agenda, to positions of institutional power. Third, Womanism brings to theological construction a call for reconstructing knowledge. It is this third point that resonates extremely well with the postmodern sensibility already taking root in the U.S. Womanism calls for an awareness of the sharp flaws in the ways history and theologies have been constructed for hundreds of years. Womanism recognizes that the histories and theologies have not recorded facts for all time and all people. Rather, Womanism illumines the gaping holes in the ways theologians have passed over, ignored, and denied the histories of the persons who did not fall into the widely held conception of the academic canon. Just as postmodernism has laid bare the limits of seeking universal truth, Womanism exposes the exclusionary tactics and results of the traditional methods of constructing theologies. Reconstruction of knowledge (i.e., epistemology) involves recognizing the exclusionary nature of our knowledge base; and working to change it means that theologians ought to foreground marginalized ways of knowing which have been suppressed and dominated by discourses that govern our societies. In order to reconstruct knowledge in a more balanced, albeit less centric, way is to give equal importance through syllabi and class time to those persons and voices that have been excluded from the traditional canons of academic study. To do this is to recognize with the postmoderns that the epistemological paradigms we have acquired from

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institutions such as the church, schools, and the media are the ideas, philosophies, and histories of the privileged. Once recognized and rejected, the task will remain for theologians to navigate the space of coursework and committee meetings in ways that demand a more equal playing field. Rather than offer one book or two lectures about historically marginalized peoples, theologians will need to construct a more balanced and positively de-centered way of teaching and constructing theology. The lenses will be many and the ease and comfort of a neatly packaged set of truth claims will be forfeited. Ambiguity will reign. Ambiguity is precisely the gift of Womanism. More specifically, Womanism brings to the theological table centuries of living with, surviving through, and successfully navigating the ambiguities of “real life.” Postmodernity has made it abundantly clear that “real life” rarely comes in a neat package, that cultural influences ebb and flow, fuse and overlap. In this context, theologians can look to Womanism to learn methodologies that embrace ambiguity and experience that does not allow for clear-cut, black and white answers, facts or meta-theories. Womanism as outlined by Walker and Ogunyemi, posits a methodology that empowers the voices and thus the lives of black women wherever they may be found economically, status-wise, or globally. It is a construct that builds a black woman-centered discourse, which establishes solidarity with all suppressed subjects. Womanist theology in the United States or in any other global location is a positive affirmation of works by God made known in the lives of black women. It is a paradigm that begins with the particular experience of black women but is inclusive of all who have been excluded by oppressive structures. It is indeed a reconstruction of knowledge that offers common ground for theoretical and practical conversation, particularly in the postmodern context of the U.S.

24 A Home-place: Self-identity and God in African American Culture Kirstin Boswell Ford Introduction and Purpose Spiritual kinship transcends all other relations. The race problem will be solved when Christianity gains control of the innate wickedness of the human heart, and men learn to apply in dealing with their fellows the simple principles of the Golden Rule and the Sermon on the Mount.1

Self-identity is the crucible that impacts all other aspects of the life of an individual and a community. This theme will be used to look at the Black experience in America as an example of how a community can lose its identity and connection to the source in response to crisis, but can also regain it. Identity begins in the womb through a connection to God and to the fellowship of humankind. Humans are connected, and according to Jung,2 there is a sharing of consciousness between members of the human race and the Creator that is stronger than anything else. Thurman also states, “there is an affinity between man’s own consciousness and the many forms of consciousness around him…there is such a thing as a general experience of life that two forms may share at the same moment in time without resistance and without threat.”3 Consider, for purposes of heuristics, the complete coexistence of humankind as a metaphorical “Garden of Eden” experience. Bound through their “shared consciousness,” humans live side-by-side in community and in peace. The center of this community is a connection to a higher creative source. However, in every Garden of Eden, there is a serpent. The serpent represents external factors that cause the beauty of the Eden experience to come crashing down. The serpent causes forgetfulness of shared consciousness—humans no longer remember the connections to each other or to the creative source that made Eden so beautiful. In the void of

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this forgetfulness arises shame, anger, fear and doubt, and humans become divided—separated both from themselves and the Creator. This essay synthesizes the African American “Garden of Eden” experience in America. The essay proposes that if a division is caused by forgetting commonality, remembrance can be brought about by a renewal of identity and reconnection with the source of creation. African Americans can also begin to heal this division by taking the steps toward remembering—through community—their shared consciousness.

Background and Theoretical Framework: Selfidentity and God—Self-identity and Community In Eastern philosophies we see ourselves as a part of a life force; we are joined, for instance, to the air, to the earth. We are part of the whole life process. We live in accordance with, in a kind of correspondence with the rest of the world as a whole. And therefore, living becomes an experience, rather than a problem, no matter how bad or painful it may be.4

The Black experience in the United States has been a test of faith and the strength of identity. Self-identity is shaped by internal and external factors that inform how a person identifies “self” in relation to a community and to God. Community identity is also impacted by similar internal and external factors that influence the group’s relationship to each other and to God. Faith-identity represents the individual’s or community’s relationship to God. Whether the relationship comes first and faith second or vice versa, faith and relationship with God are virtually interchangeable. Spirituality is the more intrinsically motivated expression of faith. According to Boswell, “Spirituality is the experience of transcendence and inner strength, peace and harmony, which gives meaning and purpose to one’s own life; it expresses itself through unity with all life and love and forgiveness of self and others.”5 The external may serve as a vehicle for spirituality in the expression of faith in religiosity. Boswell also states, “Religiosity is the adherence to religious dogma or creed, the expression of moral beliefs, and the participation in organized worship or individual and/or group sacred practices.”6 In addition to the factors that form relationship to God are those that form relationship to community. The major internal factors that act within the self to influence relationship to community are a sense of home, belonging, and place. Influential external factors include race, environment, sex, gender, religion, educational opportunities, external values, interactions with others, and financial well-being. Self-identity of a person in relation to God and community and self-identity of a community in relationship to

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its members and God is crucial to the successful integration of that individual or group into their environment and the wider community of human beings. This idea is further embodied in the term eudaimonia, which is the highest good that is found through right relationship to God in caritas. Discussed by St. Augustine in City of God, it is the perfect love of God, demonstrated by cleaving to God above all else, and being in right relationship to society. In The Spirituality of African Peoples, Paris states that “the highest good in African societies is the preservation of order and harmony within the community, on the one hand, and between the community and its spiritual protectors … on the other.”7

Faith ‘Twant me, ’twas the Lord. I always told Him, “I trust you, I don’t know where to go or what to do, but I expect you to lead me. And He always did”.8

In the midst of the imposition of White religious ideals on their existing religious structures, Americans of African descent have tried to maintain faith as the core of existence. In the midst of the Black experience in America, it is often faith that has sustained the people through times of trial. Faith is the glue that has held together generations of Black Americans on their journey to bridge the spirituality of their ancestors with the religiosity of the culture in which they resided. Through experience, reason, tradition and revelation, a carefully developed and nurtured faith in God has helped to maintain some spirit of collectivism within the community. It is the faith in an imminent God who answers prayers, combined with the notion of a transcendent God that is ahead preparing a way that has formed the basis of Black spirituality and religiosity—and Black self-identity.

Community A healthy cultural identity is formed in community.9

Human beings are naturally social creatures, and have no desire to create a life for themselves which is devoid of human interaction. That is why people naturally yearn for and create communities in which to reside. Morgan states that “people in all times seem to have been aware that there is not only a disposition but a necessity in man’s nature leading him

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to fraternize, to congregate into communities and live in as close relation as the nature of his circumstances would permit.”10 An example of this is the Shakers, who believed that man is divine, and that community is the best example of the expression of this divine nature. Additionally, DilworthAnderson et al. stated that, “a guiding perspective of symbolic interaction theories is that humans seek meaning and identities by interacting with other humans.”11 One aspect of community is the forming of a nation. This is often the largest single community with which one can identify. National identity is described as a “repertoire of shared values, symbols and traditions” that “bonds individuals, classes and interest groups together.” Furthermore, “the relationship between personal and national identity is both analogous and symbiotic. They share key features, and each feeds off the other. The psychology of nations and persons is all of a piece.”12 This symbiotic feeding off of each other can be the case for any unit which considers itself a community. Indeed, the family is the smallest, or most basic collective unit of a community. Therefore, theories, queries and concerns concerning the family will also often apply to the larger community. While there are positive advantages to communities, such as helping to formulate self-identity, there are also negatives. DilworthAnderson et al. explains in this way: …within the family circle members find a reprieve from a hostile society and a source for identity formation. However, the communal identity may prevent individuation. The mutual obligation and cooperation in the family circle ensures that no member ‘falls between the cracks’; but it also makes it difficult for any member to get ahead because any instance of good fortune must be divided among members of the family circle.13

Likewise, Bensen writes, “It is apparently the simple feeling of belonging with ‘us’ and ‘here’ rather than with ‘them’ and ‘there’ that so much of the awfulness and advantage…resides.”14

External Factors that Influence Identity with Community One ever feels his twoness—an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder. The history of the American Negro is the history of this strife—this longing to attain self-conscious manhood, merge his double self into a better and truer self. In this merger, he wishes neither of the older selves to be lost. He does not wish to Africanize America, for America has too much to teach the world and Africa; he does not wish to bleach his Negro blood in a flood of white

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Americanism, for he believes—foolishly, perhaps, but fervently—that Negro blood has yet a message for the world. He simply wishes to make it possible for a man to be both Negro and an American without being cursed and spit upon by his fellows, without losing the opportunity of self-development.15

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, communities do not exist in a vacuum. While there are factors on the inside working to influence the community, there are factors on the outside working just as hard. DilworthAnderson et al. described several theories that discuss the symbiotic relationship between families and their environments.16 One in particular is the Ecological Theory, which deals with how available natural and human resources affect family life in environments of communities or neighborhoods. Other theories outline how families are shaped by the existence of other external factors, such as race, values, gender and sex, and the ideas about them. Dilworth-Anderson et al. state, “values are the ‘guide posts’ of family functioning because they provide direction for individual and group socialization and identification. Values also provide direction for behavior and give parameters for acceptable and unacceptable behavior within groups. They also tell us what to expect of ourselves, and what to expect of others within our families.”17 There is no discussion of issues that can arise from being in a community or culture that is not consistent with one’s own. One can only wonder what happens when these foreign values are imposed on a person or a community. If culture refers to “a shared sets of beliefs, values, preferences, and attitudes,”18 then what happens when a group is deposited in the midst of a culture that is not their own? Do they lose their own values, and is their own culture compromised? Bensen states, “The culturally distinctive features of a people are the ways in which their interpretations of the world channel how they act in it. This sense of themselves as a distinct people is part of the foundation for what is called…identity.”19 In The Souls of Black Folk, W. E. B. Du Bois describes being born Black in America as being born with a veil. The veil serves as a border between the worlds of White and Black. This veil still exists today for families that are marginalized, or not in the mainstream of society, such as African Americans. Du Bois called this veil a “double consciousness,” or a symbol of the duality of self that is required to effectively straddle two worlds. African Americans must not only accept this duality, but effectively become acculturated into a society that does not fully accept them and creates the conditions for their marginalization at every opportunity. The other part of the African American’s identity is as part of the Black community. Therefore, part of the self is rooted in a larger community that does not accept people of color, and the other part is rooted in a sub-community

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of people of color. This results in a loss of the African American selfidentity due to feeling divided and disoriented with no place to call home.

Sense of Home and Belonging Ideologies The desire is to be home, and the present location is not home. Home is over Jordan. And that home is a campground of praise, a gospel feast, a promised land, and a place of peace.20

Whether looking at nations or families, one is struck by one common feature, which is the sharing of a home. In the case of nations, this home may be a vast territory, while in the case of families, it may be a brick bungalow or even a spot on a street corner—yet there is a common identity with a place. In Bensen, Anthony Smith defines a nation as a “named human population sharing an historic territory, common myths and historical memories, a mass, public culture, a common economy and common legal rights and duties for all members.”21 In the same source, Isaiah Berlin identifies “belonging” as “a feeling which is fundamental for human beings…this deep need to be a member of a continuous cultural and historical community rooted in its own land.”22 It appears that the home is not just the element by which communities are recognized—but the existence of and identification with home is the defining element of the strength or cohesiveness of a community. According to Dilworth-Anderson et al.,23 in a 2000 study, T. Gieryn outlines three essential features useful for studying what he terms the home-place: geographic location, material form, and investment with meaning and value. He contends that, “home, nested in a definable space, is the crucial place from which a person’s social identity emerges, transforms, and is internalized and sustained over time.” Dilworth-Anderson et al. further contend, “Yearning is an individual’s or family’s psychological and emotional longing for connectedness to place, for a sense of rootedness and purpose, and for a crucible of affirmation of one’s sense of social and cultural identity.”24 Human beings take a certain pride in establishing and growing their home-place. In many cultural groups, one of the defining factors of adulthood is moving out of the family homestead, and into a home of one’s own. In the United States, one of the first goals of newly married couples is to purchase their own home and start their own community unit, or family. Throughout life, people go through periods of reemphasizing the importance of the home-place, whether through moving into a new home, remodeling the existing one, moving back home with family or in the case of nations, fortifying boundaries and building infrastructure.

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Humans are social beings that live in communities. Therefore, given the importance of the home in establishing the social and cultural identity of the human being and the community, one wonders what happens to those that are homeless. Homeless individuals in the United States are most often on the fringes of society. They are struggling each day to make it to the next, constantly reaching for the opportunity to have a home, and to rejoin mainstream society. Perhaps, though, after months and years of being homeless, they give up and accept their status. Perhaps they grow angry or depressed. Perhaps they sink into the depths of despair and self-pity, turning their anger and disappointment inward. This set of circumstances can apply to the community that has no home. In hooks’ collection of essays, Yearning: Race, Gender, and Cultural Politics, as described by Dilworth-Anderson et al., the discussion focuses on the importance of the home-place relative to the survival and coping strategies of the African American community. hooks remembers childhood visits to her grandparents’ home, and uses them to describe the term home-place. She describes her experience of a home-place as a place where “all that truly mattered in life took place—the warmth and comfort of shelter, the feeding of our bodies, the nurturing of our souls.”25 DilworthAnderson continues, stating that hooks introduces the issue of yearning as a result of not having a home-place. She describes African Americans as being in a state of constant yearning due to the realities of the African Diaspora.

The “New Homeland”—Two Faces of Eden The people multiplied and grew, covering the face of the land. Despite the fact that they were different colors and spoke different languages, they were one people and understood one another without speech or talking…there was one life, nourished by Mother Earth and sired and sustained by the Sun, through which the Creator worked or created… [Then] the animals began to draw away from man, and men began drawing away from one another. Fear, the great enemy of community appeared. The final separation of the people was between those who remembered the plan and intent of the Creator and those who did not.26

In 1620, a group of Europeans arrived in the New Colony (Massachusetts Bay) after disembarking from the Mayflower. They arrived with hope and ideals, and the goal of creating a model society on top of pre-existing societies, in a land that was not theirs. John Winthrop, the first Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, delivered a now famous sermon while en route to the New World, in which he described the goals of the Puritan mission, and in which he called New England a “citty upon a hill,” with “the eyes of all people…upon us.”27 Winthrop describes a covenantal

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relationship between God and the Puritans in which they were to “followe the counsel of Micah, to doe justly, to love mercy, to walke humbly with our God.” In return, God would ensure their safe arrival in the new colony and not “breake out in wrathe against [them].” The unstated part of this covenantal relationship was the internalized ideology that God had ordained the Puritans as lords over all that they saw, whether the land, the animals, or other human beings. The Puritans behaved as if they were Adam in a new “Garden of Eden.” Not too long after the initial population of several settlements in the New World, (including the Virginia Colony Jamestown, 1607), a new group of transatlantic voyagers arrived. These were Africans stolen from their homelands to toil in the Americas as slaves. The earliest enslaved Africans in the New World can be dated to an arrival period as early as the late 1580s, and not later than 1619. However, it was several years later that the slave trade began in earnest. Neither the covenantal relationships between the New England Puritans and their God, nor the Anglican-based Virginia society seemed to preclude their citizens from dealing in flesh—as long as the flesh was black or brown. The colonists were able to justify biblical sanctioning of slavery rooted in the fact that the Africans were not seen as people, but as savages and primordial creatures—the descendants of Ham. Their bodies were used as chattel, and their minds and emotions were stifled or ignored. As Hopkins states in Down, Up, and Over, “American slavery days institutionalized a political economy featuring black bodies as commodities for white use and profit. The Puritan claim over abundant natural and human resources in the New World left broken bodies as an attendant side effect. The new earth of America acquired by adventurers from Europe yielded opportunity for European Americans. Immigrants built a republic on the efforts of unpaid African and African American labor...”28 A list of the unethical and immoral practices that defined the Black/ White relationship in the United States is expressed by Michael Omi and Howard Winant in Peter Paris’ The Spirituality of African Peoples: 1. 2.

3. 4.

The treatment of Africans as livestock by buying and selling them as slaves. The imposition of colonial rule over Africa’s traditional political authorities and, concomitantly, the confiscation of the continent’s natural resources (including human bodies) for the imperial governments of Europe. The practice of racial discrimination and segregation in all social relationships with Africans both on the continent and throughout the Diaspora. The justification of all of the above by colonial scholarship.

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African American Religious Heritage and Identity We human beings have the unique ability to fashion a theology in a way that is comforting to us…(author unknown)

A rich spirituality encompassed the Africans’ lives in their motherland. There were aspects of God seen in every element of work and living from sunup to sundown. What westerners might term bad luck, and Easterners “bad karma,” Africans believed to be some manifestation of the result of a human action. When no human action could be found as a cause for negativity, witchcraft or an accumulation of bad energy from before the person’s birth were considered to be the culprit. In African theology, God was seen as a supreme deity that was both a creator and sustainer of all things. God was remote from human beings, but was caring and just. In fact, it was this remoteness that allowed for the manifestation of God’s authority, power and steadfast sustaining and caring nature. The African concept of God could not be adequately expressed in just one name. Villages, tribes and family units all had multiple names that would best convey the aspect of God that they were describing. Below this God with many names was an enormous pantheon of “lesser gods.” This category of “lesser gods” was comprised of spirits of the deceased and other beings that straddled the human and superhuman worlds. When the Africans disembarked in the new world, it is not logical that their immense, ingrained pattern of spirituality would have dissipated. Paris explains: “The acculturation of the Africans to their new environment did not result in a total loss of their religious and moral understandings. On the contrary, Africans in the Diaspora were able to preserve the structural dimensions of their spirituality: belief in a spirit-filled cosmos and acceptance of a moral obligation to build a community in harmony with the various powers in the cosmos.”29 Africans came to this country in the bowels of slave galleons, forced to leave their homes and communities, but not stripped of their religious identities. They were removed from the home-place, but unknown to their captors, their gods traversed the Atlantic with them, and helped them to assimilate into the bleakness of their new world. When they arrived in the United States, the Africans were affronted with a new religion and a new culture which had a prescribed place for the Black man. Africans were forced to form a new self-identity, a new way of viewing community and God. Therefore, slaves reformed their faith to form a hybrid of African spirituality and White European religiosity. The enslaved maintained the deep internal connection with the god of their ancestors. Yet, they peppered this spirituality with the outward religious

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expressions, or religiosity imposed on them by the slave-masters. This allowed the enslaved to create a new home for themselves—both physically and mentally. This was a necessary reaction for a people living in the midst of a community, culture, and value system that was not their own.

The Basis of Failure in the “Garden of Eden” Years have passed away, ten, twenty, thirty. Thirty years of national life, thirty years of renewal and development, and yet…the freedman has not found freedom in his promised land. Whatever of lesser good may have come in these years of change, the shadow of deep disappointment rests upon the Negro people—a disappointment all the more bitter because the unattained ideal was unbounded save by the simple ignorance of a lowly folk.30

A home-place is part of a connected community of all of humankind. Therefore, the African slave continued to try to exist in the wider community in which he lived, all the while trying to be true to his sense of self-identity by liberating himself from the oppression of slavery, and after the “abolition” of slavery, from discrimination and injustice in its various forms. African Americans could not accomplish this in a vacuum, and were constantly beset on all sides by the ugliness of external factors such as racism. In striving to be recognized as valid members of society, African Americans have throughout history been devalued, sidelined and had their gains thwarted because Eden (America) was not ready to embrace people of color. For a time, however, there was a glimmer of hope. Through the Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s, some of the African American community’s goals were realized and dreams were seized. There was the perception that hope was to be no longer deferred. For a while, hope burned as brightly as a flame. However, time has dimmed that flame. African Americans have made great gains in mainstream society, yet racism still exists and sexism is a factor of everyday life. Hope has been dimmed, and anger has set in like a festering wound. Disappointment has arrived and impatience has grown ugly. This downward spiral of emotions is illustrated by W. E. B. Du Bois in his essay, “Magnificat.”31 A Black woman addressing God states, “You’re mighty, all right, God—I know that you’ve done great things and your name’s holy and all that. But how about me? How about that mercy on them that was afeared of you from generation to generation? … Well, why don’t you put down some of the mighty white folks from their seats and exalt a few black folk of low degree.”

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A crucial by-product of loss of hope and anger is that the African American sense of self-identity has been challenged. As stated by Thurman in A Search for Common Ground, the African American body and psyche live in the reality of the “vast desecration of personality” that has been the by-product of race relations in the United States. Thurman says that the result is a breakdown of “the instinctual tendency toward whole-making,” followed by, “violence from aggression, thwarted and turned in on oneself, the searching felt in the presence of the humiliation of heroes, the guilt inspired by anonymous fears that live in the environment,”32 all of which negatively affect the boundaries of any sense of community and the effectiveness of one’s life as a person. African Americans wanted liberation immediately and on their own terms. The first generation of Black theologians arose out of this time of struggle and disappointment and began to further refine African Americans’ theologies of faith. Immediately after this time, during the 1970s and 80s, a new generation of African Americans was born. This generation no longer wanted to wait and pray and be “afeared” of God as their ancestors had done. Instead, they wished to make gains (economic, social, etc.) on their own. This new generation no longer wanted to wear the “veil” and straddle two societies. They wished to form their own society and culture. They began to take not only the best of Black culture, but also the worst, and to celebrate it. This generation began to identify with the anger and hatred that had turned inward, with an “in-your-face” glorification of thug life, “ghetto-fabulousness,” being “playas,” and other societal ills resulting from a breakdown of cultural identity. This generation began to no longer care about existing in the larger community of humankind—and while movement in this direction is understandable, this was the African Americans’ failure. Howard Thurman states: “Men, all men belong to each other, and he who shuts himself away diminishes himself, and he who shuts another away from him destroys himself.”33 Therefore, following this premise, both Whites and Blacks have failed.

Two Faces of Marginalization Compared How can we sing the songs of the Lord while in a foreign land? Psalm 137:4

After their dismal past together, White and Black Americans have a tense relationship that is full of blaming and finger-pointing. White Americans point to the events of the past as just that—the past. They claim that African Americans have had ample time and opportunity to “pull themselves up by their bootstraps,” and that opportunities to level the playing field should be erased. They point to other immigrant groups in

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comparison, as examples of what a community can do if they only work hard. However, the only justifiable comparison that can be made is with another group that has experienced similar levels of discrimination, lived in fear throughout much of its existence, and witnessed the mass extermination of large numbers of its community. Hence, African Americans and Jews may be compared. When comparing African Americans and Jews, as two groups of people that have been oppressed, marginalized, and discriminated against throughout their respective histories, we see two methods of selfidentification as a people and identification of the self in relation to God. Both African Americans and Jews have historically believed in a God that “sits high and looks low” and have interpreted the scriptures to support this vision of a God that is intimately aware of and interested in the wellbeing of humankind. However, this view of God alone, has not helped African Americans to maintain the sense of self-identity that is characteristic of Jews. This lack or loss of self-identity is the crucible in identifying the reasons for what society terms as “success” on the part of Jews, and for African Americans’ place on the bottom rung of the societal ladder. The identification of the Jews as an ethnic group or race has been discussed by anthropologists and ethnologists for over a century. Their peoplehood is undeniable. Their status as an ethnic group is clear, since they possess “a religion that outlines the daily routines of life history, nationalistic beliefs, culture, indigenous customs, international language (Hebrew), and a pattern of learned behavior that has been socially transmitted from generation to generation.”34 Judaism is infused with the notions of intentional community and kinship. African Americans are not an intentional group or descended from one identifiable cultural or religious unit, but have had to form a religious and cultural unit in this country. African Americans are descended from Africans that were taken from various tribes and villages all over the vast continent of Africa. While there are certain commonalities that one can draw on, such as the belief in a supreme God, there are also many differences, such as various languages and cultural practices. Instead of being cut from one “quilt” of community, African Americans have had to sew their own quilt with the bits and pieces of memory that they brought to this country with them. According to Seymour Liebman, there are four main reasons for the survival and success of the Jewish ethnic group from 1550 to 1700 (in the Americas) despite powerful opposition by the dominant authorities. The factors are: 1. Messianism and strong religious beliefs and practices 2. Endogamy and the role of the Jewish female 3. Farda and its contribution to the revival of indigenous culture 4. Spiritual oppression.

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While these four factors are specifically describing Jewish communities between 1550 and 1700, these qualities can be expanded and presented as the reasons for the survival of the Jewish community as a whole until the present. Messianism is “primarily the religious belief in the coming of a redeemer who will end the present order of things, either universally or for a single group, and will institute a new order of justice and happiness.”35 This is a pronouncement of complete faith. The Jews believe that their Messiah has not yet arrived, but that when He does, He will set the crooked world straight. They believe that they are God’s chosen people who have entered into a covenantal relationship with Him, and throughout their long and arduous historical journey, this covenant is still in place. The Jewish philosophies of history, the people’s history mindedness, and the belief that they are a people chosen to convey the laws of God to all humankind stem from the Bible and rabbinical exegesis.36 This idea has been so engrained into the pattern of the people that it is completely internalized and the resultant attitude is lived out in every action. Similar to the Puritans who believed that God’s covenantal relationship implied that they were God’s chosen people, and thus they could tread however they chose in their “New Canaan,” the Jews’ notion of covenant also implies a certain level of pride, privilege, and looking down on others. Most mainstream African American Christian denominations also believe in a Messiah, but believe that He has already come once. While spirituals and freedom songs are still sung with fervor there is a certain loss of hope concerning God’s place in rectifying societal ills. If African Americans are God’s chosen people, they sometimes question when they will be allowed to reach the promised land. There is a feeling of hopelessness. Feeding the loss of hope is the fact that Americans of African descent do not have the same Jewish-Puritanical ideology of being “master of all they survey.” There is no claim of divine ownership of God’s earth, or hereditary right to its resources, whether animals, minerals or human beings. There is no belief in a “special relationship” with God that places some people above others, and allows them to walk according to their own moral code. Turning to Leibman’s discussion of endogamy and the role of the Jewish female, there was reference made to the common practice of intermarriage within small Jewish communities for the sake of preserving heritage. In fact, Jewish brides were often chosen for their knowledge of Jewish history and education in traditions. The women had a special place in the household and were responsible for teaching their faith to their offspring, and ensuring that the household observed all of the ritual laws that were necessary to follow, as well as numerous other responsibilities. Women held an ensured, respected, and necessary position within the Jewish household. Their identity within the community was not questioned.

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Traditionally, within the African American community, women have often held a similar position. Women have been responsible for the spiritual upbringing of the family, and education in the culture of Black America. African American women, however, have oftentimes evolved into unappreciated matriarchs. They have been forced to run households and hold together families. During slavery, families were ripped apart and sold to different plantations. This meant that often a household began with both a male and female head, but could end up with only a matriarch. Both during slavery and after, the African American male in this country has been routinely emasculated. In the United States, this process of emasculation began with the destruction of his family. In some cases, women were forced to take on the mantle of mother, provider and sustainer all-in-one. Instead of an esteemed and respected position as is held by Jewish women, the African American woman often accepted her position by default and out of necessity for the survival of her family. Instead of strengthening the African American sense of identity, it confuses it. It has only led to infighting and damage to the male’s self-identity. Turning to economic accountability, farda is a tax paid by both Jews and Muslims to support their respective communities in the Holy Land. There are two very important implications in this definition. The first is that the respective Jews and Muslims have money to pay in support. Secondly, that there is a common homeland to which communities feel a strong enough allegiance that they are willing to commit their resources to its maintenance. It should suffice to say that because of the lack of complete acceptance into American society and the resultant lack of opportunities that have accompanied this crisis, the African American community as a whole has not gained the resources that would allow for the support of anyone other than the immediate family. Additionally, were there even enough resources to be had, African Americans may not, for reasons discussed earlier, have an identity with a common homeland. Finally, considering religious freedom, Jews have endured centuries of oppression because of their religious beliefs. However, what Liebman terms “spiritual oppression,” I feel should be more adequately termed, “religious oppression,” or “oppression of religiosity.” This is because antiSemitism and the Inquisition limited the Jews’ outward expression of worship, but were unable to take away the Jews’ inner, or spiritual, connection with God. Often, when Jews were oppressed and persecuted, they were able to mask their religion and blend into the culture in which they resided. This was because they had a shared secular ethnicity with those of the country where they were located. Leibman states, “the Jews expelled from their fatherland, that is, Spain, in 1492, felt themselves…as Spanish as the Christians.” He further affirms that when the descendants

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of these expelled Jews returned from exile in Portugal in 1580, many returned as “false Christians.”37 That is, they spoke Spanish and identified with the Catholic church and the Spanish nation. They professed to be Christians, but often retained their Jewish beliefs, and even secretly practiced Jewish custom. When Hitler began his extermination of the Jews, because so many had converted to Christianity and were not identifiable from the outside, he demanded that families produce papers showing that they had been Christian for at least two generations. Even if it were a desire, assimilation is not an option for the average Black American. African Americans live in a society that has so completely adopted the White standard of measuring beauty—fair skin, straight blond hair, thin lips and noses—that the very blackness of their skins not only stands out, but serves as a mark of racial barriers. Biological features, such as the kinkiness of their hair and fullness of their lips, calls attention to their race, and draws up stereotypes and misconceptions from the casual observer. African Americans, in most cases, cannot blend into the crowd and just be Americans. No, there is forever blatantly exhibited the biological characteristics that cause people of color to be discriminated against—the blackness of their skin. Therefore, using these four reasons presented for the survival of Jews in the Americas, crucial differences can be observed between the Black and Jewish experiences.

Conclusion and Discussion—Regaining Eden …for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had an opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore, God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them (Hebrews 11:14–16).

Self-identity, community and homeland are all pieces of the same pie— parts of a whole. As discussed earlier, self-identity is comprised of relationship with community and with God. Because of African Americans’ jarring experiences in this country, self-identity, community identity and relationship with God have been adversely affected. Howard Thurman states: “In terms of community…if the child is forced by the circumstances of his life to cope with his environment as if he were an adult, his very nervous system becomes enraged and an utter sense of alienation is apt to become the style of his life… Because he is rejected by life he begins to reject himself.”38

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The quote can apply to the person of color in America. African Americans are not to be compared to children. However, the point can still be drawn from this quote that they were not equipped with a nervous system capable of fully withstanding the realities of life in the Diaspora. No people are, nor should they be, equipped to weather these kinds of assaults on their humanity. The horrors of slavery, the disappointment of reconstruction, the hope of the civil rights movement, and the subsequent disillusionment of the present could not be internalized without losing a part of oneself, and without rejecting the connections to each other and to the Sustainer, which are a part of one’s wholeness. Black Americans have maintained the outward expression of faith— that is, their religiosity, but they have lost the real connection with the source, which is found through spirituality and is rooted in identifying with a home-place. Thurman states, “the importance of territory in the experience of community remains. Territory is one of the perennial guarantors supporting man’s experience of community. Man has to feel at home if he is to be nurtured; home means place and the place means territory.”39 African Americans have no home-place. Therefore, their Eden experience is flawed and the security that a home-place would provide is lacking. In many cases, some urban communities have tried to reproduce it, but have failed. In a 2000 study conducted by Leventhal and BrooksGunn, regarding the status of African Americans as living on “urban reservations,” it is stated, “these groups also develop imaginary fences around the spaces in which they inhabit that serve to protect the young and the most vulnerable among them. Children in these settings are rarely allowed outside to play, they have very little recreational space to develop community relationships, and develop an identity with their larger community. Instead, the fence of protection, which is often times no further than outside of the immediate front door, is used for protection and survival.”40 This, however, does not appear to be a home-place, but an island in the middle of chaos—or a prison. This is not a place for rest and respite and to strengthen one’s identity. As the first step in regaining identity, let us look at McCall’s concept of “individual re-identification of survivors.”41 She argues that criteria need to be established, for instance after war or disaster, which would enable the “re-identification of survivors…” She states, “the question of individual re-identification involves isolating the criteria used to re-identify the same person in different contexts or at different times. Persons are taken to be persisting objects, which can be re-identified…” Perhaps it is time for a re-identification of the African American individual as well as within the African American community as a whole. Black Americans need to reidentify because they have survived an assault on their personhood and a

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war on their communities imposed on them from within and without. Re-identification would involve reinventing the stereotypes and misnomers that have plagued their community. It would involve regaining trust in each other and rebuilding relationships both with each other and with God. Re-identification would mean increasing education and renewing pride within the community and about their accomplishments. This would allow Black Americans to take the next steps toward seizing their full humanity. The first, and most basic unit of identification, is the individual and community’s connection with the source. In the Babylonian “Epic of Gilgamesh,” the gods create a man equal in strength to the hero in order to thwart his growing resistance and arrogance. However, Gilgamesh is warned by a dream, to which he pays attention, and thus escapes the vengeance of the gods. This dream, and heeding of it, is the symbolic manifestation of the hero’s connection with the source, the Creator. In psychology the dream takes on great significance. Carl Jung states, in Psychology and Religion, “Dreams are the voice of the unknown…the dream is the divine voice and messenger.” 42 Among the indigenous Aboriginal peoples of Australia, the “dream time” is a respected and sacred experience which allows for connection to their Creator and helps to define their culture and who they are as a people. Carl Jung describes a conversation with a tribal chief and medicine man from Mt. Elgon. The medicine man confessed that he no longer had dreams, stating, “since the English are in the country we have no dreams any more.” It is probable that years of adversity have challenged African Americans’ abilities to “dream,” and have thus challenged the connection with the Spirit, and consequently, connection to each other through “shared consciousness.”43 Strengthening the connection with God, and regaining the ability to dream, is to come together for collective remembrance. Collective remembrance would involve the African American community pausing to remember the creative source, not just once but repeatedly over time. Understandably, it is difficult for people to remember the goodness of God when their bellies are empty and they lack the basic necessities for life. If African Americans cannot rely on the larger community of Americans to help ensure that their needs are met, they need to develop ways of doing this themselves. While the focus of this essay is not to propose how to develop economic sufficiency, let it suffice to say that as a community, Black America needs to ensure that it cares for all of its citizens. There needs to be a collective “neighborhood watch,” where every neighborhood becomes a community that looks out for its least members. We should take a step backwards to a time when all adults participated in the raising and disciplining of children, and when one could

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count on the hospitality and generosity of neighbors to help in times of trial and trouble. Either a means for producing this collective “neighborhood watch,” or a by-product of it, would be regained trust in each other. This would mean increased faith and stronger relationships between communities, families and individuals. Another way of regaining community is through increased education. I am not speaking of the regular PreK-12 curriculum, although this is also of crucial importance. I am proposing that there needs to be increased education about the “collective cultural identity.”44 This would mean that every man, woman and child needs to be educated in the accomplishments and achievements of Africans, African Americans and other people of color. A pride needs to be nurtured so that each member of the African American community believes and knows with a “feeling knowledge,” who they are, whose they are, and where they came from. As stated earlier, in Hopkins’ words, “This foundational discrepancy between reapers of fruit and the workers in God’s vineyards damaged at the root all potential for a communal sharing in a divinely created ecology and economy.”45 If it is these inequalities that have damaged relationships in this country, then it is through the regaining of identity that the damage to the African American community will begin to heal. As stated, it is the connection with the source that is the creator and sustainer of all life that is necessary for the regaining of identity. Through this connection with God—this spirituality—the connection with each other as the wider community of humankind can perhaps one day be experienced. This type of connection is a complete surrender to the source. It means claiming spirituality within African American communities, not only on Sunday, but continuously. This type of connection with God will become a spiritual home-place. Adding spirituality to the definition by Dilworth-Anderson et al., “homeplace, in the best of situations, is a sanctuary—a place to go, physically, mentally, or emotionally for healing and renewal from frequent subtle and overt discriminatory assaults.”46 In addition to physical space, home-place is a state of mind.

25 Black Christian Worship: Theological and Biblical Foundations Dwight N. Hopkins In the United States of North America, there are 300 million (legal) citizens. Forty million are people of African descent whose ancestors were forced by violence to come, in August 1619, as private property to Jamestown, Virginia—an English-speaking British colony founded in 1607 in North America. 1 Among black North Americans or African Americans, black Christianity (Protestant and Roman Catholic) is the largest religious expression. Black women make up 70 to 80 percent of African American churches. Moreover, the overwhelming majority of black people relate to the church—through membership, by accepting social services of churches, or by burying family members in churches. As a second generation black American theologian, this essay explores the experience of worship in African (North) American churches. The aim is to broaden the research areas of black theology by looking at one of the most intimate and vulnerable spaces and times of everyday blacks in the USA—the process of worship.2 In Psalm 100 we find: “Shout praises to the Lord, everyone on this earth. Be joyful and sing as you come in to worship the Lord!” (verses 1–2) and “Be thankful and praise the Lord as you enter [God’s] temple. The Lord is good! [God’s] love and faithfulness will last forever” (verses 4–5). This passage is one of the clearest biblical insights on what worship is in the Christian church. Worship means at least two things: to praise God and to thank God for what God has done. That is why black people in the church, regardless of denominations, will praise God to the highest and they will give endless testimonies of what the Lord has done for them. It is difficult to have black church service without voices going to heaven praising God for being a doctor, a lawyer, a mother and a father, a savior and a liberator. Likewise it is difficult to have black church service without somebody telling their story of how they got over through the grace of God. These two aspects of praise and thanks are the goals of black worship.

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But the content of these goals is individual salvation and collective liberation. In other words, when black congregations worship God, the goal is to praise God and to thank God for what God has done; and the content of worship is individual healing and social transformation. In addition to goals and content, black church worship is also known for a unique form of worship. There can be goals and content, but without black full bodily engagement of the gospel of Jesus Christ, people will most likely go home and say: “we didn’t have church today.” To have church in the black American experience is to have one’s total being— that is, one’s mind, soul, and body—caught up in the realms of heaven and deposited back on earth as a new human being. This is what we often hear black women say as they leave the parking lot of the church after service. They utter these words: “Chile, we had church today!” Therefore, form, content, and goals all have to be present.

Scholarly Writings on Black Worship Many scholars have written on the nature of black church worship. W. E. B. Du Bois, in his classic 1903 The Souls of Black Folk, has a chapter called “Of the Faith of the Fathers.” Here Du Bois describes his first teaching job in southern United States. He had never witnessed a black church revival. As he sat in the worship service of the southern back woods, he described this scene. A sort of suppressed terror hung in the air and seemed to seize us,—a pythian madness, a demoniac possession, that lent terrible reality to song and word. The black and massive form of the preacher swayed and quivered as the words crowded to his lips and flew at us in singular eloquence. The people moaned and fluttered, and then the gaunt-cheeked brown woman [sitting] beside me suddenly leaped straight into the air and shrieked like a lost soul, while round about came wail and groan and outcry, and a scene of human passion such as I had never conceived before.3

From this experience, Du Bois summed up three dimensions to black worship based on what he saw among rural black folk one generation removed from slavery. He called these dimensions the preacher, the music, and the frenzy. He suggests that the frenzy is what we designate today as acts of spirit-filled praise, or, as Du Bois notes, spirit possession or shouting. And black church music, for Du Bois, came from the African forests as a “plaintive rhythmic melody” signifying “a people’s sorrow, despair, and hope.” Finally, the preacher was the most “unique personality developed by the Negro on American soil. A leader, a politician, an orator, a ‘boss,’ an intriguer, an idealist...”.4

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Wyatt Tee Walker, likewise, sees three aspects of black worship: preaching, praying, and singing.5 Walker replaces Du Bois’ emphasis on the frenzy with the aspect of praying. For Walker, if one preaches in church worship, the sermon is constituted by at least a solid biblical base, the centrality of the cross, a clear interpretation of the contemporary situation, maintaining one’s faith during trials and tribulations, an explanation of the “other-wordly,” and the eschatological, that is to say, hope in the ultimate end time when God judges the wicked and delivers the oppressed into final freedom. Then Walker goes on to describe prayer in worship in this fashion. “The chief function of prayer in the Black religious experience has been to cope with the uncertainties of our continuing North American experience.” Like preaching, he lists several dimensions. The first aspect of prayer is praise and thanksgiving. Prayer, as conversation with God, is lifting up the many names of the Most High. Closely related to praise is offering thanks and, thereby, not taking for granted all that one has: from God waking us up this morning, starting us on our way, to the clothes on our back, food on our table, for the activity of our limbs and for the rightness of our minds, for our friends and loved ones. A prayerful thanksgiving can also include thanks for the hard times that have kept us closer to God; and even thanks to our enemies. Above all, prayer is to praise and thank God for sending the precious son Jesus. In addition to the primacy of praise and thanksgiving, prayer in worship touches on repentance, intercession, and petitions for specific people and situations in our lives. And finally, prayer ends with the last things— that great getting up morning, found in black slave folk lore, when we will see Jesus.6 The final dimension of worship for Walker is singing. Singing allows one to see what is happening in the ordinary lives of black folk. It is a powerful rendition of the trials and triumphs of the everyday. In this sense, for Walker, musicology is closely connected with sociology. And so worship for Du Bois is defined by the preacher, music, and the frenzy; and for Walker it is the preacher, singing, and prayer. From Daphne C. Wiggins’ important book, Righteous Content: Black Women’s Perspectives of Church and Faith,7 we can discern likewise three parts to worship: prayer, preaching, and praise. Wiggins carried out ethnographic work, interviewing different black Christian women, and concluded the following. Prayer is where one talks to God. And the praise aspect of worship is “where God’s presence seemed to move like electricity from person to person.” Not downplaying the importance of prayer and praise, the women in Wiggins’ study indicated: “More than anything else, these women came to church for the Word. The quality of the preaching was foremost in their consideration of which church to

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join.” One woman defined the content of good preaching as combining liberation and healing.

My Own Perspective In fact, it is my view that, based on biblical narrative and the tradition of black religion in the United States, the essential characteristics of the best African American worship is the combination of salvation and liberation. How does one heal the individual wounds of the everyday person in the pews and the walking wounded in our neighborhoods? How does one get at the deep family of origin scars that hide beneath our surface smiles and friendly hugs that are given at church on Sunday? How do we heal those dirty little family secrets that some people carry to their grave? How does one deal with the hurt from our intimate loved ones—the ones who pledge not to do us any harm with the words from their mouths? And how does one heal the healers, comfort the comforters? With whom can the preacher be totally vulnerable regarding the demons and deficiencies that plague the man of God and woman of God? Salvation in worship is closely tied to liberation. Especially on Sunday, Christian believers should experience or have a vision of empowerment from the systems and structures that keep oppressed people from attaining their “God-given humanity.” Internal healing is the twin of external liberation. Liberation confronts rules, old forces of habit, a common language, understood agreements, the regular meetings we are left out of, the entrenched power and privileges of certain groups, the unspoken norms, the intangible world views of the elite who hold down the majority, and the values of personal gain at the expense of and on the backs of the vulnerable. From the insights of Du Bois, Wyatt Tee Walker, and Daphne Wiggins, we glean the centrality of salvation and liberation. I agree with this decisive description of worship. Because most African Americans before emancipation were in the south and because most transformed the Invisible Institution (i.e., enslaved blacks’ secret worship rituals) into the Baptist churches after slavery, the Invisible Institution and Baptist forms of worship have come to indicate one style of black Christian worship in the USA. But before pursuing my own description of this way of praise and thanks, one has to note that other styles existed and continue to exist. For instance, some African American Christians in predominantly white denominations continue to have Sunday worship services where spontaneity is not expected or allowed. Still others might tolerate a minimum deviation from the prescribed order of Sunday service. For these black Christians, this is authentic Christian

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praise of and witness to God. It has sustained them and their families for generations and this is a very authentic way they have church. The following portrait of black Christian worship is a composite taken from the phenomenon found in the Invisible Institution8 and the postslavery black Baptist congregation and, to a certain degree, the three northern independent black denominations in their later years.9 In addition, when the black Pentecostal denomination began in Los Angeles, California in the early 1900s, we can also observe a continuation of the Invisible Institution heritage.10 Black Pentecostalism represents the religion of African Americans who, after the end of slavery and even more so with the Great Migrations accelerating with World War I, had moved from the south to the west coast and northern parts of the United States.11 But these thousands of rural southerners were not attracted to white churches. And often they felt that established northern black churches were too large, too cold, or too removed from the absolute presence of the Holy Spirit. That is why these blacks accepted the name of Pentecost from the New Testament book of Acts and thereby eventually embraced the description of Pentecostals. What these migrants to the north and west coast wanted were the intimacies, vibrancy, and spontaneity of the post-slavery churches they had left in the southern part of the United States. From my perspective, we can cite three overarching aspects of black worship: the role of the preacher, the dynamics of the Sunday service itself, and the presence of the Holy Spirit. One could argue that the role of the black preacher is a combination of different dimensions of leaders from traditional Africa. That is to say, the black preacher is expected to be the head chief, a king or queen, a griot who can recite the people’s history, a diviner, a fighter for the community, a priest healer, a root worker who can remove curses, and an intercessor before God. Actually the African American preacher has become a more modern adaptation of what black people need. The preacher is a fundraiser. One of the universal traits of most American black churches is the ongoing fundraising activities to pay off the debt of the church mortgage or to secure monies for other building projects (such as a school, a recreational structure, a gymnasium, a day care center, a cafeteria, a parking lot, a family life center, senior citizens’ housing, and so forth). The African American community is in dire need of basic structural facilities. Obviously a successful preacher would be able to raise more monies for needed building projects. The following are additional characteristics. The preacher is a parent figure particularly for children. The preacher is a politician and political economist. In order to fight for his or her community, the minister has to understand the politics of the city and the mayor’s office as well as the institutional and individual forces within the black community. Likewise

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he or she has to figure out how to get access to monies from different sources. The same approach applies internally to the church. The minister has to be politically careful when dealing with the different perspectives and power bases within his or her own church. In addition, preachers provide social services for the people: that is, building homes, getting jobs, offering educational scholarships for the youth, helping push illegal drug sales out of the community, supplying food bags and meals, collecting toys during Christmas, establishing services for the homeless and beggars in the community, and helping the elderly. Moreover, the minister connects the skill of doctors and lawyers to members who do not have access to such professionals or who cannot afford them. The preacher grooms the younger generation. Many African American churches have a youth Sunday where the entire program is designed and run by the youth, including the choir participants. Some churches even integrate young people in the regular Sunday services. Here African American children, teenagers, and young adults develop self-confidence and self-esteem while being warmly affirmed by a black community. Simultaneously, the young acquire speaking, musical, acting, dancing, organizing, managerial, fundraising, and all round leadership skills. Furthermore, the preacher is a therapist who is expected to hold black families together, convince husbands or wives who have strayed from the marriage, help the youth through their growing crises, attend to the psychological battering that individual members experience by simply living or working in a white environment, etc. In this sense, the minister is a healer of the inner spirit of his or her people. Mainly the black church expects its minister to be an all round preacher in the pulpit on Sunday. The classic black preacher is able to use a sermon to tell a story that integrates biblical passages with the stories of black history and contemporary struggles for justice and freedom. He or she can paint a picture in such a skillful manner that it seems to project the congregation into the narrative that is being portrayed. During the preaching, the speaker will often act out the story that is being told, or he or she will dance the story or hum, moan, and sing the sermon. Thus the speaker, when he or she is caught up in the Holy Spirit, turns speaking into poetry and literally performs the sermon. The preacher preaches from the emotions to the intellect. Without homiletical fire, the sermon is dead. But without education, book learning, and the formal training to think critically, the sermon becomes black face minstrelsy. Moreover, at some point, the sermon has to touch on Jesus as co-sufferer and one who can perform miracles. And, of course, the best black preacher is prophetic, proclaiming “thus saith the Lord” against spiritual and material powers and principalities. Fundamentally, amidst all of these characteristics, the preacher has to speak truth to power and announce: “thus saith the Lord—

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I have heard your cries and I will come down and liberate you from oppression.”12 After the role of the preacher is the importance of the overall Sunday worship service itself. The best way to describe a black church service is to say that it is interactive vibrancy of the emotions, the body, the spirit, and the intellect. Again it reintegrates the individual to him or herself, with the community, and in communion with God of earthly salvation and liberation. The rhythm is distinctively led by a drum beat or some other bass beat. One encounters call-and-response. Specifically, during the sermon, the congregation talks back to the preacher. Even when a person is making an announcement from the lectern, members of the congregation can make comments and give immediate affirmation. Perhaps next to the sermon, music plays a decisive role. Likewise, a good prayer, delivered in black English full of imagery and sincerity, can oftentimes serve as a mini sermon with the same effect. Periodically throughout the Sunday service, one witnesses vibrant singing (where the congregation sings along with the choir), clapping, moaning, crying, and other outward, full body expressions. When some people feel filled with the Holy Spirit, they might shout out in joy or pain, start dancing, get happy, start calling on Jesus, remain quiet, run around the church, roll on the floor, simply rock back and forth holding themselves, or display a variety of marks of spirit possession. The individual is empowered by the spirit to pour out one’s total human being among the communal praise and thanks. Philosophically, this is the best expression of a West African world view—I am because we are. Sunday worship service is not a “me thing”; it is a “we thing.” And the best service liberates individuals to be their full selves in community and accepted by the community. Theologically, this type of justice, communal, and embodied church service signifies God’s love for us so much that God did not keep Godself to Godself in an individualistic manner. Quite the contrary, God so loved the world—humans, animals, and the ecology— that God sent God’s only begotten child to resurrect the world so that we individually and collectively could share in salvation and liberation. Finally, the presence of the Holy Spirit, as indicated already, determines to a large extent whether or not African American Christianity is authentic or not. At the beginning of most church services, there unfolds a powerful invocation particularly requesting that God send the Holy Spirit to completely take over the church and the people present. The calling asks that human weaknesses be moved so that the spirit can come upon and come inside of each person assembled. Some invocations will beseech the Holy Spirit to have its own way, to be reckless with abandon. The manifestations of the spirit are found in the preacher’s sermon (for many, this climaxes at the end of the sermon with its focus on Jesus), the emotional

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power that the choir or a soloist can bring, the weeping and thanksgiving that a moving prayer can induce, and the variety of bodily communications and verbal articulations noted previously. Worship services transport black believers to another time and space of joy, self-affirmation, and strength to carry out another day’s journey. It is this transportation from the old broken and insecure self to the new liberated self that lays the basis for the struggle for freedom in an oppressed community. Ultimately, most African American churches believe that each member has direct access to the Holy Spirit and to Jesus. One does not have to wait for a higher earthly authority when one can call Jesus directly on the “prayer line” of faith. One can also request power from the spirit to see one through a difficult ordeal or serious challenge. In this fashion, each lay person is empowered to be someone of importance in God’s eyes and therefore is called to be a priest healer and a prophetic leader. In this sense, black religion has the potential to be quite democratic. Basically the Holy Spirit gives the preacher the courage to proclaim good news for the broken hearted and the oppressed, to make the church service a foretaste of heaven on earth where there will be no more wailing and suffering, to help each individual keep on keeping on in the midst of storm clouds, and to fight for justice even when confronted by powerful political forces.

Threats to Black Church Worship Yet, there are threats to healthy black church worship where people come together seeking salvation and liberation. Negative theologies exist inside the church. One theology is the phrase: “I think therefore I am.” Here the “I” separates itself from the “we.” It also images a mind disconnected from the body and compassion. Whatever I think or feel is the true reality; whatever I believe or experience is the true reality. The neighbor is seen only through the lens of the individual “I.” Closely related is a second negative theology threatening church worship. I call this the laissez-faire, free market approach to the church. Here each individual in society utilizes her or his self-centered will and through the survival of the fittest, individuals who are “stronger” reap honorable rewards; and those who are “weaker” are selected out “naturally.” A laissez-faire, Darwinian theology means that God created us to exploit others for profit, or to use our neighbor as a tool. Both of these demonic theologies—“I think therefore I am”; or the laissez-faire Darwin theology—can be found in the church worship theology of the neo-charismatic, prosperity gospel movement. It combines

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conservative, other worldly doctrines and ethics with a mixture of evangelical fervor, a “name it and claim it” immediate prosperity focus, and a privatistic healing/recovery/spiritual presence expectation. More specifically, neo-charismatic Christianity13 emphasizes a wealth and health prosperity gospel. Jesus Christ wants poor Christians to have a Mercedes Benz because material things show forth the power and blessings of Jesus Christ. This prosperity gospel is also described as the name-it-and-claim-it good news. If a poor person wants to be rich or have expensive things, he or she simply has to name what they want and claim it in the name of Jesus Christ. Or maybe they can gain an instant fortune with the prayer of Jabez. (1 Chronicles 4:10 “Jabez called on the God of Israel, saying, ‘Oh that Thou would bless me indeed, and enlarge my borders [territory], and that Thine hand might be with me, and that Thou would keep me from evil, that it may not grieve me!’ And God granted him that which he requested.”) A key trait of this unhealthy theology is believing that God is a great ATM machine in the sky; and God has secretly given special powers to a select group of human beings to instantly cure you of all types of diseases, of course after you have paid these neo-charismatic preachers. In addition to wealth advocacy among the individual poor, neocharismatic Christianity claims that their preachers can perform healing miracles like Jesus. They have expensive and elaborate television programs supposedly depicting spiritual healing, elimination of major diseases like cancer, and deliverance concerts by laying on of hands to cast out demons from inside the individual bodies of poor people. From these performances, healing results from a deliverance ministry. And usually, neo-charismatic belief links its church theology domestically with Christian missionary activity internationally. What neo-charismatic Christian missionaries do is imitate some of the same values of neoliberalism and U.S. democracy.14 They advocate individualism, prosperity, and a narrow definition of freedom. Culturally, they echo and export forms of U.S. culture and, simultaneously, they attack the indigenous culture in the Third World as heathenism, devil worship, and the AntiChrist. And politically, they push for American interpretations of democracy and freedom. Militarily, they give religious sanction to U.S. armed services’ presence on foreign soil, as the U.S. government occupies smaller countries. Furthermore, throughout the Third World, neo-charismatics have an international television network called the God Channel. The God Channel takes American imperial values, beliefs, and tastes and deposits them into the homes, common yards, and hotels of the Third World.15 Here, the more one praises Jesus Christ, the more one can be an American by way of neo-charismatic worship and theology. Neo-charismatic missionary

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practice means religious hope becomes fused with American global perspectives. And neo-charismatics drive divisions among people over socalled wedge issues—i.e., women need to go back to their subordinate roles in the family, and other issues like sexuality and abortion. 16 Neocharismatic Christianity is the fastest growing example of world Christianity, outstripping mainstream denominations and even indigenous religions.

Theological and Biblical Basis These various forms of threats to black church worship are theologically short-sighted and off the mark. Though our Sunday and everyday rituals of worship are vibrant and enlivening, if our theology and biblical interpretation support the spiritual and material principalities and powers that oppose just relations between people and among people and the ecology, then God will despise our jumping and hollering. How can we praise and thank God with our incense and myrrh while the United States is a system built on the exploitation of the poor and the broken hearted? Yahweh of the Hebrew Scriptures said that God despised our offerings as long as the poor and working people are trampled on by the larger society. Jesus in the Christian Scriptures used force to clean up the temple because money changing and false church services were taking place there. Moreover, today’s black church worship services, though enjoyable and creative, have to have a keener sense of its theological tradition. For instance, we can turn to our ancestors who worshiped under slavery. Key to our people’s survival was belief in a God who heals your wounds and changes systems of oppression. God did this through the particularity of African American culture. These words of Mrs. Emily Dixon, a former enslaved from the American south, makes this point plain: “Us could go to de white folk’s church [in a segregated section], but us wanted ter go whar us could sing all de way through, an’ hum ’long, an’ shout—yo’ all know, jist turn loose lack.” The spirit of liberation unbinds the spiritual and material shackles and allows oppressed folk to “jist turn loose lack.” Similarly, ex-enslaved Mrs. Susan Rhodes states: “We used to steal off to de woods and have church, like de spirit moved us—sing and pray to our own liking and soul satisfaction.”17 “Turn loose lack” and “own liking and soul satisfaction” indicate the cultural form of black worship. That is to say, church worship respects the African part of black worship which makes it “African” American and not just “American.” Restated, authentic black church worship recognizes, embraces, and develops its African theological heritage. The culture—the full body engagement with the gospel of Jesus

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Christ and the presence of the bass beat (that is to say, some prominent African cultural retentions)—is a key form of worship.18 And this form of worship had distinct content. When we listen to the prayers of our ancestors under slavery we hear one former enslaved person say: “I’ve heard ’em pray for freedom. I thought it was foolishness, then, but the old-time folks always felt they was to be free. It must have been something ’vealed unto ’em. Back, then, if they’d catch you writing, they would break you if they had to cut off your finger, but still the oldtime folks knew they would be free. It must have been ’vealed unto ’em.” Mrs. Ellen Butler, another former enslaved, echoes this prayer content: “Marster neber ’low he slaves to go to chu’ch. Dey hab big holes out in de fiel’s dey git down in and pray. Dey done dat way ’cause de white folks didn’ want ’em to pray. Dey uster pray for freedom. I dunno how dey larn to pray, ’cause dey warn’t no preachers come roun’ to teach ’em. I reckon de Lawd jis’ mek ’em know how to pray.”19 Like praying, the preachers of our ancestors during slavery were risk takers against the capitalist system of the slavery plantations. They knew that to preach the good news of Jesus Christ as personal lord and savior included speaking to the structures that hurt black people Monday through Saturday outside of Sunday’s church walls. The Rev. Anderson Edwards, formerly enslaved, says this: I’s been preaching the Gospel and farming, since slavery time... Till freedom I had to preach what they told me to. Master made me preach to the other niggers that the Good Book say that if niggers obey their master, they would go to Heaven. I knew there was something better for them... I told the niggers—but not so Master could hear it—that if they keep praying, the Lord would hear their prayers and set them free.20

Not only did enslaved Africans and African Americans preach and pray, they sang the tribulations and joys about Jesus. The Spirituals, one of the rare unique American cultural forms, was created by the black enslaved as a way of being faithful to what God had called them to be and do. God had called them and would never leave them and would protect them and would deliver them. The spirituals express a variety of angles on these themes. Perhaps one of the most famous spirituals today expresses it best in these lyrics: “Oh Freedom, Oh Freedom, Oh Freedom over me. And before I be a slave I be buried in my grave and go home to my Lord and be free.” Whether I succeed in being free on earth or whether freedom comes when I cross over the great river into heaven—the reuniting with family and close friends in heaven—, the major content of black slave spirituals is for each person to be fully human, to be healed by that old balm in Gilead and empowered to face another day’s journey, and to be unshackled so that we can become fully what God has created us to be.21

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Theologically we learn a great deal from our enslaved ancestors regarding church worship. For them, preaching, praying , and singing made a difference in one’s soul, intellect, and physical freedom. Such a theology, actually, is quite close to the good news of Jesus Christ. One key passage reflecting this black slave theology about worship is found in Matthew 25:31ff. Some have argued that this is the only passage in the sixty-six books of the Protestant Bible where Jesus provides specific unambiguous instructions on how to get to heaven. To enter heaven is the ultimate goal of all Christians, regardless of how we might debate over what heaven means. Whether heaven is actually a place over yonder after death, a new society on earth, the return of Jesus to earth and the establishment of new heavenly common wealth on earth, or some combination of these, the point of Christianity is the hope that this old world can give way to something better, if not for ourselves, then for our children and our children’s children. When we turn to Matthew 25, the price of admission to heaven is not a prosperity gospel, or a name-and-claim-it theology, or a theatrical castingout-demons performance, or the prayer of Jabez. Nor is the criteria of entering heaven restricted to Christians. And Jesus seems to be mainly concerned about groups of people from all nations and from all religions, and not just individual conversion of Christians one-by-one. The only criteria for entering heaven are feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, caring for the sick, and visiting those in jail. You go to heaven by providing for the material and tangible needs of the least off in any society. Let me quickly add that by helping others (that is to say, recognizing theologically and biblically that Jesus exists in the marginalized sectors of our communities), we help neighbors and families in stress achieve some amount of human dignity. Eliminating the external structures that make people suffer helps them to gain increased internal human dignity. We do not cause or give human dignity. We help others because what we do to the least is also what we do to Jesus. What we do to the unimportant people in society, we do to Jesus. The human dignity comes from Jesus.

Black Church Practices These theological and biblical insights might lay the basis for a more invigorated and healthy black church worship. By church worship, in this instance, I mean the total life of the church, seven days of the week, inside and outside of the church, the individual and the collective, and with no false divide between sacred and secular. We worship God at all

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times and in all places. We give praises to God’s name and we give thanks for what God has done, is doing, and will do in the hopeful future. As I close, let me suggest ten areas where the church might regain a solid footing in worship practices. 1.

2.

3.

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Creating a bookstore and library. Ideally each church would have its own bookstore. But in reality, several churches might have to come together to support one bookstore. A bookstore would contain prophetic religious materials focusing on individual healing and collective social transformation. The bookstore is not to replace the rich oral tradition of our churches. It is, however, an attempt to increase critical intellectual discussion of the nature of what faith, what Bible, and what Jesus is the church worshiping. Everybody talking about heaven ain’t going there. At least, each church can collect some progressive religious literature and begin a small library. Embracing a variety of musical genres. All religious music created by our ancestors and more recently in the last thirty years have positive and negative parts to them. Church worship needs a vibrant and Holy Ghost filled musical experience of the best of all of our musical traditions. We have spirituals, anthems, gospel, and even rap music. Most of us think of rap only in the gangster rap form. Actually, there are Christian rap groups and a very progressive genre called underground rap. Promoting a healthy sense of African and black American culture. One of the tricks of the larger society (including the neo-charismatic black believers) is that gospel transcends culture. It is true that we are neither Greek, Jew, gentile, male, or female in Christ Jesus. At the same time that our new life supersedes rigid and narrow boundaries, our new life also celebrates the positives of the particular culture that God has created for us. Baptism in Christ makes Christians one and it makes us appreciate who we are as created children of God. To be in Christ and to celebrate the beauty of culture are one. The danger is when one group of people talk about universality but in practice their culture is always the norm. And the most dangerous culture is one that says only through Jesus Christ can a person achieve their ultimate vision. Providing services for the community. The purpose of the church is to serve the community. The church is not built to maintain itself. In one way, the more the church serves the community, the more church walls come down and the practice and focus of the church become the community. Here the community and church merge based on service. The church is servant leadership for the

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5.

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7.

8.

Another World is Possible least in society. In fact, we need to examine why we have churches since Jesus never built a church or a physical building to house his revolutionary message. Establishing men’s study groups throughout the community. If the men will not come to the church, take the church to the men. The purpose of the groups is to develop a spirituality of self-love and justice. Black men can begin first by accepting the love of God that is in all black men. The root of all harmful attitudes and actions against black women and children flow from black men’s lack of self-love. But self-love can come to reality only when men understand and feel a love that is greater than any one person. It is a transcendent love, a divine love, a love that comes from the collective body. In this sense, it is not an individual love, but a communal love that floods the very being of the individual as a gift of love proceeding from the community into the soul of the individual. Divine love found within black men corresponds to a sacred love for and from the family and community. Ultimate love or God’s love means that God loves black men in spite of the broken vessels that they are. Combining fire-filled sermons with the best intellectual training. The gospel of Jesus Christ needs to be preached with power and convictions so that it makes “angels sing.” We can embrace the unbelievable creative genius of black preaching from hooping, tuning, to things preachers bring into the pulpit to make a sermonic point. Good preaching can make you cry, move, think, or stay still. To increase the effectiveness of fire in the pulpit, the preacher needs to be formally educated. To a large degree, this requirement has to become more and more a demand from the pews. Does the sermon make you feel differently? Does it stimulate your intellect? Does it offer a prophetic challenge to change the world? Unleashing the gifts of women. Women make up 70 to 80 percent of our churches. And Jesus spent a great deal of time breaking the laws and customs that discriminated against women. It can be argued that the longest conversation Jesus ever had was with the Samaritan woman at the well (John 4:4–42). And Paul acknowledges female religious leadership in his letters to different cities. To enhance church worship, women need to be ordained and integrated equally at every level of leadership. Building a multi-class congregation. Our churches need to be open to working-class, poor, and professional people. Church worship is not about maintaining class distinctions. It is about Jesus’ salvation and liberation. To have a new society with healed individuals and new social relations, the church has to embody those things now,

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not when Jesus returns, but now. Otherwise, it is an affront to the gospel message and the Christian faith. 9. Tackling the hard issues. Church worship includes taking on the hard issues, such as sexuality, unjust foreign wars, the monopoly capitalist system, and the disproportion of the racial divide in the country; for instance, some have more wealth and resources, while others have more punishment and problems. 10. Reclaiming a new mission. The church needs to stretch forth its hands to darker skin peoples throughout the globe. This will be a new type of mission that works in partnership with the religions and spiritualities of all “black” peoples globally. The basis of unity would be: how do darker skin people globally work together by drawing on the best of their spiritualities and religions to bring about individual healing and social transformation? The basis of unity would not be religious doctrines or dogmas. The purpose of mission is not to convert anybody to anything. The purpose of mission is Jesus’ mission in Matthew 25:31ff—to bring about on earth a totally new social relations based on liberating the structurally and materially poor. The basic belief and hope would be: another world is possible.

Conclusion We began this conversation by quoting Psalm 100 where it describes worship as being thankful and praising the Lord. This indicated to us that the goal of worship is to praise and give thanks to God. The form of worship, we submitted, is to have full bodily engagement with the gospel of Jesus Christ. And the content is individual healing and social transformation. We then looked at various scholars’ views on worship, particularly Du Bois, Wyatt Tee Walker, Daphne Wiggins, and my own perspective. Next we discussed some threats to black church worship as we encounter the neo-charismatic prosperity gospel, and magical healing crusades. We countered these negative spiritual winds with a closer look at the theological wisdom of our enslaved ancestors and the ultimate and final criterion for entering heaven. With this backdrop, we concluded with a ten-point platform for how the church might be more faithful to what Jesus Christ has called it to be, believe, think, and do. Perhaps to move North American black church worship deeper into this new millennium, African American lay folk, along with other progressive people, will have to focus more on promoting the radical Hip Hop generation domestically and building an international association of black religions and spiritualities globally.22

Endnotes Chapter 1 * Dalit, a Sanskrit language word, means broken or crushed, oppressed and suppressed. Dalit is a synonym for the untouchable caste in India. The Dalits are recognized as scheduled castes (SCs) according to the Indian Constitution. Article 17 of the Indian Constitution prohibited Untouchability practices. 1. Hindus believe that these four classes (Chaturvarna) emerged from God Brahma: the Brahmins from the head, Khatriyas from the shoulder, Vaishyas from the thighs, and Shudras from the feet, thereby showing their respective status in Hindu society. There is no mention of the birth of Dalits and hence they are outcastes. Later the Hindu scriptures described these outcaste people as Panchamas (i.e., a fifth class or varna) and treated them as untouchables. 2. The Brahmins claim that they descend from the Aryan race. Their language Sanskrit comes under “Indo-European” or “Indo-Germanic” classification according to philology. 3. Babasaheb Ambedkar, Writings and Speeches, vol. V, p. v (Government of Maharashtra, 1984). 4. “The untouchables” in Babasaheb Ambedkar, Writings and Speeches vol. VII, p. 242 (India: Government of Maharastra, 1990). 5. Ambedkar, Writings and Speeches vol. X (1990), 186–87. 6. Ambedkar, Writings and Speeches vol. IX (1990), 196–97. 7. Ambedkar, Writings and Speeches vol. III (1987), 153. 8. For details, see B. M. Leela Kumari, Dalit Reality (2004) and Dalit Women (1995); both published by Dalit Women Literary Parishad, Guntur, India. 9. Sathianathan Clarke, Dalits and Christianity: Subaltern Religion and Liberation Theology in India (Delhi, India: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 3. 10. Ambedkar, Writings and Speeches vol. V (1984), 409–410. 11. Ibid., 418. 12. Ibid., 419. 13. Adele Fiske, “Scheduled Caste Buddhist organisations” in J. Micheal Mahar, ed., The Untouchables in Contemporary India (Jaipur and New Delhi: Rawat Publications, 1998), 113. 14. “‘The great conversion’—speech by Dr B. R. Ambedkar at Deeksha Bhoomi, Nagpur on Oct, 15, 1956.” Published by Dalit Media Network, Chennai, India. 15. G. Aloysius, Religion as Emancipatory Identity: A Buddhist Movement among Tamils under Colonialism (repr.; New Delhi: New Age International Publishers, 2000), 7–8. 16. Sathianathan Clarke, Dalits and Christianity (Delhi, India: Oxford University Press, 1998), 4. 17. Babasaheb Ambedkar, Writings and Speeches vol. XVII, part III (2003), 145.

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Chapter 2 1. s.v. “dall,” Francis Brown, Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (reprinted; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957), 195. 2. s.v. “dall” and “dalit,” A Sanskrit-English Dictionary by Sir Monier-Williams (reprinted; Delhi: Motilal Banasidass, 1988), 471. Also see Vaman Shivram Apte: The Practical Sanskrit-English Dictionary (reprinted; Delhi: Motilal Banasidass, 1965), 493. 3. The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible: An Illustrated Encyclopedia, vol. 3, 16th ed. (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1996), 843. 4. See Ramsankar Sukal Rasal, Bhasa-Sabad Kos (in Hindi) (Allahabad: Motilal Banasidass, 1971), 778, 779. 5. See Barbara R. Joshi, Untouchables: Voice of the Dalit Liberation Movement (New Delhi, 1986), 3. 6. See for detailed discussion: James Massey, Roots: Concise History of Dalits, CDS Pamphlet No. 3 (New Delhi: CDS, 2001), 5–18. 7. Ralph T. H. Griffith, The Hymns of the Rigveda (reprinted; Delhi: Motilal Banasidass, 1986), 603. 8. James Massey, op. cit., 20–24. 9. L. M. Shrikant, Report of the Commissioner for Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes for the period ending 31st December, 1951 (New Delhi: Government of India, 1951), 1. 10. T. K. Oommen, Protest and Change: Studies in Social Movements (New Delhi: SAGE Publications, 1996), 256. 11. Human Development in South Asia 2001 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 10. 12. India Development Report 1999–2000 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1999), 27. 13. Ibid., 28. 14. Human Development Report 1997 (New York: UNDP, 1997), 82–97. 15. Human Development in South Asia 2001, op. cit., 15. 16. Human Development Report 1999 (Oxford: UNDP, 1999), 6. 17. Ibid., 57. 18. See for detailed discussion: Babasaheb Ambedkar, Writings and Speeches, vol. 3 (Bombay: Government of Maharashtra, 1987), 106–115. 19. National Commission for Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes, Special Report January 1998 (New Delhi: Government of India, 1998), 23. 20. James Massey, Dalits in India: Religion as a Source of Bondage or Liberation with Special Reference to Christians (New Delhi: Manohar, 1995). 21. See for detailed discussion, ibid., 39–49. 22. See for actual text of summary and conclusion, ibid., 177–9.

Chapter 3 1. This essay is reprinted, with permission, from The Japan Christian Review 58, 1992.

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For reading the history of Buraku oppression in English, see George De Vos and Wagatsuma Hiroshi, Japan’s Invisible Race, rev. ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972); Minority Rights Group, ed., Japan’s Minorities: Burakumin, Koreans and Ainu (London: Minority Rights Group, 1974); Roger Yoshino and Murakoshi Sueo, The Invisible Visible Minority: Japan’s Burakumin (Osaka: Buraku Liberation Publishers, 1977); Buraku Liberation Research Institute, Long-suffering Brothers and Sisters, Unite! (Osaka: Kaiho Shuppan, 1981); Suginohara Juichi, The Status Discrimination in Japan (Kobe: Hyogo Institute of Buraku Problems, 1982); Mikiso Hane, Peasants, Rebels and Outcasts: The Underside of Modern Japan (New York: Pantheon Books, 1982). 2. Inoue Kiyoshi, Buraku no Rekishi to Kaiho Riron (History of the Buraku and theories of liberation) (Osaka: Tabata Shoten, 1969), 125–6. 3. “Eta” literally means “much filth.” Outcast status and social codes of untouchability in Japan were set during the medieval period, reflecting a complex network of economic, political, and religious conditions. It was in the rigid stratification of society under the Tokugawa Shogunate, beginning in 1600 AD, that the degraded outcast status of those practicing “defiled” jobs was formally established. The lowest status of the outcasts were called the Hinin, or “nonpeople,” a heterogeneous group made up of beggars, prostitutes, entertainers, mediums, diviners, religious wanderers, executioners, tomb-watchers, and fugitives. Above the Hinin were the Eta, hereditary outcasts who were forced to perform occupations considered ritually polluting, including animal slaughter and disposal of the dead. Since outcasts who practiced jobs involving death and blood were seen to be subhuman by nature, Eta status was inherited through birth or was obtained through marriage or close associations. See Herbert Passin, “Untouchability in the Far East,” Monumenta Nipponica 12 (1956). 4. Buraku Mondai Kenkyusho, ed., Suihei Undoshi no Kenkyu (A study of the history of the Suihei movement), vol. 2 (Kyoto: Buraku Mondai Kenkyusho, 1971), 143. 5. Ibid., 173. 6. Inoue Kiyoshi, Buraku Mondai no Kenkyu (A study of Buraku problems) (Kyoto: Buraku Mondai Kenkyusho, 1959), pp. 107–108. Wagatsuma argues that the founders of the Suiheisha were probably influenced by Christian socialism and the social gospel in the 1920s when Japanese Christian liberals introduced Christian symbolism into social issues. See De Vos and Wagatsuma, Japan’s Invisible Race, p. 43. 7. Buraku Mondai Kenkyusho, Suihei Undoshi no Kenkyu, 173. 8. Seminars and study groups have been organized by pastors and theologians to reflect theologically on the issue of Buraku liberation from the early 1960s. See The Christian Conference for the Buraku Liberation, ed., Buraku Kaiho Kirisutosha Kyogikai Sanjyu Nenshi (The thirty years of the Christian conference for the Buraku liberation) (Osaka: The Christian Conference for the Buraku Liberation, 1992). 9. See International Standard Bible Encyclopedia, 3rd ed., s.v. “crown”; New Bible Dictionary, 2nd ed., s.v. “crown of thorns”; Dictionary of Subjects and Symbols, 2nd ed., s.v. “crown” and others. 10. See Vittorio Lanternari, The Religions of the Oppressed: A Study of Modern Messianic Cults (New York: MacGibbon & Kee, 1963). 11. Kim Chi Ha, The Gold-Crowned Jesus and Other Writings (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1978), 85ff. 12. Ibid., 109–110. 13. Ibid., 124.

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14. Choan Seng Song, The Compassionate God (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1982), 111. 15. Quoted by Fujino Yutaka in his article, “The Foundation of the National Suiheisha and Christianity,” Fukuin to Sekai (The gospel and the world) (March 1989). 16. Jürgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit (London: SCM Press, 1978), 87. 17. Shusaku Endo, Shikai no Hotori (In the vicinity of the Dead Sea) (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1978), 323. 18. Endo’s Jesus as companion seems to function only in terms of a personal paradigm. Endo identifies himself with the tax-collectors and sinners as in Lk. 15:7, 18:13, and Matt. 18:14. He seeks to follow Jesus who is the companion of sinners, but in reality Endo stands socially and politically on the side of the establishment by struggling only against his own “darkness of inner self.” Only subjectively does he call himself a sinner. See criticism of Endo in Arai Sasagu, “Jesus, the Companion,” CTC Bulletin no. 3 (April 1982), 29. 19. Kim, Gold-Crowned Jesus, 23–30. 20. Ibid., 28. 21. Here Kim is influenced not by Marxism but by the teaching of the Tonghak Movement. The Tonghak, or “Eastern Learning,” founded by Ch’oe Che Un in 1859, is an eclectic (partly Christian) religious sect that attracted the poor peasants and workers. See Chi Myong Kan, “The Tonghak Peasants Revolution and Christianity,” Seisho to Kyokai (The Bible and the church) no. 7 (1983), 8–13. On the history of the Paekchong, see Rhim Soon Man, “The Paekchong: Untouchables of Korea,” Journal of Oriental Studies, vol. XII, nos. 1 & 2 (1974). 22. Kudo Eiichi, Kirisutokyo to Buraku Mondai (Christianity and the Buraku problem) (Tokyo: Shinkyo Shuppansha, 1983), 5. According to Kudo, the evangelical mission toward the Buraku communities was started at the Hiromae Church in Aomori Prefecture in 1877 by Protestant missionaries. The Japan Episcopal Church (Sei Ko Kai) built a church in Tokyo in 1878. In 1888 the Burakumin in Okayama began organizing a Bible study group at Takeda. However, the leaders of the mainstream churches hardly realized the needs of the Burakumin for freedom, and eventually the churches in Japan retreated from almost all Buraku communities. 23. Barbara Rogers, Pace: No Peace Without Justice (Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1980), 29.

Chapter 4 1. The terms “Aboriginal” and Indigenous Australians have the same meaning in this article. For grammatical purposes I will use either one as the need arises. 2. Christobel Mattingly and Ken Hampton, eds, Survival in Our Own Land: Aboriginal Experiences in South Australia since 1836 told by Nunga and others, rev. ed. (Sydney: Hodder and Stoughton, 1992), xv. 3. Anne Pattel Gray, The Great White Flood: Racism in Australia (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1998), 16.

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4. Loren Mead, The Once and Future Church: Reinventing the Congregation for a New Mission Frontier (Virginia: Alban Institute, 1998), 58. 5. Australian Broadcasting Corporation, 1967…Citizens at Last, available at: http:// www.abc.net.au/time/episodes/ep5.htm. Accessed April 7, 2007. 6. Mattingly and Hampton, Survival in Our Own Land, 175. 7. Australian Bureau of Statistics, National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Survey, P. Pholeros, S. Rainow and P. Torzillo. Canberra, Australia, 1994. 8. The Hon. John von Doussa QC, “An Acknowledgement of Traditional Custodianship,” Occasional Address University of Adelaide Graduation Ceremony, December 23, 2004; available at: http://www.heroc.gov.au/about_the_commission/ speeches_president/University of Adelaide. Accessed April 7, 2007. 9. What is important here is that Tjinatjunanyi had its beginnings from the Aboriginal community and not from the government. It is owned by the community and run by the Port Augusta Congress Faith Community. All decision-making is done by the community.

Chapter 5 * This article, with permission, is reprinted from Anne Pattel-Gray’s Through Aboriginal Eyes: The Cry from the Wilderness (Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1991), ch. 1. 1. Rrurrambu Dhurrkay, quoted in My Mother the Land, ed. Ian R. Yule (Galiwin’ku, NT: Galiwin’ku Parish, 1980), 32ff. 2. For non-Aboriginals, a helpful analogy is found in W. E. H. Stanner, After Dreaming: The 1968 Boyer Lectures (Sydney: Australian Broadcasting Commission, 1969), 44.

Chapter 6 * The author is an attorney and the Executive Director of the P¯ u‘¯a Foundation, a taxexempt nonprofit corporation that was created out of the apology, redress, and reconciliation process between the United Church of Christ, and the Native Hawaiian People for the Church’s complicity in the 1893 overthrow of the Hawaiian Constitutional Monarchy. One of the primary purposes of the P¯ u‘¯a Foundation is to bring about a deeper and clearer understanding of the historical, cultural, spiritual, economic and political environment of Hawaii, especially as they impact the Native Hawaiians.

Chapter 7 1. See Anthony G. Reddie, “An Unbroken Thread of Experience,” in Joan King, ed., Family and All That Stuff (Birmingham: National Christian Education Council [NCEC], 1998), 153–60. 2. See Growing into Hope: Christian Education in Multi-ethnic Churches. Vol 1: Believing and Expecting (Peterborough: Methodist Publishing House, 1998), 8. This

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training exercise was constructed (using data from the 1991 census) to assist predominantly White leaders who work with Black children to understand both the context in which Black people live in Britain, and the psychological and emotional affects of being a minority in a White dominated country. Black people who predominantly live in inner city areas have divided their existence in this country into areas of familiarity. Black children move interchangeably, from areas of great familiarity (where Black people although a minority are suddenly in the majority) to other situations where they become seemingly insignificant. This pattern has not changed appreciably since the post-war wave of mass African Caribbean migration to this country. This interchangeability of African Caribbean life, which is centred on differing contexts, has given rise to issues of cultural dissonance. This issue is dealt with in greater detail in one of my previous books. See Anthony G. Reddie, Nobodies to Somebodies: A Practical Theology for Education and Liberation (Peterborough: Epworth Press, 2003). 3. See Robert E. Hood, Must God Remain Greek?: Afro-cultures and God Talk (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990). 4. See Anthony G. Reddie, Faith, Stories and the Experience of Black Elders: Singing The Lord’s Song in a Strange Land (London: Jessica Kingsley, 2001), 1–26. 5. Ken Leech, Through Our Long Exile (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 2001), 87–135). See also his very influential Struggle in Babylon (London: Sheldon Press, 1988) and The Eye of the Storm: Spiritual Resources for the Pursuit of Justice (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1992). 6. Edward Coard, How The West Indian Child is Made Educationally Subnormal in the British School System: The Scandal of the Black Child in Britain (London: New Beacon Books, 1971). 7. George G. Richards, “Supplementary Schools: Their Service to Education,” Multicultural Teaching 14.1 (Autumn 1995), 36. 8. Richards, “Supplementary Schools,” 36–39. 9. Corrine Julius, “Trainers Score in Extra Time,” Times Educational Supplement 4263 (13 March 1998), 16. 10. Reva Klein, “The Pile ’em High Club,” Times Educational Supplement 4208, section 2 (21 February 1997), 4–5. 11. Reva Klein, “Myth and Reality of the Race Factor,” Times Educational Supplement 4117 (26 May 1995), 10. 12. Reva Klein, “Race Inequality ‘as bad as ever’”, Times Educational Supplement 4184 (6 September 1996), 13. 13. Reva Klein, “The Lost Generation,” Times Educational Supplement 4165 (26 April 1996), 3–4. 14. Elizabeth Rasekoala, “Ethnic Minorities and Achievement: The Fog Clears,” Multicultural Teaching 15.2 (Spring 1997), 24–28. 15. See Paul Gilroy, There Ain’t No Black in the Union Jack (London: Hutchinson, 1987). 16. JoAnne M. Terrell, Power in the Blood? (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1998), 99–119. 17. Gay Byron, Symbolic Blackness and Ethnic Difference in Early Christian Literature (New York: Routledge, 2002). 18. See Anne Hope and Sally Timmel, Training for Transformation (Gweru, Zimbabwe: Mambo Press, 1999), 76–185. 19. Terrell, Power in The Blood?, 99–119.

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20. See Delores Williams, Sisters in the Wilderness: The Challenge of Womanist GodTalk (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1993), 60–83. 21. See Kelly Brown Douglas, The Black Christ (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1993). 22. James H. Cone, God of the Oppressed (San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 1975), 108–195. 23. Terrell, Power in the Blood? 24. See Andrew Walker, Telling The Story: Gospel, Mission and Culture (London: SPCK, 1996). 25. See Grace Davie, Europe: The Exceptional Case: Parameters of Faith in the Modern World (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 2002). 26. See Rudolf Otto, The Idea of the Holy (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1959). I am at pains to add that this is a particular reading of Otto. It would be wrong, for example, to assume that Otto’s evocation of the numinous can be seen only in terms of dread and violence. I am at pains to explore the violent outcomes of religious experience, particularly as they affect Black people. 27. William James The Varieties of Religious Experience (New York: Collier, 1961). See also Adam Hood, Baillie, Oman and Macmurray: Experience and Religious Belief (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003). 28. Canaan S. Banana, “The Case for A New Bible,” in R.S. Sugirtharajah, ed., Voices from the Margin: Interpreting the Bible in the Third World (London: SPCK; Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1997), 69–82. 29. See Mark Lewis Taylor’s The Executed God: The Way of the Cross in Lockdown America (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), 70–98. 30. See René Girard, The Scapegoat, trans. Yvonne Freccero (London: Athlone, 1986). See also René Girard, Violence and the Sacred, trans. Patrick Gregory (London: Athlone, 1988). 31. Kelly Brown Douglas, What’s Faith Got To Do With It?: Black Bodies/Christian Souls (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2005). 32. Douglas, What’s Faith Got To Do With It?, 10–38. 33. Ibid., 39–70. 34. Ibid., 39–70. 35. Ibid., xi. 36. Robert Beckford, God of the Rahtid (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 2001). 37. Beckford, God of the Rahtid, 1–10. 38. Ibid., 11–30. 39. Ibid., 8. 40. See Robert E. Hood, Begrimmed and Black: Christian Traditions on Blacks and Blackness (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1994). See also Byron, Symbolic Blackness. 41. See William R. Hertzog II, Jesus, Justice and the Reign of God: A Ministry of Liberation (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2000). 42. See Taylor’s The Executed God. 43. Byron, Symbolic Blackness. 44. See Tissa Balasuriya, “Liberation of the Affluent,” Black Theology: An International Journal 1.1 (Nov. 2002), 83–113. 45. See Roxy Harris and Sarah White, eds, Changing Britannia: Life Experience with Britain (London: New Beacon Books), 193–225.

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46. See A. Sivanandan, A Different Hunger: Writings on Black Resistance (London: Pluto Press, 1982). See also A. Sivanandan, Communities of Resistance: Writings on Black Struggles for Socialism (London: Verso, 1990). 47. See Bob Carter, Clive Harris and Shirley Joshi, “The 1951–1955 Conservative Government and the Racialization of Black Immigration,” in Kwesi Owusu, ed., Black British Culture and Society: A Text Reader (London: Routledge, 2000), 21–36. 48. Anthony B. Pinn, Terror and Triumph: The Nature of Black Religion (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002), 12–77. 49. The overarching authority for overseeing policing in the capital city, London. 50. Report of An Inquiry by Sir William MacPherson of Cluny, Advised by The Right Revd Dr. John Sentamu and Dr. Richard Stone: Presented to Parliament by the Secretary of State for the Home Department by Command of Her Majesty (London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office (HMSO), 1999). 51. I have challenged notions of this “commonsense” refusal by White authority to engage with racial injustice in a previous piece of work. See my exercise entitled “The Quest for Racial Justice,” in Anthony G. Reddie, Acting in Solidarity (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 2005), 98–108. 52. Ibid. 53. See Gretchen Gerzina, Black England: Life Before Emancipation (London: John Murray, 1995) and Ron Ramdin, Reimaging Britain: 500 Years of Black and Asian History (London: Pluto Press, 1999). 54. See David Isiorho, “Black Theology in Urban Shadow: Combating Racism in the Church of England,” Black Theology: An International Journal 1.1 (November 2002), 11–28. 55. See the dramatic sketch “Black Voices” in Anthony G. Reddie, Acting in Solidarity: Reflections in Critical Christianity (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 2005), 109–119 for a comedic look at aspects of African Caribbean culture in Britain and the extent to which these facets are often beyond the immediate comprehension of many White people.

Chapter 8 * A slightly shortened version of this essay was previously published in Black Theology: An International Journal 5.3 (2007), 279–304, and is taken from a larger PhD study undertaken at the University of Birmingham. See Kate O. Coleman, “Exploring Métissage: A Theological Anthropology of Black Christian Women’s Subjectivities in Postcolonial Britain” (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Birmingham, 2006). 1. Ann L. Stoler, “Sexual Affronts and Racial Frontiers: European Identities and Cultural Politics of Exclusion in Colonial Southeast Asia,” in Theories of Race and Racism: A Reader, ed. Les Back and John Solomos (London and New York: Routledge, 2000), 325. 2. Jayne O. Ifekwunigwe, Scattered Belongings: Cultural Paradoxes of “Race,” Nation and Gender (London: Routledge, 1999), 17–18. 3. Jean-Loup Amselle, Mestizo/as Logics: Anthropology of Identity in Africa and Elsewhere, trans. Claudia Royal (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990), xvi.

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4. Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths and Helen Tiffin, Key Concepts in Post-Colonial Studies (London and New York: Routledge, 1998), 58. 5. Ashcroft, Griffiths and Tiffin, Key Concepts in Post-Colonial Studies, 58–59. 6. Gloria Anzaldua, Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza (San Franscisco: aunt lute books, 1987). 7. Ashcroft, Griffiths and Tiffin, Key Concepts in Post-Colonial Studies, 136. 8. Catherine Keller, Michael Nausner and Mayra Rivera, eds, Postcolonial Theologies: Divinity and Empire (St Louis, MO: Chalice Press, 2004), 63–68. 9. I use the term “race” or “races” to denote the questionable biological and cultural basis upon which the term is premised. 10. Ifekwunigwe, Scattered Belongings, 12. 11. Amselle, Mestizo/as Logics, 32. 12. Stephen Cornell and Douglas Hartmann, Ethnicity and Race: Making Identities in a Changing World (London and New Delhi: SAGE Publications, 1998), 238. 13. Ifekwunigwe, Scattered Belongings, 17–18. 14. Anzaldua, Borderlands/La Frontera, i. 15. Emmanuel Lartey, In Living Colour: An Intercultural Approach to Pastoral Care and Counselling (London: Cassell, 1997), vi. 16. See Jeffrey Kah-Jin Kuan, “Diasporic Reading of a Diasporic Text: Identity Politics and Race Relations and the Book of Esther,” in Interpreting Beyond the Borders, ed. F. Segovia (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 164. 17. Les Back, New Ethnicities and Urban Culture: Racisms and Multiculture in Young Lives (London: University College London Press, 1996), 124. 18. Paul Gilroy, The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness (London and New York: Verso, 1993), 1. 19. Stoler, “Sexual Affronts and Racial Frontiers,” 344. 20. Stoler, “Sexual Affronts and Racial Frontiers,” 325. 21. Jung Young Lee, Marginality: The Key to Multicultural Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995), 77. 22. R. S. Sugirtharajah, “A Postcolonial Exploration of Collusion and Construction in Biblical Interpretation,” in The Post Colonial Bible, ed. R. S. Sugirtharajah (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 94. 23. Mireille Rosella, Introduction to “Practices of Hybridity,” special issue Paragraph 18, no. 1(1995): 1–12, in Samira Kawash, Dislocating the Color Line: Identity, Hybridity, and Singularity in African-American Literature (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1997), 20. 24. Robert J. C. Young, Colonial Desire: Hybridity in Theory, Culture and Race (London and New York: Routledge, 1995), 25. 25. Gilroy, The Black Atlantic, 7. 26. Amselle, Mestizo/as Logics, 33. 27. Stuart Hall, “Cultural Identity and Diaspora,” in Identity: Community, Culture, Difference, ed. J. Rutherford (London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1990), 222–37. Quoted in Ifekwunigwe, Scattered Belongings, 225. 28. Amselle, Mestizo/as Logics, 41. 29. Stoler, “Sexual Affronts and Racial Frontiers,” 325. 30. Amselle, Mestizo/as Logics, 33. 31. Kobena Mercer, Welcome to the Jungle: New Positions in Black Cultural Studies (London: Routledge, 1994), 5.

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32. Kadiatu Kanneh, African Identities: Race, Nation and Culture in Ethnography, PanAfricanism and Black Literatures (London and New York: Routledge, 1998), 180. 33. Kanneh, African Identities, 139. 34. Kanneh, African Identities, 138. 35. Kanneh, African Identities, 47. 36. Kanneh, African Identities, 141. 37. Kanneh, African Identities, 190. 38. Kanneh, African Identities, 180. 39. Simon Cottle, “Media Representations: Continuity, Contradiction and Change,” in Black Success in the UK: Essays in Racial and Ethnic Studies, ed. Doreen McCalla (Birmingham: Dmee: Vision Learning Limited, 2003), 40. 40. bell hooks, “Postmodern Blackness,” in bell hooks, Yearning: Race, Gender, and Cultural Politics (London: Turnaround, 1991), 25. 41. R. S. Sugirtharajah, “Thinking about Vernacular Hermeneutics Sitting in a Metropolitan Study,” in Vernacular Hermeneutics, ed. R. S. Sugirtharajah (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 94. 42. See “Crossing Borders,” in Kanneh, African Identities, 136. 43. Kanneh, African Identities, 141. 44. Paul Gilroy, “It Ain’t Where You’re From It’s Where You’re At… The Dialectics of Diasporic Identification,” Third Text 13 (Winter 1990/91) quoted in Kanneh, African Identities, 141. 45. Pratibha Parmar, “Black Feminism: The Politics of Articulation,” in J. Rutherford (ed.), Identity – Community, Culture, Difference (London: Lawrence & Wishart, 1990), 101. 46. Kanneh, African Identities, 144; emphasis original. 47. Harry Gouldbourne, “Collective Action and Black Politics,” in Black Success in the UK, ed. Doreen McCalla, 23. 48. Gouldbourne, “Collective Action and Black Politics,” 17. 49. Kanneh, African Identities, 181–82. 50. Cottle, “Media Representations,” 43. 51. This term denotes the major historic Protestant denominations in Britain; most commonly identified with the Church of England (Anglican), Methodist, Baptist and the United Reformed Church (URC). 52. Lartey, In Living Colour, 33, original emphasis. He further defines “The principle of contextuality asserts that every piece of behavior and every belief must be considered in the framework within which it takes place. It is within this framework of surrounding beliefs and world views that its meaning and significance can be gauged… The principle of multiple perspectives realizes that equally rational persons can examine the same issue and yet arrive at very different understandings. It goes on to insist that these different perspectives are equally deserving of attention. Through a process of listening and dialogue, one or other, or combinations of these perspectives, may prove more adequate in coping with a particular issue in a given context… The principle of authentic participation is premised upon mutual concern for the integrity of the ‘other,’ and affirms the right of all to participate in discussion and examination of an issue on their own terms, realizing that there are strengths and weaknesses in every approach” (Lartey, In Living Colour, 11–12, original emphasis). 53. Lartey, In Living Colour, 34. Lartey develops the formulations first proposed by Kluckholn and Murray and set out in D. W. Augsburger, Pastoral Counseling Across Cultures (Philadelphia: Westminister Press, 1986), 48–78.

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54. See Suzette L. Speight et al., “A Redefinition of Multicultural Counseling,” Journal of Multicultural Counseling (1991): 11, quoted in Lartey, In Living Colour, 35. 55. Sugirtharajah, “Thinking about Vernacular Hermeneutics,” 111. 56. Lartey, In Living Colour, 12. 57. George Simmel’s essay is called “The Web of Group-Affiliations.” It is referred to in the context of the question of ethnicities in Cornell and Hartmann, Ethnicity and Race, 245. 58. Lartey, In Living Colour, 31. 59. Back, New Ethnicities and Urban Culture, 49–72. 60. David W. Shenk and Ervin R. Stutzman, Creating Communities of the Kingdom: New Testament Models of Church Planting (Scottdale, PA: Herald Press, 1988), 138. 61. Ibid. 62. Roswith I. H. Gerloff, A Plea for British Black Theologies: The Black Church Movement in Britain in its Transatlantic Cultural and Theological Interaction (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1992), 57. 63. Lartey, In Living Colour, 40–41. 64. John Reader, Local Theology: Church and Community in Dialogue (London: SPCK, 1994), 3. 65. Sugirtharajah, “Thinking about Vernacular Hermeneutics,” 94. 66. R. S. Sugirtharajah, “Vernacular Resurrections: An Introduction,” in Vernacular Hermeneutics, 11–17 (12). 67. Ifekwunigwe, Scattered Belongings, 184. 68. Back, New Ethnicities and Urban Culture, 157. 69. Lartey, In Living Colour, 12. 70. Ifekwunigwe, Scattered Belongings, 185. 71. Lartey, In Living Colour, 12. 72. Kah-Jin Kuan summarizes Safran and Clifford’s definitions of diaspora in “Diasporic Reading of a Diasporic Text,” 161. 73. William Safran, “Diasporas in Modern Societies: Myths of Homeland and Return,” Diaspora: A Journal of Transnational Studies 1, no. 1 (Spring 1991): 83–99, in Segovia, ed., Interpreting Beyond the Borders, 162. 74. Fernando Segovia, “Towards a Hermeneutics of the Diaspora: A Hermeneutics of Otherness and Engagement,” in Segovia, ed., Interpreting Beyond the Borders, 164. 75. Cornell and Hartmann, Ethnicity and Race, 236. 76. Cornell and Hartmann, Ethnicity and Race, 250. 77. Back, New Ethnicities and Urban Culture, 145. 78. Cornell and Hartmann, Ethnicity and Race, 250. 79. T. J. Gorringe, Furthering Humanity: A Theology of Culture (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), 234.

Chapter 9 1. G. F. Snyman, “Constructing and Deconstructing Identities in Post-apartheid South Africa: A Case of Hybridity versus Untainted Africanicity?” Old Testament Essays 18.2 (2005): 323–44 (326–28).

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2. J. G. Strydom, “Israel and South Africa in Unity: The Same Old Di(ve)r(si)ty (of) Tricks as Narrated by the Prophets,” Old Testament Essays 18.2 (2005): 356–70. 3. D. Mosoma, “Economic Justice: Foundation for a Just Society,” Journal of Black Theology in South Africa 2 (1994): 64–80. 4. S. S. Maimela, “Current Themes and Emphases in Black Theology,” in J. Mosala and B. Tlhagale, eds, The Unquestionable Right to be Free: Essays in Black Theology (Johannesburg: Skotaville, 1986), 101–102. 5. I. A. Phiri, “African Women of Faith Speak Out in an HIV/AIDS Era,” in I. A. Phiri, B. Haddad, and M. Masenya, eds, African Women, HIV/AIDS and Faith Communities (Pietermaritzburg: Cluster, 2003), 3–20 (8–14). 6. M. Masenya, “Trapped between Two ‘Canons’: African-South African Christian Women in the HIV/AIDS Era,” in I. A. Phiri, B. Haddad, and M. Masenya, eds, African Women, HIV/AIDS and Faith Communities (Pietermaritzburg: Cluster, 2003), 113–27. 7. C. B. Anderson, “Lessons on Healing from Naaman (2 Kings 5:1–27): An AfricanAmerican Perspective”; P. F. Bruce, “The Mother’s Cow”: A Study of Old Testament References to Virginity in the Context of HIV/AIDS in South Africa”; and M. W. Dube, “Thalitha Cum! Calling the Girl-Child and Women to Life in the HIV/AIDS and Globalization Era,” in I. A. Phiri, B. Haddad, and M. Masenya, eds, African Women, HIV/ AIDS and Faith Communities (Pietermaritzburg: Cluster, 2003), 23–43, 44–70 and 71– 93, respectively. 8. Pietermaritzburg: Cluster; Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. 9. M. Masenya, “HIV/AIDS and African Biblical Hermeneutics: Focus on Southern African Women,” Chakana 3.5 (2005): 21–35. 10. Phiri, “African Women of Faith Speak Out,” 12. 11. E. M. Townes, Breaking the Fine Rain of Death: African-American Health Issues and a Womanist Ethic of Care (New York: Continuum, 1998); Anderson, “Lessons on Healing from Naaman”; K. B. Brown, Sexuality and the Black Church: A Womanist Perspective (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1999). 12. Phiri, “African Women of Faith Speak Out,” 13; Facing Aids: The Challenge, the Churches’ Response: A WCC Study Document (Geneva: WCC Publications, 2001), 16. 13. M. Masenya, “Ruth,” in D. Patte et al., eds, Global Bible Commentary (Nashville: Abingdon, 2004), 86–91 (88). 14. D. R. G. Beattie, “Ruth 3,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 5 (1978): 39–48 (43); K. D. Sakenveld, Ruth: Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville, KY: John Knox, 1999), 55–56, 58. 15. M. A. Oduyoye, “Cross-generation Sex and its Impact on the Spread of HIV,” in M. A. Oduyoye and E. Amoah, eds, People of Faith and the Challenge of HIV/AIDS (Ibadan: Sefer, 2004), 301–312 (302). 16. M. Masenya, “The Optimism of the Wise in Israel and in Africa: Helpful in the Time of HIV/AIDS?” Old Testament Essays 18.2 (2005): 296–308 (306).

Chapter 10 1. Since 2002 and through the Circle of Concerned African Women Theologians, African women have undertaken systematic academic approach to doing feminist

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theology/religion in the global context of HIV/AIDS global. Some of their works include: Phiri, Haddad and Masenya (2003); Dube (2003); Dube (2005); Dube (2008); Dube and Kanyoro (2004); Oduyoye and Amoah (2004); Amoah, Akitunde and Akoto (2005); Phiri and Nadar (2006). 2. For my analysis of HIV and AIDS feminist theological discourse among African women, see Dube (2009).

Chapter 11 1. “The Decade to Overcome Violence: Churches Seeking Peace and Reconciliation”: A message by the Central Committee of the World Council of Churches, 2002. 2. Ibid. 3. Rosemary Edet and Bette Ekeya, “Church Women of Africa: A Theological Community,” in With Passion and Compassion, eds M. M. Virginia Fabella and Mercy Oduyoye (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1988), 6. 4. Musimbi R. A. Kanyoro, “Interpreting Old Testament Polygamy through African Eyes,” in The Will To Arise: Women, Tradition, and the Church in Africa, eds Mercy Oduyye and Musimbi Kanyoro (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1992), 89. 5. Douglas Hall, God and Human Suffering (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1986), 63. 6. Elizabeth Amoah and Mercy Oduyoye, “The Christ for African Women,” in With Passion and Compassion, eds M. M. Virginia Fabella and Mercy Oduyoye (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1988), 44. 7. Elizabeth Schussler Fiorenza, Rhetoric and Ethics (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1999), 5. 8. Justo L. Gonzalez, A History of Christian Thought: Vol. 1 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1970), 139. 9. Ibid., 138. 10. Ronald H. Bainton, Christendom: A Short History of Christianity and Western Civilization, Vol. 1 (New York: Harper & Row, 1964), 68. 11. Jack Nelson-Pallmeyer, Jesus Against Christianity: Reclaiming the Missing Jesus (Pennsylvania: Trinity Press International, 2001), 25–34. 12. Diane Mavunduse and Simom Oxley, Why Violence? Why not Peace? (Geneva: World Council of Churches, 2002), 7–8. 13. This story is treated by Nelson-Pallmeyer as part of the land-stealing God image. I chose to treat it independently. 14. Musa W. Dube, “Scripture, Feminism, and Post-colonial Context,” Concilium 3 (1998), 51–53. 15. Newell S. Booth, Jr., “An Approach to African Religions”, in idem, ed., African Religions: A Symposium (New York: NOK Publishers, 1977), 7. 16. Ibid., 9. 17. Marjorie H. Suchocki God Christ Church: A Practical Guide to Process Theology (New York: Crossroads, 1989), 14. 18. Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, vol. 1 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1967), 271.

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19. John Mbiti, African Religions and Philosophy (Bloomington, IN: University of Indiana Press, 1970), 282. 20. Suchocki, God Christ Church, 228–9. 21. Ibid. 22. Tillich, Systematic Theology, vol. 1, 271. 23. James M. Washington, ed., “A Christmas Sermon on Peace,” in A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches of Martin Luther King, Jr (New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 1986), 254.

Chapter 12 1. The word mudzimu or midzimu (pl) simply means the spirit of a departed family member. 2. Michael Gelfand, Shona Religion: With Special Reference to the Makorekore (Cape Town, Wynberg, Johannesburg: Juta & Company, 1962), 3. 3. Michael Gelfand, Shona Ritual: With Special Reference to the Chaminuka Cult (Cape Town, Wynberg, Johannesburg: Juta & Company, 1959), 5–6. 4. Gelfand, Shona Religion (1962), 74. 5. Gelfand, Shona Ritual (1959), 6. Underlined words are mine, to show that the svikiro can be either male or female while Gelfand used “he” only, suggesting that the spirit cannot choose women. 6. David Lan, Guns and Rain: Guerrillas and Spirit Mediums in Zimbabwe (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1985), xvii. 7. Gelfand, Shona Religion (1962), 69–70. Compare with Gelfand, Shona Ritual (1959), chapter 10. Here he gives more details on four kinds of ngozi found in the Chaminuka tribe. These spirits are the ones the Zimbabwean church together with traditional healers are dealing with everyday in order to free people from them. 8. This name is sometimes misspelled nganga, especially by people who are not Shona. 9. Gelfand, Shona Ritual (1959), 99. 10. Richard Katz, Boiling Energy: Community Healing Among the Kalahari Kung (Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 1982), 34. 11. Gelfand, Shona Ritual (1959), 159. A long process follows where the guilty family has to perform a series of rituals to protect their family so that this spirit will not find its way back again. In some instances a young girl is given as a ransom to the murdered person’s family which means she goes with the goat and cattle. When this girl grows up she will be married into this family. This way the blood is now mixed through marriage and the ngozi cannot kill among its own blood relatives. 12. AIC in this context stands for African Initiated Christianity. 13. John S. Pobee and Gabriel Ositelu, African Initiatives of Christianity: The Growth, Gifts and Diversities of Indigenous African Churches. A Challenge to the Ecumenical Movement (Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1998), 29. 14. Rev. Kingston Kahlari, interview by author, tape recording, October 16, 2001. 15. Bennetta Jules-Rosette, The New Religions of Africa (Norwood: Ablex Pub. Corp., 1979), 166.

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Chapter 13 1. http://www.pambazuka.org/en/category/feature/40373 2. In future research, using Michel Foucault’s idea of “pastoral power” (which I briefly touch on here), I shall think more specifically about the material content of these shortages. I shall do so in relation to the following: first, food shortages in relation to Jesus’ claim that he is the bread of life or his command to Peter to feed “my sheep” or again in relation to the prayer he taught his disciples in which they supplicate God for daily bread; second, I shall turn to shortage of clean water and effect a similar move by reflecting on Jesus’ claim that he is the water of life; third, I shall suggest that the theological content of “electricity blackouts” can hermeneutically be assessed in terms of the idea of Jesus as the light of the world; and fourth the shortage of medicines, doctors and nurses can be read in relation to Jesus’ ministry of healing the sick. 3. The exclusion of the poor from all aspects of the economy is attested by Operation Murambatsvina. This phrase literally means Operation Drive Out Trash or Operation Drive Out Rubbish, a large-scale, governmental campaign to forcibly wipe out slums. 4. I am playing on, modifying and redeploying Giorgio Agamben’s notion of “bare life.” See his Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life (Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press, 1998). 5. The difficulty of this fight to live can be seen in the fact that even on the plane of marginality bare existence is not given or guaranteed. This is because the conditions necessary for it are simply denied. Thus it must be “secured” through hard struggle. 6. Witness the high infant and maternal mortality rates and the shockingly low life expectancy levels. On this see “Zimbabwe: Insight into the Humanitarian Crisis and Food Politics”: Study Report of Action Contre La Faim (January 2006), 10. Available online at http://www.actioncontrelafaim.org/pdf/DP_zim06.pdf (accessed fall 2007). 7. On pastoral power see Michel Foucault, “Pastoral Power and Political Reason,” in Michel Foucault, Religion and Culture, ed. Jeremy Carrette (London and New York: Routledge, 1999), 135–52. 8. Aquinas had a great sense of this when he observed that friendship among the ruler and his subjects is both key to and an indication of good government. Aquinas, Political Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 30ff. 9. Michel Foucault, “The Birth of Biopolitics,” in Michel Foucault, Ethics, Subjectivity and Truth: Essential Works of Foucault 1954–1984, vol. 1, ed. Paul Rabinow, trans. Robert Hurley et al. (New York: The New Press, 1997), 73–79; see also by Foucault, “On the Government of the Living” in the same volume, 81–85. 10. I am aware that I am taking a specific stance here on the role of government. This stance is generally opposed to those who want to leave everything to market forces. 11. Martha Nussbaum and Amartya Sen, The Quality of Life (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993).

Chapter 14 1. Under the leadership of Dr. Kwame Nkrumah the name “Gold Coast” was changed to Ghana after it obtained its political Independence as a nation in 1957 on March 6.

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2. For more information on women, youth and violence, see for example a survey carried out by E. Amoah and R. Ammah, eds, Too Painful to Tell: Women of Faith Against Domestic Violence (Accra: SWL Press, 2004). 3. See October 25, 2006 issue of the Daily Graphic. 4. Daily Graphic, October 25, 2006. 5. At the moment we are involved in rehabilitating a young woman in her twenties who is emotionally and psychologically disordered because she was repatriated to Ghana, leaving her three-week-old son behind because she was an illegal migrant. This painful separation from her baby was enough to make any nursing mother psychologically damaged. Financially and emotionally it has not been easy for the relatives who are giving her every support to get her out of the periodic and severe depression she is going through. 6. A. Sefa-Dede, “Psychotherapy and Religion: The Significance of Religious Beliefs and Traditions for Therapy in Ghana” (paper presented at the Convention of the Association of Black Psychologists, Ghana, July 31, 2001). 7. One of the distinguishing characteristics of the Akan is that most of the sub-groups within the Akan are matrilineal. That is to say that genealogy is traced through the mother’s line and that one’s right to inheritance especially to chieftaincy is through the mother’s line. 8. See, for example, K. A. Opoku, West African Traditional Religion (Singapore: FEP International Private Limited, 1978). 9. See, for example, E. Amoah, “Religion and the Environment in Ghana” (paper presented to the International Association of Black Religions and Spiritualities in Cape Town, South Africa, 2005). 10. P. A. Twumasi, The Medical System in Ghana: A Study of Medical Sociology (Tema, Ghana: Ghana Publishing Corporation, 1975); Sefa-Dede, Psychotherapy and Religion. 11. Sefa-Dede, “Psychotherapy and Religion.” 12. See, for example, K. Gyekye, African Cultural Values: An Introduction (Accra, Ghana/Philadelphia, PA: Sankofa Publishing Company, 1996). 13. For more information see, for example, E. Amoah, “Social, Religious and Moral Significance of Wassaw Proverbs” (unpublished MA thesis, Legon, 1974). 14. See, for example, E. Amoah, “African Traditional African Religion and the Concept of Poverty” (paper presented to the Pan-African Research Group on Religion and Poverty, 2005). 15. For more work on Akan proverbs, see the works of Christaller, Acquaah and Bannerman, etc. 16. See, for example, Ortha Richard Sullivan, African American Inventors (Black Stars) (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1998). 17. Sefa-Dede, Psychotherapy and Religion, 1. 18. The survey was a collaborative effort by the following people and institutions: J. Appia-Poku and E. Mensah, both of the Department of Behavioral Science, School of Medicine, Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology, Ghana; Kumasi R. Laugharne, Mental Health Research Group, Peninsular Medical School, Wonford Hospital, Exeter; and T. Burns, Dept. of Psychology, Medicine, St George’s Medical School, London. Their findings have been published in the Journal of Social Psychology and Psychiatric Epidemiology 39.3 (March 2004).

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19. Sankofa is an indigenous bird with a flexible and long neck. It can usually stretch the long neck over the entire body to the tail, where fat is stored, in order to take fat from its tail and groom itself when necessary. This bird is used symbolically to depict the need to retrieve the past but with caution. 20. Sefa-Dede, Psychotherapy and Religion, 3. 21. Sefa-Dede, Psychotherapy and Religion, 3. 22. Sefa-Dede, Psychotherapy and Religion, 2.

Chapter 15 1. Angela U. Umeh, “Women and Widowhood Rituals in Nigeria: The Traditional Igbo Society,” in Where God Reigns: Reflections on Women in God’s World, ed. Elizabeth Amoah (Accra, Ghana: Sam-Woode, 1997), 159. 2. Daisy N. Nwachuku, “The Christian Widow in African Culture,” in The Will to Arise: Women, Tradition and the Church in Africa, ed. Mercy Amba Oduyoye and Musimbi R. A. Kanyoro (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1992), 61. 3. Ibid., 69. 4. Cf. Roger Haight, Dynamics of Theology (New York: Paulist Press, 1990), 152–5. 5. Rebecca Y. Ganusah, “Widowed Beliefs and Practices of the Avatime: Viewed from a Christian, Philosophical and Ethical Perspective,” in Where God Reigns: Reflections on Women in God’s World, ed. Elizabeth Amoah (Accra: Sam-Woode, 1997), 138–9. 6. Umeh, “Women and Widowhood Rituals in Nigeria,” 162; cf. 161, 164, 166. 7. Ibid., 164. Emphasis added. 8. Cited by Ganusah, “Widowed Beliefs and Practices of the Avatime,” 144. 9. Umeh, “Women and Widowhood Rituals in Nigeria,” 165. 10. Ibid., 166. 11. Nwachuku, “The Christian Widow in African Culture,” 69. 12. Florence Butegwa, “Using the African Charter on Human and People’s Rights to Secure Women’s Access to Land in Africa,” in Human Rights of Women: National and International Perspectives, ed. Rebecca J. Cook (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1994), 497. 13. Ibid., 497. 14. Ibid., 498. 15. Mulambya P. Kabonde, “Widowhood in Zambia: The Effects of Ritual,” in Groaning in Faith: African Women in the Household of God, ed. Musimbi R. A. Kanyoro and Nyambura Njoroge (Nairobi, Kenya: Acton Publishers, 1996), 197. 16. Reported by the Sunday Concord under the title “Community Outlaws Old Customs on Burial,” March 28, 1993, p. 3. Cited by Umeh, “Women and Widowhood Rituals in Nigeria,” 163. 17. Kabonde, “Widowhood in Zambia,” 196. 18. Haight, Dynamics of Theology, 155–6. 19. Umeh, “Women and Widowhood Rituals in Nigeria,” 168. 20. Ibid., 162; cf. 160. The “daughters of the lineage” are also referred to as “daughters of the land” or “daughters of the family.” See ibid., 169 and also, Nwachuku, “The Christian Widow in African Culture,” 66.

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21. Nwachuku, “The Christian Widow in African Culture,” 66. 22. See, for example, Kwaku Dua-Agyeman, Covenants, Curses and Cure (Kumasi, Ghana: Rhema Publications, 1994), 48–78 under the heading, “Doorways to Demonic Bondage” in which he mentions some customs, traditions and cultural activities. 23. Nwachuku, “The Christian Widow in African Culture,” 66. 24. Umeh, “Women and Widowhood Rituals in Nigeria, ” 168. 25. Haight, Dynamics of Theology, 157. 26. Ibid., 157. 27. Ganusah, “Widowed Beliefs and Practices of the Avatime,” 141. 28. Abamfo Atiemo, “Deliverance in the Charismatic Churches in Ghana,” Trinity Journal of Church and Theology IV.2 (December/January 1994–95), 44. 29. Cf. Emmanuel Martey, “Theological Education as Catalyst for Ecumenical Formation in Africa: The Role of Associations of Theological Institutions—the Case of WAATI,” Ministerial Formation 98/99 (July/October 2002), 23. 30. Paul Tillich, “Theology and Symbol,” in Religious Symbolism, ed. F. Ernest Johnson (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1955), 111ff. Cited by Haight, Dynamics of Theology, 159. 31. Nwachuku, “The Christian Widow in Africa,” 64. 32. Ganusah, “Widowed Beliefs and Practices of the Avatime,” 143, 151. 33. Kabonde, “Widowhood in Zambia,” 199. 34. Haight, Dynamics of Theology, 162–3. 35. For the reasons given for performing the rites of widowhood, see Ganusah, “Widowed Beliefs and Practices of the Avatime,” 145–8. 36. Haight, Dynamics of Theology, 133. 37. Vincent Shamo, “The Case for Integrating Widowhood Rites into Christian Formation,” unpublished paper. 38. Nwachuku, “The Christian Widow in Africa,” 68. 39. Ganusah, “Widowed Beliefs and Practices of the Avatime,” 143, 151; Kabonde, “Widowhood in Zambia,” 199 respectively. 40. By “concrete symbols” is meant the tangible elements of life including objects, events, persons; over against “conscious symbols” which consist of the different ways the spiritual or Divine reality is communicated to human consciousness through myths, metaphors etc. Cf. Haight, Dynamics of Theology, 135. 41. Haight, Dynamics of Theology, 164. 42. Ibid., 165. 43. Deane W. Ferm, Profiles in Liberation (Mystic, CT: Twenty-Third Publications, 1988), 8. 44. J. N. K. Mugambi, From Liberation to Reconstruction: African Christian Theology After the Cold War (Nairobi, Kenya: East African Educational Publishers, 1995), 15–17. Mugambi discusses under the different levels of reconstruction: Personal; Cultural (which according to him also includes Economics, Politics, Ethics and Religion); and Ecclesiastical reconstruction. 45. Simon Maimela and Adrio Konig, eds, Initiation into Theology: The Rich Variety of Theology and Hermeneutics (Pretoria, South Africa: JL van Schaik Publishers, 1998). 46. Jacques Theron, “Charismatic Theology,” in Maimela and Konig, Initiation into Theology, 200–1. 47. See Emmanuel Martey, “Jesus of History, the Church and the Poor in Africa,” Trinity Journal of Church and Theology IV.2 (December/January 1994–95), 34–5.

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48. Shamo, “The Case for Integrating Widowhood Rites,” unpublished paper. 49. Nwachuku, “The Christian Widow in Africa,” 70. Emphasis added. 50. Kabonde, “Widowhood in Zambia,” 202. 51. Gustavo Gutierrez, A Theology of Liberation: History, Politics and Salvation (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1973), 256–72.

Chapter 16 1. Jeffery Weeks, Sex, Politics and Society: The Regulation of Sexuality since 1800, 2nd ed. (London and New York: Longman, 1989), 96. 2. Rosemary Pringle, “Absolute Sex? Unpacking the Sexuality/Gender Relationship,” in Rethinking Sex: Social Theory and Sexuality Research, eds R. W. Connell and G. W. Dowsett (Carlton, Victoria: Melbourne University Press, 1992), 77. 3. Wairimu Ngaruiya Njambi and William E. O’Brien, “Revisiting ‘Woman-Woman Marriage’: Notes on Gikuyu Women,” in African Gender Studies: A Reader, ed. Oyèrónké Oyìwùmí (New York and London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 145–65. 4. Raymond M. Lee and Claire M. Renzetti, “Problems of Researching Sensitive Topics: An Overview and Introduction,” in Researching Sensitive Topics, eds Claire M. Renzetti and Raymond M. Lee (London and New Delhi: SAGE Publications, 1993), 3–13. 5. Connell and Dowsett, “Introduction,” in Rethinking Sex, 2 (original emphasis). 6. Jane C. Goodale, “Gender, Sexuality and Marriage: A Kaulong Model of Nature and Culture,” in Nature, Culture and Gender, eds Carol MacCormack and Marilyn Strathern (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980), 133–4. 7. See also, Weeks, Sex, Politics and Society, 96. 8. Rosemary Haughton, The Changing Church (London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1969), 94. 9. Haughton, The Changing Church, 95. 10. Haughton, The Changing Church, 98. 11. M. Fortes, “Ancestor Worship,” in African Systems of Thought: Studies Presented and Discussed at the Third International African Seminar in Salisbury, December 1960 (London, New York and Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1965), 16. 12. Goodale, “Gender, Sexuality and Marriage,” 129. 13. Carol S. Robb, “Sexuality,” in Dictionary of Feminist Theologies, eds Letty M. Russell and J. Shannon Clarkson (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1996), 258. 14. See, for example, Fiona Bowie, The Anthropology of Religion: An Introduction (Oxford: Blackwell, 2000), 50–51. 15. Fortes, “Ancestor Worship,” 16. 16. Fortes, “Ancestor Worship,” 19. 17. Fortes, “Ancestor Worship,” 16. 18. Fortes, “Ancestor Worship,” 17. 19. Meyer Fortes, Religion, Morality and the Person: Essays on Tellensi Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 193. 20. See, for example, Goodale, “Gender, Sexuality and Marriage,” 133.

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21. Ifi Amadiume, Male Daughters, Female Husbands: Gender and Sex in an African Society (London: Zed Press, 1987), 34. 22. Amadiume, Male Daughters, Female Husbands, 48. 23. Njambi and O’Brien, “Revisiting ‘Woman-Woman Marriage’,” 149. 24. Njambi and O’Brien, “Revisiting ‘Woman-Woman Marriage’,” 145–65. 25. Compare with the Gikuyu women. Njambi and O’Brien, “Revisiting ‘WomanWoman Marriage’,” 147. 26. Njambi and O’Brien, “Revisiting ‘Woman-Woman Marriage’,” 157–60. 27. Mary Daly, Pure Lust: Elemental Feminist Philosophy (London: The Women’s Press, 1984), 144. 28. Bowie, The Anthropology of Religion, 48. See Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concept of Pollution and Taboo (London and New York: Routledge Classics, 2006 [2002]), 44. 29. Bowie, The Anthropology of Religion, 38–69. 30. Bowie, The Anthropology of Religion, 48. 31. Douglas, Purity and Danger, 44. 32. Mary Douglas, Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology (London: Barrie and Jenkins, 1973), 93. 33. Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (New York and London: Routledge, 1990). 34. William E. Deal and Timothy K. Beal, Theory for Religious Studies (New York and London: Routledge, 2004), 166. 35. Deal and Beal, Theory for Religious Studies, 166. 36. Joseph Runzo, “The Symbolism of Sex and the Reality of God,” in Love, Sex and Gender in the World Religions, eds Joseph Runzo and Nancy M. Martin (Oxford: Oneworld Publications, 2000), 28–31. 37. Some Issues in Human Sexuality: A Guide to the Debate, a discussion document from the House of Bishops’ Group on Issues in Human Sexuality (London: Church House Publishing, 2003); Wade C. Rowatt et al., “Associations Between Religious Personality Dimensions and Implicit Homosexual Prejudice,” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 46.3 (2006), 397–406 and John Archer and Barbara Lloyd, Sex and Gender (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 71, 73, 115–23. 38. Dennis Brutus, “Africa 2000: In the New Global Context,” in African Visions: Literary Images, Political Change, and Struggle in Contemporary Africa, eds Cheryl B. Mwaria, Silvia Federici and Joseph McLaren (Connecticut and London: Greenwood Press, 2000), 3. 39. David Westerlund, African Indigenous Religions and Disease Causation: From Spiritual Beings to Living Humans (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2006), 2.

Chapter 17 1. Maria Salete, O papel da liderança religiosa feminina na construção da identidade negra (Sao Paulo: Educ, 2001), 6. 2. Supreme Being of Yoruba religions. 3. In Cuba it is represented by the Virgin of Regla.

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4. Natalia Bolivar, Los orishas en Cuba (Panamá: Ediciones MERCI, 2005), 156. 5. Silvia Regina de Lima, “Além das fronteras,” in Teología Afro-americana II (Sao Paulo: Centro Atabaque, 2004), 36. 6. Rosemary R. Ruether, Ecofeminismo: Mulheres do primeiro e terceiro mundo. In Revista Mandrágora (Universidade Metodista de São Paulo) VII.4 (July 2001): 12. 7. Maricel Mena, Silvia Regina, etc. 8. Maria Nilza Da Silva, “A mulher negra,” Revista Espaço Acadêmico II.22 (March 2003), http://www.espacoacademico.com.br/022/22csilva.htm 9. Rosiska Oliveira Darcy, Elogio da diferença (São Paulo: Ed. Brasiliense, 1993), 45. 10. Also in Brazil and the rest of the Caribbean. 11. Elena Aguila, “Ecofeminismo é Pós-modernidade,” in Revista Mandrágora (Universidade Metodista de São Paulo) VII.4 (July 2001): 21. 12. See Silvia Regina Lima, “Nuevos caminos de liberación en América Latina,” in En Cambio de valores y cristianismo, XXIII Congreso de Teología (Madrid: Evangelio y Liberación, 2003), 121, and L. C. Restrepo, El derecho a la ternura (Bogotá: Editores Arango, 1994). 13. Lima, Nuevos caminos de liberación en América Latina, 121. 14. Native, countryside, afro-feminist theologies, etc. 15. Lima, “Além das fronteras,” 24. 16. From the presentation of Adolfo Ham, in a meeting of the group Fe y Cultura (Faith and Culture), Center of Studies of the Council of Churches of Cuba, February 6, 2006. 17. Luis Carlos Marrero, “A tres le quito uno. Génesis 9,18–27, una re-lectura histórica desde la experiencia negra,” DEBARIM: Revista Bíblica Cubana 3.1 (La Habana: CECIC, 2004), 32. 18. Natalia Bolívar, Los orishas en Cuba (Panamá: Ediciones MERCI, 2005), 85. 19. Lima, “Além das fronteras,” 24. 20. Lima, “Além das fronteras,” 28. 21. Sonia Querino, “Nossos pasos vêm de longe,” in Teología Afro-americana II, 20. 22. Da Silva, A mulher negra, 12, http://www.espacoacademico.com.br/022/22 csilva.htm.

Chapter 20 1. Devon Dick, Rebellion to Riot: The Jamaican Church in Nation Building (Kingston, Jamaica: Ian Randle Publishers, 2002), xviii. 2. Edward C. Greene, Extract from USAID Report: Faith-Based Organizations: Contributions to HIV Prevention (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Center for Population and Development Studies, 2003), 1. 3. Green, Extract from USAID Report. 4. United Nations’ Common Country Assessment (CCA) in Jamaica, 2005, Theme Group “Justice, Peace and Security in Jamaica,” 2nd Draft Report, unpublished. 5. Neville Callam, Voicing Concern: The Social Witness of the Jamaica Council of Churches (Kingston: Pelican Publishers, 2004), 41.

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Chapter 21 1. Antonio Sant’Ana, “Organized Racila Violence,” Programme to Combat Racism, World Council of Churches, Information 15 (1982), 26. 2. Pablo Richard, “What Do You Think About?,” Programme to Combat Racism, World Council of Churches, Information 15 (1982), 24. 3. United Nations World Conference Against Racism, Racial Discrimination, Xenophobia, and Related Intolerance, Durban, South Africa, 2001.

Chapter 23 1. Clenora Hudson-Weems has also been influential in the articulation of a Womanist perspective, which she names “Africana Womanism.” See her essays “Cultural and Agenda Conflicts in Academia: Critical Issues for Africana Women’s Studies” and “Africana Womanism” in The Womanist Reader, ed. Layli Phillips (New York: Routledge, 2006), 37–43, 44–54. 2. Alice Walker, In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens: Womanist Prose (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1983). 3. Chikwenye Okonjo Ogunyemi, “Womanist: The Dynamics of the Contemporary Black Female Novel in English,” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 11.1 (1985): 63–80 (72). 4. Ibid., 64. 5. Ibid., 68. 6. Ibid., 72. 7. Delores Williams uses the phrase “speaking the black woman’s tongue” as the subtitle of an article that appeared in 1986, “The Color of Feminism: Or Speaking the Black Woman’s Tongue,” Journal of Religious Thought 43: 42–58.

Chapter 24 1. W. E. B. Du Bois, The Souls of Black Folk (Nashville: Fisk University Press, 1979), 6. 2. Carl G. Jung, Psychology and Religion (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1938). 3. Howard Thurman, A Search for Common Ground (New York: Harper & Row, 1971), 42. 4. Audre Lourde, African American Wisdom, ed. Reginald McKnight (Novato: New World Library, 1994), 38. 5. G. H. Boswell, The Effects of Stressor, Lifestyle Religiosity and Spirituality on the Well-Being of Elders (Dissertation Abstracts International, 2003). 6. Boswell, Effects, 13. 7. Peter J. Paris, The Spirituality of African Peoples: The Search for a Common Moral Discourse. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995), 43.

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8. Harriet Tubman, African American Wisdom, ed. Reginald McKnight (Novato: New World Library, 1994), 29. 9. Homer U. Ashby Jr., Our Home is Over Jordan (St. Louis, MO: Chalice Press, 2003), 9. 10. John H. Morgan, “Religious Experience in the Shaker Community,” in Community, Self, and Identity, ed. Sol Tax (The Hague: Mouton, 1978), 179. 11. P. Dilworth-Anderson, L. M. Burton, and D. M. Klein, “Contemporary and Emerging Theories,” in B. Bengston, A. Acock, K. Allen, P. Dilworth-Anderson, and D. Klein, Sourcebook of Family Theory and Research (Newbury Park: Sage Publications, 2004), 18. 12. Ciaran Bensen, The Cultural Psychology of Self: Place, Morality and Art in Human Worlds (London: Routledge, 2001), 208–209. 13. Dilworth-Anderson et al., “Contemporary and Emerging Theories,” 19. 14. Bensen, The Cultural Psychology of Self, 207. 15. W. E. B. Du Bois, A Reader, ed. M. Weinberg (New York: Harper and Row, 1970), 22. 16. Dilworth-Anderson et al., “Contemporary and Emerging Theories.” 17. Dilworth-Anderson et al., “Contemporary and Emerging Theories,” 21. 18. Dilworth-Anderson et al., “Contemporary and Emerging Theories,” 11. 19. Bensen, The Cultural Psychology of Self, 206. 20. Ashby, Our Home is Over Jordan, 127–28. 21. Bensen, The Cultural Psychology of Self, 208. 22. Isaiah Berlin, “Two Concepts of Liberty,” 207. 23. Dilworth-Anderson et al., “Contemporary and Emerging Theories,” 22. 24. Dilworth-Anderson et al., “Contemporary and Emerging Theories,” 23. 25. Dilworth-Anderson et al., “Contemporary and Emerging Theories,” 23. 26. Thurman, A Search for Common Ground, 22. 27. John Winthrop, “A Model of Christian Charity” (1630), 1. 28. Dwight N. Hopkins, Down, Up, and Over: Slave Religion and Black Theology (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2000), 38–39. 29. Paris, The Spirituality of African Peoples, 35. 30. Du Bois, A Reader, 22. 31. W. E. B. Du Bois, “Magnificat,” in An ABC of Color (New York: International Publishers, 1969). 32. Thurman, A Search for Common Ground, 92. 33. Ibid., 104. 34. Seymour B. Liebman, “The Jews as an Ethnic Group in the Americas during the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries,” in Community, Self, and Identity, ed. Sol Tax (The Hague: Mouton, 1978), 95. 35. Liebman, “The Jews,” 97–98. 36. Liebman, “The Jews.” 37. Liebman, “The Jews,” 103. 38. Thurman, A Search for Common Ground, 81. 39. Thurman, A Search for Common Ground, 88. 40. Dilworth-Anderson et al., “Contemporary and Emerging Theories,” 22. 41. Catherine McCall, Concepts of Person: An Analysis of Concepts of Person, Self and Human Being (Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Athanaeum Press, 1990), 21.

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42. Jung, Psychology and Religion, 21. 43. Jung, Psychology and Religion. 44. Ashby Jr., Our Home is Over Jordan. 45. Hopkins, Down, Up, and Over, 38–39. 46. Dilworth-Anderson et al., “Contemporary and Emerging Theories,” 21.

Chapter 25 1. See Dwight N. Hopkins, Down, Up, and Over: Slave Religion and Black Theology (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1999). 2 See James H. Cone, “Black Worship: A Historical-Theological Interpretation,” in his Speaking the Truth: Ecumenism, Liberation, and Black Theology (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1999), 129–41. Cone gives an excellent analysis of how the African American enslaved experience was the foundational basis between their modes of worship and that of the white missionaries who brought one version of Christianity. Moreover, he discusses the theological perspective of black worship as essentially biblical with a theme of divine liberation. 3. W. E. B. Du Bois, The Souls of Black Folk (New York: The New American Library, 1969, [1903]), 211–12. 4. Ibid. 5. Wyatt Tee Walker, The Soul of Black Worship. A Triology: Preaching, Praying, Singing (New York: Martin Luther King Fellows Press, 1994), 20–24, 32–38, and 51–55. 6. See Gayraud S. Wilmore, Last Things First (Philadelphia, PA: Westminster Press, 1982). 7. Daphne C. Wiggins, Righteous Content: Black Women’s Perspectives of Church and Faith (New York: New York University Press, 2005), 39–40, 48–50. 8. See Flora Wilson Bridges, Resurrection Song: African American Spirituality (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2001); Joan M. Martin, More Than Chains and Toil: A Christian Work Ethic of Enslaved Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2000); Barbara A. Holmes, Joy Unspeakable: Contemplative Practices of the Black Church (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2004); Dwight N. Hopkins and George C.L. Cummings, eds, Cut Loose Your Stammering Tongue: Black Theology in the Slave Narrative, 2nd ed. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press 2003, [1991]); Henry H. Mitchell, Black Church Beginnings: The Long Hidden Realities of the First Years (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2004); Will Coleman, Tribal Talk: Black Theology, Hermeneutics, and African/ American Ways of “Telling the Story” (University Park, PN: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2000); Albert J. Raboteau, Slave Religion: The “Invisible Institution” in the Antebellum South (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978); and David Emmanuel Goatley, Were You There: Godforsakenness in Slave Religion (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1996). 9. Emmanuel L. McCall, ed., Black Church Life-Styles (Nashville, TN: Broadman Press, 1986); Henry H. Mitchell, Black Preaching (New York: Harper & Row, 1979); Wyatt Tee Walker, The Soul of Black Worship (New York: Martin Luther King Fellows Press, 1984); Wyatt Tee Walker, “Somebody’s Calling My Name”: Black Sacred Music and Social Change (Valley Forge, PA: Judson Press, 1982); Delores C. Carpenter, A Time for Honor: A Portrait of African American Clergywomen (St. Louis, MO: Chalice Press,

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2001); Ella Pearson Mitchell, ed., Those Preachin’ Women (Valley Forge, PA: Judson Press, 1985); Valentino Lassiter, Martin Luther King in the African American Preaching Tradition (Cleveland, OH: The Pilgrim Press, 2001); and Keith D. Miller, Voice of Deliverance: The Language of Martin Luther King, Jr. and its Sources (New York: The Free Press, 1992). 10. Arthur E. Paris, Black Pentecostalism (Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts Press, 1982); and Iain MacRobert, The Black Roots and White Racism of Early Pentecostalism in the USA (New York: Palgrave Macmillian, 1988). 11. For a groundbreaking study of southern to northern migrations, see Wallace D. Best, Passionately Human, No Less Divine: Religion and Culture in Black Chicago, 1915–1952 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2005). 12. Henry H. Mitchell, Black Preaching (San Francisco, CA: Harper & Row, 1979); J. Solomon Benin, III, Preaching in Ebony (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 1981); and Cleophus J. LaRue, ed., Power in the Pulpit: How America’s Most Effective Black Preachers Prepare Their Sermons (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002). 13. See J. Kwabena Asamoah-Gyadu, African Charismatics: Current Developments within Independent Indigenous Pentecostalism in Ghana (Leiden, The Netherlands: African Christian Press, 2005); Andre Corten and Ruth Marshall-Fratani, eds, Between Babel and Pentecost: Transnational Pentecostalism in Africa and Latin America (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2001); and Paul Freston, Evangelicals and Politics in Asia, Africa, and Latin America (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001). 14. See Dwight N. Hopkins, “The Religion of Globalization,” in Religions/ Globalizations: Theories and Cases, ed. Dwight N. Hopkins, et al. (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2001). 15. Mark Lewis Taylor, Religion, Politics, and the Christian Right: Post-9/11 Powers and American Empire (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2005), introduction. 16. Marcia Y. Riggs, Plenty Good Room: Women Versus Male Power in the Black Church (Cleveland, OH: The Pilgrim Press, 2003); Marla F. Frederick, Between Sundays: Black Women and Everyday Struggles of Faith (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2003); Cheryl Townsend Gilkes, If It Wasn’t For The Women (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2001) and Teresa L. Fry Brown, God Don’t Like Ugly: African American Women Handing On Spiritual Values (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2000). 17. Dwight N. Hopkins, Shoes That Fit Our Feet: Sources for a Constructive Black Theology (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1993), 19. 18. On the African part of being an African American and an African American Christian, see Hopkins, Down, Up, and Over, 109–16, especially the ample and detailed endnotes for other primary sources and scholarly debates. For information on the role of the drum both in West Africa and in African American rituals, see Joseph A. Brown, To Stand on the Rock: Meditations on Black Catholic Identity (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1998), chapter 1 on “the drum circle.” 19. Both quotes are found in James Mellon, ed., Bullwhip Days: The Slaves Remember. An Oral History (New York: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1988), 190. 20. Ibid., 191. 21. James H. Cone, The Spirituals and the Blues (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1991, [1972]). 22. To that end, see also Wal Together Children: Black and Womanist Theologies, Church and Theological Education, eds Dwight N. Hopkins and Linda E. Thomas (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2009).

Select Bibliography Ackah, C. A., Akan Ethics. Accra: Ghana University Press, 1988. Amoah, Elizabeth, ed., Where God Reigns: Reflections on Women in God’s World. Accra, Ghana: Sam-Woode, 1997. Amoah, Elizabeth, and R. Ammah, eds, Too Painful to Tell: Women of Faith Against Domestic Violence. Accra, Ghana: SWL Press, 2004. Bastide, Roger, The African Religions of Brazil. Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press, 2007. Beckford, Robert, God of the Rahtid. London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 2001. Biturogoiwasa, Solomoni, My Village, My World: Everyday Life in Nadoria, Fiji. Suva: University of the South Pacific, 2001. Bridges, Flora Wilson, Resurrection Song: African American Spirituality. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2001. Callam, Neville, Voicing Concern: The Social Witness of the Jamaica Council of Churches. Kingston, Jamaica: Pelican Publishers, 2004. Churchill, Ward, and Sharon H. Venne, eds, Islands in Captivity: The International Tribunal on the Rights of Indigenous Hawaiians. Cambridge, MA: South End Press, 2004. Clarke, Sathianathan, Dalits and Christianity. Delhi, India: Oxford University Press, 1998. Conference for the Buraku Liberation, ed., Buraku Kaiho Kirisutosha Kyogikai Sanjyu Nenshi (The thirty years of the Christian conference for the Buraku liberation). Osaka: The Christian Conference for the Buraku Liberation, 1992. Dodson, Jualynne, Sacred Spaces and Religious Traditions in Oriente Cuba. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2008. Dube, Musa, Postcolonial Feminist Interpretation of the Bible. St. Louis, MO: Chalice Press, 2000. Dube, M. W., ed. HIV/AIDS and the Curriculum: Methods of Integrating HIV/AIDS in Theological Programmes. Geneva: WCC, 2003. Dube, M. W. and M. Kanyoro, eds. Grant Me Justice! HIV and AIDS Gender Readings of the Bible. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2004. Eiichi, Kudo Kirisutokyo to Buraku Mondai (Christianity and the Buraku problem). Tokyo: Shinkyo Shuppansha, 1983. Gelfand, Michael, Shona Ritual: With Special Reference to the Chaminuka Cult. Cape Town, Wynberg, Johannesburg: Juta & Company, 1962. Gyekye, K. African Cultural Values: An Introduction. Accra, Ghana/Philadelphia, PA: Sankofa Publishing Company, 1996. Hopkins, Dwight N., Shoes That Fit Our Feet: Sources for a Constructive Black Theology. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1993. Hopkins, Dwight N., Down, Up, and Over: Slave Religion and Black Theology. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1999. Jagessar, Michael N., and Anthony G. Reddie, eds, Black Theology in Britain: A Reader. London: Equinox, 2007.

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Kiyoshi, Inoue, Buraku Mondai no Kenkyu (A study of Buraku problems). Kyoto: Buraku Mondai Kenkyusho, 1959. Mahar, J. Michael, ed., The Untouchables in Contemporary India. Jaipur and New Delhi: Rawat Publications, 1998. Massey, James, ed., Indigenous People: Dalits. Delhi: ISPCK, 1998. Mitchell, Henry H., Black Church Beginnings: The Long Hidden Realities of the First Years. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2004. Mosala, Itumeleng J., and Buti Tlhagale, eds, The Unquestionable Right to be Free: Black Theology from South Africa. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1986. Nihon Kirisuto Kyodan, The River Without Bridges: An Encounter with the Japanese Buraku. Shijonawate City, Osaka: Kyodan Buraku Liberation Center, 1986. Opoku, K. A., West African Traditional Religion. Singapore: FEP International Private Limited, 1978. Osorio, Jonathan K., Dismembering Lahui: A History of the Hawaiian Nation to 1887. Honolulu, Hawaii: University of Hawaii Press, 2002. Owomoyela, Oyekan, Culture and Customs of Zimbabwe. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2002. Paris, Peter J. The Spirituality of African Peoples: The Search for a Common Moral Discourse. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1995. Pattel-Gray, Anne, Through Aboriginal Eyes: The Cry from the Wilderness. Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1991. Pattel-Gray, Anne, The Great White Flood: Racism in Australia. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1998. Reddie, Anthony G., Nobodies to Somebodies: A Practical Theology for Education and Liberation. Peterborough: Epworth Press, 2003. Sherlock, Philip, and Hazel Bennett, The Story of the Jamaican People. Princeton, NJ: Markus Wiener Publishers, 1998. Silva, Noenoe K., Aloha Betrayed: Native Hawaiian Resistance to American Colonialism. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2004. Thomas, Linda E., ed., Living Stones in the Household of God: The Legacy and Future of Black Theology. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2004. Trask, Haunani-Kay, From a Native Daughter: Colonialism and Sovereignty in Hawaii. Honolulu, Hawaii: University of Hawaii Press, 1999. Wiggins, Daphne C., Righteous Content: Black Women’s Perspectives of Church and Faith. New York: New York University Press, 2005.

Index of Subjects Abraham 168 abstinence 154 abundance 202–3 acculturation 109, 321 Adam and Eve 165–66 Afghanistan 160 Africa 3, 5, 149, 152, 154, 210, 221–22, 224, 229–30, 233, 241, 253–55, 293, 300 African Diaspora 319, 321 African religions 3, 151, 254–55, 259–60, 262 Afro-Brazilian 3, 302 Afro-Cuban 3 Ainu 33 alienation 15, 98, 130 ancestors 183–85, 187, 236, 239–41, 246, 253–55, 262, 321, 340–42 Andhra Pradesh 13 Angola 300 animism 255 apartheid 135, 137–38, 140 Argentina 301 Arya 22 Asia 3, 5, 41, 49, 154, 293 Assyria 197 atonement 98–100 Australia 53–56, 71 Australian Constitution 54–55 Babylon 197 Bahai 27–28 Baptist Church 285, 334–35 Barbados 275 Basivi 10, 16 biopolitics 198, 200–1 Black British 97–98, 101–2, 105, 107, 114, 118, 120–21, 124–26, 128, 131–32 Black Buddhists 3 Black Diaspora 129–32, 136, 328 black preacher 335–37

black theology 127, 129 Blackness 2–4, 10, 97, 109–32, 135–36, 149, 262, 294 Boaz 139 body 246, 260, 323 Boston 155 Botswana 3, 149–50, 156, 162, 172–74, 178 Brahmins 9, 11–12, 15 Brahmma 22 Brazil 53, 293–304 British Empire 54 Buddha 12, 14, 19 Buddhism 11, 13–14, 18–19, 27–28, 303 Burakumin 33–49 Cameroon 151 Canada 53, 109, 131 Candomblé 3, 302–4 Cape Town 2 Caribbean 3, 5, 97, 122, 125, 131, 152, 253, 273–90, 293 Caribbean Conference of Churches 287, 289 caring 68–69 caste system 9–10, 27–28 Chaturvarnas 9 China 53 Christendom 54 Christianity 27–28, 81, 99, 100–2, 107, 189, 229–31, 256, 285, 331, 337, 340 Christology 43–44, 46, 103 church/state relations 4 civil religion 4 Civil Rights Movement 322 collective consciousness 4 colonialism 2, 111, 118, 125, 153, 155, 237, 265, 273, 281 community development 58 Congregational Church 56

374 consciousness 12, 34–35, 65, 100, 111, 193, 223, 229, 301 constructivism 58 conversion 19, 67 creation 1, 2, 67–69, 73, 77, 169, 172 creolization 109 cross 39, 99, 103, 162 crown of thorns 35–45, 47–49 crucifixion 98 Cuba 258, 264–69, 281 Cuban Revolution 266–67 cultural hybridity 112–15 culture 2, 24–25, 28, 89, 99, 111, 114, 124, 132, 137, 172, 195, 223, 227, 248, 256, 262, 264–65, 317, 329, 340–41, 343 Dalits 9–30 Dappu 17 Dasa 22 decolonization 113 democracy 4, 339 Devadasi 10, 16 dharma 25 Dharma Sutras 11 discrimination 11, 15, 18, 43, 105, 112, 145, 147–48, 155, 157, 265–66, 297, 299, 301, 320, 322 Dogon cosmology 240 Dominican Republic 281 ecclesiology 48 eco-feminism 253–63 economics 2 education 57, 66, 73, 98–100, 104, 135, 330 Egypt 197 Enlightenment 40 essentialism 116 eternal life 29 ethic of care 156–57, 201 Ethiopia 160 ethnicity 4, 85–86, 111, 119, 127, 131 ethnocentrism 118 Europe 3, 53, 152, 154, 293 European Union 274 evil 148, 188, 212 exorcism 188

Another World is Possible faith healing 189 famine 111 femicide 160–79 freedom fighters 185–86 funeral procession 17 Fiji 3 Ford Foundation 2 France 82 French Revolution 14 Freud 216 Gambia 300 gender 2, 153–54, 156, 230, 233, 237, 243–46, 282, 319 General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) 24 Germany 138 Ghana 3, 122, 207–9, 216 Gilgamesh 329 global capitalism 202 globalization 23–26, 237, 274 Great Britain 5, 82, 97–99, 101–2, 104–5, 107–9, 120, 126, 128, 130–31, 152, 281 Great Commission 55 Greece 197 Grenada 273, 278 Haiti 281 Hawaii 77–86 Hawaiian Constitution 82 Hebrew 20–21 hegemony 102–3 heredity 9 hermeneutics of suspicion 167 hierarchy 10 Hinduism 9–19, 27–28, 285 Hip Hop 345 historical Jesus 103 HIV/AIDS 135–41, 145–58, 196, 284–88 Holy Spirit 337–38 Holy Week 39 homosexuality 234, 237, 244, 248, 285, 287 human development 24, 67, 227, 296 human dignity 4, 5, 11, 19, 123, 155, 157, 163, 261, 265, 293

Index of Subjects human rights 19 hunger 16 ideology 18 identity 19, 28, 65, 70, 100, 114, 116–18, 163, 183–84, 228, 246, 261–62, 313–30 identity politics 116–17, 123 immigration 105, 112 incarceration 87, 105 incarnation 104 inculturation 109, 230 India 9–10, 12–14, 16–17, 20, 22, 25, 27, 160 Indian Constitution 25–26 indigenous spiritual practices 1 inequality 10, 12, 14, 19, 25, 145, 147 institutional racism 105 integration 98 interculturality 111–12, 121, 132 international trade 23 interracial relationships 123 inter-religious dialogue 258, 262 International Association of Black Religions and Spiritualities 2–3, 53, 295, 299 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 24, 282 Iraq 160 Isaiah 48 Islam 3, 13, 27, 151, 254, 285, 303 isolation 11, 15, 18, 130 Israel 296 Jainism 27–28 Jamaica 3, 121, 130, 274, 278–90 Jamaican Constitution 288 Jamaican Council of Churches 289 Japan 33, 47–48 Jesus Christ 29, 36–48, 55, 100, 103–4, 113, 150, 164, 174, 184, 197–98, 202–3, 231, 233, 280, 336, 338–40, 342, 344–45 Jogini 10, 16 Judaism 3, 27, 285, 303, 324 justice 3–4, 14, 18, 25, 36, 107, 146–47, 151, 156, 288, 311, 337, 344

375 kapu system 79–81 Kenya 151, 245 King David 107 Kingdom of God 30, 48 Kshatriyas 9, 15 Kumulipo 77–78 land 3, 72, 262 landlessness 16 languages 1–2, 21, 53, 88, 254 Lanternari 39 Latin America 3, 5, 131, 154, 253 Lent 39 liberation 33–35, 37–38, 40, 45 liberation theology 34 liminality 113 Lingayatism 27–28 London 100, 105, 108, 119, 123, 131 lyalocha 261 Malaysia 122 Maremma 17 Mariology 232 marriage 9–10, 17, 48, 71, 139, 156, 163, 177, 235, 241, 243–45, 248, 260 martyrdom 36 Marxism 279 Matamma 17 Matangi 10 materialism 17 matriarchy 17 Matthew 25 342, 345 Mayflower 319 Meiji Period 34, 42 mental illness 207–18 Messianism 324–25 Methodist Church 56 mestizo/as 109–10 métissage 109–32 Micah 36–37, 320 migration 16 Moses 37, 231 Mother Earth 72 Mount Kyeryong 46 Mozambique 300 multiculturalism 97–98 Mulungu 255

376 mysticism 17 Naba Awina 238–39 Nagpur 18 n’anga 186–89 Nankani 236–49 Naomi 107, 139–40 narrative criticism 150 nativism 125 neocolonialism 2, 125, 132, 273 new humanity 35 New York 100 New Zealand Maori 3, 56 nezer 38 Nigeria 122, 221–22, 245, 255, 300 North America 3, 5, 154, 225 occupation 90 Okinawan 33 Olofi 258–59 oppression 33–34, 37, 40, 45, 47–48, 99–100, 104, 156, 178, 221, 224–25, 234, 237, 256, 309, 326 orphans 147–48, 156–57 Other 97–99, 103–7 otherworldliness 28 Pacific Islands 3, 5 Pacific Ocean 78 Palestine 197, 296 Panama 273 pantheism 173 Paraguay 301 Paraiyar 17, 18 patriarchy 135, 148, 156, 231, 308–9 peacemaking 160, 173–74 Pentacostalism 335 phenomenology 100, 194 Philippines 122 Pochamma 17 politics 2, 198 pollution 10–11, 14, 16, 18, 246 polygamy 71 Polynesia 78 polytheism 173 popular methodology 269 Port Augusta 55, 57–62 Portugal 327

Another World is Possible postcolonial theology 129 postmodernism 310–12 post-traumatic stress 290 poverty 11, 14, 16, 22–23, 41, 87, 98, 136, 138, 141, 145–48, 152–53, 156, 158, 194–95, 207, 211–13, 221, 256, 282, 289, 298, 311 Prajna 19 praxis 278–80 Presbyterian Church 56, 81, 267–68 privatization 16, 25–26 prosperity gospel 339–40 prostitution 10, 16 psychology 15 psychopathology 218 P¯u‘¯a Foundation 89–91 Punjab 12 Puritans 319–20 purity 10, 16, 112 Queensland 56 racism 107, 112, 117–18, 153, 155, 263, 266–67, 273, 299, 308, 311, 322 rainbow 169 Rastafari 285 redactional criticism 150 religion 1–5, 17–19, 26–28, 77, 79, 86, 88–89, 100–101, 104, 151, 163, 188, 225, 227, 248, 254, 262, 276–77, 301–3, 334–35, 345 religious pluralism 248 Revelation 160 Revivalism 285 Rigveda 22 Rio de Janeiro 296, 300, 302 ritual 2, 183–86, 188, 211, 215, 220–22, 224–26, 228–29, 239, 255 Rome 197 Russia 53, 160 Ruth 107, 135–41 Samaria 30 Samson and Delilah 166 Sankofa 217 Sanskrit 20–21 Santeria 3

Index of Subjects

377

Second World War 24 secularization 248 segregation 10, 48, 265, 297, 320 self 1, 2 self-confidence 5, 293 self-esteem 5, 293 self-love 5, 293, 344 Senegal 109 Seoul 46 September 11th 100 sexuality 234–49 Shakers 316 sharing 68–69 shortage 192–96, 203 Shudras 9, 15 Sierra Leone 122, 300 Sikhism 27–28 slavery 23, 103, 111, 118, 265, 281, 289, 297, 299–301, 320, 322, 326, 334, 340–41 South Africa 3, 135–38, 298 spiritualism 183 spirituality 1–5 Aboriginal 64–74 Akan 209–18 Brazilian 293–99 Cuban 273–80 Hawaaian 88–89 Shona 183–89 Sri Lanka 122 state socialism 13 substance abuse 207–8 suffering 33–37, 40, 100, 194, 293–95 suffering messiah 39, 44 suicide 56, 87 Suiheisha 35–38 Sydney 56 syncretism 1, 302, 304 systematic theology 4, 229–30

Tjinatjunanyi 58–63 Trickster 1 Trinidad 274 Trinity 259

taboo 219, 222, 235–36, 243–44 Tahiti 79 Tallensi 241 Tantric 17 Tanzania 222 Ten Commandments 29 Terra Nullius 54 terror 100–102

Yahweh 38 Yellamma 17 Yoruba 253–63

Uganda 221 Umbanda 302–304 underdevelopment 129, 274 underemployment 16 unemployment 16, 57, 87, 136, 195 United Church of Christ 84, 90 Uniting Aboriginal and Islander Christian Congress 56, 60 Uniting Church 56, 61 untouchability 10–11, 15 Uruguay 301 USA 53, 82, 131, 331 Uttar Pradesh 12 Vaishyas 9, 15 Venezuela 274 vernacular hermeneutics 125–26 victimization 34 Vietnam 273 violence 99–107, 160–79, 221–23, 279, 288–90, 295–97 War of Paraguay 301 West Bengal 12 Whiteness 117 widowhood 219–33 Womanism 120, 129, 307–12 World Bank (WB) 24, 282 World Council of Churches 169, 296 World Trade Organization (WTO) 24, 282 worship 331–45 xenophobia 299

Zambia 222, 227–28 Zimbabwe 3, 183, 185–86, 188, 190–96, 198, 200, 202 Zoroastrianism 27–28

Index of Names Acourt, N. 106 Amadiume, I. 242, 245 Ambedkar, B. R. 10–11, 13–14, 18–19 Amselle, J.-L. 114 Amu, E. 217 Anderson, J. 214 Annan, K. 145 Anzaldua, G. 110 Atiemo, A. 226 Back, L. 123–24, 131 Beckford, R. 102 Benn, C. 147 Berger, M. 155, 157 Biko, S. 225 Bolivar, N. 259 Bowie, F. 245–46 Bush, G. 153 Butegwa, F. 221–22 Butler, E. 341 Butler, J. 247 Castro, F. 275 Chong, I. K. 45 Cleveland, G. 83 Clifford, J. 129 Columbus, C. 264 Cone, J. 101 Connell, R. W. 234 Das, P. A. 13 DeSouza, N. 277 Dieterlen, G. 239 Dixon, E. 340 Douglas, K. B. 101 Douglas, M. 246–47 Dowsett, G. W. 234 Dube, M. W. 171 DuBois, W. E. B. 317, 322, 332, 334 Dumont, L. 16

Edwards, A. 341 Endo, S. 44 Eni, E. 226 Ferm, D. 230 Forrester, D. 280 Fortes, M. 239 Freire, P. 58 Ganusah, R. 220 Gelfand, M. 183, 185–87 Gerloff, R. 124 Gilroy, P. 118 Girard, R. 101 Green, E. C. 286 Gutierrez, G. 233 Ha, K. C. 41 Haight, R. 223, 225, 227 Hall, S. 114 Harris, C. 56 Henriques, R. 297–98 Hood, R. 98 hooks, b. 117, 155 Hunt, M. 146 Ifekwunigwe, J. O. 110, 127–28 Jules-Rosette, B. 189 Julius, C. 98 Jung, C. 329 Kabonde, M. 222 Kahlari, K. 189 Kamehameha 80 Kanneh, K. 116–19 Katz, R. 187 Kekuaokalani 81 Keopuolani 81 King, M. L. 310 Kissinger, H. 275

Index of Names Klein, R. 99 Knight, L. 106 Konig, A. 230 Lartey, E. 121–22, 125, 127 Lartey, J. 248 Lawrence, S. 105–6, 108 Liebman, S. 324 Lili’uokalani 81–83 MacPherson, W. 106 Maimela, S. 230 Manley, M. 275, 278–79 Maranhao, A. P. 297 Marcion 167–68 Marx, K. 276 Mbeki, T. 152–53 McKinley, W. 83 Mercer, K. 115 Mogae, F. G. 161 Mosoma, D. 136 Mugambi, J. 230 Namatjira, A. 69 Njambi, W. N. 245 Nussbaum, M. 201 Nwachuku, D. 224, 226, 228, 232 O’Brien, W. E. 245 Ogunyemi, C. O. 307–9 Omi, M. 320 Osorio, J. K. 85–86 Otto, R. 100 Parmar, P. 118 Patterson, P. J. 275 Phule, M. J. 12 Ramaswamy, P. 12 Regina, S. 257 Rhodes, S. 340 Rice, C. 275

379 Richard, P. 297 Richards, G. S. 98 Robb, C. S. 237 Rosella, M. 113 Ruether, R. 256 Safran, W. 129 Salete, M. 253 Sefa-Dede, A. 216–17 Sen, A. 201 Shamo, V. 228 Shenk, D. W. 124 Sherry, P. H. 84 Silva, N. K. 86 Simmel, G. 122 Smith, A. 318 Stevens, J. 82 Stoler, A. L. 112 Stutzman, E. R. 124 Sugirtharajah, R. S. 113, 118, 125 Thairu, K. 152 Theron, J. 230 Thurman, H. 323 Tillich, P. 277 Tolbert, M. A. 158 Trask, H.-K. 86 Umeh, A. 221, 224–25 Walker, A. 307–9 Walker, W. T. 333–34 Weinreich, S. 147 Westerlund, D. 249 Wiggins, D. C. 333–34 Winant, H. 320 Winthrop, J. 319 Young, R. 113 ºZi|zek, S. 247