On Saturday 8 million people marched and protested this incompetent, corrupt, and horrible administration. The trump presidency really is the worst. He has outdone his first time around and that was easily the worst administration in history and the corruption this time is off the charts. So, as a result, people are taking to the streets. And it is beautiful to see. The pictures from Saturday are so uplifting and fun. I always love seeing the signs. My favorite this time, though I have seen it before, was “If Kamala was President, we’d be at brunch.”
I think one question I always wrestle with following these mass marches is this: how do we protest when we are not surrounded by 8 million people all holding signs?
I have reflected on this question for years, as have others. The truth is that when we only protest in response to the injustices in the world when there are mass marches like the one on Saturday, then we can easily fall into complacency with an unjust status quo. And complacency is exactly where the forces of darkness want us to live. We can’t wait for someone to organize a rally to live lives that oppose the powers that crush and oppress the most vulnerable in our communities. We have to live a life of protest.
How to live lives of protest is a question about how we live out our liberation. Liberation begins to happen when both the affluent and the poor enter into relationships where hospitality, mercy, and justice are experienced. “The pursuit of full humanity . . . cannot be carried out in isolation . . . but only in fellowship and solidarity . . . no one can be authentically human while [they] prevent others from being so” (Freire 1999:66).
One of my favorite writers, Albert Memmi, advises the affluent who wish to live lives of protest and he tells them to, “take one more step, [and] complete [their] revolt to the full . . . let [them] adopt the colonized people and be adopted by them; let [them] become a turncoat” to other people of affluence (1965:22). In repenting of the exploitation so often associated with affluence, the liberated affluent previously detached from those who suffer now becomes authentically related with those who suffer, while becoming detached from prior positions of safety and isolation. The affluent enter into solidarity with the suffering as they are made aware that the pain of the poor is directly a result of the actions of the affluent. The action of repenting from complicity to exploitation is often most visibly expressed through solidarity, or sharing in the experience of social marginalization that so many marginalized people feel daily.
The penitent affluent are strangers in a strange land, resident aliens, identifying with others who are uprooted and embarked on a journey to an unknown land (Hauerwas and Willimon 1989; Clapp 1996). This status of resident alien also offers the potential for new relationships for when solidarity is present, “it turns the unloved into people who are beloved, the repressed into interesting partners, and disagreeable enemies into the loveliest of friends . . . the solidarity of creative love heals the wounds of a segregated society” (Moltmann 1983:112).
Living a life of protest, in other words, has less to do with holding signs and so much more to do with entering into authentic, egalitarian, and reciprocal relationships with those whom society has cast aside.
This kind of life is rooted in Scripture. Paul instructs the Corinthians to save a portion of what they have earned at the beginning of each week for the collection for the suffering (1 Corinthians 16:1-2). Paul wants giving to be a regular part of their lives. Further, giving the first portions of their earnings to the suffering is reminiscent of the Old Testament commands for God’s people to give the poor their first offerings. For Paul, as well as for Jesus in Matthew 25:3-46, giving to the poor is equivalent to giving to God.
One important aspect of living lives of protest is advocacy. Jeremiah speaks of advocacy as he admonishes Jehoiakim, the son of Josiah, for his lavish lifestyle and neglect of the poor. Jeremiah challenges him with the example of his father who, “‘pled the cause of the afflicted and needy. Then it was well. Is that not what it means to know me?’ declares the Lord” (Jeremiah 22:17). Jeremiah reminds Jehoiakim that positions of power are not to be used for personal advance but for the purpose of advocating for those without adequate resources. Intimacy with God is linked to advocacy. One subtle message in this passage is that faithfulness for the affluent and powerful is not dependent on forfeiting their positions of power, but rather through using them to serve others, especially those who suffer. How we use power is the measure of who we are.
One important lesson from this brief look at Scripture is that theological reflection cannot be an escape from a world in which the affluent and the poor live in such polarization, but rather, must be a springboard into transformative action. Jesus’ times of solitary prayer are not separate from, but an integral part of healing for the suffering. Robert McAfee Brown contends that, “it is not enough to read books about poverty; commitment means encountering poor people…and making common cause with persons, who are being destroyed by those root causes, and seeking for legislative . . . ways to dispose of those causes” (1993:56).
Lastly, I will add this. Christian action within the political realm means confronting corruption among politicians, the military elite, and businessmen, much like the Old Testament prophets. It also means seeking long-term democratic structures that will enable the poor to have a voice and avoid victimization (Grigg 1992:279). There are numerous examples throughout history where the church engaged in political advocacy to bring about social transformation. While Christianity often serves to legitimize an oppressive status quo, Christianity has also historically been a force to “challenge and overturn social, political, and economic systems. Religion can help to keep everything in its place. But it can also turn the world upside-down” (Smith 1996:1, italics his).
Living a life of protest is another way of simply saying we must live lives that keep us in authentic relationships with those who are suffering from an unjust status quo.
