Hate won,but love will have the final word: Critical pedagogy,liberation theology,and the moral imperative of resistance

Abstract

In the context of the recent presidential election in the United States, this article examines the place of critical pedagogy and liberation theology and its positionality in impacting the moral imperative of resisting a climate of hate and intolerance. Particularly drawing from the work of Peter McLaren, Gustavo Gutiérrez, Paulo Freire and others, the fundamental lens that drives this piece is one’s commitment to truth, one which brings together the various strands of critical pedagogy and thusly can be characterized as what McLaren calls a revolutionary critical pedagogy. Within that frame, McLaren argues that a revolutionary critical pedagogy must be open to turn to the spiritual in informing its praxis, providing a foundational base of active resistance.

Keywords

Critical pedagogy Freire liberation theology McLaren resistance

Hate must not have the first, last, or loudest word.

(Rev. Dr William J. Barber II)¹

And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.

(Corinthians 13:13)

Shortly after the results of the 2016 US presidential election were announced, Facebook—although notwithstanding every other media outlet—exploded worldwide, arguably unlike we have ever witnessed (particularly in the US) after an election. In fact, for those of us who were distraught and even in shock over the results, the media onslaught was so overwhelming I had to shut it down for a while to simply process my own sense of despair. Not so much because I was a Ms Clinton fan (though I much preferred her over Mr Trump), but rather because I was (and remain so), to put it mildly, so uncomfortable with Mr Trump that it still remains difficult for me to imagine him occupying the “people’s house.”² One passionate Facebook friend’s response to Mr Trump’s election pretty much expresses my sentiment on why:

Our President Elect openly admits that he gropes women without their consent; doesn’t pay contractors for their work; needs his lawyers to meet with him in pairs to prevent him from lying about their meetings; is a known misogynist and bigot who talks about women like they’re trash and worse about minorities and gays; hasn’t revealed critical information like his taxes or emails (because that’s voluntary)—no transparency; talks about his penis size during a debate on national television; brings a known white supremacist anti-Semite on as his ‘advisor;’ has more conflicts of interest than we could possibly list (even if we had all day); isn’t interested in security briefings (because ‘there are a lot of words and pages there’); instead gets briefed on the briefing like a toddler; just settled a 25 million dollar (down from 140,000,000) fraud settlement for a con job “university” scheme; runs a phony charity; sits on a golden throne; hires the ‘illegals’ he wants to deport; has taxpayers pick up his bankruptcy tab … doesn’t have a clue about executive power, but wants to expand it (what a great idea). As I’m typing I’m becoming painfully aware that I haven’t even scratched the surface of his dysfunction. How pathetic is that? There’s even more [for example, shamelessly mocking a New York Times Reporter Serge Kovaleski who has a disability called arthrogryposis]. So much more. We’ve seen that Trump does absolutely everything he can to get away with. As far as giving this cretin and his right-wing wrecking crew a ‘chance to lead’—I’m personally not interested. Before anyone that goes down the “snowflake” road, I understand how our elections work and I accept the results. That’s not my problem with all of this. What perplexes me is how anybody with the slightest touch of decency supported and continues to whitewash (no pun intended) this misogynistic, sexist, racist, bigoted, lying, cheating, malicious, cruel, hateful, bitter, venomous, hostile, rancorous, vindictive, vengeful, ignorant and just plain spiteful male. And he is a phony. The only thing honest and real about this guy is that he's a genuine narcissistic b.s. artist.³

And while the aforementioned succinctly captures an elemental truth, there was still one other Facebook post that seized my attention, encapsulating the above and perhaps any other Facebook (or otherwise) diatribe or denunciation. And that is this: hate won.

In multiple ways Mr Trump’s rhetoric disturbingly legitimized the fostering of intolerance in its various forms. When you have former Imperial Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan (KKK) and white nationalist, anti-Semitic Holocaust denier David Duke out front promoting the election of Mr Trump, then that ought to more than raise eyebrows.⁴ When you have White Nationalist Richard Spencer give a pre-election speech at a Washington, DC conference, “describing America as a ‘white country’ and proclaiming, ‘Hail Trump, hail our people, hail victory!’” and promptly greeted with “cheers and Nazi salutes,” then that should be more than a red flag.⁵

When Mr Trump appoints former Breitbart head Steve Bannon and his “genetic superiority” theory, along with his xenophobic and anti-Semitic rhetoric, as chief White House strategist and senior counselor to the president, I had to scratch my head on why there was not a unified collective national gasp.⁶ And finally,⁷ since the election, K-12 schools from around the country have reported a spike in bullying, intolerance, and the spewing of hate.⁸

Yet, after the election, on a visit (and meeting) to The New York Times, which is also on his favorites list to obsessively excoriate, Mr Trump does this odd schizophrenic-like about-face by saying, “… I have great respect for The New York Times. Tremendous respect. It’s very special. Always has been very special … I will say, The Times is, it’s a great, great American jewel. A world jewel. And I hope we can all get along well.”⁹ These remarks caught the righteous ire of Charles M. Blow, Times op-ed columnist and television political commentator, who in his headline response wrote “No, Trump, we can’t just get along.” Blow goes on to write in the piece, stating, in part:

You don’t get a pat on the back for ratcheting down from rabid after exploiting that very radicalism to your advantage. Unrepentant opportunism belies a staggering lack of character and caring that can’t simply be vanquished from memory. You did real harm to this country and many of its citizens, and I will never —never—forget that … I will say proudly and happily that I was not present at this meeting. The very idea of sitting across the table from a demagogue who preyed on racial, ethnic and religious hostilities and treating him with decorum and social grace fills me with disgust, to the point of overflowing … You are an aberration and abomination who is willing to do and say anything – no matter whom it aligns you with and whom it hurts – to satisfy your ambitions … I believe that the only thing you care about is self-aggrandizement and self-enrichment. Your strongest allegiance is to your own cupidity … No, Mr. Trump, we will not all just get along. For as long as a threat to the state is the head of state, all citizens of good faith and national fidelity – and certainly this columnist – have an absolute obligation to meet you and your agenda with resistance at every turn.¹⁰

I agree with Blow and believe that all of us of good faith and decency should collectively carry that torch of resistance. And, in particular, I believe that those of us who embrace critical pedagogy as a lens through which to approach our scholarship, teaching, and activism, that obligation is even more heightened during this moment in history. Fundamental to framing that lens is one’s commitment to truth, one which brings together the various strands of critical pedagogy and thusly can be characterized as what McLaren (2015) calls a revolutionary critical pedagogy.

McLaren further argues that a revolutionary critical pedagogy, too, must be open to turn to the spiritual in informing its praxis, more specifically drawing from liberation theology.¹¹ That is, the bringing in of biblical narratives, where “… Jesus Christ, himself, is at the [front] door …” (Monzó, 2015: 440) in order to inform being, thought, and action. This indeed is what not only largely shaped the Civil Rights Movement, but also suggests that the Kingdom of God lives among us with a message of hope, love, and justice.

In light of the election and the volatile political climate in which the US finds itself with its sharp turn to the right,¹² and in light of fostering a spirituality that suggests that the Kingdom of God is a very real presence, what are the implications for those of us who have and continue to work toward spreading that message of hope, love, and justice? Largely drawing from McLaren’s (2015) work, Pedagogy of Insurrection: From Resurrection to Revolution, it is this fundamental question which will be explored in this piece.

A cue from the spiritual whose time has come

While McLaren (2015) argues that there is a place that intersects critical pedagogy with the theological (more precisely liberation theology)¹³ or spiritual dimension whose time has come, his point, however, is not one that has as its aim to proselytize. Rather, with an ecumenical spirit, he contends that regardless of one’s faith, even for the agnostic and atheist, we are all in hunger for something deeper; that we are all in need of a spiritual connection that emanates from outside ourselves, which faithfully guides and leads us to not only personal transformation, but also to social transformation where needless suffering is purged, where hatred is expunged, and where justice and love reigns.

With respect to the latter and juxtaposed to the election, Joel Weir, a priest in the Orthodox Church in America Diocese of the Midwest, penned a compelling piece in The Washington Post titled, “Christians can vote for Trump. But they can’t do it in the name of Christianity.” ¹⁴ In that op-ed, Weir naturally argues that no one political party platform encompasses everything a Christian can embrace, forcing one as a voter to setting priorities on the issues. And while Weir argues that one can be a Christian and have voted for Mr Trump, he also suggests that supporting him in the name (author’s italicization) of Christianity is a different question. Making his point, Weir, in part, continues:

We’ve watched him insult women, demonize illegal immigrants and call for a ban on Muslims entering the country until the government ‘can figure out what is going on.’¹⁵ We have heard him describe himself as a ‘strong Christian’¹⁶ but also say¹⁷ he doesn’t ask for God’s forgiveness. We have watched him degrade and belittle those who disagree with him, not with substantive counter-argument, but with personal insults.¹⁸ We’ve seen campaign rallies in Louisville¹⁹ and Fayetteville,²⁰ where young black women have been verbally assaulted, and in some instances, worse, by grown white men. We have heard Trump say,²¹ of a protestor at another event, that “maybe he should have been roughed up.” He’s built part of his fortune on gambling (and on casino bankruptcies),²² strip clubs²³ and dubious enterprises like Trump University.²⁴ He’s condoned torture and suggested that one way to deal with terrorists would be to ‘take out their families.’²⁵ Trump claims he’ll “make America great again,” not with ideas, but on the premise that he ‘alone’²⁶ can unite and restore our country. His rhetoric has taken on, if you will, messianic proportions, yet he offers none of Christ’s humility.²⁷ Time and again, he has tapped into emotions and reactions that I, as a Christian, have been taught are the very worst of our broken human tendencies, and that we are called to repent of: fear, anxiety, tearing down the “other,” defensiveness, pride, vainglory and mockery. So when I hear Christian language married to this campaign, or the suggestion that he is the only candidate that reflects Christian values, I must question this.

Weir, as a Christian minister, in practical reality is only reiterating much of what my social activist friend narrated on her Facebook post, in addition to affirming much of what Charles M Blow wrote in his commentary. Indeed, whether it is a priest, a social activist blogger, or a New York Times op-ed writer, the common thread with all three is that Mr Trump’s campaign (and now it appears in the early stages of his presidency as well) is tapping into the worst of humankind, which is driven by hate, deceit, control, power, and a lack of interest for the common good where the community is cultivated in building up the human family in an effort to purge suffering, expunge hatred, and where justice and love reign.

The signs of the times demand it; if we ever needed to consider a spirituality dimension of filtering liberation theology in the context of critical pedagogy, or in this immediate case—a pedagogy of resistance—that time is now. McLaren (2015) aptly suggests that the central mission of Jesus is to “… proclaim release to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed …” (Luke 4:18–19), further reflecting on that mission by asserting:

How is it possible to follow the message of Christ when his dire warnings about economic inequality are ignored? If you accept Christ as your personal savior and support a system that creates inequality and injustice, then what does this say? This goes beyond whether you vote for a Democrat or a Republican. It is the heart of the struggle to be human. It does not mean that a socialist country is more Christian than a capitalist country, especially if that socialist country exercises a totalitarian grip on its population. While justice is more than economic, it remains the case that economic justice is fundamental to the Kingdom of God on earth. (p. 105).

For those who embrace Christian eschatological thought, entrance into the Kingdom of God is ultimately the saving event; but that is also to say, as McLaren (2015) argues, the Kingdom of God walks among us, working to set people free from oppressive forces of all sorts here on earth, including economic injustice.²⁸ In short, the entire thread that links the Hebrew Scriptures to the Christian Scriptures is about liberation.

While discussions about language, the deity of Christ and the humanity of Christ are wrapped in mystery and are multi-layered in nature, it is clear, however, that when Jesus walked among humanity in the flesh, he was a radical—and remains so to this day. And while He found himself in a Roman and Jewish world that in many ways conflated the social, cultural, religious, and political domains, Jesus was resolute in calling out injustice, challenging the establishment, working to set people free, preaching love, and inviting people to critically examine their individual lives.

Jesus did not identify himself with any specific political persuasion or economic ideology, and was not contained by institutional religion. Thusly, when he did speak about injustice, oppressive forces, and how we treat our brothers or sisters, He principally shared in terms of “good” and “evil,” ultimately proclaiming that the human condition is flawed by sin in need of a redeemer who makes humanity whole. In other words, as Gustavo Gutiérrez (1973, 1990), the “father” of liberation theology, reminds us, sin is the ultimate reason for oppression and injustice, impacting values, relationships, and policies.

Making a preferential option for the poor

I am reminded of the words of Archbishop Oscar Romero of San Salvador, one who personifies the meaning, intent, and action of liberation theology, inspirationally illuminated during the height of the social, political, and cultural unrest in El Salvador during the 1970s. Romero took what Richard Rohr (1987) calls the naked position of the gospel—that is, not pleasing to the political left or the political right. Romero’s position was one that fervently and persistently—simply, but profoundly—proclaimed truth in intensely calling out structural inequalities or what the liberation theologian would call “institutional sin.”

In other words, Romero was not about taking a said political position or inflaming politically charged party affiliations as a platform; rather, he was about the seeking of justice and God’s ultimate reality of peace and love. Romero (1979) puts it this way:

It’s amusing: This week I received accusations from both extremes–from the extreme right that I am a communist; from the extreme left, that I am joining the right. I am not with the right or with the left. I am trying to be faithful to the word that the Lord bids me preach, to the message that cannot change, which tells both sides the good they do and the injustices they commit. (p. 163)

In the final analysis, therefore, as McLaren (2015) argues, “Jesus is the prototypical rebel.” He further points out that doing God’s work is one that always bends its arc toward justice, one that necessarily is framed in making a “preferential option” for the poor.”²⁹ To clarify, God possesses a “preferential option for the poor,” not because they are necessarily better than others, but simply because they are poor and living in inhumane circumstances; it is in meaningful action toward our neighbor, particularly the poor, that solidarity is intensified and we come in contact with the Lord (Gutiérrez, 1987).

In providing further clarification, Brown (1993) asserts that the notion of preferential option for the poor does not imply “exclusive” option, as if God did not love wealthy people; that would not be biblical. There is, however, a tendency for some who are wealthy to be threatened by the notion of preferential option, seemingly placing them in a defensive posture. As Brown continues to elaborate, the poor, principally because of human greed, receive an unquestionable unfair portion of the world’s goods, arguing:

the fact that God does love all means that there must be food, shelter, jobs, and humane living conditions for all and not just for some...So for the sake of all, and not just for the sake of some, “a preferential option for the poor” provides a guideline for the kinds of change that are necessary to bring greater justice into an unjust world. (pp. 31–32)

It is in this guideline that the humanization of humanity becomes authentically crystalized, and to paraphrase Mr Trump’s presidential election campaign slogan, where America has an opportunity to demonstrate its greatness.

Consider Pope John Paul II, in four of his encyclicals, where he was continuous in the declaration “that respect for basic human rights, especially for the poorest, is the litmus test of justice for a society” (Miller, 1996: 2). Moreover, the pastoral letter of American Catholic Bishops titled Economic Justice for All (National Conference of Catholic Bishops, 1986) powerfully suggests that social and economic realities must be viewed from the perspective of the poor and powerless simply because it is a response to the biblical imperative to “love thy neighbor as thyself.” The document goes on to assert that making a fundamental “option for the poor,” is not only a call to consider the common good, but also to safeguard that the poor and marginalized are enabled in becoming active subjects in the civil society. Deprivation and powerlessness of those living in the shadows ultimately wounds the entire community.

Finally, it is worth underscoring that the thrust of Pope Francis’ ministry is one that seeks a poor Church that possesses a heart for the poor, which is clearly making its mark on his pontificate. It is, therefore, no great coincidence that only a few months after he shouldered the papacy, Pope Francis invited Gustavo Gutiérrez to Rome, holding private conversations and concelebrating Mass (Cox, 2013). Indeed, in the 266th Pontiff, Gutiérrez sees a Church with a “change in atmosphere” (San Martín, 2015: para. 2).³⁰

That change of atmosphere indeed caught the attention of Ana Maria (Nita) Araújo Freire. The widow of Paulo Freire, Nita requested a visit with Pope Francis, and he graciously obliged, receiving her at the Vatican in April 2015. Discussing Freire’s work, which Francis has read, Nita not only sees Freire’s writings as “more relevant today than 20 years ago,” but also saw in Pope Francis one who is creating “a new face of the church” that has the plight of the poor in the forefront of his ministry (Ieraci, 2015).

The moral imperative of resistance

To that end, as we collectively consider the trajectory in which the US appears to be headed and as we reflect on our individual lives—whether one is a critical pedagogue, a person of faith or not, or simply one of goodwill—what is the moral imperative here in light of a toxic political environment that celebrates a love affair with firearms and is wreaked with hate, division, walls, and separation as opposed to one that seeks social transformation where needless suffering is purged, where hatred is expunged, and where economic justice and love reigns?

To be sure, to firstly respond to the question, as McLaren (2015) puts it, “The fruits of our labor should be the creation of Kingdom of God, and not the Trump Towers!” (p. 112). And the moral imperative toward that end is to resist, as Charles M Blow suggests. Of course, there is precedent here. That is, while the notion of critical pedagogy is still in its early stages (McLaren, 2015), the consciousness of it as a way of thinking and acting has been around through the ages (Kirylo, 2013).

When we look back in time where oppressive powers of any kind were at work, human beings have resisted. For example, we could explore the Exodus story, which is one of a people resisting the dominant group; or if we research the life of Bartolomé de Las Casas, who in the mid-1500s was a powerful voice for the rights of indigenous populations during the barbaric invasion of the conquistadors and colonial Christendom in Latin America; or if we study Fredrick Douglass, who in the 1800s escaped from slavery, which enabled him—through his perceptive intelligence, inspirational oratory skills, and commitment to equality—to devote his life’s work toward eradicating slavery, the oppression of women, and injustice of any kind; or if we consider the work of Erich Fromm who, during much of the 20th century, blended his thought through the prism of spirituality, psychology, education, and social theory to challenge demagoguery and to promote the possibilities of hope and authentic human freedom; or if we pay close attention to one of the founders of feminist thought, Susan B Anthony, who was an influential leader during the 19th century in promoting the rights of women, powerfully advocating for equality and justice in the midst of patriarchal structures; or if we reflect on the work of Harvey Milk, one of the first openly gay elected public officials in the US, who, despite a constant barrage of death threats, worked tirelessly in sponsoring anti-discrimination bills during the 1970s—we will see that human beings have remained resilient in pushing back on forces that worked to dehumanize humanity.

And whether those dehumanizing forces perpetuated slavery, racism, patriarchy, bigotry, any number of oppressive, exploitive and unjust practices and ultimately hate, groups of people responded and courageous leaders emerged with bold voices with what Freire (2005) refers to as a proclamation of denouncing injustice while simultaneously announcing for a more just world. And the denunciation of injustice should be framed within what he calls an “armed love” (p. 74).³¹

This “armed love” is one that not only works to make a preferential option for the poor, but also when it comes to economic, social, and educational policies, these policies must be thoughtfully examined as to whom they favor (or not), guided by the following questions: In favor of whom? In favor of what? Against what? Against whom? (Freire, 2011).

Moreover, this armed love possesses a deep understanding of the dialectical interweaving of reflection and action in the light of faith. This transformative activity leads individuals from a life of self-centeredness to a life of serving others (Gutiérrez, 1990). This armed loved works to see one as a subject of history (as opposed to object), suggesting that one works to deepen their awareness of their existential realities, providing for them a greater understanding as to how to change and transform those realities (Freire, 1985).

To be sure, the operative concept that links critical pedagogy and liberation theology is love, a type of love that transcends, lives in hope, acts in hope, and walks among us. It is a type of love that denounces division, intolerance, and hate; and, it is a type of love that announces collaboration, construction, the building up of bridges that works to connect the human family in meaningful transformative ways.

Walking in a vision of hope

What has been laid out here perhaps may be off-putting to some; perhaps embraced by others; and still others who may claim this is utopian thinking that does not get us anywhere. Particularly with respect to the latter, I am reminded of Paulo Freire who remained unwavering in his life’s work toward cultivating the betterment of humanity where ultimately oppression would cease and a culture of silence would no longer exist.

Influenced by the optimism of Emmanuel Mounier, who emphasized making visible in practice the spiritual nature of God in humanizing humanity, Freire understood the importance of a vision (Kirylo, 2011). No doubt, he was familiar with the Hebrew text “Without a vision, the people perish” (Proverbs 29:18); but for Freire (1998), he paraphrases it differently by stating, “Without a vision for tomorrow, hope is impossible” (p. 45).

Freire’s prophetic vision of hope saw a more just world, a more democratic society, a place that would celebrate differences, and a people who would live among each other in respect, love, and freedom. In short, he was driven by a vision of the world that was utopian. For Freire, however, the notion of utopia was not some “idealistic dream spun out of a mind ideologically enamored” (Goulet, 1973: xiii), but, rather, one with a very real possibility (Freire, 1996), and more to the point, one that is a “fundamental necessity for human beings” (Freire, 2007: 25).

Freire is on point, and pivotal in moving toward that vision—particularly during these most challenging times—which is to resist hate and to make every effort to ensure that love has the final word.

Footnotes

Declaration of conflicting interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Notes

James D Kirylo is an associate professor of Education at the University of South Carolina. Kirylo's books include, among others, Paulo Freire: The Man from Recife (Peter Lang, 2011), A Critical Pedagogy of Resistance: 34 Pedagogues We Need to Know (Sense, 2013), and Teaching with Purpose: An Inquiry into the Who, Why, and How We Teach (Rowman & Littlefield, 2016).

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