Tag Archives: Pax Christi Anti-Racism Team

by Tom Cordaro
Pax Christi USA Ambassador of Peace

The entire series is now available as a free downloadable PDF designed and formatted for small group discussion. Click here to download the free PDF version of the entire series.

The following is the final installment of an article written by Tom Cordaro, a member of the Pax Christi Anti-Racism Team and a Pax Christi USA Ambassador of Peace. Reflection questions have been designed for small group discussion by the Pax Christi Anti-Racism Team. 

It is important that you read the earlier parts before reading this one:

• Part One can be found by clicking here.
• Part Two can be found by clicking here.
• Part Three can be found by clicking here.
• Part Four can be found by clicking here.

We’re interested in hearing your responses to Tom’s article. Please consider posting comments on the website in the comments area after each section of the article or joining in the conversation on Facebook or Twitter. Additionally, Tom welcomes direct feedback and can be reached at cordarotom@gmail.com. 

PART FIVE: Solidarity Without Giving Up Control, Conclusion

Sometimes white folks can give the appearance of following the lead of communities of color while still remaining in control. One way this can be done is by selectively working with communities that are not in a position to hold us accountable. One of the biggest ironies in the U.S. white peace movement over the past 30 years is that often more time and resources were spent building relationships of solidarity with communities of color in the Third World than were invested in fostering solidarity with communities of color in the cities where we live.

In some ways the distance provided by these Third World solidarity campaigns allowed white activists to stay in control of their level of accountability, commitment and most importantly to stay in control of the shaping of the agenda for the solidarity work once they returned home. Could it be that one reason why white peace activists preferred Third World communities of color is that many of these communities were so grateful for the attention and concern from white American activists, that they were careful not to challenge their white allies too much?

De La Torre also points out that there is a strong temptation, common among white peace activists, of confusing the Latin American social location with the U.S. Latino/a social location. This can lead some Latin American solidarity activists to conflate the experiences of Latin American communities with the experiences of the various Latina/o communities inside the United States. As De La Torre points out, “To look to Latin America to be the voice of U.S. Hispanics is to contribute to the continuing invisibility of the latter.”^[i]

The safety of distance and the assumption of good intentions afforded to white activists who participate in solidarity campaigns with Third World communities of color may be difficult to duplicate when white activists move into accountable relationships with communities of color where they live. In many of these communities, there is a long history of well-intentioned white folks who say they will stay in the struggle but in fact were only passing through. Part of white privilege and entitlement is having the option of taking up the cause of oppressed communities when it is in our interest (or for as long as we are interested) and then move on to something else when it is not. People of color do not have this luxury. White folks can walk away from the struggle, people of color cannot. Because of this there is a lot of distrust to overcome and good intentions will not always be assumed. And for those oppressed and marginalized communities living on the wrong side of our hometowns, it is much easier to see how the institutions and systems that oppress them also afford privileges and entitlements to their white liberal peace movement neighbors. (For instance, can they travel to the neighborhoods where their white allies live without being stopped by the local police?)

Building accountable relationships with communities of color can deepen and challenge the way we think about nonviolence. But the fruitfulness of these relationships will, to a great extent, depend on whether they will be based on more than a common political agenda and whether they can move beyond a provider-client power dynamic. If our relationships with communities of color are driven solely by an agenda of issues or by a desire to serve “the less fortunate,” it will become easier to shield ourselves from any challenges to our abstract concepts and absolute moral principles regarding nonviolence.

Indigenous Australian artist and activist Lila Watson advises, “If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time; but if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.”^[ii] As an alternative to an issues-driven relationship with communities of color, De La Torre writes about an ethics of lo cotidiano, which can be understood as the everyday–the daily relationships that become the basis of social relationships. As he points out, “The trials and tribulations of Hispanics struggling for their humanity and dignity become the starting point for any type of indigenous Latino/a ethical framework. … Ethics for Hispanics can be done only with one’s feet firmly planted on the concrete sidewalks of the barrios.”^[iii]

Genuine solidarity built on accountable relationships with communities of color is not only the morally right thing to do. It is also critical to the white peace movement’s ability to read the signs of the times–to understand our world and where God is at work within it. As Ched Myers reminds us in his book, Who Will Roll Away the Stone? Discipleship Queries for First World Christians^[iv], if the Gospel teaches us anything, it teaches that the truth of things is better perceived from the margins of power, not at the center. For white middle class liberal peace activists who reside at the center of privilege and power in the American Empire, it is almost impossible to see the truth of things on our own. Not only is it difficult to see the truth of things, it is also difficult to shape a nonviolent revolutionary struggle to dismantle this system of power and privilege on our own. As De La Torre makes clear, “An ethics that upsets the prevailing social order designed to maintain empire is an ethics that can arise only from the margins of society, from those who are disillusioned and frustrated with normative Eurocentric values and virtues.”^[v]

Conclusion

It is my hope that this reflection will serve as a useful contribution to the exploration of the ways white power and privilege influence the way the predominantly white faith-based peace movement prays, studies and acts on the call to nonviolence. Some may think my observations are over-stated or lack the proper nuance. Others might identify additional ways white power and privilege are exercised in the theology and practice of nonviolence. Still others might discount all or part of my analysis. All of these responses are welcomed and encouraged. Most importantly, the wisdom and experience of other people of color – particularly from the African-American, Asian-American, Native American and other communities of color, as well as from women of all races, are needed in order to produce a more complete and fruitful analysis of these issues.

To my white brothers and sisters:

For some of you, my words might seem harsh and judgmental. If so, please forgive me. It is not my intent to judge anyone; instead I am completely committed to do whatever I can to make the faith-based peace and justice movement more than any of us can imagine. In order to move from the center of power and privilege to the margins, I am convinced that there is much that will need to die in our theology and praxis of nonviolence in order to make room for what is waiting to be born. This will take a great deal of courage but I believe that most white peacemakers are ready to make the journey.

Some of you might find my use of the adjective “white” in describing the peace movement and the theology and praxis of nonviolence as grating on your sensibilities. For some this may be the first time you have ever encountered terms like “white peace movement,”  “white activists,” or “white nonviolence.” Some of you may feel frustrated, “Can’t we get beyond race? After all, aren’t we all after the same thing?” It might be tempting to take a non-racial approach to nonviolence, but for white people who often are unaware of the way white power and privilege limits our ability to see the truth of things, it is urgent that we embrace new identities by becoming anti-racist nonviolent peacemakers. It is critical that we break free of the delusion that our way of thinking, praying and acting for nonviolent change is normative. Without this fundamental understanding, we may see little value in what people of color can teach us about peacemaking and we may be unable to fully benefit from their unique wisdom and experience about the nonviolent struggle for justice and peace.

A reflection of the type I have offered is, by necessity, based on generalizations. This means that the observations I make are not true for every white person. The important thing is to identify those things that elicit the strongest reactions in you; these are the areas that will be most fruitful for you to think and pray about individually and collectively.  But if you find that none of these observations applies to you, please let the rest of us know how you have been able to overcome the obstacles of white power and privilege in your theology and practice of nonviolence. You may have much to teach us.

To my brothers and sisters of color:

In my ten years as a member of the Pax Christi USA Anti-Racism Team^[vi] and through the many relationships I have forged through my involvement with Crossroads Anti-Racism Organizing & Training,^[vii]  I have benefited tremendously from the patient, confrontational, loving support of sisters and brothers of color who have opened my eyes, my heart and my mind to the ways that white power and privilege have hindered my work for peace with justice. I am eternally grateful for their willingness to work with me and teach me, even when, time after time, I continue to fall back into my old ways of thinking and doing peace work. I am often amazed they don’t just walk away and conclude that I am a hopeless cause.

There are a thousand legitimate reasons why people of color, who tirelessly struggle for justice and an end to violence, would have little interest in engaging in this effort to understand how white power and privilege in the faith-based peace movement gets expressed in the theology and practice of nonviolence. This is not a line of inquiry that will win you praise or support in much of the white peace movement. Why alienate potential allies by going to a place that is charged with so much emotion and that is so much a part of white peace movement identity? A cost-benefit analysis might lead you to believe that opening this Pandora’s Box is not worth the cost and, to be perfectly honest, you might be right.

But for those who are willing to take up this challenge, the potential pay-off could be enormous. If we could fulfill the vision of Dr. King to create a unified movement to end militarism, racism and poverty (and if King were alive today he might add environmental destruction), we could effectively challenge the power of the corporate elites and their handmaidens in government, the media and on Wall Street. It is clear that working separately in our own narrowly defined areas of concern will not get us to the Promised Land. Moving out of our designated political space comes with risks but it was a risk that Dr. King was willing to take when he opposed the war in Vietnam (some civil rights leaders felt that the anti-war and civil rights movements should be kept separate) and when he began organizing the Poor People’s Campaign before he was murdered (some civil rights supporters wanted to limit the struggle to political rights and not talk about the concept of economic rights).

And finally, to my Catholic sisters and brothers of color who have struggled for justice, dignity and an end to violence, I want to offer my sincere apologies for the many ways I discounted your work by declaring that your struggle for the sake of the gospel was really not a part of the Catholic peace movement; that because your focus and methods didn’t conform to my understanding of what it means to do peace work, you were not a part of the peace movement. Looking back now on what I used to say (“People of color are too busy with their own issues to work on peace”) and how I used to think (“Only people like us, who have the economic security to move beyond the daily struggle for survival, can do the work of international peacemaking and opposing U.S. military interventions”), I confess to an appalling sense of arrogance and presumption.

And it is in this spirit that I urge you to think of Pax Christi USA as an organization that belongs as much to you as it does to any white Catholic peace activist. Pax Christi USA claims a national Catholic identity and any Catholic who can embrace our statement of purpose is entitled to not only become a member but to form their own local groups and work on issues of justice and peace that are important to their local community. You don’t have to ask for permission to become a registered member; you don’t need to be approved or even welcomed. As you know from your own tireless efforts to make the Catholic Church in the United States more accountable to people of color, your involvement with Pax Christi will not be easy. But this Catholic movement for peace with justice is your birthright as a baptized Catholic; claim it as your own, make it your own and know that there are white allies in Pax Christi who stand ready to walk with you and to learn from you.

REFLECTION QUESTIONS FOR PART FIVE

1. Do you agree that it is often easier to do solidarity work with poor communities of color in other countries than it is to do solidarity work with poor communities of color where we live? Why or why not? How much of your resources (time and money) is spent on advocacy and solidarity with communities of color in foreign countries versus your resource commitment to communities of color where you live? What does your resource commitment say about your understanding of solidarity and the option for the poor?

2. What do you think of the author’s assertion that “For white middle class liberal peace activists who reside at the center of privilege and power in the American Empire, it is almost impossible to see the truth of things on our own. Not only is it difficult to see the truth of things, it is also difficult to shape a nonviolent revolutionary struggle to dismantle this system of power and privilege on our own.”

3. In the author’s concluding words “To my white brothers and sisters,” and “To my brothers and sisters of color” what do you find most challenging?

by Tom Cordaro
Pax Christi USA Ambassador of Peace

The following is part four of an article written by Tom Cordaro, a member of the Pax Christi Anti-Racism Team and a Pax Christi USA Ambassador of Peace. Reflection questions have been designed for small group discussion by the Pax Christi Anti-Racism Team. 

It is important that you read the earlier parts before reading this one:

• Part One can be found by clicking here.
• Part Two can be found by clicking here.
• Part Three can be found by clicking here.

We’re interested in hearing your responses to Tom’s article. Please consider posting comments on the website in the comments area after each section of the article or joining in the conversation on Facebook or Twitter. Additionally, Tom welcomes direct feedback and can be reached at cordarotom@gmail.com. 

PART FOUR: Nonviolent Civil Disobedience
and the Theology of Unaccountability

Probably one of the most unacknowledged forms of power and privilege in white faith-based peace and justice groups like Pax Christi is the perpetuation of a theology of unaccountability under the guise of being “faithful.” Far too often we use one-liners like, “We are called to be faithful not effective,” as a mechanism to excuse ourselves from being accountable for what we do.

There is an important truth in the idea that faithfulness to the gospel should not be measured by the dominant culture’s idea of “success.” It is also true that in justice work we do not often see any immediate positive results from our work. However, far too often white liberal peace activists use this simple truth to shield themselves from having to take responsibility for the consequences of their actions. It is a way of acting in the world that makes it easy to cultivate spiritual individualism (I decide/my group decides what it means to be faithful) and autonomy (I act/my group acts out of my/our personal call from God) over the needs of those who suffer the violence we oppose and without accountability to those for whom we seek to speak and act. It is a form of being in control while feigning a commitment to following God’s call. It is a luxury afforded to those who want to be taken seriously as a follower of the nonviolent Jesus without having to answer to anyone.

This is especially a problem in relationship to the practice of nonviolent civil disobedience in the white peace movement. Although few would openly admit it, there is a hierarchy of authenticity and commitment in the white peace movement that is based on one’s arrest record and time served on behalf of peace with justice. These resumes of courage separate those who are serious about peace from those who are just spectators, second stringers and/or members of the chorus.  And this makes perfect sense within a culture of white power and privilege that prizes the heroic action of the individual over the more mundane work of community.

It is not true that every white person who engages in nonviolent civil disobedience is seeking glory or individual recognition; in fact most do not. It is more likely that the reinforcement of this hierarchy of authenticity is driven by those who admire and raise up these heroic individuals for recognition and adulation. For a white community that has little or no direct experience of oppression or violence, the witness of fellow members putting themselves at risk of arrest, police abuse and prison would seem to demonstrate the highest forms of solidarity with the poor and oppressed.

But of course, in most circumstances, the experience of white middle class peace activists in the criminal justice system is not the same as the experience of people of color who encounter this same system. I have spent less than 3 months total time in jails and prisons for my own nonviolent civil disobedience, but I can say that in each and every experience my white power and privilege gave me protection, benefits and special treatment in the criminal justice system that were not available to my brothers and sisters of color.

Because of this special treatment by the criminal justice system and because most white peace activists engage in nonviolent civil disobedience to make injustice visible and to demonstrate their solidarity with the victims of injustice, their nonviolent tactics may differ from people of color.  As De La Torre explains, “Because Hispanics realize that direct challenges to existing social structures (although necessary at times) will usually lead to violence against them, if not their demise, they employ forms of deceptive and cunning resistance, whereby their chances of success could be improved.”

These forms of deception and cunning might include seeking to avoid arrest for their civil resistance. White nonviolent activists want to get arrested in order to use the court system (and accompanying press coverage) to shed more light on the injustice they oppose. People of color are much more interested in continuing the struggle of resistance (live to fight another day) because they know the court system is stacked against them and no one in the media will care about another person of color going to jail. White nonviolent activists are often content with making a symbolic statement with their nonviolent civil disobedience. People of color often engage in nonviolent direct action as part of a wider struggle to protect the rights and human dignity of their communities. Effectiveness is optional for the white nonviolent resister, but it is crucial for the survival of the nonviolent resister of color and their community.

Can the white peace movement make allowances for nonviolent acts of resistance that are “deceptive and cunning” towards the institutions and systems of oppression? De La Torre talks about the importance of civil initiative as opposed to civil disobedience. Civil initiative is the legal right and moral responsibility to protect the community from violations of human rights by the government or institutions protected by the government. It is grounded in an ethics of communal liberation. As De La Torre writes, “Euroamericans enjoy the privilege of driving to a march. To get arrested for some movement earns them a badge of honor. But for disenfranchised communities, arrest is a frequent risk of living as a person of color. There is no need to go out and seek direct confrontation with the authorities just for the sake of seeking confrontation, to prove how liberal we are. Confrontation is the possible consequence of engaging in liberative ethics, but we do not seek it. Why? Because confrontation takes the focus and resources away from the disenfranchised and places them with those seeking to prove their activism.”

If the primary focus and goal of nonviolent civil initiative is the liberation of oppressed communities, then the crucial test of authenticity for those engaged in nonviolent direct action (including civil disobedience) is whether they are accountable to the oppressed communities with whom they seek to be in solidarity. In my own experiences of discerning, planning and participating in nonviolent civil disobedience, I confess that I made little effort to be accountable to any community outside of my own collective of co-conspirators. In almost every circumstance the entire process was a matter of individual choice.

How can we insure that our nonviolent actions are genuinely focused on the liberation of oppressed communities and not just a reflection of our individualistic culture or a manifestation of liberal white power and privilege? Is it enough to simply ask for the approval of the folks who visit our soup kitchens or who stay at our shelters and houses of hospitality? (Can people over whom we have such power really feel free to be honest with us?) Have we established the kind of honest and open relationships with the leaders of oppressed, marginalized and disenfranchised communities where we live to be truly accountable to them? When we do seek input from these community leaders do we genuinely invite them to participate in our discernment process or do we just seek their blessing?

[Part Five, "Solidarity Without Giving Up Control, Conclusion," will be posted on Monday, August 13.]

REFLECTION QUESTIONS FOR PART FOUR

1. Make a list of individuals your peace and justice work is meant to help (i.e.  Name a person on death row you hope to save by your efforts to end the death penalty; name an Afghan child, family or village that motivates your work to end the war in Afghanistan , etc.) How might these individuals respond if you were to tell them that it is more important for you to be faithful than to be effective?

2. How can we make sure that our nonviolent direct action for the sake of peace with justice is directly tied to the liberation of oppression communities where we live? Why is this so important?

by Tom Cordaro
Pax Christi USA Ambassador of Peace

The following is part three of an article written by Tom Cordaro, a member of the Pax Christi Anti-Racism Team and a Pax Christi USA Ambassador of Peace. This article has been broken into five distinct sections and will be serialized weekly during July and August. Reflection questions have been designed for small group discussion by the Pax Christi Anti-Racism Team. Local group leaders might want to consider using the article for reflection and study as part of their regular meeting. Regional leaders may want to incorporate the article into their newsletters, for discussion at a regional event, or for commenting over regional email lists and blogs/websites.

It is important that you read the earlier parts before reading this one:

• Part One can be found by clicking here.
• Part Two can be found by clicking here.

We’re interested in hearing your responses to Tom’s article. Please consider posting comments on the website in the comments area after each section of the article or joining in the conversation on Facebook or Twitter. Additionally, Tom welcomes direct feedback and can be reached at cordarotom@gmail.com. 

PART THREE: Nonviolence and the Language of Disempowerment

This internalized spirituality expounded by white middle class peacemakers often gets expressed in the language of relinquishment; giving up or abandoning a position of advantage or power. This is an important virtue for those who are the beneficiaries of social, political and economic power and privilege, but very problematic for those who are marginalized, oppressed and disenfranchised.

If we look at the language used in the Pax Christi USA Vow of Nonviolence, the first thing we notice is that it is written for individuals acting apart from any community. There is no commitment or vow to be engaged in nonviolence as a community nor are there any promises to be accountable to any community. This is one characteristic of white power and privilege: white people do not have to be accountable to community in order to thrive; alternately people of color have to be accountable to their community in order to survive.

The other thing we notice about the language of this vow is the emphasis on being nonconfrontational. The vow talks about “striving for peace within myself,” “accepting suffering rather than inflicting it,” “refusing to retaliate” and “persevering in nonviolent tongue and heart.” Even though the vow includes “actively resisting evil” the focus is first “from my own heart” and vaguely “from the face of the earth.”

Many oppressed people and people of color embrace nonviolent struggle as a means of empowerment, not simply as a palliative to ease their internal moral struggles or to avoid conflict. For a people suffering racism, sexism and oppression of every kind, there is little appetite for “accepting suffering.” For those who are marginalized and silenced by the institutions of power and privilege, the call of a predominantly white organization to persevere in nonviolent tongue and heart can easily be interpreted as a call to keep quiet and don’t make waves. And a white peace movement’s call to refuse to retaliate in the face of provocation can be interpreted by those who face discrimination every day of their lives as a call to stay in their place.

For people who are already marginalized and oppressed, this language of disempowerment and individualism is not often received as good news. And when it comes from a white organization that speaks and acts without acknowledging its own position of power and privilege and can choose when to suffer indignity and when it will not, it can easily be interpreted as just another tool of control. It is hard to imagine that a vow like this would become widely used in communities of color who are actively engaged in the struggle for peace with justice.

What if, instead of a “Vow of Nonviolence,” Pax Christi propagated a “Vow of Nonviolent Struggle for Peace with Justice”? What if the vow called on people to first commit themselves to nonviolently struggle for justice as members of a community that is accountable to the poor and oppressed–starting where they live? What if instead of vowing to accept suffering we vowed to nonviolently resist all violence and oppression even at personal cost? What if instead of refusing to retaliate in the face of provocation we vowed to speak and act nonviolently in defense of the powerless in the face of any and all provocation? What if instead of vowing to strive for peace within ourselves, we vowed to never become complacent in the face of injustice, that we pledge to always acknowledge and repent of our own complicity in injustice, that we always keep our hearts open to the suffering of others, and that we always be ready to comfort the afflicted and nonviolently afflict the comfortable?

The truth is that as white, middle class, well-educated Americans, most Pax Christi members have little “skin” in the game. This makes most of our peace work an optional extra-curricular activity.  At anytime we choose, we can opt out of the struggle and retreat to the comforts afforded us because of our social location. For the poor, the truly marginalized and for people of color, the struggle for justice and peace is not an optional activity–it is critical to their survival.

De La Torre talks about how important the concept of struggle, la lucha, is for the Latina/o Community. La lucha for survival not only describes their social location, “it also provides the means by which Latina/os develop their world view, learn to maneuver among the consequences of ethnic discrimination and begin to construct a more liberative understanding of themselves. … la lucha becomes a struggle toward a revolutionary restructuring of how power is presently distributed and how knowledge is constructed.”

Can the nonviolence articulated by Pax Christi ever be attractive to the Latina/o community if it is not expressed in the language of struggle, survival and liberation in the context of community? Again, De La Torre argues, “It is crucial to note that la lucha for survival is not an individual quest. … Contrary to the salient individualistic motif among Euroamericans, Hispanic religious thought attempts to be communal.”

Along with the calls to accept suffering, not to retaliate with violence and to live more simply, the popular Pax Christi prayer card, Disarm the Heart, Disarm the Nations, asks God to “Disarm my heart and I shall be your instrument to disarm other hearts.” But if the primary source of violence for Pax Christi members and others is in their hearts, how can liberation be anything other than freedom from personal sin? De La Torre insists that Christ as liberator moves the Latina/o community beyond the narrow constructs of liberation from personal sin. “The Christ of Hispanics is just as concerned with the sins of the entire community, specifically of those within the dominant culture, whose sins wreak chaos and havoc upon the lives of those forced to reside on the margins.”

As part of this dominant culture, Pax Christi’s call for disarming the heart may not be embraced by communities of color unless it is explicitly tied to a commitment to be in accountable relationships with marginalized and oppressed communities struggling for survival, dignity, justice and liberation. Accountable relationships are distinct from many of the coalitions and collaborations between white progressive organizations and organizations of color. Sometimes in mixed-race coalitions and collaborations, people of color are treated as junior partners or window-dressing while the real power and decision-making remains in the hands of the white folks.

Accountable relationships, on the other hand, signify a different kind of dynamic. More than just treating people of color as equals in our work, being in accountable relationships means that, because of the persistent legacy of white supremacy and privilege in our culture (even in our white peace movement culture), we create mechanisms that allow people of color to exercise a preferential option in our decision-making process.

[Part Four, "Nonviolent Civil Disobedience and the Theology of Unaccountability," will be posted on Monday, August 6.]

REFLECTION QUESTIONS FOR PART THREE

1. Do you think the refusal to accept suffering is contrary to the principle of nonviolence? Why might the call to accept suffering be problematic for people who suffer injustice, humiliation or marginalization?

2. What do you think of the author’s alternative “Vow of Nonviolent Struggle for Peace with Justice?” Would you be willing to take such a pledge? Why or why not?

3.  In order to insure that our peace and justice work truly serves those who are oppressed, the author emphasizes the need to be in accountable relationships with communities of color, especially where we live. Do you think this is necessary in order to be faithful to the Gospel call to nonviolence? What are some of the challenges facing local Pax Christi groups in forging these kinds of accountable relationships?