Cone writes: "Theologically, Malcolm X was not far wrong when he called the white man 'the devil.' The white structure of this American society, personified in every racist, must be at least part of what the New Testament meant by demonic forces...Ironically, the man who enslaves another enslaves himself...To be free to do what I will in relation to another is to be in bondage to the law of least resistance. This is the bondage of racism. Racism is that bondage in which whites are free to beat, rape, or kill blacks. About thirty years ago it was acceptable to lynch a black man by hanging him from a tree; but today whites destroy him by crowding him into a ghetto and letting filth and despair put the final touches on death."
James Cone wrote those words in 1968, and while they are dated, they still convey a powerful truth. What happened to Rodney King at the hands of the Los Angeles police continues to happen to black men with disturbing frequency. The jails and prisons are filling with black men. One third of all black men are now under the jurisdiction of the courts or prison system. And one of the principle reasons are drug laws designed to punish with mandatory prison terms those who use "rock cocaine" (the principle form of cocaine used in the black community because it is relatively inexpensive), while penalties for possession of the powder form (the form used by wealthy whites) are largely financial, and do not require one to serve time. Why would society design a criminal justice system with such disparate impact? Cone and many blacks would lay the blame at the feet of the demonic force of racism.
The Goal of a Black Theology of Liberation
What is the goal of a black theology of liberation? Is it a society in which blacks are given special treatment and rights? No. All Black theologians are asking for is for freedom and justice. No more, and no less. In asking for this, the Black theologians, turn to scripture as the sanction for their demand. The Psalmist writes for instance, "If God is going to see righteousness established in the land, he himself must be particularly active as 'the helper of the fatherless' (Psalm 10:14) to 'deliver the needy when he crieth; and the poor that hath no helper' (Psalm 72:12).
Karl Barth--who was not black--recognized the legitimacy of this demand. "For this reason, Barth wrote, "in the relations and events in the life of his people, God always takes his stand unconditionally and passionately on this side alone: against the lofty and on behalf of the lowly; against those who already enjoy right and privilege and on behalf of those who are denied it and deprived of it."
Black liberation theologians do not intend to allow the church--whether it be white or black--to evade this responsibility. It "cannot say that the poor are in poverty because they will not work, or that they suffer because they are lazy. Having come before God as nothing and being received by him into his Kingdom through grace, the Christian should know that he has been made righteous (justified) so that he (or she) can join God in the fight for justice. Therefore, whoever fights for the poor, fights for God; whoever risks his life for the helpless and unwanted, risks his life for God."
Precisely what this entails is not always clear to whites. For them, loving one's neighbor "becomes emotional and sentimental. This sentimental, condescending love accounts for their desire to "help" by relieving the physical pains of the suffering blacks so they can satisfy their own religious piety and keep the poor powerless." But advocates of a black theology of liberation will not allow whites to get off so easy. "Authentic love is not 'help,'" Cone writes, "not giving Christmas baskets, but working for political, social, and economic justice, which always means a redistribution of power. It is the kind of power which enables blacks to fight their own battles and thus keep their dignity."
Some Closing Comments
Many whites, myself included, can be put off by advocates of a black theology of liberation. We would much prefer the approach of Martin Luther King, Jr. because his approach was the least threatening to the white power structure, and to our own understanding of ourselves. Many whites identified with him precisely because he did not challenge their own racism directly, and allowed them to assuage their own sense of guilt with little or no risk.
But I would be willing to contend that if the great chasm that separates the races in this nation is to ever be bridged, it will require that we bring to the discussion something more than good intentions, or pious words about making sure everyone is treated with equity. Not only will we have to bring to the conversation a willingness to try to understand the pain African-Americans feel, but we will also have to recognize that we are so intimately involved in a racist system, that we are often oblivious to the degree that we have caused or continue to cause that pain.
Perhaps the real test of whether whites can communicate with blacks as human beings is not what we might say to a Colin Powell, who--like King--does not challenge whites to confront their racism, but rather how we choose to respond to a Louis Farrakhan who challenges us in ways we would prefer not to be challenged.
A Black Theology of Liberation