Churches must again speak up against political evils, as they did during apartheid

In between kissing babies, politicians of all stripes are fanning out across the country to attend church services and appeal for divine intervention in their quest for votes in the upcoming elections. People who spend most of their lives doing all sorts of unsavoury things, like looting, will suddenly remember there's a higher power now that the polls are upon us.

South Africa is something of an enigma. It is highly religious — more than 80% are Christian, and other faiths account for the rest — yet it is probably the most violent of any country not engaged in a civil war. Dishonesty and corruption are also off the charts. One would have thought that religious dicta such as telling the truth, being our brothers’ keepers, loving our neighbours and so on, would somewhat temper the animal spirit in us. But no, people steal, kill or engage in all sorts of immoral behaviour, and then go to church to pray and preach on Sundays. It seems we're more hypocrites than sinners seeking forgiveness.

It is no wonder therefore that religion has played a central role in the political life of the country, whether supporting or resisting apartheid. Church and politics are more like Siamese twins. DF Malan, who propelled the National Party to power in 1948 and thus cemented apartheid as the law of the land, was a minister in the Dutch Reformed Church, which was often referred to as the National Party at prayer because of its biblical justification of apartheid.

And of course the Broederbond, vanguard of Afrikaner nationalism, had a preponderance of clerics. Two of the most radical anti-apartheid Afrikaner clerics, Beyers Naudé and Nico Smith, became members at a young age before they saw the light, so to speak, and they paid dearly for it. Beyers Naudé endured years of harassment and banning. Smith, a theology professor at Stellenbosch, chose to live and minister to the poor in Mamelodi, a black township outside Pretoria.

Men of the cloth were also instrumental in the formation of the ANC. Men such as Zaccheus Mahabane, twice ANC president, James Calata, secretary-general, and Albert Luthuli, president, were steeped in the church and their moral compass was often informed by their faith. Many found themselves in an awkward position as the ANC, responding to the increasing government onslaught against its foes, made common cause with left-wing forces such as communism and decided to bring down apartheid through violent means. Mahabane, for instance, was fiercely anti-communist. Luthuli received the Nobel Peace Prize for his non-violent struggle against apartheid. The church, conservative by inclination, often found itself at loggerheads with the new radicalism.

But it was the banning of the ANC and the Pan Africanist Congress after the Sharpeville massacre in 1960 that thrust the church fully into the political fray, often against the wishes of powerful forces within. The banning had left a political vacuum, and the church, as the only viable organised institution in the black community, was compelled to step into the breach. And so emerged a new cadre of so-called turbulent priests, such as Smangaliso Mkhatshwa, Manas Buthelezi, Allan Boesak, Desmond Tutu and many others who walked in the footsteps of the likes of Trevor Huddleston and Gonville Aubie ffrench-Beytagh and Michael Scott, Anglican priests who had defied not only the state but their own church in campaigning for the rights of the black majority.

The new breed saw it as part of their responsibility as church leaders to speak up against the evils of apartheid, and for that they too earned the wrath of the state. But unlike their predecessors, they couldn't escape or be deported. As black South Africans, they suffered the same indignities as the rest of their community. A policeman could stop them in the street and demand to see their dompas, for instance.

As general secretary of the South African Council of Churches (SACC), Tutu’s call for international sanctions against South Africa was criticised even within the church. But he maintained that it was the only peaceful avenue left to opponents of the system. The government would retaliate by denying him a passport, which only increased his profile and drew even more criticism for apartheid. Tutu’s activism didn't hurt his career prospects either. He won the Nobel Peace Prize for his campaign against apartheid, and rose to head the Anglican Church.

But there were other visible casualties along the way. Khotso House, SACC headquarters, was bombed and before that Beyers Naudé’s Christian Institute was banned during the famous crackdown on black consciousness organisations. In what was something of a delicious irony, a chastened Adriaan Vlok, former police minister, later told the TRC, chaired by Tutu, that PW Botha had congratulated him for the bombing of Khotso House, which the former president described as “a house of evil”.

Now the fire in its belly seems to be gone, extinguished. With the demise of apartheid, churches, along with other civic organisations, seem to have taken the foot off the pedal. No need to rock the boat any more. The “good guys” are now in charge of the government. But as the evidence shows, that's patently not the case. The looters are having a field day, while the poor still suffer. Some prominent religious leaders have even joined the government. It would perhaps be stretching it a bit to say the church has abandoned the poor, but some clerics seem more comfortable hobnobbing with the powerful.

Some years ago there was an almighty outcry when the Zion Christian Church hosted then president PW Botha at its headquarters in Moria. The church leaders were castigated as sell-outs. Now politicians make a point of visiting church services as part of their election campaigns and priests lay hands on them and pray for them. Some are even allowed to address what is essentially a captive audience.

Apartheid may be gone, but the poverty and suffering persist. The church must regain its voice and speak up, especially against corruption and the abuse of power.