A Marxist Poet: The Legacy of Gillo Pontecorvo

By Alexander Billet

This was an essay that appeared on Oct. 19, 2006 in the MR Zine (a zine website set up by the Monthly Review Foundation, publishers of The Monthly Review). Alexander Billet is a writer and activist who lives in Washington D.C. and is currently working on a book titled The Kids Are Shouting Loud: The Music and Politics of The Clash.

The views and opinions expressed in this essay do not necessarily reflect those of the creator of this blog and are the sole responsibility of the author. Essays expressing opinions similar to and counter to those of the creator of this blog are strictly for diversity and to start thoughtful and meaningful discussion.

Pauline Kael, the American film critic, once said that Gillo Pontecorvo was the most dangerous kind of Marxist: a Marxist poet. When the Italian film director died last week at the age of 86, he had not made a full-length feature in over twenty-five years. Yet the potency of Pontecorvo's firebrand poetry can still be felt today. Despite completing only a small handful films during his fifty-year career, his unique voice and uncompromising politics have made a lasting impression that resonates throughout the world of cinema.

It was The Battle of Algiers (La Bataille D'Alger) that established Pontecorvo as one of the most controversial filmmakers of his time and as an international icon. Any director or writer who has ventured into the world of social or political filmmaking, from Mira Nair to Oliver Stone, will cite Algiers as an influence, and its mark can be felt on movies as diverse as Traffic and Do the Right Thing.

Pontecorvo was born in 1919 to middle-class Jewish parents in an Italy soon to be in the hands of Mussolini's fascism. He described himself in his early years as being fairly "apolitical." But with growing anti-semitism in Italy, Pontecorvo's path was to inevitably cross with the growing anti-fascism among ordinary Europeans. During a trip to France, where he rubbed elbows with the likes of Picasso and Jean-Paul Sartre, as well as some who had fought against Franco in the Spanish Civil War, his radicalization crystallized. Upon returning to Italy in the 1940s, he joined the underground anti-fascist movement and became the head of the clandestine Communist youth organization.

With the fall of fascism, Pontecorvo set out to become a photojournalist, but after seeing Roberto Rossellini's masterpiece Paisan, about the fascist persecution of Italian partisans, he decided that his passion lay in filmmaking. His first films were documentaries and short films, and his first full length, La Grande Strada Azzurra (The Wide Blue Road) would garner much praise and a prize at the Karlovy Vary Festival. But it was 1959's Kapo, a film about a woman's escape attempt from a Nazi concentration camp, in which Pontecorvo would begin to take up explicitly political issues. The director had left the Communist Party in 1956 in protest against the Soviet invasion of Hungary, but as his films show, he would always remain dedicated to social change. "I'm still a man of the left," he would say in a 1992 interview, "searching . . . for a way to change the terrible things in our world."

This would become apparent in his next film. The Battle of Algiers, the story of the Algerian people's struggle for liberation from French domination, is regarded as Pontecorvo's masterpiece and cemented his place as the foremost political filmmaker of his generation. It employed revolutionary techniques to deliver an airtight case against French colonialism in the same vein as Frantz Fanon. First, the film was shot in the style of a newsreel: black and white, grainy. Second, instead of following one dominant protagonist, he sought to make the Algerian people as a whole the protagonist, a "choral personage" which would owe much to Rosselini as well as Sergei Eisenstein. Here is where we see Pontecorvo at his best: his masterfully realistic depiction of crowds, and his careful selection of non-actors in the main roles. Pontecorvo was so loyal to realism that he even cast Saadi Yacef, a leader of the Algerian liberation movement, in the role of El-Hadi Jaffar, the rebel leader in the Algiers Casbah. The result is an immediacy unparalleled by most films.

Pontecorvo also wanted to humanize -- rather than dogmatically villainize -- the French occupiers. "I believe, and above all (scriptwriter) Franco Solinas believed, that it is important to get inside the minds of both sides. The paratroopers, for instance; why should we make them out to be monsters, or like the SS? The condemnation of colonialism, which was our objective, is better served by putting the blame elsewhere: on the error and intransigence of colonialism." Hence, the French Colonel Mathieu (played by Jean Martin, the only professional actor in the cast) is charismatic, sophisticated, and makes clear that he is simply here to do a job, the job that becomes more and more chilling as we see him and his troops brutally torture Algerians to gain intelligence on the resistance.

These perfectly created what Pontecorvo called a "dictatorship of truth." By the end of the film, there is little question that the Algerians are justified in kicking out the French, using whatever means necessary to that end. The film garnered both controversy and praise upon its release; despite being banned in France for four years, it won the Golden Lion at the 1966 Venice Film Festival, as well as many other awards and nominations. It was clearly a polarizing movie: Western conservatives attempted to write it off as a piece of Communist propaganda, while radical groups from the IRA to the Black Panthers used it as a source of learning and inspiration.

It is appropriate that Algiers would find a new generation of admirers and enthusiasts. Today, it is frequently screened by left-wing and anti-war groups all over the world in order to better understand the consequences arrogant imperialism. Ironically, the Pentagon, too, held a screening of the film in 2003 to better "prepare" for what lay ahead in Iraq. Looking at the country today, though, we may safely say that they didn't learn the right lesson: namely that occupations ultimately fail.

Pontecorvo made two more full-length features: 1969's Queimada! (Burn!) and 1979's Ogro (Ogre). Both also took up the question of violence against an occupying force. But from Ogro's release until his death last week, the master of political filmmaking was an absence in the world of cinema. A relentless perfectionist, he often scrapped projects on which studios wanted him to compromise. In the end, he would rather the film not get made at all than be watered down by a film company trying to skirt political controversy. A quick glance at some of his scuttled projects reveals what we missed: from a chronicling of the first Palestinian Intifada, to a biography of Salvadoran Archbishop and human rights activist Oscar Romero.

Perhaps the real tragedy of Pontecorvo's untimely death, as well as his relative absence from the big screen in recent decades, is that the nature of the world we live in today would have been best illuminated by his perspective. In a world where the arm of imperialism is constantly attempting to stretch itself to new territories, a lens of clarity like Pontecorvo's is sorely needed in the realm of film. Edward Said made Pontecorvo's contribution very clear: "In the end I think his films leave us with a lot of questions; questions like can empires be defeated? Is there a possibility for relationships between western societies and non-western societies that are not based on oppression and discrimination?" At a time when those very questions are more urgent than ever, few filmmakers force us to confront them, and even fewer can force us so skillfully. Compared to Algiers, most "issue" movies today seem preachy or apologetic. That is why Pontecorvo's films remain so important.

Pontecorvo's works like The Battle of Algiers have withstood the test of time for a reason: they continue to inspire and teach. The flawless way in which his movies mix politics and art serves as a brilliant example for today's directors. Will a new generation of filmmakers take up the torch he has so gracefully passed to them? If they do, that will be Pontecorvo's biggest legacy.

The Oppression of Shudras/Dalits in India, Part V: A Hindu Liberationist Perspective

It’s all one skin and bone,
one piss and shit,
one blood, one meat.
From one drop, a universe.
Who’s Brahmin? Who’s Shudra?
-Kabir (15th century Bhakti saint)

Today there are around 200-250 million Dalits in India with 75-80% of them below the poverty line(1) and backward castes as a whole (Dalits, tribes, etc.) forming close to 52% of the population of India.(2) Needless to say caste oppression in India is probably the greatest injustice still existing in, and haunting, that society today. I come to this subject as an outsider (in every sense of the word, I’m a white Christian American male!) looking in not knowing the full intricacies that effect lower caste and non-caste Indians, nor do I pretend to know or try and talk about subjects that are outside of my realm of knowledge. I’m writing this essay because of a Reuters article that came out in August and that appeared in Al Jazeera which perked my interest in the subject of caste. Although I may be critiquing caste in Indian society I do not mean to degrade the great and ancient religious tradition that is Hinduism nor do I mean to impose my religious beliefs (I follow the school of thought of Liberation Theology in the Christian tradition) onto those who follow the Hindu tradition because I recognize that many Christians have done this in the name of liberating people from the horrors of caste oppression. I’m not so narrow minded and simple to think that Christianity is the answer to caste oppression in India, in fact, I recognize that even in Christian communities and churches priests and worshipers still follow the caste system and still oppress people on the basis of caste, even though they claim to have liberated people from the rigid structures of caste.(3) In order to overcome the evils of caste all Indians have to do is to just look at their own traditions (not to Christianity) in order to see that there are liberating schools of thought within those traditions, and this is indeed what many have done over the centuries, whether it was Swaminarayan (1781-1830) who got rid of caste in his community of followers, Vivekananda (1863-1902) who preached that the downtrodden needed to be uplifted and that the caste distinction needed to be rid of, or the great B. R. Ambedkar (1891-1956), the militant Dalit who ferociously fought against all forms of caste discrimination and latter converted to Buddhism (with 200,000 of his followers) claiming that Hinduism was so corrupt and oppressive that he could no longer consider himself Hindu. All three Indians, and many many more, fought against the caste system and/or caste distinction (all though Swaminarayan and Vivekananda were from the Brahmin caste with only Ambedkar being outside of the caste system, a Dalit), while I won’t take up the line that Ambedkar did (that Hinduism was hopelessly corrupt and evil) I will be critiquing that aspect of Hinduism. Again, as I’ve said above, I am an outsider looking in, a non-Hindu, so because of this my criticisms will not be as harsh as are my criticisms of Christianity because I don’t want to be mistaken as criticizing the Hindu religion as a whole, which is not at all my intention.

The caste system is as old as the Hindu religion itself, in fact, it even predates Hinduism by some centuries. One important thing to know about the caste system is that it was brought into the Indus Valley from the outside by a tribe of semi-nomadic people called the Aryans (the “Noble Ones”), who originally inhabited the steppe country of southern Russia and Central Asia and entered India, through the Indus Valley, around the year 1500 BCE.(4) The Aryans had a linear sense of time and had a structured caste system with three sets of castes (warrior caste on top, followed by a priestly caste, and then everyone else) and a plethora of mostly male gods, the language that the Aryans spoke was Sanskrit which latter became the basis for Hindi. When the Aryans invaded the Indus Valley the people of the Indus Valley had a religion with no caste system, a circular sense of time (hence the Hindu concept of reincarnation, etc.), and a pantheon of female goddesses.(5) The fact that the outsider Aryans introduced India to the caste system and was a warrior-centered culture that had a reverence for male gods is one of the reasons why scholars, such as Kalpana Kannabiran argue that “patriarchy is in fact the basis of the caste system and that the patterns of hierarchy, power and authority which characterise the caste system are derived from earlier forms of gender-based oppression.”(6) When the Aryans first invaded the Indus Valley they called the Indus Valley people (Indians) Dasa (Sanskrit for dark-skinned) and the three-tier caste system was morphed into a four-tier caste system called the Four Varnas (which means color); Brahmins, the priestly class were now on the top, Ksatriyas, the warrior class were now below the priests, then their was the Vaishyas, skilled labor, and the Sudras, unskilled labor. Outside of the caste system were the non-Vedic peoples and the Dalits (the untouchables). Originally the lighter one’s skin color was the higher up in the caste system one was (with the Aryans obviously being at the top of the system) and the higher up in the caste system one was the more “pure” that person was (purity was of a huge concern of the Indus Valley people with many ritual and private baths having been excavated).(7) The majority of the people in the Indus Valley fell within the lower castes which can be seen today since 77% of Indians comprise these lower castes (as well as Dalits, scheduled castes/scheduled tribes [SC/ST], etc.).(8) What this mini-history lesson shows us was that the concept of caste is a concept that was brought into India by outside forces (the patriarchical and warrior culture of the Aryans) which then incorporated itself into the civilization of the Indus Valley people through the Vedas (specifically the Rg Veda). The Aryans and Brahmins needed a system to keep themselves on top and the majority of the dark-skinned Indus Valley people at the bottom, the caste system was the perfect way to do this, and in fact this had been the case until around 500 BCE when the traditions of the Vedas and the Brahmins began to be attacked by Hindu ascetics.(9)

From around 600 BCE to 200 BCE there was an incredible Vedic development in the Hindu tradition (a philosophic development) which can be described as the “democratization of Hinduism.” Out of this philosophic development came the Upanisads (upanisad implies “sitting at the feet of the teacher,” Upa=down, Ni=near, and Sad=sit).(10) The Upanisads were focused on attaining the mystical knowledge that would free a person from “re-death” or punarmrtyu. The Brhadāranyaka Upanisad placed emphasis on the knowledge of the cosmic connection underlying ritual. “When the doctrine of the identity of atman (the Self) and brahman was established in the Upanishads, the true knowledge of the Self and the realization of this identity...substituted the ritual method.”(11) Asceticism started becoming more widespread (which was one the factors leading to the creation of the latter Upanisads) in reaction to the rigid doctrines of the Brahmin and of the Vedas. What’s important to note as that even though these ascetics were critical of the Vedas and scathing in their critiques of the Brahmins they were still very much Hindu in nature (in fact, they probably didn’t consider themselves anything else, all though the term Hindu wasn’t around then) and their philosophical teachings and thought derived from the Vedas. These ascetics denied that only Brahmins could receive bliss and escape reincarnation and stated that through giving up the world and all desires anyone, whether Dalit or Vaishya, could attain psychic security, or rather, liberation through the attainment of unification with Brahman. Out of reaction to this the Brhamins devised a doctrine called the four asramas (abodes) which dived the life of the “twice born” into four stages” which would keep asceticism in check by confining it to middle-aged males.(12)

On top of these ascetics came leaders who led offshoots of Hinduism and breakaway sects such as Siddhartha Gautama (the Buddha) and Vardhamana (Mahavira, the great teacher of Jainism). These two leaders rejected not only the pleasures of the world, but more importantly, they rejected the claims of the Brahmins and the ritualistic Brahminic schools who claimed authority and superiority over other Hindus and Indians by claiming to be pure and to have the right to perform traditional rituals and sacrifices, as well as having the rights to interpret their meanings. While the Buddha rejected Hinduism (as well as religion) all together, Mahavira kept to the central aspects of Hinduism while abandoning the rituals that allowed the Brahmins to dominate all aspects of life. Mahavira stated that through one’s own efforts one could attain liberation and freedom from rebirth,(13) short of the Buddha, this was one of the most complete rejections of the Brahmins (and in turn their belief in ritual purity and caste) that anyone could have ever articulated.

All of this now brings us to today and to the subject of the liberation of Dalits and to the subject of my final blog in this series, a Hindu Liberationist perspective on the plight of Dalits and of their liberation from caste oppression. What disturbed me about the student protests against the further admission of lower caste and SC/ST students was that these high caste students had the wrong premise that the oppression of lower caste and SC/ST peoples was the “correct” form of Hinduism and the only form that should be practiced (all though I do recognize that some of these students could have been playing the “caste card,” claiming caste privilege in order to protect their privilege in society). Yet we have seen in the ancient history of Hinduism that caste was an outside concept placed upon the Indus Valley people by an outside tribe of semi-nomadic pastoralists, this shows us that the concept of caste didn’t grow “organically” from Indian soil but was imposed from the outside, and hence, the shedding of caste ideology and caste oppression would in a sense mean the shedding of outside Aryan domination against the Indian peoples, of course many high caste Indians still adhere to their Aryan roots and view their Brahmin status as a source of pride, not something to overcome in order to help out their lower caste and Dalit sisters and brothers. Despite the seemingly set in stone concepts of caste in the Rg Veda many Hindus over the preceding centuries fought back against the Brahminic elite and questioned the writings of the Vedas, especially the writings on ritualistic purity (a major concept in caste ideology) and on the “privileges” of the Brahmin caste. Whether it was the radical Siddhartha Gautama, who renounced Hinduism, or Vardhamana, who used acetic concepts of Hindu thought to criticize the present day establishment, thoughtful Hindus and the ever evolving Hindu religion never laid down and accepted the perverse policies of the Brahmin and their constant quest for power. Because of this we can see that Hinduism was never a monolithic religion that accepted the Vedas sayings on caste and ritual as blindly as present day Hindu nationalist BJP (Bharatiya Janata Party) and RSS (Rashtriya Svayamsevak Sangh) supporters would like us to think. History has shown us that a thoughtful and pious Hindu can be one who rejects certain ideas of Vedic thought that are oppressive and evil and history has also shown us within the Hindu tradition there has always been an ever evolving struggle for freedom against the Brahminic caste in the realm of the physical and the realm of the spiritual, such as reclaiming concepts of freedom from rebirth and attaining liberation by being joined with Brahmin. With this in mind I will now actually tackle (in part VI, the final part, of this series) the problems of the caste system and the oppressions Dalits have faced over the centuries (especially the 20th century and now) and how Dalits will be the ones to actually bring about change in this present day situation and how Dalits are the only ones to bring about their own salvation (not from outside help from people such as Gandhi or someone like myself) and how the Hindu religion plays a role in this, and how it can play a liberating role instead of the role of oppressor.

Endnotes

1. Grey, Mary, “Dalit Women and the Struggle for Justice in a World of Global Capitalism,” The
Journal of Britain & Ireland School of Feminist Theology 14, no. 1 (Sept. 2005): 129.
2. Ghose, Sagarika, “The Dalit in India,” Social Research 70, no. 1 (Spring 2003): 84.
3. Mary, “Dalit Women,” 144.
4. Encyclopedia Britannica, 2006, “Hinduism,” available at Encyclopedia Britannica Online
http://www.search.eb.com/eb/article-8972 (accessed Oct. 28, 2006).
5. Kyle Dupen, Philosophy 502 World Religions Lecture (San Francisco State University: San
Francisco, CA) 26 Aug. 2005; Encyclopedia Britannica, 2006, “Hinduism,” available at
Encyclopedia Britannica Online http://www.search.eb.com/eb/article-8981 (accessed Oct. 28,
2006).
6. Cited by Gabriele Dietrich, “The Relationship between Women’s Movement and Dalit
Movements: Case Study and Conceptual Analysis,” in A New Thing on Earth: Hopes and Fears
Facing Feminist Theology (Delhi: Indian Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge for
Tamil Nadu Theological Seminary, Madurai, 2001): 217.
7. Encyclopedia Britannica, 2006, “Hinduism,” available at Encyclopedia Britannica Online
http://www.search.eb.com/eb/article-8972 (accessed Oct. 28, 2006).
8. The Mustard Seed, “The Oppression of Shudras in India: A Marxist and Hindu Perspective, Part I,” http://www.mustardkernal.blogspot.com (accessed Oct. 28, 2006).
9. Encyclopedia Britannica, 2006, “Hinduism,” available at Encyclopedia Britannica Online
http://www.search.eb.com/eb/article-8984 (accessed Oct. 28, 2006).
10. Dupen, Lecture, 2 Sept. 2005.
11. Encyclopedia Britannica, 2006, “Hinduism,” available at Encyclopedia Britannica Online
http://www.search.eb.com/eb/article-59824 (accessed Oct. 28, 2006).
12. Ibid., http://www.search.eb.com/eb/article-8984 (accessed Oct. 28, 2006).
13. Ibid., http://www.search.eb.com/eb/article-59009 (accessed Oct. 28, 2006).

Reasons for Being MIA

Hello everyone (which isn’t a lot of people at all, but hopefully, someday there will be quite a few people reading this blog!), it’s been a while since my last post, September 9th to be exact. The reasons for this have to do with my schooling at San Francisco State University (SFSU) and the actual mission of this blog site. Instead of being a “normal” blog site in where I post my opinion and views randomly and at regular intervals I instead want this to be a blog site “of well thought out and smart discussions on mainly theological and political issues” and in order to have “well thought out and smart discussions” one needs to research and write good blogs. So instead of having short blogs of 1,000-2,000 words I normally have blogs (essays actually) of 12,000-18,000 words. Because of this it takes me a little longer to write my blogs than usual, the goal of my blog site is one essay every two to three weeks by me filled in with contributions by other bloggers (thank you Rorik Strindberg!) and articles, essays, and blogs from other websites. To top it off I’ve had a very busy school semester, I’m working on a thesis paper on Marx’s theory of fetishism and “prosperity theology” as well as Michel Novak’s Catholic views of capitalism for my religious studies minor, I’m also working on the school newspaper the Golden Gate [X]Press and its website (I’m photographing an article on the Hindu and Indian population at SFSU and college freshmen and Halloween, plus many others). But as you read this I’m finishing up on my blog series “The Oppression of Shudras/Dalits in India” and the final two posts should be up within the next few days. Part III of my blog series “Mesopotamia Burning” will be up around mid-November when I get a week off of school for Thanksgiving. Again, I apologize for not having a recent blog up in a while (hope you’ve enjoyed the articles I’ve posted on this site as well as the blogs by Rorik Strindberg, so far my only contributor) but that will change quickly, but it should be shady like this until the end of my semester which will be around the late midpoint of December.

Episcopalian Crisis: Authority, Homosexuality & the Future of Anglicanism, Part II

By Jay Seltser

The views and opinions expressed in this essay do not necessarily reflect those of the creator of this blog and are the sole responsibility of the author. Essays expressing opinions similar to and counter to those of the creator of this blog are strictly for diversity and to start thoughtful and meaningful discussion.

This the second part of a slightly edited essay that appeared in the May 19, 2006 issue of Commonweal, an independent Catholic journal of opinion edited and managed by lay Catholics.

I know many Catholics ask the same questions about their church’s teachings on contraception and other disputed issues. Autobiography is crucial here. My own views are shaped in part by the Jewish tradition I lived in for most of my life, before I became a Christian sixteen years ago. As I experienced and loved it, Judaism is a tradition steeped in a text but also committed at its core to interpretation and adaptation. The structure of the key Jewish sources through which the Bible is read is inherently dialogical; rabbinic figures debate with one another over the meaning of particular biblical verses, citing alternative verses or different meanings of the same words, different analogies, or diverse human experiences. The goal is seldom theoretical understanding for its own sake, but rather practical understanding to allow the community to remain faithful to a long-standing covenant while living in very different historical circumstances. The Jewish tradition has its own liberal/conservative continuum, but the center of the tradition is one of a continually changing and creative interaction of a community with its authorizing texts. This set of experiences and my personal commitment to open intellectual discussion and debate leave me very uncomfortable with the idea that specific biblical passages are always the determining or sole source of divine guidance or inspiration.

My own journey into Christianity was not motivated by rejection of Judaism but rather by a growing appreciation-aesthetic as well as intellectual, emotional as well as doctrinal-of the Christian story, Christian symbols, and Christian worship. Much to my surprise, I found the central story of Jesus’ incarnation, passion, death, and resurrection to reflect much of what I believed about who God is and how he acts. I found the cross to be a symbol of both redemptive suffering and the interaction between human sinfulness and divine compassion. And in the language of Christian worship, I discovered a voice and an idiom that seemed to express my deepest longings for prayer.

I began to attend Episcopal services while I was engaged to a woman studying to become a priest. It was the language and liturgy of the Book of Common Prayer, with its soaring Elizabethan prose and its broad incorporation of both Catholic and Protestant sensibilities, that led me to the baptismal font and to confirmation in the Episcopal Church. This is not unusual, because Episcopalians are frequently more likely to define themselves in terms of the Book of Common Prayer than in terms of adherence to particular doctrinal statements.

In addition to the liturgical and symbolic power of Episcopal worship, I was drawn to the intellectual power of the tradition, as reflected particularly in the writings and continuing influence of the sixteenth-century figure Richard Hooker. His massive work, Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, is a brilliant effort to define how the Church of England can protect itself from what he saw as the twin threats of Roman Catholic authoritarianism and domination on one hand, and Puritan narrow-mindedness and self-righteousness on the other. A few observations about Hooker’s approach will underscore what is both attractive yet admittedly problematic about the church that continues to be so indebted to his vision.

Hooker looked for positions and principles that could unite diverse individuals, and he tried to distinguish the essential elements that are worth fighting over from the nonessentials that are not. He was uncomfortable assuming bad motives by his opponents, in part because he recognized the gray areas of human life. He wrote that “Our end ought always to be the same, our ways and means thereunto not so.” Hooker saw in the Church of England a sign of “a course more calm and moderate,” providing a model for the other churches that were immersed in “mutual combustions bloodsheds and wastes.”

The substance of his position is reflected in the way he argued his case. The structure of the Laws proceeds by presenting long quotations from key Puritan writers, acknowledging what was reasonable in their position, and then stating the areas of disagreement and trying to indicate why the Puritan view was wrong. He tried to find a position both sides could agree on. And Hooker was not so sure of the truth of his own position that he demonized his opponents, nor did he draw the lines so firmly that those on the other side were viewed as outside the realm of redemption or the true church. Hooker went so far as to believe that Roman Catholics could go to heaven, a highly unpopular position a few decades after the reign of the Protestant-persecuting Queen Mary and around the time of the Spanish Armada.

It is partly from Hooker that Anglicans (including Episcopalians) inherit their long-standing view that Christian authority derives from the interaction of Scripture, the tradition of the church, and human reason and experience. Hooker began with the authority of Scripture, and believed that it was normative when it provided clear guidance. But the Christian tradition’s centuries of reflection on Scripture, and the reasoned consensus and consideration of the contemporary community, are essential once we recognize that the Bible does not provide an unambiguous set of answers to contemporary questions. This tripartite approach is necessary and complex, both because none of these sources is univocal or self-disclosing without extensive interpretation, and because the sources can and do conflict when applied to complex problems. (Even the seemingly unambiguous condemnations of homosexual behavior need to account for the very different meaning of the key terms in much earlier and different cultural contexts, and the difficulties of imagining how the writers may have responded to a different set of potential relationships offered in a different historical situation.)

I was drawn to this broad and somewhat ambiguous view of authority, partly because it reminded me of the exciting and playful element of interpretation that I had so loved in the Jewish tradition, but also because of a temperamental and moral distrust of certainty. My own religious experiences were not unequivocal or overpowering revelations of a Christian God who crowded out or eliminated all other options; my journey into the Christian community was not a story of sudden enlightenment or joyous salvation but rather a long process of exploration, doubt, and subtle but revealing suggestions of a God who had done amazing things and who seemed able to be revealed through mundane and mixed human lives. It was this vision, with all its ambiguity and halting movements, that was embodied in an Anglican tradition and an Episcopal Church that struggled explicitly with the tension between faith and reason, certainty and doubt, unity and diversity.

The center of the Anglican tradition has insisted on bringing together a Catholic and Protestant approach to Christian worship, order, and theology. The church is “Catholic” in many respects. Sacraments are central, parish leaders are “priests,” bishops lead dioceses, and Episcopalians try to take seriously the tradition of apostolic succession and the connection of the U.S. church with fellow Anglican churches throughout the world. In these ways, Episcopalians are somewhat more content than many other Protestants to affirm belief in a church that is “one, holy, catholic, and apostolic.”

Yet at the same time, Episcopalians are self-consciously “catholic with a small c,” reflecting the historical refusal to accept the form of organization and authority centered on the bishop of Rome. It is no small matter that the name given to the new church in the United States in 1789 was the “Protestant Episcopal Church.” The form of organization developed along with the formation of the U.S. government, and the church structure reflects the concern for balance of powers, lay influence, and distrust of centralized authority that also define the U.S. Constitution.

As the current crisis exemplifies, the temperamental taste for finding middle ground, for avoiding extremes, and for striving for unity in the midst of diversity, is both the strength and weakness of the Episcopal Church, and the Anglican Communion as a whole. For those seeking a church with room for a wide variety of views, the Episcopal Church can offer a welcoming embrace, a settling calm in the midst of doctrinal storms, a place to learn and talk about how to make sense of our varied perspectives. As long as members of the community maintain Hooker’s distinction between the essential and the nonessential, and view most of the disagreements as being open to serious discussion, a tolerance for different views can be fostered.

But for those seeking a clearer vision of theological truth, the Episcopal Church can be a frustrating place indeed. The drawbacks are obvious in times of significant disagreement, as each portion of the community seems to have the right to draw the line wherever it chooses. Specific disputes cannot be resolved easily by appeal to a central authority; the degree of autonomy of each parish and diocese, and the pluralistic and democratic nature of national decision making, can exacerbate tensions and create the basis for continuing conflicts. Of course, similar tensions exist within Roman Catholicism, as the current upheavals in Boston and elsewhere show. Still, at least to an outsider, Catholic disagreements tend to be either resolved or submerged more effectively, because of the Catholic Church’s embrace of a more unequivocal central authority, one that can set clearer boundaries and even restrict discussion. (Or at least discipline theologians and remove editors!)

One of the most attractive and intriguing aspects of the Episcopal Church is its faith that a democratic religious community that locates control in the individual or the parish can still remain faithful to an ancient tradition of creedal orthodoxy and discipleship. It is not surprising that such a community is likely to be more contentious, disordered, and ambiguous than one with clearer lines of authority or arbiters of orthodoxy. Whether democracy and creedal orthodoxy are compatible is now being sorely tested, and there is much at stake for other religious communities in the outcome.

In a wonderful essay on Hooker, Rowan Williams emphasizes that worship involves God’s ability to transform us in our frailty. Hooker was, in Williams’s words, a “contemplative pragmatist,” struggling to find a way through complex disagreements and insisting on the creation of a community that provides sufficient room for diverse views on all but the most essential matters of faith. Williams suggests that Hooker’s vision of Christian community is of a community that is “dialogical rather than a simple process of instruction.” I imagine that is a vision of the church that many Catholics share.

Archbishop Williams himself is the preeminent Anglican theologian in the world, a brilliant scholar and writer who combines breathtaking intellectual energy and productivity with a deeply spiritual and reflective approach to the nature of the church and Christian life. Although he has staked out liberal positions on many issues, he is also seen as being deeply committed to preserving and handing on the orthodox tradition. It remains unclear whether his sensitivity and intellect will allow him to resolve the conflicts within his church, or whether his role as its most important institutional figure will constrain his ability to develop a creative position that would be viewed as institutionally and theologically acceptable to both sides. His current calls for a moratorium and for more faithful reflection are appropriate but may be insufficient to bridge the chasm between members of opposing parties who are convinced they are hearing and following God’s word.

I remain within the Episcopal Church in part because I want to be a member of a community that allows for diverse views and alternative interpretations, views that force me, along with others in my community, to struggle with what we think God is doing. I would rather be part of a church whose conservatives force me to be informed and guided by Scripture, even when I am inclined to dismiss what seem like anachronistic and even unjust teachings. And I would rather be part of a church whose liberals force me to listen to new voices and perspectives, even when I am inclined to dismiss them as modernist, unorthodox, or faddish.

To my mind, the question of whether an openly and sexually actively gay person can serve as a bishop is not a matter of essential Christian faith, nor is the identity or faithfulness of Episcopalians threatened by such service. I respect those who feel differently, but I think they are confusing the essential with the inessential. I believe the identity and faithfulness of the church are threatened far more by those who think the Gnostic Gospels or The Da Vinci Code has more to teach us than the Nicene Creed or the central texts of the Bible. I wish the ECUSA had waited a bit longer to take the step to ordain a sexually active homosexual person as bishop, and I wish the opponents of that step were more willing to consider whether God may be doing something new in our own time. But I continue to be an Episcopalian because the arguments, the disagreements, and even the threats of schism are all part of a messy and all-too-human way of struggling together to glimpse the nature and actions of an ultimately unknowable and infinitely loving God.

Constitution at the heart of Thai Coup

By Erik Martinez Kuhonta

The views and opinions expressed in this essay do not necessarily reflect those of the creator of this blog and are the sole responsibility of the author. Essays expressing opinions similar to and counter to those of the creator of this blog are strictly for diversity and to start thoughtful and meaningful discussion.

This article appeared today in the Speaking Freely section in Asia Times Online in where guest writers can contribute to the online publication. Erik Martinez Kuhonta is an assistant professor of political science at McGill University. He is a specialist on Thai politics and has been published in several journals.

Thailand's September 19 military coup d'etat that overthrew prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra had its origins in the 1997 constitution, which was meant to strengthen the country's democratic institutions. The constitution, heralded as the most democratic in the country's history, ironically helped Thaksin rule in an autocratic manner.

It in effect allowed him to tighten his control over his coalition and the parliamentary opposition, thereby solidifying his monopoly on power. Despite numerous efforts to weaken the government through parliamentary procedures, the opposition was impotent. As a result, civil society took to the streets to challenge Thaksin. But this move also failed to provide any concrete change. Many continued to point to the need for constitutional reform as the only way of dislodging Thaksin.

Indeed, one of the first steps of the coup group was to dissolve the progressive 1997 constitution upon seizing power on the night of September 19. The aim of the previous charter was to create a solid check-and-balance system underpinned by strong institutions that would in effect end two pathologies in the Thai political system: the history of bureaucratic-authoritarian dominance and the cycle of corrupt, provincial politicians exploiting the state for personal interests.

Although the immediate catalyst for the new constitution was the 1991 military coup and the subsequent 1992 bloody crackdown on pro-democracy demonstrators, the real focus of reform, particularly in terms of institution-building and checks and balances, was aimed at the provincial politicians, whom many had blamed for creating the conditions for a military coup in the first place.

The 1997 constitution created numerous rules and institutions that were intended to give the government greater stability and staying power. Some of the most critical included the separation between the executive and the legislature. For instance, the constitution prohibited a cabinet member from remaining a member of parliament (MP) to reduce his chance of using his cabinet seat for funneling patronage to his faction. This made cabinet members more beholden to the prime minister than to his or her faction. A cabinet member dissenting against the prime minister could be dismissed from the political scene without a parliamentary seat to rely on for backing.

Another critical rule meant to buttress the executive over the legislature was the 90-day rule. This rule required a candidate for the Lower House to be a member of a political party for at least 90 days prior to the next election. A perennial problem of governments in Thailand had been the constant party-hopping prior to a new election, as factions searched for more lucrative political opportunities. Now any faction that sought to jump ship ran the risk of being disqualified if the prime minister called a snap election soon after it abandoned the coalition. The 90-day rule thus provided the prime minister with a disciplining tool that severely constrained MPs in their actions. It ensured that the governing coalition would remain intact, shielding it from poaching by other parties.

Other rules instituted to protect the smooth functioning of the executive included the rule for no-confidence debates. Two hundred members - two-fifths of the House - were now necessary to launch a censure motion against the prime minister, while one-fifth of the House would be required to censure a cabinet minister. Furthermore, no-confidence motions by the opposition were limited to one per year. In the past, no-confidence debates were launched simply to embarrass the government without a solid justification.

The net result of these changes in the constitution has been to strengthen the hand of the executive against the legislature. In effect, Thaksin had been able to rule without much dissent within his grand coalition or without much of a challenge from the parliamentary opposition. While in the past rebellious factions had led to the collapse of parliament, this time the governing coalition held on despite a crisis that polarized much of the country. The parliamentary opposition led by the Democrat Party had also been unable to shift the balance of power because it lacked the votes to launch censure motions against the prime minister. With only 97 seats in Thaksin's second term, the Democrat Party was incapable of launching censure motions even against cabinet members.

Street democracy
As a consequence, the only avenue left for challenging the government was the street. Led by Sondhi Limthongkul, a media mogul whose television show was pulled off the air after he began criticizing Thaksin, civil-society groups staged numerous rallies throughout Bangkok. Several of these rallies numbered more than 100,000. Yet despite mass mobilization, Thaksin remained firmly in charge.

Thaksin's gamble to hold an election this April 2 to re-establish his legitimacy backfired when the opposition parties led by the Democrats decided to boycott the election. Although Thaksin's Thai Rak Thai party won the election, some 12 million people used a ballot provision to vote for none of the candidates or else spoiled their ballots. As Thailand became more polarized, His Majesty King Bhumibol Adulyadej stepped in on April 26 and called on the courts to rectify the situation. A week later, the Constitutional Court voided the April election. With a new election scheduled for October, where Thaksin looked likely to win once again and thereby reignite the middle-class rallies on Bangkok's streets, it is not surprising that the military decided to take action.
Most telling, in the early hours of the coup was a statement by the generals calling for the immediate annulment of the constitution as well as the dissolution of the Constitutional Court and its replacement with a Constitutional Tribunal made up entirely of justices. The coup group, now renamed the Council on National Security, subsequently promulgated an interim constitution with the advice of former conservative senator Meechai Ruchuphan, who had likewise drawn up the charter for the 1991 coup. Meechai was assisted in drafting the interim constitution by two former members of Thaksin's administration: Bowornsak Uwanno and Wissanu Krea-ngam. Significantly, perhaps, Bowornsak had been one of the architects of the 1997 constitution.

The interim constitution ensures that the military will continue to dominate the civilian government. It grants the Council on National Security the authority to appoint the chairman and vice chairman of the National Legislative Assembly (which replaces parliament) and the right to dismiss the prime minister. More critically, the interim constitution gives the generals the power to select the members of the Constitution Drafting Assembly (CDA) - the body that will draft the permanent constitution.

The process for the drafting of the new constitution will be an elaborate affair that will take about nine months to complete. First, the ruling council will appoint 2,000 members to a National Assembly. Most of these individuals will come from the ranks of the bureaucracy and academia. From there, the National Assembly will nominate 200 of its own members to the CDA.

The council will then pick 100 of these members to form the CDA. Thirty-five members will then be chosen to form the Constitution Drafting Committee - the main body that will write the new constitution. Ten members of the committee will be hand-picked by the Council on National Security and can come from inside or outside the CDA.

The interim constitution under the Council on National Security is a completely top-down affair. All the members of the CDA are appointed by the council and little room is given for public consultation. The only gesture toward some democratic input is the decision to expose the new constitution to the public for 30 days and then put it to a national referendum. But if the new permanent charter is not approved by the public, the council reserves the right to revise a previous constitution and then enforce it as Thailand's permanent constitution.

Despite all the failures of the 1997 constitution, one of its greatest achievements was its effort to consult with the public. The drafters of the 1997 "People's Constitution" hosted numerous public seminars and ran surveys to get the input of civil society. The interim constitution indicates no similar effort to involve the public. Given the authoritarian manner in which the new constitution will be drafted, it is by no means clear whether constitutional reform will lead to a more robust democracy.

If the new constitution does indeed usher in greater accountability and stronger checks and balances, then Thais will most likely agree that the ends justify the means. But if the new constitution does not strengthen democratic institutions, the middle class will be hard to convince that a military coup is preferable to an elected autocrat.