The Colorado Murders

The violence tonight in Colorado Springs, where at last report three have died and nine have been wounded in the attack on a Planned Parenthood clinic by a man equipped with an assault rifle are only the latest round in attacks by Christian Fundamentalist extremists in the United States.

In fact, between 1977 and 2014, there have been 7798 acts of violence including 8 murders, 17 attempted murders, 182 arsons, 42 bombings, 850 bomb threats and hoax devices and 199 assaults. During the same time period, police made more than 33,000 arrests for acts of violence and violations of court orders and federal law protecting access of patients to their healthcare providers. 

To these we must add hundreds of more acts of violence, the Waco and Ruby Ridge incidents, Eric Rudolph’s Centennial Park Olympic Bombing that killed 1 and injured 111, and his bomb attacks on two women's clinics and s a Lesbian club, the 1996 attacks in Washington State by Christian Identity devotee’s Barbee, Berry and Merelle , the Michigan based Hutaree’s aborted attempts at violence in 2006 on behalf of the ”Colonial Christian Republic,” along with countless thousands of other incidents of homophobia, and antigovernment violence that show in their depths a deeply seated concern with Christian apocalypse or Christian identity. In Canada, and Europe, as in America, ultra-nationalist groups have funded their calls for a new barbarism with warrants from Christian Scripture, parading the public square with flags and banners emblazoned with Christian symbols, seeing in the Crucified Jesus both a defence from their enemies, and a justification for their hatred. Hitler’s swastika and Mussolini’s axe have been replaced by the Cross.

When I was newly ordained and serving in a mission in Philadelphia, the Dean of my area (in the Episcopal Church many dioceses have subdivision called “deaneries,” or “convocations,” with a senior member of the clergy appointed or elected as Dean), knowing that I had once been a volunteer for Planned Parenthood, asked me if I would be willing to participate in a clinic defence. “Operation Rescue” had targeted Philadelphia and specifically a clinic near the Parish where I was serving. 

I saw firsthand the fanaticism and violence at the Northeast Women's Center. Along with several other Episcopal clergy, I arrived at the clinic wearing clericals, and put on the brightly coloured vest worn by clinic defence volunteers. Our presence gave rise to howls of anger and dismay on the part of the protesters. We instantly became targets of “prayer groups,” – a group of 8 or 10 protesters would surround us whenever we were even slightly separated from other defence workers. This actually served a good purpose, as it diverted the protesters attentions from women arriving at the clinic. Nonetheless, standing alone, surrounded by an angry mob shouting quotations from Scripture calling for your death is not a typical experience of prayer.  I was called an apostate, a heretic, a false prophet, a murderer and a degenerate.  I was assured that there was a special place in hell for me. Oh, I left one out one epithet: “Damned liberal.”

When finally, after several hours, things were winding down, and all the days patients had left, I left with a small group to walk back to my car. We had been warned not to park too close to the clinic, for fear our cars would be vandalised. A small group of protesters followed us, taking down the model and license number of each vehicle. I was parked a little further than my friends, and walk the last block alone. As I pulled out my keys and entered the car, the “followers” decided I deserved a final set of going away prayers. They crowded around me as I try to open the door, and renewed their “prayers.” I was pushed around a little – not really roughed up – but they made their displeasure clear. On the way home, I noticed my car was being followed. I made a few turns to make sure that I was not imagining things, but the two cars filled with protesters continue to follow. I decided the safest course would be to park for a while in front of a police station. They pulled in as well. I waited half an hour until they left.

I offer this account not as any kind of witness to my own virtue. Most of the time I was simply scared out of my wits. Rather, I bring it to say that it was one of the few experiences I’ve had in life of being an “object.” By this, I mean that for all I might try to engage one of the protesters in conversation, it was clear that there could be no conversation. In their eyes, I was not a human being, someone concerned with living in this world, trying to do as best I can with my limitations and infirmities to discern a proper course into the future. Instead, my humanity was replaced by a series of labels – I was an apostate, a damned liberal, the object of their anger and frustration.

The nature of fundamentalism, any kind of fundamentalism – Islamic, Christian, Hindu, etc. – is to create a barrier between the living and the dead. Those within are saved. Those within possess a singular truth. Those outside are dead. They have no truth in them. They may walk, talk, and act in the world, but in this world or the next they are bound for destruction. When fundamentalism becomes fundamentalist extremism somehow a trigger has been engaged that permits those within the wall to act out their conceptions upon those outside. Behaviour within the wall is “normal.” The normal ethical rules by which all humanity lives, the rejection of murder, causing suffering, and acts of violence are still rejected. But for those outside, these normal constraints no longer apply.

When I was a parish priest, I almost always carried a book to lunch. Surprisingly, it’s a good way to engage strangers (and friends) in conversation. If no one’s around, I read. Otherwise, I would read briefly, and then place the book front cover up in front of me while I ate. It’s perhaps surprising how often people will ask about a book. I suppose it’s the kind of neutral object that makes for safe inquiry. In the diner culture of Philadelphia and New Jersey, where politics, governance, and, indeed, religion are for the most part issues settled in diners, the book presents opportunities for introduction and conversation that I found remarkably useful. I’m reasonably sure that if I had met one of the anti-abortion protesters at a diner counter, we could have sat side-by-side and had casual conversation about the book that I was reading without the slightest hint of conflict between us.

The protester, without a sign in hand and the support of a group of like believers, would have happily sat next to me in conversation, as long as I did not wear the vest identifying me as a clinic defence volunteer. We could have talked about the book, the blaring television (a constant these days in many diners), or most issues in life without noticing the wall that existed between us. The normal human ethics of civility would pertain.

On more than a few occasions in these casual diner conversations, I’ve seen the wall appear. An innocuous phrase or sometimes even a single word suffices as a trigger. Especially dangerous are the words Bible, Scripture, interpretation, and history. Surprisingly, I find it relatively safe to speak of God or church – even the Episcopal Church, as long as the more obvious triggers are avoided. Once a trigger has been initiated, all real conversation stops. Verbiage may continue, but the relationship that scholars call intersubjectivity ends. One or both of the partners in conversation has decided that conversation must be replaced by performative speech – that’s the kind of speech like shouting “fire" in a theatre or “hit the deck” to patrolling soldiers, that is not just a word or phrase, but an action. In this mode, reciprocity disappears. There is no intention for sharing or receiving, only to enact. Speech becomes more rapid, as if familiar phrases are being repeated. Definitional language is imposed. Whatever originally discussed is redefined as an exposition of the errors of the one being redefined. And that’s the point: there’s been a transformation from two interlocking subjects to one subject and one object, and the subject intends to manipulate, mould, or somehow otherwise force change upon his object. The fact that the object is human no longer matters. The object must change, be dismissed, or as so tragically we have seen in Colorado, die.

From a philosophical perspective, from any humane perspective, it can, and should be argued that there is no difference between the Christian fundamentalist extremist in Colorado Springs who attacks a clinic with the intent to murder, and the Islamic fundamentalist extremist firing on a club crowd. The mechanism at hand is the same. A wall has been built, and, most importantly, the trigger found that permits a final objectification of any and all beyond the wall. All fundamentalism is built around walls of separation. Fundamentalist extremists are those who have found a trigger, a mechanism of thought, that permits them to enact their vision outside the wall they have created, with or without the consent of those whom they recreate as objects.