Turning another page of history

Archbishop Desmond Tutu died the day after Christmas, just months after the death of another historic figure from the South African history of apartheid, former State President F.W. DeKlerk.

The Anglican prelate served as archbishop of Cape Town, South Africa, through the years of transition from the all-white apartheid regime to the black-majority democracy we know today. Tutu embodied that transition. He was the first black man elected as archbishop by the clergy and laity within the Cape Town province, which is the most important Anglican post in South Africa. And when he moved into the archbishop’s official home, Tutu became the first black resident of a neighborhood zoned only for whites, breaking the grotesque apartheid laws simply by moving into his official residence.

Through these symbolic acts, and many more direct and public critiques, Tutu chipped away at the apartheid regime’s hold on power. Though authorities never arrested him, unlike his compatriot Nelson Mandela, his wife was jailed for being late on her car registration renewal, a clear threat from the government.

Tutu pressed ahead as a prophetic voice for justice against apartheid, and his voice was often explicitly political, holding rallies in his cathedral when the government banned meetings in parks and public spaces. Eventually, through the courage of Tutu, Mandela, and others, the regime fell, and a new democracy emerged. Its first challenge was to address the deep and justifiable discontent among black South Africans about the past and the need for justice for victims of human rights abuses.

After Mandela became president, Tutu presided over the Truth and Reconciliation Commission that sought restorative justice rather than retribution for the departed government, a marked departure from the post–World War II model of the Nuremberg Trials. Tutu rooted his approach in Christian principles, and the commission generally won acclaim for balancing accountability and amnesty for perpetrators in a way that allowed the country to heal and move forward.

Tutu won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1984 and was hailed around the world for his advocacy of nonviolent resistance to apartheid. During those years, he enjoyed audiences with Pope John Paul II and President Ronald Reagan, who recognized him as a unifying leader for black South Africans. His bold and Biblical testimony was vital to exposing the inherent injustice of apartheid.

Sadly, Tutu leveraged his international celebrity in his later years to pursue an agenda similar to that of former U.S. President Jimmy Carter, becoming a roving global ambassador for causes like Palestinian statehood and LGBT rights, likening both to his battle against apartheid. He was a strident critic of the war in Iraq and that era’s terrorist detention policies and described his economic views as socialist but not Marxist.

Tutu’s theological and political liberalism reflected more liberation theology than the firm Biblical compass of many more conservative African Anglicans. His legacy also included statements like: “If God, as they say, is homophobic, I wouldn’t worship that God.” Somewhere along the way, Tutu began to substitute his own moral judgment for the judgment of God. This made him a hero to the left in the United States and in other Western nations, which was eager to wrap its agenda in the cloak of a religious leader with a famous smile and a Nobel Prize.

Tutu was useful precisely for places like my alma mater, Marquette University, a Catholic college in Milwaukee, which awarded him its highest honor while I was a student. I remember attending his speech in our campus chapel, where he railed against the possibility of an American invasion of Iraq from the pulpit.

Who could challenge his global prestige and credibility as an ambassador of peace and goodwill, whatever the heresies of his other stances? He was convenient for media and academia to elevate, a heroic religious figure who shared their opinions about all the other causes of the day.

As Christians, we can recognize Tutu’s positive witness for justice and forgiveness and his willingness to bring Christian-inspired principles of racial equality to the national and global public square. But we cannot overlook his flawed views on policy and the overall arc of his theological liberalism.

After meeting with the archbishop at the White House, Ronald Reagan was asked how the conversation had gone. “Tutu?” the president asked. “So-so.” That mixed judgment must be ours as well, even as we join the appreciation for Tutu’s courageous witness for both justice and reconciliation.