When I was a good little Christian teenager, still on the confirmation-track at my Catholic church, a girl (who I would soon after be dating) invited me to accompany her to a "game" that a friend had invited her to play. As it turned out her friend was a Charismatic Christian, and the game was, in fact, a huge live-action role play called "Persecution" or some such unambiguously ominous thing, taking place on a sprawling rural lot belonging to someone in the congregation. The intent of the game was to show all us guileless young people what it must be like to live in a place where being a Christian made you subject to social and government-sanctioned oppression -- to be "persecuted" as it were.
This was no namby-pamby team-building exercise or cheesy one-act after school special; this was serious stuff. It started at dusk, which meant most of the game took place in darkness. The only light we had for wondering directionless through the partially-wooded area was from the flashlights of menacing-looking adult men dressed in black paramilitary gear and from the headlights of their ATVs. These men would patrol and periodically stop, harass, and interrogate the various groups of teens, shouting "Are you a Christian?" and "Tell me where the Christians are!" If you concealed or denied your Christianity, you would mostly be left alone. If you admitted it, you were harassed and/or "arrested," i.e., brought back to the holding center (located in the barn) and locked up in cell (stall) where you were subjected to additional interrogation and harassment.
Even in my youthful naivete, the whole operation seemed a bit over the top. I was a Catholic after all, and I was used to my religion being served as a stale wafer sandwiched in a droning hour-long service where you struggled to keep your eyes open. I didn't know what to make of this surreal, and kind of scary, religious role play. Now, in my older naivete, I realize that this little game had some pretty heavy-handed overtones, overtones that reflect certain fears and preconceptions that now loom large in American politics.
You see, the make-believe land of "Persecution" didn't resemble Somolia or Yemen or North Korea -- places where Christian oppression legitimately exists. No, Persecution-land was distinctly American, or at least a fundamentalist Christian's conceptualization of a post-apocalyptic America. And it is precisely this fear, that in the not-to-distant future an apparently atheistic government will rise and crush all that is good and godly, that drives these people to aggressively combat any sign of decline of Christian prominence. They rail against the "War on Christmas," put up the Ten Commandments on courtroom steps, and demand prayer return to schools and government functions. It is the last example that led to the recent, and ultimately unfortunate, Supreme Court decision in Town of Greece v. Galloway.
The Town of Greece
In 1999, the Town of Greece (a suburb of Rochester, NY) and its newly-elected town supervisor, John Auberger, decided that its existing and relatively unobjectionable practice of beginning legislative sessions with a moment of silence was not aggressive enough in combating the inevitable Christian purge. People could not be allowed to simply contemplate in solemnity the great undertaking and duty that is upholding a representative democracy in whatever way that is meaningful to them (including prayer); no, they needed a real live minister to come in and tell them ... and if a little fear of God was put into the hearts of these lost souls, all the better.
So that's what they did. And for EIGHT YEARS this invocation was exclusively a Christian prayer given by a Christian minister, a fact that did not seem to cause any grief to the Board or the eventual Galloway majority. Apparently, a town employee thumbed through a local "directory" of "congregations" and called a few to see if they were willing to perform such a service. Very little arm-twisting was needed, it seems, and soon the Town had a go-to roster of ministers ready to warm up the legislative crowds. It wasn't religious discrimination, the Town claims, it just so happens that all of these congregations and all of these ministers were, like most small towns in America, almost exclusively Christian.
Finally in 2007, a couple of locals pointed out that, just maybe, this bit of publicly-sponsored proselytizing was a bit off-putting to people who attended the Board meetings who didn't share the faith. The Board, after careful consideration of that complaint, and probably an admonishment from the Town Attorney, decided it should probably open up the old directory again. Lo and behold, this time they found a Jewish guy and a chairman of the local Baha'i temple who were willing to speak. Once word got out that the invocation was no longer a closed club, a Wiccan priestess requested and was granted a slot.
"So calm down," you tell me, "you got a few of your new-agey wackos in, so there's no discrimination here." First, I am calm. In fact, I am sitting here on a nice Friday afternoon sipping some mocha coffee, contemplating how much less conflict we would have if everyone would just keep their religious beliefs to themselves. Stress is a big problem for lawyers though, so thanks for looking out for me. Second, three non-Christians in nine years of prayer is not a very impressive show of diversity; moreover, the Town, in 2009, reverted to its de facto Christian-only roster.
Third, what about people who don't believe in a supernatural deity? Are they allowed to participate? Justice Scalia even mused during the oral arguments:
JUSTICE SCALIA: Mr. Hungar, what -- what is the equivalent of prayer for somebody who is not religious?
MR. HUNGAR: I would -
JUSTICE SCALIA: What would somebody who is not religious -
MR. HUNGAR: In the Rubin -
JUSTICE SCALIA: -- what is the equivalent of prayer?
MR. HUNGAR: It would be some invocation of guidance and wisdom from -
JUSTICE SCALIA: From what?
Fourth, using a government forum for religious purposes violates the Establishment Clause. It does under the Lemon test; it does under the Endorsement test. The Galloway court essentially said this was an exception because of the historical tradition of chaplains giving invocations. I'll grant that is true -- not in the Town of Greece where it was a less-than-ten-year-old tradition -- but true largely. It also used to be a tradition for women not to vote, for doctors to use leeches, and for white people to own black people. Now, I admit that the publicly-sponsored prayer at issue here is not as bad as any of those. But the point is that now is, or should be, a more civilized age; one we realize that putting a "Christians Only" sign on the door of a Town Board meeting is not only wrong but counterproductive to building inclusive and functional governments.
Lastly, why do we need prayer in a public legislative session in the first place? If the members of the Board want to pray, they can. If the public attendees want to pray, no one can (or should) stop them. They can do it five minutes before the meeting, they can do it during the meeting (quietly), or they can do it the other 743 hours of the month during which there are not in Town Board meetings. Why is that not sufficient? Why does everyone have to be subjected to it? Imposing prayer on others is not something someone who is secure in their faith does or something that someone is tolerant of diverse beliefs does; it's something that someone who is terrified that Christianity's long-time stranglehold on American politics is slipping away does. Someone who is feeling "persecuted." Of course, as this decision illustrates, they are not: they remain the vast majority in this country and retain a vast majority of members in every government body. Meanwhile, those who are truly "persecuted" by this practice, are, for the most part, merely sighing and resigning themselves quietly enduring another reminder that it's still not OK to be openly non-religious in American politics.
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