Original photo by MART PRODUCTION
Growing up in the United States of America, I’ve heard people talk about freedom my entire life. I don’t know what it’s like in other countries, but here, freedom is part of the American brand. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make it part of reality. Reality is that many people, American or otherwise, discover their invisible prisons whenever they attempt to move to a new environment, take up a new posture toward others, or alter the course of their own lives.
Most often, the history of these invisible prisons is so deeply rooted and complex that we could devote our entire lives to understanding them and only scratch the surface. Systemic injustice contributes to these prisons. Mental health advocacy resists these prisons. Critical race theory reveals these prisons. Social equity and equality dismantle these prisons. Colonialism builds these prisons, and so on.
To be human is to be imprisoned by our circumstances. To grow in wisdom is to begin the process of dismantling those prisons.
Freedom of Speech
Let’s start with an easy one: freedom of speech. Americans love to talk about freedom of speech, but many Americans are ignorant about the inequality that exists around our voices. I believe the ideal of free speech is worth pursuing; the reality, on the other hand, is that many Americans find their voices imprisoned when they attempt to use them.
Yes, we can say whatever we want, whenever we want. Also yes: there may be consequences for what we say, and for people with power and authority over others, those consequences may not apply. We may feel free to express our thoughts and opinions about something until we start saying things that make our bosses uncomfortable or our political leaders. Suddenly, we’re out of a job or protesters are being abducted by folks in unmarked vans or we’re being black-listed.
I’m not just talking about the inherent limitations that come with interpersonal relationships. Navigating communities always requires boundaries; healthy, vulnerable, safe spaces are built with boundaries. I’m talking about the invisible prisons that we’re often told don’t exist only to discover, when we attempt to exercise our alleged freedom, that we’ve been imprisoned the entire time.
Women undoubtedly experience this more than men in the United States. American women learn quickly that their voices aren’t as free as American men’s, and American men learn quickly that their voices often give them implicit power over women. For example, which clothing, sports, colors, or jobs are considered appropriate for men and women has almost always been decided by men. In White Evangelicalism, women are often so indoctrinated into subservience that they’ll actively work to keep invisible prisons up without realizing it. That, too, is often weaponized by male leaders who say, “See? If women support ‘such-and-such,’ it can’t be anti-woman.”
Feminism works to free women’s voices. Unions work to free workers’ voices. Social activism works to free marginalized voices. Unfortunately, many people don’t realize their voices are imprisoned until they start trying to use them. At that point, it may be too late to avoid violent reactions.
Freedom of Religion
Freedom of religion encounters its own invisible prison. As with freedom of speech, the ideal is worth pursuing. As with freedom of speech, our current reality is worth resisting. Freedom of religion is easy to say when virtually everyone subscribes to the same religion.
The narrative that’s often presented is that when the United States of America was founded, Christians wanted to create their own communities of like-minded folks without the interference of governments. They had been oppressed in other places and wanted to be free to worship and live according to the ideals of their own religion, so the founding fathers sought to keep any one religion from becoming a controlling authority in government.
In reality, religion was used to oppress others through things like manifest destiny, the curse of Ham, and the condemnation of “pagan” religions. Violent, European colonization around the globe was fueled by religious fervor, and freedom of religion in the United States often meant “freedom” to be Christian and little else. Cultural erasures and attempted genocides are found all throughout human history, and that includes the erasure of religions.
After Christianity survived its own persecution before being adopted as the national religion of Rome, Christian political leaders turned their attention to the eradication of pagan religions throughout Europe. The crusades brought Islam under that same umbrella of “Christian superiority,” and such mindsets extended to African religions, South and East Asian religions, and eventually to the religious traditions of all indigenous peoples around the world.
That same Christian elitism persists in the United States, today. Antisemitism is woven throughout all of American history. For generations, the United States attempted to erase Native American religious traditions. Islamophobia intensified after 9-11 and continues today through US support for Israel’s continued occupation of Palestine and the genocide in Gaza.
Despite whatever narrative we maybe have been fed in grade school social studies, freedom of religion in the United States is an ideal not a reality, and when we start attempting to exercise our freedom of religion, we often run headlong into the walls of our invisible prison.
Resistance Through Rejection
A friend of mine recently conveyed to me some of the significance of Malcolm X’s rejection of Christianity and adoption of Islam as a way of resisting oppression. Black history in the United States is filled with examples of persistent, systemic injustice and the construction of invisible prisons. When one freedom is about to be gained, it’s circumvented by new laws and regulations. The perception of freedom is propagandized for the masses of non-Black citizens so that Black voices are silenced, opportunities are limited, and movement is restricted.
Malcolm X made explicit his rejection of all the invisible prisons imposed on him. He identified Whiteness as the primary creator of those prisons and so changed his name, adopting the X; took a religious position explicitly not associated with White Christianity, emphasized Black humanity and dignity; supported underprivileged and impoverished communities, which those in authority continued to marginalize; and literally raised his voice and took up arms despite the risk of death.
This to say that how we break free of these invisible prisons is by rejecting things that perpetuate them. For many older people, such resistance is often framed as entitlement, selfishness, or a lack of respect, but those people fail to connect conventions and institutions to the prisons they create and support.
When we find that social conventions about “respectful” language are being used to dismiss marginalized voices, we reject respectful language as a tool of oppression. When we find that tipping conventions are being used to justify lower wages so employers can pocket more profits at the expense of their workers, we reject tipping conventions and raise our voices about non-living wages. When we find a company union-busting to continue exploiting workers, we boycott the company. When we find that tolerance of diversity offends our neighbors’ sensibilities, we express our love of diversity publicly with flags and bumper stickers. When we recognize toxic masculinity and patriarchy, we embrace feminism.
We reject that which imprisons because doing so necessarily transgresses boundaries. The ability to transgress promotes freedom.
The Gospel and the Cross
The Gospel is that the cross never should have happened.
I grew up believing that the cross was the point. The death of Jesus was presented as the culminating event of an eternity of planning, the point at which mankind was redeemed from sin. In such a theology, the point is often heroic self-sacrifice in the face of opposition. Many Christians are eager to publicly display how “persecuted” they are so they can take up arms in righteous indignation against their oppressors.
It’s theatrics. It’s a peacocking theology of self-righteousness and pomp.
The Gospel culminates in the resurrection — the righting of a wrong. The Gospel is life, not death. Abundant and full life. It is the uplifting of the oppressed, the inclusion of the marginalized. It is caring for the least of these. It is the acknowledgement of human dignity and worth. It is life and light. It is equality and equity. It is justice. It is shalom. It is Love.
The Gospel is the eradication of invisible prisons — freedom. A radical message for many Christians, antithetical to White Evangelicalism… It’s an ideal, and it ought to be a reality.
The more we grow, the more likely we are to outgrow the boundaries of our invisible prisons, and when that happens, we must decide: do we persist or do we shrink back? I, for one, choose to persist.
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