I have reflected on the role of religion in politics since Democratic House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries published a statement on X last month to offer a vacuous interpretation of the current upheaval that the Trump administration raised. “Presidents come and Presidents go. Through it all. God is still on the throne,” Jeffries tweeted on Jan. 26, 2025. 

Jeffries’ gesture seems innocent unless you’re aware of a term known as “spiritual bypassing,” which is defined as the use of spiritual ideas and themes to sidestep unresolved matters or concerns. His tweet was particularly weak when compared to the more aggressive actions of the current administration, especially as it relates to their anti-DEI movement and subsequent attacks on programs that help all Americans.

With that said, the tweet wasn’t just powerless in comparison to the current political wave; it was a relative blip when compared to the vigor of dueling theocracies in this country’s history.

I’ve often juxtaposed the behavior of folks who have professed or wielded religion. I think about the noble men who founded the African Methodist Episcopal Church, and in turn, the scum who founded the Ku Klux Klan. I’ve thought about the irony of perhaps the greatest movement for equal rights, the Civil Rights Movement, coming out of the Baptist church, considering the enduring racism of the Southern Baptist Convention. 

To be clear, I think that politicians in general should be careful to make sure their religious preferences don’t become dogmatic. It was only a few years ago that a campaign slogan from a Georgia republican gubernatorial candidate made me do a double take. 

“Jesus Guns Babies” were the words listed on a van behind Kandiss Taylor, a Republican who unsuccessfully ran against Gov. Brian Kemp in the 2022primary. This past August, on her show with the same name, Taylor said no one should be elected to government “who isn’t Christian.”

If politicians, particularly those of the Democratic variety, want to speak out about the power of God, they should do so as it relates to the way the GOP has cornered the market on evangelism. It troubles my spirit when people use the term “right-wing evangelism”—and not just because it’s an oxymoron. Calling the people who perform these discriminatory misdeeds “evangelists” gives cover to the unrepentantly racist attitudes of organizations and literal lynch mobs.

Violent white men who called themselves “The Redeemers” paved the path to Jim Crow. The likes of former slave owners Wade Hampton and Ben Tillman wiped out the tenuous gains of Reconstruction using campaigns such as the Hamburg Massacre. The legacy of Lost Cause politics and Confederate statues lionized these people and what their unholy imaginations deemed to be “righteous.”

It took close to 100 years to clip Jim Crow’s wings, and while its vestiges still remain, it was the theocracy of the Black church that led to profound legislative gains. Remember, government is for the people, by the people. It was the actions of the church and the spirit of freedom songs that powered a just revolution when violent mobs forced various post-slavery migrations.

A museum display showing a lot of old black and white photos with large red text signage, the top one reads Black Empowerment
Black Americans have used music as a soundtrack to freedom or mobilization efforts to turn back decades of oppression. Photo by Stephen Wilson Credit: Stephen Wilson

In a number of ways, the Trump administration’s attacks on DEI and on civil-rights legislation parallel chattel slavery, choices made in the 1860s and actions of the KKK. Thus, history becomes a guide for both white-supremacist regimes and for those who would fight for civil and equal rights.

When I think about the success of the Montgomery Bus Boycott and how it kicked off a close to 15-year effort that changed the world, I feel that moments such as those could almost be defined as having a supernatural sense of innovation. But that has always been the Black experience in America, whether it’s using music as a soundtrack to freedom or mobilization efforts to turn back decades of oppression.

Dr. King was a young preacher in Montgomery who organized with local professionals and then took a movement to the people. What started in Alabama morphed into the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, which spun off into remarkable factions of their own right, whether through nonviolence or through declarations of “Black Power.” However one feels about the methods, the credit for this level of progress often comes back to Dr. King, who was killed in the service of Black people. 

Sadly, Jeffries’ tweet is reflective of the strength of a racist theocracy and the waning energy of a righteous one. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Regardless of religious preferences, we should not be afraid to speak truth to power, especially when people seek to use religion to justify their malicious deeds. 

We should be more deliberate in separating church from fascist state, and more importantly, we should employ the practices of Montgomery as we turn local politics into national change. It’s like the familiar religious adage reads: “Faith without works is dead.”

This MFP Voices opinion essay does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to voices@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.

Ken Makin is a freelance writer and the host of the Makin' A Difference podcast. He began his journalism career in 2004 and the podcast in 2015. He is married with two children and currently resides near his native Augusta, Ga.