The radical rite

Liberation theology did not die on the cross and has new martyrs to revere. Review: Liberation Theology and Praxis in Contemporary Latin America, P Bradbury and N Geraghty (eds), by Gavin O'Toole

Liberation Theology and Praxis in Contemporary Latin America: As It Was in the Beginning? Pablo Bradbury and Niall HD Geraghty (eds), 2025, University of London Press

As the conclave of Catholic cardinals in Rome that will select the successor to Pope Francis gets underway, there is much reflection on how the late pontiff’s perspectives diverged from those of his predecessors.

A figure that emerges repeatedly in discussion is Pope John Paul II (1978–2005) who established a critical reference point in a period of the Cold War during which theology had been drawn into the arena of global ideological struggle.

The very choice of John Paul—ultimately lauded by the right for helping to end communist rule in his native Poland and the rest of eastern Europe—reflected the polarisation and politicisation of the institutional church.

It undoubtedly also reflected the powerful concealed influences trying to steer the church’s future direction: a key figure in John Paul’s election was the US cardinal John Krol, a staunch traditionalist intimate with the Republican establishment.

A robust conservative who concealed his politics behind theological garb, John Paul’s tenure coincided with the Latin American Bishops Conference (CELAM) meeting in Puebla in 1979 in which the tide turned against liberation theology.

He can be associated closely with the backlash among the hierarchy against liberationist political expressions, exemplified by the pontiff’s rebuke of Ernesto Cardenal in 1983 for joining Nicaragua’s Sandinista government.

Similarly, in 1985 John Paul banished Leonardo Boff into a period of silence after the Brazilian liberation theologian published a book that laid bare the proximity of clerical radicals to Marxism and undertook a revolutionary critique of the church establishment.

Under John Paul’s guidance also, in 1984 and 1986 the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith—heir to the medieval Inquisition dedicated to rooting out heretics—issued its crucial “Instructions” on liberation theology that downplayed oppression and re-emphasised “sin”.

Liberation theology was thereafter fair game—not least for the US-backed army death squads of Central America whose assassinations of high-profile progressives culminated in the notorious murder of the Jesuit theologian Ignacio Ellacuría in El Salvador in 1989 along with five fellow priests and two employees.

This murderous hostility to progressive thought has chilling similarities with today, as a new rightwing wave washes across the Christian world, with the choice of a successor to Francis—an Argentinian, born Jorge Mario Bergoglio—often reduced to one between right and left.

That is because Francis, the first Jesuit to become pope, adopted positions that appeared to directly challenge the conservatism of John Paul—active sympathy for the poor, critiques of capitalism, visible support for migrants, and he was willing to engage with liberationist, anarchist and socialist movements across Latin America.

During his papacy, Francis invited the most prominent proponent of liberation theology, the Peruvian Gustavo Gutiérrez, to meet with him, and advanced the canonisation of Óscar Romero and his friend Rutilio Grande, both assassinated by Salvador’s security forces.

There seems little doubt, given today’s global political climate, that following the death of Francis the conservative–progressive divide among bishops will resurface with a vengeance, and not only in Latin America.

In the forefront of this struggle about to play out behind the ornate doors isolating the Vatican conclave will be US Catholic prelates, who have already been lobbying intensely against a liberal successor to Francis.

Outside, their cheerleaders have been working on the laity—not least the toxic Maga ideologue Steve Bannon, an inflammatory voice of rightwing Catholicism, who has been generating divisive media coverage, which helps to explain Donald Trump’s deranged stunt posting an image of himself dressed as the pope.

Not only does this make the publication of Liberation Theology and Praxis in Contemporary Latin America profoundly timely, it also underscores the central argument bringing together the contributions in this collection.

It is easy to conclude from a historical perspective that the violence targeted at liberationist clergy reflected a sense that by the early 1980s this theological current had been mortally wounded by conservative attacks. As editors Pablo Bradbury and Niall Geraghty write: “Considering these reactions against liberation theology collectively seems to sketch out a picture of decline, of a theology subdued by institutional discipline and smashed by violent repression.”

Yet they challenge this narrative by seeking to return to the question of praxis—the lived experiences and spiritual practices of those engaged in social action—to argue that this theological and socio-religious movement “cannot be reduced to a single grand narrative or confined to an easy linear periodisation”.

The editors do not argue for a straightforward return of a liberationist stance but aim to re-evaluate its history and legacy in order to consider its enduring impact on religious and social life in Latin America since the 1980s. In short, they ask: what came next?

Bradbury and Geraghty write: “A picture emerges of liberationist Christianity… that is at once more diverse and internally conflicted, more widely resonant outside ecclesial confines and more interconnected over time than often allowed. That is to say, a vision of liberationist Christianity that is more vibrant and alive than generally recognised.”

In particular, they suggest that in the face of the violent repression of the left followed by the neoliberal imposition across Latin America, the “liberation” in liberation theology assumed new meanings responding to new social contexts and other forms of oppression.

A good example has been a reconsideration of the marginalisation of women and the reproduction of patriarchal structures, but contributors to this collection also consider the clerical-centric character of liberation theology, its insights in the social sciences and arts, and its engagement with human rights, ecology, class and even architecture. Running through the essays is the fundamental question of praxis as integral to a living liberationist perspective.

Natalie Gasparowicz, for example, reconsiders the feminist challenge to the church in a study of the largely neglected Catholic Women’s Conference, which ran parallel to CELAM in 1979 and positioned women as historical subjects at the centre of liberation struggles. Ely Orrego Torres brings this up to date by examining recent developments in ecofeminism, considering its potential to reformulate political theology and challenge anthropocentrism and androcentrism.

What becomes clear from these contributions and the structure of this invaluable collection is that praxis continues to leverage struggle—and so often that, in turn, implies martyrdom.

Martha Zechmeister of the Universidad Centroamericana José Simeón Cañas in El Salvador begins the book by reflecting on the slaughter of Ellacuría with a call for contemporary liberation theologies to remain rooted in the places and struggles of such past sacrifices.

Elizabeth O’Donnell Gandolfo ends it by reflecting on martyrdom itself—and how so many Latin American progressives continue to die today in human rights, gender, racial and ecological struggles across the region.

As she notes, this martyrdom is no longer visibly tied to the church in the way it was during the 1980s and 1990s—although one suspects in the climate unfolding after Francis and under the new guise of US imperialism that could soon change.

Yet O’Donnell writes: “Nevertheless, in more recent years, Latin American liberation theologians and ecclesial communities committed to a liberating faith have begun to engage more deeply with the witness of twenty-first-century martyrs—Christian or not—who have paid the ultimate price for embodied participation in their peoples’ struggles for social and ecological liberation …

“Scholars and practitioners of liberation theology are therefore faced with the task of seeking creative synchronicity with contemporary martyrs—both the living witnesses who face persecution and those who have died and risen in the struggles of their people …”

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