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5C2A6354R by Rob Bulmahn CC BY-NC 2.0

In an era during which police institutions and ideology are so fundamental to our cultural common-sense, how can theologians and critical theorists challenge this form of power?

Deposing Police

Blacks die at the hands of police and it is called justifiable homicide. Police should die at the hands of the community and it should be called justifiable homicide…People’s arrest warrants should be issued for the police and the community should be the judge and executioner of the wrongdoers.

These remarks from minister, educator and activist Muhammad Kenyatta at a 1971 press conference following the killing of Roger Allison by Philadelphia Police Department officers illuminates the difficulties of forthright communication regarding police. The quote was carried in a Philadelphia Daily News report from February 22 of that year, alongside the newly appointed Philadelphia police commissioner’s announcement that a young man had recently shot a cop. Both the police chief and the journalist described this killing as a natural effect of rhetoric like Kenyatta’s. The commissioner said of the young man’s action: “he said he did it (shot the cop) because of what he’d heard.” The columnist, Tom Fox, likewise suggested that the killing could be attributed to media reporting on the violence of policing, and in particular those outlets which ran Kenyatta’s remarks, asserting: “You wonder what right a man like Muhammad Kenyatta has to say cops should be put to death.”

In  The Functions of the Police in Modern Society, sociologist Egon Bittner writes that “police procedure is defined by the feature that it may not be opposed in its course, and that force can be used if it is opposed. This is what the existence of police makes available to society.” The impunity with which we see police act is intrinsic to the concept. As people-groupings designated immune from what seem to be self-evident principles of retaliation or retribution, police exemplify brazen patterns of domination and deceit, and at the same time, reverence for police institutions is seen as the basis of any community’s common life.

Markus Dubber traces the idea to the foundations of Western jurisprudence, showing the term’s usage in early modern European “police science” to name the notion of a political community’s welfare, which authorizes policing’s characteristic violence against perceived threats, “the power of the state to govern the persons and things within its dominion as a householder would his household.” Mark Neocleous writes that “as noun, verb and adjective ‘police’ was historically used to describe the way order was achieved” and thus is “as important a concept to social and political theory as ‘sovereignty’, ‘legitimacy’, ‘consent’, ‘social contract’, ‘violence’, and all of the other concepts regularly used by theorists grappling with the nature of state power.” Micol Seigel sums up critical research on policing by terming it “violence work,” and points out that “‘Police’ is one of the least theorized, most neglected concepts in the lexicon of reformers and activists today.”  

Police serve as icons of secular legitimacy, a global justificatory apparatus through which ruling regimes can unleash force upon threats to perceived social order, as visions of community welfare authorize seemingly unchallengeable crimes. Slogans emerging from the rebellions against police violence in 2020 called for defunding and even abolishing the institutions which represent themselves as the condition of political community, and the reaction of professional political communications consultants was predictable enough, scoffing at the idea that, whatever their faults, police could be seen as a bad thing. All the while, the officials empowered as representative “violence workers” for particular municipal bodies stifle and mock appeals for justice. In an era during which police institutions and ideology are so fundamental to our cultural common-sense, how can theologians and critical theorists challenge this form of power?

The War on Spiritual Poverty

Consider as an example an ongoing case in the commonwealth of Pennsylvania (ED PA 2:21-cv-01945),a “civil rights survival and wrongful death action…raising supplemental state-law claims concerning the brutal violent acts inflicted upon Plaintiff’s decedent, Jonathon B. Dowd (‘Dowd’), by Defendants.” According to a recently filed complaint, Jonathon was “disoriented and confused due to receiving an injection of Naloxone” at a Rite-Aid in Philadelphia. After being seized and handcuffed, “while lying prone on the ground, Dowd yelled to Defendants Officers that he could not breathe, that he wanted to die, and pleaded ‘help me daddy,’” before “a Philadelphia Police Officer struck him in the face and head with a closed fist at least three times.” Needless to say, these first responders are accused of not providing the care required both by their own operations manuals and by the apparent needs of the person they saw dying, and relief does not appear forthcoming from this court, thanks in part to the legal doctrine of “qualified immunity.” Everywhere police are found committing “conscience-shocking” abuses, and everywhere declared essential.

image from Blue Mass at St. Anastasia Parish in Newtown Square, PA on September 11,2021, livestreamed via the parish Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/saintanastasianewtownsquare/videos/939357616648482

Devotion to perceived protectors may not be new, but the religious dimensions of support for police stand out especially in today’s ostensibly secular society. Today one can find circulating on various internet craft sites some version of a ‘police officer’s prayer’, written nearly a century ago by a Jesuit priest, addressed to “Saint Michael, heaven’s glorious commissioner of police, who once so neatly and successfully cleared God’s premises of all its undesirables…” and supplicating the heavenly patron to “look with kindly and professional eyes on your earthly force.” Early in the 20th century there emerged a new ceremony in the United States connected with the feast of St. Michael, a “Blue Mass” organized to honor and uplift those designated as society’s “first responders,” including police, firefighters, and medical personnel. Over time, the rite has become even more explicitly focused on those whose work is violence administration, and the latest gathering was scheduled in September of 2021 to coincide with remembrances of the United States’ “War on Terror.” “First responders have our back, and we’ve got their back in prayer,” said the principal celebrant, Father Artman.

Mutual appreciation between ecclesial and police leadership is longstanding. Early in the development of police as a protected class and political force, police and church organizations partnered in attempts to publicize and enforce moral practice, as in the 1950s anti-delinquency initiative “to reindoctrinate the youth of the city in a back to church movement” for the purposes of “the welding of police and church leaders into a ‘hand and glove operation’ to meet the current problems… to weave a knot of responsible spiritual leaders.’”

Likewise in 1968, writing to Richard Nixon, the Archbishop of Philadelphia called for “an all out war on spiritual poverty” in response to the pervasive problem of the “depletion of this nation’s religious capital,” a war which included and transcended the police; The National Catholic News Service reports the archbishop’s conviction “that merely increasing the size of police forces is not going to get at the root causes of widespread disregard for law and authority.” The archbishop’s ire against “spiritual poverty” might seem strange given how often that term is connected in theological tradition with blessing and the virtue of humility, or dependence on God. We can see the logic of police work as something like humility’s antithesis.

Imaging Forces

Appeals to piety in justifying police belie the self-serving nature of its institutions. Stuart Schrader has described movements for reform and professionalization shaping police into a formidable interest group “acting as a type of dominating class for itself, inscribing its power on the state and civil society” and characterized by “a profiteering outlook, attached to a capacity for organization, that deserves its own analytic attention, separate from the way police protect and serve social conditions amenable to capital accumulation.” The rhetoric of morals enforcement has been fundamental to the growth of police power, but police themselves are resistant to any form of accountability that could deflate their prestige. A recognizable police culture has emerged, replete with slogans and symbols reinforcing their apparent necessity and mustering indignation against restrictions or oversight.

This culture can be seen, for instance, in a series of T-shirts that local police have printed to advertise their brutality, raise funds, and promote police fraternity. One such shirt, pictured here, features an image of Philadelphia police beating a man suspected of carjacking around the time of the 2000 Republican National Convention. Higher-ups in the department chided the sale, expressing concern that it could tarnish the image of police.

More recently, when an officer named Joey Bologna was caught on tape taking a baton to the head of a student protesting the police killing of George Floyd, Philadelphia’s reform-minded district attorney quickly moved to charge him, and the local police union just as quickly moved to his defense, sharing an Instagram post and printing T-shirts with the slogan “Bologna Strong” in black and blue, and as Bologna made his way to turn himself in, he was surrounded by fellow officers applauding him in a show of solidarity.

Earlier this year, plainclothes officers shot a 12-year old in the back, and the union responded to their eventual firing by selling a series of T-shirts lamenting the officers’ plight: “Heroes when we die, fired when we try.” Once again, police brass expressed their concern and sought to distance themselves from the message, yet as of this writing it is still prominently displayed on the police union’s digital merchandising shop, in several colors and styles.  

No matter how immoral their works, faith in the potential goodness or necessity of police seems to be a rare point of unity across partisan divides. It may be tempting to begin and end reflection upon the police by imagining the idea of a more restrained, equitable or benevolent force, the same notion advanced by police advocates in bids for additional trainings and investments. Theologians and critical theorists oriented by concerns of truth and justice might turn to policing not as a solution but perhaps the most prominent and seemingly intractable example of how violence is authorized in the construction and reinforcement of social hierarchy.  

How can police authority be challenged? Perhaps another local t-shirt may provide some direction. While it is clear that religious symbols and ideas can be used to reinforce police power, the Philly Muslim Freedom Fund employs them to challenge the existence of police and invoke a higher law, with shirts declaring “Pigs are haram”: a force that thrives on marginalizing and accumulating and dominating, in restricting the formation of communities attuned to the invaluable and unrepresentable, compelling trust in worldly power and calling evil good. Religious traditions have many tools for both supporting and embodying this sort of work, as well as for describing and challenging it. How warped are understandings of God, of the human, of the community, or any other object of theological reflection, by the nexus of pre-authorized violence known as police?

Annotated Bibliography

Macaré, Joe, Alana Yu-lan Price, and Maya Schenwar, eds. Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect? Police Violence and Resistance in the United States. Chicago, IL: Haymarket Books, 2016.

This series of essays by activists and organizers reports on a variety of community struggles for justice against the police, shedding light on the many forms of violence these forces intensify, and providing information on movements to recognize and end patterns of torture and genocide.  

Center for Research on Criminal Justice. The Iron Fist and the Velvet Glove: An Analysis of the U.S. Police. Berkeley, CA: The Center for Research on Criminal Justice, 1975.

This comprehensive study by a group of radical criminologists detailing the rise of the “police-industrial complex” surveys the rapid growth of police institutions in the mid 20th century, describing their structures and strategies in ways that are still relevant for today’s struggles.

Schrader, Stuart. Badges Without Borders: How Global Counterinsurgency Transformed American Policing. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2019.

This book narrates police growth in the 20th century as part of a global history of imperialism, showing how movements to update, reform and professionalize police also connected and reinforced regimes of control domestically and worldwide. 

Balto, Simon, and Max Felker-Kantor. “Police and Crime in the American City, 1800–2020.” Oxford Research Encyclopedia of American History, 2022. https://doi.org/10.1093/acrefore/9780199329175.013.56.

This recent article surveys developments in policing in the United States, showing how efforts at reform and professionalization fail, and includes a helpful guide to contemporary critical literature.

Mariame Kaba and Andrea J. Ritchie, eds. No More Police: A Case for Abolition. New York: The New Press, 2022.

This forthcoming collection by two of the most prominent voices in the struggle for justice against police in the United States articulates a vision for community safety that does not rely on state violence.


Native survivance, in [Gerald] Vizenor’s parlance, is a combination of the words “survival” and “resistance,” and it “creates a sense of presence.” According to him, “The suffix -ance designates a condition, a nature, or a quality that is more than a mere description of survival.”


Where relationality is most productive in critical projects is where it transcends its projects of critique and explores the possibilities—ethical, political, and theological—of its account of subjectivity and community.


Facing the violence of contemporary terror, many intellectuals have spoken in our present times about a return of political theology and religion in its violent forms. Attention to the concept of martyrdom has reappeared due to an increasing interest in religious conflicts.


In autopoiesis, there is no separation between what we do and the particular way in which the world appears to us.


Where state sovereignty as theology would have subjected groups accept their condition with its attending violence and suffering, the micro sovereignty I propose here – not merely as a futuristic idea, but more as a reflection on how subjected groups have dealt with subjection – invites us not to accept that violence and suffering, but to find creative ways out of it through the cracks of Empire.


Abolition is a process of imagining alternatives to the settler colonial, carceral present; it requires modes of kinship and care to replace prisons and policing.

Gratuitous Violence

Signifying a critical homology between the fields of Black studies and political theology, gratuitous violence is an important keyword for interrogating how religio-political concepts can afford unique insights into issues of slavery, race, and the human which continue to inform our world today.  


Asian American literary criticism’s analysis of contemporary orientalisms centered around the figuration of Asian subjectivities reminds political theologians that unconscious (white) fear and fascination with the Orient still guides political and theoretical engagement with the Asian “other.”


Thing as concept can be helpful to elucidate the specific yet ambiguous interaction of the religious and the political. Using recent thingly theoretical work within these two spheres, with an emphasis on body and shape, I will suggest ways through which thing (and things and thingness) both clarifies and challenges that interaction.


Diaspora might be a problem for political progressives for the very reason that it is so alluring. Diaspora promises both freedom and connection: freedom from national borders or the essentialisms of race and language, connection between people who affirm shared memory and heritage.
But heritage is never really free.


If there is one thing that can be said about blackness, it is this: blackness is unruly.

Black Reason

Black reason is propelled by a fantastic imaginary, a changeling animus that aggregates and transmogrifies the desires and fears of whiteness.

Racial Capitalism

The historical and theoretical relationships between race and capitalism are internally contested and in need of further exploration from theologians and scholars of religion.


Sometimes referred to as “population control,” other times “better breeding,” eugenics has been seen as a religious solution to social ills, and sometimes a new religion unto itself.


Gilroy’s “planetary humanism” contributes to political theology by offering more than a critique: in his work, humanism is a starting point, a concept to guide multicultural political projects today.


Official responses to the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic have encouraged us to understand risk in individual terms. They’re wrong: risk is all about interdependence.

Food Sovereignty

Food sovereignty represents a refusal of a globally commodified food system in favor of systems and institutions that support self-sufficient communities.


Doxa is a term used in sociology to contend with belief and orthodoxy without reducing either to behavior or cognition. It explores disposition and embodied belief—the gut sense of the world which is acquired through practice rather than discourse.

Settler Colonialism

I propose Decolonial Settler Theology as a contextual political theology that is uniquely the task of the settler, who must face their own complicity in narratives of ongoing colonization and aim at their undoing.


In an era during which police institutions and ideology are so fundamental to our cultural common-sense, how can theologians and critical theorists challenge this form of power?


This essay takes taboo as a critical term to trace the history of our modern present and as a conceptual companion with which to think through the complex entanglement of the ethical, the theological, and the political.


What is still nascent… is an explicit conversation between political theology and critical theories of affect, particularly in a way that might contribute to constructive projects. The sort of political theology that might emerge from such collaboration would consider how affective regimes intersect with theological constructions or religious performances.


While kinship has traditionally held a vibrant conceptual life in anthropological inquiry, more recent studies on kinship as a form of spiritual relationality have opened up a new space of interdisciplinary exploration for political theology.


The modern state form itself is inextricable from the commandement, not just as an emblem for sovereignty in Schmitt’s sense, but also because the exemplary political form of modernity, the nation-state, has racist and exclusionary tendencies that can be understood as political-theological transfers of monotheistic principles.


That structural violence is always also relational, proximate, and personal is, perhaps, one of the core insights that the concept of mourning brings to the fore for political theology.


The conversation about nature’s personhood and rights is always political, often legal, and sometimes theological. Most importantly, it is a localized conversation about the boundaries of a given community – who is part of the community and who isn’t.


For political theology, we might find ourselves compelled by practices that seek to connect us with our ecologies, our communities, and our relations with ourselves – in ways that are more about humility and provisionality than finding cures or solutions.


Queer, I think, should remain different, differing, dissonant, and plural. It shouldn’t contract or calcify into anything singular or solid.


If theorizations of care are to more directly address the current “crisis of care,” we need not only to prioritize the kinds of embodied, particularized care that care ethics has highlighted in the past, but to explore a wider range of caring relationships and their diverse structures.


A preliminary question for political theology is how to understand the meaning and significance of matter. The response to this question shapes how a political theology does or doesn’t engage political economy and theological tradition.


The triangulation of money, sovereignty, and divinity is a good point of entry to study the mutual constitution of theological and political concepts and the questions about ultimate value and social form that they raise.


Refusal is a strong current resisting the structure of settler colonialism. It crashes, churns, and erodes the death-dealing dams of settler knowing. Its path turns away from the settler’s gaze.


Seva lends itself to easy appropriation across political and religious contexts, while also furnishing mutually intelligible tropes of service, welfare, and social betterment.


Political theology intimately understands that given reality teems with forms of life that remain opaque to us.


Spillers, Cheng, and Halberstam provide us with tools to approach the histories of violence, economics, relationships, desires, and contestation that infuse our experiences with flesh in its multiplicity. Flesh is never neutral.


It is not always possible (or advisable) to separate the “political” from the “religious” or “cultural” in Indigenous contexts. Indeed, all of these are concepts developed by outsiders to describe Indigenous life. Instead, Indigeneity invites scholars of political theology and related fields to consider the relationships between these threads of cultural life.


As we watch the illusion that was Man fall apart, we also see these more-than-human worlds that Man called “animal” disrupting and revealing the cracks and fractures in his own divine intentions.

Temporality I: History

William Apess, like Walter Benjamin a century later, sought to shift the paradigms of society with history and theology as orienting poles for colonial critique. Anticipating Benjamin, Apess looked to those who had been wrecked by the advance of colonialism as the grounding site for historical and political theological inquiry.

Temporality II: Futurity

Both Benjamin and Apess discern that historical narratives are imbricated with notions of futurity, that is, which bodies and polities are allowed to inhabit and thrive within the temporality in which the “not yet” and the “always already” co-constitute each other.


In this short essay, written from my perspective as a Jewish feminist, I draw together a plurality of engagements with natality to engender new conversations in political theology.

Critical Race Theory

CRT is a framework or an approach to understanding the way racism is foundational to systems of judicial, political, social, cultural, religious, and theological power.


[S]ituating demonology more fully in its religious and theological contexts furnishes resources that not only nuance understandings of movements for whom demonization is central, but also recontextualize discussions of core political theological concepts, including sovereignty, power, economy, subjectivity, and freedom.


From Myanmar to Mariupol, from the streets of Memphis to the waves and winds of the Mediterranean Sea: resistance to violence takes many forms. So does political protest against precarity. At which point does the unavoidable vulnerability of the living condition come to expression as political agency? Can such precarious politics constitute or configure an alternative community?

Hunger Strike

“Instead of neatly separating the forms of resistance to biosovereignty into life-affirming struggles and necroresistance and mapping them (and life and death) onto the reform/revolt dichotomy, I suggest that we conceive life and death as relational rather than oppositional categories. For every differentiation and intensification of death creates new possibilities of life; and every differentiation and intensification of life entails experiences of “death” that cannot be reduced to the power of one’s death.”

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