Sacred Resistance: Diasporic Theology, Faith, and the Right to Believe Freely
by Kennedy Elise Perry, 2025 Spring Associate
“They tried to bury us, but they didn’t know we were seeds.” ~ Dinos Christianopoulos
Mexican proverb echoed throughout global liberation movements
Across centuries and continents, the African diaspora has held fast to one enduring truth: faith is a form of freedom. Whether whispered through coded hymns on plantations, invoked in ancestral rituals, or shouted through prison bars by modern freedom fighters, the theological imagination of African-descended people has always been an act of sacred resistance.
From the plantation to the prison, the journey of Black faith is marked by struggle, survival, and spiritual resilience. Enslaved Africans carried more than their chains; they carried cosmologies, creation stories, and connections to the divine. Stripped of their land and languages, they made altars out of memory and music, building an underground church with no walls, where every song was a psalm and every step toward freedom was a liturgy.
But the cost of conscience has never been cheap.
Today, in many countries with large African diaspora populations, Nigeria, Haiti, Brazil, and the United States, religious and political dissent is still punished. Whether it's state-sponsored crackdowns on traditional Yoruba worship, incarceration of Black activists for organizing, or zoning laws used to shut down historically Black churches, the message is clear. Some beliefs are still considered a threat. And yet, the diaspora continues to hold onto their beliefs.
Across the African diaspora, the fight for religious freedom has long been interwoven with struggles against state violence, colonial legacies, and systemic erasure. As explored in Embodying Black Religions in Africa and Its Diasporas, many Black people have always engaged with African Traditional Religions, consciously or not, despite centuries of demonization and criminalization, which persists even today. In The Gambia, the released findings of the Truth, Reconciliation, and Reparations Commission (TRRC) expose a chilling pattern of repression under former President Yahya Jammeh, whose regime is responsible for the extrajudicial killings of over 240 people, including students, journalists, and spiritual practitioners amplifies why these acts are not only politically motivated but wrapped spiritual violence and warfare. Among the victims were those targeted during witch-hunting campaigns and a fraudulent state-run HIV “treatment” program, where people were subjected to forced rituals and medical abuse. Weaponizing the beliefs as a means of control in a nation where Indigenous spirituality and dissenting faiths were already marginalized ultimately impairs people from living in their truth and calling for justice.
In Uganda, the Witchcraft Act of 1957 continues to criminalize Indigenous spiritual practices, framing them as 'unlawful.' This sacred inheritance, passed down through rituals, music, and memory, resists being reduced to folklore or superstition. Yet, as legal frameworks like Uganda’s Witchcraft Act demonstrate, state apparatuses still target these beliefs, reinforcing the colonial logic that once deemed African spirituality uncivilized. From Haiti to Nigeria, and even in the diaspora, reclaiming these traditions becomes an act of theological and cultural resistance.
Meanwhile, in more formal religious contexts, violations of conscience continue. Reports from the U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom (USCIRF) highlight the case of Mubarak Bala, a Nigerian atheist who was arrested in 2020 for allegedly blaspheming against Islam, a clear violation of his right to freedom of expression. Bala’s case underscores the increasing repression of non-traditional faiths and political dissent in countries with large African diaspora populations, where religious freedom is selectively granted or outright suppressed. The global incarceration of prisoners of conscience is “astonishingly widespread,” often affecting those who dare to dissent politically or spiritually. These cases affirm that religious freedom isn’t a universally applied right. It’s a battleground. The Black diaspora’s theological exploration, grounded in liberation and resistance, offers both a critique and a hope: that faith, in its many forms, can still shake the foundations of disposition.
We believe in a God who breaks chains, in ancestors who guide us, and in justice that flows like a river. We believe, despite surveillance. We think, despite silence. We believe, even in solitary.
Diasporic theology is a theology of survival. It’s the hush harbor, the drum circle, the prison letter, the grandmother’s prayer. It is how we sustain hope in systems designed to extinguish it.
To reclaim African Indigenous religions is not just an act of cultural pride; it is a confrontation with centuries of harm. Our faith matters. Our way of knowing the divine is sacred, not savage. It is not a relic of the past but a blueprint for liberation.
In the age of global authoritarianism, where religious freedom is often selectively granted, the Black diaspora’s insistence on faith is revolutionary. Every time a community gathers to worship freely, every time a political prisoner writes a prayer from their cell, every time an elder pours words of wisdom for the ancestors, we defy with resistance.
