Peoples Temple and Black Religion in America

10. The Church in Peoples Temple

10 The Church in Peoples Temple mary r. sawyer In the mid-1970s, some one thousand members of the movement known as Peoples Temple relocated from California to the South American country of Guyana to build a settlement that they intended would exemplify the principles of communalism and racial harmony. Within days and even hours of receiving word of the tragic ending of this settlement, most of America had become persuaded that those who perished there were either politically or psychologically demented or both. Consequently, their dignity as human beings was utterly denied. At the time, in our shock and in the face of public reactions, those of us living in northern California who had worked with the people of Peoples Temple in various capacities and who had developed a positive regard for their social and political activities could do little else but offer feeble defenses of the members: “But they were individuals just like you and me.” For the most part, our voices were silenced. While some have integrated this experience into their life journeys, many still are reluctant to speak of the personal ties they had to the group and its members, in large part because of the sense of shame generated by the demonizing and caricaturing of the movement and its leader, Jim Jones, by those who did not know the people personally. The dehumanizing of the victims of Jonestown by the journalistic community was tantamount to the withholding of permission to grieve. And America’s religious community—that vast potential reservoir of pastoral care—was unable to facilitate a proper grieving, either on the part of the families immediately affected or on the part of the nation, because they, too, did not know the people, and what The Church in Peoples Temple 167 we do not know in a personal way, we cannot mourn. Indeed, because of not knowing the people, the church and its national congregation could not begin to fathom how very much there was to mourn. Martin Amos was a beautiful, precocious, biracial 10-year-old who loved books and plants. Annie Moore was the artistic daughter of a United Methodist minister who, together with his wife, had routinely included all three of their children in peace and civil rights demonstrations ; Annie followed her older sister Carolyn Layton into the movement. Richard Tropp was a Jew who had been in the South during the Civil Rights movement. Fred Lewis was never a member, but 27 of his relatives, including his wife and children, died in Guyana. Marcie Jones had the most gentle spirit of any woman I have ever met. She was the abused spouse of Jim; she was dearly loved by the Peoples Temple family. People joined the Temple for one of two reasons: in order to give help, or in order to receive it. Caring individuals were drawn to the movement’s emphatic commitment to racial equality and economic sufficiency. They were deeply impressed that the Temple helped drug addicts recover, found new vocations for prostitutes, served food to the hungry, provided shelter for the homeless and homes for senior citizens. The people who joined had grand ideals and big hearts. Or they had trouble. They were the drug addicts or the prostitutes or the hungry or the financially insecure. In practical terms, Peoples Temple was a movement that offered sanctuary from racial discrimination, opportunity for education and employment, and the promise of lifelong economic security. In spiritual terms, it offered the experience of community and the occasion to be a part of something larger than oneself. It did what religion does: it met people’s needs. It provided meaning and purpose. It addressed ultimate concerns. Throughout its entire history, Peoples Temple was commonly understood to be a Christian organization. Certainly in San Francisco, it was regarded as a church. When its Christian credentials were brought into question, however, the problem arose as to how to categorize the movement. A voice I hear with clarity across the chasm of time is that of Mervyn Dymally, who from 1974 to 1978 served as lieutenant governor of the State of California. A native Trinidadian and naturalized citizen, Lieutenant Governor (later Congressman) Dymally brought to his public service a keen sensitivity to the social inequities of race and class. Throughout his tenure as a state senator in the 1960s and early 1970s, he was a leading author of progressive civil rights and social [3.135.190.232] Project MUSE (2024-04-25 15...