Will Ecuador's new leftist leader follow the model of Chavez or Lula vis-a-vis the Church?

By JOHN L. ALLEN JR.
New York

While liberation theology may be a shadow of its former self in official church circles, Catholic social radicalism is very much alive in Latin American politics, as this weekend’s swearing in of a former Catholic social worker and graduate of the Catholic University of Louvain in Belgium as the new President of Ecuador illustrates.

Rafael Correa, who calls himself a “Christian leftist” and a “devout evangelical Catholic,” took office yesterday, the latest in a tide of left-leaning politicians critical of the United States to come to power in the region. On hand were fellow leftists Hugo Chavez of Venezuela, Evo Morales of Bolivia and Daniel Ortega of Nicaragua, along with President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran.

Taken in tandem with Chavez’s recent invocation of Jesus Christ as “the greatest socialist in history,” and the presidential candidacy of a resigned Catholic bishop in Paraguay, Correa’s ascent illustrates that the old dream of liberation theology – reconciling Socialism and Christianity – lives on in secular leftist movements in Latin America.

What remains to be seen, observers say, is which path Correa will choose in managing his relationship with the Catholic Church: Open conflict like that associated with Chavez and, to some extent, Morales, or a respectful détente that sometimes translates into implicit support for his agenda, as was generally the case for Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva in Brazil, at least before he adopted a more conservative economic policy that prioritized settling foreign debt ahead of helping the poor.

Latin American Catholicism, observers say, has long been sharply divided between a traditionalist wing and social progressives, and in some cases clashes between the bishops and Latin America’s new crop of leftist leaders appear to be ideological. In other cases, even Catholic leaders who might be sympathetic to leftist politics have nevertheless objected to what they see as the authoritarian tendencies of these governments.

The Venezuelan bishops, for example, have repeatedly criticized what they see as a crackdown under Chavez. During an early January swearing-in ceremony for his third term as president, Chavez directly took on Cardinal Jorge Urosa Savino of Caracas, who has challenged Chavez’s decision to shut down an opposition TV station.

“Mr. Cardinal,” Chavez said, “the state respects the church. The church should respect the state. I wouldn’t like to return to the times of confrontation with Venezuelan bishops, but it’s not up to me. It’s up to the Venezuelan bishops.”

Morales in Bolivia, a onetime cocoa farmer, has likewise crossed swords with the hierarchy. In a television interview last July, for example, Morales said the bishops had “historically damaged the country” by functioning as “an instrument of the oligarchs.” Over the summer, he attempted to end instruction in Catholicism in Bolivia’s schools, but was forced to backtrack after vigorous opposition.

Bolivian observers say things did not get off to a good start, as a disc jockey for a Catholic-owned radio station managed to get Morales on the phone days after his victory in December 2005 by pretending to be Prime Minister Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero of Spain. The prank, which included congratulating Morales for forming a “new axis” with Cuba and Venezuela, was taped and later broadcast, prompting official protests and hard feelings.

Ortega’s clashes with the Catholic Church in Nicaragua, especially during the early days of the Sandinista Revolution, are by now the stuff of legend.

In Paraguay, Fernando Lugo, the emeritus bishop of the impoverished San Pedro diocese known for advocacy on behalf of the rural poor and his support of the “base community” movement, resigned the Catholic priesthood in December in the wake of a Vatican edict ordering him to stay out of partisan politics. He has announced plans to run for the country’s presidency in 2008 elections, and polls currently give him a narrow edge.

It remains to be seen to what extent Correa will manage to stay on good terms with ecclesiastical authorities.

Correa studied economics at Louvain from 1989 to 1991, where he was active in international student politics. The university put out a statement on January 15 saying it considered the election of an alumnus to be “an honor,” and announced that a representative from Louvain would be on hand at the inaugural ceremony. Correa also studied at the University of Illinois.

Upon his return to Ecuador, Correa lived in a remote Andean village as a social worker for the Catholic Church, where he learned to speak the indigenous Quichua language, which later proved an enormous electoral asset. He went on to teach economics, and then put in a stint as the country’s finance minister. Correa ran for president calling for a “citizen’s revolution” in the direction of progressive social change, vowing to block a free-trade treaty with the United States and to refuse to renew an American military base.

He is openly skeptical of United States influence in Latin America; he joked, for example, that Chavez’s comparison of U.S. President George Bush to the devil was “unfair to the devil.”

To date, Correa has steered clear of clashes with the bishops; if anything, they were far more critical of his conservative opponent, Alvaro Noboa, a banana magnate who brazenly used religious imagery in his campaign, often staging photo-ops with disabled children praying for his electoral success, and referring to himself as “God’s candidate.”

Some influential voices in the Latin American church have welcomed the rise of leaders such as Correa and Lula.

Bishop Antônio Celso Queiroz of the Catanduva diocese in Brazil, for example, said in a press conference last week that recent election results in Brazil, Ecuador, Nicaragua and Venezuela amount to a repudiation of Latin America’s status as a “back porch” of the United States.

“I see this with hope,” Queiroz said in mid-December during a meeting of the Brazilian bishops’ conference.

“Certainly there can be exaggerations here and there,” Queiroz said, “but in general this is an understandable movement that began in the 60s and 70s, but was interrupted because of the dictatorships, behind which was the United States.”

Several Brazilian bishops have enjoyed good relations with their own left-leaning president, Lula, including the man recently tapped by Pope Benedict XVI as Prefect of the Congregation for Clergy, Cardinal Claudio Hummes. As a young bishop during the years of the military dictatorship, Hummes allowed Lula, then a leftist labor organizer, to make speeches in his cathedral.

Recently, that relationship has soured somewhat. Recently, Cardinal Geraldo Majella Agnelo of Salvador said the year 2005 was "wasted" by Lula, whose government promised to help the poor but has been mired in a corruption scandal. Lula was also forced to postpone a controversial project to divert a river after the local bishop threatened to "fast to the death."

Nevertheless, there's a strong tissue of Catholic backing for Lula that most observers believe will survive. Brazil is the largest Catholic country in the world, and Lula has worked hard to show respect for the church. When John Paul II died in April 2005, for example, he declared a national seven-day period of mourning.

If Correa avoids frontal assaults on the Catholic Church, Latin American observers say, he may be able to join Lula in carving out a model of a center-left alliance between Catholic-inspired politicians and sympathetic bishops. If so, the fate of the governments in Brazil and Ecuador could have a great deal to say about the broader direction of social activism in the Latin American church in coming years.