The Left Has No God
By Nyles Pollonais
How long must we allow them to tell us who God is? How long must we allow them to kill in the name of our God who speaks life? How long must we allow them to enslave us under the word of the God who breaks chains? The Left has no God, or it must be so, because they must always tell us who He is and what He wants...
““It comes as a great shock — around the age of 5, or 6, or 7 to discover the flag which you have pledged allegiance — along with everybody else has not pledged allegiance to you. It comes as a great shock to discover that Gary Culper killing off the Indians — when you were rooting for Gary Culper — that the Indians were you. It comes as a great shock to discover the country which is your birthplace and to which you owe your life and your identity has not in its whole system of reality evolved any place for you.”
”
For my 30th birthday, I was able to travel to Lisbon, Portugal, and I did it all. Taking the time to reflect on my life, the journey, the wins, and the losses, for just a moment, I could breathe. I slept, I ate, I got a massage, I fucked, I travelled like a tourist…I enjoyed myself for once. For a moment in time, I was able to turn off the brain. I was neither a teacher nor a student. I simply was. But, if you know me by now, you know that’s a lie. At some point, in the midst of the joyous fog, the brain clicks on. It’s a survival skill. See, one way or another, I am always reminded and confirmed by social settings of who I am, whether I like it or not, choose it or not. On my last full day in Lisboa (the Portuguese name for their city) I took one more trip. I couldn’t leave without seeing the Castle on the Hill (Castelo de Sao Jorge), even if it was closed for the day.
Lackluster. Too many tourists asking the guide why it was closed simply made me turn around. I wasn’t disappointed. I mean, what could I have expected of a closed tourist attraction? Right. So I ventured down the hill in awe at the sights. I mean, if you haven’t been, I’ll tell you now – take some hiking shoes and be prepared to hike. It’s a city built into a mountain, and I have no other way of explaining it. Well worth the views, however.
As I came down, I stopped into a cathedral. I was just allowed to enter the Museum of Resistance and Freedom for free because I was a teacher. And I thought to myself, “Why not stop into the cathedral and take a moment to see what Christianity looked like here.” Spoiler alert: It wasn’t free. 5€ got me in the door, and I was guided up the stairs to the right. All guests are told to first go upstairs and then come down to visit the remainder of the cathedral. Upstairs held the important items, the old tables, the old books, and everything kept in place — for who, I don’t know. But, what shocked me the most was the painting above. Now, it was prohibited to take photos and I remembered immediately after taking the shot, but getting this photo had to happen. As I stood there staring at this gigantic piece of a decapitated man’s head being celebrated by those around him in a place of worship, I could only think of the words of James Baldwin. “... the Indians were you.” And as I came downstairs, hiding my cellphone in the pocket of my shorts, I felt a presence like no other when the thought came into my head — “I Won’t Allow It.”
I wondered many days before writing this if I was qualified. I hadn’t even read the whole Bible. In fact, in the most bare bones understanding of Christianity, I was certain to go to hell. Shit, I have done ALL the things. I was no religious scholar, yet I knew God better than most who devote their whole lives do. I am sure of it.
I met a Black Israelite here in Spain. He’s a teacher, mentor, and friend of mine who has been here for a few years. He’s a lifeline. We met for the first time in person when I traveled to Elche. He and his friend, a young woman from India, met me as I got off the bus on a rainy day in February. It was good to meet two others who had similar experiences to my own here in Spain, and even better to meet a Black man from the United States. We got some food at a Colombian spot because the rest of the city was closed for the siesta and started talking away about aux life, work, travel, politics, and religion. All the things you’re not supposed to speak on we did, and that’s how I know they’re good people. It got heated, I can’t lie. And, I remember him asking me at one point, “You’re a Christian aren’t you?” He wasn’t. His perception of Christians in Black America was that of sheep being led by blind and broken shepherds. I knew this before he asked, and so in response I told him “Yes, but not in the way you think.” At that moment, our female counterpart jumped in to refocus the conversation globally with inputs on Indian religious views. It was a refreshing and needed input of feminine energy and peaceful redirection. But, that question lingered in my spirit.
I see things differently and have for many years. I have lost my religion twice now. I lost it in high school when my grandmother could not explain the answer to the question: “If Christianity is monotheistic, why do Christians believe in a trinity of Gods?” I lost it the second time in college around the time of my encountering with Black radicalism. You know; Malcolm X, Nation of Islam, Black Panthers era.” I thought I was going to be Muslim. I even asked a Jewish friend of mine about becoming Jewish. From what I knew about Judaism, I loved how easy and carefree their God seemed compared to my own. I chose neither, and decided to be without. It wasn’t until January 2020 that I returned on my own to religion, and specifically to Christianity. Here’s the difference. This time, it was personal, and nobody else's business. Sure, I shared sermons that resonated with me with my woo-woo religious aunt from corporate pastors, but that was about it. My God, my terms, my prayers, my church. This God understood me. I was not an outsider looking for approval from some other entity. He knew me, my mother, my grandfather. He knew pain, he knew slavery, he knew life as a Black person in this country. He knew sexuality, and the freedom of exploration. He knew drugs and addiction. He knew Brooklyn. He knew Dacula. He knew Port Charlotte, Florida. He knew me. Yes, he had similar outlines to those in the abrahamic texts, but he definitely was not the person in those books, at their churches, or in that cathedral in Portugal. Nope. Couldn’t be, or else they wouldn’t behave that way. They wouldn’t have a painting of a decapitated man’s head in a place of worship. What kind of God was that?
I have a firsthand view of religion here in Europe. This is where the Pope is. This is where the Crusades happened. This is where it all started, no? The Portuguese days of the week are mirrored after their Christian views. The holidays and celebrations here in Spain are all centered around a Christian model, as if to remind the people of who they must be. Years of Islamic influence and rule have forced the white Christians to constantly reinforce the ideology that “We are not them.” And with this in mind, I am forced to observe this re-engage with this sort of Christian nationalism being pushed by the Trump Administration and Project 2025 — and still forced to ask myself whose God this is.
They have used this Christianity to write multiple Bibles, multiple versions with pre-selected books and purposefully redacted chapters. They have used this Christianity against members of their own people who could not read to force them to become good laborers for their land-owning constituents. They have used this Christianity to enslave millions of people and ensure their docility in the face of oppression, murder, and incarceration. They have used this Christianity against same-sex loving humans who only want to live. They have used this Christianity against women who choose to dictate what to do with their own bodies. They have used this Christianity to determine aliens from citizens on a planet to which all are born. And, now, they are using this Christianity to tell us how we should organize ourselves in a government founded on the basis of separation of church and state. So, again, I ask, whose God is this?
As I left the cathedral that day, I wondered who gave them the authority to dictate to anyone else the matter of their relationship with God? Who decided that any group of people could teach another group of people to establish connection with an all knowing omnipresent being? Who told these people that they could create a religious based political playbook and guilt the country into believing that going against them was going against God? I don’t know, but what I do know is that I won’t allow it. For too long they have killed, jailed, tortured, punished, starved, maimed, detained, and blinded in the name of this God, and I, for one, will not allow it. The left may not have their God, but I am on the left, and my God has never left me.
Epilogue
Doing a bit of historical research spurred by a recent holiday celebration here called “Los Moros y Los Cristianos” (The Moors and the Christians) I came to realize that the photo from that church in Lisbon is a photo depicting the Moors decapitating the head of a Christian person from that timeframe.
Upon reflection, I still wondered why it was in the church to begin with, and I’ve come to the idea that it served them (the Portuguese Christians) as a reminder of the so called brutality of the Moors & maybe even justification for the killings during the crusades. The style of dress and turbans worn by the people holding the decapitated head are often associated with Islamic culture. A tit for tat if you will.
It doesn’t change my opinion, the emphasis, nor the timeliness of the article. In fact, it sort of exemplifies why this it’s important today - especially when looking at places like Yemen, Palestine, and even in the West. Should we still be killing in the name of God years later?
Meet the Writer
Currently living in Torrevieja, Spain, Nyles A. Pollonais is a man of many titles who spends most of his time engaging in healthy living, creative expression, communications, education, liberation, and critical thought. He holds a Bachelors of Arts in Political Science from New York University and a Masters of Arts in The Design and Technology for Learning from the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. Nyles is a longtime contributor to Audacity Magazine & Events and our most read writer of 2021. He has recently released his first EP, Seasons, under the stage name First Amiri and is working on furthering his artistic endeavors through various mediums. Born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, Nyles is never shy to discuss his Caribbean heritage and New Yorker identity and he just might cook you something to eat. Check out his YouTube channel under the handle @nnnyles.
