Extreme protests worth it?

Does discomfort lead to change?

In September 1738, Quaker Benjamin Lay, a dwarf barely 4 feet tall, filled an animal bladder with bright red pokeberry juice, then tucked it into the secret compartment of a book. He donned a military uniform and a sword, covered himself in an overcoat that hid the book, and set off from his home in Pennsylvania for New Jersey, where he attended the Yearly Meeting of the most powerful Quakers. Many of these leading Quakers were slave owners.

In a thundering voice that belied his stature, he rose and announced to the gathering that slaveholding was the greatest sin in the world. He threw off his overcoat, raised the book above his head, unsheathed his sword, and declared: “God will take vengeance on those who oppress their fellow creatures.” He ran his sword through the book. The bladder exploded in a gush of “blood,” splattering the slaveholders sitting nearby. A group of Quaker men grabbed Lay and threw him out of the meeting house into the street. (Excerpted from Aeon, May 3, 2018).

For years Lay continued to protest outrageously, even after he was disowned by many Meetings.

Lay, passionately dedicated to ending slavery, was more than two centuries ahead of his time. It was only decades later that other Quakers became abolitionists, and many decades more before the larger society caught up with them. We cannot know how effective his demonstrations were, but I see him faithfully plowing rocky ground to prepare for the harvest to come long after he was gone.

What does Friend Lay have to say to us today? Can we dismiss him as a disturbing nuisance, perhaps mentally ill? What would you do if he showed up in church next Sunday? At a Quorum Court meeting? What do we do with demanding people who make us nervous, even when they are right? Especially when they are right?

It’s debatable whether extreme protests help or hinder a cause. When I lived in St. Louis many years ago, I participated in a demonstration to protest the atomic bomb tests that were being held in the desert. We held hands, forming a line across a main downtown intersection during lunch hour, stopping traffic in all directions. The police soon arrived and told us to move out of the street or be arrested. Having made our point, we moved to the sidewalk. But I was troubled. I heard the shouts of the angry drivers whose lives we had disrupted. I realized that we had turned people off, rather than enlisting their support, and vowed not to take part in such actions again.

I could never be a Benjamin Lay. I’m not willing to make people that uncomfortable — not yet. But as the world’s predicament becomes more precarious, perhaps I will. I hope not too late.