I do not usually write in the heat of the moment. I prefer distance, reflection, time. But there are moments when silence itself becomes a form of abdication.
I am an Evangelical Christian. I am sixty-seven years old. I belong to the fourth generation of Evangelicals in Chile, and if I include my children and grandchildren, my family now represents six generations living out this faith in this country. Evangelicals have known difficult times: periods of social marginalisation, moments when being Evangelical meant being invisible or irrelevant, even subject to ridicule. Yet, curiously, never before have I felt discriminated against because of my faith as I do now.
The recent appointment of Judith Marín as Minister for Women and Gender Equality has provoked a stir that goes far beyond legitimate political debate. I do not know her. I am not assessing here whether or not she has the necessary qualifications to hold the office. Nor am I defending her political views or her political identity. That is not my point. My concern lies elsewhere, and it is deeper and more troubling.
I have observed carefully how a significant portion of the criticism directed at her does not focus on her professional background or her capacity for public administration, but rather on her religious identity. She is questioned, disqualified, and caricatured for being Evangelical, as though that fact alone rendered her automatically unfit, dangerous, or unworthy of holding public office. In some discourses, explicit or implicit, Evangelical Christian faith is portrayed as a threat to democratic life, as an awkward residue that ought to be excluded from the public sphere.
It is true that she is also criticised for holding pro-life convictions. But honesty requires that this be said plainly: for an Evangelical Christian, the defence of life is not an ideological eccentricity nor an optional stance. It is a direct consequence of faith. God is a God of life, and an Evangelical cannot, without violating his or her conscience, cease to hold that conviction. The question therefore becomes unavoidable and deeply unsettling: does this mean that those who live out their Evangelical Christian faith coherently must be excluded from public life altogether? That only those who leave their faith at the door are deemed fit to serve the country? For if one listens carefully to many of the criticisms levelled at this future minister, what seems to be communicated to the nation is something even more serious: that only those who adhere to a particular moral outlook—one currently identified as “pro-choice”—are entitled to participate actively in the arena of public policymaking.
What is at stake, therefore, is not merely the appointment of one individual nor a passing controversy. What is being called into question is something far more delicate: the legitimate place of conscience within a democratic and plural society. A healthy democracy is not defined by the uniformity of its convictions, but by its capacity to accommodate deep disagreement without turning it into a mechanism of exclusion. When certain religious or moral beliefs begin to be treated as negative credentials, when it is implied that only those who embrace a particular ethical vision are fit for public service, pluralism ceases to be a promise and becomes an empty slogan. The true test of democracy is not whether it tolerates what we find comfortable, but whether it can live with convictions it does not share without expelling them from the common space.
And that is where something breaks.
For when a person is delegitimised not for what they do, but for what they believe; when faith is used as an argument to exclude or discredit; when the idea takes hold that certain religious convictions are, by definition, incompatible with public service, then we are no longer dealing with political criticism. We are facing a form of religious discrimination.
This wounds me not only as a believer, but as a citizen. It wounds me as someone who has lived his entire life in Chile without ever feeling that his faith made him a problem. It wounds me as part of a community that has quietly contributed to this country, serving in neighbourhoods, hospitals, schools, and social initiatives, and which now seems to be regarded with suspicion.
Chile has always been a plural country, with tensions, yes, but also with a basic respect for religious diversity. To see that respect eroded, and to witness Evangelical faith increasingly treated as a negative mark on a public résumé, is something I cannot overlook.
I am not asking for privileges. I am not asking for immunity from criticism. I am asking for something far simpler, and yet more fundamental: that no one be judged or disqualified solely on the basis of their faith.
I write this today not to defend a minister, but to give voice to a personal experience I never imagined I would have: that of feeling, for the first time, discriminated against and somewhat foreign in my own country because of my religious convictions.
And that, I believe, should concern us all.
Samuel Morrison
anglicanodelsur.com
