In the Bible Belt, Atheists Have Turned into Rebels

(Fort Worth, TEXAS) Naturally, Terry McDonald was expecting negative reactions — but not to the point of causing a theological battle through billboards across his own town. … Last December, the atheist organization over which he presides, Metroplex Atheists, started an unusual PR campaign: four buses driving through the streets of Fort Worth and carrying billboards with the words: “Millions of people are good without God.”

“All we wanted was to tell people who don’t believe in God that they are not alone, that they are welcome to join our group,” explains Terry McDonald today. “It was in no way an attack against Christian values.”

However, not everyone looked at it that way. A reverend immediately called for a boycott of the buses, while another Christian group rented a van to follow the vehicles, advertising the following message: “I still love you — God. 2.1 billion Christians are good with God.” “And I’m not even talking about the dozens of e-mails I received,” says Terry with a smile. “The kindest messages usually end with the words ‘I will pray for you.’”

In light of the magnitude of the event, the Fort Worth Transportation Authority held an emergency meeting, during which each side came to have their voice heard. Finally, the company voted in favor of a strict ban on posters of either a religious or atheistic nature. The decision did not please everyone — neither the believers nor those defending the First Amendment, which in principle guarantees the right to free expression. But Terry McDonald is satisfied in the end: “This goes in the right direction, that of a strict separation of church and state, for which we always campaigned.”

Terry feels that the approaching holidays probably exacerbated people’s feelings. Nonetheless, he insists that the billboard campaign had originally been planned for the 4th of July celebrations, but the necessary funds had not been collected on time. “After all, December doesn’t belong to anyone!” he pleads. The group also leads more behind-the-scene campaigns, such as replacing religious symbols in public day care centers with patriotic emblems or cleaning up the sides of highways. “We are trying to make people understand that atheists are also good people, like everyone else, who love their families and pay their taxes.”

This could be amusing to people in France, but in Texas, the heart of the Bible Belt, there is no guarantee of that. “The pressure is so high that many people simply do not dare admit that they don’t believe in God. They fear being rejected by their families, their friends, their colleagues,” says Terry. He himself doesn’t care about this pressure: “My parents passed away and I am retired, so you know.” Other than that, there are topics he avoids speaking of during family dinners, such as his militant activities … and he spent this last Christmas in a cabin in the woods with his wife.

Breaking the isolation is one of the main raisons d’être of the atheist circles, which serve the purpose of social clubs. There are apparently about 15 in the Dallas-Fort Worth metropolitan area, with between 3,000 and 5,000 total members. Founded in the 1980s, Metroplex Atheist has been in place the longest. Its members like to get together at least once a week, around a beer or a good meal.

There are those who are open about it, such as Randy, who wears a baseball cap that says “Out of the closet — Atheist.” His Evangelical Christian family doesn’t approve, but gave up on trying to convert him. “Nowadays, my wife will just wear a T-shirt that says: “Don’t make me come down here — God,” he says with amusement. The man edits a news bulletin called The Atheist Voice and values this weekly breath of fresh air.

And then there are those who come here discretely, like Carolyn. “In my neighborhood,” she tells me, “nobody knows I’m an atheist. Neither my neighbors, nor my friends, only my husband.” The fear is always the same: being rejected, having to justify yourself, being passed on for a promotion or even losing your job. Carolyn comes from a conservative county where, I’ve been told, people read the Bible outdoors for 24-hour periods. “I’m a public employee,” she explains. “Even today, it is written in the Texas Constitution that no one can be in public office if he doesn’t believe in God.”

Zach, on the other hand, believes in the virtues of dialogue. With his organization, called Fellowship of Free Thought, he tries to increase awareness in the Christian community. “We are not trying to close down churches, we only want people to understand that not believing is also a valid option, and that atheists also need a place to meet.” In fact he just had lunch with the reverend that called for a boycott of the bus system. “There has obviously been a misunderstanding. The buses that advertised the atheist messages served poor African-American neighborhoods. They thought they were being sent a message on purpose while, in reality, we had no control over the bus routes. Many think atheism is a white thing, and they perceived this as an attack against their community.” Zach, therefore, came to talk to them, along with an African-American atheist friend.

Terry presently feels enthusiastic about the positive outcome of the campaign. He received encouraging e-mails from all corners of the United States, as well as a $1,000 check sent by an elderly lady from Florida. He wants to believe that mentalities are evolving, but not to the point of one day seeing the fall of the ultimate taboo in the United States. After a Catholic president, a black president … when will we see an atheist president? “Certainly not in my lifetime!” exclaims Terry.