I have the privilege of composing this reflection while residing in Tanzania. A colleague and I are working on a series of projects for the Archdiocese of Mwanza, which is on the shore of Lake Victoria, in the north-central part of the country.

Like many Africans, Tanzanians are sensitive to their history of imperial, colonial, and neo-colonial governance. Much of Tanzania was under German “protection” until the end of World War I, when it was confiscated by the United Kingdom. Another part of the country

saw the UK vying with Arabs for dominance through the Sultanate of Zanzibar. Tanzania’s much-admired first president, Julius Nyerere, championed non-alignment as a means of navigating the Cold War between the US and the USSR.

In recent decades, however, Tanzania and other African countries find themselves tugged one way or another in the “culture wars” waged by American and European powers. These are broad conflicts, but abortion law is the practical battlefield where the more philosophical skirmishes play out.

Tanzania doesn’t need a pro-life movement, at least not in the strict sense of advocacy for laws to protect the unborn. Abortion law in Tanzania is already restrictive. Though the law makes exceptions for the life and welfare of mothers, for now these exceptions tend to be construed rather narrowly. Most people I talk to seem to appreciate the humanity of the unborn child and the horror of abortion. I expect that the country’s restrictive approach contributes to the more wholesome perspective of valuing life, and I would like to see that approach everywhere.

Even so, restrictive laws do not necessarily mean Tanzanians are more mature than those who promote the more permissive laws in Europe and the United States. People here who work with young women report that the women often feel great social pressure to accept the sexual advances of men. Many men excuse themselves from responsibility for women they’ve impregnated out of wedlock. These women suffer considerable shame, often resorting to secret childbirth or illicit abortions, both of which contribute to unnecessarily high rates of maternal mortality and morbidity. If Tanzanians do not need a pro-life movement, per se, they might profit from a movement oriented toward these challenges.

Tanzanians find themselves co-opted by the ideological battles among westerners. As other writers at the Human Life Review have correctly observed, non-governmental organizations (NGOs) pressure the governments of many African countries, including Tanzania, to liberalize their abortion laws. Whether or not they are successful, these NGOs take credit among western progressives for their advocacy of what they claim to be “reproductive justice.” And the NGOs appeal for donations accordingly.

But nominally pro-life “culture warriors” may also exploit the Africans as an opportunity for self-promotion. They rightly praise individuals who resist the pressure from the NGOs, but then they exaggerate the rivalry in order to characterize their own advocacy as a great victory for the pro-life movement—again, never mind whether they have achieved anything. It suffices for them to convince westerners that they are winning culture-war allies overseas. They promote themselves as “influencers” among those who do not really understand or care for the common good of, say, Tanzanians. And they, too, appeal for donations accordingly.

Those who profit from the rivalry, either as a source of funding or of self-justification, will often appeal to these words of Jesus: “Do you think that I have come to establish peace on the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.” (Luke 12:51) They ascribe to Jesus their preferred characterization of the rivalry, and they imagine that he takes their side in the fight against the Enemy.

Jesus does indeed anticipate rivalry, as the proclamation of the gospel requires a decision for or against him. And he knows that those who choose against him will not always tolerate those who acclaim Jesus as Lord.

But Jesus’ words are not an invitation for one faction to fight against another. The choice for or against Jesus is also a choice between the justice of God and the justice of this world. The justice of God is the order of grace and forgiveness Jesus himself demonstrates and to which he calls his followers: “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.” The justice of this world, on the other hand, is the logic of karma, reward, and retribution.

Those who choose Jesus will not think of others as their enemies, even if the sentiment is not reciprocated. Saint Paul makes clear that for Christians, the only real fight is against spiritual powers, not political camps. (Ephesians 6:12)

That’s not to say Christians should abstain from law or politics. Both fields can contribute to the protection of the vulnerable and the formation of a community for the common good. So let us persevere in caring for vulnerable mothers and children. Let the law and other social forces reflect that purpose. Let every land welcome such a civilization of love.

To undertake law, politics, international affairs, or other disciplines as a means of waging rivalry, however, is alien to the Christian vocation in public life. Though divisions must come, let us never allow those who understand themselves as our rivals to impose on us the logic of rivalry.

Winston Churchill once nobly promised that the UK would persevere against Nazism, if necessary through its “empire beyond the seas.” Our nominal allies in the pro-life movement may promise us a worldly victory, on the strength of an (often fictitious) empire they are building beyond the seas. Let us hear the promise with healthy skepticism, and with all the circumspection due to invitations to rivalry.