Standing Against the Darkness: What Cardijn’s Courage Teaches Us Today
There’s a story from our Church’s history that keeps me awake at night—not because it’s frightening, but because it’s convicting.
Picture this: It’s July 1924. While many Catholics across Italy, Belgium, and France are quietly (or not so quietly) cheering on Mussolini’s consolidation of power, a Belgian priest named Joseph Cardijn and his lay co-founder Fernand Tonnet are doing something radical. They’re publishing articles in La Jeunesse Ouvrière, calling out fascism for precisely what it is—a poison to the human soul and a betrayal of Gospel values.
Think about that timing for a moment. 1924. Most people didn’t yet grasp the full horror that fascism would unleash on the world. But Cardijn saw it. He understood that any system built on dehumanization, authoritarian control, and the crushing of human dignity was fundamentally incompatible with the Kingdom of God.
A Faith That Refuses to Be Silent
What strikes me most about Cardijn’s witness isn’t just that he opposed fascism—it’s how he opposed it. He didn’t retreat into safe, abstract theological debates. He got his hands dirty with the messy, beautiful work of organizing young workers through the Young Christian Workers (YCW) movement.
His approach was brilliantly simple yet profoundly subversive: “See-Judge-Act.” Encourage people to observe their reality with clear eyes, judge it against the teachings of Christ, and then—this is the crucial part—act on what they’ve discerned. In a world where fascism demanded blind obedience and mindless conformity, Cardijn was training young people to think critically, to question authority, and to organize collectively.
This wasn’t passive resistance. This was spiritual warfare waged through democracy, solidarity, and grassroots education. Cardijn believed that every worker carried the image of God and deserved dignity, agency, and a voice in shaping their own future. He partnered with socialists and democrats—anyone committed to human flourishing—because he understood that standing against evil sometimes requires unlikely alliances.
The authorities noticed, of course. Fascist regimes don’t appreciate people who empower the powerless. Cardijn and his movement faced surveillance, harassment, and censorship. But they persisted, because they understood something fundamental: faith that doesn’t risk anything isn’t really faith at all.
The Question That Won’t Let Me Go
Here’s where Cardijn’s story stops being historical and becomes uncomfortably personal: What about us?
We’re living in a moment when authoritarian movements are rising again across the globe—including right here in the United States and throughout the Western world. The language might be different, the uniforms less obvious, maybe, but the same toxic ingredients are there: the cult of personality, the scapegoating of vulnerable populations, the contempt for democratic norms, the glorification of violence, the demand for absolute loyalty.
So I have to ask myself—and I invite you to ask yourself too: What is our response as Catholics going to be?
Will we have the courage that Cardijn had? Will we recognize fascism when it wraps itself in our symbols and speaks our religious language? Or will we, like so many Catholics in the 1920s and 30s, convince ourselves that supporting authoritarianism is somehow compatible with following the One who washed His disciples’ feet?
What Does Faithful Resistance Look Like Today?
I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but Cardijn’s example gives us a roadmap:
First, we need to see clearly. We can’t fight what we won’t name. That means educating ourselves about the warning signs of fascism and authoritarianism, even when—especially when—they appear in spaces we thought were safe.
Second, we need to judge faithfully. We hold everything up against the Gospel and the Church’s social teaching—the real teaching, not the convenient, watered-down version that never challenges power. What does our faith actually say about human dignity? About the preferential option for people with low incomes? About solidarity with the marginalized?
Third, we need to act boldly. This may involve organizing within our parishes and communities. It might mean standing with immigrants, workers, and all who are threatened by authoritarian movements. It may include building coalitions with individuals of diverse faiths and political perspectives. It definitely means being willing to face consequences—social, professional, maybe even legal—for standing on the side of human dignity.
The Cross We’re Called to Carry
I know this is heavy. I know some of you might be thinking, “Can’t faith just be about my personal relationship with Jesus? Why does it have to be so political?”
But here’s the thing: the moment the early Church confessed “Jesus is Lord,” they made a political statement, because Caesar claimed that title too. When we say we follow Christ, we’re pledging allegiance to a Kingdom that doesn’t bow to earthly powers—especially powers built on fear, hatred, and domination.
Cardijn understood that following Jesus isn’t just about personal piety; it’s about confronting the principalities and powers that crush human dignity. It’s about building the Kingdom of God right here, right now, even when it costs us something.
An Invitation to Courage
So here’s my invitation, both to you and to myself: Let’s be the kind of Catholics who, when our grandchildren ask us decades from now what we did when democracy and human dignity were under threat, can answer honestly. Let’s build movements, organize our communities, educate our minds, and steel our spines for the work ahead.
Let’s be willing to face the surveillance, the harassment, the misunderstanding—even from fellow believers—because we know that Christ stands with the outcast, the vulnerable, and the oppressed.
Let’s pray for the courage to see, the wisdom to judge, and the strength to act.
Because if not us, then who? And if not now, then when?
The same Spirit that empowered Cardijn to stand against fascism in 1924 is available to us today.
The question is: Are we willing to say yes?
What avenues of resistance are you exploring in your own community? What is the Holy Spirit calling you to do? I’d invite you to be a disciple of Christ in the modern world.