The Power of the Pulpit

Desmond Tutu, the Nobel Peace-prizewinning bishop of Johannesburg, last week bid an emotional goodbye to his diocese. But before taking over as Archbishop of Cape Town and primate of the Anglican Church for all of southern Africa, he conducted a final service at St. Paul's Church in the black township of Soweto. In his farewell sermon, Tutu declared, "Despite all that the powers of the world may do, we are going to be free."

For much of the world, Tutu, 54, symbolizes the battle against apartheid. From his new position, he will be the spiritual leader of 1.3 million South Africans, both black and white, and 700,000 more Anglicans in neighboring Botswana, Mozambique, Namibia, Swaziland and Lesotho. With that larger pulpit, he is likely to become even more controversial.

Tutu formally became Archbishop of Cape Town last week in a private ceremony. Then about 1,350 people attended last Sunday's public enthronement. In addition to church leaders from 13 countries, Tutu invited American politicians, show-business figures and other notables, ranging from Senator Edward Kennedy and Coretta Scott King to Bill Cosby. Most were unable to attend, but when the government accused Tutu of trying to turn the enthronement into a media extravaganza, he replied, "I will not be told by anybody whom I may invite. They are my friends."

Tutu plays a complex role in the South African freedom struggle. He does not have a huge political following, nothing comparable to that of Nelson Mandela, the long-imprisoned black nationalist leader, or Mangosuthu Buthelezi, chief of the 6 million-member Zulu tribe. Tutu calls himself an "interim leader," saying that he would be less important if Mandela and others were released from prison. The archbishop is most popular among the small group of educated, middle-class blacks, but he has proved to be effective in calming angry crowds in the black townships.

A diminutive figure, full of fire, Tutu is seemingly fearless when he attacks a mob for giving way to violence. In June, he managed to arrange a cease-fire between young radicals and black vigilantes in the Crossroads camp outside Cape Town. But he can have difficulties controlling some groups of youths. Says he: "Young blacks are becoming increasingly committed to using violence, despite my calls for peaceful change. If I were younger, I would have rejected Tutu a long time ago."

The archbishop's foreign travels have probably been his most significant service to his black countrymen. More than any other South African of his generation, Tutu has dramatized to the world the iniquities of apartheid. Some South African whites complain that he travels too much, saying his role within the country is vastly exaggerated abroad. The Sunday Times of Johannesburg reports that he has taken 22 trips outside South Africa in the past three years.

The Pretoria government has long since learned that the more it condemns Tutu, the more the world honors him. In late 1984, for example, after a particularly vigorous government campaign in which one Cabinet minister warned him against committing "wicked acts under the cloak of religion," Tutu was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. The government would undoubtedly love to ban him or arrest him, but officials are concerned about the price the country would pay in world opinion.

In recent months, Tutu's speeches have become more and more fatalistic. Just before becoming archbishop, he told TIME's Johannesburg bureau chief, Bruce Nelan, "I think the white ruling class is quite ready to do a Samson on us. That is, they will pull down the pillars, even if it means they perish in the process. They are really scared that we are going to treat them as they treated us."