The women of Kountze, Texas, have been fighting for four years to put Bible verses on their banners. Their case is a look at what’s ahead for religious-liberty conflicts in America.
The cheerleaders in Kountze, Texas, have been painting Bible verses on the banners they hold up at football games for nearly four years. Players line up on Friday nights behind a big stretch of unrolled butcher paper, busting through it as they run onto the field. Instead of a negative slogan, along the lines of “Kill the Tatum Eagles,” the girls wanted to write messages that were more positive, ones “that were really encouraging and honorable to God,” as one of them put it. They proposed this at their cheer camp in the summer of 2012. After the moms who sponsored the club got sign off from the school principal, the girls made their first signs, sporting messages like “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” from Philippians, or “A lion, which is strongest among beasts and turns not away from any,” a Proverbs verse. (Kountze High is home to the Lions.)
Ever since, they have been embroiled in the high-profile legal battle those banners sparked. Early in the 2012 season, the Freedom From Religion Foundation sent a letter to the Kountze Independent School District’s superintendent alleging that the district was violating the Constitution by allowing a student group to hold up religious messages at a school-sponsored event. After consulting counsel, the superintendent told the town’s high-school principal to shut down the Bible-verse banners. Some of the girls and their parents decided to sue the district and won a temporary injunction. Since then, the case has been bouncing around the Texas state-court system, mostly on a series of procedural claims. The Texas Supreme Court heard the case and sent it back to the Court of Appeals in January; that court is set to consider the case again any day now.
Meanwhile, almost all of the cheerleaders involved in the case have graduated; only one is still on the high-school squad. The girls are no longer girls; they’re women, many of whom are working near Kountze or going to school in nearby Beaumont or Houston. The case isn’t much a part of their lives anymore, aside from periodic updates on its status and the occasional reporter who calls them up. Some of them still hang out on breaks, getting together in Kountze to commiserate about professors and gossip about who’s getting married.
As typical as their lives may be now, as teens, these girls faced a significant choice: whether or not to take a public stand in defense of their faith and what they saw as their free speech. The irony is that Kountze, Texas, is possibly the least practical place in America to wage a court battle over the boundaries of religious freedom. It’s a small town of roughly 2,100 people, about two-thirds white and almost uniformly Christian. As the cheerleaders and their moms tell it, this community loves its football team; coincidentally, that first fall when the case started, it had one of its best seasons in recent memory. The cheerleaders certainly didn’t face an opposition movement in town. Even the superintendent who stopped the the cheerleaders said he supported the banners’ messages. When the Texas courts finally get around to resolving this case, they’ll mostly be figuring out how to apply legal theory to a narrow set of facts, rather than resolving a dispute between two parties.
“Just because the way I grew up, I didn’t know that people really believed that there wasn’t a God.” Kieara Moffett, who goes by Keke, was raised going to Greater Mt. Corinth Missionary Baptist Church in Kountze, although she can’t attend much anymore because she works Sunday shifts at a Mexican restaurant in Silsbee. She lives at home with her mom, Tonya, a special-ed teacher’s aide at Kountze Middle School, and her dad, Craig, a trucker. Moffett drives the half hour into Beaumont most weekdays to go to nursing classes at Lamar University. She described herself as the goof of the cheer squad, which she was part of until her graduation in 2014.
When the court case got started, “I thought it was going to be over in a couple months,” Moffett said. “We’re going to go to the court, we’re going to testify like one time, and then it’s going to be over. He’s going to bang the gavel and it’s all gonna be done.” But, as she soon found out, “It wasn’t like that at all.”
From the very first hearing in the Hardin County courthouse, reporters were all over the case, wanting to interview the girls and their classmates after school, at games, and during practice. National print, television, and radio outlets were eager to cover Kountze, the little town in East Texas where teenaged cheerleaders were taking on a challenge from an atheist organization in the name of faith.
Over the course of the legal proceedings, many of the girls and their moms gave depositions, and a few testified in court. Moffett said she got emotional on the stand; she said she saw some mean comments online about her testimony afterward, but she never personally met anyone who was opposed to putting Bible verses on the banners. The town rallied in support of its girls, and so did the Internet writ large: The “Support Kountze Kids Faith” group on Facebook currently has more than 36,000 members.
Of all the girls on the squad, Moffett said, one, Rebekah Richardson, stepped up most frequently as a representative for the rest of the squad. “We had this thing when we were in school—we called her the mama of the group because she would keep us all in line,” Moffett said. Both reported only minor squabbles on the squad over the press attention—“tension’s to be expected on a cheerleading squad,” Richardson pointed out—although both said the experience was overwhelming, and it was tiresome to get asked the same questions over and over again. “The biggest struggle might have been that there are more parts to me than just the cheerleader things,” Richardson said. “Most people were just interested in the one thing, and it was a tiny part of my life.”
But even now, they keep talking to the press. The reason is the same as why they decided to sue the school district to begin with: They believe God has been working through them. “I wasn’t a super Christian or Jesus Jr.,” said Richardson. “Me and my peers—we were just people that God chose to use. And for some reason, some ministries get more attention than others.” She compared the effects of what happened in Kountze to the influence NFL quarterback Tim Tebow had when he wrote references to Bible verses on his cheeks: Many people subsequently looked them up, and John 3:16 was even a top national search term during the 2009 football season. “I think a lot of people probably came in contact with the Bible,” Richardson said. “I think that’s good, because God moves through his words.”
Richardson’s perspective on faith has changed some since she left home and started at the University of Houston, she said: “I’ve learned a lot about diversity, especially religious diversity. My favorite people are the people who are unapologetic about the things that they say and do.”
She spends her Sundays at a relatively new congregation, which she said she admires for its ministries in the surrounding neighborhoods. “I don’t really care about religion that much,” she said. “I think that there’s no point in having faith or being religious if your faith’s in anything other than Jesus.”
Even though Richardson said she loves her town, she has sometimes felt relieved to be out of Kountze. “I’m so blessed by the community. I really am. But sometimes it can be really old when people tell you how good you are all the time,” she said. “I’m just like everybody else, and I was just in the right place at the right time.” She has told a few of her friends at college about the court case but generally avoids explaining it all, she said. As she pointed out, there’s a lot to tell.
That’s not to say she’s ashamed of her squad’s court case or wishes it hadn’t happened. “God just let us watch him work,” she said. “He would have gone after those people anyways because he longs so passionately for people’s hearts. In my mind, I’m thinking that God was like, ‘I love these girls, and I’m going to let them watch me draw those people to me,’ because it’s a blessing to watch God call his children to himself.”
She said her faith growing up was a roller coaster, with various ups and downs. But having her beliefs challenged—and encountering the idea of atheism for the first time—didn’t destabilize her conviction. It strengthened it. “That’s all we have, really, here in Kountze, is religion,” she said. “I realized that the world is bigger than Kountze.”
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