Once a month, Harlem atheists, along with a smattering of outerborough residents, gather at the Adam Clayton Powell State Building on 125th Street to discuss the ubiquitous role of religion in American society. While there’s a revolving door of participants, one constant is the meeting’s diversity: blacks, whites, Muslims, Christians, Jews, everyone is welcome.

Aggressive and best-selling denunciations of religion by critic Christopher Hitchens and scientist Richard Dawkins have given atheism a more controversial profile in recent years. But the Harlem monthly meetings, egalitarian by design, challenge the common perception of the atheist movement as antagonistic, says Charles Zorn, a psychology professor at Borough of Manhattan Community College in Harlem and a meeting regular. Organized by the Harlem branch of the Center for Inquiry, a national atheist organization, the gatherings are subdued affairs aimed at confronting divergent beliefs and brainstorming ways to create dialogue.

“We don’t ignore or negate the idea of culture,” Zorn says, referring to the extreme influence of religion in America. “The meetings are driven by pro-intellectualism and pro-thinking. Contention is on the fringes.”

Problems have arisen nonetheless. Harlem atheists sustained a blow in September when the group’s de facto leader died of a blood disease at 49. Herbert Crimes, who went by Sibanye, a Swahili name meaning “we as one,” was the Center for Inquiry’s Harlem coordinator.

“Sibanye was the voice of atheism in Harlem, without a doubt,” says John Martey Young, Sibanye’s partner and a practicing Christian. Sibanye’s charismatic personality brought people together and he staked his reputation on first-rate discussions, Young says. More than 100 family and friends attended his memorial service at a midtown restaurant, eulogizing the man with an ironic blend of spirituality (Sibanye was raised in a religious St. Louis household) and non-theist ideology.

Three months later, the fractured community remains leaderless and none of those who regularly attended Sibanye’s meetings are willing to step forward. “They need some real help,” says Ken Bronstein, president of New York City Atheists.

In Harlem, a neighborhood with countless places of worship, there’s tremendous need for an atheist community, says Jane Everhart, of New York City Atheists. With an estimated 400 places of worship, according to Harlem Heritage Tours – “three churches on every street,” Everhart says – the neighborhood is a hotbed of religious life.

Because it’s also a center of black culture, the new atheist leader would, ideally, be black, says Zorn. He is white, and he sees that as a problem. “I feel comfortable participating, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable leading” the group, he says.

Atheism has a less-than-fervent following here – the monthly meeting regularly drew about 20 people. Atheism in Harlem is not only marginal – with no central gathering place – but stigmatized as well.

So, to identify oneself as a black atheist is to “lose your race card,” says Everhart, using Sibanye’s words. Everhart attributes the leadership void to fear of exclusion from the black community.

Although humanist thought played a defining role in the Harlem Renaissance, and therefore has a historic significance in Harlem’s intellectual legacy, “to be an atheist and an African American is a double bind,” says Anthony Pinn, a black humanism scholar at Rice University.

Christianity is normative in black communities, with churches the most prominent institution for social activism and personal progress. Black churches, however, can also be repressive, Pinn says. Human frailty and suffering are promoted as keys to a better life; subservience to God becomes more important than self-empowerment. These ideas – “no pain, no gain; no cross, no crown” – are detrimental to black communities, Pinn believes.

Sibanye had a similar perspective. In a taped conversation with Everhart last summer, he recalled a trip to South Africa and the negative impact he thought Christianity had on its black population.

“I would go into the homes of Africans,” Sibanye said. “They had dirt floors, tin roofs and tin walls and they had a blue-eyed Caucasian Jesus on every wall. It wore me out. I couldn’t say anything because I was the only Black atheist in the country at that time. I was strong in my atheism; I was unshakeable. Being witness to the oppression that those people had suffered, it made me want to cry.”

Reverend Booker T. Morgan, minister of evangelism at Convent Avenue Baptist Church, wasn’t aware a Harlem atheist group existed but maintains that atheists won’t necessarily face ostracism. Historically, the black community has found strength in God, he says, but “African Americans have been some of the most accommodating people in the world. If atheists are interested in dialogue, we’re open to that.”

While Sibanye’s belief that he was a one-man army now looks prescient, his death marks a new opportunity, says Michael De Dora, Jr., executive director of CFI-New York City. Sibanye’s death “gives us a chance to rethink how we’re treating the Harlem community,” De Dora says.

Given Harlem’s history as a home for black atheist thought, “atheist activists look at Harlem as a beacon on a hill,” De Dora says. “Harlem is a big piece of the puzzle.”

At the time of his death, Sibanye was working to extend CFI-Harlem’s education efforts beyond manning tables at local fairs and posting fliers. Aware that faith-based groups can apply for tax dollars to fund community projects, Sibanye wanted to seek public money for projects under the auspices of Harlem atheists, according to his partner Young.

“We’re going back to the drawing board, and that’s a good thing,” De Dora says. Zorn hopes to run more education and outreach programs and has discussed mounting a plaque and planting a memorial tree for Sibanye in Harlem.

Still, Young believes it’s unlikely that the Harlem atheists can enact a major culture shift. “Sibanye’s ideology will never catch on in an African American community,” he says. “The Church is too thoroughly entrenched.”