The Global War on Christians: Dispatches from the Front Lines of Anti-Christian Persecution

by John L. Allen

  Such an across-the-board approach will strike most Christians as just, given that what’s at stake is the defense of human rights believed to be universal. Influential Christian leaders also understand that the defense of religious freedom will be more effective if it’s supported by a broad coalition, including a variety of different religious perspectives. That’s already the approach taking shape in Western debates, and Christian leaders and organizations will want to apply that experience globally, looking to build the most extensive ecumenical and interreligious coalitions possible. The next chapter explores the ecumenical implications of the global war on Christians, but it’s worth noting here that this effort to build alliances among churches and other faiths in defense of religious freedom could itself be a boon to good relations across denominational lines.

  CHRISTIANITY AS A PRO-DEMOCRACY FORCE

  In their 2011 book God’s Century: Resurgent Religion and Global Politics, scholars Monica Duffy, Daniel Philpott, and Timothy Samuel Shah documented religion’s comeback over the last forty years as a protagonist in geopolitics. They demonstrate that the “secularization thesis,” which once forecast an inevitable decline for religion, has been refuted by events on the ground, including examples given earlier—the collapse of Communism, the People Power movement, and the rise of Islamic radicalism. The authors call this boom both “dramatic and worldwide.” They quote the famed sociologist of religion Peter Berger, who once believed in the inexorable triumph of secularism, but who changed his mind in 1988: “The assumption that we live in a secularized world is false. The world today … is as furiously religious as it ever was, and in some places more so than ever. This means that a whole body of literature by historians and social scientists loosely labeled ‘secularization theory’ is essentially mistaken.”

  Beyond making the point that religion matters, the authors of the book are also interested in how religion matters, meaning the nature of the influence that religion exercises on political affairs. They want to understand which circumstances direct its energies down one path or another. In typical scholarly fashion, they craft a lot of complicated charts and invent some tongue-tying neologisms, but essentially their findings boil down to this: religious actors are most prone to defend democracy, and to support a healthy distinction between church and state, when they have a relationship with the ruling authorities of “conflictual independence.” The term refers to a situation in which religious groups are autonomous from the state, and experience various degrees of conflict with it.

  Here’s how the authors explain the dynamic: “Having eked out and defended a protected area of independence from an authoritarian regime that wants to suppress them, they seek a regime whose laws guarantee the practice of their faith.” As examples, they cite Islamist parties in Turkey and the Tamil Hindu minority in Sri Lanka. Both are groups that have emerged as effective political actors, out of the crucible of frequent conflicts with an often hostile state.

  Two case studies from different parts of the world, one in the recent past and another unfolding today, show the same principle in action.

  Malawi

  In the early 1990s, Malawi was still under the eccentric rule of its dictator-for-life, a British- and U.S.-educated strongman named Hastings Kamuzu Banda, who had governed the country since independence from the United Kingdom in 1964. Though he’s largely forgotten today, Banda was the quintessential African dictator of his era. He sashayed around in elegant three-piece English suits, with matching handkerchiefs and a homburg, along with a fly whisk that symbolized his absolute authority over life and death. His unofficial motto was “My word is the law.” Church groups suffered along with the rest of civil society, as prominent religious leaders typically faced a choice between being bought off or being treated as a dissident.

  In March 1992, the seven Catholic bishops of Malawi, led by Archbishop James Chiona of Blantyre, issued a dramatic pastoral letter titled “Living Our Faith,” instructing that it be read aloud in all 130 parishes in the country. The bishops denounced the vast disparity between rich and poor, as well as human rights abuses by both Banda’s political party, the only one allowed under national law, and the government. They called for an end to injustice, corruption, and nepotism, and demanded recognition of free expression and political opposition. They also criticized substandard education and health systems. While none of this was new, it was the first time prominent Malawians had said it out loud and signed their names.

  “Every human being, as a child of God, must be free and respected,” the letter began. “We cannot turn a blind eye to our people’s experiences of unfairness or injustice. These are our brothers and sisters who are in prison without knowing what they are charged with, or when their case will be heard.” In a direct challenge to Banda’s assertion that his word was law, the bishops said: “No one person can claim to have a monopoly on truth or wisdom.”

  The bishops managed to get sixteen thousand copies printed and distributed without Banda’s intelligence services catching on. On the Sunday the letter was read out, attendance at Mass across the country swelled. Reportedly people wept, shouted gratitude, and danced in the aisles. Emboldened by the pastoral letter, grassroots opposition found its voice. In the country’s largest city, Blantyre, poor squatters in illegal shantytowns—where cholera was rampant and sewage flowed openly in the streets—stood up when security forces tried to run them out. Student protests broke out on university campuses. Opposition figures began returning. As news of the uprising circulated internationally, pressure grew for Western powers to take a stand. In 1994, donors froze all foreign aid to Malawi, forcing Banda to call free elections. In effect, his regime was over. Today Malawi remains chronically underdeveloped, but it’s a multiparty democracy led by the country’s first female president.

  The Middle East

  Where people stand often determines what they see, meaning that perspective is critical in framing any question. The Christian reaction to secularism is a classic case in point. It may be the bogeyman of many believers across Europe and the United States, where it often conjures up Gay Pride parades, legalized abortion, and scorn for traditional religious belief. But for Christians in the Middle East, secularism is more like a survival strategy. In a neighborhood where Christians are a small minority often perceived as a beachhead for the West, state support for religion generally means heartache, and a secular understanding of church/state separation offers a shelter from the storm.

  As a result, nowhere on earth are Christian leaders more zealous apostles for a legal order that protects both pluralism and freedom of conscience, and that keeps the state out of religious affairs. Historically, Christians were among the founders and strongest supporters of secular parties across the Middle East, such as the Ba’ath Party in Syria and Kemalist parties in Turkey, because they saw them as the best way to ensure the protection of minority rights. Similarly, Coptic Christians in Egypt today are in the vanguard of pressing for a secular democratic state, as opposed to what they fear will be a process of creeping Islamization.

  In part, this advocacy reflects a basic law of religious life: secularism always looks better to minorities who would be the big losers in a theocracy.

  If it doesn’t disappear first, Christianity in the Middle East actually may be ideally positioned to inject balance into global Christian reflection about the relationship between faith and secular society. One proof of the point came in a 2001 survey by the Pew Forum of evangelical leaders around the world, which revealed a dramatic contrast between evangelicals in the developed world and in the Middle East. A stunning 90 percent of evangelical leaders from North America defined secularism as a “major threat” to the faith, but only 37 percent of evangelicals from the Middle East had the same view. On the contrary, almost two-thirds of evangelicals in the Middle East were highly favorable toward secularism.

  Likewise, a working document for a 2010 Vatican meeting on the Middle East read like a manifesto for secular politics. It calls
upon Christians to work for “an all-inclusive, shared civic order” that protects “human rights, human dignity and religious freedom.” Twice the document dwells on the concept of “positive laicity”—meaning, in effect, a positive form of secularism. It cites a September 2008 speech in France by Pope Benedict XVI, who in turn borrowed the term “positive laicity” from French president Nicolas Sarkozy.

  “Catholics, together with other Christian citizens and Muslim thinkers and reformers, ought to be able to support initiatives at examining thoroughly the concept of the ‘positive laicity’ of the state,” the document said. “This could help eliminate the theocratic character of government and allow for greater equality among citizens of different religions,” it asserted, “thereby fostering the promotion of a sound democracy, positively secular in nature, which fully acknowledges the role of religion … while completely respecting the distinction between the religious and civic orders.”

  PEACEMAKING AND JUSTICE

  Research by Duffy, Philpott, and Shah also supports the conclusion that religious actors in a milieu of “conflictual independence” tend not only to be more pro-democracy but also more active in peacemaking and advocacy on behalf of social justice. They are often pioneers in national reconciliation in societies torn by war, and activists on behalf of solidarity with the poor in countries struggling with chronic under-development.

  In the Christian realm, the authors cite the role played by churches in several Latin American countries, such as Guatemala, Brazil, Chile, and Argentina, in steering the transition from military juntas to democracy, and in accounting for human rights abuses under the former regimes. The story of Guatemalan bishop Juan José Gerardi Conedera, recounted in chapter 11, offers one such example. They also point to the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission, noting not only the leadership of Anglican archbishop Desmond Tutu but also the fact that religious bodies in the country supplied “staff, publicity, spiritual and psychological counseling for victims, encouragement of their own members to take part, and appearances at hearings for faith communities.”

  The authors also offer the example of Albanian Orthodox archbishop Anastasios Yannoulatos, a figure who knows the war on Christians firsthand. Under dictator Enver Hoxha, Albania unleashed a ferocious crackdown on religion. Hoxha declared in 1967 that Albania was “the world’s first atheistic state, whose only religion is Albanianism.” Churches were shuttered, clergy sent to prison or executed, and atheism widely propagated in schools and in the media. Out of that experience Yannoulatos emerged as a leading voice for reconciliation and dialogue across ethnic and religious boundaries. He came to fame when he sheltered thousands of Muslim refugees from Kosovo in Orthodox facilities during the violence of the 1990s. Yannoulatos serves as the honorary president of the World Conference of Religions for Peace and has been a candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize.

  In terms of other religious traditions that illustrate the same dynamics, the authors point to the influence of “engaged Buddhism” in Cambodia, where Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge was responsible for two million deaths, and where the regime had tried to exterminate Buddhism as a “force of reaction.” Amid the carnage, a Buddhist monk named Samdech Preah Maha Ghosananda began leading “peace walks” around the country. Ghosananda had lost his entire family and most of his friends during the genocide, and he was determined to teach peace, drawing on a tenet of Teravada Buddhism holding that social peace and inner peace are both inseparable and interdependent. The first peace walk began in a refugee camp on the Thai border and worked its way toward Phnom Penh. Stories are told of soldiers laying down their arms along the way and marchers meeting relatives they hadn’t seen in decades because of the fighting. Now repeated annually, the marches have become an important force in the reconstruction of Cambodian society and have also helped to support causes such as refugee repatriation and landmine removal. Ghosananda is known as the “Gandhi of Cambodia” and has been nominated several times for the Nobel Peace Prize.

  The conclusion is that suffering can sometimes be a crucible for imagination and for activism. As Christians shaped by such experiences become more influential, their instincts for peacemaking and social justice advocacy therefore may also gain momentum.

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  SPIRITUAL FRUITS OF THE GLOBAL WAR

  Tertullian, one of the great fathers of early Christianity, famously said that “the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.” It’s a rare case of a theological formula for which there’s empirical proof. Historically, waves of persecution have fueled major advances for Christianity. Crackdowns during the Roman Empire earned Christianity admiration across the ancient world, and were perhaps the single most important ingredient in its success. The sacrifice of missionaries during the Era of Exploration helped bring the Gospel to the New World. Today, it’s no accident that zones where persecution of Christians is the most intense, such as China and parts of India, are also the places where Christianity is growing the most dramatically.

  In addition to providing missionary momentum, martyrdom has also stimulated theological breakthroughs. During the Roman era, Christian communities had to wrestle with what to do about members who lapsed under pressure and then sought readmission to the church. That question forced thinkers to wrestle with the issues of grace and forgiveness, and contributed to the development of the sacrament of penance. Similarly, churches had to face the question of sacraments administered by clergy who had knuckled under, such as priests during the Diocletian period in the early fourth century who handed the Scriptures over to the imperial governor in a gesture of submission. Some rigorous Christian groups, such as the Donatists, insisted that sacraments celebrated by these traitors were invalid, while mainstream Christianity worked out a theology of ex opere operato, meaning that a properly celebrated sacrament is effective apart from the worthiness of the minister.

  Many thoughtful Christian leaders believe that today’s global war on Christians has a similar capacity to energize the church with new missionary momentum and important theological insights. In September 2009, a cross section of evangelical leaders from around the world gathered in Bad Urach, Germany, at the invitation of the Religious Liberty Commission of the World Evangelical Alliance and other bodies. By the end, they issued the “Bad Urach Call,” a four-page declaration insisting that persecution of Christians around the world calls the church to deeper theological and spiritual meditation.

  “Persecuted Christians have learned truths about God that Christians under less pressure need to hear in order to experience the fullness of God,” the statement reads. “The spiritual insights of the persecuted are vital to the transformation of the lives of the rest of the Body of Christ. One of these essential insights is that we will all be—if witnessing for Christ—in some sense persecuted. There is a grander, greater narrative of God’s action underneath the stories of individual pain, suffering, deliverance, and endurance.”

  The Bad Urach Call ends with a plea to Christians everywhere: “We call on the Body of Christ to take up the cross of Jesus actively, willingly, and corporately, in order to implement the mission of Jesus. This will include remembrance of those persecuted (with prayer and assistance), understanding (joined with informed efforts to reduce persecution), and transformation (so that the entire Body of Christ is renewed through the insights of those who are persecuted and martyred).”

  For those inclined to answer the Bad Urach Call, the question is, what are some of the insights to be gleaned from the new martyrs?

  There are three zones of Christian life today where the impact of the global war seems most discernible, and it’s at least worth pondering whether they are among its spiritual fruits—places, so to speak, where it’s possible to glimpse the logic of salvation history in action.

  “ECUMENISM OF THE MARTYRS”

  For many people, the division of Christianity into various branches, denominations, and independent churches probably seems both familiar and natural. We live in an era of con
sumer choice, so the idea that there are different flavors of Christianity to appeal to different tastes has a clear market logic. Yet for Christians, division (as opposed to diversity) is a problem, because it flies in the face of Christ’s final prayer on earth that his disciples “may all be one.” The push to put the ecclesiastical Humpty-Dumpty back together again, meaning to restore unity among the various branches of the Christian family, is known as the “ecumenical movement.”

  The middle of the twentieth century, in the aftermath of the Second World War, saw a major surge in ecumenical activity. The first meeting of the World Council of Churches came in 1948, while the Second Vatican Council (1962–65), a gathering of bishops from all over the world, renewed the ecumenical energies of the Catholic Church. In 1965, a major breakthrough came when Pope Paul VI and Patriarch Athenagoras I of Constantinople formally revoked the mutual excommunications their predecessors had issued at the time of the rupture between East and West in 1054. This ferment created hopes that an era of new Christian unity was about to dawn. Today some of those fires have cooled, as the differences between the various Christian denominations have proven more durable. Some pessimists have suggested that Christianity now finds itself in a new “ecumenical winter.”

  Ecumenists more inclined to optimism, however, believe there is a new impulse breathing life into the movement today, locating one center of gravity precisely in the global war on Christians. The common experience of martyrdom, these figures argue, has the potential to generate a new Christian consciousness, emphasizing what Christians have in common rather than what divides them, and prioritizing spiritual essentials rather than secondary matters of history and practice. These experts believe the “ecumenism of the martyrs” is key to the future of the press for Christian unity in the twenty-first century.