HumanistLife

Discussing atheism in highly religious countries

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With the news replete with stories of humanists and freethinkers killed and persecuted for ‘blasphemy’ around the world, Alex Sinclair-Lack asks ‘How candid can I be about my beliefs’?

Amman’s Citadel in Jordan. Photo by Alex Sinclair-Lack.

All humanists must grapple with the question of when it is appropriate to tell people that you don’t believe in their god, and when, if ever, you might choose to hide your beliefs for fear of causing offence. Across the atheist spectrum there is strong disagreement about how to approach these issues. At one extreme, there are those who keep their beliefs completely hidden. At the other, we have keyboard warriors with an uncanny ability to turn the YouTube comment sections of pop videos and cookery guides into pseudo-theological, venomous outpourings about the failings of the Catholic Church. Frankly, I have a little sympathy for both. However, the dilemma I describe becomes more apparent and important in highly religious countries. During a six-month stay in Amman, Jordan, I discovered my own answer to the question.

Having found comfort and confidence in
shared values of compassion. I made the conscious
decision to tell people of my lack of faith.

As a liberal and a humanist, I had reservations about moving to a Middle Eastern country. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that Jordan does not share many of the intolerances of the surrounding nations. In fact, it blows many perceptions of the region out of the water. Surrounded by Iraq, Israel, Syria and Saudi Arabia; Jordan has remained peaceful, safe, and welcoming. While the UK Parliament pats itself on the back for having voted to let in a couple of hundred child refugees, Jordan was taking them in by the million. It is worth noting that King Abdullah II does this in spite of a devastating water shortage because he considers it Jordan’s moral duty to help refugees regardless of nationality and religion.

Having found comfort and confidence in shared values of compassion, I made the conscious decision to tell people of my lack of faith. At first to Jordanian friends, and then to colleagues, and eventually to inquiring strangers. The inquiry comes up more often than you might expect. Reactions ranged from sheer horror, to intrigue, to nonchalance. My personal favourite occurred during filming for an unfinished pet project, a documentary short: Syrian Santa. It was centred on a young Muslim refugee working as Father Christmas in a mall, who when I asked him if my non-belief offended him, replied: ‘Oh please, all of my friends are atheists!’

A multi-faith mural in Jordan. Photo by Alex Sinclair-Lack.

Questions usually followed, and I was happy to answer. Each Q&A session reassured me that these conversations were valuable. This is not because I had any intention of ‘proselytising’ or ‘converting’ or whatever the non-religious equivalent is (de-proselytising, perhaps). Any attempts to convert Muslims or hurt ‘Muslim feelings’ would have landed me a three-year prison sentence. But far more importantly, because it is not my business as a guest of the country to even be considering such an act. I have as little desire to proselytise as I do to be proselytised. My interest lies in conversation not conversion.

Any discussions of faith should be treated with sensitivity and cultural awareness, otherwise they are not only disrespectful and neo-colonial, but counter-productive. I will never preach my beliefs, but I will happily engage with those who are willing. When my admission was met with a grimace, I would follow up with, ‘I realise that atheists do not have a good reputation, but I welcome any questions about my beliefs, if you are interested’.

Reasonable people from all belief systems are keen to understand how non-believers come to ethical decisions and agree that discussion is valuable

The very act of having a friendly conversation…
goes a long way to combating prejudice.

Firstly, the discussion counters widespread misconceptions about what it means to be an atheist. For most people, I was the first openly atheistic person they had encountered. Although my ex-partner might disagree, I like to think that I don’t match up to the idea of an atheist as a nihilistic, ethically reprehensible sinner with a black hole where my heart is meant to be. The very act of having a friendly conversation with a well-meaning, open, and non-pushy non-believer goes a long way to combating prejudice.

Secondly, just by opening a dialogue you create a safe space for other people to explore their own doubt or scepticism, but who are unlikely to have had the same freedoms you have had. This is more likely than you might think. According to a 2012 WIN/Gallup poll, 18% of people in the Arab world consider themselves ‘not a religious person’. That is the equivalent of 75 million people. The percentage rises to as high as 33% in Lebanon and perhaps even more surprisingly, 19% in Saudi Arabia. Even if you do not meet these people directly, you may indirectly inspire tolerance towards them. And there is a reasonable chance you will have enough influence on someone to make them consider before jumping to harsh judgement and disownment. Atheists and agnostics within highly religious countries have one hell of a trail to blaze. What I am advocating is recognising your privilege and using it to help their journey run a little smoother.

I’m not supporting walking around the holy land with an ‘I love Richard Dawkins’ t-shirt. I only had this conversation when I was somewhat confident that I was safe. I would not be so brave as to openly discuss it in Bangladesh or Saudi Arabia, where the price of standing up for non-belief has been such a tragic one. In at least thirteen countries, atheism is punishable by death. And in these countries, the bravery and dangers faced by activists fighting to protect their right to non-belief is not to be compared with anything I will ever encounter. Nor would I be naive enough to claim that everyone has the luxury to speak so openly about non-belief. But it is recognition of that privilege that motivates me. I have been lucky enough to grow up in a society where I am free from these dangers; most people are not.

Use your wits and your intuition, when you feel unsafe, keep your views to yourself. Check the Freedom of Thought Report before you visit any religious country and only do what you feel comfortable with. Given an opportunity, atheists who live with the privilege of safety have a responsibility to detoxify the debate for those that don’t. For me, it is a risk worth taking. Some of my most humbling experiences were when Jordanian people were telling me that I had helped them combat their prejudices. All humanists have a small part to play.

Alex Sinclair-Lack is a writer with an appetite for travel. You can follow his writing and his exploits on Twitter at @alexsinclair.

Offended? That’s the price of freedom.

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Photo: Jennifer Moo

Photo: Jennifer Moo

In 2008, the blasphemy laws were abolished in England and Wales. They protected the tender sympathies of the Anglican God against any insults whether spoken in public or written. Relics of a more theocratic age, their eventual abolition may have seemed inevitable, but in practice many organisations and individuals had to campaign hard for it for many decades. Real change was anything but a foregone conclusion: at the same time as the case was being made for progressive reforms, there were those pushing not for the abolition of blasphemy laws, but for their extension.

These calls went back to 1989 when the then Archbishop of Canterbury had called for the blasphemy laws be extended to criminalise offences against Islam. This was in the context of the violent street reaction to Salman Rushdie’s novel The Satanic Verses, stoked by the incendiary rhetoric of the Ayatollah Khomeini, which left many dead around the world. He didn’t get his way, but perhaps the Archbishop needn’t have bothered, as it seems that criticism or mockery of religion is now being censured by many public bodies of their own free will, and a social climate prevails which allows this to happen.

The last few years have seen many examples of religion being made immune from criticism or mockery in our public spaces, especially in universities, where student union authorities have played the role of heavy-handed thought police. In University College London, the humanist society was sanctioned by the authorities for using a cartoon of Jesus and Mohammed at a bar to advertise their sociable events. That same week, a humanist society talk at Queen Mary’s was cancelled due to death threats. A week later, at LSE, students were censured over ‘Jesus and Mo’ cartoons, and excluded from their own fresher’s fair a year later over T-shirts. At London South Bank, it was for using Christian imagery of the creation of Adam the advertise their drinks. And at Warwick, it was for using a cartoon of a stick man throwing religious symbols like crosses into a bin. Similar incidents, ranging from the troublingly absurd to the decidedly threatening, have taken place at Goldsmiths, Reading, and on many other campuses around England.

The latest victim of course is four-time Olympic medallist Louis Smith, forced to apologise and banned by British Gymnastics for enjoying a silly joke at the expense of religious practices which many people find ridiculous, and, in the course of doing so, offending those who would prefer to see religious ideas protected from scrutiny. Conceding to those demands sets us on a worrying course.

Absurd though we may think them, religions are big and powerful ideas. Many people think they are not just absurd but malign: barriers to human intellectual and moral progress. Whatever we think of them, in the history of Europe almost all social progress has come from criticising – yes, and ridiculing – their ideas and practices. All the benefits of free thought and free speech that we enjoy in Britain today come as a result of overturning their control.

In 2016, close to 70 countries have real blasphemy laws in statute. 43 of these treat it as an imprisonable offence, and in six others it is a crime punished with torture or the death sentence. The countries that actually enforce these rules are not places where you would want to live. The laws create a totalitarian atmosphere where people are so unfree that many live out the entirety of their lives never speaking their true thoughts, even to their closest friends and family. I have met many emigrants from Saudi Arabia in particular for whom this was true, but it is a pattern true of any country where the price of freedom is mortally high. Conform, be silent, never speak your mind. The alternative is to give up your liberty, your health, or even your life.

In our liberal democratic society, public authorities have a duty to protect and advance human rights, including our right to freedom of expression. They should not be victimising individuals for lawful actions, however offensive. Individuals, of course, have other obligations, and will keep their own conscience. We may exercise self-restraint in our own expressions out of politeness or respect. We may even urge others to do the same. But we should never call on the law to enforce our personal values or tastes, however deeply held these may be.

We have all had our most cherished beliefs, identities, or ways of life subject to ridicule at one time or another. When we feel that way, we have a choice. Our duty as citizens in a liberal society is to either engage with our detractors and attempt to persuade them to our way of thinking, or to shrug and ignore it. And then we get on with our lives, accepting that the discomfort we feel is a very small price to pay for freedom.