Article
Comment
Easter
Politics
4 min read

Amid the power plays the Passion of Zelensky stands out

How to respond to the Trumps and Pilates of this world?

George is a visiting fellow at the London School of Economics and an Anglican priest.

President Zelensky, wearing black, sits silently.
White House via Wikimedia Commons.

It started with prime minister Keir Starmer’s shameful toadying to President Donald Trump in the Oval Office at the White House, when he flourished a letter from his King inviting Trump for his second state visit to Britain. 

My first thought was what Starmer was going to produce for Ukraine’s Volodymyr Zelensky when he visited London shortly afterwards. A Fortnum & Mason voucher? My second thought was marginally more profound. Thirty pieces of silver came to mind. And I wondered why. Was it possible that Starmer was betraying Ukraine for the trinkets and baubles of our monarchy, just to stay in favour with the world’s most powerful man? 

As we have just slid past Ash Wednesday into the season of Lent, these thoughts take on a fiercer focus as the ends of our stories look like they’re in our beginnings, as the cast of characters in Passiontide ahead of Easter seem to take their places in our world politics now. 

Is US Vice President JD Vance a little like the Temple high priest of Jerusalem, Caiaphas, when he demands rhetorically: “It is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish”? Isn’t the price of bringing Zelensky down and appeasing Russia’s Vladimir Putin worth it for peace in Ukraine? 

It might be customary in a column such as this to continue to ascribe characteristics of the cast of the Passion of the Christ to the leaders of today’s great powers. But that’s too easy and doesn’t really work. Starmer is no Judas. His courtly flattering of Trump preceded the attempted humiliation of Zelensky in Washington and since that event Starmer is widely applauded across the political spectrum for playing a blinder and not putting a foot wrong. 

He is no betrayer of Zelensky, quite the reverse. And, anyway, casting him in that role risks the sacrilege of deifying Zelensky, who is definitely not the Messiah. Indeed, you don’t have to be a devoted Trumpian to invoke Monty Python’s Life of Brian and note that his performance before Trump and Vance was not messianic, but that of a very naughty boy. 

Such comparisons are not going to get us very far. Maybe it’s better to turn them the other way around. Of greater value, perhaps, is to use the power plays that we’ve just witnessed on our global stage better to understand the one we’ll shortly be commemorating from a couple of millennia ago in Jerusalem. 

In doing so, we may even begin to peek into some insights that demolish any case that the historical events of Passiontide are of no relevance today. And this isn’t just about politics, it’s about our human capacity for abusive power. 

Like Trump, Pilate just wanted to make a deal to keep the peace. Like Trump, he told Jesus that he wasn’t being sufficiently appreciative of what he was trying to do for him.

Take that scene in the Oval Office when Zelensky was bullied by the two most powerful figures (Elon Musk excepted) in the new US regime. It’s a classic weapon in any domestic abusive relationship to blame the victim. So it was that Trump/Vance sought to blame Zelensky and by extension his nation for his and its oppression by Russia. 

And so it was when the Nazarene stood before Pontius Pilate, the mouthpiece of the most powerful man on earth of his day, the Emperor of Rome, Tiberius. The similarities between the two situations are striking. And not just because one can reasonably doubt that Jesus of Nazareth wore a suit on that day either. 

The latter, a battered artisan and preacher from the provincial hills and a man described as being “without sin”, was a classic subject of victim-blaming. Like Trump, Pilate just wanted to make a deal to keep the peace. Like Trump, he told Jesus that he wasn’t being sufficiently appreciative of what he was trying to do for him. Like Trump, he told him that he had absolute power over his fate. And, like Trump, he is certain that truth is anything he wishes it to be in the moment when he asks contemptuously: “What is truth?” 

The intriguing question is how this tells us to respond to the Trumps and Pilates of this world. In the immediate circumstances of interrogation in both the Oval Office and the praetorium, the answer seems partly to be silence. The Christ chooses it; Zelensky has it forced upon him by the coercive control of his interlocutors. 

Again, I make no claim for a Christ-like Zelensky. But silence as a human response invariably has its source in humility. In the most worldly of senses, that is now very apparent in the conciliatory words of the Ukrainian president towards his bully, calling his leadership “strong”, regretting how the meeting turned out and expressing willingness to return to the table. 

Humility isn’t weakness. It brings the power of peace and enables the triumph of love. That’s the lesson from two thousand years ago. And the lesson is also that no good can come from a total lack of it, just as for Trump as it was for Pilate. 

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Article
Comment
Freedom of Belief
Politics
5 min read

The UN promised freedom of belief — but 80 years later, it’s still elusive

Flawed, fragile but still vital to those without a voice

Steve is news director of Article 18, a human rights organisation documenting Christian persecution in Iran.

Trump address the UN.
Trump addresses the 80th session of the United Nations General Assembly.
The White House.

It’s been 80 years since the United Nations was founded, at the end of the Second World War, primarily in an attempt to avoid a third global conflict. 

So on that score, at least, I suppose one must accept that the UN has achieved its primary objective. But why, then, does the overall feeling towards the organisation today seem negative? 

The UN’s founding charter outlined three other major goals alongside maintaining “international peace and security”: developing “friendly relations” among nations; international cooperation in solving economic, social, cultural or humanitarian problems; and respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms, “without distinction as to race, sex, language or religion”. 

Given that the UN is comprised of 193 countries, it is perhaps little wonder that “friendly relations” and “cooperation” between all sides have not always been forthcoming, and that instead clear cliques have formed between Western countries on the one hand, and much of the rest of the world on the other. (Perhaps the clearest such clique at the moment is the 2021-founded “Group of Friends in Defence of the UN Charter”, the identities of whose members - China, North Korea, Iran, Russia, Venezuela, et al - may lead one to wonder what exactly it is in the UN charter they wish to defend. Short answer: “sovereignty”, code for doing whatever they wish, without interference.) 

As for the pursuit of “human rights” - my primary focus as an employee of an NGO - perhaps the greatest obstacle remains the lack of a truly united consensus over which rights should be included in the definition. 

The closest that the nations of the world have come to an agreement on this score was the adoption in 1948, three years after the founding of the UN, of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), which was backed by 48 of 58 member states at the time, but which failed to secure the support of others, including apartheid South Africa, the former Soviet bloc, and Saudi Arabia. 

A primary objection in the case of Saudi Arabia was to Article 18 of the declaration - the bit about religious freedom and which includes the claim that everyone should have the right to change their religion or belief, an issue that remains problematic for many of the not-so-united nations of the world today. 

The UK, meanwhile, was happy to ratify the UDHR but expressed frustration at its lack of legal force, and it was nearly 20 years before another treaty, the 1966 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, attempted to correct this.  

But while the 174 signatories to the ICCPR - including Iran, Russia, Cuba and China (though the latter two without ever ratifying the treaty) - are at least on paper legally obliged to uphold this international treaty, the challenge of enforcement remains. For example, while the signatories of the ICCPR are obliged to provide freedom of religion as defined by Article 18 of the covenant, which closely resembles the same article of the UDHR, few practical tools exist to hold to account any state that fails to meet its obligations.  

In the case of persistent violators like Iran - the focus of my work - it seems the best we can currently hope for is to see a “resolution” passed by the majority of member states, outlining the ways in which the particular violator has failed to provide its citizens with the religious freedom (among other things) that should be their right according to the international treaties it has signed, and calling on them to do better.  

But when pariahs like Iran can merely continue to deny that such failures exist, call them “biased” and “political”, and all the while prevent access to the country to the independent experts (“Special Rapporteurs”) best able to ascertain the veracity of the allegations, such “resolutions” can at times appear rather hollow. 

At the same time, for advocates of human rights in non-compliant countries like Iran, the public shaming offered by such resolutions at least provides an opportunity for otherwise voiceless victims to be heard on the international stage. And when real change inside the country can sometimes appear nigh-on-impossible, you tend to take the small wins, such as hearing the representatives of member states mentioning the names of individual victims or groups in the public arena. 

Many mentions are made, for example, about the plight of the Baha’is during every UN discussion of human rights in Iran, and while it is less common to also hear about my own area of interest - the persecution of Christians in Iran - there is usually at least one mention, which for us advocates (and we hope also the victims we represent) provides some comfort and hope for future change. 

So 80 years since the establishment of the UN, it is clear the organisation has much room for improvement, but I remain persuaded by the argument that if we didn’t have the UN, we’d have to invent it. 

“Friendly relations” - a helpfully loose term - between our disunited nations will always be a challenge, but increased economic ties globally over the past 80 years have also provided potential pressure points for those who fail to follow the rules. (If, for example, Iran wishes to see sanctions removed, Western countries can and should continue to demand improvements in the area of human rights.) 

As for the UN’s endeavour to see increased “respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms”, the question of what such rights and freedoms should entail will continue to be debated, with persistent areas of challenge including not only religious conversion but also abortion and same-sex relations. 

It is not uncommon, for example, to hear representatives of Muslim states such as Iran questioning what Western nations really mean by “human rights” and accusing them of using the term only as a “pretext” for their own “biased” agendas. 

But for all its challenges, 80 years after its establishment the UN continues to offer the only forum today where countries of contrasting beliefs can come together to discuss their differences on the world stage.  

Whether that is a worthwhile exercise remains a matter for debate, but to the degree that it is, the UN remains the primary channel through which such conversations can take place. 

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