The harsh reminder of our common humanity

Iran’s latest sanctions on protestors are a harsh reminder of the importance of diversity, solidarity and our common humanity, writes Krish Kandiah.

Krish Kandiah

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

A protester holds a red placard bearing the name and image of Mahsa Amini

It has been a year since the widespread protests across Iran sparked by the death of Mahsa Amini. The courageous 22-year-old was killed in prison for refusing to wear the hijab headscarf. To mark the anniversary of her death the Iranian government issued new legislation increasing the punishment to women who are deemed “inappropriately dressed” from a previous punishment of 10 days in prison to a maximum 10-year incarceration sentence.

According to the World Economic Forum, Iran is ranked 140 out of 144 countries in the area of gender equality. Iran’s current leadership suppresses not just the clothing of women but their voices, skills, perspectives and decisions too. Women choosing to forego the hijab had previously been a way to peacefully push back on the inequality they are facing. This symbolism of resistance is now not only forbidden, but criminal. Even business owners who serve women who are not wearing the hijab are liable for prosecution under the new laws.

As a father of three daughters, I find Iran’s new laws deeply disturbing. I cannot even imagine the desperation of Amjad Amini, Mahsa’s father, who this week was put in prison in an attempt to short-circuit any protests of his daughter’s death. He faces not just the trauma of the state murder of his daughter, the risk to his own life and the inability to grieve in peace, but also the devastating consequence of her death on 49 million other women in Iran with the tightening of the very laws his daughter was protesting against.

It could learn a lot from Jesus who went out of his way to welcome those that others looked down on.

As a Christian I find these oppressive laws deeply troubling too. One of the most revolutionary marks of the Christian faith is that it recognises the absolute equality and intrinsic value of all human beings. No matter what our age or race or gender or sexuality or nationality or ability or immigration status or political persuasion or faith, all are made in the image of God. I believe it is therefore an essential element of my faith to speak up for the rights of my fellow human beings, particularly when they are being marginalised, tyrannised, dehumanised or disempowered.

This means the oppression of Muslim women in the Middle East matters to me. Although we come from different cultures, live on different continents and hold different views about God and how to worship him, I believe we are connected by our common humanity.

Sadly, our common humanity is not always recognised either by Christians or those outside of the church. The church in the UK has too often been guilty as charged for misogynist, homophobic and racist attitudes. It could learn a lot from Jesus who went out of his way to welcome those that others looked down on. He was not afraid to face criticism for spending time with those the religious folk of the time had traditionally mistreated. It is time for the church to follow his example and take a lead in treating everyone with compassion and in standing up for the basic human rights of women, those in the LGBT community, and those from other countries.

Our common humanity is becoming overlooked too in our polarised world as it further divides over identity politics. There is a developing norm to focus less on the things that unite us and more on what differentiates us. Our latest culture wars are pitting women’s rights against trans rights, telling us that the rights of black people are opposed to the rights of white people, or that the rights of immigrants are at odds with the rights of settled passport-holders. But that is not the way things have to be or should be.

I believe that the opposite is true: that the world can be better for all of us, that there is strength in solidarity, that diversity is genuinely good for everyone.

This is why I recently turned up at a campaign calling for the rights of Afghan women and girls to be respected, why I publicly advocate for refugees and care-experienced young people, and why I insisted on greater representation of the LGBT community in my work with government. This is why I offer race and faith literacy training to government bodies, churches and businesses. This is why I have opened up my home to foster children and refugee families. This is why I set up my charity, Sanctuary Foundation, to advocate for those who do not feel safe in their own country. This is why I call the church to action and compassion for all whose rights have been taken away or are being eroded. This is why, in as far as it depends on me, I will champion equality for all.

And this is why I will continue to be calling on the government to open safe and legal routes for all those who are being oppressed and persecuted in the countries where they live. I would like the government to offer our country as sanctuary to women from Iran whose lives are endangered, whose human rights are being denied. I would like our country to offer asylum and hospitality to those who have had to flee Iran after daring to challenge the brutality of the current regime. I would like our churches to lead the way in warmly welcoming all those from Iran and anywhere else who have never experienced unconditional love and acceptance.

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Comment

General Election 24

Politics

5 June 2024

4 min read

Democracy and dairy don't mix

Let's remember the principles of political engagement.

Yaroslav Walker

Yaroslav is Vicar of Christ Church, Hampstead.

A woman throws a milkshake at a politician, the milk is mid-flight in a curved shape.

Political engagement?

Twitter

Nigel Farage is best known for dividing opinion. It is for a politician like Mr Farage that we adapted ‘Marmite’ from a noun to an adjective - people either love or hate him. I’d like to think of myself as an elevated individual, floating above the fray of yeast-based debate with grace and equanimity. I find Mr Farage funny, because he is. I dislike much of what he stands for, because it is unlikable. It all balances out. I neither love nor hate him. I see him as a, somewhat amusing and somewhat problematic, bit of topography on the political map. I can’t really bring myself to have any feelings towards him which are stronger than a chuckling-wincing-indifference.

Others, it would seem, have more passion. On Tuesday, Mr Farage was doused in milkshake; ‘vanilla’, intrepid journalists reported. The response was immediate. Howls of laughter from those who find Mr Farage odious. Fulmination from those who support him. Claims of a ‘false flag operation’ from some. Shouts about ‘political violence’ and a ‘slippery slope’ from others. Much like the man, the milkshake roused the commentariat into absolute histrionics. Who on earth is right?

The latter group.

Obviously!

Shock often elicits a laugh - a way of softening the tension one finds themselves inhabiting. It doesn’t mean the joke is funny. The milkshake wasn’t funny, however much some forcibly bray with laughter. It was an unkind, juvenile, contradictory act of foolishness from someone who seems to believe that true political engagement is dairy-based. It was also an attempt to set a precedent which no civilised person can accept. Those shouting about the ‘slippery slope’ are correct, for the ‘slippery slope’ is simply a phrase which is synonymous with the concept of ‘precedent’.

I do not mean that we must treat our political class with kid gloves. We must interrogate their platforms, positions, and policies with rigour.

Precedents’ are fundamentally progressive. You set a precedent for something, and soon people wish to argue for a precedent which goes further. Be under no illusion, milkshake can very quickly become a much nastier and more dangerous liquid in the minds of many. The principle that those who are standing for elected office must be treated with absolute respect is one which is either absolute or non-existent. There is no in-between.

I do not mean that we must treat our political class with kid gloves. We must interrogate their platforms, positions, and policies with rigour. If they propose an idea which we find deficient or problematic (or even odious!) then we must hold them to account and demand an explanation. This is the right (perhaps even the duty?) of all engaged in the democratic process. We can never, however, allow our passion and consternation to devolve into the physical. Language and action are inextricably linked, yet there is an obvious and distinct gulf between them which we must preserve at all costs.

The milkshake incident might elicit a laugh at first, but I hope anyone laughing ends up frowning.

On the day the election was announced, the Archbishops of Canterbury and York issued a plea: put “…good grace and a commitment to truth and integrity…” at the heart of the campaign. We ought to demand this of our political class; but we can’t expect it of those standing for election if we do not practice it ourselves.

Our elected representatives feel embattled like never before. The number of MPs standing down at this election is remarkable. The number who are calling for mandatory police protection of MPs is depressing. The number who have experienced threats and/or/of violence is unconscionable. The number who have been murdered in the last thirty years - two - is horrific and shameful.

We will never get the best out of our MPs if we do not give them OUR best!

If the Archbishops are not enough to convince you, perhaps Jesus will be. Jesus was faced with regular attack, both verbal and physical. He responded with love (‘turn the other cheek), verbal wit (render unto Ceasar that which is Ceasar’s), and, ultimately, loving sacrifice (the Cross). He also regularly reminds us that our actions inform who we are and will become: “Listen and understand: it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.”

The milkshake incident might elicit a laugh at first, but I hope anyone laughing ends up frowning. Firstly, because it was vulgar, callous, and rude: it was everything a civilised democratic process ought to reject. Secondly, and most importantly, because it demeans and degrades us all as a culture. Every such incident which is tolerated at all sets a precedent which we cannot accept.

Our political processes, flawed and hypocritical as they might sometime be, are intended to engender the fundamental principles of respect, integrity, and love of neighbour. If we see the meeting of Mr Farage and a milkshake as anything but disgusting, we are not worthy of such principles.