Article
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Freedom of Belief
Politics
5 min read

No George, Christians aren’t free to worship in Iran

Apologists make a mockery of the real costs of freedom of belief.

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

A couple stand on the steps of a cathedral in Iran.
On location with George Galloway.

I guess it’s a good job he’s no longer a member of parliament, or George Galloway may be facing the same scrutiny Nigel Farage came under for his trips to the United States. 

It probably won’t surprise you to hear that the former MP for Rochdale didn’t head to the Land of the Free on his own extracurricular jaunt the other week, but instead to Tehran and Moscow.  

And no, George wasn’t there to remind Iran of its obligations to provide human rights for its citizens - as some might expect of a British MP - nor did he go to Russia to put pressure on Putin to end the war in Ukraine. 

No, George was simply visiting his comrades - distinct as they may be - and doing his bit for their distinct causes. 

Mr Galloway published two videos during his visit to Iran - both published on his X account - and both showing him standing outside the buildings of a recognised religious minority (meaning, in Iran, Jews, Zoroastrians and Assyrian or Armenian Christians. Not converts or Baha’is). 

In the first video, the man in the black hat is standing outside a synagogue in Tehran, which he tells his audience doesn’t even have a guard outside “because they don’t need one”, as the “millions” of Jews who live in Iran (actually there are less than 10,000) are so “honoured” and “cherished”. 

They even have their own members in the parliament, he tells us (actually it’s just the one), and “you didn’t know any of this, did you? Because they don’t want you to know.” 

Well, now you do.  

And, thanks again to the former Member for Rochdale, two days later you were also able to discover, much to your surprise, that Iran is also home to “so many Christian churches.” (For the record there are around 300, but none of them open to converts.) 

This time, Mr Galloway is speaking to you from outside an Armenian cathedral, still wearing the same outfit and therefore presumably recorded on the same day but published two days later - perhaps to give you enough time to digest your first lesson. 

Inside the cathedral, George assures us, there are “many worshippers quietly going about their religious obligations,” which is “quite different from the picture that is painted of Iran in Western countries,” don’t you think? 

And what would that picture be, eh, George? 

That Christians are routinely arrested and imprisoned for meeting together to worship, and in years past the leaders of their churches - including Armenians - were even murdered on those same Tehran streets on which you are now standing? 

But no matter, here at least is clear proof that one church in Iran is still functioning - as well as that synagogue; don’t forget the synagogue! - and as Mr Galloway proudly informed us 24 hours after his first video, nearly one million people (according to X it was closer to 50,000) had watched it. 

So, job done. Let’s not worry about the details. They take too much time to research, and can also trip one up when trying to make a point - especially regarding Iran’s treatment of religious minorities or, well, anyone really. 

But no matter, one can guarantee that most viewers won’t have bothered to look into it, nor scroll down far enough to reach the dissent. 

Now, I don’t know whether it was because George hadn’t quite lived up to his billing, but a few days later some “real journalists” arrived from the Grayzone website to add their own insights. 

The Brits had been told; now it was the turn of the Americans.  

“Americans may be surprised to know Christians exist in Iran and are allowed to practice their religion freely.” 

So wrote Grayzone News’ Anya Parimpil on X, alongside a post showing a short video from inside - wow, they actually let the Americans inside! - another Armenian cathedral, this time in Isfahan. 

And alongside a few more pictures of the church, Ms Parimpil posted some photographs of “ancient bibles” - no capital ‘B’ needed, it would seem, nor explanation that today in Iran Bibles are often used as evidence of a “crime” in court cases against Christians. 

Meanwhile, Ms Parimpil’s husband, Max Blumenthal, posted a long video interview with the Islamic Republic of Iran’s favourite interviewee, Mohammad Marandi, as they walked around a Tehran cemetery. 

You can watch it on YouTube if you like, but I wouldn’t recommend it; not only is it over an hour long, but in the wake of the axing of Stephen Sackur’s BBC news show HARDtalk, this one is more like an episode of SOFTtalk, in which the presenter asks only two questions of real interest - regarding the nuclear programme and popular support for the regime - to which there is never any danger of a follow-up probe. 

To paraphrase, Marandi’s answers were that the regime is wildly popular and well able to make a nuclear weapon if it wanted to but that it doesn’t because such things are “inhumane” and the Islamic Republic of Iran is, of course, renowned for its decency. 

Mr Blumenthal also posted videos of an Iranian man singing while embracing him underneath one of Isfahan’s famous bridges - with the message, “Iran is not your enemy” - and of the return of water to the local river, failing to mention, as one responder noted, that “due to the corruption and mismanagement of the horrific mullah regime, the river is basically dry all the time”. 

But no matter, one can guarantee that most viewers won’t have bothered to look into it, nor scroll down far enough to reach the dissent. 

Certainly, the overwhelming reaction to all the videos and photographs posted over the past week has been positive: essentially, a “thanks for showing us what Iran is really like and not only what the biased mainstream media (MSM!) says about it!” 

These are the days of SOFTtalk, it would appear, so I suppose we’d better get used to it. 

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Article
Books
Comment
Language
5 min read

Reading Don Quixote is making me a better person

Learning from Cervantes’ mistakes
Statues of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza point toward a windmill
Don Quixote and Sancho Panza statues, Tandil, Argentina.
Alena Grebneva, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

I love reading, but I’m not very well read. As is often the case, a curmudgeonly teacher quashed any interest I had in literature in my last few years of school; the increasing creep of technology and social media into my life means my diminishing attention span often makes reading seem a herculean task. It’s a long time to sit still and not doomscroll.  

It’s only in recent years that I’ve rediscovered a love of reading. As part of this, I’m trying to right some literary wrongs.  

Okay, confession time: I’ve never read anything by Jane Austin, the Bronte sisters, George Elliot, Tolstoy, or Proust. I haven’t read The Lord of the Rings or Moby Dick nor To The Lighthouse or Heart of Darkness. I know. Bad, isn’t it? I could go on, too … 

I love reading, but I’m not very well read.  

And so I’m making an effort to read some of the Great Books of the canon. At the moment, I’m reading Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes. Crucially, I’m reading Edith Grossman’s 2003 translation of the novel. It is an absolute joy.  

I had heard that it was deeply funny, and a work of genius; neither aspect of the text has been a surprise to me. But there’s something about Grossman’s translation in particular that has caught me off guard: the mistakes.   

Not any mistakes by Grossman. I know nothing whatsoever about Spanish, let alone 17th Century Spanish (another dream crushed by another teacher), but the English text is a marvel. Eminently readable and funny without compromising the occasional complexity of Cervantes’ prose.  

No: I mean the mistakes by Cervantes himself. Early on, a footnote from Grossman points out that Sancho Panza (Don Quixote’s long-suffering squire) refers to his wife using several different names throughout the text. Without Grossman’s footnotes, I’m sure I would have overthought this. What is the author trying to say about Sancho Panza? Is it a comment on his intelligence? Or the character’s view of women, perhaps? Am I just too dense to understand what’s going on here? 

Grossman’s assessment? It’s just “an oversight”. A mistake. And quite a basic one, at that. Later on, Cervantes divides up his chapters, using those brief sentences summarising their contents that are common in this period (“Chapter III, In which …”). But they’re all wrong. Things are said to happen in Chapter X that don’t actually happen until Chapter XV; the chapter summaries are a mess, frankly.  

One of the things that made me reluctant to read Great Books for so long is that they’re intimidating. They are certified Works of Genius and therefore probably a bit much for my little brain to digest. Many of the archetypical Great Books compound this by being incredibly long, too: think Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Proust, or even more recent candidates like David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest or Olga Tokarczuk’s The Books of Jacob. Don Quixote itself runs to nearly 1,000 pages long; it carries a literal and literary heft to it. 

But there it is. Full of mistakes. 

It turns out to have been quite an opportune moment for me to read Don Quixote. I’m in the final stages of preparing for my second book to come out. (It’s an academic Christian theology book, so will probably sell slightly less than Don Quixote but will certainly cost much more to buy). This means it’s been quite a stressful season for me, as I try to catch any lingering mistakes that might have somehow slipped through the myriad rounds of copyediting, or find myself wondering if the book isn’t just so bad that I’m going to be forced to return my PhD, leave academia forever, and by sued by my publisher for besmirching their good name by association.  

This has also been a time of being deeply frustrated with my own humanity. Why aren’t I a better writer? Why can’t I spell properly? Why aren’t I more creative? Why aren’t I better at this? Why am I so … limited

As an academic, imposter syndrome never really goes away. You just learn to cope with it. And reading Don Quixote and seeing these mistakes in the text has helped me reframe who I am, and my own limitations. Here is a text that is human; completely and utterly human. And so, naturally, here is a text with mistakes; text that is imperfect and flawed. And therein lies its part of its charm. It is rough and coarse, and I love it for that. The mistakes in Don Quixote haven’t detracted from my enjoyment of the text, they’ve enhanced it. They’ve underscored the beautiful humanity that is so evident in Cervantes’ work.  

The Christian Bible is at pains to tell me that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made,” as the Psalmist puts it. I can be so quick to forget this when I focus all my attention on my limitations, and flaws, and missteps. This is why I’m so grateful for Grossman’s translation of Don Quixote. Above all else, I’m grateful for its mistakes. Like me, it is utterly human. Like me, this means it is utterly flawed. Like me, that makes it a work of utter beauty. 

Don Quixote is helping me to recognise the inherent beauty of my limitations as a creature. In doing so, it’s helping me to recognise the inherent beauty of the One who created me. It’s helping me to fall more in love with the God who sent His Son to Earth to become human like me, to revel in and live alongside me in my humanity. Warts and all. 

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If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?
 
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