Interview
Creed
Freedom of Belief
Middle East
S&U interviews
5 min read

Searching for purpose landed me in an Iranian court

Hassan tells how changing his belief is perceived as a threat to Iran’s national security.
A man walks through a dark alley, looking to one side, illuminated only by roof lights.
An alley in Zanjan, Iran.
Bahram Bayat on Unsplash.

Hassan is Iranian and a Christian; now living in the United Kingdom, he tells Belle Tindall his story. His name has been changed to protect his identity.  

Can you tell me your story, tell me how you became a Christian and what life in Iran was like as a result of that decision? 

Yeah, actually, I was born in Iran and in Muslim family. I grew up as a Muslim, and then at the age of sixteen, I became a Christian. I was questioning whether God exists or not, asking what the purpose of my life was, the purpose of the whole world, in fact. And, if there is a God, why are there so many injustices in this world, and around me?  

I went to Islamic theology first, because that’s what I knew. But, it left me feeling empty.  

And I remember, one day, I cried out to God, I said – ‘I don't know if you exist or not, I don’t know if you can hear my voice or not. But if you exist, and if you're hearing my voice, please talk to me directly.’ 

I was really desperate.  

A few months after that prayer, I was alone at home and suddenly a crucifixion appeared in my front of my eyes. I had no knowledge about Jesus’ death on the cross or anything like that. But that was it.  

I didn’t know that the Christian church was being persecuted at this point. And I remember, in the early years, learning that I couldn’t attend any church service because they weren’t able to accept Muslim converts. But I just couldn’t ignore this very strong voice in my mind and heart, telling me that only Jesus could save me. So, I had very deep peace in my heart. 

And am I right in thinking that you were arrested for your Christian faith?  

Yes, intelligence police came to my home one morning, showing me a paper that permitted them to search my flat. They didn’t actually tell me that it was because of Christianity, they just searched everything, took photos, and seized anything that was related to Christianity.  

Then they told me – ‘this is happening because you’re a Christian’, and they sent me to court. But, during my trial, they presented me with different charges: undermining the government and posing a threat to national security.  

So, how long were you in prison for? 

I as in solitary confinement for a month. But they couldn’t keep me in prison because years before I had gone through the process of becoming legally recognised as a Christian convert – when it wasn’t illegal. So, they had to release me. I also had human rights organisations putting pressure on the government to release me, they were working on my case. So, after a month I was released on bail.  

And is that when you came to the UK?  

Yes, because even when I was released, I wasn’t safe. They would call me all the time, they would call me in for interrogation constantly – they wanted to show me that they were still in control, that they knew everything. I was being monitored always. And so, mentally and emotionally, it was very difficult for me to stay there. I spoke with some leaders in my church who told me that it would be wise for me to leave Iran. It wasn’t safe for me; I didn’t have a choice.  

And how has your experience been, here in the UK?  

To be honest, to begin with, it was really difficult. Because of the torture that I had endured, I had a lot of trauma – and when I came here, I had nothing. I was learning a new culture, a new language. And I carried this trauma here with me. Spiritually, mentally, emotionally, it’s been very hard for me to be here.  

It was very dark.  

Can I ask you, in light of everything that you’ve experienced, what you think of the recent comments about the church ‘aiding bogus asylum claims’? 

I was a refugee. And when I arrived, my interviewer was a very kind lady. To get my immigration status only took two or three weeks, but that could have been because my story was already quite well-known, so there was evidence that I had been persecuted because of my Christian faith. My case had been on the internet.  

And I understand that some people aren’t honest about being Christians – and that would make it difficult for people like me. It’s tricky. I don’t want to judge anybody, because I understand, I’ve seen the other side.  

And it is a challenge.  

But I feel positive that even if somebody hasn’t been to church in Iran, it’s a good opportunity to share the gospel with them here in the UK. It’s good news that they’re here – even if they’ve come for a different reason.  

But I really do think that people are coming because they’re persecuted. They’ve been through so much. It’s hard for the Home Office, but the church have an important role to play – to support the people who have been persecuted, who have never before had a place to learn about or worship God. Those who have never had the freedom to express their faith, or live in their faith. I think the church has a really, really important job - to support them and stand behind them and speak for them.  

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Freedom of Belief
Trauma
6 min read

Nigeria’s terror survivors share their stories

This violence is not gruesome fiction, it’s reality.
A Nigerian man looks up towards the camera, behind him is dusty ground
Manga survived an attempted beheading.
Open Doors.

This article contains distressing content.  

Something is happening. And nobody is talking about it.  

Nigeria, the big and beautiful ‘Giant of Africa’, is becoming a place of increasing terror for the hundred million Christians who call it home. Since 2000, 62,000 people have been killed for having a Christian faith. Eight-thousand people were killed in 2023 alone. These staggering numbers mean that more Christians are being killed in Nigeria than in every other country combined.  

The violence is as extreme as it gets. And yet, very few of us know that it’s happening.  

When it comes to the Nigerian government and media, the relentlessly brutal attacks are seemingly hidden in plain sight; undeniable and yet somehow unstoppable. While, in the UK, we appear to be entirely unaware. This violence is out of sight, and therefore largely out of mind. The reasons why are admittedly complex, as outlined by Chris Wadibia. Nevertheless, the violence being carried out toward the Nigerian people, particularly those living in the Northern states, surely deserves our attention.  

Earlier this year, I took a trip to Northern Nigeria. While I was there, I got to know a group of people who had endured unimaginable trauma, largely because of their Christian faith. Every day, they would bravely tell their stories – who they were and what they had experienced. Every day, I looked into the faces of children who had lost parents, parents who had lost children, husbands who had lost wives, and wives who had lost husbands. All of a sudden, the bewildering statistics were people before me – people who were having to live with the images of their loved ones being ‘butchered’ before their very eyes. Their villages being burnt down. Their lives being turned upside down by militants with assault rifles and machetes.  

The only reference I had for stories such as the ones I was hearing were apocalyptic movies. But these things happened. They happened to the people sitting across from me. This violence is not the stuff of gruesome fiction, it’s the stuff of reality.  

As she was running, she came across a woman who has hiding herself because she was giving birth to twins. This mother handed the babies to her and begged her to get them to safety... 

I met one woman, she was incredibly gentle and kind, and told her story with a composure that’s hard to fathom. She was working on her land along with her husband and mother-in-law, a totally run-of-the-mill day. They were so engrossed with the task at hand, they didn’t notice that their village was being attacked by armed ‘Fulani’ militants (the majority of the violence being carried out in Northern Nigeria is at the hands of Islamic extremist groups such as Fulani militants, Boko Haram and ISWAP - Islamic State in West African Province). She looked up to find herself face-to-face with two attackers and despite their command for her to surrender to them, she ran, as did her husband and mother-in-law. While she was running, she could hear bullets flying past her head and the screams of her mother-in-law. Making it to a neighbouring village, she gathered help and eventually went back to find her husband and mother-in-law. Both of whom were stabbed and killed that day.  

The Fulani militants now have control over her village, and she told us how she’s been praying that she would be able to forgive these men for what they’d done, as she is now forced to live alongside them. And so, she felt proud because she had recently been able to respond to one of the men as they greeted her.    

There was another woman, she was strong and defiantly compassionate. Her story is laced with horror. She studied at a university – the discrimination she experienced there meant that a course that was supposed to be four years long, took her eight years to complete. In 2014, Boko Haram attacked the university – while she was trying to escape, her friend was shot and ‘hacked at’ while he refused to deny his Christian faith. She recalls how his last words were ‘I’m happy. I’ve saved lives today. And I have Jesus’.  

He died and she continued to run. As she was running, she came across a woman who has hiding herself because she was giving birth to twins. This mother handed the babies to her and begged her to get them to safety, as she did so, she heard the mother being shot behind her.  

She ran those twins to Cameroon, leaving them in safety, and now lives in a rural Nigerian village where she teaches the local children. Her Christian identity is no secret, and so faces continual danger. Her crops were burnt to the ground and destroyed, twice. And the villagers have tried, repeatedly, to get her to leave. One night, she came face to face with young men with bats and machetes who threatened her life – she told them – ‘you can’t scare me. I have seen the Lord’.  

And they left. Remarkably, that village is still her home.  

One heart-wrenchingly-young girl told us how, while she sleeping – she was awoken by her father who told her that they needed to run, they were under attack. She ran, hand in hand with her father, while her mother carried her younger brother. While they were fleeing, her dad was shot and killed. Her mother pried her hand out of her father’s and buried both her and her brother in sand, instructing them to stay hidden. The next day, they found that their house, their crops, their entire village had been burnt down.  

This is what is happening. This is what we are not seeing.  

While we are not seeing this violence, they are not seeing an end to it.   

Since my return, I have met with a man who bears the physical scars of his trauma. He thought his house was being pillaged by armed robbers - it was only when they led him, his brother and his father outside, made them kneel with their hands tied behind their backs, and demanded that they denounce their Christian faith that he realised he was being attacked by Boko Haram. It was a regular evening, he was putting together a lesson plan for his class the following day, and now he was kneeling before an executioner. His father refused their demand, and they beheaded him. His brother also refused, and they took a blade to him, too. Then it was his turn, and while his mind was filled with thoughts of death and how much this was about to hurt, he also prayed that these men would be forgiven for what they were doing. Taking after Jesus, who forgave his executioners mid-execution, this man continued to pray as he felt the blade in his neck.  

Left to bleed to death, miraculously, both him and his brother survived. Now, his scar tells an astonishing story.  

This epidemic of violence seems to reside under our radar. It’s not quite catching our eye, is it? And, as a result, is not quite receiving the force of our outrage nor benefiting from the depths of our compassion. So many of the people that I met expressed a feeling of being neglected – like they’re suffering in deafening silence. While we are not seeing this violence, they are not seeing an end to it.   

What’s happening in Nigeria is a crisis, one that we must acknowledge.