Article
Belief
Comment
Film & TV
5 min read

When Faithfuls lack faith, there’s a lot more to lose

Having faith is hard. It can be a costly act of courage.
Four game show contestants and a host stand in the garden of stately home.
The Faithful Four.

And so The Traitors comes to a close once again.  

Despite the small matter of it reinforcing my anxieties about our modern predisposition for isolation, I’ve really enjoyed this series. It’s been full of twists, tension, and just the right amount of over-the-top melodrama.  

And in this respect, the series finale did not disappoint. Amidst the backstabbing, and the reveals, and the arguments, however, it got me thinking about the nature of faith.  

Be warned: there are spoilers ahead for the finale of The Traitors

As the finale begins, pseudo-Welshwoman Charlotte (I promise that makes sense in context) is the last Traitor standing. However, she is unmasked as a Traitor by Faithful Frankie, who wins the power to reveal one contestant’s identity and picks the right person through a mildly infuriating fluke.  

Charlotte is banished and the remaining four Faithfuls enter ‘the endgame’. At this point, if all four agree, the game ends and they split the £94,600 jackpot between them. That is, unless a traitor remains in the game. In that case, the traitor takes the lot.   

It was absolutely fascinating and more than a little heartbreaking to watch these four people – all of whom were Faithfuls – work out whether they can trust each other. If all of them agree to end the game, they each walk away with £23,500.  

But they don’t.  

Initially, all four contestants decide to continue. None of them quite trusts the people around them. And so, the hapless Alexander is voted off next. He was too pure for this game anyway; he would have given his share to charity. 

Three remain. All three once again vote to continue. 

One contestant, Jake, says  

“I’m just not confident that I can trust the people around me.”  

And so he, along with the other remaining Faithful Leanne, votes to banish Frankie. The same Frankie who outed Charlotte as a Traitor. The same Frankie who wanted the money so she could surprise her boys back home.  

Two remain. And so the game ends by default.  

But the doubts don’t end. Jake and Leanne are left wondering if they will leave with £47,300 each, or if they’re just about to be screwed over by the other. The viewer gets the impression that, if each could banish the other, they would.  

“Why won’t you look me in the eyes?!” Leanne asks Jake in a panic, now seemingly convinced Jake is a traitor, about to take away all her hard-earned money. About to take away her only chance at IVF, and a baby.  

Both are revealed as Faithfuls and the game ends with joy and tears. Jake gets to renovate his house, Leanne gets to try for a baby. All is well. Except for the 23 other contestants who leave with nothing, dreams in tatters. 

I’m not saying that Jake, Leanne, Frankie, and Alexander are wrong for being suspicious of others. Having faith is hard. It is an act of courage.  

The only way the common good is most fruitfully attained is through the exercising of faith in one another. 

It’s easy not to have faith in very much at the moment. Our politicians are a heady mix of inept and corrupt. Our institutions often appear as little more than opaque, faceless entities hell-bent on self-preservation and self-interest, costs be damned. 

It’s hard to make a compelling case for why you should trust the state. Or the police. Or even the Church. Or any other number of people or institutions. Each is surrounded by a litany of failure and cover up. In such a context, faith seems an act of foolishness. 

And notice, too, that having faith in their fellow Faithfuls would have been a costly decision to make. Leanne and Jake leave The Traitors with £47,300. Had they trusted their fellow Faithfuls, that number would be halved. Still a remarkable amount of money but, when you’re attempting IVF or renovating a house, this can be the difference between getting everything you’ve dreamed of, or not.   

That’s exactly what The Traitors finale brings into such sharp relief. It takes courage to have faith. It is not a cop out. To have faith in those around us is to put our neck on the chopping block and hope no-one swings the axe.  

To have faith is to risk that which is most dear to us in the hope that others might have what matters most to them. It is a deeply vulnerable act of selflessness. It is not meant to be easy. 

And so ultimately, we can forgive the Faithfuls their faithlessness. Would you trust a complete stranger if £47,300 was on the line? When I think of everything that money would mean for my family, I’m not sure I would. 

But the only way the common good is most fruitfully attained is through the exercising of faith in one another. Only through faith in the fundamental goodness of humanity can we reach a truly equitable society where Leanne gets her baby, and Jakes gets his house, and Frankie gets to treat her family, and Alexander gets to donate to charity. (Bless that man, but he is slightly undercutting my point with his selflessness here. How selfish of him.) 

Having faith is not easy, or fun, or comfortable, or without sacrifice. It is an act of love that costs much. An act of love that places us in a relationship with others that is vulnerable to abuse and deceit and harm. And for those who have had their faith repaid with abuse and deceit and harm, the cost of continuing to live in faith can understandably seem too high.  

But maybe, just maybe, there is truth and goodness and beauty to be found in humanity of those around me. Maybe, just maybe, The Traitors warns us of the dangers of allowing our suspicions to trump our faith in each.  

Maybe, just maybe, it invites us to imagine a better alternative.

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Article
Comment
Gaza
Israel
Politics
7 min read

Israel-Gaza war anniversary: why peacemakers need a touch of doubt

Which narrative do you believe?

Graham is the Director of the Centre for Cultural Witness and a former Bishop of Kensington.

Split-screen on TC shows many different news channels in English, Arabic and Hebrew.
Split-screen reporting.
Al Jazeera.

As the focus of the crisis in the middle east shifts from Gaza to Lebanon, and as the anniversary of the October 7th attacks comes round, a look at the narratives that surround this conflict helps chart a way forward. 

At the heart of the Middle Eastern crisis involving Israel, Gaza and now Lebanon, are two very different stories.  

One of them goes like this.  

Israel is the only properly functioning democracy in the Middle East. It is a sanctuary for the Jewish people who over centuries, and around the world, have experienced extraordinary levels of persecution and discrimination. As a small country it has bravely established itself over the past 76 years as a haven of liberal, democratic freedom and prosperity despite the hostility of its neighbours, such as the Iran-backed Hezbollah in Lebanon. The Hamas attacks on October 7th 2023 were an unprovoked murderous assault on innocent citizens, the butchery and savagery of which was unprecedented in recent times. Hamas and Hezbollah both represent an Islamist ideology which has been a recurring thorn in the flesh of all democratic states, and which has taken root in Gaza and Lebanon. Israel's response of attempting to drive out such a deadly enemy from neighbouring states is entirely justified and reasonable. Any country faced by neighbours dedicated to its destruction would do much the same. Yes, there are civilian casualties in the conflict, but there always are in war. To oppose Israel’s campaigns in Gaza and Lebanon is in fact to lend covert support for terrorism, and a form of antisemitism, because it challenges the right of Israel, and the Jewish people, to self-determination and self-defence. 

Yet there is another other story, which runs thus: At the time of its founding in 1948, the pioneers of the state of Israel committed an original sin which has plagued it ever since - its expulsion of much of the indigenous Palestinian population from the land in the Arab-Israeli conflict which followed the founding of the state. Ever since then, Israel has sought to subjugate the remaining Arab population, treating Palestinians within its territory as second-class citizens. Since 1967, it has illegally occupied the West Bank and Gaza, denied Palestinians basic rights of civic equality while enabling and encouraging Jewish settlers to gradually steal land which is recognised by the United Nations as Palestinian. Within Israel and the Occupied Territories, Palestinians find it harder to get building permits, to find jobs, to be properly represented in parliament or to have opportunity for education. Therefore, it is not surprising that that the simmering resentment such treatment provokes leads to occasional resistance such as in the intifadas of the 1990s and 2000s, the election of Hamas in Gaza, and even the attacks of October 7th. Israel regularly accuses anyone who criticises its policies of antisemitism, using it as a shield to hide its mistreatment of the Palestinian minority. It has used the occasion of the October 7th attacks to launch a massive assault on Gaza and now southern Lebanon, regardless of the civilian casualties. The result is, at least in Gaza, a humanitarian disaster which will takes, years, even decades to resolve.   

Which of these narratives do you believe? Depending on a whole set of other commitments you probably resonate with one or the other. If you are more left leaning you probably favour the Palestinian account. If your instincts are more right-wing you will tend to favour the Israeli one. And I’m sure you can pick holes in the opposite narrative if you want to.  

Christians fall on both sides of this debate. Christian Zionists tend to see the emergence of the State of Israel as a fulfilment of Biblical prophecy that God would one day bring the Jewish people back to the land from which they were exiled in the distant past. Supporters of the Palestinian cause point to the Bible’s injunctions towards justice, its regard for the poor and oppressed, and to Israel’s Old Testament calling to look after the alien within their nation. Surely Israel has a duty to treat the Palestinians within their borders as equal citizens?  

To love your enemy does not mean to pretend that your enemy is a friend - at least not yet. 

So, does Christianity bring anything to this conflict? Or is it just as divided on this issue as anything else?  

One the most distinctive notes in the teaching of Jesus is his remarkable and unprecedented, some would say ridiculous call to love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. It was - and is - standard human behaviour to love your family and friends. It's more of a stretch to love your neighbours who happen to live next door. It's a whole different ball game to love your enemies. The phrase trips off the tongue as one we know well, yet how could it ever be possible for Israelis to love or pray for Hamas fighters, or the inhabitants of southern Lebanon to love the nation across the border to the south that is shelling them each day?  

I cannot even begin to imagine that. Yet closer to home, how does this idea of love for enemies effect our approach to these two stories, held so passionately on both sides of the debate? I first visited Israel/Palestine in 1989, in the middle of the first Palestinian ‘intifada’ or uprising against Israeli occupation. I stayed in east Jerusalem with Christian Palestinians and heard and saw first hand their feeling of resentment at being treated as inferiors in a land which had, they claimed, until the ‘Nakhba’, or ‘Catastrophe’ of 1948, been theirs for centuries. I came back full of righteous zeal for the Palestinian cause and would talk to whoever would listen about the injustice of Israeli treatment of the Palestinian people. I wanted people to imagine what it would feel like to know your family’s ancestral land was taken at gunpoint in 1948, to have to go through humiliating checkpoints to get to work, to have a neighbouring Jewish settlement harass your children and family, trying to get you to leave your home, so they can take the land, with little or no support from your own government or the police. And, in many ways, I still do.  

Yet over the years, and on numerous visits back to the Holy Land, I’ve gradually begun to try to see the story from the other perspective as well. Listening to the voices of Jewish people both in Israel and here in the UK, I've tried to imagine what it would feel like to be part of a people that has been hunted down in pogroms stretching back into a shameful past, including the expulsion of Jews from Arab countries in the twentieth century and the attempt of a modern European state to exterminate that people entirely. I've tried to understand their hope in the state of Israel as a place of security and their desperate need for it to survive and thrive as a place where Jews can feel safe, even as real antisemitism does from time to time raise its ugly head elsewhere in the world. Alongside Palestinian memoirs such as those from Sari Nusseibeh and Elias Chacour, I read Jewish writers such as Alan Dershowitz and people like Ari Shavit who captures the dilemmas of liberal Israelis caught between lamenting the expulsion of the Arabs in 1948, yet enjoying the fruits of that period in the present.  

I still yearn for Palestinian friends to find peace and equality, but realise that like so many enduring issues in world politics – it’s complicated. 

To love your enemy does not mean to pretend that your enemy is a friend - at least not yet. Many people reading this will have passionate commitments to one story or the other. Yet surely to love our enemies does mean to try to begin to see the story from another perspective, to try at least to put yourself in the shoes of the other, to entertain for a moment a little bit of doubt about the certainty of your own moral case.  

Loving your enemy might well be a ridiculous, impractical idea. Yet the alternative is hardly turning out well. 

It is what some within the land of Israel have tried to do. Salim Munayer and Lisa Loden are, respectively, Palestinian and Jewish Christians. Their book Through My Enemy’s Eyes tries to do just that – showing how Palestinian and Jewish Christians read the same Bible through different lens, and beginning to imagine how some form of reconciliation might be possible. Organisations like Musalaha and Telos are trying to buck the trend, helping each side meet the other and begin to imagine what reconciliation might look like.  

Loving your enemy might well be a ridiculous, impractical idea. Yet the alternative is hardly turning out well. If Israeli radicals were to succeed in expelling all Palestinians from the West Bank or Gaza, or Hamas / Hezbollah were to succeed in expelling the Jews from Israel - Neither is a solution that speaks of justice.  

It is hard to imagine any progress towards peace without something of this attempt to try to understand a different perspective. You cannot build peace without being a peacemaker – a figure often misunderstood, but according to Jesus, also strangely blessed. Whatever side you are on, perhaps you have a moral duty to make every effort to understand the other. Unless we do, we cannot begin to help resolve this most intractable and dangerous of global problems.