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War & peace

6 July 2023

4 min read

When to stand up in an increasingly insecure world

When war is ‘othering’ by other means, the brutal realities of our world can be overwhelming. Ziya Meral contemplates what it means to take a stand.

Ziya Meral

Dr Ziya Meral is a researcher, advisor and programmes director specialising on global trends shaping defence and security, politics and foreign policies. He is a Senior Associate Fellow of the Royal United Services Institute.

Recently, I found myself sitting quietly at a cathedral buzzing with tourists, reflecting on demanding global developments and uttering a few words of prayers, not for world peace, but for guidance on how I should live my own life amidst all these.

Today’s world is a brutal reminder of timeless truths about the human condition, about continuum of violence and aggression in human affairs, about exclusion and marginalisation of the ‘other’ amidst economic downturns, about how fragile peace and prosperity are, and how the future might not always be better than the past.

There is a bitter realisation that there is no clear end ahead of us in the near future to this war of choice by Russia.

As I write these lines, Russian forces continue their brutal invasion of Ukraine, killing tens of thousands, forcing millions out of their homes, destroying town after town, and intentionally pursuing a scourge earth policy to destroy the habitability of towns and cities and sustainability of life. Ukrainians continue to bravely advance their counter offensive to push Russian forces as much as possible, while NATO leaders gear up for a summit in Lithuania in July, which will assess and discuss future support to Ukraine. There is a bitter realisation that there is no clear end ahead of us in the near future to this war of choice by Russia. Some sort of ‘frozen’ peace might be achieved by stopping or reducing violence, but no matter what Ukraine needs our prolonged support to ensure it does not face yet another wave of invasion a few years down the line. This is why even President Macron, who has been cynical about NATO, is now talking about Ukraine’s membership to the alliance as lesser of all of the risks ahead of us.

We have entered a new era, that is not simply just about Ukraine. For the last decade we have seen a major shift in global affairs as not only world’s two major powers, US and China, increasingly saw each other as a competitor and threat against national interests, a long list of medium-sized powers actively used force in invading other countries, or pursuing proxy wars and meddling into politics of other countries. From cyberwarfare to a new era of espionage to attempts at influencing other nations and altering trajectories of their politics, investments into a new generation of nuclear weapons and increasing of nuclear stocks to major investments into defence, most states in the world are gearing towards a decade of instability ahead of us.

Thus, it is not surprising that Sweden and Finland gave up historic policies of neutrality and decided to join NATO, or that Japan is pursuing a historic investment into its defence in a break away from its historic stand, or that China is going to double (or more) its nuclear stocks by 2030, or that even France is about to undertake a historic level of investment in its defence. The list goes on. All of these happen within a context of genuine existential risks to our existence. Like climate change, there are the domino effects of conflicts into our lives from faraway places. From energy prices, to food shortages, to disruption of trade and electronic parts, to new technologies like AI raising all sorts of ethical and practical questions and risks. There are hundreds of millions of human beings living in geographies and countries that are not able to care, provide and protect and give them a sustainable and meaningful life. Irregular migration, named ‘illegal’ in today’s tabloid language, is only increasing across the world, with only a small percentage ever making it to UK or Europe. Human beings do not simply leave their lives behind and take clear risks if they do not feel they have to.

We are far from being the first-generation processing news of wars and conflicts.

All of these are overwhelming realities, ones that we cannot simply ignore. It is normal for us to feel guilty as our daily lives continue in relative peace and property compared to millions of others out there, and it is normal for us to feel helpless and at times despair about all these developments that are clearly out of anyone’s control.

But as I sat there in the cathedral, I could not help but think that this is not the first time the world has gone through such a convergence of insecurities, and unlikely to be the last time, and that we are far from being the first-generation processing news of wars and conflicts and seeing nations take aggressive postures against one another. I thought about so many heroic figures across history that stood up for truth, for peace, for reconciliation, for justice in such moments and so many heroes that gave their lives to defend us against those seeking to harm us. Their legacies remind us that we all have a decision to make, a stand to take and a role to play in such historic moments. On my part, I am all aware of my limitations, and at times feeble attempts to be part of conversations that point towards solutions. I am also all aware of the deep darkness out there, but also as a Christian, a gentle hope that lies within it. The light shines into the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. The promise I find in the figure of Christ on the Cross is not an escape to another world, but embracing of the only one we have here and now, in prayer that all of our efforts could together amount to something much bigger than we realise. As TS Eliot put it, for us there is only trying, the rest is not our business!

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Freedom of Belief

4 September 2024

6 min read

Experiencing Tbilisi's cold shoulder

Georgia’s warm welcome doesn't extend to refugees fleeing Iran.

Steve Dew-Jones

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

On a rainy night a pedestrian, holding a brolly, waits to cross a road.

Tbliisi, Georgia.

Aleksandr Popov on Unsplash.

On the surface, Georgia has a lot going for it: natural beauty, historic sites, lovely food and wine.

It also boasts an extremely free market. Anyone can to set up a business of their choosing within a couple of hours, should they have the wherewithal.

But therein also lies the rub. Life is not so easy for those without such wherewithal - perhaps they don’t have sufficient capital, or vision; a disability prevents them; or they try but fail.

And then life is not so easy in Tbilisi.

My focus on my recent trip to Georgia, as an employee of an Iranian Christian charity, was its small Iranian population - and principally those who have claimed asylum there.

I spoke to several such individuals during my stay, and the conclusion that I reached was that Georgia is a lovely place to live, provided that you: a) have money; and b) are happy not to speak out about sensitive issues.

Which, honestly, sounds eerily like the country from which my Iranian friends fled in the first place.

When he ignored the warnings, the threats escalated. His car was broken into, and someone even came to his church, claiming to have a bomb strapped to himself.

Take Reza, for example, who left Iran eight years ago and came to Georgia in the hope that in a country where nearly 90 per cent are Orthodox Christians, he would be free to practise his chosen faith.

He even set up a church there, and for a while all was good. Until he started getting involved in protests against the regime back in Tehran.

Reza joined demonstrations outside the Iranian embassy in Tbilisi - which is in a lovely area of town, right next to the Russian embassy and also, somewhat awkwardly, that of Ukraine.

He also protested outside the “Ferdowsi Educational Complex” - a Shia school with a sign outside proclaiming it as an entity of the Iranian embassy.

And for these protests, Reza received some, at first, gentle reprimands. He was called by a private number, encouraging him not to take such action again in the future.

When he ignored the warnings, the threats escalated. His car was broken into, and someone even came to his church, claiming to have a bomb strapped to himself.

It was only at this point that Reza decided, against his initial intentions, to claim asylum.

But though the Georgian immigration service eventually acknowledged him to be a Christian - unlike many of his fellow Iranian asylum-seekers - they did not accept that this fact would put him at risk of persecution were he to return home.

To which the only rational response is a wide-open mouth and outstretched arms.

Have the Georgian immigration service not read the news? Do they not know that Christians - and more specifically, evangelical Christians and converts like Reza - face sustained and systematic persecution?

The answer to this question, I was to discover, is two-pronged.

Firstly, there is Georgia’s close relationship with the Islamic Republic, the reason for which, sadly and all too predictably, is of course money.

“Georgia is a small country,” a lawyer who deals with immigration cases like Reza’s told me.

“It’s surrounded by three big countries: Russia, Turkey and Iran, and can’t afford to have bad relations with all of them.”

Both Russia and Turkey have history of seeking to occupy Georgia, while Russia has made no secret of its hope of re-establishing the territories it once held, including, one presumes, Georgia.

In this context, it is little wonder that little Georgia does not feel able to cast aside so lightly its relationship with its third mega-neighbour, Iran.

And when an Iranian claims asylum in Georgia - on whatever grounds - what message would it send for the Georgian government to recognise that claim?

In the case of Christians like Reza, the message would clearly be that Iran persecutes Christians, which is an uncomfortable reality for a close ally of Iran to publicly admit.

You can search his name on Google, in both English and Persian, and it’s safe to say that what you would find would not please the Islamic Republic.

The second prong at play, meanwhile, which is equally uncomfortable to speak about, is the reality that in general Georgia’s Orthodox Christians tend to share some of Iran’s ill-feeling towards evangelicals.

“They think of us the same way as Jehovah’s Witnesses,” Reza explained.

“A Georgian friend of mine accused me three times of being a spy for America,” another convert told me.

Another, whose case was rejected because Georgia’s immigration service did not accept he was a Christian, told me the questions he was asked in his interview related only to elements of the Orthodox faith, about which he had no idea.

And when this individual sought to explain his own reasoning for his deeply held faith - for which he was arrested in Iran - they told him he could only answer the questions posed.

And so he said that he could not. And so they rejected his claim, declaring that it had not been established that he was a Christian.

An easy win.

I could focus now on the particular challenges faced by asylum-seekers who are unfit to work - two of whom I met, and who receive no support from the state - but I would like to close with one final example which I think highlights the absurdity of the situation.

And that is the example of Behzad Asiaie, an Iranian whose claim for asylum was based on his political activity and not his faith, although he has since converted to Christianity - for which he blames Reza, as, no doubt, would the Iranian and dare I say even Georgian government.

The striking thing about Behzad’s case is that it’s extremely well documented. You can search his name on Google, in both English and Persian, and it’s safe to say that what you would find would not please the Islamic Republic.

For one thing, Behzad has already spent a year in Tehran’s Evin Prison for his activism. Added to that, since arriving in Georgia five years ago, with no intention to claim asylum, he started a new activist group called Hamrasho (which means “all together”), which has organised protests about various things outside the edifices of the Islamic Republic in Tbilisi.

As part of the protests, which is where Behzad met Reza, Behzad even filmed himself burning images of Iran’s Supreme Leader, and published it on social media.

So, when the Georgian government rejected his eventual asylum case and told him that they didn’t think he would have any problem were he to return to Iran, the jaw really must drop open.

My conclusion upon leaving Georgia was that it really is a lovely country - provided that you have money and don’t make too much noise.

I put this perspective to a Russian couple, who I met on my last night in town, and they - like Reza and Behzad before them - nodded in agreement.

For they, like my Iranian friends, are exiles, having fled Russia because they are against Putin’s war.

They told me they know of no other Russians among the thousands in Tbilisi who support Putin’s war, but nor do they know any who would be foolish enough to protest about it - whether back home, or outside the Russian embassy in the lovely Vake district of Tbilisi.

I penned this article on my last night in Georgia in a Ukrainian restaurant housed roughly between the two edifices of the Islamic Republic of Iran, which felt about right.

The entire restaurant is painted in the colours of the Ukrainian flag; the Wifi name is “Slava Ukraine”; and the password, I was told, translates as “super slava”.

Which seems to be about the loudest protest that one can get away with in Tbilisi.