Recent turmoil has destroyed ancient Christian communities in Iraq, Syria and other parts of the Middle East. Photo: Getty
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Are Christians really the world’s most persecuted religious group?

David Cameron says Christians around the world suffer the most persecution for their religion. Is he right?

In a rare theological intervention at a Downing Street reception yesterday, David Cameron made the eye-catching suggestion that Christians were the most persecuted religious group in the world today. (He also credited Jesus with the invention of the big society, an idea most of us assumed he’d forgotten about.)

The PM is not the first prominent figure to make such a claim. Pope Benedict XVI said it during his New Year message in 2011, Angela Merkel made similar remarks during a visit to a church in November 2012, and late last year Prince Charles spoke of “intimidation, false accusation and organised persecution to the Christian communities in the Middle East at the present time.”

Tragic news reports seem to bear this out. The destruction of ancient Christian communities in their homelands in Iraq, Syria and other parts of the Middle East, described by Tom Holland as “a crime against civilisation as well as against humanity”, has been one of the most depressing consequences of the recent turmoil. Sometimes, direct religious persecution seems to be involved, as in this week’s murder of Dutch priest Frans van der Lugt in the besieged town of Homs. Meanwhile, in Pakistan yet another absurd blasphemy prosecution came to light, this time of a Christian couple sentenced to death (and a fine!) for allegedly sending text messages deemed to be offensive to Islam.

And let’s not forget North Korea, officially the worst country in the world to be a Christian, where a few weeks ago 33 Baptist missionaries are said to have been sentenced to death on the personal orders of Kim Jong-Un.

The persecution of Christians has been the subject of some recent books. The US Catholic journalist John Allen entitled his The Global War on Christians, maintaining that Christians as a whole were “indisputably ... the most persecuted religious body on the planet”. Writing in the Spectator, Allen commented that,

the world is witnessing the rise of an entire new generation of Christian martyrs. The carnage is occurring on such a vast scale that it represents not only the most dramatic Christian story of our time, but arguably the premier human rights challenge of this era as well.

In slightly less apocalyptic vein, British author Rupert Shortt in his recent book Christianophobia: A faith under attack catalogues violent targeting of Christians from Nigeria to the far east as well as less lethal but clear human rights abuses and intimidation. In an interview with Alan Johnson, Shortt said that “in a vast belt of land from Morocco to Pakistan there is scarcely a single country in which Christians can worship entirely without harassment”.

In the same interview, Shortt also lamented the “liberal blind spot” which, he suggested, made western politicians over-cautious when it came to the persecution of Christians abroad, especially in majority Muslim countries, while at the same time being “very very sensitised to the perceived sufferings and complaints of Muslims”. Post-colonial guilt, a political and intellectual history which since the Enlightenment has often pitted the forces of progress against a reactionary and over-powerful Church, and some Christians’ own tendency to turn the other cheek (including on behalf of Christians in other countries) were also, he thought, reasons why the subject of anti-Christian violence and persecution have achieved relatively little prominence in public debate in Britain.

Shortt didn’t quite say it, but I wonder too whether anti-Christian persecution is an unfashionable cause because it has been co-opted by campaigners who see equivalence between, say, the Peshawar bombing of 22 September 2013 in which 78 Pakistani Christians were murdered at their church, and the case of Islington registrar Lillian Ladele whose “persecution” involved being asked to conduct civil partnership ceremonies.

Perhaps “persecution’ isn’t the most helpful word. It is invoked to describe such disparate phenomena as inter-communal violence in Nigeria, the Democratic Republic of Congo or, most recently, the Central African Republic (where Christians are as likely to be the perpetrators as the victims of atrocities against members of different religious communities) the legal discrimination against Christians in Egypt (where, for example, church building is severely restricted) and Saudi Arabia (where Christians aren’t even allowed to worship openly) or low-level harassment and bad community relations, some of which can be found even in Europe. Tempting as it is to subsume all the unfortunate experiences undergone by Christians identified by their religion under the concept of “persecution”, it may not actually be very helpful.

Reliable figures are hard to come by and, where they exist, disputed. Last year a senior Vatican official told the United Nations that 100,000 Christians were martyred annually – a figure that would dwarf the achievements of even the most anti-Christian Roman emperor possessed of the hungriest lions. It turned out, though, that the great majority of these deaths occurred during the long-running civil war in the Democratic Republic of Congo and thus could only indirectly (if at all) be described as Christian persecution.

Rather more rigorous data has been assembled by the Pew Research Forum in a report produced earlier this year. Pew found that official “restriction on religion” (a more objective term than “persecution”) was at the highest level for six years, as was the “social harassment” of members of religious communities. And Christians, indeed, were the most affected group. Christians faced harassment in no fewer than 151 countries worldwide – and not just in the Middle East, China or North Korea.

Undoubtedly a serious finding. To some extent, however, the high figure for Christians is an artefact of the statistics. Christianity is the world’s largest religion by number of adherents, so it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise to discover that the largest number affected by what might be described as persecution are Christians. That would be the case if members of all religions were equally affected by persecution. By the same logic, one would expect Muslims to be the second most persecuted group. And so Pew discovered: Muslims suffered harassment or restriction in 131 countries worldwide.

It’s almost certainly not the case that Christians are the most “persecuted” religious group in proportion to their numbers. Rather, they suffer along with other minority groups from, to take the most obvious example, the increasing prominence and, in some countries, power of strains of Islam that are uncomfortable with the very notion of religious pluralism. So, to an equal or even greater extent, are Muslims belonging to minority sects, such as the Shia in Saudi Arabia or the Ahmadi in Pakistan. Persecution against the Ahmadis, a sect not regarded by some orthodox as Muslim at all, has spread even to Britain, where recently a local newspaper in Luton was prevailed upon to apologise for the “hurt feelings” of Muslims after it carried an advertisement from the Ahmadi community.

If Christians are persecuted in many parts of the world, so are Muslims, Hindus, atheists, Buddhists and Jews. If Christians are persecutors in other (or sometimes the same) parts of the world: as are Muslims, Hindus, atheists, Buddhists and Jews. The fact that such a list of persecutors can include Buddhists, probably the faith least renowned for its zeal or intolerance, is a strong indication that by and large we are dealing with group rivalries, hatred of minorities, political struggles and only rarely a persecution based in the specifics of Christian theology.

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Why is it called Storm Doris? The psychological impact of naming a storm

“Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person.”

“Oh, piss off Doris,” cried the nation in unison this morning. No, it wasn't that everyone's local cantankerous old lady had thwacked our ankles with her stick. This is a different, more aggressive Doris. Less Werther’s, more extreme weathers. Less bridge club, more bridge collapse.

This is Storm Doris.

A storm that has brought snow, rain, and furious winds up to 94mph to parts of the UK. There are severe weather warnings of wind, snow and ice across the entire country.

But the real question here is: why is it called that? And what impact does the new Met Office policy of naming storms have on us?

Why do we name storms?

Storm Doris is the latest protagonist in the Met Office’s decision to name storms, a pilot scheme introduced in winter 2015/16 now in its second year.

The scheme was introduced to draw attention to severe weather conditions in Britain, and raise awareness of how to prepare for them.

How do we name storms?

The Name our Storms initiative invites the public to suggest names for storms. You can do this by tweeting the @metoffice using the #nameourstorms hashtag and your suggestion, through its Facebook page, or by emailing them.

These names are collated along with suggestions from Met Éireann and compiled into a list. These are whittled down into 21 names, according to which were most suggested – in alphabetical order and alternating between male and female names. This is done according to the US National Hurricane Naming convention, which excludes the letters Q, U, X, Y and Z because there are thought to be too few common names beginning with these letters.

They have to be human names, which is why suggestions in this list revealed by Wired – including Apocalypse, Gnasher, Megatron, In A Teacup (or Ena Tee Cup) – were rejected. The Met Office received 10,000 submissions for the 2016/17 season. According to a spokesperson, a lot of people submit their own names.

Only storms that could have a “medium” or “high” wind impact in the UK and Ireland are named. If there are more than 21 storms in a year, then the naming system starts from Alpha and goes through the Greek alphabet.

The names for this year are: Angus (19-20 Nov ’16), Barbara (23-24 Dec 2016), Conor (25-26 Dec 2016), Doris (now), Ewan, Fleur, Gabriel, Holly, Ivor, Jacqui, Kamil, Louise, Malcolm, Natalie, Oisín, Penelope, Robert, Susan, Thomas, Valerie and Wilbert.

Why does this violent storm have the name of an elderly lady?

Doris is an incongruous name for this storm, so why was it chosen? A Met Office spokesperson says they were just at that stage in their list of names, and there’s no link between the nature of the storm and its name.

But do people send cosy names for violent weather conditions on purpose? “There’s all sorts in there,” a spokesperson tells me. “People don’t try and use cosy names as such.”

What psychological impact does naming storms have on us?

We know that giving names to objects and animals immediately gives us a human connection with them. That’s why we name things we feel close to: a pet owner names their cat, a sailor names their boat, a bore names their car. We even name our virtual assistants –from Microsoft’s Clippy to Amazon’s Alexa.

This gives us a connection beyond practicality with the thing we’ve named.

Remember the response of Walter Palmer, the guy who killed Cecil the Lion? “If I had known this lion had a name and was important to the country or a study, obviously I wouldn’t have taken it,” he said. “Nobody in our hunting party knew before or after the name of this lion.”

So how does giving a storm a name change our attitude towards it?

Evidence suggests that we take it more seriously – or at least pay closer attention. A YouGov survey following the first seven named storms in the Met Office’s scheme shows that 55 per cent of the people polled took measures to prepare for wild weather after hearing that the oncoming storm had been named.

“There was an immediate acceptance of the storm names through all media,” said Gerald Fleming, Head of Forecasting at Met Éireann, the Irish metereological service. “The severe weather messages were more clearly communicated.”

But personalising a storm can backfire. A controversial US study in 2014 by PNAC (Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences) claimed that hurricanes with female names lead to higher death tolls – the more “feminine” the name, like Belle or Cindy, the higher the death toll. This is not because female names are attached to more severe storms; it is reportedly because people take fewer steps to prepare for storms with names they perceive to be unintimidating or weak.

“In judging the intensity of a storm, people appear to be applying their beliefs about how men and women behave,” Sharon Shavitt, a co-author of the study, told the FT at the time. “This makes a female-named hurricane . . . seem gentler and less violent.”

Names have social connotations, and affect our subconscious. Naming a storm can raise awareness of it, but it can also affect our behaviour towards it.

What’s it like sharing a name with a deadly storm?

We should also spare a thought for the impact sharing a name with a notorious weather event can have on a person. Katrina Nicholson, a nurse who lives in Glasgow, says it was “horrible” when the 2005 hurricane – one of the fifth deadliest ever in the US – was given her name.

“It was horrible having something so destructive associated with my name. Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person,” she tells me over email. “I actually remember at the time meeting an American tourist on a boat trip in Skye and when he heard my name he immediately linked it to the storm – although he quickly felt guilty and then said it was a lovely name! I think to this day there will be many Americans who hate my name because of it.”

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.