Atheist Afghan receives asylum in the UK – for fear of religious persecution

The Home Office has granted asylum to a man in fear of his life because he no longer believes in God and wishes to live his life without publicly practising Islam. How many others are there who will need protection because of their lack of religious faith

The official line on Afghanistan, as British troops prepare to depart after a deployment that began (unbelievably) more than twelve years ago, is that everything is just fine. "Mission accomplished" said David Cameron last month as he spoke to soldiers still based at Camp Bastion in Helmand province. "We have more than played our part in helping to rebuild this country and making it safe," he added.

It would indeed be nice to think that a country whose constitution was framed in the full glare of international scrutiny and whose government has been propped up and supported by key UN powers would be one in which basic human rights were respected.

So it must be at the very least embarrassing that our own Home Office, not an institution often accused these days of being a soft touch, has granted asylum to a man in fear of his life because he no longer believes in God and wishes to live his life without publicly practising Islam.  According to the man's legal team, he fears for his safety even in the UK (where he has lived for the past seven years) should his name become known; if he returned to Afghanistan he would face persecution, even possibly a death sentence for blasphemy or apostasy under Sharia law. Even living "discreetly" as an atheist might prove impossible, it was argued, given that "every aspect of daily life and culture in Afghanistan is permeated by Islam".

This last point suggests that the Home Office may have applied a precedent created in a case decided by the European Court of Justice in September 2012.  Two Amahdis - members of a community that suffers systematic discrimination in Pakistan - successfully argued that laws penalising Ahmadis engaging in proselytism or even describing themselves as Muslims (which they believe themselves to be) amounted to persecution.

The German government argued that such restrictions on the public practice of faith did not constitute persecution for the purposes of the right of asylum. The ECJ disagreed. It ruled that both public and private exercise of religious freedom was protected under the EU asylum directive: "where it is established that, upon his return to his country of origin, the person concerned will engage in a religious practice which will expose him to a real risk of persecution, he should be granted refugee status" . The court went on to state that "national authorities cannot reasonably expect the applicant to abstain from the manifestation or practice of certain religious acts" to escape persecution.

Such reasoning would apply equally, or even more, to people not publicly practising any religion in places where this would place them in personal danger or threaten them with severe legal sanctions.

Is Afghanistan such a country, even after twelve years of international intervention and the loss of many of our own soldiers' lives?

Officially, at least, the Afghan constitution guarantees freedom of religion, if only for Afghans who have a religion. While declaring Islam to be the "sacred religion of Afghanistan", the country's constitution promises that "followers of other faiths shall be free within the bounds of law in the exercise and performance of their religious rights". It says nothing about the rights of non-believers, however. A US State Department report in 2012, moreover, concluded that other provisions of Afghan law contradicted these fine words.

It noted that "in situations where the constitution and penal code are silent, including apostasy and blasphemy, courts relied on interpretations of Islamic law, some of which conflict with the country’s international commitments to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights". In particular, "conversion from Islam is considered apostasy and is punishable by death under some interpretations of Islamic law in the country". While there seemed to be no one currently facing death in the country for blasphemy or as an apostate, the report declared that "the right to change one’s religion was not respected either in law or in practice". It also suggested that people accused of such "crimes" found it difficult to obtain legal representation "due to most Afghan lawyers’ personal objection to defending apostates".

Even if the present Afghan government doesn't actively persecute non-believers, it would seem to have very little control over those who might. As Patrick Cockburn recently commented, "the main problem in Afghanistan is not the strength of the Taliban but the weakness of the government".

Today's case is unusual in that it's said to be the first in this country in which lack of religion, rather than adherence to a persecuted minority faith, has been used as a ground for a successful asylum application. Indeed, the news has moved the British Humanist Association's Andrew Copson to make the questionable assertion that "Freedom of belief for humanists, atheists and other non-religious people is... too often neglected by Western governments who focus too narrowly on the rights of Christians abroad, as we have seen recently".

This will come as a surprise to many disappointed by the British government's slowness in responding to the plight of Christian communities in countries where they face systemic persecution, exile or death, especially in the aftermath of the so-called Arab Spring - a process that, as William Dalrymple recently wrote, has "rapidly turned into a Christian winter". But Copson is undoubtedly right to point out that freedom of religion and freedom from religion are equally important. In fact, they are essentially the same thing. Article 18 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights enshrines the "right to freedom of thought, "conscience and religion", a right that, importantly, "includes the freedom to change one's religion or belief".

This much, indeed, seems obvious. We tend to think of religious belief (or lack thereof) as being essentially a matter of personal conscience. The notion of forcing someone to adhere to a particular religious doctrine strikes most people in the developed world as fairly absurd, however natural it may once seemed to, say, Henry VIII. Indeed, the idea of the religious conscience wasn't invented during the European Enlightenment: a much-quoted verse of the Quran proclaims that there should be "no compulsion in religion". Yet in many parts of the world, including in some major Western allies such as Saudi Arabia, the right to criticise or publicly dissent from the prevailing religion scarcely exists. A report prepared last year by the International Humanist and Ethical Union declared that "the overwhelming majority of countries fail to respect the rights of atheists and freethinkers... In the worst cases, the state denies the rights of atheists to exist, or seeks total control over their beliefs and actions."

This suggests that, potentially, there may be millions of people who could, like the unnamed Afghan man, justifiably claim a well-grounded fear of persecution because of their lack of religious faith.
 

 

A mosque is silouetted at sunset in Kabul, Afghanistan. Photo: Getty
Belief, disbelief and beyond belief
Flickr/Zappys Technology Solutions
Show Hide image

Is "successful" sperm really the measure of a man's masculinity?

An advertising campaign challenging men to "prove your worth" is being proposed to increase dwindling numbers of sperm donors – will the myth that only "real" men have potent sperm ever die?

Are you a superman? By which I mean, do you have the kind of sperm that would be accepted by the UK Sperm Bank, currently stuck with only nine donors on the books? Laura Witjens, chief executive, is currently launching a drive to recruit more donors. Her secret weapon? An appeal to male vanity.

Speaking to the Guardian, Witjens claims that if she advertised saying, “Men, prove your worth, show me how good you are”, it would be a route to gaining “hundreds of donors”. The implication is that beta males need not apply; this is for “real” men only. And what better way to demonstrate one’s manly credentials than through the spreading of one’s super-strength, 100 per cent proof, ultra-potent seed?

The proposed campaign approach serves to remind us of two things: first, the male ego is ridiculous, and second, reproductive ability is still treated as an indicator of whether or not one is a “successful” representative of one’s sex. However much we claim that biology is no longer destiny, certain expectations linger. “Real men” have high-quality sperm and want to see it distributed as widely as possible. “Real women,” on the other hand, only end up unable to reproduce if they have “left it too late” (that is, spent too much time in what is still seen as the world of men).

That fertility is primarily linked to luck rather than sexist morality tales is something we’d rather not admit. After all, far too many cultural edifices have been built around the idea that the opposite is true.

For something that resembles runny PVA glue, sperm has done well for itself. Throughout history, men have been obsessed with their precious seed and what it means for their status as the dominant sex. Since it is women who get pregnant – women who perform the actual task of gestating and birthing new human beings – there has always been a need to inflate the importance of semen, lest men should be sidelined completely. Whereas for women reproduction is a continuous process, for men it is more disjointed and conceptual. Hence it is important to have something to rely on. In sperm we trust.  

Otherwise can a man ever be sure – really, really sure – that a baby is his? For biological mothers, maternity is never in question. For biological fathers, paternity needs to be established. There are various ways of achieving this: heterosexual marriage, compulsory monogamy, the policing of women’s sexual choices, the withholding of material resources from women in return for sexual exclusivity, the threat of an appearance on Jeremy Kyle.

And then there are the various myths regarding how magical and special your own sperm is. It had to be you, didn’t it? He shoots, he scores. How else would the phrase “Who’s the Daddy?” have come into its current usage? The “skill” of impregnation is linked to manliness. If you’re a real man, the implication is, then you’ve nothing to fear.

The “superman” theme proposed by Witjens harks back to the various ways in which men have sought to position themselves and their sperm right at the centre of human reproduction, believing, for instance, that it already contained human beings in miniature, or that women merely provided the passive matter that would bring their active principle to life.

The biology I learned at school still played on the narrative of the hardy, valiant sperm battling against all odds to reach the passive, if somewhat capricious, egg. Sex education met gender indoctrination; it even seemed to be implied that the egg, in closing off entry to all other sperm once the “victor” had penetrated her boundaries, was being a bit of a tease (she’d already set off down the fallopian tube, what did she expect?). Pregnancy itself, we were led to believe, could never match the creativity, risk and drama of that one initial shag.

To respond to such myth-making with “but it’s only sperm and actually it could be anyone’s” seems positively mean. Women are supposed to worship it. Our effluvia – vaginal discharge, menstrual blood, breast milk – might be seen as disgusting, but when it comes to a man’s cum, it’s considered rude not to want to swallow it. People who respond with outrage when a woman suckles her baby in a crowded café think nothing of the idea that a real woman should want to gulp down semen with gusto. Patriarchal semiotics tell us that what comes out of men is life-giving and hygienic; women, on the other hand – popping out babies and sustenance – merely leak. It takes a brave woman to say, “hang on, is semen really all that?”

In the UK at least, it would seem that it isn’t. According to Witjens, getting one’s sperm approved for the UK Sperm Bank is exceptionally difficult because of how strong the product needs to be to survive the freezing and thawing process: “If 100 guys enquire, ten will come through for screenings and maybe one becomes a donor. It takes hundreds of guys.” Meaning most men don’t actually measure up to “superman” standards (without even considering what this approach says to men with a low sperm count, of whom it is suggested that the manhood test has been well and truly failed).

Her advertising strategy may be one that works. But it would be nice if, in a society that increasingly favours a politics of acquisition over one of care, we could be a little less focused on the potency of the mighty seed, looking instead at this particular form of donation as part of a broader process of creating and caring for others. Perhaps appeals to male vanity just work better than appeals to altruism. Even so, it’s a pity that it has to be so.

The aftermath of sperm donation can be complicated. Once one gets beyond the cash and the ego trips, the process can lead to real children with a real need to know the identity of the donor. Whereas in the past social convention allowed men to define ownership of children on their terms, nowadays globalisation and reproductive technology have led to a splintering of roles. Is it care or biology that makes a parent? What is it that shapes an identity and makes a person?

For most of us, the humane position is that nurture – the act of being there – must trump any biological contribution. To think otherwise is unfair on those who devote years of their lives to the raising of children. But for many donor-conceived adults, the donor is still needed to complete the picture of who one really is. And he will not be a superman. He will be a person who gave something small that nevertheless contributed to the creation of something miraculous: a life. And shouldn’t that be enough?

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of two who works in publishing.