Britain should “hang its head in shame” over Syrian refugee crisis

Amnesty International condemns Europe's failure to resettle Syrian refugees.

As winter settles in, the dangers faced by Syrian refugees will increase – many lack adequate shelter, fuel, food or medicine. Around 2.3 million people have fled the civil war in Syria, most to neighbouring countries. According to UNHCR, 838,000 have fled to Lebanon, 567,000 to Jordan and 540,000 to Turkey – the three countries bearing the greatest refugee burden. These countries are not only struggling with the economic cost of the refugee crisis, but face serious political repercussions too, with fears that sectarian violence is spilling beyond Syria’s borders.

According to an Amnesty International has said that European leaders should “hang their head in shame” at their failure to take in Syrian refugees. Only ten European countries have agreed to host and resettle Syrian refugees – and the UK is not one of them. The most generous is Germany, which has agreed to take 20,000 and the remaining countries are taking on just 2,340 refugees together.

In the UK, some have responded by pointing out that its pledge of £500m of humanitarian aid to Syria is more than all other EU countries combined. According to Oxfam in September, the UK has given 154 per cent of its fair share to Syria (relative to its GDP) so this is something to be proud of. In contrast, France – which has consistently taken a more hawkish stance on Syria – has only given 45 per cent of its fair share.

Britain’s commitment to humanitarian aid is a positive, but this shouldn’t be used as an excuse to close the door to refugees. Perhaps the government, wary of anti-immigration rhetoric, is afraid of how the public might react to several thousand Syrians being resettled here. But the reality is the UK can, and should, absorb and resettle several thousand refugees.

Meanwhile, thousands are dying attempting to make it into Europe anyway. In October 650 migrants and refugees died trying to enter Europe by sea from North Africa. Greece has been pushing Syrian migrants back to sea, and Bulgaria has detained around 5,000. It’s not enough to simply hand over cash to a crisis we pretend is far away, while the victims of war are dying on our doorsteps.

Syrian refugees take part in a demonstration at the Zaatari refugee camp, near the border with Syria. Photo: Getty.

Sophie McBain is a freelance writer based in Cairo. She was previously an assistant editor at the New Statesman.

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The first godless US election

America’s evangelical right has chosen Donald Trump, who hardly even pays lip service to having faith.

There has never been an openly non-Christian president of the United States. There has never been an openly atheist senator. God, seemingly, is a rock-solid prerequisite for American political life.

Or it was, until this year.

Early in the 2016 primaries, preacher and former Arkansas governor Mike Huckabee and former senator Rick Santorum – both darlings of the evangelical far right – fell by the wayside. So did Wisconsin governor Scott Walker, the son of a preacher.

Ted Cruz, once the Republican race had thinned, tried to present himself as the last godly man, but was roundly beaten – even among evangelicals – by Donald Trump, a man whose lip service to religion was so cursory as to verge on satire.

Trump may have claimed in a televised debate that “nobody reads the Bible more than me”, but he demurred when pressed to name even a verse he liked. His pronouncements show a lack of any knowledge or interest in faith and its tenets; he once called a communion wafer his “little cracker”.

The boorish Trump is a man at whose megalomaniacal pronouncements any half-hearted glance reveals a belief in, if any god at all, only the one he sees in a mirror. The national exercise in cognitive dissonance required for America’s religious rightwingers to convince themselves that he’s a candidate with whom they have anything in common is truly staggering.

But evangelicals don’t seem troubled. In the March primary in Florida, Trump carried 49 per cent of the evangelical vote. He won Mississippi, a state where fully three-quarters of Republican primary voters are white evangelicals.

In the Democratic primary, Bernie Sanders became the first Jewish candidate ever to win a presidential primary – though he has barely once spoken about his faith – and Hillary Clinton has spoken about god on the campaign trail only occasionally, without receiving much media play. In fact, when the question of faith came up at one Democratic debate there was a backlash against CNN for even asking.

The truth is that Christian faith as a requisite for political power has drooped into a kind of virtue-signalling: the “Jesus Is My Homeboy” bumper-sticker; the crucifix tattoo; the meme on social media about footprints in the sand. It is about identity politics, tribal politics, me-and-mine versus you-and-yours politics, but it hasn’t really been about faith for a while.

What the hell happened?

Partly, there was a demographic shift. “Unaffiliated” is by far the fastest-growing religious category in the US, according to a study by the Pew Research Center, which also showed that the total proportion of Americans who define as Christian dropped almost 9 percentage points between 2007 and 2014.

There is no doubt that America is still a fairly devout nation compared with the UK, but the political mythos that developed around its Christianity is a relatively late invention. The words “under god” were only implanted into the pledge of allegiance – between the words “one nation” and “indivisible” – in 1954, by President Eisenhower.

The ascendance of the political power of the Christian right in America happened in 1979, when a televangelist called Jerry Falwell founded a pressure group called Moral Majority.

Moral Majority’s support for Ronald Reagan was widely credited for his victory in the 1980 election, which in turn secured for them a position at the top table of Republican politics. For three decades, the Christian right was the single most important voting bloc in America.

But its power has been waning for a decade, and there are greater priorities in the American national psyche now.

Trump’s greatest asset throughout the primary was what makes his religiosity or lack thereof immaterial: his authenticity. His lack of a filter, his ability to wriggle free from gaffes which would have felled any other candidate with a simple shrug. This is what not just religious voters, but all of the Republican voting base were waiting for: someone who isn’t pandering, who hasn’t focus-grouped what they want to hear.

They don’t care that he may or may not truly share their belief in god. Almost all voters in this election cycle – including evangelicals, polling suggests – prioritise the economy over values anyway.

On top of that, the Christian right is facing the beginnings of an insurgency from within its own ranks; a paradigm shift in conservatism. A new culture war is beginning, fought by the alt-right, a movement whelped on anarchic message boards like 4chan, whose philosophical instincts lean towards the libertarian and anarcho-capitalist, and to whom the antique bloviation of Christian morality politics means nothing.

Trump doesn’t pander, an approach only made possible by social media, which amplifies his voice six millionfold while simultaneously circumventing the old establishment constructs – like the media – which had previously acted as gatekeepers to power.

The Christian right – now personified in Jerry Falwell Jr and Liberty University, which Falwell senior founded in the Seventies – found itself another of those constructs. They were forced to choose: jump on board the Trump Train or be left behind.

They chose Trump.

Nicky Woolf is a writer for the Guardian based in the US. He tweets @NickyWoolf.