Article

Comment

Freedom of Belief

26 June 2023

7 min read

The right to believe – or not: how's the UK doing?

As the UN passes its first ever resolution on freedom of religion, Philip Mounstephen, author of the UK Government review, appraises progress on the issue.

Philip Mounstephen

Philip Mounstephen is Bishop of Truro and Founding Chair of the UK Freedom of Religion or Belief Forum.

A person stands in the burn out shell of a church in Nigeria.

The shell of a burned out Nigerian church.

Open Doors.

I had an unusual start to my Christmas in 2018 when I was rung up by the Archbishop of Canterbury to ask me if I’d be willing to lead a review of the way the Foreign Office had addressed - or otherwise - the persecution of Christians. It became clear that this was a request from the then Foreign Secretary, Jeremy Hunt, who was very moved by the issue and clearly concerned both about the human stories of Christians caught up in persecution, and worried that his department just wasn’t doing enough about it.

Six hectic months later, almost exactly four years ago, my review was published and the Government (and not just the Foreign Office) accepted my recommendations in full. So how has the UK got on with their implementation?

Before I address that, however, let me deal with two key aspects of my findings and recommendations which are vital for getting inside this issue.

First, I argued that the most effective way to address the persecution of Christians is to guarantee freedom of religion of belief for all – and that includes the right not to believe - and my recommendations were all framed around that conviction. To argue for special pleading for one group over another would be deeply un-Christian. It would also, ironically, expose that group to greater risk, by isolating them and unintentionally portraying them as agents of the West. We must seek freedom of religion of belief for all, without fear or favour.

Second, we need to understand why this is a such a serious issue in today’s world.

If you lift the stone of persecution and look underneath, what is it that you find? You find authoritarian, totalitarian regimes that are intolerant both of dissent and of minorities; you find aggressive militant nationalism that insists on uniformity; you find religious zealotry and fundamentalism in many different forms that often manifests itself in violence; and in contexts where governments are weak you find gang welfare on an industrial scale driven by drug crime. And you often find those phenomena combined too. In other words, we find massive threats to human flourishing and harmonious communities and ultimately we find in those things significant threats to our own security as well. We can no longer say that this is a sidebar issue of a special interest group. These are huge issues that we face in the world today.

And, the global situation as regards freedom of religion or belief is getting steadily worse, not better, not least in the world’s two most populous countries, China and India. It has certainly worsened significantly since my Review reported. It’s for that reason that the last of my recommendations was that implementation of them all should be independently reviewed three years on from their acceptance. That piece of work was published last summer, just before the UK hosted a major International Ministerial Conference on this issue.

So what did the reviewers conclude? To quote their report:

There has been a positive overall response to the Recommendations, with active steps being taken towards implementing an overwhelming majority of them. However, some of those steps have been taken relatively recently.

I think we can unpack that statement a little. What does ‘There has been a positive overall response to the Recommendations, with active steps being taken towards implementing an overwhelming majority of them’ mean? It means what it says, but it also means that a number of recommendations are in the process of being implemented, but have not yet been completed. And of course it also means that some recommendations remain to be implemented. And what does ‘some of those steps have been taken relatively recently’ mean? Well, it might imply that there was a certain rush of action in the light of the review team’s work being undertaken – all of which underlines the wisdom of including that final recommendation in the first place.

Also of note is the response that the then Foreign Secretary, Liz Truss, made to the reviewers’ work:

We welcome and accept this expert review on progress and in line with the findings, accept their assessment for the need to continue to work to promote and strengthen Freedom of Religion or Belief as a fundamental human right for all…

The independent assessment concludes that the majority of the recommendations are either at an advanced stage of delivery or in the process of being delivered, whilst noting that there is still more to do.

Those skilled at reading statements such as this will point out to you the significance of the Foreign Secretary not just welcoming but accepting the findings. And note too the force of that phrase whilst noting that there is still more to do.

And, as I said, that assessment of progress was published just before the UK hosted the International Ministerial Conference last year. And a great event it was. Through it the UK put down a significant marker as to the significance it attaches to this issue. And we have also taken a leading role in the recently established inter-governmental International Religious Freedom of Belief Alliance, with Fiona Bruce MP, Prime Minister’s Special Envoy for Freedom of Religion or Belief currently holding the chair. I take no personal credit for this, but I doubt that either the UK would have hosted the Conference or that Mrs Bruce would have chaired the Alliance had not Jeremy Hunt launched the review – a review which earned him very few political ‘brownie points’ – four and a half years ago.

And yet not all in the garden is rosy. There has been a marked reluctance in some parts of the Foreign Office to recognise the religious dimension in some contexts.

Consider the approach that had been taken to the Middle Belt of Nigeria and the phenomenon of the conflict associated with the Fulani herdsmen. The standard Foreign Office line has been that this is an old conflict between contrasting lifestyles exacerbated by climate change. In other words, the religious dimension is significantly underplayed. A year or so ago the then relevant government minister claimed in a letter to be ‘unaware of substantiated evidence that extremist Islamist ideology is a driver of intercommunal attacks’. I’m afraid that is so completely at odds with the evidence, including that cited in my Review, as to be literally incredible. And, of course, if the Foreign Office claims there is no religious component to the violence they will fail to come up with religiously literate responses to it.

Happily, however more recent statements, in a clear change of tack, have begun to recognise the religious dimension to this unfolding tragedy.

Or take the recent violence in the Indian state of Manipur, with hundreds of churches targeted and destroyed, several killed and thousands displaced. Foreign Office replies to Parliamentary questions about it have been anodyne in the extreme. They remind me of the egregious attitude of the East India Company 250 years ago which protected trade at any price, even in the face of human rights abuses they could otherwise have addressed. Plus ça change.

However even as this article was being written there’s been a further and very significant positive development. Recommendation 20 of my Review called for the UK to sponsor a UN Security Council resolution on this issue. The panel of experts who reviewed implementation last year were not optimistic that it could be achieved. However, on 14 June 2023 the Security Council adopted resolution 2686, a UK-UAE joint resolution on tolerance and religious freedom. Its text addresses growing concern at hate speech and incitement to violence, and calls for action on the persecution of religious and other minorities in conflict. This is the first ever Security Council resolution on this issue, putting it firmly on the international geopolitical table.

In the UK, as elsewhere, we need to recognise that a commitment to freedom of religion or belief is not a ‘nice to have’ in today’s world, additional to the hard world of realpolitik. Not at all it. It touches upon and highlights some key issues in today’s world such as the rise of fundamentalist, nationalistic and authoritarian regimes of all kinds the world over whose treatment of vulnerable minorities is often not short of appalling and whose actions threaten not only the lives and livelihoods of those minorities but also threaten to destabilise international order, increase insecurity, (including food insecurity, as we have seen in this last year) and make it all the harder to address big ticket global issues such as climate change.

Indeed I believe that the wholesale denial of freedom of religion or belief is just one such a big ticket item and I hope and pray we remain sensitised to this issue and appreciate the vital importance of all of us, governments, churches, other faith groups, civil society, and individuals, addressing it with the seriousness and urgency which it undoubtedly requires.

Explainer

Assisted dying

Comment

22 October 2024

9 min read

Assisted dying's language points to all our futures

Translating ‘lethal injection’ from Dutch releases the strange power of words.

Henna Cundill

Henna is a researcher with the Centre for Autism and Theology at the University of Aberdeen.

A vial and syringe lie on a blue backdrop.

Markus Spiske on Unsplash.

In the coming weeks and months, MPs at Westminster will debate a draft bill which proposes a change in the law with regards to assisted dying in the UK. They will scrutinise every word of that bill. Language matters.

Reading the coverage, with a particular interest in how such changes to the law have been operationalised in other countries, I was struck to discover that the term in Dutch for dying by means of a fatal injection of drugs is “de verlossende injectie.” This, when put through the rather clunky hands of Google translate, comes out literally as either “the redeeming injection” or “the releasing injection.” Of course, in English the term in more common parlance is “lethal injection”, which at first glance seems to carry neither of the possible Dutch meanings. But read on, and you will find out (as I did) that sometimes our words mean much more than we realise.

Writing for Seen & Unseen readers, I explained a quirk of the brain that tricked them into thinking that the word car meant bicycle. Such is the mysterious world of neuroplasticity, but such also is the mysterious world of spoken language, where certain combinations of orally produced ‘sounds’ are designated to be ‘words’ which are assumed to be indicators of ‘meaning’. Such meanings are slippery things.

This slipperiness has long been a preoccupation for philosophers of language. How do words come to indicate or delineate particular things? How come words can change their meanings? How is it that, if a friend tells you that they got hammered on Friday night, you instinctively know it had nothing to do with street violence or DIY? Why is it that in the eighteenth century it was a compliment to be called ‘silly’, but now it is an insult?

Some words are so pregnant with possible meaning, they almost cease to have a meaning. What does “God” mean when you hear someone shout “Oh my God!”? Probably nothing at all, or very little. It is just a sound, surely? And yet no other sound has ever succeeded in fully replacing it. We are using the term “God”, as theologian Rowan Williams points out in his book The Edge of Words, as a “one-word folk poem” to refer to whatever we feel is out of our control.

Both of these first two interpretations look at death, in some sense, ‘from the other side’ – evaluating the end of someone’s life in terms of speculation over what will happen next.

This idea of an injection being verlossende seems to me to be the opposite. I find myself hearing it in four different (and not mutually exclusive) ways, each to do with taking control of this very uncertain question of dying. The first, releasing, sounds to me like an echo of the neo-platonic ideas that still infuse public consciousness about what it means to be dead. As we slimily carve our pumpkins for Halloween and the children clamour to cut eyeholes into perfectly good bedsheets, we see a demonstration of society’s latent belief that humans are made up of body and soul, and that at death the soul somehow leaves the body and floats into some unknown realm (or else remains, disembodied yet haunting). If we translate verlossende as releasing then we capture that idea – that of the soul, which longs to be at peace, trapped inside suffering, mortal flesh.

Google’s second suggestion for verlossende was redeeming. This could be heard theologically. Christians believe in eternal life, that the death of this earthly body is only the start of something new – a life where there will be no crying or pain, and people will live forever in the glorious presence of God. In the bible, the apostle Paul encourages those who follow Christ to trust that they have been marked with a ‘seal’, meaning that they are like goods which have been purchased for a price, and that God will ‘redeem’ this purchase at the appointed time. Death, therefore, is not a fearful entering into the unknown, but a faithful entering into God’s promises.

Both of these first two interpretations look at death, in some sense, ‘from the other side’ – evaluating the end of someone’s life in terms of speculation over what will happen next. But there is the view from this ‘side’ also. We do not need to speculate about what death means for some of those who experience acute suffering due to terminal illness, and who wish to hasten the end of their lives because of it. They too might want to speak of a releasing injection or a redeeming injection – given that both terms hint at the metaphor of life as a prison sentence. To be in prison is to have one’s rights and freedoms severely limited or entirely taken away. It is not uncommon to hear a sufferer refer to incapacitating illness as being ‘like a prison sentence’, and one can empathise with the desire to have the release date set, back within the sufferer’s control.

This is the strange power and pregnancy of words – verlossende is able to carry all these meanings or none of them. Until I began researching this article, I had always assumed that the English term, lethal injection, simply meant an injection of some substance that is deadly. This is how the term is commonly understood, therefore, in a sense, this is its meaning. Yet, when I came to consider the possible origins of the word, I realised its likely etymology is from the Greek word lēthē, meaning ‘to forget’. In the Middle Ages, if something was lethal it caused not just death, but spiritual death, placing one beyond the prospect of everlasting life. By contrast, something could be fatal, meaning only that it brought one to one’s destiny or fate.

With this in mind, as we try to speak clearly in the assisted dying debate, the term fatal injection might be a more precise way to describe this pathway to death that is in want of a name. After all, whether you believe in an afterlife or not, dying is everybody’s fate, and I can see that choosing to take control of one’s fate is, for anyone, an act of faith with regards to what comes next.

This article was part-inspired by Theo Boer’s original article Euthanasia of young psychiatric patients cannot be carried out carefully enough, in Dutch newspaper Nederlands Dagblad. Theo is a professor of health ethics at the Protestant Theology University, Utrecht.

Read the original article in Dutch or an English translation below. Reproduced by permission.

Euthanasia of young psychiatric patients cannot be carried out carefully enough

Theo Boer

How is it possible to determine that patients who have suffered from psychiatric disorders for five or ten years and who are between the ages of 17 and 30 have ‘completed their treatment options’, wonders Theo Boer. It also conflicts with perhaps the most important task of psychiatrists: ‘offering hope.’

The patients we are talking about now are not physically ill and therefore do not have the ‘comfort’ of an impending natural death.

A letter was recently leaked in which leading psychiatrists ask the Public Prosecution Service to investigate the course of events surrounding euthanasia of young psychiatric patients.

One death mentioned by name concerns seventeen-year-old Milou Verhoof, who received the redeeming injection from psychiatrist Menno Oosterhoff at the end of 2023. It will not have escaped many people's attention how much publicity the topic has received in the past year or so. Together with a colleague and a patient (who later also received euthanasia), Oosterhoff wrote the book Let me go.

The tenor was: it is good that euthanasia is possible for this group of patients, the taboo must be removed, their suffering is often terrible, they have already had to undergo countless 'therapies' without effect - can one time be enough?

Or would we rather have these patients end their lives in a gruesome way? And who really thinks that psychiatrists make hasty decisions when they decide to comply with a euthanasia request?

To be clear: we are talking about something completely different than what has been called 'traditional euthanasia' for years: euthanasia for physically ill patients with a life expectancy of weeks or months. Given the excellent palliative care that has become available, such euthanasia will actually be less and less necessary in 2024.

Panic

No, the patients we are talking about now are panicky, anxious, confused, depressed, lonely, often unemployed, poorly housed, without prospects. But they are not physically ill and therefore do not have the 'comfort' of an impending natural death.

I have heard several of them say: if only I were terminal, then euthanasia would not be necessary. The fact that there is now attention for this group of patients, with whom we in our hurried and solution-oriented society know so little how to deal, is a gain. At the same time, I am happy with the leaked letter. You can criticize Oosterhoff's procedural approach ('why not an ethical discussion instead of a legal one?'), the lack of collegiality, this perhaps underhanded action ('why did you go straight to the Public Prosecution Service?'). But in my opinion, the letter writers are definitely hitting the mark with this crooked stick. Firstly: how is it possible to determine that patients who have suffered from psychiatric disorders for five or ten years and who are between the ages of 17 and 30 have ‘completed their treatment options’ (a criterion from the Euthanasia Act)?

Review Committee

Nobody disputes that their suffering is unbearable. At the same time, I know from my time on a Regional Euthanasia Review Committee that an illness becomes unbearable when all hope is gone.

A psychiatrist who gives euthanasia to a young adult is also undeniably sending the signal that, like his patient, he has given up all hope of improvement. That is actually risky, because even patients who have suffered for years sometimes recover and, moreover, our brains are not fully developed until we are 25. But it also conflicts with perhaps the most important task of psychiatrists: offering hope. In their training, the risk of transference-counter-transference is consistently pointed out: a patient takes his therapist with him into despair, the psychiatrist transfers those feelings to this and other patients: ‘this kind of suffering is untreatable and cannot be lived with’.

In the recent NPO television documentary A Good Death we see an embrace between a psychiatrist and her emotional patient. In doing so, this psychiatrist offers a unique form of involvement. But does she provide sufficient resistance to the cynicism, despair and negative vision of the future that is also widespread outside psychiatry?

Sensible decisions?

That brings me to a second objection: is it sufficiently recognised how much a psychiatric illness can affect someone’s ability to make sensible decisions? The hallmark of many psychiatric illnesses is a deep desire to die and an inability to think about it in a relative way. As a result, many are unable to think in terms of a ‘possibly successful therapy’.

Boudewijn Chabot

The main character in the book Zelf heeft by Boudewijn Chabot, Netty Boomsma, responds to Chabot's suggestion that there might be a life after depression: 'Yes, but then I won't be it anymore.' She wants to go down with her depression. I know differences. The people with a death wish who remark about a possible therapy: ‘I hope it is not effective, because then I will have to go through it again.’

Another hurdle

If a second psychiatrist is consulted and, for example, suggests trying one or two more therapies, many patients see this as yet another hurdle on the road to euthanasia. They do not see it as a serious opportunity to be able to cope with life again. There are no easy answers here. Nor are pillories appropriate. But let euthanasia remain complicated here, and let us continue to look for hope.

Reproduced by kind permission