Understanding Religious Violence: Radicalism and Terrorism in Religion Explored Via Six Case Studies

Edited by James Dingley and Marcello Mollica
Understanding Religious Violence

Radicalism and Terrorism in Religion
Explored via Six Case Studies
Understanding Religious Violence
James Dingley • Marcello Mollica
Editors
Understanding
Religious Violence
Radicalism and Terrorism in Religion Explored
via Six Case Studies
Editors
James Dingley Marcello Mollica
Queen’s University Belfast University of Messina
Belfast, UK Messina, Italy
ISBN 978-3-030-00283-1 ISBN 978-3-030-00284-8 (eBook)

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-00284-8
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Previously Published Works
By James Dingley
Nationalism, Social Theory and Durkheim
Combating Terrorism in Northern Ireland (ed)
Terrorism and the Politics of Social Change
The IRA, The Irish Republican Army
Durkheim and National Identity in Ireland
By Marcello Mollica
Fundamentalism. Ethnographies on Minorities, Discrimination and Trans-
nationalism (ed)
Terra e società etniche divise: il caso del Libano del Sud
Bridging Religiously Divided Societies in the Contemporary World (ed)
v
Contents
1 Introduction 1
James Dingley and Marcello Mollica
2 Classical Social Theory and the Understanding of

Contemporary Religious Terrorism 7
James Dingley
3 Religious Independence of Chinese Muslim East Turkestan

“Uyghur” 39
Chiara Olivieri
4 Women’s Rights Between Civil and Religious Laws: The

Lebanese Law on Protection of Women and Family Members
from Domestic Violence and the Religious Authorities’
Opposition 73
Benedetta Panchetti
5 Geopolitical Vector of Ukrainian Orthodoxy in the Context

of National Security101
Yevhen Kharkovshchenko and Olena Bortnikova
6 The Case of Northern Ireland129

James Dingley
vii
viii Contents
7 Terror-Driven Ethno-Religious Waves: Mapping

Determinants in Refugees’ Choices Escaping Iraq and Syria161
Marcello Mollica
8 Being Ezidi in the Middle East195

Çakır Ceyhan Suvari
9 Conclusion213
Index221
Notes on Contributors
Olena Bortnikova is a candidate of philosophical sciences, associate pro-

fessor and a PhD student of the Department of Religious Studies Faculty
of Philosophy, Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv, Ukraine.
Her interests are in religion and politics, orthodoxy, religion and state
security. She has published in a variety of journals and has held a tutorage
in higher educational institutions of Ukraine for ten years.
James Dingley is a political sociologist at Queen’s University Belfast and
holds a PhD from the University of London. His main interest lies in
applying classical social theory to the analysis of ethno-national and reli-
gious conflict. He is a former NATO instructor on terrorism and has lec-
tured on terrorism in Queen’s, University of Ulster, and University of
Kurdistan-Hawler (Iraq), where he was also head of the Department of
Business and Management. He has published extensively in international
journals, published five previous books, and lectured around the world as
well as being a regular media commentator on various conflicts.
Yevhen Kharkovshchenko has a PhD in Philosophy and is Head of
Department of Religious Studies at the Taras Shevchenko National
University of Kyiv, Ukraine. His core interests are in ‘Sophiology’, Kyivan
Christianity, Ukrainian Orthodoxy and Sophia’s reception in the Ukrainian
intellectual culture. He has held a tutorage in higher educational institu-
tions of Ukraine for 35 years, during which time he has published widely
and presented at a variety of international conferences.
ix
x NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS
Marcello Mollica holds a PhD in Social Sciences from the University of

Leuven (2005) and a European Doctorate Enhancement in Peace and
Conflict Studies (2007). He was a pre-doc Marie Curie at the University
of Ulster, an Intra-European Marie Curie at the University of Kent, a post-
doc and lecturer at the University of Fribourg and at the University of Pisa.
He is Associate Professor of Cultural Anthropology and Ethnology at the
University of Messina. His research interests include religious and political
violence, ethno-religious minorities, and political mobilisation. He has
conducted fieldwork in Northern Ireland, Lebanon, Occupied Territories,
Eastern Turkey, South Caucasus, and Sicily.
Chiara Olivieri is a PhD student working as a Researcher and Professor at
the University of Granada (UGR), Spain, in the Department of Contemporary
History and Institute of Migrations of the UGR. Prior to beginning of the
PhD programme, she graduated in Sinologic Studies and Islamic Studies at
the University of Granada; she received her Master’s degree in Oriental
Asian Studies. She joined several international Congress conferences pre-
senting her topic of study “Sino-Muslim Identities”. Her research interests
include decolonial studies, Islam in China, history of Muslim communities
in China, Muslim identities in China, minority nationalities in China, con-
flicts in Xinjiang region, and internal orientalism in China.
Benedetta Panchetti holds a PhD in Law, Market and Person at the Ca’
Foscari University and the Fondazione Generale Studium Marcianum in
Venice, Italy. She is an independent contractor and research assistant at the
University of Notre Dame. She was a 2015–2017 fellow of the Catholic
University Center in Rome. She was a visiting researcher at the University
of Fribourg in 2016 and a visiting PhD student at Saint Joseph University
of Beirut in 2014. Her main research interests are religious minorities in
Middle-Eastern countries, personal status law, law and religion, interreli-
gious marriages, and religious conflicts.
Çakır Ceyhan Suvari is an anthropologist in Turkey. He worked as a
researcher at Van Museum for four years. Here he informed himself, espe-
cially about the Urartu period. Then he started to work in the Department
of Anthropology at Van Yüzüncü Yıl University. He completed his Master’s
and doctoral studies at the Department of Anthropology at Hacettepe
University. In both his Master’s and doctoral theses, he studied issues of
ethnic identity and conflict. He has written many books and articles on
ethnicity and conflict. In 2016 he signed a peace declaration entitled “We
will not be a party to this crime!” He was fired because he signed this
declaration. He is continuing his research independently in Istanbul.
CHAPTER 1
Introduction
Religion and associated religious violence has, especially since 2001,

become an increasingly topical subject, both in the media and in the aca-
demia. However, to anyone who has seriously studied the topic there
often appears to be a gross ignorance of the nature and role of religion and
different religions in both the public and the political discourse, which is,
perhaps, to be somewhat expected. More alarming is the often gross igno-
rance of the topic in academia, especially in the international relations and
security studies area that primarily deals with the problem of religious
violence. As an example, an American intern (Sean Hermann) working
with James Dingley at Queen’s University Belfast in 2016 reviewed all the
articles published in the top international security journal Studies in
Conflict and Terrorism on the topic of Islamic fundamentalism and terror-
ism since 2001. We found 36 articles via using a keyword search: in only
six of them did they define Islam, only two made any attempt to distin-
guish between any of the different branches of Islam and none of them
defined either terrorism or radicalism.
J. Dingley (*)
Queen’s University Belfast, Belfast, UK
M. Mollica
University of Messina, Messina, Italy
e-mail: [email protected]
© The Author(s) 2018 1

J. Dingley, M. Mollica (eds.), Understanding Religious Violence,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-00284-8_1
2 J. DINGLEY AND M. MOLLICA
For a top academic journal (albeit part of Rand Corporation) this does
not augur well for serious intellectual understanding of a complex phe-
nomenon that is supposedly posing a serious threat to Western society,
even at one stage an existential threat.1 It places understanding Islamic
violence on the same level as trying to understand violence in Northern
Ireland as simply between Christians, without understanding any of the
significant differences between Protestants and Roman Catholics that have
led to 500 years of religious wars within Christendom since the Reformation
(1517). Unfortunately, this latter point is also too often the case.
There is also a general failure in the Western modern secular age to not
only view everything solely from a Western perspective but also dismiss
religion as unimportant or simply a lifestyle choice that should not enter
politics or any other arena of public or political life. This overlooks the fact
that most politics is an extension of religious belief and values, thus phi-
losopher A.C. Grayling (2007; an avowed atheist) identifies the roots of
liberal democracy in the Christian Reformation—similarly in our market
economics, rooted very deeply in the New Light Presbyterian theology of
Adam Smith and his teacher Francis Hutcheson2 (Broadie 2007; Herman
2003). As such, when the West tries to export its ideas to the rest of the
world, it fails to appreciate the extent to which it is exporting its religious
values and structures (no matter how ‘successful’) into another religion’s
structure, system of beliefs and values. This somewhat naturally leads to a
conflict of religions, a cosmic conflict where one system does violence to
another and violently offends its God(s).
This then brings one on to the entire question of violence and its cen-
tral role in nearly all religions, even if purely at the symbolic level. Thus
sacrifice, especially blood, is common to most religions, the Gods live on
human sacrifices, the Gods are also above normal human constraints—
they make and break their own laws. Religion utilises symbols and cere-
monies to develop emotional and spiritual experiences, just like organised
military forces (Dingley 2010). Nearly all the studies of religion have
shown a clear relation between religion and violence that would run
counter to the normal layman’s view of religion as pacific and all about
love and peace.
1
For an example see: http://www.understandingwar.org/report/al-qaeda-and-isis-
existential-threats-us-and-europe.
2
Hutcheson taught Smith economics and was an ordained Presbyterian minister.
INTRODUCTION 3
It is the aim of this collection of studies and ethnographies to correct

some of these misapprehensions so that the question of religious violence
can be better understood in both a wider and deeper manner—also, by
specifically placing greater emphasis on the Middle East and Islamic coun-
tries to alert the reader to a less Western-orientated perspective that does
not assume the problem purely from a Western position. Indeed, we
would go further and suggest the ignorance of much Western thinking on
(Islamic) religion, violence, culture, society, religion and politics, as sug-
gested in our reference to the above Studies in Conflict and Terrorism.
And this may be part of the problem for the West.
The book is based on a series of papers presented at a conference in
Milan (2016)3 and then rewritten and revised for this book. All the papers
were selected on the basis of representing a cross section of different cul-
tural and national perspectives (Italian, British, Kurdish, Turkish, Ukrainian)
in a variety of different locations (Ukraine, Northern Ireland, Iraq, Syria,
China, Lebanon, Turkey, Georgia). In addition, we include one theoretical
chapter examining the history and role of religion in social science analysis
so as to give the reader a general orientating perspective from which to
understand the following chapters. This in turn has enabled us to identify
key points in all the chapters of more general interest to an understanding
of the role of religion and violence in the contemporary world.
On a general level several key questions emerge; first, just how accurate
was Nietzsche in claiming that God was dead. In fact He appears to be
remarkably alive and fighting in many parts of the world. Does this imply
that it is Western secularism that has got it wrong? Perhaps the West needs
to rediscover God and how active He is in the world, rather than simply
dismissing ‘others’’ religion as we pursue our vested (secularised Christian)
interests. In the West we generally defer to ‘science’ and the legacy of the
Enlightenment (reason, rationality and objectivity) as our legitimating
value system, yet how different or morally better is this than religion? In
addition, we tend to forget how conflated science and religion originally
were in Christendom: God revealed himself via two books, the Bible and
the Book of Nature, and science was merely the correct reading of the lat-
ter to better understand God’s laws and so get closer to God’s will (Brooke
1991). Perhaps we have fatally forgotten this latter dimension in the West,
which is why we can no longer comprehend a religious imperative.
3
The 14th European Association of Social Anthropologists Biennial Conference, University
of Bicocca, Milan, July 2016.
Another problem that emerges lies in much of the contemporary dis-

course of post-modernism and post-colonialism and their critique of
imposing universalising Western values. However, when it comes to human
rights, or more specifically (for feminists) women’s rights, this is exactly
what many post-modern and anti-colonialists do, assuming Western
(Christian) values should represent a norm. Thus the rights of minority
cultures and identities are vigorously defended against homogenising and
universalising Western trends, whilst defending homogenising local identi-
ties that would deny individual universal human rights. Perhaps there may
be universal values and standards that have an objective reality that make
minority cultures redundant and these values lie in science—that is not so
much Western as that an appreciation of them emerged first in the West, but
the West may misapply (perhaps through forgetting its appreciation of God).
Finally, we would note for readers’ attention that the primary emphasis
in this book is on the relational or structural aspects of religion, rather
than on the values, beliefs and ideas contained within it. Two key reasons
for this lie in the fact that this was what most of the papers presented in the
original conference tended to emphasise whilst also referring to values.
Second, given the current vogue for post-modern and/or critical theory,
this structural dimension tends to be, in our opinion, grossly overlooked,
especially given the etymology of religion (religio; Latin = bonds and rela-
tions). And if there is one thing we would emphasise, it is just this that it
is the bonds and relations contained within a religious system which pro-
vide it with its political mobilisation potential (one reason so many nation-
alist movements formed around a religious tradition). And in this lie the
seeds of conflict as opposing structures of relations, and the vested inter-
ests within them, clash.
We are not arguing that structure alone is important—merely empha-
sising it in this book. However, we are aware of the importance of other
dimensions, for example, sacred values and beliefs that inspire men to spe-
cific acts of violence such as sacrifice (of self or others), but in the space
and time permitted for this particular publication, there is not the room,
but we do hope to fill this gap in a future volume.
Bibliography
Broadie, Alexander. 2007. The Scottish Enlightenment. Edinburgh: Birlinn.
Brooke, John. 1991. Science and Religion. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
INTRODUCTION 5
Dingley, James. 2010. Terrorism and the Politics of Social Change. Farnham:
Ashgate.
Dingley, James, and Sean Hermann. 2017. Terrorism, Radicalisation and Moral
Panics: Media and Academic Analysis and Reporting of 2016 and 2017
‘Terrorism’. Small Wars and Insurgencies 28 (6): 996–1013.
Grayling, A.C. 2007. Towards the Light. London: Bloomsbury.
Herman, Arthur. 2003. The Scottish Enlightenment. London: Fourth Estate.
CHAPTER 2
Classical Social Theory

and the Understanding of Contemporary
Religious Terrorism
James Dingley
Introduction
Terrorism currently dominates the media headlines, often posed as an
imminent threat which the West (primarily the US and the North Atlantic
Treaty Organisation [NATO]) feel obliged to fight a global war against.
We are even told by some political leaders that it poses an existential threat,
invariably left undefined, at least to our (Western) way of life.1 Much of
this threat ‘realisation’ followed the 2001 Twin Towers attacks, which had
1
http://theweek.com/articles/697599/real-existential-threat-radical-islam: this is just
one example of a flurry of articles on the Web and in other media that suggest an existential
threat. However, saner voices have now begun to roll back this rhetoric; see: https://www.
theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/feb/24/terrorism-poses-no-existential-threat-
toamerica. See also Dingley and Hermann (2017). Here we assume the term to be used as
implying a threat to the existence of Western life, society and democracy in generic sense,
since all terrorism threatens individual lives, as do motor accidents or ordinary murders.
J. Dingley (*)

8 J. DINGLEY
no follow-up. Since then we have been constantly reminded by many

politicians and security experts of the threat posed by Islamic extremism-
fundamentalism-terrorism-radicalism, terms often lacking clear legal or
academic definition (Dingley and Hermann 2017; Neuman 2013; Detter
2013; Saul 2006).
The year 2001 was a major atrocity and terrorism according to most
definitions. However, Western responses are more problematic, leaping
from counter-terrorism to security, including a global war against the pur-
ported existential threat. It also tends to assume Islam as posing the threat,
with implicit (negative) assumptions about it as a religion, which often
fails to acknowledge the role of religion in violence generally. Thus the
history of Christian violence and terrorism is ignored, for example, the
ETA in the Basque Lands or the IRA in Ireland/Northern Ireland, so too
is that of the role of most ‘peaceful’ of religions (Buddhism) in Sri Lanka
is ignored. Meanwhile the example of Roman Catholic, Orthodox and
Islam in the break-up of the former Yugoslavia offers an even starker
example of predominantly Christian political violence.
Thus, for anyone studying terrorism pre-2001, current counter-
terrorism and political violence, particularly religious, poses serious ques-
tions, rarely asked. Consequently, just how novel and prevalent is the
current terrorist or religious violence threat? What counts as terrorism?
How is the assessment of the number and seriousness of relevant incidents
established? And myriad other questions, rarely asked.
Consequently, important historical, economic, sociological and anthro-
pological dimensions of violence (terrorism) become sidelined for a narrow
security and political analysis. The problem here is that security and politics
tend to emphasise a Western, rational individual model of behaviour, inter-
est and technocratic responses (Gupta 2001; Dingley 2010). However, this
frequently fails to understand the causes of violence, especially the role of
religion, and therefore how to effectively prevent and respond to it. The
Western security mind often fails to grasp the perpetrators (religious) mind-
set which leads them to violence (see Riches 1986, on the link between
perpetrators, victims and violence). However, for security industries this has
financial benefits: thus the European Union (EU) estimates the interna-
tional security industry rose from $10b to $100b in 2001–11.2 Meanwhile,
the American Department of Homeland Security (non-existent in 2001)
has an annual budget (2016) of over $41b and employs 240,000 people.3
2
http://ec.europa.eu/dgs/home-affairs/what-we-do/policies/index_en.htm.
3
https://www.dhs.gov/about-dhs#.
CLASSICAL SOCIAL THEORY AND THE UNDERSTANDING… 9
Such an industry may not welcome questioning the reality of terrorism

or the Islamic threat, or cost-benefit analyses of ‘security’. Many violent
actors, initially described as terrorists, may be just deranged or disgruntled
individuals seeking revenge on ‘society’ for personal problems.4 These
have always existed, always will and are invariably mental-health-related
problems. Meanwhile, terrorism, defined as politically or religiously moti-
vated armed conflict by mentally stable people, goes back to biblical times,
for example, the Sicarii or Zealots (Rapoport 1984). Hence, if we assume
there is a terrorism threat, what actually is it? The current vogue concen-
trates on Islamic terrorism (slowly being subsumed into radicalism),
closely related to the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS) in the Middle
East and young Muslims in the West inspired by them.
As Detter (2013, p. 26) notes, radical has semi-officially replaced ter-
rorist in media terminology, indicating major problems of definition. One
suspects it is aimed at trying to understand how ‘ordinary, decent young
Muslims’ can turn against us ‘nice, reasonable, moderate, peace loving
westerners’ (who never violently invaded Muslim countries). Thus: Nice
(2016), Brussels (2016), Paris (2015), London (2005 and 2017) and
Madrid (2004).5 And, how can ISIS be so appealing to all those Western
Muslims wishing to join them? Meanwhile, our TV screens further rein-
force the image of Muslim violence and radicalisation. Coverage of vio-
lence in Syria, Egypt, Libya, Pakistan, Iraq and Afghanistan in recent years
has greatly enhanced an image of violent Islam, now invading the West.
Radicalisation is assumed as something only happening to ‘them’
(assuming radicalisation exists). This is largely, one suspects, because so
many Westerners are historically and culturally ignorant (which includes
being insensitive and ill-behaved abroad). Also, one suspects, because the
West too easily assumes its own values, standards and norms from which
to judge others. If one does not make these assumptions and then adds a
broader historical perspective, one can then look at (Christian) Western
behaviour as violent and radical, spreading terror and disruption around
the world—Afghanistan and Iraq being current examples or the Sykes-
Picot Pact that carved up the Middle East in 1916–17 (Barr 2012).
The point is that terrorism, radicalism or political violence (all begging
better definitions beyond the scope of this chapter) are all old problems.
4
Dingley and Hermann (2017).
5
Dingley and Hermann (2017).
10 J. DINGLEY
More specifically modern terrorism dates back to the mid-nineteenth cen-

tury, and part of the response to it was the rise of modern sociology and
anthropology:
G.M Young once said that if one wished to characterise an age, it is always a
good rule to ask, ‘What were the people most afraid of?’ For nineteenth
century Europe the short answer to that question is provided by Charles
Kingsley: ‘Look at France and see!’ or by Ashley who complained in his
diary that ‘Revolutions go off like popguns!’ Nineteenth century thought
returned time and again to the spectre of the French Revolution and the
desperate energies of the mob. (Pearson 1975, p. 159)
Revolutions, street violence, mobs, political assassinations, terrorist attacks

and wars of unification or separatism, and international anarchist conspira-
cies have dominated political life for 200 years (Crenshaw 1995; Dingley
2010). This in turn helped stimulate the development of the social sci-
ences as a response (Hughes 1961; Nisbet 1996). These began to replace
religion as the arbiter of social order and meaning as economic (industri-
alisation) and political (nationalism) change disrupted the old settled
order of the ancien régime (Burliegh 2005). Especially this reflected a
concern for (social, economic and political) order, the flip side of the chaos
and disorder associated with political violence. Our modern stable order
precluded violence and conflict, making it social science’s core focus, when
previously high levels of war and violence had been regarded as normal
(Dingley 2010; Ong 2002).
Of particular relevance is how religion became a key concern in trying
to understand order, chaos and violence in classical social theory. For
Durkheim and Weber, religion was central to understanding such prob-
lems, whilst for Marx it played mainly a negative role. Yet even for Marx
religion was, indirectly, important, since it was the new industrial cities
that changed men’s consciousness away from a religiously interpreted
world. Hence classical social theory may already hold the key to under-
standing modern religio-political violence.
Terrorism and Definitions
As already mentioned, religious terrorism-radicalism is neither new nor an
existential threat; the Bible chronicles, even inspires it and other religions
are the same, for example, Thugee in India (Dash 2005) or Assassins in
Islam (Lewis 2003). Actually, the entire history of religion is studded with
violence, especially against unbelievers and heretics, thus: the Albigensian
Cathars (Pegg 2008), the burning of Jan Hus in Bohemia (Wallace 2012),
the Spanish Inquisition (Armstrong 2014) and the nineteenth-century
Fenians and their offspring, the IRA, who were wholly Roman Catholic
(Townshend 1983). Terror was a prime agent of religio-political control.
To this we can add the other terrorist groups of the twentieth century,
such as the ETA (Basque Lands), the secular Christian Baader-Meinhof
Gang (Germany) and the Red Brigades (Italy) (Crenshaw 1995).
Meanwhile, the act that instigated war in 1914 was the terrorist assassina-
tion of Archduke Franz-Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary (Lyon 2015). And
the British mandate in Palestine was fatally undermined by Jewish terror-
ism against Palestinians (Bell 1977).
Further, if we are now to see terrorists as radicals, the situation gets far
more alarming. Thus we have radical Christian pacifists who refused to
fight or kill in war or who allowed themselves to be eaten by lions instead
of renouncing their faith. Meanwhile, it was two highly public Christian
activists (or radicals?), Bush and Blair, who tried to bring democracy to
Iraq and Afghanistan, in 2003, through violence. And whilst the West may
support Israel, few Muslims regard its foundation as anything other than
an act of terrorism against them (Cattan 1988; Wasserstein 2003).
Prior to 2001, there were a plethora of major terrorist incidents against
the West in Africa and the Middle East. These ranged from bombing
American embassies (Kenya and Tanzania, 1998) to attacks on Western tour-
ists visiting the pyramids (Luxor, Egypt, 1997). Meanwhile, IRA and ETA
terrorism continued well past 2001 (perhaps still ongoing). However, as a
leading expert on the law of armed conflict observes of the post-2001 world:
The scenario at present with regard to terrorists is strikingly different from

how terrorists were viewed before the 9/11 attack. Earlier, it might have
been convenient to attempt a de-limitation between terrorism and war; but
now terrorists have become main actors in war situations. The essence of
this form of terrorism is pronounced hatred of certain values, especially
Christianity and ‘Western’ attitudes,6 coupled with self-sacrificing perpetra-
tors who practice suicide attacks. (Detter 2013, p. 26)
6
This, one can only assume, is what is meant in discussions of existential threats; see
footnote 1.
12 J. DINGLEY
However, what is actually now so different? Suicide terrorism is ancient

(the Sicarii and Assassins), whilst the Tamil Tigers (Hindu) in Sri Lanka
and ‘radical’ Muslims in Palestine used the tactic long before 2001 (Pate
2005; Bloom 2005). The Second World War produced the Kamikaze,
whilst military histories are replete with acts of self-sacrifice for comrades,
regiment, Queen and country (Dingley and Mollica 2007; Dingley 2010).
Meanwhile, if we regard radical as interchangeable with terrorist, how
does one define Christ radically sacrificing himself on the cross? And then
there were all the other Christian martyrs who followed his example. After
all, the Romans tried to eradicate Christianity because it was regarded as
an existential threat to their order and imperium (rule) (Armstrong 2014).
What one means in law by terrorism has become increasingly murky
(Detter, above), which has increasingly grave consequences since 2001
and the ‘war on terrorism’:
Previously the lack of definition was legally inconsequential – no interna-

tional rights or duties hinged on the term ‘terrorism’. Since 11 September
2001, that has changed. The Security Council has required States to imple-
ment measures against terrorist acts and terrorists, according those terms
operative legal significance without defining them. (Saul 2006, p. 5)
Previously clearer ideas existed of terrorism as organised violence moti-

vated by political aims that did not conform to the rules of the interna-
tional laws of armed conflict. And although religion was rarely an overt
motivator, many of the nominally secular nationalist movements that uti-
lised terrorism had deep, implicitly religious roots to their identity, for
example, the IRA and Basques (Roman Catholic) or the Irgun and Stern
Gang (Jewish). The law was fairly clear; it involved bearing arms openly,
wearing recognisable insignia or uniforms, not targeting non-combatants
and having a recognisable chain of command. Most importantly, there
should be no democratic alternative to violence to promote a group’s
cause. In addition, legitimate categories of state and non-state armed
conflict existed that included concepts such as war, guerrilla war, liberation
struggles or resistance to armed occupation, which were fairly clearly
defined: terrorism fell outside of these (Green 2000).
Consequently terrorism was violence outside the accepted norms and
laws of war, making it criminal, which changes if one conducts a ‘war’ on
terrorism. War provides legitimacy, moral and legal, implying both sides as
combatants and hence equally legitimate. This is why states, prior to 2001,
preferred not to wage ‘wars’ against terrorism (Dingley 2010). Additionally,

practical counter-terrorism methods are invariably far closer to policing
precisely because terrorists are not soldiers but civilians acting in civilian
contexts. (Admittedly, in the Levant, ISIS is a different matter; it is more
a conventional war machine that overtly flouts some of the laws of war.)
Terrorists utilise traditional criminal modes of operation, from violence to
coercion and straightforward criminal fund-raising to finance themselves
(see also Mollica’s chapter in this volume—Chap. 7).
Another reason terrorists operate criminally is because they usually lack
enough support, resources, military skills and weaponry to do anything
else. Even if they operate within a ‘sympathetic’ population its sympathy is
usually passive. But, this then makes it difficult for state authorities to
counter them, for example, in Northern Ireland or the Basque Lands
(Dingley 2012). Terrorism is, then, essentially criminal behaviour, how-
ever nasty, which puts it into perspective. Consequently, it is hardly an
existential threat, nor does it require a war (implying clearly defined begin-
nings and ends). One might almost say that in the grand scheme of things
it is a minor irritant compared to many other threats, for example, nuclear
war, plagues or global climate change. As Mueller and Stewart (2011)
have observed, an ordinary American has more chance of drowning in
their bathtub than being killed by a terrorist.
Despite this many ‘security experts’ proffer alarmist warnings, for
example, terrorist attacks using weapons of mass destruction (chemical,
biological and nuclear). But once more calmer reflection deflates the
threat. The practical problems of gaining, transporting, placing and deto-
nating such weapons make the threat highly impracticable. A nuclear det-
onation or dirty bomb requires expert skills to acquire materials,
manufacture, transport, plant, detonate and then escape, way beyond the
capabilities of the most expert terrorist. A deranged scientist, or a group of
scientists, is a more likely scenario, and even that is highly unlikely. Those
with access to such potential weapons/materials will already be carefully
monitored and vetted by the relevant authorities in highly secure facilities.
As such the real worry here would be what some Western countries regard
as ‘rogue’ states, for example, Iran or North Korea. But monitoring of
them is intense and fairly accurate, as the International Atomic Energy
Agency has shown (Global Security 2016). Meanwhile, such states are
known and can be dealt with on a (relatively) open, legal and state-to-state
basis, which makes it not terrorism but normal international relations in
both legal and academic terms.
14 J. DINGLEY
Religion, War and Violence

However, definitions are important for both legal reasons and intellectual
comprehension of the phenomenon we are attempting to deal with. If we
cannot define terrorism or radicalism we cannot study or analyse it in any
meaningful way, let alone respond effectively to it. Is this why it costs
America $41b per annum? They (and the rest of us) don’t know what they
are looking for! Conversely, there may be no specific threat that is beyond
the ordinary police’s capability within existing criminal law.
The radical-terrorist threat as currently presented by the media and
governments may be a highly dubious one, which does not deny a terrorist
threat, but merely warns one to ask serious questions. And because it does
harm individuals, society and polities alike, it does deserve attention but
also perspective. As Neumann (2013) observes, just because something is
difficult to define does not mean it does not exist. Terrorism has been an
explicit feature of the last 200 years of Western history (Crenshaw 1995;
Dingley 2010), much of it religiously inspired. What turns religious believ-
ers to violence is therefore an important topic, but not necessarily con-
fined to terrorism. All religions have been used as rallying cries to violence.
Thus the Thirty Years’ War, 1618–48 (Wilson 2010), saw the mass butch-
ery of almost 50% of Germany’s population in the name of religion
(Roman Catholic versus Protestant). Meanwhile, most of the combatants
in the First and Second World Wars (Christian, Muslim and Hindu) had
God on their side.
The mistake is to take ‘terrorism-radicalisation’ out of the general con-
text of religious violence. A key point in religion is that God is beyond
human rules, laws and time. He makes His own and is not bound by
earthly categories and rules (Juergensmeyer 1993, 2001). This may help
explain why defining religious terrorism is so difficult and why it makes the
threat so easy to exaggerate. It may also help redirect us towards under-
standing the nature of religious violence in general and not just terrorism.
From this we can simply view religious terrorism-radicalism as a small sub-
set of a general manifestation, providing a clearer idea of our subject mat-
ter and its appeal.
In anthropology this is already well developed and exemplified in Girard
(1977, 1989), Douglas (1984), Levi-Strauss (1972), Eliade (1959) and
Matusitz (2015). These works in turn have already been applied to terror-
ism (Dingley and Mollica 2007; Dingley and Kirk-Smith 2002; Feldman
1991, or Zulaika 1988). Such works emphasise the important role of
concepts such as purity and profanity, symbolism, martyrdom, sacrifice,

ceremony and ritual as core features of most religions. They provide mean-
ing, purpose and identity in ways that also imbue core military activity and
values, inculcated in training to inform deeds on the battlefield.
Consequently, ceremonies honouring dead heroes, worshipping martial
values, parading regimental colours, marching in formation and drilling
are standard military fair. Such rituals and ceremonies are key aspects of
any religion or military, and both provide a religious experience of ‘being’
greater than the individual (Nye 2004).
Meanwhile, violence itself is often ritually conducted. As Taylor’s
(1999) study of the Rwanda genocide indicates: the ritual way in which
the killing was conducted had deep religious significance in terms of
Rwandans’ religious health model. In Britain, the Royal Navy ‘religiously’
observes the heroic death of Nelson every year on Trafalgar Day and toasts
his ‘immortal’ memory (Dingley 2010). In France, the Foreign Legion
annually recalls the heroic defiance and death of Capt. Danjou (Perret
1991). It parades Danjou’s wooden hand (all that was left of him, ‘just like
a piece of the one true cross’) in front of his regiment, drawn up in full
ceremonial order, full of religious symbolism. Here, death and sacrifice is
honoured above life itself. Something not dissimilar occurs in the Christian
Eucharist—death transcends life and the shedding of blood sanctifies and
provides new life (Dingley and Mollica 2007). The whole point of sacri-
fice, your own or others, is to commune with the Gods, who in turn
bestow renewal of life (Eliade 1959).
Thus we gain insight into the suicide bomber, hunger striker or the
Brussels gunman (2016), who knew he was almost certain to be killed.7
They are not dissimilar to Capt. Danjou, who both killed and died—
sacrifice of self and others sanctified their acts. This idea of sacrifice for a
greater good and transcendent being has inspired men and women for
millennia and goes to the core of military veneration for dead heroes.
These heroes died gloriously (not lived) for their country, comrades, regi-
ment or ship, effectively the same as for one’s God. The two (social group
and God) are so deeply entwined as to be the same, which they were for
classical sociologists such as Durkheim and operated via similar
mechanisms.
7
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/belgium/12194789/Brussels-
police-shot-at-during-raid-linked-to-Paris-attacks.html.
16 J. DINGLEY
The foregoing in turn helps us to understand something of the nature

of the current terrorist threat, that is, Islamic fundamentalist-radicals: the
violence may well be impelled by something deep in religion itself, not just
specifically Islam. There may not be a radicalisation process as such (thus
making the EU’s Horizon 2020 programme,8 which seeks to fund proj-
ects aimed at countering radicalisation, redundant), just something that
triggers a religious experience.
To highlight this one only has to look at more recent terrorist cam-
paigns, for example, the IRA (Roman Catholics, Northern Ireland), ETA
(Roman Catholics, Spain and the Basques), FLQ (Roman Catholics,
Quebec and Canada), Tamil Tigers (Hindu, Sri Lanka) or even the break-
up of the former Yugoslavia (Orthodox Serb, Roman Catholic Croats and
Muslim Bosnians). All were ostensibly about ethnic identity and national-
ism, yet religion lay at the core of their national-ethnic identity and vio-
lence (Dingley 2011a, b).
The links between nation and religion and religion and violence are
well-established (Dingley 2011a, b; Smith 1986, 2003; Hastings 1997;
Greenfeld 1993). Most nationalisms invoke God, and nationalism is often
regarded as the new religion. Instead of worshipping God we now wor-
ship the state, and churches say prayers for the state and its rulers. Religions
usually support their state in times of war or other threats. In addition,
modern Romantic nationalism (Kedourie 1993; Greenfeld 1993; Berlin
2000; Dingley 2011b) stresses the idea of nation and ethnic identity as
God endowed. The notion of nations as part of a divine order was central
to Romantic nationalists like Herder and Hegel. And as Berlin (2000) or
Greenfeld (1993) indicate, Romanticism, in opposing the Enlightenment,
had a very strong association with, even idolisation of, violence. Further,
any ‘national’ claim to independence rests on its claim to sovereignty, that
is, its ability to make its own laws, just like God.
Thus, by looking at (religious) terrorism-radicalism we may be focusing
on the wrong aspects of the subject. We need to scrutinise the context as
well as the deed. Violence has always been with us, and as Armstrong
(2014), Ong (2002) or Durkheim (1970) remind us, the more religious a
society, the more violent it has often been. Meanwhile, Berlin (2000)
makes a similar observation when he noted that it was the Enlightenment,
8
http://ec.europa.eu/research/participants/portal/desktop/en/opportunities/
h2020/topics/sec-06-fct-2016.html.
with its emphasis on material rationality, not mysticism, which has led to a
more pacific world. The problem is of religion and ideas of a transcendent
order or being and their relationship to violence. People with primarily
material interests have more prosaic concerns than sacrifice.
Religion
Formal definitions of religion (indeed in Anthropology it begins with two
definitions: from Tyler and from Durkheim) are difficult, but generically
religion refers to largely transcendent questions of being, ultimate values,
reason and purpose of life, and how to lead it. However, some religions,
for example, Buddhism, do not necessarily invoke an afterlife. Most reli-
gions claim to be about love, peace and harmony, yet most can also be
found to be deeply involved in violence. Thus Christ died for a greater
love, whilst Christian Crusaders often wrought death and destruction
(Hindley 2004). Sacrifice (of virgins, lambs, Son of God or whatever),
both real and symbolic, is frequently central to religion, that is, ritual vio-
lence. However, the purpose of such sacrifice is usually to export out vio-
lence from a community (Dingley and Kirk-Smith 2002; Girard 1977 and
1989; Zulaika 1988; Matusitz 2015), to restore peace and harmony in the
community and appease the Gods. The Gods live off human sacrifices and
their blood sanctifies.
Nearly every society or civilisation has had religion at its core; indeed as
Armstrong (2014) observes, most early religions and Gods were civic, that
is, peculiar to and protective solely of a specific city or community. Similarly,
most modern ethnic identities have evolved from religion (part of Smith’s
1986, myth-symbol complex), and most modern nationalisms invoke
(their) God. This is especially so when struggling for ‘national’ indepen-
dence or ‘rights’, and major occasions of state are invariably marked reli-
giously (Smith 2003; Dingley 2011b; Hastings 1997). There appears to
be an eternal need for religion in some form, but more overtly in the past
when it was invoked more constantly.
In pre-modern times everything was religious—there were no separate,
social, economic or political spheres; the whole of life, nature and society
was religious (Bossy 1985; Wallace 2012; Lewis 1994). This also reflects
the way in which in simpler, peasant societies, there is a tendency to con-
flate multiple concepts into a single, undifferentiated, all-inclusive concept
(Gellner 1990). The world and its order was God given and created; our
role and place in it ordained by Him. Similarly the social, economic and
18 J. DINGLEY
political order was ordained by God, reflecting on earth the cosmic order
decreed according to His laws and will (Lewis 1994). Indeed, God(s)
intervened directly not just in the generic order but also in man’s daily
routines and affairs. Meanwhile, our prayers on earth could affect the fate
of souls departed, hence praying for the dead (Armstrong 2014; Bossy
1985; Wallace 2012).
To pre-modern man it was common sense that God made and ordered
the world, which made it religious and where religion was not just a life-
style choice or something on a Sunday. Religion was to be lived out in
one’s daily life, as God willed. God, or his saints, watched over all of us and
our communities continuously and interceded for us: from the weather,
harvest failures and diseases to success in war or love. Consequently those
who disrupted God’s order posed an existential threat.9
Virtually all the major institutions that ran society were religious or
rooted in religion. The great professions, for example, law, physics and
universities, were originally religious institutions, where one professed
one’s knowledge to God. Most schools were originally religious founda-
tions; learning and mental activity was regarded as semi-spiritual and close
to Godliness. Thus education was religious, since all knowledge in a reli-
gious world must relate to God and his order as must its application con-
form to His order (Bossy 1985; Wallace 2012; Lewis 1994; Jewell 1998).
Clerics were the scribes (clerks) who administered the state, whilst
senior clerics, for example, bishops, often ran state offices; thus, state and
religion formed a holy bipartisanship (‘Throne and Altar’; Burleigh 2005),
making them theocratic. Here the Church morally endowed the King
(state) and legitimated his authority, making it an instrument of God.
Concurrently the state utilised its legitimate force to enforce the moral,
social, economic and political order the Church ordained. Consequently,
law was a basic religious concern—clear rules for the relations and order of
all things that affected the harmonious relations between God, ruler and
subjects. These are ideas reflected in the sociology of both Durkheim and
Weber (Lukes and Scull 2013; Freund 1972). Meanwhile, Hallaq (2014)
indicates how this creates major problems for adherents of Sharia (Islamic)
law living in the (Christian) West or vice versa: different cosmic orders and
legitimacy apply. Further, since the purpose of religion is the re-creation of
9
In the sense that it is Western values and (socio-economic and political) order that is
invading Islamic states, it may be the West that poses an existential threat to Islam.
the divine cosmic order on earth, this now provides us with an explanation
for religio-political violence. Any attack or challenge to the divine order
becomes a denial of God, and hence a threat to existence, which requires
defending.
The foregoing is reflected in the etymology of religion, from the Latin
religio—meaning bonds and relations (Turner 1991). These bonds and
relations bind us into groups and communities whose being invokes pow-
ers and forces (social and moral obligations) over the individual, reflected
in custom, tradition and law. Bonds determine and reflect what relations
should exist between men and then with nature, which become sacred.
This implies unique qualities (sacred) to those charged with determining
those relations, from property rights to family duties, to obedience to
primary groups, community or polity. From these we derive moral codes
and laws, often the basis for culture, whose aim is to cement the formal
social relations.
Traditional European states had legitimate power and force as God’s
representative on earth, ordained by the Church (or whatever; Burleigh
2005) which made it moral. And whilst both supported each other they
maintained their supremacy (Bossy 1985; Armstrong 2014; Wallace
2012). The same principle applied for most religions, making whatever
order that existed God given, hence making its violent enforcement legiti-
mate. In Islam this was even more overt, since state and religion were
never separate. As Hallaq (2014) observes, they were conflated, with no
separate state or politics as understood in the modern West. Islam, as sub-
mission (Armstrong 2001), meant simply submitting to Allah’s will and
living in the Ummah (community of the faithful, both local village and
universal community of all true believers) as ordained and ordered, as
revealed via the Prophet Mohammed. All society and polity was overtly
religious, and to be a good Muslim was to submit to its order.
Religious order applied to the economic as much as to the socio-
political realm. In Medieval Europe guilds and trading associations were
invariably regulated by religious bodies and had their own patron saints to
further their interests. Further, the Church often exercised a moral control
over guilds and merchant companies. Priests frequently oversaw guild
activities, for example, adjudicated over standards of goods, behaviour
between members and non-members, levels of profit and financial rela-
tions. The latter was particularly important because the Church con-
demned ‘usury’ (Bossy 1985; Wallace 2012; Alder 2004), as does Islam.
But most important for the Church was to ensure good and harmonious
20 J. DINGLEY
relations within a guild or merchant company. Similarly it aimed to medi-

ate good and harmonious relations within a Kingdom and within
Christendom as a whole. In the West this changed with the Reformation,
which notably succeeded in those regions undergoing economic and legal
transformation (McCulloch 2004; Little 1969). This in turn supports
Weber’s (1976) contention about Protestantism and the spirit of
capitalism.
For the individual the Church (Mosque or Temple) was the first point
of reference for the major activities in life. The priest was often the only
(often barely) educated person in invariably small, close-knit and highly
isolated communities, based on self-sufficiency bordering on bare survival.
Survival required close communal cooperation, which required good, har-
monious relations within the community, becoming the priest’s prime
concern. Religion provided moral instruction and guidance to ensure
communal cohesion, often involving little more than arbitration in local
disputes. Religion also closely controlled those personal relations vital to
the continuation of the community over time, for example, marriage,
birth and family.
Life itself was God given; one not only existed in God’s material world
but in God’s time and space, which determined identity (Christian names,
occupation or community place names). Religion also oversaw men’s
physical development and path through life, for example, education, mar-
riage and occupation, and also one’s time itself. All time was God’s
(Wallace 2012), both in general and in one’s individual allotted span (birth
to death). Thus the hours of the day were marked by prayers and the toll-
ing of church bells; the weeks were marked from Sunday to Sunday or
saints day to holy day; the years were marked from Easter to Easter (the
UK’s financial year still is). One lived in and passed through God’s time,
which stood still; thus, ‘the world ticked to the rhythm of an inexorable
divine clock’ (Wilson 2002, p. 11). All was religious, there was no
secular.
Alder (2004) well illustrates the role of religion in his discussion of
medieval French communal life. All economic activity was regulated by
moral-religious communities, that is, religiously founded guilds, who
imposed a moral economy, not a market one. Here individual traders had
to trade within the moral compass of the guild and church teachings.
Guilds ordered and regulated their members’ activities, initially to benefit
the local community and the good of the guild. Individual traders were
not permitted to pursue self-interest—guild and community came first.
Maintaining the religiously sanctioned relations of the community and

guild took priority.
Salvation lay in maintaining the correct relations between men, God
and communal order—knowing and submitting to one’s place in the
God-ordained order of relations. This, of course, is still the ideal of the
‘Ummah’. And Islam simply means submission, to the will of Allah and his
ordained order of things (Armstrong 2001; Lewis 1993). Islam maintains
the same ideal as medieval Christendom, that is, an all-embracing under-
standing of the world and its natural (Allah-given) order. This is embraced
in a single religious concept of being and order, that is, structure of rela-
tions, social bonds and submission to them.
One reason why the European Reformation was so traumatic, leading
to over 200 years of religious wars, was the way it ruptured the bonds of
Christendom. The Roman Catholic Church, having established itself as
the sole voice of God (in Western Europe), had become unquestioningly
accepted as the sole legitimating (moral) force. It alone ordained the natu-
ral order of things, that is, feudal society, legitimately enforced by Kings
and Lords (Bossy 1985; Wallace 2012; Armstrong 2014). This maintained
a closed order, unchallenged for 1000 years.
To have this suddenly challenged, from the sixteenth to nineteenth cen-
turies, ongoing revolutions profoundly affected the authority of throne and
altar. It meant competing concepts of legitimacy and loyalty, for example,
who should rule, in whose name, making what laws, how to enforce them
and to what end (order). Who determined rights, especially individual ver-
sus communal or man versus property? All privileges, political authority
and rights were questioned as new earthly Gods and sacred (nation and
state; Hobsbawm 1992) replaced old (heavenly) Gods, creating new moral
and material claims. Such dispute was, naturally, sacrilegious to the estab-
lished Church (or Islam, which has no indigenous concept of nation-state)
and would undermine the moral authority of the established order.
These sudden and dramatic changes reflected fundamental breaks
with the past, which were highly problematic for established theologies
to cope with. They implied new concepts of how one comprehended and
interpreted the world around, both moral and cognitive understandings
of order and how to relate to it, which threatened existing theologies.
Legitimising moralities became redundant and dependent political pow-
ers undermined; even the existence of God and religion was threatened
if their cosmological orders were no longer deemed valid. New knowl-
edge, orders and relations became sacrilegious, particularly where new
22 J. DINGLEY
knowledge provided non-religious explanations based on material cause-

effect (science). The new knowledge profaned and attacked the sacred,
that is, sacrilegious.
Such sacrilegious knowledge made the Gods angry and demanded ret-
ribution, which implies sacrifices to feed, nourish and appease them to
help fend off challenges. Sacrifices (martyrs) involve emotion and trauma
to raise awareness and consciousness, reminding members of the commu-
nity of their belonging and obligation.
The shared emotional experience of sacrifice helps call a community
back together, to unite against God’s enemies in (internal) pacific har-
mony (Dingley 2010). In this sense the community is God, or His pres-
ence, and its coming together reveals the greater transcendent power that
lies in unity, all thinking and ‘feeling’ as one through the shared sacrificial
experience:
[T]he victim as surrogate, an emissary for the transfer of pollution out of an

afflicted community. Sacrifice is a commensuration of the many to the one;
it shifts collective disorder to a personified transgressor who facilitates. The
body of the sacrificial victim is the detached part that encapsulates a disor-
dered or disordering whole, and its deformation expresses the passage out of
disorder. (Feldman 1991, p. 78)
Another aspect of the disruption of unity, order and relations as an

attack on God can be identified in the break in the link between past, pres-
ent and future. This is the ‘chain of memory’ (Hervieu-Leger 2000) that
links man into a timeless order and continuum, an important aspect of
religion, linking man with a defined pathway through history, time and
being. It provides men with knowledge of where they came from, how
they got here and what comes after. This corresponds to what Giddens
(1990 and 1991) refers to as ontological security, that is, who we are and
where we come from, providing us with a meaning and a place in the cos-
mological order of being. By placing our sense of being within a defined
order, place and time, it provides life with a meaning as part of a contin-
uum and not just random chance, which has no meaning or purpose. This
applies spiritually, as in descent and creation myths, and literally, as in
churches’ recording of births, deaths and marriages. Additionally, the
dead often lived in daily life, since the graveyards were often used for rec-
reational and occupational purposes; hence, the dead lived on in daily life,
making it timeless (Bossy 1985).
Religion provides man with a past, which develops into a future, giving
reason and purpose for being here (to earn salvation and fulfil God’s pur-
pose), and an afterlife in an eternal order. Consequently it provides an
ontological security that fixes man in time and place in the cosmos, with a
sense of being and belonging in the great order of things. This provides
identity, meaning and purpose to a life otherwise bereft of them. But if the
chain is broken man finds himself cut off, isolated, adrift and faced with
intolerable loss of being and identity, leading to acute psychological anxi-
ety and insecurity.
Meanwhile, a stable, continuous community reaffirms the chain and
ontological security, satisfying men’s need for psychological security. But
if the community is disrupted, fragments or disappears, then acute onto-
logical problems may occur, leading to aggressive behaviour and violence
against perceived alien or profaning forces held responsible. Violence both
expels and repels the profane and forces the community back into itself,
united in sacrificial violence to protect the sacred (Girard 1977, 1989).
This violence becomes a sacred duty, a sacrifice to the Gods—a holy war.
This offers some explanation for violence in the name of God—it is
necessary to expel the impure which profanes the sacred (order). Until
then there will be no communal harmony; only when God is restored to
his rightful place, via blood sacrifice (the sacrificial blood nurturing the
God), will this occur. Here the community is emotionally reunited via the
sacrificial ritual with its induced and shared emotional intensity. This rein-
forces the communal bonds and closes the community to exclude profane,
external influences (Dingley and Kirk-Smith 2002).
In the literature on nationalism it is almost commonplace to observe
how much of the foregoing has now been transferred from religion to the
nation. The nation, in the West, now functions as the sacred community,
fulfilling the roles and functions of religion (Hastings 1997; Smith 2003;
Dingley 2011b)—the idea of the nation as timeless and eternal, a history
(past, present and future) into which individual nationals fit and find place,
purpose and meaning; and, of course, for which we and past generations
have made blood sacrifices and which we praise in religious services. This,
as Hallaq (2014) observes, makes nationalism disruptive of Islam’s
Ummah, since it fragments into separate political units, that is, indepen-
dent nation-states, what should ideally and religiously be a single universal
Islam. Loyalty to a nation-state cannot be squared with loyalty to Islam;
Allah and his order must take priority—something not dissimilar also con-
fronted the Roman Catholic Church after the Reformation (1517).
24 J. DINGLEY
Further, religion now sanctifies the nation in the West (but not in Islam,
which alone is sacred), performing many of the rituals and ceremonies that
make it holy (Smith 2003; Dingley 2011b). Thus, ethno-nationalist con-
flicts persist precisely where traditional religion still plays a major role, with
competing religious identities, for example, the former Yugoslavia,
Northern Ireland or Sri Lanka. It is a question of contested sacred com-
munity and whose chain of memory and ontological security should dom-
inate, in turn associated with economic, social and political rewards.
Similar problems exist with societies confronting large-scale immigra-
tion from different religions: native and immigrant find it difficult to
‘commune’ with each other, as in Anderson’s (1991) ‘imagined commu-
nity’. The problem is not just of material relations and being part of an
economic community, but of deeper ontological problems of ‘commun-
ing’ as part of the historical chain of memory (Hervieu-Leger 2000). These
are group psychological problems of relations and integrating into a new
‘moral’ community and historical memory. Here, new types of relations
emphasising new shared values, beliefs and chains of collective memory
are needed. New moral and cognitive knowledge which help men bond
(integrate ontologically; Giddens 1990, 1991) are required or, alterna-
tively, separate communities are required.
If immigrants are to enter successfully into a new imagined community
and ‘commune’ with it and become part of its chain of memory, then it
requires greater effort and thought than Western liberal values of indi-
vidualism tend to permit. Entering new orders (structures) of relations
and their associated values and norms is often difficult, especially in the
West. Here the dominant socio-economic paradigm of relations is of the
radical and free (market) individual (Gupta 2001), where change and fluc-
tuating relations have replaced a determined order and structure (Turner
1993). As the classical sociologists discovered (Nisbet 1996), industrial
society posed new problems of order in Europe because a new order
opposed to traditional religious order was being initiated, with new values,
norms and meanings. These can appear and be experienced as very threat-
ening to those used to the old (pre-industrial) order, for example, Muslims
in modern Europe, or the alienation and anomie of early industrial man.
Modern Western liberalism and tolerance works in the West because it
is built upon a new order (socio-economic, political and philosophical that
may be summarised as ‘scientific’) that all Westerners implicitly under-
stand. It has its own order (Durkheim’s ‘organic’ or Tonnies’ gesellschaft)
that Westerners are socialised into, but immigrants from a (Durkheim)
‘mechanical’ or (Tonnies) gemeinschaft society, for example, most Muslim

societies, would find alien, chaotic and lacking in sacred order and
meaning.
Our liberal, ‘free’ and ‘open’ societies often threaten at a structural
level, for to enter into it requires newcomers to shed old stable relations
and bonds (religion) and enter new ones. A new sense of community,
order, values and relations is required based on flux, change and structural
re-formations, which appear sacrilegious (Gellner 1983; Dingley 2008). It
is not that industrial Western society lacks order or structure; it is just a
different kind from traditional peasant society, as classical sociology
stressed (Nisbet 1996). Modern Western communities make a God of the
individual, whereas traditional societies make a God of community. Thus,
Western order and relations pose a fundamental threat to older, non-
Western orders and religious structures.
Western ideas of freedom and tolerance deny and undermine traditional
structures, rooted in timeless rigid relations, religious laws and customs in
an unchanging cosmos (see Hervieu-Leger’s (2000) Chain of Memory).
This becomes the crux of the problem between Islam and the West, spe-
cifically Islamic radicalism-terrorism. It is a response to Western disrup-
tions (sacrilege) of Muslims’ sacred order. This applies either to immigrants
(particularly those failing to integrate) in the West or to Western incur-
sions (social, economic, cultural or political) into Islamic lands. This makes
development a much more problematic issue than simply economics or
taking democracy to the ‘benighted’.
To integrate into the new Western order is not easy (or optional) and
involves shedding an identity and religious life structure central to one’s
sense of being. Consequently change may become part of a cosmic battle
which invites God’s warriors to arms in defence of an order and ontological
security under threat. A Western example of this lies in Europe’s
Reformation, which led to centuries of bloodshed. The Reformation did
not deny Christianity, but simply reinterpreted its theological legitimacy
from a traditional priestly and centralised theology to personal knowledge
and judgement. Even so, it created a cataclysmic break with the past that
caused centuries of war, the worst manifestation being the Thirty Years’
War (1618–48).
Often presented as a religious war, the war was more often about far
more prosaic things such as economic change and socio-political develop-
ment; new learning, especially science, which led to new cognitions and
interpretations of the material world; and a communications revolution
26 J. DINGLEY
based on the invention of print and voyages of discovery in the fifteenth

century. All of these implied new understandings of the natural order and
causal relations within it which were symbolically represented in religion
(Wilson 2002; MacCulloch 2004; Wallace 2012; Bossy 1985). Print was
particularly important in enabling science, since the scientific method
requires the exact replication of data, conditions, observations, results and
analysis that only print can supply. Print had a permanence and replicabil-
ity that produced a new standardised knowledge that was testable and
verifiable, thus providing a new exacting truth. Hence it led to a new
consciousness of reality, away from mystery to rational material explana-
tion, thereby laying the foundations for critiques of traditional religion
(Wilson 2002; MacCulloch 2004; Eisenstein 2005).
Ideas of truth shifted from religion to science (Shapin 1995; Gaukroger
2008; Eisenstein 1980). This in turn laid the foundations for critiques of
the traditional socio-political order religion had previously legitimated as
God’s revealed truth (order). Consequently, religious relations in
Christendom began losing their sacred status, being replaced by more
prosaic and profane ones, whilst the sacred slowly became marginalised
and sectional. Meanwhile, in Islam, print was banned within the Ottoman
Empire until the mid-nineteenth century, seriously impeding a scientific
development that had already virtually ceased to exist in Islam after the
thirteenth century. Hence it is only very recently that print and science’s
modernising impact has begun to impact on Islam’s sacred knowledge and
socio-political relations (Pagden 2009).
In the West science tended to be associated with the Reformation,
whilst Roman Catholicism and Islam were hostile to it, reflected in Islam
and Catholicism’s attachment to scholastic (Aristotelian) philosophy and
the Reformation’s dropping of it (Ferngren 2002).10 This opened the way
to greater intellectual reflection on and critique of both the natural and
the man-made order of the world, thus de-sanctifying the relations and
values central to traditional religion. In turn, this opened up radically new
ideas of earthly and cosmic orders and relations (Wilson 2002; Bossy
1985; Wallace 2012) and new ideas of truth. And whilst the Roman
Catholic Church has slowly come to terms with this (although it still
struggles; Kung 2001), Islam has not (Pagden 2009). Thus Western
10
Caution is needed here, since many Protestant denominations, especially fundamentalist
ones, also utilise a scholastic framework.
knowledge and truth attacks and undermines Islam, part of the centuries-
old struggle against the infidel, in which jihad (struggle) becomes legiti-
mate, just as Roman Catholicism struggled against the Reformation.
Hence, one can draw comparisons between Christendom’s violent dis-
ruptions in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and what the Muslim
world is experiencing today, that is, coming to terms with new truths and
order (Lewis 1993; Pratt 2005; Winfield 2007). The fall of the Ottoman
Empire, the Western colonisation of Muslim lands, Western economic and
military superiority, and Western intellectual dominance and individualism
seriously challenge Islam (Hallaq 2014). The (traditional) sacred ‘Ummah’
finds its (religious) relations and bonds under attack and its status dimin-
ished and often derided.
Further, one recalls Gellner’s (1990) observation that peasant society,
that is, pre-modern rural society (which includes most Islamic lands), lives
in a ‘single’ conceptual world. Peasant minds do not separate out discrete,
isolated concepts and deal with them individually. Instead a multiplicity of
what modern man would regard as separate concepts are conflated
together as one holistic causal and explanatory concept. Only modern sci-
entific philosophy intellectually separates out and dissects concepts into
discretely differentiated ones that demystify in the process.
Consequently peasant culture does not appreciate modern man’s sepa-
ration of religion, theology, past, present and future, science, society,
economy, politics, psychology, medicine and so on. Peasant culture con-
flates all in single holistic concepts of religion, knowledge, causality and
explanation. Only since the seventeenth century and Bacon, Descartes and
Galileo has Western man learnt to dissect into separate conceptual schema,
as he now does; previously all was religious (Bossy 1985; Wallace 2012;
Ferngren 2002), just as in much of Islam today.
The traditional Islamic ‘Ummah’ is comparable to Western, pre-
Reformation comprehension. Both make our modern understanding of
the world appear alien and sacrilegious. It denies Allah/God his rightful,
all-powerful place as creator and definer of all, especially that most holy
of things—society or community (of which the Western individual is
anathema because he is communally disruptive). And this in turn reflects
a scholastic frame of mind and understanding of the world now made
redundant by science. Man’s very consciousness of himself, being and
future is consequently transformed, a process still ongoing in the West
and that Islamic society is only now beginning to engage with, science
and print being poorly developed in Islam (Pagden 2009; Masood 2009).
28 J. DINGLEY
This new consciousness is founded upon science, which is only possible

via effective communication technology such as print. Hence print
becomes a threat to traditional religions such as Islam.
On Print, Religion and Objectivity

Culturally, symbolically and theologically the threat to Islam is objectified
in print, so long resisted in Islam. Print objectifies as it produces: thoughts
and ideas become fixed and material, not ephemeral, subjective and ellipti-
cal, as in oral or handwritten (scribal) cultures. Print demystifies with its
standardised words, phrases, sentences, tables and formulae. Print there-
fore alters men’s awareness and consciousness as it produces thousands,
sometimes millions, of exact replicas. This objectifies knowledge and
forms set, non-personal standardised relations through its own being.
Previously most communication was by word of mouth or scribal copying.
Both defied precise replication; to memorise precisely any message and
repeat it verbally is virtually impossible—try playing Chinese whispers.
This is due to all the noise, clutter, distractions, emotional bias and distor-
tions of the listener or the scribal copier, in addition to simple memory
power. One product of this was unstandardised knowledge and truth,
which enabled a certain magical element and mystery to enter into knowl-
edge, enhancing its sense of religiosity (Ong 2002; Yates 1992).
Equally, personal relationships were removed from knowledge trans-
mission, thus reducing subjective understanding and personal commit-
ment. With print the message is fixed in hard, bold type, the same for
thousands of recipients, eternally, with precision and accuracy. This
enabled an objectivity where ideas and observations could be precisely
weighed and kept for accurate records for reference to and for fixed judge-
ments (Ong 2002; Luria 1976; Goody 1977). Thus knowledge and learn-
ing (particularly scientific) became objective and enabled men to build
forward from a stable base, and predict and speculate about the future.
The mind was freed from the onerous task of memorising knowledge to
enable greater reflection on it. Print provided fixed data for constant refer-
ral from which to build forward; that is, intellectual effort could concen-
trate on meaning and interpretation of data, not on memorising it.
Thus it enabled new future, spatial and time relations that replaced
previous references back and mystical speculation. Memory is always back-
ward; only print-based science is forward-looking and demystifying, mak-
ing it threatening to traditional (mystical) religion, where sacred knowledge
is always a past reference. But the art of memory (Yates 1992) is a great
skill in itself (mnemonics) and close to the sacred, made redundant by
print and science.
Classical Social Theory

Modern sociology tends to regard classical sociology primarily as historical
background and the latter is rarely tested against the ‘real’ or contempo-
rary world. As Skocpol (1994, p. 25) writes, ‘many pay lip service to …
classical sociology, but few indeed work in terms of its mandate’, or as
Connell observes:
First, though classical social theory has great prestige in principle, much of
sociological research ignores it in practice. The bulk of quantitative sociol-
ogy, as well as most ethnographic and life-history research, proceeds with-
out reference to canonical theory or the problems it defines. (Connell 1997,
p. 1513)
Skocpol (1994, p. 25) defines its mandate as the comparative and his-
torical perspective, the prospects for freedom, rationality and democracy
in a modernising world. This Gellner (1990 and 1992) would agree with
in his analysis of the transition from pre-modern (peasant) to modern
(industrial) society. Here he traces the origins of modern thought, ideas
and the growth of rationality and democracy from Tonnies’ gesellschaft to
modern gemeinschaft (Andersen and Kaspersen 2000). Indeed, similar
themes dominate the works of Durkheim, Marx and Weber, although
Marx tends to dismiss religion (‘opium of the masses’), which dominates
other classical sociologists’ work. However, Marx does associate such ‘opi-
ates’ with peasant society (the ‘idiocy of the countryside’; Ramet 1996),
where religion dominates small local communities.
And it is the peasant aspect that is pertinent here, since it is usually
dominated by religion, for as Skocpol has noted:
With the sole exception of the Iranian Revolution, all modern social revolu-
tions from the French Revolution onward have involved either widespread,
autonomous revolutions by peasant villages (as in France, Russia, Mexico
and Bolivia) or the mobilisation of peasants by professional revolutionaries
operating as armed guerrilla movements in the countryside (as in China,
Vietnam, Cuba and the revolutions against Portuguese colonialism in
Africa). (Skocpol 1994, p. 16)
30 J. DINGLEY
Revolutions did not occur, as Marx predicted, in industrial societies. This

merely reinforces Dingley’s point (2011a) about modern terrorism: it
invariably occurs in predominantly peasant societies where religion is an
overt feature of communal life.
Consequently one can argue that modern terrorism may be associated
with peasant communities, which conflate with a strong religious identity
whose moral and cognitive knowledge conflicts with modern values and
beliefs. Societies that typically conform to the foregoing include Ireland,
the Basque Country and much of modern Islam. In the case of Islam this
can be divided into two strands: the first is Muslim communities living in
already modern, industrialised Western society. Second are Muslim coun-
tries where the native political elites are trying to develop modern,
Western-style states.
Both face similar kinds of trauma to that of post-Reformation
Christendom in coming to terms with a new and alien world. Here the
traditional sacred community (Tonnies’ gemeinschaft, or Durkheim’s
mechanical solidarity) was being overturned and replaced by a new order—
‘society’ (Tonnies’ gesellschaft or Durkheim’s organic solidarity) (Andersen
and Kaspersen 2000; Nisbet 1996; Dingley 2008, 2015). For the great
monotheistic religions this involved the replacement of small, close-knit,
warm and psychologically comforting local communities that met all one’s
needs centred on the Church (Mosque, Temple, Synagogue). The Church
also acted as a health, welfare, education and economic centre and all
other needs’ provider and socio-economic organiser. Meanwhile, the local
priest was often the only literate man in a village and had contact with and
knowledge of the outside world.
Such communities were psychologically intense, close to nature and
dominated by it, unchanging and timeless, where custom, ritual and prac-
tice dominated and united all into a single cohesive unit. In these circum-
stances uneducated minds found it difficult to conceive of anything other
than a religious or magical explanation for events in their lives. This cre-
ated a single, simple consciousness and shared explanations in an oral cul-
ture with a mystical mindset. The culture was fatalistic, inducing group
dependence and inclusiveness that, whilst emotionally satisfying, was
exclusive and insular and tended to mystical-religion (Nisbet 1996;
Durkheim 1984; Dingley 2008, 2015).
Meanwhile, modern industrial society tends to the opposite—a world
of individuals, often isolated, sometimes alienated, with unique psychosis
and anxiety problems of status and being (Nisbet 1996; Giddens 1990;
Hughes 1961). Yet concurrently it enabled the individual as an autono-

mous agent; freely moving socially, politically, economically and geo-
graphically; a rational, independent and enquiring being making his own
way in the world. But this was a bigger world, freed from local community
ties, close-knit relations, support and consequent dependency. This world
can therefore appear chaotic and disordered in its ‘free markets’, self-
determination and democratic liberalism. And, as Hughes (1961) observes,
it was to cope with these new ways and their consequent social and social-
psychological problems that everything from Freudian psychiatry to clas-
sical sociology emerged.
Modernity freed men from the close ties and mutual support of com-
munities that ‘bonded’ (religio) and hence answered most of our social,
psychological and ontological needs. Men lost the religious aspect of com-
munity and the moral direction of religious leadership. Men now found
themselves adrift in a world lacking traditional religious guidance or mean-
ing, whilst facing acute new problems of isolated living. Religion had
ceased to function in the classical sociological sense of Durkheim (1984
and 1995) and disorder now reigned in men’s lives. However, both
Durkheim and Weber (1976 and 1963) agreed on the individual acquiring
a new religious mantle as sacred and the object of worship—sacrilege to
traditional religion, for example, Islam or Roman Catholicism.
For Durkheim (1970) the autonomy of the new individual could cause
great violence and damage to them and society (the new concept replacing
religion; from socio, Latin = compassion). In Suicide (Durkheim 1970),
lacking the moral guidance of belonging and membership of community
(religion), individuals violently self-destructed (suicide) and destroyed
society (anomie—lack of moral regulation, similar to Giddens’ (1990,
1991) ontological insecurity).
As Nisbet (1996) notes, the themes that dominated nineteenth-century
classical sociology were loss of (social) order, place, regulation (moral and
physical) and belonging. These declined as the old feudal order of close-
knit, communal rural life fragmented in the face of rapid socio-economic
and political change, industrialisation, unplanned urbanisation, science
and progress (another new concept) took off. Nisbet identifies five key
themes that dominated classical sociology: community, authority, status,
the sacred and alienation, all of which relate directly to religion, as defined
above, and problems of order (earthly and cosmological). Simultaneously
this was an (other) age of terrorism (Crenshaw 1996), revolutions and
extremes (Gildea 1987; Hobsbawm 1973, 1995). Nationalist revolutions
32 J. DINGLEY
and terrorism have dominated the last 150 years—attempts to oppose,

tame or impel modern industrial society (Smith 1998). Even Fascism,
which institutionalised violence, exemplifies this fear of communal loss,
with its glorification of community, conformity, traditional values and the
noble peasant (Paxton 2004; Eatwell 2003; Lipset 1983).
Classical sociology was dominated by the demise of traditional com-
munity, the rise of society, the decline of traditional religion, and the rise
of the individual and its consequent problems—in particular, the yearning
for order and security (ontological and physical), place and belonging
(much of Fascism’s appeal; Paxton 2004; Eatwell 2003). Ideas such as
alienation (Marx) and anomie (Durkheim) dominated classical sociology
and the search for meaning and purpose in life. This was partly met by
nationalism—a new religion, providing a new sense of community, place,
purpose and meaning. But this one made greater allowance for ideas of
individualism and movement to contain the self-destructive forces of free-
dom and autonomy.
The nation, as Giddens (1987) and Dingley (2008 and 2015) note, was
also coterminous with the new concept of society, that is, national society,
a new communal integration. The nation became a way of integrating and
bonding total strangers who would never meet into a single, relatively
cohesive ‘imagined community’ (Anderson 1991). This provided simple
answers to complex ontological problems, a shared place in the cosmos
and universal order of nations to replace the traditional order of
Christendom with its complex of isolated, tiny village communities.
Christendom now equates with the Ummah, fragmenting due to rapid
and highly disorientating change undermining its order of primarily small,
self-contained, tight-knit communities. And whereas in the West such
change was mostly self-generated, in Islam its source is external, alien
forces profaning the sacred (Ummah). So whilst Westerners turned on
each other, as Protestants and Roman Catholics do, so do Muslims on the
West and Westerners. Equally they turn on fellow Muslims who do ‘con-
vert’ to Western ways (apostates), since all Muslims must conform to pre-
serve the sacredness of the order. This can apply equally to immigrant
Muslim communities in Western countries or Muslim countries disrupted
by Western incursions (economic, political or cultural).
Where individuals successfully enter the new order there are few prob-
lems, but many cannot or may not be able to. They either lack the eco-
nomic, technical and cultural skills for entry or fail to develop the emotional
and moral ties that enable them to bond into and become part of the new
community. They then transfer the blame for this from themselves to
Western ‘society’. This follows an old pattern of historical analysis of many
rebels and revolutionaries defined as ‘losers’. They lack the skills and
knowledge to successfully enter a society or be rewarded according to
their own estimation, particularly when they feel their social status is
demeaned and their life appears disordered and chaotic (Mayer 1975;
O’Boyle 1970; Greenfeld 1993). One is back to an old problem.
Conclusion
Probably few sixteenth- or seventeenth-century Christians (or modern
Nazis, Irish or Basque terrorists) thought consciously about sociological
problems whilst merrily slaughtering each other. Thus few Muslims prob-
ably rationalise it either. Scientifically rationalising human behaviour is a
modern trait, where social science and psychiatry replace the priest. But
the drive to violence and the moral and psychological imperatives to it lie
deep in man’s consciousness. This was the whole point of Taylor’s (1999)
analysis of the Rwandan massacre. What may flip an individual’s mind to
perform specific acts, such as in the case of the Nice lorry driver (July
201611), may be quite prosaic, but it often ignites a subconscious chain of
things which relate to our social being and environment. It was this that
classical sociology was acutely aware of and should commend its works to
us as more than historical curiosity.
Classical sociology fully appreciated that man is social, of and for soci-
ety. Society shapes our being and identity; consequently, man needs the
constant social references in which to operate and survive. And this applies
especially to ideas of time and existence, which relate to ontological secu-
rity. Remove familiar relations and orders, with known place, being, role
and purpose, and all men are vulnerable, leading to anxiety, frustration
and anger, which can then lead to violence. The relevant order and legiti-
macy was provided by religion, and it was the demise or disruption of the
regulative role of religion that caused much anguish and violence. As such
the key social theory lesson would seem to be that the West poses an exis-
tential and ontological threat to traditional religion, especially Islam. This
11
www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-36801671. A Muslim drove a lorry into a crowd
of pedestrians in Nice.
34 J. DINGLEY
lies not just in the physically violent incursions of the West into Islamic
lands, but also in the social and cultural violence it does to Islam.
Viewing religion in Durkheimian terms as symbolically representational
of social relations, or in Weberian terms as reflecting core social values, one
can view Western Christian society as an existential threat to Islam—this,
in the same way that the Reformation was to traditional (Roman Catholic)
Christendom. Viewed in this fashion one now has a better way of under-
standing not just Islamic but also much Western terrorism, as a revolt
against change. This puts terrorism into a better perspective from which to
judge its potency and efficacy, and also how to develop not just an under-
standing of what we are dealing with but also some insights into how to
respond and deal with it. Sudden change causes great ruptures; therefore,
the need for slower, more modulated and subtle change; better change
strategies that work with rather than against existing cultures and reli-
gions; the importance of integration for immigrants and supportive, well-
planned integration policies; and even knowing when not to force change,
for example, Afghanistan and Iraq. All the above now start to acquire sig-
nificance in responding to religious violence and terrorism in particular.
Equally, understanding the causes behind political violence should bet-
ter inform us how not to react, the importance of knowing our history and
the direct relevance of classical social science and getting things in perspec-
tive. Radicals are nothing new and only radical from a particular perspec-
tive. In addition, even ‘our’ radical can now be cast as normal; that is, it
reflects a normal reaction of certain categories of people in a particular
situation, consequently guiding our reactions to ‘radical’ behaviour based
on past experience. The very scientific method that poses such an existen-
tial threat to mystical (traditional) religion enables us to comprehend reli-
gious violence and respond accordingly. Such knowledge helps take the
terror out of terrorism; it enables us to hone and direct our counter-terror
policies, especially defining terrorism, and (hopefully) helps reduce the
massive costs (civil liberties and economic) of counter-terrorism.
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CHAPTER 3
Religious Independence of Chinese Muslim

East Turkestan “Uyghur”
Chiara Olivieri
Introduction
The aim of this work is to briefly outline the characteristics of the identity
and independence claims of East Turkistan, officially the Uyghur
Autonomous Region of Xinjiang. This analysis is focused within a post-
and decolonial studies perspective that attempts to illustrate how Chinese
This text is part of the results of the Research Group STAND (South Training
Action Network of Decoloniality; Reference: HUM-952; Principal Researcher:
Antonio Ortega Santos). It is included in the framework of the Project “Naturaleza
gobernada. Un enfoque ecológico, institucional y cultural del manejo comunitario de
recursos (Siglos XIII-XXI)”, 2016 (Reference: HAR2015-64076-P); the Project
“Procesos emergentes y agencias del común: praxis de la investigación social
colaborativa y nuevas formas de subjetivación política”, 2014 (Reference: CSO2014-
56960-P); the Project “Contribuciones de la resistencia civil para la prevención de la
violencia, la construcción de la paz y la transformación de conflictos en los Territorios
Palestinos y Colombia”, 2015 (Reference: HAR2015-74378-JIN); and the I+D+i
projects, State programme for the promotion of scientific and technical research
excellence. The realisation of this work is financed by “Ayuda de Formación de
Profesorado Universitario,” 2014 (Reference: FPU 14/01270).
C. Olivieri (*)
Department of Contemporary History, Institute of Migrations, University of
Granada, Granada, Spain

40 C. OLIVIERI
State rhetoric is trying to counter this (according to Uyghur activists)

“national liberation struggle” and hide its suppression of it under the label
of a “war on terror”.
The chapter tries to analyse this area by applying a new study perspec-
tive to it. The mechanism can be called “Orientalist” in that China applies
to a part of its population, perpetuating the use of colonial strategies with
the objective of establishing a political, social, and, ultimately, discursive
identity control on a group of its people. The Muslim community in
China, of which Uyghurs constitute a major part, in fact, represents a spe-
cial case within the Chinese umma (community of the faithful as defined
in Islam). China is a non-Muslim country that hosts more than 20 million
Muslim believers (about the same number as, e.g. can be found in Saudi
Arabia, where they represent 97% of population):
Coloniality, hidden under the rhetoric of modernity, necessarily generates

the irreducible energy of humiliated, vilified, forgotten and marginalized
human beings.1 (Castro-Gómez and Grosfoguel 2007, p. 27)
The unitary national ideal, promoted by the Chinese government, is

thus seen as imposing an epistemological universalism as a State-building
strategy and therefore follows a clear “imperial/colonial global plan”2
(Castro-Gómez and Grosfoguel 2007, p. 70).
Brief Historiographical Introduction

First of all it would be appropriate to give some contextual setting within
China, which is considered the world’s most populous country. A recent
census found about 1320 million people living in an area of 9.561 million
km2, occupying about one-fifth of the total area of Asia, and including a
heterogeneous population of different languages, ethnic groups and reli-
gions (Babtain 2013, p. 24). According to the country’s Regional
Autonomy Law of the People’s Republic of China (PRC), the country
1
“La colonialidad, escondida bajo la retórica de la modernidad, genera necesariamente la
energía irreductible de seres humanos humillados, vilipendiados, olvidados y marginados”.
From this point on, all the translations of the quotes are mine. However, for greater transpar-
ency and to make the languages of the Global South visible, I have chosen to cite, in foot-
notes, the texts in their original language.
2
“Diseño global imperial/colonial”.
RELIGIOUS INDEPENDENCE OF CHINESE MUSLIM EAST TURKESTAN… 41
defines itself as a “multi-national country”. This definition is the conflu-

ence of two different national construction projects; on the one hand,
China followed the Soviet model, which guarantees some autonomy to
ethnic groups, allowing or penalising certain expressions of cultural diver-
sity depending on the political programme that at any time the central
government was conducting (Han and Mylonas 2014, p. 149).
However, China is also deeply imbued with European ideas and mod-
els, for example, Marxism, trying to apply them to their own nation-state.
Thus the Chinese government requires that all ethnic groups and regions
adopt the national language (standard Chinese), abandoning their own
traditional ones.3 The Constitution of 1954, in fact, whilst recognising the
formation of regional governments for different ethnic groups, excludes
for any of them the right to secede.
As Lipman (1990, p. 65) remarks:
China’s largest ethnic group, who call themselves Hans and who are usually
called the Chinese by us.
The Han Chinese have built, throughout the country’s history, an

identity narrative that recognises themselves as “Chinese” and this narra-
tive has been imposed and adopted by Europe, where it has gained contin-
ued legitimacy. This narrative has now been reimported and imposed on
all the other ethnic groups, justifying the “homogenisation” of all other
identities under the Han seal. It has generated what many scholars now
call a “Han Chinese Way” (Han and Mylonas 2014, p. 150). This implies
the imposition of the values and models of the majority ethnic group
(Han), applied equally to all other ethnic minorities, ignoring in many
cases their significant differences and characteristics. This measure of Han-
isation materialises itself, for example, in the abolition of bilingual educa-
tion programmes for monolingual Han ones and the promotion of Han
group migration into ethnic minority communities to “foster” their devel-
opment. In addition the religion of the majority of Han Chinese is a mix
of Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism.
3
To deepen understanding on the issue of multilingualism of China and the government’s
response to this issue, cf. Liang, S. (2015). Language Attitudes and Identities in Multilingual
China. A Linguistic Ethnography. Springer.
42 C. OLIVIERI
In the case of the Uyghur community, culturally Islamic (Millward

2018a), this Han-isation has been used in order to make the region of
Xinjiang physically, culturally, and demographically closer to China in cul-
tural and political terms. An important Chinese concern has been that the
Han people settled in Xinjiang (estimated to have grown by 40% in the last
70 years; Poston et al. 2010, p. 31) could act to counter the dominant
Muslim influence in the region, perceived as a potential threat to Chinese
integrity.
First, to put the above in some perspective, it is necessary to understand
the geographic and historical context of the Xinjiang region. Located in
the north-western corner of China, the Uyghur Autonomous Region of
Xinjiang consists of a vast sparsely populated area, mainly composed of
arid geographic depressions and very high mountains.
Due to its position in the geography of central Asia, the Xinjiang region
has enjoyed close relations with diverse populations and societies, and has
been the scene of great artistic, commercial, and cultural contacts, being
an enclave of the Silk Road for over 2000 years. Contacts between Uyghurs
and Islam started at the beginning of the ninth century, when an increas-
ing number of individuals began to convert to the religion of the Prophet
Mohammed. The process of “Islamisation” accelerated, and the major cit-
ies of the region quickly became great centres of Islam, such as Kashgar.
According to the World Uyghur Congress:
Art, sciences, music and literature flourished as Islamic religious institutions

nurtured the pursuit of an advanced culture. In this period, hundreds of
world-renowned Uyghur scholars emerged. Thousands of valuable books
were written.4
The Uyghur language, in addition, shows considerable Persian influ-

ence, including numerous Persian loan-words.
The independent Uyghur Kingdom, namely, the Seyyid Kingdom, was
conquered by the Manchu dynasty in 1759, and included in the Chinese
Empire until 1864 when, after a great number of revolts and indepen-
dence claims, Uyghur people established the Yetteshahar State, which sur-
vived until 1876, when Manchus officially annexed the territory to the
4

World Uyghur Congress. 2015. East Turkestan [Online]. Available: http://www.
uyghurcongress.org/en/?page_id=29681 [Accessed 15 Dec 2016].
Empire and gave it the name of “Xinjiang”.5 The name means “New
Frontier” in Chinese, which reflects the remoteness (in Han terms) of this
region from Eastern China, which has historically been the cradle of power
for successive Chinese dynasties and also the government of the Chinese
Communist Party since 1949 (from now on, CCP). The Uyghurs, the
indigenous, predominantly Muslim population, call this region Sharqi
Turkistan (East Turkestan).
This difference in names also serves to illustrate the tensions involved in
the communist development programme in the region, which is also part
of a broader State strategy of integration and border control. Thus for
decades, the CCP has invested significantly in regional infrastructures,
expanding and enhancing trade and industry and large-scale agriculture as
part of a strategy leading to greater integration into a “greater China”. In
addition, this process has been accompanied by the mass migration of Han
Chinese to the territory of Xinjiang, ostensibly to assist in regional devel-
opment, but also to impose Han linguistic use, despite the constitutional
guarantees of linguistic freedom for minority nationalities. Also, de facto,
the government has imposed the institutionalisation of the Chinese lan-
guage not just in education, but in employment too. This actually forces
Uyghurs to place themselves in Chinese-medium classes in order to be
competitive and survive in the labour market and urban milieu (Finley
2013, p. 261). This strategy, though, can (and should) be read as part of
a political programme that we could call “internal colonialism” in the
country, as it has been accompanied not only by massive extraction of
natural resources, but by what one can define as a metabolic extraction of
human resources. As a consequence of the imposition of Chinese culture
(language, cultural heritage, official history) over the Uyghur, the result of
these policies is, de facto, the “epistemicide” of Uyghur culture (Santos
2010a; Finley 2013).
One could argue that such “extraction” has certainly led to consider-
able economic expansion and rising living standards in the region as a
direct consequence of the development strategy of the CCP. However,
despite these improvements, it is noteworthy that the Uyghur population
has continued to experience higher poverty levels than that of their Han
fellow countrymen, who alone seem to have benefited from the higher
5

44 C. OLIVIERI
profits and incomes due to the economic opportunities provided by State

policies (Castets 2003). Further, over recent decades, there have been
numerous protests and acts of rebellion by the Uyghur population against
State policies and government measures which can also be classified as
repressive towards traditional Uyghur culture. Further, government
responses to the protests have been various and, in many cases, violent.
Nowadays, the region of Xinjiang counts around 23,000 mosques,6
and Islam remains one of the pillars of the social, economic, and private
life of Uyghur people (Finley 2013, p. 101). Dietary laws and restrictions
imposed by the Koran are largely observed within Uyghur communities,
forming an important part of their identity claims. Moreover, government
policy has also involved restrictive measures on religious freedom and
practices, which have impacted on Uyghur identity and helped stoke an
Islamic revival in Xinjiang. This revival is considered, by experts, for exam-
ple, Finley (2013), as a form of reaction phenomenon which drinks from
the historical and cultural roots of the Uyghur people, and imposes itself,
as a distinctive Islamic element of its identity.
One response within the Uyghur community has been the creation of
stereotyped images of Han to mark a difference between the “non-Muslim
population” and those who follow Islamic rules. Hans have been identi-
fied as “haram animals” (a great insult for Uyghurs), because of the ali-
mentary diet of the Hans; “dirty”, because of their different of hygiene
standards; and “ill-mannered”, due to Hans custom of breaking wind,
spitting, or blowing the contents of their nose onto the ground in public
spaces (Finley 2013, pp. 101–107).
Roy Bin Wong (1997, p. 172) says that the late imperial (eighth to
ninth century) construction of a “Chinese” identity (which often meant,
in fact, a homogenisation and hence a suppression of diversity) was
achieved through a careful political project of control of the population’s
cultural practices. The “construction” during that period was so powerful
that the formation of alternative identities, with which to mobilise a peo-
ple in opposition to other Chinese, was unimaginable. At this stage one
must observe an important point that has major implications for our
understanding of the Uyghur problem: the Xinjiang region belonged to
the Chinese Empire only intermittently, alternating periods of autonomy
6
IslamiChina. Mosques in China [Online]. Available: http://www.islamichina.com/
mosques-masjid-in-china-.html [Accessed 15 Dec 2016].
with others of inclusion or submission. This has left an identity question

hanging over the region, which from the outset has heavily impacted on
establishing a fixed relationship with China in both imperial and republi-
can times. Xinjiang’s failure to establish itself as an independent State can
be put down to a multitude of historical-political reasons. However, the
failure to develop as an independent State does not imply the inability to
construct a recognisable ethnic identity, which now clearly does exist.
In the early years of its rule the CCP promoted a tolerant policy towards
minority nationalities, and in 1955, it established the autonomous region
of Xinjiang.7 Concurrently, there was a general “left turn” in CCP policy,
which led to the CCP, in 1956, implementing a series of measures that
tended towards “integrationist” policies. For integration read “assimila-
tion”, which, in the words of Amílcar Cabral (2011a), was nothing more
than an attempt, more or less violent, to deny the culture of the people.
The aim of “integration” was the assimilation of all ethnic groups into the
Chinese nation, under the egalitarian ideals espoused by communism,
referred to as the Movement of Hundred Flowers8 (1956–1957). The
negative response to this movement by minority nationality elites led to a
major purge of them by the government, which was especially violent in
the Xinjiang region.
This integration was part of a growing political radicalisation under
Chairman Mao Zedong during the period of the Great Leap Forward and
the Cultural Revolution, and represented the apex of his process of forced
integration of minorities. One important example of this radicalisation was
that during these decades, Muslims, against their religion, were forced to
raise pigs and eat their flesh (Allès 2014, p. 137).
In general the object of all the various post-imperial governments was
the construction of an integrated State of China by utilising local elites
7
“The Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region was formally established on October 1, 1955. Five
autonomous prefectures and six autonomous counties were set up in the following months. Ethnic
minority autonomy became a reality” 2014. The Uygur ethnic minority [Online]. Available:
http://www.china.org.cn/e-groups/shaoshu/shao-2-uygur.htm [Accessed 02 Mar 2015].
8
Also called “Hundred Flowers Campaign”. During these years Chairman Mao and his
government promoted free expression by the intellectuals of his views on party policy under
the slogan “Let a hundred flowers and a hundred schools open”. The criticisms came, how-
ever, against the expectations of Chairman Mao, and were so numerous and severe that in
July 1957, the campaign, which had suddenly become a real programme of violent and
repressive anti-rightist measures, was abolished.
46 C. OLIVIERI
and popular groups to enforce the State will. At the same time that the
State tried to operate via local elites and groups, using their own local
strength and influence, it also tried to ensure that the latter did not acquire
enough political power to challenge that of the central government (Wong
1997, p. 163).
Another major catalyst for the development of repressive and violent
measures against Muslim minority nationalities in China was also found in
the gradual breakdown of Sino-Soviet relations. The Uyghurs, who until
then had enjoyed some regional autonomy, unlike the five Muslim repub-
lics of the USSR, did not have an external “national home”—but only,
ideally, a “spiritual home”, represented by Turkey (Israeli 2010, p. 91).
Consequently, the only other support for Uyghur claims came exclusively
from the Soviet Union as part of its geopolitical strategic approach to
curbing the development of Chinese communist power in Asia. In fact
good relations between the two communist States had previously existed
and had helped lead to the development of the region, which was eco-
nomically important due to the presence of rich mineral resources. After
the end of World War II and into the 1950s these resources were success-
fully exploited by the Soviet Union with the assistance of the Chinese. The
Chinese even helped in the creation of a Cyrillic-Uyghur alphabet, used to
facilitate better communications between Russians and local workers in
the development of the region.
Only after the breakdown of Sino-Soviet relations in the late 1950s did
the policy of the USSR in relation to the Xinjiang region change fundamen-
tally, when they encouraged a process of Uyghur migration to Soviet terri-
tory, which led to a mass migration there in 1962. It also resulted in the
Soviets openly supporting actions organised by Uyghurs against the Chinese.
But this was still regarded as part of an ethnic dispute in relation to ideologi-
cal drives for Chinese (communist) homogeneity and inter-regional power
politics. It was not primarily regarded as a religious issue; however, it has
now taken on that hue due to the post-2001 “Islamic terror threat”.
Islamophobia and Terrorism
Religion as an Identity Marker

The question about Chinese Muslim communities as part of a real global
danger (Islamic threat) is therefore comparatively recent. It has only been
presented as such since the New York, World Trade Centre attacks in
2001, after which global public opinion either switched to or was encour-
aged to see an Islamic threat. However, as Lipman (1990) observes in the
case of China, this also fitted in with pre-conceived Christian attitudes
towards Islam. He criticises the Christian missionaries who settled in
China during the Qing era (1644–1911) for their creation of a stereotypi-
cal view of Chinese Muslims as part of a historical Christian mental
framework:
Muslims were a familiar enemy, closer in doctrine to Christians than most

citizens of China but inevitably antagonistic to the teachings of Christian
truth. (Lipman 1990, p. 67)
It cannot be denied, as Rohan Gunaratna, Arabinda Acharya, and Wang

Pengxin (2010) make clear, that the rise of an indigenous Uyghur resis-
tance movement accused of terrorism in the Xinjiang region represents a
threat to Chinese State security and stability. Concurrently, one cannot
over-emphasise that there are real reasons occasionally for a violent insur-
gency against Chinese integration, which is supported by part of the
Uyghur population. It is not enough to accuse the insurgents of religious
extremism; one must also acknowledge the systematic violation of indi-
vidual human rights and the ethnic claims of the population. Also, the
government’s attempts to methodically try and eradicate the visibility of
minority identities and religion (Chinese communist philosophy being
very secular) must be understood, as will be seen in the next paragraph.
But China must respond to any real threat posed by insurgent groups and
it has to realistically confront any serious terrorist threat. However, in
doing so it should be transparent and respond in a legitimate manner if it
is to retain its authority in facing up to the international community, their
own Chinese citizens, especially the Uyghurs, who may often become
innocent victims of State persecutions (Acharya et al. 2010).
According to the World Uyghur Congress, the major international
organisation in defence of Uyghur rights, which represents the collective
interest of Uyghurs:
The Chinese government is directing a crushing campaign of religious

repression against the Uyghurs. According to a report released by Human
Rights Watch and Human Rights in China on April 11, 2005, “the world-
wide campaign against terrorism has given Beijing the perfect excuse to
crack down harder than ever in East Turkestan. Other Chinese enjoy a
48 C. OLIVIERI
growing freedom of worship, but Uyghurs, like Tibetans find that their reli-
gion is being used as a tool of control.” Most recently the Chinese authori-
ties have also tightened curbs on Uyghurs, banning any government official,
state employees, Party members, children, and in some cases women from
entering the mosques. At present, the number of mosques in East Turkestan
is not sufficient to meet the needs of the Muslims. Building of new mosques
has been prohibited. There are no private religious schools and private reli-
gious instruction is banned. There is a shortage of well-educated clerics,
Korans and Islamic publications.9
As often observed by the Arab-Islamic world and as already mentioned

above, too often the “West” characterises the image of Islam as represent-
ing that of a minority, an image driven via a certain type of coverage.10
Thus news concerning the Uyghur demonstrations over such things as
claims for self-determination, protests against repressive government mea-
sures regarding autonomy and religion, requests for improvements in
working conditions, or over mining accidents are portrayed by the official
media in terms of violence. Visual images of violent clashes are used to
construct a narrative that represents the Uyghurs in ways that tend to jus-
tify the repressive measures operated by the government against them.
The possibility that members of the al-Qaeda terrorist organisation may
have found refuge in the Xinjiang region is easily conveyed, and the fear of
this infecting all Islamic populations within China can prove an obstacle to
Chinese tolerance of Islam.11 And these fears are reinforced in many non-
Chinese countries which also desire or sympathise with a far greater and
9
World Uyghur Congress. 2015. Current Issues Affecting the Uyghur Community [Online].
Available: http://www.uyghurcongress.org/en/?page_id=29698 [Accessed 15 Dec 2016].
10
For more information on the debate about Orientalism that has developed, in recent
decades, especially in the Arab-Islamic world, cf. Abu Zayd, N. Ḥ . 2009. The Koran and the
future of Islam, Barcelona, Herder; Laroui, A. 1978. La Crise des arabes intellectuels: tradi-
tionalisme ou historicisme?, Paris, La Découverte.
11
Also as Lipman relates, another little-known but curious story that magnifies the image
of “terrifying others” that distinguishes the Chinese Muslims, is that they often, within their
own mosques, founded real martial arts schools that reinforce the narrative China has of their
intimately violent nature. We refer here mostly to Hui Chinese, and it seems appropriate to
provide this example to show that, despite being considered less “conflictive” or “danger-
ous” than their Uyghur coreligionists, such constructed discriminant narratives on minority
nationality also affect a population that “constituted an especially threatening minority for
they maintained separate, exclusive communities, calendars and lives despite their strong
physical and cultural resemblance to the Hans” (Lipman 1990, p. 78).
more rigorous monitoring of Muslim communities in China at home and

abroad. Concurrently this leads to clashes with some of the world’s largest
international and rights organisations, which condemn China’s policies on
Muslims and ethnic minorities, regarding them as non-compliant with
human rights.
Therefore, China’s position in regard to the Uyghurs, future policies,
and measures are far from settled as the Chinese government tries to bal-
ance security fears and national integration with rights criticisms and obli-
gations. The current situation thus opens up an intractable problem with
few apparent solutions. The Uyghurs see their own culture institutionally
threatened and oppressed by the government; this includes language
homogenisation, religious prohibitions and repression, politic subalterni-
sation, and human and territorial resources exploitation. On the other
hand the Chinese government is forced to keep order and control the
revolts that might jeopardise national stability, whilst also trying to main-
tain a semblance of normality. It needs to do this both to avoid accusations
of violations of human rights and to preserve their trade relations with
Muslim countries (Israeli 2010, p. 92), essential to meet the need for
domestic energy supplies.12 Yet, Muslim countries themselves tend to
ignore the demands of their fellow Chinese Muslims, whose problems are
virtually non-existent within the Arab-Islamic political and intellectual
landscape. As Gramsci (2011, pp. 3–4) observed in another era:
Indifference plays an important role in history. It plays a passive role, but it

does play a role. […] What happens, the evil that touches everyone, the pos-
sible good that an heroic act (of universal value) can generate, doesn’t hap-
pen due to the initiative of the few working, but to the indifference,
absenteeism of the many.13
12
This is the case, for example, of the conflicts of a seemingly religious nature that have
divided China and its major economic partner, Iran, namely, the demands of Xinjiang
Autonomous Region Uyghur population in China, supported by the Tehran government,
and the repression of these by Beijing. However, these conflicts have always been moderated
by the real economic interests of both powers: China’s support for the development of Iran’s
nuclear programme, the existing energy cooperation between the two countries.
13
“L’indifferenza opera potentemente nella storia. Opera passivamente, ma opera. […] Ciò
che succede, il male che si abbatte su tutti, il possibile bene che un atto eroico (di valore univer-
sale) può generare non è tanto dovuto all’iniziativa dei pochi che operano, quanto
all’indifferenza, all’assenteismo dei molti”.
50 C. OLIVIERI
So:
[W]ould-be rulers seeking to mobilise resources and exert control face other
individuals and groups who seek either to compete for resources and control
or to limit the ruler’s access to resources and his span of control. (Wong
1997, pp. 74–75)
Thus, government measures include the appropriation of the religious

spaces of the Uyghur people. As Radio Free Asia reports, there have been
cases of government control over the actions of the imams themselves and
religious leadership in the region. According to a Radio Free Asia report:
Since 2006, the government has paid monthly salaries of 80, 120, or 230
yuan (U.S. $12, $18, or $34) per month to imams throughout the Xinjiang
Uyghur Autonomous Region […] In exchange, the government is asking
imams to seek common ground between socialism and Islam and to guide
the public to obey state regulations.14
It appears clear, thus, that religious identity of Uyghurs is also being

manipulated and instrumentally used by the government in order to estab-
lish control over the population. And a major justification for this is the
creation of a “Uyghur Islamic problem” or an “institutional Islamophobia”
by the government as instruments to justify its measures.
Islamophobia: Definition and Sphere of Action

To precisely establish the origin of the term “Islamophobia” is a compli-
cated task, but “contrary to what many authors have claimed, the term
Islamophobia is not new. Between the end of the nineteenth century and
the beginning of the twentieth century, a number of authors detected the
presence in Europe of an attitude towards Islam and the Muslims that
some of them designated with that term”15 (Bravo López 2011a, p. 192).
In addition, our goal is not to make a historical or philological study of
14
Radio Free Asia. 2010. Politics Intrude in Mosque. A Chinese propaganda event in a reli-
gious space offends Uyghurs [Online]. Available: http://www.rfa.org/english/news/
uyghur/party-08032010162324.html [Accessed 15 Dec 2016].
15
“Contrariamente a lo que muchos autores han afirmado el término islamofobia no es nuevo.
Entre finales del siglo XIX y principios del XX una serie de autores detectaron la presencia en
this term, but rather to analyse the material implications of this phenom-
enon today, and more particularly, how it is embodied in the social and
political substrata of China in relation to Muslim and national identities of
the country.
The question that is central to this section and critical to our analysis
concerns the possibility of a real relationship between religion and the
mechanisms of inferiority by which members of these religious communi-
ties suffer via the actions of ruling elites, to which they do not belong. In
particular, one needs to ascertain if the processes of repression that applies
to Muslims in China are the result of a sense that Islam is rejected per se
or whether, instead, it is more related to political, ethnic, or racial issues of
religion and religious identity is merely a symbolic representation.
As Grosfoguel (2010, 2011) observes, in the social sciences, we can
find concrete manifestations of epistemic Islamophobia in the work of
patriarchal Occident-centric social scientists, such as Karl Marx and Max
Weber in their social theories. However, according to Bravo López
(2011a), the recent history of the term Islamophobia begins in the United
Kingdom. At some point during the late 1980s and early 1990s, the term
began to be used to denote rejection and discrimination against Muslims.
However, especially in the post-2001 period, with the subsequent attacks
in Spain, Britain, and Indonesia (Bovingdon 2010, p. 2), the term became
a regularly utilised one not only in academic world but in public sphere
too.
From these origins Islamophobia could be considered as a kind of mis-
interpretation of Islamic traditions, guided by bad faith and a concern to
select those traditions that can best fit in with a colonial pre-conception of
Islam (Bravo López 2011b, p. 561). However, the practical implications
of Islamophobia make it necessary to reflect deeper on its use and mean-
ing, as Bravo López observes:
[N]or do degrading or humiliating representations of Islam and the Prophet

constitute Islamophobia per se. Islamophobia is, on the other hand, the
motivation underpinning these types of misrepresentation of Islam and its
prophet. (Bravo López 2011b, p. 561)
Europa de una actitud con respecto al islam y los musulmanes que algunos de ellos designaron
con ese término”.
52 C. OLIVIERI
Consequently it is the process of projecting feelings of fear and loathing

onto the religion, onto those who are its most obvious incarnation, namely
Muslims. It thus becomes a process, therefore, of the “inferiorisation” of
a human category carried out in order to extract a political project of
domination (Hajjat and Mohammed 2013, p. 25). Or:
Islamophobia would not therefore consist of a merely critical or negative

attitude towards Islam. Islamophobia would be an attitude towards Islam
based on the belief that Islam and Muslims as the incarnation thereof is an
implacable and absolute enemy. […] Islamophobes consider Muslims their
enemies because they identify them with a religion that they perceive as an
enemy, rather than identifying them in ‘racial’ or ethnic terms. Consequently,
discussing and criticizing Islamophobia consists of denying or relativizing the
importance of the Islamic religion in each of the accusations levelled by the
Islamophobes against Islam and the Muslims. (Bravo López 2011b, p. 563)
This speech perfectly encapsulates a Eurocentric outlook, in which the

“Christian” world is identified, according to suspect historical reasons,
with civilisation, progress, and modernity. And, according to this reason-
ing, the opposition that naturally arises from this perspective is that the
“Muslim” is identified with barbarism, incivility and a “prehistoric” stage of

development. Indeed, to talk about Islamophobia, it is essential to consider
the discussion on the “cartography of the power of the World System that
has been established in the last five hundred years.”16 (Grosfoguel and
Mielants 2006, p. 1)
This view has not been supported and perpetuated solely by European
political elites, but has enjoyed the support, as mentioned above, of critical
intellectuals of the calibre of Max Weber and Karl Marx himself (Grosfoguel
2010, pp. 32–36), who recognised the undoubted superiority of
European/Western civilisation. They saw colonisation as a process of
destruction of native cultures and structures and the subsequent creation
of new structures shaped on European models and that this might be the
only developmental path for the “barbarian” and “violent” peoples of
Islam:
16
“Cartografía del poder del Sistema Mundo que se ha establecido en los últimos quinientos
años”.
The Koran and the Mussulman legislation emanating from it reduce the
geography and ethnography of the various peoples to the simple and conve-
nient distinction of two nations and of two countries; those of the Faithful
and of the Infidels. The Infidel is ‘harby’, that is, the enemy. Islamism pro-
scribes the nation of the Infidels, constituting a state of permanent hostility
between the Mussulman and the unbeliever. (Marx 1854)17
These theories, although they have been thought and expressed to

adapt to European and Global North contexts, can easily be transferred to
our sphere of interest. The construction of narratives and stereotyped dis-
courses on certain subjects is functional, in China or Europe, as in any
place where power needs to legitimise itself at the expense of the “other”.
Since the days of Chairman Mao Zedong’s government, the imposition of
State atheism has been part of a process of homogenisation of the country
and its population. This involved an institutionalised rupture with the
“traditional”, viewed as imperial, archaic, and immovable, history of
China. After the end of the Great Cultural Revolution, a period of enor-
mous cultural and religious loss in the country, and even more so since the
1980s, the Chinese State, has attempted some restoration of Islam in the
country. Aided by subsidies from the Islamic Association of China and
some Muslim countries, for example, Saudi Arabia, Yemen, and Pakistan,
China has attempted to restore aspects of Islam, although more from an
aesthetic “Islamic” perspective. This has led to the reopening of ancient
mosques and the construction of new religious buildings, but more with
the aim of reflecting in their architecture the “foreign” origin of its adher-
ents and its belonging to the Islamic world (Allès 2008, p. 96). These
measures tended to mark another distance, another “abyssal line” between
the “Chinese” and the “foreign”. According to the opinion of the World
Uyghur Congress:
The Chinese communist reign in East Turkestan can be considered the

darkest chapters in the history of Uyghurs and East Turkestan. Under the
current conditions, the very existence of Uyghur nation is under threat. The
Chinese communist government has been carrying out a vicious campaign
against Uyghurs and other indigenous people of East Turkestan in order to
17
Mark, K. 1854. On the History of the Eastern Question. New York Daily Tribune
[Online]. Available: https://www.marxists.org/archive/marx/works/subject/newspa-
pers/new-york-tribune.htm [Accessed 06 Dec 2016].
54 C. OLIVIERI
permanently annex the lands of East Turkestan. Despite all the brutal and
destructive campaigns by the Chinese government against the identity and
existence, the Uyghurs and other indigenous people of East Turkestan
refuse to be subjugated by China and are carrying on resistance torch,
handed down to them by their ancestors, against Chinese occupation.18
Despite this alleged Islamic reopening and due to the economic, politi-
cal, and geostrategic position of the Uyghurs (the central position of the
Xinjiang region in Asia and its abundance of natural resources, fundamen-
tal to China’s economic and industrial development), fundamental atti-
tudes remain. Thus the construction of “subalternising” speeches and
measures to repress identity manifestations of the Uyghur people contin-
ues to be part of the political programmes of the CCP. The feeling of
“fear” conveyed by official Chinese discourses aims not just to create
defensive mechanisms in order to unify the public opinion against a com-
mon enemy, but also to justify domination. It exploits the political will to
develop policies, based on the legitimacy of a conflict, necessary to raze
the “enemy”.
It is clear, therefore, in China’s Uyghur case that Islam as such plays a
relatively low role or has insignificant value in itself in the construction of
an Islamophobic discourse, which hides geopolitical and economic r easons
more relevant to the government. Here religious creed acquires a second-
ary role, subject to issues of ethno-political, social, and economic needs as
a key factor in establishing a global hegemonic hierarchy. As Bravo López
(2011b, p. 569) rightly states, the same can be said about the relationship
between Islamophobia and racism or cultural racism. There may be some
elements of Islamophobia to be considered in some cases, but are sine qua
non elements for its existence.
Indeed, Islamophobia can be confused with a form of racism or new
racism because sometimes it is directed against minorities who are, indeed,
racially categorised. But it is the perception of Islam as a threat itself which
may cause the “racialisation” and radicalisation of Muslim identity or the
theological threat posed by Islam to, for example, Christianity (just as in
the case of Europe/Global North) or, in our study case, to the founda-
tions of “Chinese” society advocated by the CCP. It is the need to identify
18
a threat, to identify Islam as embodied in Muslims as a threat, which results

in converting Muslim identity into another involuntary identity. The
Muslim will become identified, not by his own beliefs, but by his origin,
by his ancestry, by a series of ethno-cultural traits and economic interests:
The term ‘Islamophobia’ should be applied only to denote a hostile attitude

towards Islam and Muslims based on the image of Islam as the enemy and
as a vital, irrefutable and absolute threat to ‘our’ well-being and even to
‘our’ existence, irrespective of how Muslims are identified, whether on the
basis of religious or ethnic criteria. (Bravo López 2011b, p. 570)
Initially, it is a social experience, it is an experience lived directly by alleged
Muslims. Not just openly Islamophobic acts, but being reduced to its status
as an alleged Muslim […] It is a form of religious alteration, in which the
discourses or behaviours of an individual are determined by his or her reli-
gious affiliation. It is, also, hostile speeches to Muslims as a group. With,
behind it, the question of the legitimacy of their presence on the territory.19
(Géraud 2013, p. 2)
Given these premises, therefore, it seems appropriate to register

Islamophobia in the landscape of what Grosfoguel called “epistemic rac-
isms”; Euro-American/Global North mentality, in its global epistemic
domination draft, has launched a process of elimination or, in its absence,
institutionalised “inferiorisation” of every single epistemology and cosmol-
ogy which failed to meet its canons and hegemonic programmes, so that
the “other” forms of knowledge were relegated to the territory of the non-
rational and, therefore, inferior and subordinate (Grosfoguel 2010, p. 32):
Islamophobia ultimately resembles a diffuse and permanent risk that places

a heavy burden on Muslims. The heart of the tested Islamophobia is part of
a general atmosphere of hostility, in the form of acts of low intensity, not
always intelligible. The test of Islamophobia produces situations of perma-
nent illegitimacy fuelled by a climate of suspicion. […] It tightens social
relations, barriers, forges handicaps that, for some, add to other social diffi-
19
“Au départ, c’est une expérience sociale, c’est une expérience vécue directement par des pré-
sumés musulmans. Pas seulement des actes ouvertement islamophobes, mais le fait d’être ramené
à son statut de présumé musulman […] C’est une forme d’altérisation religieuse, où l’on va
considérer que les discours ou les comportements d’un individu sont déterminés par son
appartenance religieuse. Ce sont aussi des discours hostiles aux musulmans en tant que groupe.
Avec, derrière, la question de la légitimité de leur présence sur le territoire”.
56 C. OLIVIERI
culties such as being a woman, belonging to a “visible minority”, having a

modest social status, a low level of education or residing in a disqualified and
underserved territory. Islamophobia thus represents an additional weight in
the mechanics of “negative discrimination”.20 (Hajjat and Mohammed
2013, p. 30)
At present, and moving in practical terms, this approach involves a

series of measures to repress and discriminate against a human group,
based on two counts: (1) its supposed inferiority and (2) its alleged
dangerousness.
Regarding (1), in Section “The ‘Chinese’ Identity vs. Subaltern
Identities”, I will dwell longer on discussions about the ontological “infe-
riorisation” derived from the programmatic and hegemonic epistemic rac-
ism of the empowered on subalterns (Olivieri 2016). However, it seems
important in influencing certain concepts (2) which have gained signifi-
cant importance today, and have become part of our everyday and instru-
mentally misconstrued vocabulary. Concepts such as fundamentalism,
Islamic/Islamist, and terrorism have become functional for the construc-
tion of subordinating identity discourses.
Minority Nationalities and Minority Ethnic Groups:

Socio-Linguistic Clarifications
This section will look at the various issues concerning Muslim identities in
China and how they are related to the concepts of minority nationality,
ethnicity, race, community, and nation in China. In addition to the obvi-
ous anthropological difficulty of defining these terms, there is also the
additional and not insignificant problem, to consider, of how these cate-
20
“L’islamophobie s’apparente finalement à un risque diffus et permanent qui exerce une
forte contrainte sur les musulman-e-s. Le cœur de l’islamophobie éprouvée s’inscrit dans un cli-
mat général d’hostilité, sous la forme d’actes de basse intensité, pas toujours intelligibles.
L’épreuve de l’islamophobie produit des situations d’illégitimité permanente alimentées par un
climat de suspicion. […] Elle crispe les relations sociales, dresse des barrières, forge des handicaps
qui, pour certains, s’ajoutent à d’autres difficultés sociales comme le fait d’être une femme,
d’appartenir à une minorité ‘visible’, d’avoir un statut social modeste, un faible niveau de for-
mation ou de résider dans un territoire disqualifié et mal desservi. L’islamophobie représente
ainsi un poids supplémentaire dans la mécanique de la ‘discrimination négative’”.
gories can be applied in the specific case of China and the specific termi-
nology used for them in this context.
Confusingly Minzu (民族) is the Chinese word used to define many of
the above-mentioned words as part of a single concept. The definition of
Minzu given in dictionaries21 is as follows:
[N]ationality, nation, people, race: from an historical point of view this

relates the state of evolution in which we can find all kinds of human com-
munity at different stages of social development.
And also:
The name given to those related by natural causes (ethnic) groups.

Designation of groups that share the same blood, life, language, religion
and customs.
The polysemy and ambiguities of the notion of minzu is the result of mul-
tiple intertextualities between the Japanese (minzoku), various versions of
the concept of nation in different European languages (firstly German, but
also English, French and Russian with natsiya and narodnost), and Chinese
translations, besides being the consequence of the re-invention and
transformation of the meanings of minzu within the Chinese intellectual
and political space according to various political and ideological orientations
of the speakers. (Villard 2010, p. 313)
From a historical perspective, this term is closely related to insurgent

nationalism in China; that is, with the birth of a strong anti-Manchu senti-
ment in the late nineteenth century, which translated into the modern
Western concept of “nation” and which was heavily conflated with the
notion of “race”. Further, in post-1949 communist politics minzu began
to acquire some of the Soviet Union’s matrix of connotations, that is,
referring to “national issues” within the limits of the State.22
21
Zdic.net. 2015. 民族 [Online]. Available: http://www.zdic.net/c/1/143/313472.
htm [Accessed 05 Dec 2016].
22
Villard (2010, p. 314) quotes Stalin’s (Works, pp. 380–382) definition of “nation” to
explain this statement: “A nation is a historically constituted, sable community of people,
formed on the basis of common language, territory, economic life, and psychological make-
up manifested in a common culture […]. A nation is not merely a historical category, but a
historical category belonging to a definite epoch, the epoch of rising capitalism”.
58 C. OLIVIERI
In the case of China, and due to its multi-ethnic constitution even

before the founding of the PRC, the phrase shaoshu minzu (少数民族) was
constructed to refer to the “minority nationalities” that made up the
Chinese State:
A nation other than the largest ethnic group in a multi-ethnic country, such
as China, other than the Han.23
This included:
Non-Han communities within the Chinese space, including refugees from

various countries and foreign residents in the concessions. (Villard 2010,
p. 314)
Hence, the names of Huizu (回族) for the Hui minority nationality,
weiwu’erzu (维吾尔族) for the Uyghur, and Hanzu (汉族) for the Han
nationality. Here, however, there occurs a major problem with important
definitional implications. It is not unusual in China for the latter term,
hanzu, to be used as a synonym for the Chinese Zhonghua Minzu, that is,
a citizen of the Chinese nation.
The socio-political implications of this issue are far from irrelevant.
First, the self-identification of the Han nationality with the whole of
China, understood as a political and geographical entity, automatically
exiled the other officially recognised nationalities from full national inclu-
sion in the Chinese State. It also established a hierarchical relationship in
which, effectively, only one of the nationalities, in its own right, was able
to play a leadership role within the State. This:
[P]articular status to the Han nationality … finds its origin in the nineteenth-
century nationalist invention of the category of the Han as a majority ethnic/
racial community in China. (Villard 2010, p. 316)
If, therefore, Zhongguo, China, is the result of the union of the 56

minzu (nationalities) that compose it, what relationship, then, does that
establish between the Hanzu—Han nationality—and other minority sha-
oshu minzu—minority nationalities? What legitimises the complete appro-
23
Zdic.net. 2015. 少数民族 [Online]. Available: http://www.zdic.net/c/1/37/85116.
htm [Accessed 05 Dec 2016].
priation of China’s identity by the Hans to the exclusion of all other

identities? Merely looking at the demographics alone, this involves ignor-
ing all the political, hegemonic, and epistemological implications of a real-
ity, that is, a multi-ethnic national identity mix, which represents an
extremely complex situation when fully articulated.
In addition, if we add the problem of multiple language groups, the
situation becomes even more complex. The official language of China is
called Putonghua (普通话), that is, “common language”,24 and it was
regarded, in its creation, by its supporters in the Chinese intellectual elite
as the result of a natural and non-coercive linguistic amalgamation pro-
cess. They regarded it as a kind of Bakhtinian hybridisation25 of multiple
languages either currently or historically present on Chinese territory
(Villard 2010, p. 315), although this was a somewhat utopian view of
realities. It also created another (linguistic) border between the “Chinese”
and “inner Others” which led to an alternative national-linguistic dis-
course amongst the “Others” as to their identity. The Chinese/Han iden-
tity now imposes itself upon a multi-national reality as a single unitary
block, deprived of all the national differences that actually compose it.
Han alone now acts as the normalised, legitimate, and actual carrier of
all properly “Chinese” values and as Anserson’s (1991) “imagined com-
munity”. This is a community whose legitimate members do not actually
know each other and they can only imagine others as the product of an
ideal, a social situation, a geographic location, or a series of common phys-
ical, cultural, or statistical features.
24
At the beginning of the twentieth century, inspired by some phonetic elements from a
local variant of what might be called “Beijing dialect” and elements from other language
versions (dialects) of the territory of China, the standard pronunciation for the Chinese lan-
guage was developed and defined. This standard pronunciation, named Putonghua, was born
with the intent to officially establish a lingua franca through which all citizens of the Chinese
State would be able to communicate with each other regardless from their native spoken
languages. For more in-depth information about the subject, cf. Ping, C. 1999. Modern
Chinese. History and Sociolinguistics, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.
25
Bakhtin (1981) defines, in this theory, dialogic “hybridization” as an instrument of per-
meability and freedom of languages to favour the communicative pragmatics between
expressions of different times or contemporary cultural values, differentiated by heteroge-
neous contextual nuances or different idiomatic matrices, that is, by their heteroglossia.
60 C. OLIVIERI
The “Chinese” Identity Versus Subaltern Identities

With the emergence of post-colonial (Said 1990; Bhabha 2002, 2010;
Spivak 1988) and decolonial (modernity/coloniality—Mignolo 2008;
Mignolo et al. 2009; Grosfoguel 2004, 2010, 2012; Grosfoguel and
Mielants 2006; Castro-Gómez and Grosfoguel 2007; Dussel 2004; epis-
temologies of the South—Santos 2010a, b and Santos and Meneses 2014)
studies, the need to reformulate certain aspects of recent history under a
new perspective arose. Post-colonialists proposed to do this via studying
the way official histories were created, with the purpose of proposing an
alternative project of State formation, one that reflects a plurality of histo-
ries. These were often “invisibilised” in projects of nation-state creation
developed by those powers that Boaventura de Sousa Santos (2011)
recently called the Global North, bearers of “Western” and “moderniser”
values. To do this the most important post-colonial intellectuals proposed
to give voice to a number of actors/subjects (the small voices of history
proposed by Guha 2009) that until then had been relegated to the non-
scientific field of “memories”, due to their anti-nationalist character and
therefore often accused of terrorism. The post-colonial discourse, there-
fore, can be applied not only to explain the field of construction of subal-
tern and “inferiorised” identities, but to the construction of knowledge
that leads to the exclusion or systematic omission of all kinds of “epistemic
Otherness”, that is, other knowledge.
In the case of China, the construction of conflicting and “faced-to-
each-other” identities26 is a strongly widespread phenomenon, which has
also acquired, in recent decades, an institutional character that does noth-
ing but aggravate an exceptionally important situation, due to the confor-
mation of political, ethnic, and cultural life.
Ethnically and Racially “Inferiorised” Identities

‘Race’ and ‘ethnicity’ sometimes have been treated as referring to the same
things, sometimes as referring to very different things, sometimes as refer-
ring to subcategories of each other […] Social science has tended […] to
26
In order to delve more deeply into the very interesting topic of the construction of
hybrid identities in China and how they are naturally blended in “mestisation” and produc-
ing their own particular results, cf. Lipman, J. 1996. Hyphenated Chinese: Sino-Muslim
Identities in Modern China. In: Hershatter, G. et al. (eds.) Remapping China. Fissures in
Historical Terrain, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 97–112.
accept uncritically a convention that says race has to do with physical differ-
ence and ethnicity has to do with cultural differences. (Cornell and
Hartmann 2005, pp. 25–26)
If we accept this as a working premise, ignoring the generalisations

contained within it, we can use it to develop our analysis of our two minor-
ity Muslim nationalities in China. First, one must differentiate the Hui
nationality, ethnically separated from the Hans, by their moral and reli-
gious values, art, and other cultural attributes. Here, the Uyghur national-
ity, whose people, besides being linguistically, culturally, and religiously
different, also appear somatically different from the Hans, because they
come from the Turkic-Altaic ethnic group. In fact, the physical features of
the Uyghur people resemble more closely those of the populations of
Central and Minor Asia, whose ethnic lineage they effectively belong to.
However, it is necessary to consider that these categories only provide
the pretext for the establishment of transnational relations ultimately dic-
tated by processes of social construction, that is, in most cases in this
area—social exclusion, piloted by empowered Han groups. This process
alone, according to post-colonial theory, is what makes them “real” cate-
gories, defined by Cornell and Hartmann as “built social categories”,
based on assumed primordial predications regarding certain differences
between people:
Race is largely the product of the assignment to others of biological differ-

ence: powerful groups, wishing to draw a boundary between themselves and
others, define those others as racially distinct. (Cornell and Hartmann 2005,
p. 28)
It is necessary here to highlight how much modern research emphasises

the arbitrariness of the processes in which differences are designated and
used as tools of ontological categorisation and consequently of legitimisa-
tion in a process of hierarchical categorisation. However, religion is a very
specific categorisation in itself, although it may only be politically relevant
when operationalised by political actors, as in the case of China and its
racialisation/differentiation of Uyghur people for their religious beliefs.
According to Barfield (2000, p. 519), the word “race” involves a set of
contradictory, highly ideologically charged meanings, as well as implying a
material reality to socially constructed hierarchical relationships. By includ-
ing certain individuals in particular and defined “races”, therefore, an
62 C. OLIVIERI
empowered group specifies the position of subaltern groups, thus keeping

intact their power status and reaffirming their authority over others.
Consequently a racial categorisation involves processes of moral and
attitudinal assessment, establishing an “abyssal line” between “able” and
“inept”, “moral” and “immoral”, and ultimately “human-being” and
“non-human-being”. Meanwhile, ethnicity implies something different:
Ethnicity is largely (although not exclusively) a product of self-assertions of

collective identity and blood ties, based on descent or homeland: the com-
munity claims such an identity for itself, asserting its own distinctiveness or
people-hood. (Cornell and Hartmann 2005, p. 28)
Following this definition, then, ethnic categorisation is distinguished

by proceeding primarily from the people in a self-identified group as a sign
of identity and belonging to it. This follows a process of self-perception as
an imagined community that shares the same primordial and cultural ori-
gin but which is flexible and open to multiplicity and hybridisation. This is
a consequence of centuries of coexistence and amalgamation of different
cultures and patrons and with other categories. These terms and ideas
were originally used in anthropology to refer to people, presumably
belonging to the same society, who shared the same culture and, espe-
cially, the same language, which they transmitted relatively unchanged
from generation to generation (Barfield 2000, p. 328). As Barth further
proposed (1976, p. 14), the limits of an ethnic group constitute them-
selves as “self-identification”, where people choose to use a few cultural
attributes, often dress, language, housing, or the general lifestyle, as “signs
or overt signs” of its uniqueness. Ethnic categories, though:
[A]re largely the product of subordinate or minority group agency and

activity, while racial categories typically are imposed by a dominant group on
a less powerful one, with self-categorisation as an unspoken by-product of
this process. (Cornell and Hartmann 2005, p. 33)
From our perspective, in trying to apply these explanations to Chinese

national problems, one must highlight again the inherently constructed
and social character of these different categories. And the way the two
minority nationalities of our interest are included in these categories, eth-
nic and group/race, are products of a government programme of social
inclusion/exclusion. This is both deliberate and inadvertent, as the natural
consequence of social, economic, and geopolitical policies and discrimina-

tion dictated by ignorance and fear of the other. Most recently, this has
involved using the misnomer “war on terror”, with its implications of an
Islamic threat, which has become one of the most important agenda items
within international community politics.
The categories of “race” and “ethnic group” are in fact, in the Chinese
context, not to be understood in Eurocentric terms, but acquire different
socio-political meanings depending on the government’s economic and
political needs and policies. This takes one back to the creation of identity
discourses that serve to create a net separation line between the “I” (Han)
and “others” (Hui/Uyghur), who are ontologically different and, there-
fore, inferior. This is a strategy that the Chinese government has employed,
throughout its history, adopting different methods in different times. In
some instances it has promoted institutional processes of “Sinicisation”, in
others, banning identity and cultural demonstrations of the targeted
nationalities. Expression of identity, consequently, begins by reflecting a
legitimate cultural aspiration but suddenly becomes an instrument of war
when it is denied for the sake of a superordinate metropolitan one (Maalouf
2009, p. 40).
In our two cases, transnational relations between Han/Hui and Han/
Uyghur national identities would appear consistent with the different
national definitions given above. The Hui identity is regarded as ethnically
separate from the Han—in terms of culture, religion, origin, customs, and
social shaping. Yet, concurrently, it is integrated into the multi-ethnic, or
pan-ethnic, society of China that has been, as stated above, appropriated
by the Han majority group. However, the symbolic identity signs of the
Hui people, from external features such as beards to clothing, eating hab-
its, or grouping in neighbourhood communities, pose no barrier to social
interaction with the wider nation. Nor do their more intimate and private
practices, for example, Islamic morals, practices and religious functions, or
hygiene restrictions, constitute an obstacle to social interaction with the
majority population. Yet, they are regarded by China as “transgressors of
basic taboos rejected by the majority society” (Barth 1976, p. 39).
As mentioned above, though, the establishment by the Chinese gov-
ernment of a narrative about the “Muslim-others”, and the emphasis on
the religious nature of, de facto, political and economic claims on the
Uyghurs, creates an “Islamic” problem for itself. Meanwhile, the violence
of restrictive politics on religious and cultural freedom generates the radi-
calisation of religious identity signs in the population.
64 C. OLIVIERI
However, Han identity has built itself in relation to what it is not; it has
fixed the “other” to non-identify with, to describe itself negatively. In
short, it follows the structure of binary opposition proposed by the struc-
turalist theory of Saussure, and followed and developed by Lévi-Strauss—
the need to determine what constitutes our own being, to define our own
identity, characteristics and place in the world in which we live, that is, the
need to have some knowledge of our culture and ourselves, always has to
be ratified by an act of differentiation (Zhang 1988, p. 113). To this end,
the definitions acquire a key role here. The government has strategically
tried to influence the collective consciousness not just of the Chinese citi-
zens, but also of the international community and sow instrumental
images for its legitimacy, self-assertion, and the safeguarding of its hege-
monic position. The portrayal of minorities in China, described as an
“exoticised, and even eroticised” collective (Gladney 1994, p. 94), is func-
tional for the construction of a majority identity, and for the conformation
of the State itself as a unitary and powerful block. The traditions and
identity of the Uyghur Muslim minority are therefore employed instru-
mentally by the State as an “attractive” and “primitive” folkloric element
with which to undermine and thus be able to dominate the people who
recognise themselves in it.
The “periphery” is thus a world that needs to be “Sinicisated” (read,
“Hanisated”), incapable of “civilising” or “developing” by itself, so that
the State sees its intervention legitimised. This idea also has the clear
objective of subjugating the “Other” through a hegemonic discourse
based on a knowledge/power dichotomy. Also, there is the ontological
and epistemic opposition between (to reuse Hegelian categories) “China”
(mature subject, strong, rational, masculine, dynamic, active) and “minor-
ity” (weak object, irrational, feminine, static, passive and at the same time
exploiting the “terrorism narratives” of violent and dangerous).
As part of the Han homogeneity project the Chinese have spoken of
and designated Uyghurs as “others”. In doing this the government has not
only used its Han/Uyghur dichotomy as a tool to unify the identity of the
Han majority but also used the religious (Islam) dimension to integrate its
opposition to minority nationalisms into a framework as part of the sup-
posed “war on terror”—the aim being to manufacture an Islamic/terrorist
threat, identified with minority ethnic identity demands, around which to
unite and mobilise the Chinese people. This is furthered through a strat-
egy of manipulation of public opinion, and the manufacture of scapegoats
for the social problems and instability within the country (Kanat 2012).
From this it is hoped that any repressive measures taken by the State will
then be accepted in the guise of counter-terrorism and security (Kanat
2012, p. 519). This produces a situation Maalouf (2009, p. 41) describes
well, that when we assign one community the role of the lamb and another
the wolf, what we are doing, even without knowing it in advance, is grant-
ing impunity to the crimes of one of the parties.
“War on Terror” as a Strategy of Institutional Repression

As already mentioned, historically the inclusion of East Turkistan within
the confines of the Chinese nation-state has been a process not without
difficulties. Government policies in the region have included mass migra-
tion of Han communities to Xinjiang “as a tool of control” (Bovingdon
2010, p. 78), which “clearly aimed at permanently altering the ethnic bal-
ance in the province and predictably angered the Turkish” (Bovingdon
2010, p. 36).
Policies have also included the forced cultural assimilation, continuous
ethnic discrimination, and even violent limitations of religious freedoms
(Kanat 2012). These have led to the creation of a sense of separation and
hostility between the two populations, as well as a feeling of rejection by
the “ontological other” perceived as an enemy.
A practical example of these repressive policies is seen in the religious
repression that, even today, the State applies (in many cases violently)
against the Uyghur minority. One current of this relates to the festival of
Ramaḍān, which is celebrated by Muslims in China as well as throughout
the rest of the world and is an important festival to Muslims. For some
years now Uyghur communities have been complaining about an increas-
ingly repressive attitude by the State towards the festival. If reports in the
Chinese newspapers can be confirmed, the government itself would appear
to be prohibiting Muslim officials, students, and citizens of the Xinjiang
Autonomous Region from respecting the fasting period. This is done by
either official communications (i.e. prohibitions) or actions that would
preclude the normal development of religious activities, for example, clos-
ing eating establishments during night-time hours when the Ramadan fast
is suspended (fasting is only required during daylight hours; Florcruz
2015, pp. 4–5). In addition further examples of governmental restrictive
measures towards religious manifestations of Uyghur identity include the
following:
66 C. OLIVIERI
[A]uthorities frequently require religious groups to submit texts for exami-

nation before they may be used for worship, [as well as] regional regulations
forbidding mosque attendance for those under 18 years old. (Radio Free
Asia 2010)
The Uyghur community sees in these measures a provocation that only

entails an increase in the (already important) tensions that exist between
the majority and the Muslim ethnicity.27 And this in turn manufactures a
greater sense of Uyghur separateness and sense of Islamic identity.
Given that “[d]emocracy and freedom are notions too general and
widespread to constitute real objects of a conflict”28 (Agamben 1990,
p. 58) and a critical analysis of the Uyghur demands, one can identify the
struggle between State and non-State as another facet of the “abyssal
line”29 (to quote Boaventura de Sousa Santos, 2010a, b) between the
civilised and the “terrorist”. Discrimination is a set of diffuse, rarely
explicit, and brutal constraints that cause victims to develop multiple strat-
egies, to “do with”, that is, to build an experience that allows them not
27
For further and deeper information on the human rights violations committed by China
in the Xinjiang Autonomous Region, it is advisable to consult the annual report prepared by
the World Uyghur Congress, which was published last March. Cf. World Uyghur Congress.
2015. 2014 Report on Human Rights Violations in East Turkestan [Online]. Available:
http://www.uyghurcongress.org/en/wp-content/uploads/WUC-report-2014.pdf
[Accessed 26 Jun 2015].
28
“Democrazia e libertà sono nozioni troppo generiche e diffuse per costituire oggetto reale di
un conflitto”.
29
To synthesise the concept of “abyssal line”, which is one of the bases of the epistemology
of Boaventura de Sousa Santos and his school of thought, the best is to quote the very theo-
riser of this concept and suggest to whom it may interest to check all the bibliography that
Boaventura de Sousa Santos and Maria Paula Meneses, among the others, have published
about it. “Radical lines divide social reality into two universes, the ‘this side of the line’ uni-
verse and the ‘other side of the line’ universe. The division is such that ‘the other side of the
line’ disappears as reality, becomes non-existent, and in fact is produced as non-existent.
Non-existent does not exist in any form relevant or understandable to be. What is produced
as non-existent is radically excluded because it lies beyond the universe of what the accepted
conception of inclusion regards as its other. Fundamentally, what most characterises the
abysmal thought is, therefore, the impossibility of the presence of the two sides of the line.
This side of the line prevails insofar as it narrows the field of relevant reality. Beyond this,
there is only non-existence, invisibility, non-dialectical absence” (Santos 2010a, b,
pp. 29–30).
only to live as well as possible but also never to be assigned an identity that
invalidates them30 (Hajjat and Mohammed 2013, p. 31).
Recent events around the world and in China have, unfortunately, propi-
tiated the spread of concepts such as terrorism and Islamist fundamentalism
as prisms through which to interpret ethno-religious relations. This occurs as
a consequence of current institutional media dissemination of information
that colours all contemporary events with a lamentable ferocity, often pre-
senting all events relating to Islam through the context of a “war on terror”.
Political demonstration, workers organising and militancy, students protests,
the media includes everything in the same category, justifying itself in the
eyes of the population and the international community. However, the
spread of these concepts is seen by many as part of a programme of disinfor-
mation and dissemination on a large scale. These utilise generalist and largely
unfounded prejudices that lead to a global sense of what we have defined as
Islamophobia. In practice, this feeling, it is argued, is nothing more than a
form of cultural racialism, “a form of racism that does not even mention the
word ‘race’” (Grosfoguel and Mielants 2006, p. 4), and is based on moral
judgements that create a relationship of domination/inferiority.
Consequently accusations of fundamentalism and terrorism have
become weapons for the legitimisation of an Eurocentric programme by
the Chinese government to enforce cohesion and political and epistemo-
logical hegemony against an enemy the West can commonly identify with,
that is, Islam and Muslim peoples:
If we define fundamentalism as those perspectives that assume their own

cosmology and epistemology to be superior and as the only source of truth,
inferiorising and denying equality to other epistemologies and cosmologies,
then Eurocentrism is not merely a form of fundamentalism but the hege-
monic fundamentalism in the world today. (Grosfoguel 2010)
Following this definition, therefore, the term “fundamentalism” takes

on connotations of political domination dictated by the desire to extol a
model of “normal” behaviour against another, in this case the Islamic one,
considered dangerous and violent.
30
“La discrimination se présente comme un ensemble de contraintes diffuses, rarement explic-
ites et brutales, qui amènent les victimes à développer de multiples stratégies, à ‘faire avec’, c’est-
à-dire à ‘construire une expérience qui leur permette non seulement de vivre le mieux possible,
mais aussi de ne jamais se laisser assigner une identité qui les invalide”.
68 C. OLIVIERI
In this regard, it seems vitally important to unlink the subjects of our

investigation of a colonial and hegemonic vision that is, in our opinion,
regrettably widespread. According to Grosfoguel (2010, p. 32):
Epistemic racism in the form of epistemic Islamophobia is a foundational

and constitutive logic of the modern/colonial world and of its legitimate
forms of knowledge production.
In our case, we are faced with applying this definition in two different
fields of application, first: we tried to free Chinese Islam from its inclusion
in the Arab-Islamic world as dictated by colonial political and epistemo-
logical geographic discourse. Here we aim to demonstrate the existence of
an exclusively Chinese-led discourse with its own characteristics that give
it individual identity and ontological dignity in its own right.
Next, we tried to unravel the political implications of the Chinese
nation-state Islamophobia and the subsequent accusations of terrorism by
those social and political movements opposing the Uyghur people. The
claims for autonomy and independence by the majority of Uyghur popula-
tion are, ultimately, the product of a State-organised repression that hides
under the more dignified, at least in the eyes of the international commu-
nity, mask of an anti-(Islam) terrorism struggle:
China’s use of the war on terror was intended to halt international criticism
of its repressive policies toward the Uyghur people, later it turned out to be
a full-scale domestic campaign against terrorism. (Kanat 2012)
Religion, here, as Amin Maalouf (2009) states, tends to be nothing

more than a “cement to ethnic groups at war”,31 as we have tried to show
so far.
Conclusion
The purpose of this chapter has not been to sponsor or justify national
claims or, equally, to approve of the violent actions that some extremist
fringes of the population have conducted against the State. Our purpose
has simply been to critically investigate the often-perverse mechanisms by
31
“Ciment à des ethnies en guerre”.
which the Chinese government has tied issues of internal transnational

relations regarding its Muslim minority national identities into wider
international discourses of Islamophobia. In so doing it has constructed a
real “Islamic problem” to justify its own need of control over the region.
Also, situations such as Uyghur-China relations are very vulnerable to
racialist categorisation and the stigmatisation of certain social groups
(Muslims, in primis), but this often belies both an objective analysis of
relevant problems and intellectual honesty.
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CHAPTER 4
Women’s Rights Between Civil and Religious

Laws: The Lebanese Law on Protection
of Women and Family Members from Domestic
Violence and the Religious Authorities’
Opposition
Benedetta Panchetti
Introduction
On 1 April 2014, the Lebanese Parliament passed law number 293/2014
concerning domestic violence against women after a debate lasting nearly four
years and which led to many changes from the original draft and then redraft-
ing. The final version passed by Parliament stated that domestic violence is:
[A]n act, act of omission, or threat of an act committed by any family mem-
ber against one or more family members … related to one of the crimes
stipulated in this [bill], and that results in killing, harming, or physical, psy-
chological, sexual, or economic harm.1
1
English translation was provided by KAFA.
B. Panchetti (*)
Catholic University Centre Rome, Rome, Italy

74 B. PANCHETTI
The crimes stipulated are:
[F]orced begging, prostitution, homicide, adultery and the use of force or

threats to obtain sex.2
However, the first draft law submitted to Parliament stipulated a stron-

ger definition of domestic violence, mostly because it referred specifically
to violence against women3 made by family members. Specifically, hus-
bands would have faced a defined punishment, in cases where they would
beat their spouse with the purpose of claiming their right to intercourse.
That provision, written in Article 3 of the draft bill, represented the main
problem during the parliamentary process because it faced the strongest
opposition from Muslim Deputies and religious authorities. For this rea-
son, the Committee’s members redrafted the bill, approving the new
amended version in July 2013. Opposition still stayed strong among some
Muslim Deputies and Parliament finally only reached the majority of votes
needed in April 2014, following a hard parliamentary and social conflict
between those Deputies, religious authorities and people opposing the law
and those who supported it.
In fact, this bill was written in 2007 and then submitted to the Lebanese
Parliament in April 2010 by a non-governmental organisation (NGO)
called KAFA (Enough), a cross-Christian and Muslim women’s rights
organisation. NGO members faced immediately the general opposition of
Muslim Deputies, especially from Sunni member of Parliament (MP),
prime minister and leader of the (Sunni Muslim) Future Movement, Saad
Hariri, perhaps one of the most important Sunni leaders in Lebanon,
when the law was presented.4 KAFA was created specifically to defend
women’s rights, not to generally protect all family members, in a country
2
English translation was provided by KAFA.
3
KAFA wrote this law with the aim of protecting women specifically because Lebanese
society experiences high rates of domestic and family violence against women by husbands
and male relatives. Some religious laws allow husbands to exercise some forms of violence
against wives, according to some readings of Islamic legal schools about the rights on the
body of the wives that husbands acquire in the time of the marriage contract’s signature, with
the payment of so-called mahr (dower). This allows us to understand why domestic violence,
including marital rape, is intended as violence against women only.
4
Saad Hariri was on charge as Prime Minister from 2010 to 2013, and now again the new
President of the Republic, General Michel Aoun, elected on 31 October 2016, appointed
him on that charge.
WOMEN’S RIGHTS BETWEEN CIVIL AND RELIGIOUS LAWS: THE LEBANESE… 75
where such rights are often limited or not recognised by those laws relat-
ing to family affairs and marriage. Such family laws are fully delegated by
the state legislative power to the various religious authorities, according to
the so-called personal status laws system. This represents the Ottoman
legal heritage regarding state-religion juridical relations, currently still
guaranteed by the Constitutions of some former Ottoman states, despite
their introduction of nominally civic constitutions. This arose as a legacy
of the disintegration of the Ottoman Empire, which included populations
from many Christian and Muslim sects within their political borders, each
of which was permitted autonomy in domestic relations areas.
This legal system, the heir of the Ottoman legal/political organisation,
known as the “Millet system”, provided that every citizen had to belong
to a religious community, established at birth, according to the father’s
belief. Relations between civil institutions and different religions were
governed by the legal principle that civil rules and courts do not interfere
in a citizen’s personal and family relations. This granted, and still does, to
religious/sectarian authorities the right to exercise their discipline in such
matters, according to their religious principles (Rabbath 1986). This
despite the fact that civil constitutions and laws had been introduced in
many Middle Eastern countries once they had obtained full independence
in the second half of the twentieth century.
In the modern Lebanese Republic, following the French mandate
(1923–46), the freedom to convert one’s religion was granted to all citizens
by a French High Commission arreté (decree). Concurrently, Article 9 of the
Constitution (1926) guaranteed the maximum religious protection under
the “personal status laws system”: this guaranteed that Christian canonical
laws and Muslim religious laws would be considered equal in the eyes of the
state. This then prevented the civil law from developing a determining or
superordinate role in family affairs, thus inhibiting the development of (fam-
ily and marriage) civil law as a cross-religious integrating mechanism.5
The Lebanese Constitution then left Parliament to work through an
exhaustive list of matters to be included in “personal statutes” over the
coming years, that is, those issues that relate exclusively to the separate
5
Article 9 proclaims: The state shall respect all religions and creeds and guarantees, under its
protection, the free exercise of all religious rites provided that public order is not disturbed. It also
guarantees that the personal status and religious interests of the population, to whatever religious
sect they belong, is respected.
76 B. PANCHETTI
religious authorities to determine as against those determined by civil law.

In 1951, consequent to the ending of the French mandate in 1946, the
Lebanese Republic passed a law concerning non-Muslim personal status
legal rights, listing all the matters that came under religious competence.
The same legal objective was also achieved in 1962 when Lebanese
Parliament passed similar laws on Muslim Shia and Sunni personal status.
Thus existed personal status laws that would dictate that any marriage or
divorce was conducted solely according to the rights of a specific religious
community; this would include all rights to property, inheritance and reli-
gious instruction of any children. There was therefore no overarching
family law or civic principle applicable to everyone in the same way in
Lebanon. Each religious community therefore acted as almost a kind of
mini-state in terms of the family rules and laws to be applied (Mollica and
Dingley 2015).
Generally, marriage and family laws and rules have been considered the
core of the Millet system because the “family” has historically been
regarded as the vehicle specifically devoted to sharing and transmitting the
most intimate and core socio-political values, in which religion has always
played a crucial role. Family has also usually been the key economic, hence
social, unit, since until recently most of the Ottoman Empire, including
the Lebanon, was a rural subsistence economy, living off the family farm
or small holdings (Gaspard 2004).
The Lebanese Republic, however, developed a constitutional legal and
political system founded on dialectical relations between different reli-
gious groups and belonging, which form the primary sense of state iden-
tity and loyalty, called multi-confessionalism. This is and has been used as
a tool for regulating the presence within its territory of 18 different reli-
gious communities. In fact, the existence of these communities and their
historical roles have been a crucial factor (especially the Christian Catholic
Maronite church, the Druze and the Shia) in creating the social, political
and religious structures that help define modern Lebanon. They also led
to the first semi-independent political institutions in the Lebanon during
the Ottoman Empire (Azar 1999).
The religious-based personal status law system embodies multi-
confessionalism on legal grounds, whilst the distribution of parliamentary
seats, political offices and positions in public administration is based on a
system of sectarian quotas. This multi-confessional system then becomes
the basis for all politics and policies (Mollica and Dingley 2015). Indeed,
until the constitutional changes approved by the 1990 Ta’if Agreement,
Article 95 of the Constitution, guaranteed the allocation of fixed quotas

of parliamentary seats, political and administrative positions for each reli-
gious sect officially recognised by state law. After the 1975–90 Civil War
ended, the Ta’if Agreement tried to modify this principle and Article 95
now states that only technical competence may be applied in the assign-
ment of administrative duties, that is, meritocracy. However, Article 95
remains today almost completely inoperative, as most state officials still
favour the old sectarian system (Hudson 1999; Messarra 2012).
On the political and parliamentary level, moreover, sectarian power-
sharing principles are enshrined in the “National Pact”, the 1943 unwrit-
ten agreement between the Muslim and Christian political leaders, which
led to an agreed basis for independence in 1945. This Pact predicted that
the three highest political offices of the Republic must be assigned to
Lebanese citizens belonging to the three major religious communities: the
Presidency of the Republic to a Lebanese Maronite-Catholic, the office of
Prime Minister to a Lebanese Sunni Muslim and the Presidency of
Parliament to a Lebanese Shia Muslim.
In addition, the National Pact guaranteed the division of parliamentary
seats according to the ratio 6:5 for Christians. The Ta’if Agreement altered
this quota system, creating a 5:5 ratio by recognising the increased Muslim
population and the declining Christian one, partly as a result of the 15-year
civil war. However, these agreements underscored the fact that Lebanese
citizens can only participate in the life of the state and be part of its institu-
tions as members of a religious denomination (Di Peri 2010). This histori-
cal and legal process enables the various religious authorities to reinforce
religious identity above state affiliation as the primary vehicle for loyalty,
belonging and life opportunities, and has become the cornerstone of the
current Lebanese Republic (Messarra 2003).
Especially after the end of the 1975–90 Civil War, compounding the
problems due to the heightened sense of religious affiliation as against
state citizenship, there was also the problem of Parliament’s weakness in
playing a positive legislative role in family law. Indeed, Parliament recog-
nised its weakness as the core part of “personal status laws system” and
parliamentary Deputies have never respected the obligation set down by
the French High Commissioner’s arreté 60/13, March 1936. This would
have required the civil authorities to pass a law on family rules for those
citizens declining any religious affiliation, the so-called communauté de
droit commun, that is, “the civil laws’ community”, “the community of
78 B. PANCHETTI
Lebanese refusing any sectarian affiliation” (Messarra 2012).6 Moreover,

the Lebanese Parliament has never given a civil definition of the family and
the institution of marriage, letting all different religious authorities give
their own definitions, establishing husbands’ and wives’ rights and duties
for themselves7 (Gannagé 2009).
The French arreté had two different aims: first, to grant religious
authorities and tribunals an absolute competency in the institution of mar-
riage and family rules; and second, to further the right of the freedom to
change religion, thus protecting individuals’ freedom not to have any
spiritual belief and to reject religious rule.
However, Lebanese Deputies approved (2 April 1951) a bill on non-
Muslim personal status laws forbidding the celebration of non-religious
marriage within Lebanese territory and requiring all marriages to be cele-
brated by a religious authority (Basile 1993). As a consequence, state insti-
tutions implicitly dismissed their own legislative power. This reinforced
the historic religious divisions, inherited from the Ottomans’ Millet sys-
tem, within a shared Lebanese territory. Lawyers voiced strong opposition
to this and initiated a one-month long strike against the law in 1951. This
represented the clearest opposition to the lack of a unifying and integrat-
ing political and social idea to Lebanese identity (Traboulsi 2011; Messarra
2012). Instead it raised unique religious identities over and above an
inclusive Lebanese nation-state identity.
Moreover, not having in place any set of superordinate state rules
regarding family law, the civil authorities have never been able to provide
effective protection to the weakest family members. These are usually
wives and children and relate specifically to problems of abandonment by
husbands and fathers, and violence or non-provision of financial support
6
Article 14, arrêté 60/13, March 1936.
Les communautés de droit commun organisent et administrent leurs affaires dans les limites
de la législation civile ».
Art.10. 2, arrêté 60/13, March 1936.
Les membres d’une communauté de droit commun ainsi que ceux qui n’appartiennent à
aucune communauté, sont régis en matière de statut personnel par la loi civile.
7
A legal example is the criminal law governing the offence of bigamy, which only Lebanese
Christian citizens are subject to, as in Catholic and Orthodox canonical codes marriage is
defined as a monogamous relationship, referring directly to Christian teaching. Conversely,
the Quran allows Muslim men to have up to four wives and therefore Lebanese Muslims are
not subjected to state laws on bigamy.
(Gannagé 2009). Indeed, some religious rules, especially regulating per-

sonal relations between husband and wife, do not even prohibit domestic
violence within the family home and relations.
Background to Research
The complex legal and political framework of Lebanon now impacts
directly on the social (and hence often political) relations in the country,
which, whilst it affects everyone, is regarded as having a bigger impact on
women’s domestic life, since they face higher rates of domestic violence
(Nazir and Tomppert 2005). According to KAFA’s updated data (April
2016), since it opened its first domestic violence hotline in 2005, more
than 2600 reports of domestic abuse per year were received (KAFA 2015).
The first NGO to focus on women’s rights (the Women Court’s) was only
founded in Beirut in 1995 and the first domestic violence hotline was set
up in 1997 by the Lebanese Council to Resist Violence Against Women
[LCRVAW] (Immigration and Refugee Board of Canada 2011).
In May 2016 KAFA gave me the opportunity to interview one of its
members who wrote the first draft of the law (293/2014) seven years
before, and who is now working with women victims of violence.
According to KAFA and other NGOs, this new law includes sections spe-
cifically designed to protect women from violence and threats received in
their home, for example, provisions enabling women to get a restraining
order against an abuser. Furthermore, it calls for the establishment of tem-
porary shelters for survivors of abuse. It also assigns a public prosecutor in
each governorate to receive complaints and investigate domestic violence
claims, and it established specialised family violence units within Lebanon’s
domestic police to process complaints (Human Rights Watch 2014).8 This
is a very important development from KAFA’s activists’ and lawyers’ point
of view.
I conducted my fieldwork in February–June 2014, when the Lebanese
Parliament passed the new law, and then in April–May 2016 to interview
activists, lawyers, academics and religious authorities on the law’s applica-
tion. Interviews took place in universities, the offices of lawyers who spe-
cialised in family law and at NGO offices in Beirut. However, for safety
8
Even if the English text is not available, some international NGOs, as well as KAFA itself,
have translated key points.
80 B. PANCHETTI
reasons I was not allowed to speak directly with women victims of violence
protected by NGOs, nor with the relatives of women killed by their hus-
bands. Regarding religious leaders, I interviewed Catholic and Sunni cler-
ics in Beirut on university campuses or in their offices.
Religious Authorities’ Attitudes to the New Law:

Christians’ and Druzes’ Support
The fact that this law refers to family violence only led to some religious
authorities opposing it, especially Islamic ones. From their point of view
the law was a means to interfere in matters under the absolute legislative
competence of their religious community. Here they referred to the estab-
lished civil laws on Christian, Sunni and Shia personal status, as approved
by the Lebanese Parliament in 1951 and 1962 (Moukarzel Héchaime
2010).
However, Christian and Druze clerics (who tend to be more liberal on
family issues than most Muslims) did not oppose the new law because they
thought it respected their religious principles about family life, spousal
rights and duties. In fact, they saw the new law as strengthening the pro-
tection of women as already provided for in certain Catholic and Orthodox
canon law and Druze personal status rules. As these authorities explained,
they did not support the new law as a way to recognise a degree of civil
legislative competence in family-related matters, but rather as a tool for
incrementing those protections which they had already provided for in
their own religious laws. Regarding the Christian Churches, their ecclesi-
astical authorities fully encouraged the Lebanese Parliament to pass the
new law, and both the supreme authorities of the most important Catholic
and Orthodox Churches, the Maronite and the Greek Orthodox, gave
their support to the legal changes.
I interviewed Maronite-Catholic and Greek-Catholic authorities and in
addition was able to note that every prominent Catholic and Orthodox
cleric, who spoke publicly and in their Sunday sermons, all supported the
new law. They reiterated that since their religious rules advocated the
equality of husbands and wives before God and under canonical laws, vio-
lence has to be:
[O]verturned by the justice and equality that God wants to be universal

among us. (Farrell 2011)
The Maronite Church’s official support for the law was reaffirmed both
by the Patriarch and by lesser authorities, citing Biblical references and
Canonical laws, that is, in Genesis, God proclaimed that men and women
are equal in front of Him. Equally they quote the refusal by Jesus of any
form of violence against the woman who had previously committed adul-
tery. Finally, they refer to Saint Paul as supporting the equal dignity of
husband and wife, something that both the Catholic and the Orthodox
theology strongly stress.
At the same time some Christian clerics faced widespread protest from
within their own churches against their own “personal status laws” which
do not recognise any right to dissolve a marriage in the case of conjugal
violence, since they consider marriage a divine indissoluble sacrament.
According to international and Lebanese NGOs and academics, these
rules on indissolubility restrict women’s rights and represent a restriction
on the efficacy of the new law. In these churches, for example, Roman
Catholic, divorce is banned and nullification is possible only in a limited
number of cases. Indeed, many NGO reports, for example, Human Rights
Watch (2014), indicate the difficulties existing in obtaining a declaration
of nullity, even if the husband used violence against the wife. According to
these NGOs, this creates something of a paradox, where violence is con-
demned but the logical conclusion of ending a violent marriage is denied.
Ecclesiastical judges interviewed in May 2016 answered critics of this
paradox by replying that under Catholic laws, in cases of conjugal vio-
lence, religious courts provide temporary legal separation which may,
however, last for an indeterminate period of time. This should enable
women to live separately from their husbands and should protect them
along with their children, whose custody is often assigned to mothers.
Catholic Canonical law affirms that one of its essential principles is the so-
called Bonum coniugum (“the good of the spouses”). And since the vio-
lence is clearly a negation of “the good of the wife”, Catholic rules
recognise women’s rights to ask an ecclesiastical judge for a judgement
allowing them to live separated from their husbands (Code of Canon Law,
1983). But according to Catholic authorities interviewed in Lebanon in
May 2016, violence is not an automatic reason to recognise the nullity of
wedlock, rather a clear demonstration of the husband’s lack of the Bonum
coniugum.
Meanwhile, Orthodox personal status laws recognise the so-called
ecclesiastical divorce only in the case of the husband attempting to murder
his spouse. Any other form of violence could be a way to obtain only a
82 B. PANCHETTI
temporary desertion, which may later be grounds for dissolution if the

couple does not reconcile within three years (Messarra and Bilani 1970).
I was unable to interview Druze authorities, but according to the
KAFA’s activists who advised them on the new law, they supported it,
underlining that their personal status laws granted women and men equal
rights and duties. Moreover, the right of divorce in cases of conjugal vio-
lence and the prohibition of any unilateral repudiation by the husband was
already enshrined in their own rules. Therefore, the new (civil) law repre-
sented a major legal instrument to grant civil rights which had already
been established under religious rules (Al-Akhbar editorial, 2015).
In both cases, Christian and Druze religious leaders made it clear that
they support the new law, as it reaffirms religious rules and principles
already established by their respective codes. Therefore there was no con-
flict between their religious laws and any new civil liability; rather, they
supported the civil legal codes in family affairs.
The law on violence against women, therefore, seems to prove once
again the peculiarity of the Lebanese legal system: it is based on laws
approved by Parliament, as in any legislative assembly in any sovereign
state. However, the Assembly in Lebanon is composed of Deputies elected
according to a sectarian religious quota system: this makes the Deputies
holders of state legislative power whilst at the same time being “execu-
tors” of their own religious denominations.
The Shia and Sunni Opposition: The Problem

of Marital Rape and the Conflict with Islamic
Personal Status Laws
This dual Deputy bond and/or contradiction as citizens to the state and
as faithful to their religious community appeared even more pronounced
in comparison with Shia and Sunni members of Parliament, since they
opposed the approval of the law. They specifically brought into the legisla-
tive assembly debate references to their own religious communities’ stan-
dards and familial codes and practices.
Through analysing the differences between the reasons expressed by
the religious authorities who opposed the new law and those views
expressed in Parliament by Muslim MPs, we can clearly see how this dia-
lectical relationship between religious belonging to the sect and civic
belonging to the Lebanese Republic became the de facto submission of
the latter to the former. Shia and Sunni authorities actually opposed the
new law when its first draft was introduced in Parliament six years previ-
ously, uniting in the same religious and political battle against the bill. On
religious grounds, both Dar al-Fatwa, the country’s highest Sunni Muslim
authority, and the Higher Shia Islamic Council opposed the law, arguing
that it contradicts Islamic Sharia, which they considered to be enough to
protect women. In particular, Sunni claims about Western influence refer
explicitly to recommendations made to the Lebanon since 2008 by the
Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Violence Against Women
(CEDAW) Committee, the United Nations (UN) expert body that super-
vises implementation of CEDAW. This urged the Lebanese authorities to
legislate to protect women against violence, including domestic violence.
More specifically, Dar al-Fatwa released a statement on 28 June 2011
pointing out that the law was a Western idea designed to dismantle the
Muslim family, as it intended to criminalise marital rape. That statement
followed a protest against the law, organised on 17 April 2011, by the
Islamic Association for Preachers, a Lebanese organisation of Sunni clerics.
Even if the press reported that less than hundred people gathered at the
protest, the Association’s leader, Sheikh Mohammed bin Darwish Abu
Naqshbandi, still publicly called for the law to be removed from debate
because:
[I]t violates the sacredness of God and annuls Sharia provisions that humans
have no opinion on. (Aziz 2013)
The Grand Mufti Sheikh Mohammad Rashid Kabbani claimed that this
specific new law was a heresy, accusing NGOs, jurists and civil society
movements of inventing new types of crimes, according to Western laws,
ideals and lifestyles. KAFA officially rejected this accusation, underlining
that it was an NGO created by Lebanese citizens alone and without any
support from Western activists and NGOs. They therefore claimed that
they were facing a “Lebanese” problem, since all the beaten and killed
women were Lebanese citizens.
In the English version of the statement, the Grand Mufti’s heresy refers
to the fact that the new law:
Invented new types of crimes … Islam is very aware of and concerned with
resolving problems of poor treatment but this should not happen by cloning
Western laws that encourage the breakdown of the family and do not suit
84 B. PANCHETTI
our society. This will have a negative impact on Muslim children who will see
their mother threatening their father with prison, in defiance of patriarchal
authority, which will in turn undermine the moral authority. (Khoury 2015)
Indeed, the earliest draft of the law included marital rape as a crime and
described it as any non-consensual violation of the physical integrity of the
woman, since Article 3 affirmed that:
Whoever coerces his wife by violence and threat into sexual intercourse shall
be imprisoned for the offense of domestic violence.9
Sunni authorities claimed it was an attempt to violate their religious-

based “marital right of intercourse”, guaranteed by Sunni law to husbands
after the payment of the mahr (payment by the groom or his father to the
bride, making her legally the groom’s property). After the official state-
ment made by the Grand Mufti, other Sheikhs agreed and reaffirmed his
interpretation. Thus Sheikh Nabil al-Wazza, a media official from the
Islamic Association for Preachers, expanded on this in a speech on 17 June
2011, when he publicly reiterated that:
The obedience of the wife to the husband is an obligation in Islam. (Aziz

2013)
The office of the Higher Shia Council shared a similar view. Regarding
the legal provision on marital rape it declared that, according to their reli-
gious rules, marriage gives the husband the right of intercourse. On 29
June 2011, the Higher Shia Council made a statement declaring its support
for Dar al-Fatwa’s position, saying that the new law poses a danger to
families. The Shia Council’s media relations office publicly stated that:
[T]he Council supports Dar al-Fatwa’s position and is working closely with
the Sunni religious body. (Human Rights Watch 2011)
Both Islamic sects referred to Quranic Surat and the Hadith (part of
Sunni and Shia jurisprudence) to establish that in cases of domestic abuse,
only an Islamic judge has the competence to grant wives the right to
9
The draft law imposed an imprisonment from six months to two years.
divorce or to punish their husbands, according to their religious-based

teachings. The religious source used by Sunni and Shia clerics to oppose
the new law was Surat An-Nisa’, Verse 34, which proclaims:
As to those women on whose part you fear disloyalty and ill-conduct,

admonish them (first), (Next), refuse to share their beds, (And last) beat
them (lightly); but if they return to obedience, seek not a way against them:
For Allah is Most High, great (above you all).
Whilst the Hadith attributed to the Prophet Muhammad states that:
If a man invited his wife [to his bed] and she refused, the angels will damn
her until the morning.
In the long debate surrounding the new law all the religious authorities
have referred to Article 9 of the Constitution, regarded as the major guar-
antee for the respect and protection of the personal status system and
maintaining the competences of the religious courts.
Within this context, it was further noted that judgements of the
Supreme Court had ruled that in the case of a double celebration of a mar-
riage, the first under a civil law in a foreign country and the second under
a religious rule in Lebanon, the Lebanese state has to consider the reli-
gious one as the only officially valid marriage, even if the spouses had
registered their civil marriage in Lebanon. Thus the Supreme Court offi-
cially recognised that family law was the exclusive competence of the reli-
gious authorities and therefore the religious celebration superseded any
civil recognition.
The Dialectic Between Confessional Identity

and State Law in Parliament: The Vote of Deputies
The above reasons were used politically by the religious authorities,
because during the four-year-long parliamentary debate, the religious
objections were defended and endorsed by many Deputies belonging to
religiously based political parties (such as the Shia Hezbollah or the Sunni-
led political movement called “Future”). In May 2011, Hezbollah Deputy
Secretary-General, Sheikh Naim Qassem, affirmed his opposition to
Article 3 of the draft law concerning the crime of marital rape, since the
article contradicted Islamic rules on family matters.
86 B. PANCHETTI
In 2010 KAFA received the signatures of 71 Deputies who claimed

they would support the new law, including those sections relating to mari-
tal rape. However, during the relevant legislative sessions, according to
KAFA, none of them supported the original draft (Bramley 2014). This
was due to the fact that the Deputies may have supported the bill privately,
but as religious party representatives they felt unable to publicly support it
in Parliament. This in turn is a product of the religious quota system,
where Deputies are elected according to religious affiliation and support,
making them subservient to religious leadership.
As a consequence, a Parliamentary Committee was established to get an
agreement on the draft law’s most challenging articles, among which was
Article 3 concerning marital rape. After a two-year-long Committee
debate, the Committee’s members decided to amend the new law, specifi-
cally to relax those sections relating to marital rape, in response to the
objections of the Shia and Sunni political leaders, who kept refusing to
accept any reference to limitations on marital right to intercourse.
So, of the 128 Deputies in the Lebanese Parliament, in 2012, 43 sup-
ported the new law. These mainly belonged to the Lebanese Forces led by
Deputy Samir Geagea, to the Free Patriotic Movement led by General
Michel Aoun and to the Kataeb Party led by the former President of the
Republic Amine Gemayel (all were Christian parties). Meanwhile, Muslim
parties still mostly opposed the new law.
The Committee only reached a majority decision after Article 3 was
amended and revoked, as the Future Movement chose to support the new
law, explaining that it was no longer against the Sunni personal statute
code and Quranic Surat. The Future Movement controlled 26 Deputies
(out of 128), making them the prominent parliamentary force. Hence
when Hariri chose to oppose other Muslim parties, he was able to shift the
balance of parliamentary support in favour of retaining the new law in its
amended form.
The reason for Hariri’s support for the new law was that he had been
the Prime Minister in 2010 when the new law was introduced to
Parliament, under his auspices, as part of an all-party (including Muslim)
coalition agreement. This agreement related to wider political calculations
which he had agreed to without prior reference to any religious authori-
ties, but which Hariri still felt bound by. He now felt his position compro-
mised because he had led the original reform coalition and felt unable to
go back on his word and support of the new law, which he had been
instrumental in presenting to Parliament, and agreed with KAFA.
This then placed Hariri at odds with radical Sunnis who strongly
opposed the new law, claiming that it breached religious authorities’ com-
petences in family law matters, endorsing these and the Grand Mufti’s
views in Parliament. This then led to a parliamentary impasse which in
turn led to a Special Committee being established to consider anew the
proposed new law reforms.
As the Committee amended the first draft bill, making it conform to
Sunni religious rules, Hariri could place his party in a politically more
moderate position, reaching an agreement with Christian and Druze par-
ties, which left only the radical Sunni Deputies opposed to the law. The
Druze Progressive Socialist Party (PSP) and its leader, Walid Jumblatt,
then publicly endorsed the law in 2014, granting a total amount of 71
votes (out of 128), which allowed the law to pass without any other
changes (Women Economic Empowerment Portal 2014).
In discussions with activists and academics who had followed the parlia-
mentary debates, I was able to establish that given the strong ties between
religious affiliation, national loyalty and parliamentary alignment, the above
was highly predictable. It does not represent any novel crisis in Lebanese
state-religion relations. Thus in 1962, when the government decided to
draw up the Sunni community personal status laws, Deputies belonging to
this confession objected to the fact that non-Muslim colleagues could vote
on a law concerning Islamic religious norms. However, when Parliament
passed that law, it affirmed that Deputies represented the Lebanese people
and not just their own sect (Basile 1993). Once again this appears to affirm
the highly contradictory state of relations that exists between religious
community and citizenship in Lebanon and the precise role of the state.
NGOs have emphasised that in recent decades the religious influence
on parliamentary legislative activity has increased significantly since both
Muslim and non-Muslim groups have set up their own supreme councils.
In some cases these are formed by all past and present parliamentarians
and ministers from that religious group, senior state officials, members
and boards of the professional syndicates, and confessional judges and
clerics. The intrusion of these (religious) bodies into the heart of the civil
state and its institutions has made it easy for Islamic clerics to put pressure
on their co-religious Deputies.
This intrusion is manifested precisely in the current opposition between
civil and religious laws in relation to marital rape. Discussion of this has lasted
for three years, from 2011 to 2014, primarily due to the strong and persis-
tent Muslim Deputies’ opposition to the new law. The Special Committee
88 B. PANCHETTI
responsible for discussing amendments to the draft new law was able to find
a level of compromise designed to protect both state (and women) and reli-
gious communities’ interests. However it was unable to gain parliamentary
support due to Parliament’s religious composition. For instance, by reference
to Article 3.7 of the new law, marital rape was not prohibited, as the first draft
bill created certain legal ambiguities in relation to marriage.
The new law, having to respect the Muslim rules about marriage and
spouses’ rights and duties, now criminalises a spouse’s use of threats or
violence to claim a “marital right to intercourse” but does not criminalise
the non-consensual violation of physical integrity itself.10 That means that
the law only condemns the use of force to obtain a right and, as a conse-
quence, this marital right obtains protection under the civil law, even if
only Muslim law grants that right to husbands and, on the contrary, no
civil law has ever established such a right. The first draft criminalised any
violation of the physical integrity and any act of coercion itself, without
mentioning such “marital right”.
However, another complex article was added to the law: Article 22.
This states that all provisions considered contrary to the new law would be
annulled except in cases where the personal status codes apply. This provi-
sion seems to entitle confessional authorities to ask for the annulment of
all articles that they consider contradicting their religious-based codes.
Moreover, if a woman asks the civil judge for protection against her hus-
band from any kind of physical violence, the husband could oppose it via
a religious rule to justify his actions on trial. And the judge would have no
legal authority to make a judgement giving protection to the woman and
enforcing the civil law (Messarra 2015). This provision is clearly contrary
to the recommendation of the UN Handbook for Legislation on Violence
Against Women, which states that:
[W]here there are conflicts between customary and/or religious law and the
formal justice system, the matter should be resolved with respect for the
human rights of the survivor and in accordance with gender equality stan-
dards. (UN Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Division for the
Advancement of Women 2010)
10
The Bar Association, founded in 1919, and Avenir Liban, in collaboration with CEDAW,
investigate the legal issues regarding that law and the effective level of protection it could
grant to women.
Future application of the law by civil courts will show us whether the
defendants will use Article 22 to defend their selves, arguing that their
actions, considered violent by women victims and by the standard of the
state law, were actually legitimate according to their religious norms. This
then raises the question of the inapplicability of the civil law in the face of
religious norms in any legal aspect of family law.
Moreover, civil judges’ attitudes towards Article 22 could became the
key point in order to assess, above all, the social significance of that law, in
addition to its legal application. In fact civil judges could give a restrictive
lecture of Article 22, arguing that this law is placed in the Criminal Code
as it concerns violent crimes and that the Criminal Code is, on the con-
trary, under the exclusive competence of the state. Thus the courts’ inter-
pretation could enforce civil law supremacy in the face of religious laws
and could gain widespread social support for this law, reinforcing the per-
ception in Lebanese citizens that the state protects the weaker population,
even in the face of religious laws.
If the civil courts declare, on the contrary, their incompetence in con-
jugal violence cases, accepting that they should be considered as a family
law issue, the civil legal authority on penal law will be de facto annulled by
religious supremacy in personal status laws (Messarra 2015).
This dialectic between state law and religious law has already occurred
in Lebanon in the case of mixed Islamic-Christian marriages. In fact both
Sunni and Shia Muslim family rules declare every marriage between
Muslims as coming under Muslim rules only. Thus, the Lebanese Parliament
agreed to that Muslim ruling in the 1962 Muslim personal status codes,
recognising that civil marriages celebrated abroad between two Lebanese
Muslims must be placed under the exclusive Muslim courts’ competence in
Lebanon. This made it, de facto, legally impossible for Lebanese Muslims
to have a civil marriage abroad that escaped religious rules.
Religious courts tried to affirm their exclusive competence over Islamic-
Christian marriages too, supporting an extensive jurisdiction of their reli-
gious rule over Muslim marriages, even if only one partner was Muslim.
The state Supreme Court affirmed, on the contrary, an extensive jurisdic-
tion of the civil law, applying to Muslims the freedom to marry with a
Christian abroad under the civil law, as granted by Lebanese civil laws
since 1936 to all non-Muslim citizens,11 thus, affirming that the Muslim
Article 25, arrêté 146/18, November 1938.

11
90 B. PANCHETTI
legal standard on civil marriages applied only if both partners were

Muslims. Then, the 1983 reform of the Code of Criminal Law officially
affirmed the state courts’ supremacy in this field, stating that Muslim
courts could judge in case of marriage only between two Muslims
(Gannagé 2001).
Even if mixed marriages, disapproved of by a large part of Lebanese
society, still remain a controversial issue, it is undeniably the case that the
increased role played by civil legal institutions, protecting such marriages
from all religious interference, has achieved two goals: it has reinforced
the secular role and social perspective of state institutions “over-religious”.
Also it provided a concrete way to allow Lebanese citizens to fulfil a fun-
damental right: to have a non-religious marriage (Tobich 2008).
The way the Deputies voted regarding this law therefore mirrors the
degree of religious influence on parliamentary activity: it effectively indi-
cates how the sectarian-based multi-cultural model strengthens religious
identity at the expense of the nation-state identity. Instead of ensuring a
shared social space, the law now acts to prevent the full development of a
common space and identity. It precludes any shared space for social inter-
action by placing religious prerogatives over civil ones, thus inhibiting
collective citizen bonding and national identity.
This de facto recognition of separateness now enables us to analyse
some of the different attitudes of Christian and Muslim Deputies and their
different political use of religion and personal religious affiliation. In
analysing speeches made in Parliament by Christian political leaders it was
possible to detect how they used political language to support the new
law. This would be via references to the positive role that it would have in
strengthening the state’s role as a unique social and legal actor able to
protect the most vulnerable Lebanese citizens. This kind of political lan-
guage excluded references to religion, either as direct references to Biblical
teaching or as references to the canonical rules of the different churches in
relation to marital violence.
Further light is shed on the Christian political perspective by the speech
of the (Christian) Lebanese Forces Party leader to explain why his party
ended their opposition to sections of the new law, concerning the elimina-
tion of marital rape from it. MP Samir Geagea, while stressing that the lack
of sanctions against marital rape inhibited the state’s legal ability to protect
women, also recognised the need to approve the new law in principle, stat-
ing that:
The approval of this draft law is an important step in response to the efforts
we have made to improve the status of Lebanese women, and thus enhance
their visibility and prevent the exposure of their persons, dignity or rights to
violence, exploitation and extortion … it constitutes a breakthrough by pro-
viding opportunities to demonstrate the power of the Lebanese woman and
her effective participation in building the nation and society. (Lutz 2013)
Also the deputy leader of the (Christian) Kataeb Party, Sami Gemayel,
stressed the importance of public discussion of this law in Parliament as a
significant beginning, stating that:
This draft law makes violence against women subject to the civil court sys-
tem and not to the religious courts, meaning that no one can speak of so-
called ‘discipline’ [as a justification for domestic violence]. Any violence
against women in the home or outside it will be subject to, from now on,
after the adoption of the law, to the civil courts. (Lutz 2013)
Meanwhile, for Muslim Deputies, the reference to religious norms has

been constant and decisive as regards marital rape. Religion embodied a
hard tool to prevent Parliament from establishing a civil legal principle
that clashed with Islamic ones.
According to Gemayel’s speech concerning the competence of civil
courts in cases of violence against women, this law illustrates a more
general Christian point of view concerning religion as a more private and
personal belief system. This approximates more closely to principles of
secularism, understood as the freedom of civil law from any religious
norms and influences.
Is the New Law a Partial Success or Yet Another

Failure of the State in Front of Religious
Authorities?
The passing of the new law represents the first, even if partial, successful
attempt made by the state to assert its regulatory role in a field previously
dominated by religion (Ayoub 2013). The deputy who led the parliamen-
tary group favourable to the law, Ghassan Mkhayber, declared that the law
“is a big step forward in protecting women, we should be proud”. At the
same time he had to explain that Parliament was obliged to modify Article
3.7 because of the religious leaders’ opposition, supported by their
92 B. PANCHETTI
co-religionist Deputies, who blocked the amendments proposed by the

Special Committee when discussing the draft bill.
In April 2016, according to KAFA activists, not only were women
under their protection programme ensured better and more effective pro-
tection against marital violence, but the state was for the first time able to
affirm its legislative role beyond religions. It was able to ensure protection
to its disadvantaged Lebanese citizens, even if an agreement with Muslim
parties was necessary, which made this civil law only a partial affirmation
of state legislative power.
It is also pertinent to observe that this new law was passed at a time
when state-religion relations were also under strain from another quarter,
which may have impacted on prevailing religio-political attitudes. In 2013
two Lebanese citizens, who had already had their confessional affiliation
removed from their official documents, asked to have their marriage reg-
istered with the civil authorities without any religious reference. This was
in contravention of the requirement for all marriages to be religious under
Lebanese law (Roziel and Héchaimé 2014). All Christian and Muslim
authorities I interviewed between 2014 and 2015 saw this as a direct chal-
lenge to the “personal status law system”. This posed yet another threat to
state-religion relations at the same time that the new law on marital rela-
tions was being debated.
Since all religious leaders oppose civil marriage, it will be interesting to
see whether government and Parliament will be able to approve any fur-
ther changes to family and marriage laws. Currently, there are proposals
for new laws on civil marriage and the abolition of adultery as a crime
which represent further challenges to state-religion relationships. Civil
marriage in particular poses a major challenge because it will also force
Christian politicians to take critical positions vis-à-vis fundamental
Christian teachings, that is, most Christian denominations have elevated
marriage to a sacrament, making it an indissoluble bond. This also poses a
challenge in that many Christian Lebanese go abroad and get married in
civil ceremonies, especially in Cyprus, France and the USA. This is often
because they do not want to subject their personal and family lives to the
religious status laws, especially Catholics who are aware of the difficulties
in obtaining a declaration of nullity of marriage (Panchetti 2016).
This is an issue to be faced by the new government and Parliament to
be elected following the appointment of the new Lebanese President,
General Michel Aoun (30 October 2016). This new conundrum in state-
religion relations poses interesting new political questions, since Christian
religious leaders and politicians appear to have been developing opposed

views over the issue for some time (Tobich 2008, 161–183).
Meanwhile, within Muslim ranks there is greater uniformity between
politicians and clerics, who all largely oppose civil marriage, as it contra-
dicts both Sunni and Shia personal status laws. These laws automatically
bring all marriages between two Muslims under their religious laws, as
provided by the rules of all Sunni and Shia law schools. In addition the
Grand Mufti of Lebanon has publicly accused those Lebanese Muslims
with non-religious marriages of being “apostates”. This ended any politi-
cal debate among Muslim MPs (Lebanese Centre for Human Rights
2013).
To understand the link between religious and national identity in
Muslim communities we have to make reference to two previous attempts
to introduce directly or indirectly state laws on civil marriage. The first was
made by French authorities in 1938, who issued the arrêté 146/18
(November 1938), whose Article 25 recognised a citizen’s right to enter
a civil marriage abroad and to be officially registered as married in the
Lebanon. In this instance, popular protests led by Muslim religious
authorities were so extensive and strong that the French authorities issued
a new arrêté (50/30) in March 1939 that limited this right to non-Muslim
Lebanese alone (Basile 1993).
The second attempt to pass a law in this area was made by the President
Elias Hrawi in 1998. It was meant as a tool to strengthen the civil role of
the state after the end of the civil war, which had split the country along
Christian-Muslim religious lines. In addition, a further consequence
would have been some improvements in the protection of women’s rights
to contract marriages without any limitations except for age and full pos-
session of their mental faculties. Indeed, Muslim women would have
obtained the freedom to contract civil marriages with non-Muslim men,
strongly prohibited by all Muslim personal status codes in accordance with
a prominent Surat of the Quran (Moukarzel Héchaime 2010).
Again, religious sectarianism helped determine Muslim political party
attitudes. The Higher Sharia Council publicly called for people to demon-
strate against the law.12 They received support from the Saudi Arabian
embassy and from the Syrian President, Hafez al Asad, who then con-
trolled Lebanese political affairs as a result of Syrian military occupation of
Explicitly asking for the Jihad, as that draft faced a Surat of the Qur’an.
12
94 B. PANCHETTI
part of Lebanon (Zuhur 2002). The Sunni Prime Minister, Rafiq Hariri,
also facing growing protests from Sunni leaders, refused to sign the new
bill and Parliament was left with no opportunity to debate or vote on it
(Traboulsi 2011).
Even Christian religious leaders had a negative reaction towards the
bill, but their opposition remained an internal Lebanese affair, not draw-
ing on external religio-political sympathies nor were there any popular
Christian sectarian protests. Moreover, all Christian canonical laws granted
men and women the freedom to marry whoever and wherever they wished,
insisting only that the Christian partner raised the children as Christians.
This issue of civil marriage represents an additional and complex example
of the predominance of religious sectarianism over state-civil institutions in
Lebanon and the subsequent failure to enforce any superordinate integra-
tive national identity via family law (Najm 2004). It also highlights the his-
torical, political and social framework within which the adoption of the new
law on domestic violence against women has occurred. Such previous expe-
rience has led to NGO activists and lawyers paying special attention to the
practical application and implications of the new law. They explain that if the
new law will be able to become a socially accepted norm and rule amongst
both Christian and Muslim individuals and families, it might possibly help
overcome religious divisions based on divine prescriptions whilst also
improving the role of the state as protector of all Lebanese women.
Conclusion: The Difficult Practical Application

of the Law
Within two weeks of the new law being published in the Official Gazette
(14 May 2014), the first legal decision under it was taken, according to
KAFA data. By the end of the year, 36 complaints made by women had
been registered, although it has not yet been possible to study the reli-
gious affiliation of the victims involved (KAFA 2014).
However, KAFA and a UN study concerning public awareness of the
new law in Lebanon (2015) provided some interesting insights into public
attitudes vis-à-vis religious courts (KAFA and UNFPA [United Nations
Population Fund] 2016). Thus, responding to the question “In your
opinion, if a lady turned to Sharia or Ecclesiastical courts, can she expect a
fair result?” 42% answered no, whilst 41% answered yes. However, these
figures require some demographic elaboration.
In the predominantly Shia South Lebanon, where the majority of Shia

live, 68% of residents do not believe that religious courts offer fair and just
judgements due to the patriarchal mentality of religious leaders and judges
as well as due to the patriarchal nature of the religious laws. Moreover,
covering all Lebanese regions, Muslims (51%), more than Christians, think
that the patriarchal mentality of religious leaders would not lead to fair
results. That quantitative study across Lebanese population could be a
very interesting starting point in order to enforce the social acceptance of
that law and the civil, over-religious, quest for protection for beaten
women. This could also be a way to help one understand how the Lebanese
could be made to look more favourably on reducing the religious courts’
powers and competences regarding family law. This would be especially
important when basic rights, like the right to life and to physical integrity,
are damaged by religious rules (KAFA and UNFPA [United Nations
Population Found] 2016).
In fact, even if religious and political leaders maintain their opposition
to the new law or any future amendments, social approbation will proba-
bly finally oblige political leaders, at least, to accept and to enforce the law.
Popular protests against the first sentences imposed under the new law,
considered by many to be too lenient, may be a positive indication of a
growing social consensus against religious domination in this area (KAFA
and UNFPA [United Nations Population Found] 2016).
In 2014 the first judgement held under the new law (the “Manal Assi’s
case”, where a man had beaten and killed his wife) was handed down. The
Court of First Instance sentenced the culprit to death on the grounds that
the judge considered it to be a case of murder (The Lebanese Centre for
Human Rights [CLDH] 2014). However, the Court of Appeal, in July
2016, overturned this judgement and the appeal judge reduced the sen-
tenced to five years in prison, holding that the wife had had an extramarital
affair, which would have triggered the violent reaction of the husband.
The Appeal Court therefore considered this case to be a crime of honour
as against murder (Raad Tawk 2016).
In this instance there is no necessary conflict between state laws and
religious rules, but more a case of conflict between two civil (criminal)
laws: the first on violence against women and the second one regarding
adultery. In 2017 the Supreme Court was called upon to give a final ruling
in this case but the Ministry of Justice had previously declared its official
support for Manal Assi’s family, asking the Supreme Court for a new and
more severe judgment (L’Orient le Jour 2016).
96 B. PANCHETTI
However, since the judgement was given, Lebanese and international

NGO lawyers and civil society movements have been leading protests, ask-
ing for the full application of the new law. It is also relevant to point out
that no Islamic authority has yet released any public press statement con-
cerning the sentence. Furthermore, major protests were organised by
KAFA and civil society organisations in some urban, better educated and
less religiously oriented locations, such as universities, NGO headquarters,
newspaper columns or TV talk shows.
However, it is only when popular and spontaneous protests occur in
rural, less educated and more religious areas that the law will have attained
its aim of making it clear that domestic violence against women is crime.
And that whatever justification religious codes would give, civil courts will
prosecute husbands no matter what their religious beliefs.
If those civil standards become more and more socially accepted and
respected by ordinary people, civil institutions will begin to achieve a role
as social and legal institutions able to give full protection to a woman’s
right to life. For this reason it is significant that in the case of another,
more recent wife murder, that of Rola Yacoubb in 2014, protests organ-
ised by relatives and neighbours occurred in the more religiously conser-
vative, rural and less cosmopolitan city of Halba, in the Akkar’s region, far
from KAFA and international NGO headquarters in Beirut (Amrieh
2013).
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CHAPTER 5
Geopolitical Vector of Ukrainian Orthodoxy

in the Context of National Security
Yevhen Kharkovshchenko and Olena Bortnikova
Introduction
Ukraine is one of the largest European countries, located in Eastern
Europe. Despite the fact that the country is officially secular, the religiosity
level of citizens in Ukraine is one of the highest in Europe.1 Ukraine is also
multi-Christian (several different Orthodox Churches, Roman Catholic
Church, Greek-Ukrainian Catholic Church and Protestant denomina-
tions: Baptists, Pentecostals, Lutherans and other small groups).2 Within
its borders there are also Muslims, Jews and new religious movements.
Long-term monitoring by the Institute of Sociology of the National
Academy of Sciences of Ukraine (NASU) suggests that the Ukrainian
Orthodox Church (UOC) has the highest level of trust of any church
1
Razumkov centre: majority of Ukrainians believe in God [https://risu.org.ua/en/
index/all_news/community/social_questioning/63502].
2
In Ukraine 71% of the population identified themselves as religious, and 3% as atheists
[http://www.segodnya.ua/ukraine/V-Ukraine-71-naseleniya-nazvali-sebya-religioznymi-
a-3-ateistami.html].
Y. Kharkovshchenko (*) • O. Bortnikova

Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv, Kyiv, Ukraine

102 Y. KHARKOVSHCHENKO AND O. BORTNIKOVA
within the population. Most people in Ukraine traditionally identify

themselves as Christians of the Eastern Orthodox rite, but they are mostly
tolerant of other religious beliefs. The only statistical criterion for assessing
religiosity in Ukraine is the number of communities, that is, parishes in
Western terms, of different Ukrainian religious organisations and accord-
ing to the State Department on Nationalities and Religions: at the begin-
ning of 2016 there were 34,183 religious communities of different
denominations, and this number is still increasing.3
Orthodoxy, the major religious tradition in Ukraine, is split into several
competing Orthodox Churches since the 1990s4 whilst there is no local
autocephalous Orthodox Church, that is, one which has canonical com-
munication with and is recognised by other “autonomous” Orthodox
Churches within the international Orthodox Ecumenical Council. We will
use the term “Ukrainian Local Orthodox Church” or ULOC to refer to
this idea of an autocephalous Orthodox Church in Ukraine. But the term
“local church” does not automatically imply “national church”. A local
church is an autonomous (autocephalous) church within the independent
state. This church is an administrative unit that is completely independent
from other Orthodox Churches but united with them only in canonical
communion. Moreover, Ukrainian society does not require that there be
a national Orthodox Church.
Prologue
After the collapse of the USSR and the formation of an independent state
in the early 1990s, a rather ambiguous situation appeared in Ukraine, as in
the country, there are several religious jurisdictions who call themselves
Orthodox Autocephalous Churches. Currently there co-exist three major
Orthodox structures in Ukraine (the UOC of Moscow Patriarchate,
UOC-MP; the UOC of Kyiv Patriarchate, UOC-KP; and the Ukrainian
Autocephalous Orthodox Church, UAOC). The canonical law status of
3
Religious organisations in Ukraine (as on January 1, 2016) [https://risu.org.ua/ua/
index/resourses/statistics/ukr2016/63055/].
4
Religion in Ukraine [https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%A0%D0%B5%D0%BB%D0%
B8%D0%B3%D0%B8%D1%8F_%D0%BD%D0%B0_%D0%A3%D0%BA%D1%80%D0%B0%D
0%B8%D0%BD%D0%B5].
GEOPOLITICAL VECTOR OF UKRAINIAN ORTHODOXY IN THE CONTEXT… 103
legitimacy, bestowed by the Orthodox Church of Constantinople,5 applies

only to the UOC-MP. This recognises the historical and canonical right of
the Moscow Patriarchate to directly respond to requests or questions of
Orthodox believers in Ukraine, since Moscow alone is canonically recog-
nised as the “daughter church” of Constantinople with jurisdiction over
Ukraine.
The appearance in the territory of Ukraine of such a number of closely
similar religious denominations is the result of a series of church schisms
that occurred throughout history. From the tenth almost to the end of the
sixteenth century in the lands of modern Ukraine there was only one
church organisation and structure—the Kyiv archdiocese. The UAOC was
formed much later, after the February Revolution of 1917, when a group
of local clergy voluntarily withdrew from their traditional subordination to
the Moscow Patriarchate and Russian state. The youngest church organ-
isation in the country, the UOC-KP, originated only in 1992; created
under the leadership of Metropolitan Filaret (Denisenko), who led it in
separating from the Moscow Patriarchate. This was after the Council of
Bishops of the Russian Orthodox Church had deprived Filaret of all his
Church rights, dignities and roles over the clergy; but he ignored the rul-
ing. Neither the UOC, nor the Kyiv Patriarchate, nor the UAOC is recog-
nised by the formal world Orthodox community as represented in the
Pan-Orthodox, Constantinople Patriarchate or Moscow Patriarchate.
(Currently no generally accepted canonical order exists for the proclama-
tion, abolition and the recognition of the autocephaly of the Orthodox
Church.) This issue was to be decided at the Pan-Orthodox Council in
2016, but this did not happen. Now only the Ecumenical Patriarch or
mother church (Russian Orthodox Church) has this right to provide auto-
cephaly, but for various reasons it was not given.
Historically, various parts of Ukraine were parts of different states, so
when it comes to East-West Ukrainian relations, the situation is much
more complicated. Eastern Ukrainians have always gravitated towards
Russia and Western Ukrainians looked westwards (historically they were
for long periods tied to and even had shared citizenship with Poland or
Austria-Hungary). Western Ukrainians consider themselves as part of
5
The Church of Constantinople is one of the 14 or 15 autocephalous churches, also
referred to as the Ecumenical Patriarchate. It is headed by the Ecumenical Patriarch, who has
the status of primus inter pares (first among equals) among the world’s Orthodox bishops.
central Europe rather than eastern-Russian Europe and aspire to join the
European Union (EU). This historical and cultural tendency gives rise to
corresponding political imperatives even in religion, where church life in
western Ukraine often became highly politicised in relation to East-West
ties and aspirations.6
Meanwhile, social and political processes in Ukraine, stemming from
the events of November 2013 (the beginning of the Revolution of Dignity
in Ukraine), initiated a new wave of discussions on how to overcome the
schisms in Ukrainian Orthodoxy and the creation of ULOC.7
Local “National” Status of Church

The problem of the formation and recognition of the ULOC since its
actualisation in 1991 (with the independence of Ukraine) is not simply a
church (clerical) or political problem. This is confirmed by the experience
of other national churches obtaining autocephalous status around the
world8 who have often failed to win it simply by following a specific format
of church programmes or structures. Within the world Orthodox com-
munity there is no fixed procedure for obtaining administrative indepen-
dence laid down in Orthodox canons for any “national” church unit to
gain autocephalous status.9
The Orthodox Churches traditionally gained their local “national” sta-
tus mainly when their nation-states had developed a serious sensitivity
regarding the status of their own territorially defined Orthodox Churches.
After all, the recognition or non-recognition of the autocephalous status
was an indirect recognition or non-recognition of state or national exis-
tence and independence for the relevant nation by the rest of the world
Orthodox community. Consequently, legitimate nation-statehood and
6
Battlefield—Ukraine, or “canonical” against “canonical” [http://tyzhden.ua/
Society/29556].
7
The 2014 Ukrainian revolution [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2014_Ukrainian_
revolution].
8
Orthodoxy across countries [https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%9F%D1%80%D0%B0
%D0%B2%D0%BE%D1%81%D0%BB%D0%B0%D0%B2%D0%B8%D0%B5_%D0%BF%D0%B
E_%D1%81%D1%82%D1%80%D0%B0%D0%BD%D0%B0%D0%BC].
9
Yakunin G. Historical way of Orthodox Taliban [http://www.vehi.net/politika/
yakunin.html].
independence in the Orthodox world are deeply bound up with one’s own
autocephalous Church.
As Dingley (2011) observes, Western readers must remember that con-
version to Christianity in the east took a different route from the west. In
the east conversion and religious practice was via the vernacular, not Latin
as in the Roman west. This, from the days of the Roman Empire on, gave
an ethnic-national identity to eastern Christianity which endowed a nation
with both a religious and a politically autonomous identity and legitimacy
lacking in the west, where Latin was a universal and non-vernacular lan-
guage of religion. In this way, autocephaly (autonomous, independent) is
a deeply important sign of both religious and political legitimacy in the
eyes of all Orthodox believers in a way it is not in the west.
The absence of a unified ULOC therefore undermines the international
prestige of the country within the Christian community, especially the
Orthodox one in which Ukraine exists and gains its self-esteem from.
Consequently, the entire Orthodox world identifies only the UOC-MP as
fully independent and that comes under the Moscow Patriarchate. This in
turn implies a lack of full spiritual legitimacy both to the Ukrainian Church
and to the nation-state.
Efforts to create a ULOC related to the fact that the newly created
Ukrainian state (following its secession from the old USSR) was trying to
find legitimacy sources for itself in its own history and spiritual tradition.
Equally important was the issue of national security, which cannot be guar-
anteed while Ukraine remained spiritually subordinate to the Church of
another country, that is, Russia.10 We only note that the history of the for-
mation and recognition of all current Local (national) Orthodox Churches
indicates that this concern for full autonomous status is a natural and logical
process that is common to all countries with predominantly Orthodox pop-
ulations. According to the Orthodox canonical requirements (34th Rule of
the Holy Apostles), the political independence of any country should lead
to the autocephalous status of the Local Orthodox Church. And these rules
of the Holy Apostles are the most important monument remaining from
the legislation of the original Ecumenical Church, thus bestowing an
important sense of legitimacy and national self-esteem. (However, the
authorship of these rules is disputed by some researchers, as not belonging
10
Yakunin G. Historical way of Orthodox Taliban [http://www.vehi.net/politika/
yakunin.html].
directly to the apostles, but the Orthodox, Roman Catholic Church and
some Protestant churches still recognise their apostolic authority, hence
reinforcing an international acceptance of legitimacy.)
The Ukrainian church is thus left, currently, in a spiritual dependence
on Russia, which makes it impossible to complete a full sense of Ukrainian
independence. And this is used by the Russian Federation as an instrument
to keep Ukraine not only within its spiritual and cultural orbit but also
within its political and economic influence. This in turn prevents the for-
mation of a full-fledged national identity and consciousness, along with
the full validation of European democratic values and the complete devel-
opment of an authentic Ukrainian humanitarian and spiritual space. It
means that Ukraine is still kept partly dependent on its northern neigh-
bour (Russia) by the UOC-MP.
The UOC is not a member of the World Council of Churches (WCC),
nor a member of the Conference of European Churches, or other recog-
nised international church bodies, so it has no right to take the floor and
speak as an independent (Ukrainian) voice in the international arena or to
represent itself as the Ukrainian Church. Therefore, these and related rea-
sons have led to Ukraine becoming a unique country where, despite the
huge number of Orthodox parishes (about 18,000), an autonomous
local-national Orthodox Church has not been established.
Statistical Data
According to sociological research, more than 70% of Ukrainians believe
in God, but they believe that the church should be separated from the
state. About 21.3% of respondents believe that Ukraine needs a single
Local Orthodox Church. While 70.6% of Ukrainians consider themselves
as believers, only 16.2% have not decided on this matter.11 This is evi-
denced by the results of sociological research conducted by the “Ukrainian
Sociology Service”. However, research has shown that the religiosity level
varies in different regions. Thus, in various regions of Western Ukraine
from 90% to 97% of respondents declared that they believed in God. The
lowest level of religiosity was observed in Kyiv and central Ukraine: only
51% of Kyiv residents and residents of central Ukraine say they believe in
11
More than 70% of Ukrainians consider themselves believers—poll [https://press.unian.
net/press/1640077-bolee-70-ukraintsev-schitayut-sebya-veruyuschimi-opros.html].
God.12 However, not all citizens who call themselves believers belong to
the various religious denominations and churches.
The highest level of religious certainty is in the western regions—
from 86.5% to 93%—while the lowest—in the southern and south east-
ern regions—is from 43% to 48%.13 The largest denomination is the
UOC headed by Metropolitan Onuphrii of Kyiv and all Ukraine
(UOC-MP) covers 39.4% of believers.14 This survey also showed that the
second largest proportion of believers belongs to the UOC-KP, which
covers 25.3% of all religious believers; the third largest is the UAOC
with 4.6%.
More than half of all Ukrainians (60.9%) think that the church should
be legally and practically separate from the state and that the government
should not interfere in church affairs. Meanwhile, 11.3% of respondents
disagree with this statement, whilst 27.8% were undecided.15 About 35.7%
of respondents agreed with the statement that Ukraine needs a Local
(national) Orthodox Church, but that its creation should be the responsi-
bility of the believers themselves and the clergy, without any intervention
by the authorities and politicians. However, 18.7% did not agree with this
statement, whilst almost half of the respondents (45.6%) replied that they
were undecided.
When asked if a Local Orthodox Church in Ukraine was not necessary,
because it would limit the right of citizens to choose from different
denominations, 32% of respondents agreed: 24% did not agree, and
another 44% were undecided. However, 21.3% of respondents believed
that Ukraine needed a Local Orthodox Church and the authorities should
do everything to help create it in the near future.
The above survey was conducted from September 3 to September 17,
2016, by the “Ukrainian Sociology Service”. The survey interviewed
2001 respondents in all regions of Ukraine with the appropriate popula-
tion, over the age of 18, and in certain areas of the Donetsk region not
controlled by the government of Ukraine as well as in Sevastopol
(Crimea).16
12
Ibidem.
13
Ibidem.
14
The same.
15
The same.
16
The issue of faith. Ukrainians and religion—sociological survey [http://rian.com.ua/
analytics/20161124/1018999887.html].
Thus, we can say that the desire for a ULOC is not just a technical
quibble or an attempt to resuscitate centuries-old empty traditions, or a
formal imitation of the situation in states where Orthodoxy is also the
dominant religion. There is a fundamental pragmatic requirement for
autocephaly, that is, a fully autonomous and independent Orthodox
Church. The successful implementation of this would be part of a national
strategy for the development of the Ukrainian nation, its national security,
self-esteem and independence in the broadest sense of the word. It is
impossible to build an independent Ukraine whilst there is serious external
control over its own spiritual and informational space by foreign religious
and political centres.
The Problem of Recognition

Almost all the major evaluations of the constitutional processes and crite-
ria for recognition in the Orthodox world indicate that an autocephalous
church would greatly reduce the ideological and spiritual influence of
other states on the social processes in Ukraine.17 In the context of post-
Soviet reality this factor is important and would be symbolised by obtain-
ing the right to use the canonical Thomos (autonomous organisational
decree).18 Thus the projected growth of ULOC as a result of the push for
autocephaly (at the expense of other communities of believers and sym-
pathisers of the Orthodox Church) will be for the whole of Ukrainian
society a kind of “point of no return”, signifying a symbolic social, spiri-
tual and political break with the past.
The problem of constituting an autocephaly for the Ukrainian church can-
not be considered outside the context of the overall situation in the Orthodox
world after the collapse of the USSR and Soviet Block in Europe. The
Ecumenical Patriarchate (Constantinople Orthodox Church) gradually began
to take over the role of the Moscow Patriarchate as the Orthodox leader in
Central and Eastern Europe. It extended its influence over the Orthodox
17
Sahan, O. Yedyna Pomisna Pravoslavna Tserkva v Ukraini: suspilnyi zapyt ta neobkhid-
nist konstytuiuvannia/O. Sahan. – K.: KPBA, 2016. – 40 s.
18
The Thomos is a decree of the local Orthodox primate used to signify important issues
of church organisation. In particular, the issue of a Thomos by the “mother” church is used
to grant autonomy in the management of a Local Church or to grant it autocephalous status.
The Thomos is used for the more solemn and significant signature than for other patriarchal
decrees.
Church of Romania, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Bulgaria and Poland. This
corresponds to the changed representational role of the Ecumenical
Patriarchate in world Orthodoxy that arose in the twentieth century.
Ecumenical Patriarchate leaders are interested in resolving the Ukrainian
Church problem and in creating a united Orthodox local-national church
there. And receiving a Thomos from Constantinople means that the
ULOC will stay within the orbit of influence and legitimacy of the
Ecumenical Patriarchate. This will allow the Ecumenical Patriarchate in
Constantinople to become a more real, rather than symbolic, leader of
most of the Orthodox world.
The UOC-KP, UAOC and the heads of the various branches of the
Ukrainian authorities have repeatedly appealed to the Patriarch of
Constantinople for “the normalisation of the status of Orthodoxy in
Ukraine”. The possibilities for the Ecumenical Patriarch to resolve the
dispute are extensive, since he has resolved several others, such as the
Estonian Apostolic Orthodox Church.19 World Orthodoxy accepts the de
facto recognition of the majority of the Orthodox Churches around the
world and has settled other similar problems in the Albanian, Bulgarian,
Jerusalem, Estonia and other Orthodox Churches, where the Patriarchate
of Constantinople acts as a Pan-Orthodox arbitrator.
Thus the Ecumenical Patriarchate may well be ready to help Ukraine in
the constitution of a ULOC. But Constantinople would never do this at
the expense of its own image in the Christian world, where the Ecumenical
Patriarchate avoids any non-canonical (non-legitimate) actions critical of
Russian and other Local Churches.
To avoid the global division of Orthodoxy, the Ecumenical Patriarchate
will act carefully to avoid radical and non-canonical actions. Therefore,
Constantinople will seek specific canonical proposals and instructions
before acting on Ukraine, ensuring a canonically correct model of ULOC
creation. In addition, these have to meet the best interests of Constantinople,
which also wishes to preserve its influence over the Ukrainian Church.
Therefore, Constantinople desires a clear and transparent model for creat-
ing a ULOC, declared by Ukrainian state officials as a “social order” (the
creation of the ULOC as a necessity for both society and government)
that expresses the desire of the majority of Ukrainians.
19
Orthodoxy across countries [https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%9F%D1%80%D0%B
0%D0%B2%D0%BE%D1%81%D0%BB%D0%B0%D0%B2%D0%B8%D0%B5_%D0%BF%D0%
BE_%D1%81%D1%82%D1%80%D0%B0%D0%BD%D0%B0%D0%BC].
In order to find and successfully implement such a model, that is, a

ULOC constitution, it needs to address three main canonical questions
relating to autocephaly: episcopal ordinations in the UOC-KP and UAOC,
the acquisition of the status of the future Church (ULOC) and the legiti-
macy of the title of the Church’s head.
The first problem lies in the fact that the ordination of many bishops in
the UOC-KP and UAOC is non-canonical (i.e. non-legitimate) in terms
of the UOC-MP as well as that of some other Orthodox Churches.
The second problem is that the Ukrainian church does not conform to
certain prerequisites required by Orthodox canon law which are necessary
for the proclamation of autocephaly. These are, principally, the unity of the
Church over all the territory claimed under its autocephaly: conciliar deci-
sions, showing the unanimity of the episcopate about the needs of an area
to be proclaimed autocephalous, and generally, Orthodox consensus, that
is, consent of all the local (regional) Churches to autocephaly.
Currently, satisfaction of the first two canonical preconditions for the
declaration of autocephaly looks unrealistic because no consensus exists
among the Orthodox Episcopate of Ukraine regarding the declaration of
autocephaly; half of its Orthodox community acts under the jurisdiction
of the Moscow Patriarchate. And it is clear that any change to the current
canonical status of the UOC-MP autocephaly is not possible without the
consent of the UOC-MP.
It is therefore really difficult to achieve a common Orthodox consensus
on Ukraine without initiating a sharp conflict between the Ecumenical and
the Moscow Patriarchates. There is also a problem of titles for any Primate
of the ULOC, since Constantinople tries not to award new heads of auto-
cephalous Churches the Patriarchal title. It is therefore likely that the
Patriarch Bartholomew (the head of Constantinople-Ecumenical
Patriarchate) doesn’t want to recognise the Ukrainian Church with the sta-
tus of Patriarchy and will insist that, at least initially, the head of the Church
will be titled a Metropolitan (a slightly lower status). A third challenge will
be the canonical position and image of the main contenders to be head of
the local-national Church (ULOC), Patriarch Filaret (the current head of
UOC-KP) and Metropolitan Onuphrius (the current head of UOC-MP).
The constitution of a ULOC largely depends on whether Ukrainian
Orthodox jurisdictions and the (Ukrainian) government will be able to
offer the Ecumenical Patriarchate an acceptable model to create a local-
national church. As for the proclamation of the autocephaly of the
Ukrainian Church not all the ecclesiological preconditions are in exis-
tence, thus Constantinople may insist on the creation of an autonomous

Ukrainian church as part of the Ecumenical Patriarchate. However, from
the point of view of Orthodox believers and, by and large, the national
interests of Ukraine, this option is problematic.20
The root of the problem concerning the recognition of the indepen-
dent status of the UOC-MP is, in our opinion, more a political issue; that
is, granting autocephaly to the UOC-MP is contrary to the main princi-
ples of Russian state policy towards Ukraine and that Russia therefore
pressurises senior ecclesiastical and secular officials to oppose it. It is able
to do this since the Russian Orthodox Church is essentially dependent on
and an extension of Russian (state) public administration, making it an
extension of Russian state policy. Currently, providing the UOC-MP with
autocephaly is considered undesirable by the leadership of the Russian
Church, under the influence of the Russian state, since it would deprive
Russia of an important source of influence over Ukraine. Nor is their lead-
ership ready for the proclamation of UOC-MP autonomy, because it
believes that the granting of autonomy inevitably actualises the problem of
autocephaly, the complete independence of the UOC-MP.21
However, experience of settling other divisions and disputes in other
Orthodox countries (e.g. Bulgaria) indicates the potential for resolving
Ukraine’s search for Orthodox unification and autonomy.
The Current Situation

Before the current war in the Donbas region there was a unification pro-
cess under way in Ukraine, which would have been preparatory to any
bid for autocephaly or autonomy. This involved the projected union of
4000 communities of the UOC-KP and thousands of UAOC communi-
ties and most of the UOC-MP communities in Western and Central
Ukraine (a further 7000–8000 communities).22 Thus, under favourable
conditions, the Unified Church from the very first stages of its existence
20
Opportunities for integrating the Orthodox Churches [http://old.niss.gov.ua/moni-
tor/Juli2009/25.htm].
21
Great Pan-Orthodox Cathedral: decomposed for Ukraine [http://argumentua.com/
stati/velikii-vsepravoslavnyi-sobor-rasklady-dlya-ukrainy].
22
Statistics: Ukrainian Orthodox Church—the largest Orthodox denomination in Ukraine
[http://news.church.ua/2016/09/27/statistika-ukrajinska-pravoslavna-cerkva-najbilsha-
pravoslavna-konfesiya-v-ukrajini/].
would be able to count on more than 11,000 communities, that is, par-
ishes. In this direction fragile contacts and understanding between the
then bishops of the UOC-MP and UOC-KP were initiated. To recognise
this process the participation of non-Ukrainian representatives of the
Ecumenical Patriarchate and other Local Churches would have been very
desirable for enhancing Ukraine’s status and self-esteem as an independent
state. In addition, the legal-canonical recognition of unity within the
UOC would also have been a precondition for its rapid growth amongst
Orthodox communities in the centre, east, north and south of Ukraine,
where independent Ukrainian sentiment is weakest. This would have been
the minimum desirable result expected by all UAOC supporters, since it
would then assist in creating a spiritual unity within Ukraine which would
then help strengthen it culturally, socially and politically.
However, achieving the unification of all the parishes under Orthodox
jurisdiction in Ukraine during the cadenza of President Viktor Yanukovych
(2010–2014), who was forced out by the revolution of 2013–2014, was
unreal.23 The reason for this is a significant cultural gap between Orthodox
believers. Whilst western Ukraine is relatively homogeneous in its
Ukrainian national and Orthodox sentiment, in the north, east and south
of Ukraine, there exists (mainly among UOC-MP adherents) a significant
layer of Ukraine-phobic believers who wish to create alternative church
structures directly subordinate to Moscow. These people are also predom-
inantly Russian speaking. Therefore, the real challenge could be to create
an Ukrainian Church of the “majority” but not the complete elimination
of the UOC-MP.
Now, due to the political reasons mentioned above, it has become
impossible to pose the question about creating a UAOC. This is because
it could lead to a variety of negative political consequences and devalua-
tion of achievements in the church sphere, and pose unnecessary risks to
the national security of Ukraine. Meanwhile, the Russian Orthodox
Church, feeling under some pressure from the Ecumenical Patriarchate in
Constantinople to solve the Ukrainian question, will inevitably radicalise
its activities in Ukraine. This is due to the revitalisation of Russian
Orthodox extremist organisations and the growth of anti-Ukrainian and
anti-Western propaganda in the Russian Orthodox media.
23
Euromaidan [https://uk.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%84%D0%B2%D1%80%D0%BE%D0
%BC%D0%B0%D0%B9%D0%B4%D0%B0%D0%BD].
Consequently, representatives of the autocephalous movement and

patriotic organisations in Ukraine are beginning to demand a complete
ban on the activities of the Russian Orthodox Church’s structures in
Ukraine. They have initiated the seizure of churches and provoked other
conflicts that began to happen in the context of the military conflict in the
Donbas region.
The events in the Crimea (its incorporation into Russia, from Ukraine,
in 2014) and Donbas significantly changed the configuration of relations
between the Russian and Ukrainian societies; especially there was a serious
change in the relationship between the churches. Political differences
between the two countries and the internal change of power in Ukraine
(following the fall of President Yanukovych24) began to test the majority
of churches in the country. The situation is further complicated by eco-
nomic and political differences between the two countries, for example,
Ukraine joining the EU and NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization),
which have fundamentally altered the ecclesiastical and political picture in
Russia and in Ukraine.
The religious factor plays a crucial role in Ukraine; the Church, although
separate from the state, has become directly involved in politics, since poli-
ticians often discuss the fate of the churches during elections and in all
sorts of social conflicts. “Euromaidan” (the Revolution of Dignity
2013–2014),25 the overthrow of Yanukovych (ex-president of Ukraine)
and the war in Donbas have put the church in the centre of the political
arena as a national symbol and source of legitimacy in lieu of state
organisations.26
During Maidan various churches took up a consolidated position. This
was manifested in statements going back to 1996 when the first attempt
to integrate all the Christian churches in Ukraine was made under the
All-Ukrainian Council of Churches and involving all religious organisa-
tions recognised by the WCC. The value of this Council is that it brings
24
The change of power in Ukraine in 2014 [https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%A1%D
0%BC%D0%B5%D0%BD%D0%B0_%D0%B2%D0%BB%D0%B0%D1%81%D1%82%D0%B8_
%D0%BD%D0%B0_%D0%A3%D0%BA%D1%80%D0%B0%D0%B8%D0%BD%D0%B5_%D0
%B2_2014_%D0%B3%D0%BE%D0%B4%D1%83].
25
Ukraine’s revolution of dignity: The dynamics of Euromaidan [http://www.sciencedi-
rect.com/science/article/pii/S1879366515000305].
26
If Ukraine had a common Orthodox Church, perhaps there would be no of war on
Donbass—Filaret [http://censor.net.ua/news/396423/esli_by_v_ukraine_byla_edinaya_
pravoslavnaya_tserkov_vozmojno_ne_bylo_by_voyiny_na_donbasse_filaret].
together all Orthodox jurisdictions (UOC-MP, UOC-KP, UAOC),

Catholics and a number of Protestant denominations (Lutherans, Baptists,
Pentecostals, Adventists), a total of 18 associations. During the Revolution
of Dignity, members of the WCC were all active in the Maidan, perform-
ing peacekeeping roles, arranging a prayer tent and holding meetings with
the new leadership of the country.
Within the framework of the WCC, all churches (even competing ones
and those not recognising each other) agreed on a number of points: sup-
port for Ukraine’s European integration (into the EU), the condemnation
of corruption in the contemporary regime, the need to protect the sover-
eignty and territorial integrity of Ukraine, the recognition of the presence
of aggression from Russia (partly in the Donbas and in the framework of
the annexation of the Crimea) and the importance of democratic values.
All these items were developed by all the churches as a “theology of
Maidan”, which grew out of the “revolution of freedom and dignity”.
They became the basis and recognised values for a national opposition to
the authorities, who used violence against the opposition. It combined the
churches in respect for the “Heavenly Hundred”, where the pride of the
citizens in themselves and in their civil society manifested itself in the
Maidan and through the Church. In this way the role of the Churches in
pursuing democratic and civil society norms helped cement the Churches
as an important element in Ukrainian consciousness.
However, after this the differences between the Churches began to
emerge, which was aggravated by the military situation in the south-east
of Ukraine and led to inter-church conflicts. On the other hand, the rec-
ognition of aggression by Russia does not automatically mean a radical
rejection of all things Russian and Russia. In addition, among the fighters
against “aggression” one must distinguish been the parties of war and
peace. There are supporters of the war to eliminate all “militants” in the
Donbas and there are those who seek a more peaceful and civil alternative
that recognises (Russian) separatist claims and would seek to accommo-
date them. A European vector does not always mean total “de-
Sovietisation” and ignoring the legacies of Ukraine’s past.
The Kyiv Patriarchate (UOC-KP) became the main mouthpiece of mil-
itaristic rhetoric and fully supported the position of the Kyiv authorities (in
his public speeches Patriarch Filaret was particularly vocal in his support
and repeated slogans about “war to the bitter end”, the threat of a “third
world war on the part of the Russian Federation” and other such rhetoric).
The UOC-KP became the church of the “war”.27 Meanwhile, the UAOC
did not become an active player in the framework of the crisis, but did
show solidarity with the UOC-KP, announcing negotiations to merge the
two churches in April 2015. But the new head of the UAOC, Metropolitan
Macarius (Maletic),28 did not proceed with unification under the aegis of
council of the Kyiv Patriarchate and took an independent, but generally
neutral position towards all churches in the question of ecumenical
union.29
In this situation, the UOC-MP became the only church inside Ukraine
in which polar opposite points of view are contained on national issues.
Thus it represents attitudes both for and against unity with the Russian
Orthodox Church, support and opposition for the idea of “one church”
negotiations with UOC-KP, and support for and against the war and
diverging attitudes towards “Ukrainianisation” and de-Sovietisation.
However, in our opinion, the UOC-MP and Metropolitan Onuphrius can
hardly be accused of a lack of (Ukrainian) patriotism. The head of the
UOC-MP constantly toured the border diocese with the region of ATO
(anti-terroristic operation, region of military conflict). His chaplains’ work
on both sides of the military front line and help in running the humanitar-
ian mission of the UOC-MP for refugees and wounded soldiers, the big-
gest one of all the churches, indicates his commitment to the Ukrainian
case. In this regard, it is the UOC-MP that in the future has the potential
to become a church which is able to unite, in one state, west and east of
Ukraine, otherwise irreconcilable opponents at war in different parts of
Ukraine.
In the zones of armed conflict there are five dioceses of the UOC-MP,
with more than a thousand churches and hundreds of thousands of fol-
lowers. Here the military action has particularly broken down the normal
parish life in the Donetsk and Lughansk regions, where, during the
fighting, about a dozen churches were totally destroyed and more than 70
27
Churches came to Maidan [http://www.religion.in.ua/zmi/ukrainian_zmi/24334-
cerkvi-vyshli-na-majdan.html].
28
Unity Cathedral of UAOC and UOC-KP may not take place —Metropolitan Macarius
(Maletic) [http://risu.org.ua/ru/index/all_news/confessional/orthodox_relations/60274].
29
Metropolitan Anthony of Boryspil and Brovary (Pakanich): “The mutual hate can put
the future of Ukraine on the brink of the abyss” [http://rian.com.ua/inter-
view/20150921/374016982.html].
churches have suffered various degrees of damage. In addition, three

Church priests have been killed in the Donbas region.30
In these military actions confrontation between the active believers of
different churches became inevitable, causing wide controversy in the
press, with many accusations, demonstrations and large-scale clashes.
According to many analysts, both academic and in the media, the leader-
ship of the Moscow Patriarchate is capable of greatly aggravating the situ-
ation from within the UOC.31 This leadership, because of its spiritual
authority over its members, is able to mobilise large masses of people to
protest. As such the leadership is violating the rights of believers and does
not help maintain public order. (As an example of this kind of mobilisation
one can observe the thousands of so-called processions organised in
Ukraine by the Moscow Patriarchate in the summer of 2016.)
At the same time the divisions within Ukrainian Orthodoxy discredit
the image of Ukraine in the world. It is a constant source of social tension
and a potential threat to Ukrainian national security via the separatist ten-
dencies it supports, the spread of pro-Russian ideology and anti-Ukrainian
(nationalist) sentiments. Consequently, the creation of a united UAOC
corresponds to the national security interests of Ukraine, both internally
and externally.
The most realistic tool for the creation of a UAOC today is the
Ecumenical Patriarchate headed by Bartholomew, which possesses all the
canonical grounds and potential for the constitution of an autocephalous
church. However, the creation of a UAOC, based on the UOC-MP, by
granting it autocephaly from the Moscow Patriarchate is currently unreal-
istic. As such the main problems relating to the current status of Ukrainian
Orthodoxy are solved only by the recognition of autocephaly of the UOC
by the world as a whole and the elimination of the internal Ukrainian
divisions.
However, constituting the UOC as autocephalous directly depends on
the positions of the Constantinople and Moscow Patriarchates. Therefore,
the representatives of all currently existing Ukrainian Orthodox jurisdic-
30
Metropolitan Anthony of Boryspil and Brovary (Pakanich): “The mutual hate can put
the future of Ukraine on the brink of the abyss” [http://rian.com.ua/inter-
view/20150921/374016982.html].
31
Autocephalia: “PRO” & “CONTRA” [http://www.religion.in.ua/1843-autocephalia-
pro-contra.html].
tions, along with the Ukrainian government, need to develop, along with
the above Patriarchates and other Local Orthodox Churches, an agreed
and mutually acceptable model for constituting an autocephalous church.
The path of UAOC creation would need to be gradual and in accor-
dance with canonical requirements, as well as diplomatically and politically
sensitive. The most optimal approach to constituting a UAOC would lie
in borrowing the model used to join the Moscow Patriarchate and the
Russian Orthodox Church abroad. Here all previous “disorganisations”
were rejected by pointedly observing that “the previously issued acts
impeding the fullness of canonical communion are hereby deemed invalid
or void”.32
In the Orthodox tradition, developed over the centuries, the Ukrainian
state would have a vital role to play in obtaining any independent status
for the UOC. And the current President (Poroshenko) is clearly begin-
ning to understand this, that political effort must be utilised and properly
directed if Ukraine is to gain full independence for Ukrainian Orthodoxy,
that is, autocephaly. At the same time if, due to certain historical condi-
tions, for example, lack of consent of the episcopate, clergy or believers,
obtaining autocephaly from the Ecumenical Patriarchate would not be
currently possible, a way out of the situation can be found. This would be
via the institutionalised fixing of the position of the Ecumenical Patriarchate
in Ukraine through constituting an (Ukrainian) Autonomous Church as
the part of Constantinople Patriarchy by entering it on a diptych as a sepa-
rate Church.
The church structures UOC-KP and UAOC are the real social base of
the UAOC (with about 5000 parishes). However, between the hierarchs
of the Church there is a fairly long-standing conflict, which did not allow
them to unite in 2000, when the potential for an agreement between them
existed. In October 2000, 26 bishops of the UOC-KP and 7 bishops of
the UAOC signed a joint appeal in Kyiv and sent it to the Patriarch of
Constantinople, declaring the beginning of the unification process and
specifying the path for unification. The result of this appeal was the sign-
ing of an arrangement (“Simfonitikona”) in the Ecumenical Patriarchate
32
Autocephalia: “PRO” & “CONTRA” [http://www.religion.in.ua/1843-autocephalia-
pro-contra.html].
to pursue matters leading to unity. However, this arrangement, due to

many objective and subjective reasons, did not enter into force.33
A new attempt at association took place five years later, in August–
November 2005. Patriarch Filaret of UOC-KP and UAOC Primate
Metropolitan Methodius agreed to resume the process of unification
between the two Churches. As a result of a later agreement in September–
October, a joint meeting of each Church’s authorised commissions was
held. This resulted in reaching a common vision and practical steps towards
a closer association of the UOC-KP and the UAOC and for combining
them in a single local Orthodox Church. In particular, such steps were
launched on October 10–11 at a Bishops’ “Council of Churches” and the
joint conference of the episcopate of the UOC-KP and UAOC. Here a
consolidated basis was developed and adopted for a final decision and an
approximate date for the Unity Council was set on November 19, 2005.
However, the UAOC suspended further unification processes after they
put forward conditions deemed unacceptable to the hierarchy of the
UOC-KP. This provoked the statement of UOC-KP management
(November 17, 2005) where Patriarch Filaret told a press conference that
because of the position of the episcopate of the UAOC, the agreement
reached between the Churches in the September–October meeting to
merge had been “disrupted”. In addition, in the UOC-KP’s opinion, the
UAOC’s position indicated an unwillingness of their hierarchy to con-
tinue the unification process. Filaret, therefore, urged the clergy and laity
of the UAOC to unite without the consent of the UAOC’s hierarchy. The
next day, the Primate of the UAOC (Metropolitan Methodius) sharply
criticised the statements of Patriarch Filaret. In Methodius’ opinion, the
unification did not become a reality for one reason: “it is not built” by the
Patriarch Filaret in the spirit of love.
The successor of Methodius (Metropolitan Macarius) in 2015 then put
forward two conditions for any future unification with the UOC-KP. First,
a consistent name “Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox Church of the
Kyiv Patriarchate” and, second, to retain all of the current Dioceses of the
UAOC with their current bishops. This was met with a lack of under-
standing from the UOC-KP, which ended efforts to unite the two
churches.
33
The unification process continues with the mediation of the Ecumenical Patriarch
[https://day.kyiv.ua/ru/article/den-ukrainy/obedinitelnyy-process-prodolzhaetsya].
The reasons for this situation are varied, and it is interesting that in
modern society an assessment of inter-church disputes rests on such prag-
matic issues as diocesan structures and bishoprics. Despite considerable
confidence in the “Church” as an institution (61.2% of respondents34),
neither hierarchy has much confidence in the other. However, despite the
deterioration of relations between UOC-KP and UAOC hierarchies, the
idea of constituting a single church is very popular among the believers of
these churches. Further, it is gaining increasing supporter among the
believers of the UOC-MP. These trends are confirmed by current socio-
logical research data.
Thus, in 2000, according to the sociological service Ukrainian Centre
of Economic and Political Research named after A. Razumkov (UCEPS
A. Razumkov),35 the idea of the formation of a ULOC was supported by
39.9% of respondents, while 42.8% didn’t. Moreover, 14.4% of respon-
dents believed the Unification of the Church is the responsibility of the
(secular) authorities, and 63.1% were confident that government represen-
tatives should not interfere in relations between the Orthodox Churches.
According to the same sociological service, in April 2005, the idea of uni-
fication was supported by almost the same number of respondents, 40.5%,
but against was only 14.7%. At the same time 46.4% of respondents said
they did not know what is meant by the Local Orthodox Church. It is
significant that more than 33% of respondents believed that the unification
of the churches into the ULOC is important for the successful develop-
ment of Ukraine.
As of January 2007, according to the Kyiv International Institute of
Sociology, 50.5% of Ukrainians supported the idea of constituting a uni-
fied ULOC, while only 10.7% were against. It is interesting that in the
UOC-MP, when it was led by Metropolitan Vladimir, the idea of becom-
ing part of a unified Local Orthodox Church did not cause widespread
rejection; in early 2007 the idea was unacceptable to only 20% of
believers.36
34
Statistics: Ukrainian Orthodox Church—the largest Orthodox denomination in Ukraine
[http://news.church.ua/2016/09/27/statistika-ukrajinska-pravoslavna-cerkva-najbilsha-
pravoslavna-konfesiya-v-ukrajini/].
35
http://razumkov.org.ua/en/.
36
www.kiis.com.ua/?lang=rus&cat=reports&page=3.
However, after the period (disastrous in many respects) of Viktor

Yushchenko as the president of Ukraine, the idea of the Local Orthodox
Church, which he actively promoted, has suffered a rethinking and a sig-
nificant loss of support. In 2013–2014, when asked about the need to
form a Local Ukrainian Church, 39% of respondents (24% in the west and
46% in the south) admitted that they did not know what it was all about.
Meanwhile, there is equal confidence between those believing that a Local
Orthodox Church would be established and those who hold the opposite
view, 21% and 22% respectively, whilst 18% were undecided on this
matter.
Sociologists also confirm similar processes of declining support for uni-
fication occurring within the UOC-MP during the second half of 2007.
The Council of Bishops of the UOC-MP (December 21, 2007) eloquently
showed the nature of the changes that were happening in the Church. In
particular, the Church’s Charter was amended with the aim of consolidat-
ing and developing the current independent status of the UOC in the
Moscow Patriarchate.37
An important step towards finding a solution to the problem of the
separation of the churches was the adoption of the Orthodox Metropolitan
Vladimir before the Council of Bishops of the UOC-MP (December 21,
2007) and a delegation from the UOC-KP. Archbishop Dimitry (Rudyuk)
and Archimandrite Yevstratii (Zorya) presented the “Appeal of the Holy
Synod and Episcopate of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church KP to the bish-
ops, clergy and believers of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church (as a part of
the Moscow Patriarchate)” on December 14, 2007. In this there is an
appeal for the implementation of real “steps towards overcoming the divi-
sion” and that the ultimate “goal of our dialogue should be to create in
Ukraine a single Local Orthodox Church”. For this purpose, according to
the hierarchy of the UOC-KP, it “has all the canonical and historical
background”.38
It is interesting that this Appeal, almost the first call of UOC-KP
hierarchy, was “heard” by the Moscow Patriarchy, referred to in the
above Appeal, which was discussed at their (UOC-MP) Council where
37
Scandalous Cathedral of the UOC-MP eyewitness [http://www.religion.in.ua/zmi/
foreign_zmi/10893-skandalnyj-sobor-upc-mp-glazami-ochevidca.html].
38
History of Religion in Ukraine: (in ten books). Book 3: Orthodoxy in Ukraine
[Tekst]/A. Kolodnyy, V. Klymov; NAS of Ukraine. – Kyiv, 1999. p. 559.
it was treated with respect. At least, it was reviewed and a special com-
mission was established to work further on it, which opens up the pos-
sibility of dialogue without prior commitments. New trends were
represented in the report of Metropolitan Vladimir (OUC-MP), who, in
his speech at the opening of the Council, pointed out that in order to
overcome splits and divisions, it is inappropriate to take unilateral steps
and that movement towards unity must be bilateral. A further significant
step towards forming a Local UOC was discussed at the Council and
later post-conciliar comments about the so-called political orthodoxy.39
It is not a religion but a religious ideology that is radically different from
the original religion. For the first time in the UOC-MP it was con-
demned, without the specific names of its internal Ukrainian and foreign
backers being mentioned. This is very important, because it is very dan-
gerous to substitute religious life, religious symbols and rhetoric to
achieve political goals.
However, after Metropolitan Vladimir’s death (July 5, 2014) and the
election of the new UOC-MP hierarch (Metropolitan Onuphrius), efforts
at the unification of the two churches began to stall. During the previous
period Russian Orthodox Church Patriarch Kirill paid visits to Ukraine,
during which he strongly promoted the idea of a special, “joint-brother
Russian-Ukrainian”, “civilised way”, with the role of the Church entrusted
to his care. However, the military confrontation in Eastern Ukraine that
began in 2014 has changed the situation, so that the visits of Patriarch
Kirill came to be regarded as interference in the internal conduct of state
affairs. Thus the head of the Department for Religious and Ethnic Affairs
of the Ministry of Culture of Ukraine stated that “during the Russian mili-
tary aggression carried out against Ukraine such a visit is objectionable,
provocative and politically engaged”.40
Thus, we can conclude about the idea of the constitution of a Local
Orthodox Church of the Ukrainian population that, although it received
a setback in 2010–2013, this may be seen as a temporary phenomenon in
the perception of an idea that is now growing in support. Now, in the
context of an increase in national values and a new understanding of
39
Ukrayins’ka Pravoslavna Tserkva: s’ohodennya i perspektyvy [http://orthodox.org.ua/
article/ukra%D1%97nska-pravoslavna-tserkva-sogodennya-%D1%96-perspektivi].
40
The Cabinet opposed Kirill’s visit to Ukraine [http://lb.ua/society/2014/06/19/
270317_chetverg_kievskoy_lavre_sostoitsya].
national interests and security, due to the conflict in Eastern Ukraine, the
idea of a ULOC is rapidly gaining new admirers. In particular, analysts at
the Razumkov Centre have observed a steady downward trend in the
number of supporters of the UOC-MP (24% in 2010 and 15% in 2016).
Against this background, there is an increase in UOC-KP supporters from
12% to 25%, which helps to create the conditions for the realisation of the
UAOC project.41
However, the experience of association between even Ukraine-directed
Churches (UOC-KP and UAOC) indicates that without mass movement
support from below and without the active participation of believers, any
effort to unify the Orthodox Churches in Ukraine into a ULOC would be
impossible. All efforts at constituting a ULOC which ignore the subjective
factor of the sentiments of the mass of believers and simply try to merge
from the “top-down” are doomed to failure.
However, this does not imply that the efforts of the clergy, the author-
ities and the general public aimed at consolidating Orthodoxy in Ukraine
are wholly unsuccessful or unnecessary, especially as regards the UOC-KP
and UAOC. At least today some of the trends, both in the Orthodox
and in the socio-political life of the country as a whole, have been cryst-
allised. And these give some insight into the type of complications
involved in trying to constitute a ULOC, some of which deserve special
attention.
First, neither the UOC-KP nor the UAOC has sufficient authority
(especially internationally) to independently overcome all difficulties, pre-
venting formal approval of a UAOC. The labels of “non-canonical” and
“separatist” groups attached to existing moves and churches significantly
limit their freedom of action.
Second, the position of Ukrainian priests and the national orientation
of the UOC-MP, of which they are members, are not symmetrical, at least
for a significant number of their clergy. The UOC-MP is not just “in
canonical communion with the Russian Orthodox Church”, but it is a
direct structural element within it (and by implication of the Russian state)
and therefore may act as a reliable instrument for the implementation of
Russian policy.
41
Kalenichenko, T. Definition of the role of the church on the background of double
standards—flashback Data Centre Razumkov [http://risu.org.ua/ua/index/exclusive/
reportage/63516].
Third, the prospects for the constitution of a ULOC following the

Revolution of Dignity, the presidential elections in 2014 and the military
conflict in Eastern Ukraine have increased significantly. These factors have
unleashed a powerful groundswell of opinion behind the active search for
Orthodox association and unity among the local Churches to be followed
by international recognition.
Key Approaches to Ukrainian Local Orthodox

Church
The first approach: just follow the constitutional norm of separation of
Church from state and completely distance from the process of approval
for a ULOC and simply allow the UOC-KP, UAOC and the individual
dioceses of UOC-MP to solve the problem by their own efforts.
However, one cannot hope that this option will really work. As already
mentioned, the UOC-KP and UAOC do not have an adequate capacity
within themselves for this to happen. Although in the last two years the
process of increasing their religious communities has been observed, this
was as a result of the transfer of believers from the UOC-MP. In addition,
between the bishops of all the jurisdictions there exists a latent confronta-
tion due to the opposed ambitions of church leaders for ultimate suprem-
acy and control. This has created something of а competition for the
spiritual space of the country, which is likely to lead to another split rather
than unity. Consequently non-interference by the Ukrainian state in the
approval process for a ULOC will leave the process with an uncertain
direction and uncertainty over its implementation in the foreseeable
future. This in turn will leave the situation open for foreign states to
become involved, pursuing their own agendas, not necessarily to Ukraine’s
advantage.
The second approach: state policy regarding the religious sphere is
reanimated with a preference for the UOC-MP. This seemingly unlikely
state rehabilitation of the UOC-MP has begun to enjoy the tacit support
of government structures at all levels, since there has emerged an unspo-
ken attitude to it as the “only canonical” national-directed Orthodox
institution. It has accepted canonical legitimacy and therefore could play a
decisive role in the formation of an internationally recognised Local
Church in Ukraine.
The political implications of such a scenario are obvious from the pre-
ceding discussion, and such a policy is clearly not in the national inter-
ests. After all, instead of the actual formation of a ULOC, there would be
an increased real dependence of the Ukrainian state on the Russian
Federation.
The third approach: Ukrainian President, government and Parliament
reaffirm their commitment to the idea of constituting a Local Orthodox
Church and, utilising current legislation, strongly contribute to the for-
mation of it. Only under such conditions is the successful implementation
of the idea of a national-oriented ULOC possible. Since this option is fully
consistent with the state’s national development strategy, it is rational to
take it as a base for the leaders of the Ukrainian state and proceed from the
following.
Adoption of the ULOC: this is not just a tribute to the centuries-old
tradition or formal imitation of the experience of those countries where
Orthodoxy stands as the dominant religion. This is, above all, nowadays a
pragmatic requirement as part of the strategy for the national develop-
ment of the Ukrainian people, which depends on the successful implemen-
tation of it. In other words Ukraine’s own (political) independence
becomes tied up with the spiritual autonomy of its own church. It is
impossible to build an independent Ukraine without preventing serious
control over their own spiritual and information space and without pre-
venting foreign religious and political centres from influencing them.
The support of the officials of nationally oriented institutions and
Orthodox hierarchies becomes a manifestation of their patriotism. This is
not about the state interfering in the internal affairs of the Church but
only about the state promoting the speedy solutions of actual problems
with and between religious organisations. In this case, it refers to the cat-
egory of the formation of a positive international image of the Orthodox
jurisdictions of the Kyiv tradition and therefore their status, within and
without Ukraine. Without the help of state officials the various Orthodox
Churches cannot solve their problems on their own, due to strong exter-
nal opposition.
Ukrainian realities suggest that the association of the UOC-MP par-
ishes with the UAOC and the creation of the UOC-KP in the first half of
the 1990s were both quite fragile. After a short period of time since being
established the church organisation of the UAOC effectively separated
again. Taking the unstable situation in this current environment, the splits
that potentially exist in it and the constant conflicts between the bishops
of the Churches, one can assume that any constructive potential in the
bosom of the UAOC is not good enough. And it is unlikely that anything
will change for better in the near future. Therefore, to avoid unnecessary
situations forming, it is appropriate to look to a future oriented around
the UOC-KP and part of the UOC-MP, which supports the idea of con-
stituting a Local Orthodox Church in Ukraine.
Epilogue
The formation processes that occur within the Orthodox sphere in Ukraine
should be open and understandable for its citizens. But there is a problem
with this understanding. One of the reasons for the inadequate perception
of the situation by citizens is that the names of the religious organisations
are essentially irrelevant to the substance of their positions. Thus, the
name “Ukrainian Orthodox Church” does not necessarily reproduce the
true nature of this organisation, since the UOC-MP is a structural unit of
the Russian Orthodox Church. Thus the corresponding status should be
reflected in its title, which otherwise misleads millions of faithful citizens
(believers) of Ukraine. There is also a need for a similar correlation at all
levels of society (government, education, culture, media and others). Since
it is the special task of Ukrainian authorities to bring valuable information
to all citizens, who have a constitutional right for objective information,
they should ensure this correlation occurs.
This question is on the agenda for the transformation of the Ukrainian
model of church-state relations. The transition from a separate to a con-
cordat of systematised relations between the Ukrainian government and
religious organisations will allow the restoration of order in the confes-
sional space of the country. Moreover, a real opportunity to differentiate
between confessions operating on Ukrainian territory, based on their con-
tribution to the development of the national state, culture, spirituality,
information and space, will develop. The next logical step, which is pro-
vided by the concordant model, is the determination of the current place
and roles of all Churches and religious communities in the public life of
Ukraine. This aspect of church-state relations is especially important
because it is directly connected with bringing the development of
Orthodox Churches of Kyiv tradition to the forefront.
The system of concordats, with the state utilising clear legal tools, will
allow the streamlining of state-church relations with an unequivocal valu-
ation of the rights and obligations of all the contracting parties. The
implementation of this policy could lead to the constituting of a ULOC in

the short term. It will then finally liberate the Ukrainian nation from any
spiritual and cultural dependency on outside powers and will become a
powerful step in the free development of Ukrainian society and a real fac-
tor in its integration into a United Europe.
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slavna-cerkva-najbilsha-pravoslavna-konfesiya-v-ukrajini/.
The Cabinet Opposed Kirill’s Visit to Ukraine. http://lb.ua/society/2014/
06/19/270317_chetverg_kievskoy_lavre_sostoitsya.
The Change of Power in Ukraine in 2014. https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%
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%D1%82%D0%B8_%D0%BD%D0%B0_%D0%A3%D0%BA%D1%80%D0%B0%
D0%B8%D0%BD%D0%B5_%D0%B2_2014_%D0%B3%D0%BE%D0%B
4%D1%83.
The History of the Orthodox Church in Ukraine: The Collection of Scientific

Works [Tekst] – Kyiv: “Chetverta khvylya”, 1997. 292 p.
The Issue of Faith. Ukrainians and Religion – Sociological Survey. http://rian.
com.ua/analytics/20161124/1018999887.html.
The Issue of Orthodox Church in Estonia at the End of XX Century. http://www.
pravoslavie.ru/5121.html.
The Unification Process Continues with the Mediation of the Ecumenical
Patriarch. https://day.kyiv.ua/ru/article/den-ukrainy/obedinitelnyy-process-
prodolzhaetsya.
Ukraine’s Revolution of Dignity: The Dynamics of Euromaidan. http://www.
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org.ua/article/ukra%D1%97nska-pravoslavna-tserkva-sogodennya-%D1%96-
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orthodox_relations/60274.
Yakunin G. Historical way of Orthodox Taliban. http://www.vehi.net/politika/
yakunin.html.
CHAPTER 6
The Case of Northern Ireland
James Dingley
Introduction and Historical Background

Northern Ireland was founded in 1921, the result of the partition of
Ireland between North and South (now the Republic of Ireland).
Previously the whole of Ireland had been one country within the United
Kingdom of Great Britain (England, Scotland and Wales) and Ireland.
And although this ‘Union’ had only existed since 1800, Ireland had been
under the English (Norman), and later, British Crown since the twelfth
century, when the Pope granted the Norman King of England the over-
lordship of Ireland. This then initiated several hundred years of attempts
by the Crown to exert its authority in Ireland, whose internal political
structure was a chaos of competing petty Kings and Chieftains ruling over
wildly fluctuating territories. No one in Ireland denied the right of the
Norman Crown to reign in Ireland but did deny his right to rule, that is,
to impose his will and order. Partly this was due to an almost pre-feudal
politico-social structure, with an economy based on cattle, semi-nomadic
and raiding as major occupations in a clan-based society with communal
property rights. It was also due to the existence of Brehon Law (the
ancient Gaelic system as against Roman or English Common Law) and
Ireland’s Gaelic culture and language (a branch of the Celtic language
group, like Welsh or Breton).
J. Dingley (*)

130 J. DINGLEY
This implied different traditions, culture, economy and ideas of politi-

cal legitimacy very much at odds with Norman feudal ideas then being
imposed on England, Wales and Southern Scotland (North-Western
Scotland had long been settled by Irish Gaels who had imposed their
Gaelic ways there). Meanwhile, as throughout the whole of Western
Christendom, Rome and the Papacy were the acknowledged spiritual, and
ultimate, authority. However, the Irish Church had long been regarded as
chaotic and disorderly, built around isolated monasteries rather than
churches in towns and cities, which were few before the Normans. This
was one reason why Rome supported the Norman overlordship, to impose
Rome’s order and discipline on a Church that had long been beyond its
reach (de Paor 1986; Boyce 1995).
Unfortunately the Crown saw Ireland as rather peripheral to its inter-
ests (Brigden 2000), a place to rule in the negative sense of preventing it
harming the Crown’s English (later Britain’s) interests rather than as a
positive asset. Ireland was economically poor, its economy was backward
compared to most of Western Europe (Connolly 2009) and the Crown’s
main interest was military, first fearing that freebooting Norman barons,
settled in Ireland, might use it as a base to attack the King in England and
Wales. Second, the Crown feared other states, such as France or Spain,
using it as a base to attack England and Wales. And this latter consider-
ation was greatly enhanced during the Reformation (post-1517), when
Ireland remained stubbornly Roman Catholic whilst Britain ‘reformed’
and the Pope excommunicated Elizabeth I (reigned, 1558–1603).
The Reformation made the Crown take Ireland more seriously as a
Catholic threat, especially as the post-Reformation religious war period
created pan-European instability that spilled over into Ireland. Further,
Ireland’s economic backwardness made it a drain on Royal coffers, hence
creating an economic imperative to settle Ireland in a more positive and
orderly fashion. This led to attempts at Plantation (i.e. English, Welsh,
Scottish and, later, Huguenot settlers) throughout Ireland in the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries, the main aim being to import economic skills,
develop towns and urban centres, and introduce modern legal ideas of
property rights to combine with greater political, legal and military con-
trol. The introduction of ‘English ways’, law, language, culture, economic
and political order and activity was thus seen by the Crown as an attempt
to ‘civilise’, pacify and order Ireland, whilst simultaneously stimulating
economic development. However, it also implied a fundamental clash of
linguistic and cultural ideals, socio-economic interests and political order
THE CASE OF NORTHERN IRELAND 131
as the old Gaelic order and culture was to be superseded by those of

England and Wales (Great Britain after the Union with Scotland 1603:
Brigden 2000; Connolly 2009; Boyce 1995).
These new ‘Planter ways’ ceased being those of Catholic/Norman feu-
dalism but were rather of modern Protestantism, introduced into a highly
traditional Gaelic and Catholic world. (And, as McCulloch 2004, stressed,
the Reformation took off precisely where there was an indigenous eco-
nomic development, suggesting socio-economic relations as central to
religious establishment.) The Plantation of Ireland was a wholly novel
idea: to create a new order, conforming to Anglo-Scottish and Reformation
ideals, standards of order, legality, productivity and the rights of the indi-
vidual over communal rights—a total re-ordering of society, concurrent
with the (sixteenth-century) Crown’s attempted imposition of the
Reformation on Ireland with little indigenous support. This proved fatal
since it united socio-economic and political opposition to reform with
spiritual opposition to the Reformation, creating a potent resistance to
change and the (previously unquestioned) authority of the Crown to rule
(Connolly 2009, 2008; Foster 1989).
Here, one notes a key insight into the nature of much religion, that it
is the cosmic representation of the divinely ordained order (His order) of
both the universe and this world (Brubaker 2012). As Green (1964,
pp. 15–16) writes:
[T]here was yet a correspondence between the heavenly hierarchy and the
ecclesiastical and civil order on Earth. … [Consequently] … They had an
inbred horror of all rebellion as a breach of feudal contract and as a distur-
bance of the divine order.
Hence to impose this worldly change and reform against the divine
order was to court resistance in a world which was unquestionably assumed
as religious and where divine order also implied socio-economic order.
As McCulloch (2004) or Wallace (2012) have indicated, the
Reformation took root in areas of successful economic change and devel-
opment, thus prompting the need for a spiritual reinterpretation of divine
order. In turn religion can then be seen as a way of legitimising socio-
economic and political order as divinely sanctioned (pace Durkheim or
Weber). And most important here was that the new order (Reformation)
was based on the idea of individual economic and spiritual salvation.
Suddenly this was thrust into a Gaelic, Catholic, Brehon world based on
132 J. DINGLEY
clan and communal rights in a timeless order (Riordan 1990; Connolly

2008, 2009). This disrupted what Hervieu-Leger (2000) calls a ‘chain of
memory’1 without any indigenous socio-structural change. Again, if one
recalls the core sociological analysis of the nature of religion, for example,
Durkheim and Weber, one can identify how change and development, by
reordering the world, may be construed as sacrilege. A new order is to
defy the Gods and threaten their existence, unless they call it into being.
The Plantation was patchy in Southern Ireland but took root in the
North (Ulster, previously Ireland’s most backward province) after 1609
(Robinson 2000; Connolly 2009). Slow at first, it was only in the 1680s
with Huguenot refugees fleeing Catholic persecution in France and starv-
ing Scots fleeing famine in Scotland that it succeeded, creating a majority
Protestant population. These Ulster Planters were not only embittered by
their own backgrounds that had forced them to flee their homelands but
also by the religious wars and uprisings that scared seventeenth-century
Ireland (Foster 1989; Connolly 2008). Partly these were an extension of
the greater European religious wars and partly a product of internal Irish
tensions (Connolly 2008) as native Gaelic Catholics fought reforming
planters (although intermarriage and economic opportunity led some
native Gaels to convert to Protestantism; Elliott 2001).
However, by the end of the seventeenth century, peace was restored to
Ireland following William III’s Protestant victory in 1690–92. The South
remained predominantly Catholic but ruled over by a minority Protestant
(Anglican, i.e. Church of Ireland, sister to the Church of England)
‘Ascendancy’ who excluded all Catholics and Dissenters from civil and
political rights and liberties and deprived Catholic landowners of much of
their land (Penal Laws). Meanwhile, in Ulster (the future Northern
Ireland) a majority Protestant population now lived who quickly trans-
formed the land and economy, introducing new towns and villages, road
systems, commercial farming, domestic industry and a market economy.
Ulster by the early eighteenth century was recognised as distinct from
the rest of Ireland in its physical layout, neat farms and ordered towns, its
bustling economy and its very different religious composition. However,
1
Hervieu-Leger argues that an important role of religion lies in providing a ‘chain of
memory’ that connects the present with the past, thus placing man in a timeless sense of
continuity and order within the cosmos. As such it can also be seen as equating closely to
Giddens’ (1990, 1991) ontological security.
the majority were not Anglican but ‘Dissenters’ (i.e. non-Anglican

Reformation Churches, mostly Presbyterians), excluded from civil and
political rights (under the Test Acts) and also ruled over by an (Anglican)
Ascendancy. These Dissenters were strongly imbued with the Calvinist
ethos that Weber (1976) described in his Protestant Ethic. They con-
sciously imbued their religion with economic individualism, industry and
science, promoting the Capitalist ethos of rational efficiency to maximise
profits and industry to the benefit of the individual and (theoretically) his
or her community (Stewart 1989; Brooke 1994; Lyons 1982).
Consequently, Ulster’s Dissenters created a uniquely productive and
religiously distinct socio-economic order that continued to develop
throughout the eighteenth century. However, many of them migrated to
America to escape the legal and political disabilities they experienced at the
hands of the Ascendancy. Freedom to them meant not just the economic
right to self-determination (market economics) but also political and spiri-
tual rights, none of which they found being ruled by Ascendancy landlords
and Anglican Bishops. Like Roman Catholics, they were excluded, but
whilst for Catholics freedom meant being governed by a Roman Catholic
hierarchy whose authority they could accept as legitimate, the opposite
was true for Dissenters. Dissenters recognised no hierarchical authority
over them, they had no bishops (unlike Anglicanism or Roman
Catholicism), their churches and congregations were individually self-
governing, with elected Elders. Such self-government, along with Bible
reading for oneself, frequently led to highly disputatious intra- and inter-
church debates, causing congregations to split and form new churches.
They also developed a concomitant belief in self-improvement and educa-
tion not just for itself but also to apply in what Mokyr (2009) terms ‘useful
knowledge’ in industry and manufacturing, which led them into science
and then radical economics and politics.2
Unsurprisingly Ulster therefore became the most prosperous region of
Ireland and the birthplace of its only industrial revolution (nineteenth
century). It epitomised Weber’s Protestant Ethic and Merton’s (1973)
marriage of science and Puritan religion, something Ulster shared with the
other industrialising areas of Great Britain (Mokyr 2009; Uglow 2002). In
2
Ulster-Scots, inspired by the radical philosopher Francis Hutcheson (1694–1746) (an
Ulster Presbyterian), provided many of the radical ideas behind the American and French
Revolutions and the United Irish movement.
134 J. DINGLEY
this sense, the socio-economic foundations of Ulster were symbolically

represented in its Dissenter ‘Protestantism’ (which must not be confused
with the Anglican ‘Protestantism’ of an aristocratic, governing class). At
its most symbolic, this is reflected in the interior of Belfast’s Rosemary
Street Presbyterian Church, the first in the City (1644), where the wall
memorials celebrating deceased parishioners overtly conflate their mixing
of science, commerce and religion as part of the same calling.3 This would
have been totally alien to the pre-industrial moral economy in which
Roman Catholicism (and much Anglicanism) was rooted, a ‘natural’ (not
man-made market economy) world, unchanging and rooted in peasant
communal living (Alder 2004; Wallace 2012).
As Turner (1991) recalls, the etymology of religion comes from the
Latin religio = bonds and relations. And economic development created
new socio-economic relations that broke down close, traditional, peasant
communal bonds. It also reflected new knowledge based on rational intel-
lectual and economic relations (science and the scientific method) that
replaced those of religious mystery and feudal moral economics, in which
the traditional Church was central. In this new market economy, individ-
ual enterprise and self-advancement was pivotal and well replicated in reli-
gious ideas of (Protestant) individual salvation, breaking free from the old
community ties and solidarity. Equally, science made mystical belief sys-
tems redundant, promoting rational-causal analysis based on observation
and individual judgement, symbolically replicated in science and its close
association with the Reformation (Merton 1973; Gaukroger 2008; Shapin
1995; Mokyr 2009). New, extended relations were forged in competition
with old close relations, both with their own internal logical imperatives
and therefore exclusive of the other, even posing as a threat to the others’
existence, symbolically represented in religion (Dingley 2008, 2015).
By the 1830s Ulster had a modern industrial economy whose main
trade relations lay with Great Britain and the world (in 1912 famously
symbolised by building the Titanic, which sank on its maiden voyage after
hitting an iceberg) but with few economic relations with the rest of
3
There are also an Anglican (St George’s, High Street) and a Roman Catholic (St Mary’s,
Chapel Lane) Church in the City centre and whilst St Mary’s has no wall memorials celebrat-
ing individual parishioners, St Georges has ones that celebrate individuals’ public or govern-
ment service. Thus the three churches symbolically reflect the respective roles and primary
socio-economic and political relations dominating their congregations.
Ireland. Two-thirds of Ulster’s population was Protestant (Anglican and

Dissenter), one-third Roman Catholic, whilst Southern Ireland was 90%
Roman Catholic in an economy that was not only rural but a peasant–pro-
prietor one. This was extolled as a virtue by Irish ‘Nationalists’, whilst
Ulster Protestants extolled their industrious virtues (Dingley 2015). The
Southern Protestant 10% were mostly Anglican, who also tended to domi-
nate what industry there was (the Guinness brewery being symbolic here),
the professions and the big landed estates that dominated Southern
Ireland, although there were also many poor and ‘middling’ Protestants.
This contrasted with Ulster, whose ‘Unionist’ leaders were predomi-
nantly industrialists, supported by organised labour whose jobs depended
on industry and the Union (Patterson, in Kennedy and Ollerenshaw 1985;
Morgan 1991). Again, by contrast, the Southern Catholic majority, espe-
cially the core peasant–proprietor economy, felt no economic dependence
upon their Anglican elite. This elite had been made increasingly redundant
as the franchise was extended during the nineteenth century and Land
Acts enabled tenants to buy out their leases (Bew 2009; Foster 1989).
However, Unionist and Nationalist were labels that only acquired
meaning during the nineteenth century, following the Act of Union
(1801) that united the separate Irish (although exclusively Anglican)
Parliament with that of Great Britain (also exclusively Anglican) to form
the United Kingdom (UK).4 Prior to that, everyone in Ireland would have
regarded themselves as Irish, even seventeenth-century Planters, although
Irish meant different things to different groups. But with economic devel-
opment and extension of the franchise (to Dissenters, 1828, and Roman
Catholics, 1829, following a joint campaign throughout the UK) clear
divisions became apparent post-1830. These followed overtly sectarian
lines, which also corresponded to economic interest. From the 1830s on,
4
A point commonly overlooked, even by most Irish academics, is that any non-Anglican
was excluded from full legal and political rights, although the number of such ‘disabilities’
was gradually reduced throughout the eighteenth century until by 1828–29 it only related
to the right to sit in Parliament (not the right to vote) and these disabilities applied equally
in England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland. As such they also reflected the pan-European post
Treaty of Westphalia (1648) settlement, which permitted all states to discriminate against
religious minorities. And although most permitted minorities the right to worship in private,
some states, for example, France, did not. Religion was the politics of pre-industrial society
and directly related to state authority and legitimacy (see, for instance, Bew 2009; Dingley
2015).
136 J. DINGLEY
Daniel O’Connell led a campaign to repeal the Union and for a separate
Irish Parliament. This not only appealed primarily to Catholics, who
increasingly dominated the franchise, but implicitly assumed Catholicism
as identifiable with Irish, enhanced by O’Connell utilising Catholic paro-
chial structures and priests to organise his campaigns (Bew 2009; Boyce
1995; Foster 1989).
This became the basis of modern Irish Nationalism, given a contempo-
rary political ideological form in German Romantic philosophy, imported
by the Young Ireland movement in the 1840s. Young Ireland was a group
of idealistic Irish activists who introduced European Romantic (primarily
German, e.g. Herder) notions of ethnic identity, particularly based around
language, traditional religion and purity, into modern politics in opposi-
tion to industrial development. They extolled the virtues of authentic,
spiritual and rural simplicity and traditional religion in opposition to ‘arti-
ficial’ industrial society and science. Romanticism also hailed difference as
good, part of a divine order of different languages and cultures, making
‘national’ separation from homogenising Unions a positive thing to be
aimed for (Kedourie 1993; Greenfield 1993; Foley and Ryder 1998;
Berlin 2000, 2007).
Meanwhile, ‘Unionists’ increasingly identified with the Union as a
source of economic wealth and benefit, taking pride in the achievements
of industry and the (British) Empire (which also symbolised how God
smiled on Protestant Britain and the Union). Predominantly Protestant,
but not wholly, they saw the Union as creative of jobs and opportunities
for Ireland and as part of (Protestant) God’s civilising mission. Ulster’s
industrial success (Titanic excluded) was equally taken as a providential
sign, which Unionists saw as being severely damaged if placed under a
Roman Catholic, peasant–proprietor majority in an Irish Parliament
(McDowall 1970; Dingley 2015). However, Unionists were a minority,
except in Ulster, who were losing their (Irish) political monopoly, but
were part of a majority in the UK, whose integrity was vital to their
interests.
Initially Nationalism made little real headway, apart from a vague rally-
ing cry to Catholics, but after the 1870s it gained political impetus, rooted
in land agitation and campaigns to give (Catholic) tenant farmers greater
security. This coincided with, if not was driven by, new international agri-
business developments and the rise of the modern international market for
foodstuffs, which seriously undercut the market for Irish agriculture in
Britain’s industrial cities (Bull 1996; Dingley 2015). The chief cause of
this was the rise of the fast, efficient steamships for bulk intercontinental
transportation, for example, from Argentina and Australia to the UK, with
refrigeration for perishables, railways for speedy internal distribution and
the telegraph to coordinate best market opportunities. The core of the
Southern (Catholic) economy came under threat and so sought security,
even protection, anathema to Ulster. Ulster’s industrial workers not only
benefited from the cheaper food imports but also built the new steamships
which gave them jobs and saw any protection or separation from the UK
as undermining their security. Once again, this displays a remarkable con-
formity of relations between religion, economics, politics and identity
with religion as a symbolic representation of vital relations.
Thus the late nineteenth century witnessed a hardening of opposed
interests around religious infrastructures. Nationalists continued to utilise
Catholic parochial structures and priests (Clark 1979), whilst the more
fragmented Protestants (often a bewildering array of larger and smaller
sects) homogenised around the Orange Order (founded in 1795 to pro-
mote originally Anglican interests but expanded into a pan-Protestant
organisation). Like their Nationalist counterparts, clerics often played a
leading and organisational role in Unionist politics and helped to maintain
an often uneasy alliance between Anglicans and Dissenters, landed gentry,
entrepreneurial capitalist and organised labour (Stewart 1989; Foster
1989; Gibbon 1975).
Religion went to the core of dividing Ireland into Unionist/Nationalist,
North/South that was not just economic. Since the 1830s, state educa-
tion in Ireland developed its entire school and then university system
along denominational lines. This was dramatically symbolised by the fail-
ure of (Prime Minster) Peel’s 1845 Irish University Act, designed to cre-
ate a non-denominational Irish university system to develop an integrated,
non-sectarian future-governing elite. The Presbyterian Church dubbed
them ‘Godless colleges’, whilst the Roman Catholic Church ran a highly
successful boycott of them, demanding their own separate Catholic
University. Thus from infant school to university Irish children were
brought up in exclusively sectarian environments, with their own sectarian
curricula (Foster 1989; Lyons 1973). One of the most important and
symbolic features here was the role of science, strongly suspect in Roman
Catholic theology. By 1914, over 70% of all science school places in Ireland
existed in Ulster, with only 30% of Ireland’s population (Bowler and
Whyte 1997; Dingley 2015), despite the government offering generous
grants to everyone to improve science education throughout the
138 J. DINGLEY
UK. Science became a defined feature of a Protestant-Unionist culture,

with rational applications for an industrial society.
Meanwhile, Catholic Nationalism denigrated science for an arts-type
culture, for example, reviving the Gaelic language in Catholic Schools and
parish halls, playing Gaelic games, such as hurling or Gaelic football (under
the auspices of the Roman Catholic Church) instead of British ones, such
as hockey, rugby or soccer. In this way a Nationalist world that was exclu-
sively Catholic and Gaelic was developed, inward-looking, anti-
cosmopolitan and built around an economy that sought protection from
the outside world (Brown 1981; Lyons 1982; Foley and Ryder 1998).
Almost the exact opposite applied to Unionists, whose science, industry
and the playing of international games led them to an externally orientated
world. Thus were formed the opposed mindsets of Nationalists and
Unionists throughout the nineteenth century, reversing a slow and partial
rapprochement between denominations during the eighteenth century.
Northern Ireland
Nationalist demands for Home Rule, that is, self-government, had almost
been met by 1914 but it brought Ireland to the brink of civil war as Ulster
Unionists armed themselves to militarily resist any attempt to impose it on
them—‘Home Rule was Rome Rule’,5 according to Protestants fearing
Catholic domination (Stewart 1989). The First World War (1914) led to
Home Rule’s suspension, one consequence being that in Easter of 1916,
a small group of extreme Republicans staged an armed rebellion in Dublin,
proclaiming an independent Republic. This small, chaotic and poorly led
‘rising’ was over in a matter of days with all the main actors arrested, but
not after considerable damage to central Dublin and several hundred dead
and wounded.6 However, its impact, especially in the middle of a world
war, was traumatic and certainly served to sharpen divisions. Nationalists
see the ‘rising’ as a great event and the start of Irish freedom; Unionists
sneer at it as a disloyal stab in the back. Ironically, as well as one
5
That is, Home Rule would lead to a Roman Catholic majority, hence the imposition of
Roman Catholic religious, social and moral teachings on everyone, including Protestants.
6
It is a matter of some debate whether it was a serious effort to begin a rebellion against
the Crown or just a symbolic gesture never intended to succeed, a kind of blood sacrifice for
the cause (Dingley 2012).
redominantly Protestant Ulster division fighting in the British Army at

p
the time, there were also two predominantly Catholic Southern divisions
fighting in the British Army (Townshend 2006; McGarry 2011).
However, the aftermath of 1916, war weariness and fears over conscrip-
tion led to heightened tensions within Ireland and definite swings towards
militant nationalism after 1916. This is the emergence of both the modern
Irish Republican Army (IRA) (popularly blamed for 1916, although not
then existing) and Sinn Fein (popularly translated as ‘ourselves alone’),
which had existed before 1916. Both now reaped the credit for 1916,
building on it and growing anti-war sentiment to instigate a much more
radical political agenda than mere Home Rule. However, in the 1918
post-war general election they won a clear majority of Southern Irish seats
in Parliament, although not a majority of Ulster seats. Sinn Fein then
called a boycott of Parliament (London) and established their own alter-
native in Dublin, whilst Unionists took up their London seats. In January
1919 the closely affiliated (to Sinn Fein) IRA then began its own cam-
paign of violence (Dingley 2012; Bew 2009; Foster 1989; English 2003).
Nationalists term this the War of Independence, but practically it was
more a terrorist or insurgency campaign, following few of the rules of war,
degenerating into a predominantly local and sectarian character. The IRA
and Sinn Fein were almost exclusively Catholic, yet many of their targets
were also Catholic, usually because they opposed the IRA, for example,
the police (80% Roman Catholic). However, most of their victims were
Protestants, many being civilians who simply saw themselves as helping
the forces of law and order. Again, facts are often hotly disputed, many
IRA acts were simply murders, which often led to retaliatory violence in
Northern Unionist communities. Many of the assailants were never identi-
fied and many disappearances occurred that have yet to be explained
(Dingley 2015; English 2003; Hart 1999; Bury 2017). However, the final
result was that Protestants experienced it as a sectarian campaign primarily
against them, reflected in the massive exodus of Southern Protestants
from the South, eventually becoming the Irish Republic. (1911–26 saw
the loss of 33% of the South’s Protestants, whilst the total Protestant pop-
ulation from 1911 to 1991 saw it fall from 10% to 3%, Bury 2017, pp. 13
and 10 respectively; see also Delaney 2000.)
Northern IRA activity was severely limited due to Nationalists’ minor-
ity position but sporadic IRA activity did occur and Southern violence
spilled over in the form of deadly riots often initiated in response to
Southern atrocities (Dingley 2012). In these riots, which left hundreds
140 J. DINGLEY
dead and involved mass expulsions from workplaces, Catholics, being the
minority, invariably came off worse (Dingley 2012). Riots and sectarian
clashes were nothing new to Ulster. Belfast, especially, had a history of
riots since the 1830s. What precisely set off a particular riot was often the
cause of mystery and hinged on careless words or actions at times of
heightened tensions, especially surrounding Orange, that is, Protestant,
marches (times of celebration for Protestants and reminders of their
minority status for Roman Catholics). However, research has suggested
that serious riots can be correlated with times of heightened political ten-
sion, for example, attempts to introduce Home Rule, or times of eco-
nomic fears and threats to employment (Gibbon 1975).
Jobs are particularly important given Ulster’s sectarian employment
history. During industrialisation, workers tended to be recruited into
urban areas en bloc and settled in a manner creating homogeneous, pre-
dominantly Anglican, Catholic or Dissenter districts. From this they
tended to be recruited into particular trades, mills or factories (de Paor
1986; Anderson, in Graham (ed) 1997), thus forming religiously homo-
geneous workforces: the basis for sectarian work practices. Consequently,
the entire jobs market often took on overtly sectarian characteristics and
sectarian blocks would compete with other sectarian blocks. This in turn
made sectarian discrimination quite a feasible (and rational) economic
tool, especially in times of uncertainty and insecurity, for example, fears of
trade slumps (Gibbon 1975). In turn, it made churches of all denomina-
tions important socio-economic networks and powerful brokers of eco-
nomic opportunity.
For nearly 100 years this had worked to make religion a potent factor
in Ulster’s secular affairs, usually to Protestant advantage, making them
non-secular and feeding fears and resentments. Additionally the riots,
expulsions and murders of 1919–21 added a new dimension of fear and
hatred, neither community trusting the other, each fearing being domi-
nated by the other to their detriment. Northern Ireland was born into
this, with a Catholic population (around 36%) big enough to pose a
potential threat to Protestant supremacy. (Protestants were aware of their
minority position in Ireland as a whole, where a history of religious wars
and dispossessions had left them dependent upon Great Britain for secu-
rity. And now there was a hostile Dublin government with substantial
Roman Catholic sympathy in Ulster.) After 1921 this created a religiously
divided Ulster, in a religiously divided Ireland, when the UK formally
enacted the establishment of two Home Rule Parliaments: in Belfast (for
Northern Ireland) and Dublin (for Southern Ireland), with the pious
hope that they would reach their own internal, Irish rapprochement. A
clearly divided Ireland was tacitly accepted by everyone, although vehe-
mently opposed rhetorically by all Nationalists, and violently by
Republicans (IRA and Sinn Fein: Buckland 1981; Hennessey 1997).
Northern Ireland therefore began with a large Catholic minority
opposed to and resenting being part of it, fearing for their own welfare
and security whilst concurrently posing a similar threat to Protestants.
This is sometimes known as the double minority problem, that is, Catholics
as a minority in Ulster, Protestants as a minority in all-Ireland, with both
sides primarily utilising their own denominational networks to seek eco-
nomic and political advantage. Further, both posed denominational belief
systems, values and norms, and ideas of ultimate authority and legitimacy
that left little room for compromise over the role and function of the state.
This then implied that one side must always be a victim of the other as it
imposed its divine order and sacrifices, which became sacrilege to the
other. Nor was this a peculiarly Irish problem: throughout nineteenth-
century Europe there had been an ongoing battle between modernising
states and (primarily) the Roman Catholic Church for state (social and
moral) control, although in Europe it was invariably a question of secular/
civic state versus the Roman Catholic Church, for example, France or Italy
(Duggan 2008; Remond 1999). Britain did not have a secular/civic state,
but a Protestant one, albeit rapidly slipping into civic and secular values,
given its liberal and laissez-faire beliefs.
Additionally, the South maintained a continual rhetorical campaign
against the North after 1921, all Nationalists (North and South) regard-
ing ‘partition’ as non-legitimate, a British imposition, no matter what
Unionists thought. Northern nationalist politics was based upon an
avowed aim of ending partition for an all-Ireland entity, whose implica-
tions Unionists well understood. Further, although small in number the
IRA maintained an ongoing presence, both North and South, aimed at
undermining the North and forcing it into a ‘united Ireland’. Exclusively
based in the Catholic community the IRA ran campaigns in the 1930s,
during World War Two and in the 1950s before the current campaign
began (1969–2007). However, pre-1970 IRA campaigns were small, had
very limited support and were more of a nuisance value. But they served
to continually remind Protestants of a real potential threat—from Roman
Catholics (Dingley 2012; English 2003; Bell 1989).
142 J. DINGLEY
In 1921 Ulster Unionists were totally unprepared for self-government,

having always campaigned to simply remain part of the UK and governed
from London, which corresponded with their socio-economic needs and
relations. However, Unionist leaders (but with strong opposition from
many of their supporters) initially made some attempt to include their
Catholic minority and reassure them. The first Lord Chief Justice (Sir
Denis Henry) was a Roman Catholic as was one of the five top civil ser-
vants (Napoleon Wise) in the new administration. Additionally, the new
police force (Royal Ulster Constabulary) reserved a third of places for
Catholics (the highest take-up was 20%; Whyte, in Gallagher and
O’Connell 1983). However, Nnationalists were more focused on under-
mining the new State, boycotting the new Home Rule Parliament, with
nationalist-controlled local authorities (including education) refusing to
recognise its jurisdiction, sending minutes of their meetings to Dublin.
This only ceased when Dublin informed them they could not pay their
salaries and they were de facto forced to recognise the State (Buckland
1981; Hennessey 1997).
Otherwise, Nationalists (despite a minority of Roman Catholics who
were pro-Union, referred to as ‘Castle Catholics’) increasingly withdrew
into their own embattled communities, already the product of strict infor-
mal segregation (almost by mutual agreement), and had as little to do
with the state as possible (Hennessey 1997; Buckland 1981). In educa-
tion, Murray (1985) provides a vivid description of this in different
schools’ attitudes to state relations, something Shea (1983, a Roman
Catholic) would concur with from his personal experience as the top civil
servant in the Department of Education. Catholic schools wanted as little
contact with the state as possible.
Symbolically, one of the most seminal acts in the new North lay in edu-
cation. Here a really revolutionary change was proposed in (Minister for
Education) Lord Londonderry’s Education Act, 1923, which proposed
fully integrated schooling. Both Anglicans and Presbyterians were hostile
to the idea, fearing dilution of their control over young minds, but the
Roman Catholic Church flatly condemned it and threatened to boycott
any such system. This was followed by (Catholic) efforts to undermine
proposals for a new integrated teacher training college (Stranmillis), since
none then existed in Ulster. Catholic demands ranged from segregated
student dormitories to an insistence on Catholic students being instructed
in scholastic educational philosophy, as opposed to modern scientific psy-
chology (Harris 1993). Ultimately it was agreed to open two separate
Catholic colleges (male and female) which de facto meant that Stranmillis
became a Protestant college. Scholastic philosophy also became a point of
contention regarding admission to Ulster’s only university (Queen’s
University Belfast).7 The Roman Catholic Church required sufficient pro-
vision for scholastic instruction before permitting Catholics to attend, this
being one of Peel’s (1845) ‘Godless colleges’ the Church had previously
boycotted (Harris 1993; Elliott 2001).
Naturally, none of this encouraged any Protestant confidence, although
they quickly realised it provided one massive advantage—as Nationalists
excluded themselves it was easier for Unionists to monopolise the new
state to their advantage. Thus, just as De Valera claimed the South as a
Catholic state for a Catholic people, the North became a Protestant state
for a Protestant people (Hennessey 1997; Buckland 1981). In doing this
it happily ignored its minority, permitting them to opt out (which makes
questions of discrimination difficult to quantify: when was job discrimina-
tion simply [Catholic] self-exclusion?). Having met with initial sullen
resistance Unionists were happy to leave Catholics out, utilising the
Orange Order to ensure province-wide control to maintain Protestant
supremacy and discriminatory activity.
Concurrently Unionists seem to have had an informal agreement with
Catholic/Nationalist leaders to leave Nationalist communities alone, leav-
ing the Catholic Church to control them unhindered (Kingsley 1989). In
many ways this satisfied the immediate needs of both sides, especially as all
the churches remained as powerful control agents, the state distributing
funds to them to fulfil semi-state functions, that is, community control.
Thus, in education, the state funded the Catholic Church according to an
agreed formula, to run its own schools and training colleges, with no
questions asked whilst all was quiet (Shea 1983). Naturally this implied
that whoever formed a majority in a local authority got exclusive control
of it, that is, the ability to discriminate in favour of its own co-religionists
(the majority of local authorities being Protestant-Unionist). But it also
meant neither side interfered in the other’s fiefdom.
7
Scholastic philosophy, until Vatican II, was the official philosophy of Roman Catholicism
and can be found in Russell’s (1996) History of Western Philosophy under the section on
medieval philosophy. As such it can be contrasted with modern scientific philosophy. Both
posit fundamentally opposed world views.
144 J. DINGLEY
Protestants, as state supporters, expected the best perks and usually got
them; however, where Catholics displayed an acceptance of the State they
appeared to prosper (Whyte, in Gallagher and O’Connell 1983). However,
they were often seen as traitors by their community, for example, Catholic
police. Shea (1983) recalls how he, as a successful Catholic civil servant,
was resented and distrusted by his community for being successful! Mutual
distrust and preference for one’s own community became a hallmark of
Northern Ireland society, and whilst Parliamentary elections (to both
London and Belfast Parliaments) were fair and open, some local elections
were gerrymandered where Unionist majorities were non-existent. But
this is where one slips into another acrimonious and hotly disputed area:
just how much discrimination and gerrymandering took place?
Kingsley (1989) argues that much apparent discrimination was more an
agreed self-segregation, with both sides knowing how to discriminate
when the chance arose. However, O’Hearn (1983) argues that the bulk of
differentials between Catholics and Protestants, for example, in public
housing and jobs, can be explained by direct Protestant discrimination.
Meanwhile, Eversley (1989, the most authoritative of all the discrimina-
tion studies) suggests a lower level of overt Protestant discrimination and
also cautions about the need to take account of demographic and struc-
tural variables between Protestant and Catholic populations.
The debate concerning discrimination has somewhat died down today
but had led to heated exchanges in the 1970s and 1980s. In such highly
religio-politically charged environments, there is a tendency for one side
to see all difference as a proof of discrimination and the other to vehe-
mently deny it or justify it. The mutual hostility and opposed political
aspirations make a significant degree of discrimination almost inevitable in
situations like Northern Ireland, which may also be partially explained by
structural, that is, demographic, differences. Certainly the belief amongst
Roman Catholics that they were routinely discriminated against was strong
and had many supporting arguments (e.g. O’Hearn 1983).8 But then to
Nationalists partition and the entire Northern Ireland state was a Unionist/
8
O’Hearn was part of a long and acrimonious debate in the British Journal of Sociology
with Chris Hewitt (1981–87) about discrimination in Northern Ireland that really sum-
marises the two sides’ polar opposition. See Hewitt, vol.32, no.3; vol.34, no.3; vol.36, no.1;
vol.38, no.1. And O’Hearn, vol.34, no.3; vol.36, no.1; vol.38, no.1. One can only read and
draw one’s own conclusions.
British gerrymander that discriminated against them, that is, an artificially

manufactured state with an inbuilt Protestant majority, which meant per-
manent Catholic-Nationalist exclusion. Meanwhile, Protestant-Unionists
feared the same in an all-Ireland state. Both had good reason to fear and
practise discrimination because the entire logic of all nationalism (espe-
cially ethno-religious) is to discriminate in favour of one’s own nationals
(Dingley and Morgan 2005).
But the key point here is that religion plays, or is perceived to play, such
a discriminatory role. For if a state utilises one religious system to extend
its organisation, control and order mechanisms, it inevitably excludes out
those not part of that system. Further, those parts of the system on which
the state depends will expect their due rewards, that is, discrimination in
their favour; otherwise, why bother, especially if the other opposes the
state? Due reward for supporting the divine order also reassures any ben-
eficiary as to the order’s rectitude by receiving divine benefits, legitimating
support. Additionally, if the state ‘imagines’ itself (after Anderson 1991)
as reflecting certain values and beliefs that underlie its authority and legiti-
macy as God ordained, then those not sharing them become suspect and
are feared, making discrimination against them a rational response.
This applies equally to Protestants in a Catholic state as to Catholics in
a Protestant state, which is why the Reformation led to 200 years of vio-
lent conflict and oppression throughout Europe, as in Ireland. France, in
the nineteenth century, resolved this conundrum by severing all state–reli-
gion ties. Meanwhile, both Northern and Southern Ireland effectively
institutionalised discrimination by overtly tying themselves to their respec-
tive religious organisations, which demanded that both religious organisa-
tion and religious individuals were adequately rewarded at the expense of
the other. Thus questions of did religious discrimination exist or not and
how much became almost irrelevant: both states depended upon it to
exist; indeed all states depend on discrimination to exist.
It is not surprising that most studies have found significant anti-Catholic
discrimination in Northern Ireland, albeit with warnings about structural
differences and nationalist antipathy to the state (Eversley 1989; Osborne
et al. 1987; Hewitt 1981). Ironically, had nationalists been more accept-
ing of the State they might have caused Unionists severe embarrassment
by overtly entering into it. Nor should one be surprised that Protestants
saw the ‘War of Independence’ (1919–21) that Nationalists hailed as a
freedom struggle as a sectarian campaign against them. The entire ethos of
an Irish Nationalist State discriminated against Protestants, transforming
146 J. DINGLEY
them into aliens or, more recently, colonisers and oppressors (Bury 2017;
Howe, in Jackson [ed] 2014; Howe 2000). Both are the logical outcomes
of ethno-religious nationalism (similarly witnessed in the former
Yugoslavia) that neither was capable of rising above.
Meanwhile, in the late 1920s, Northern life settled down into a pattern
of self-segregated, self-contained communities, each with its own schools,
employment opportunities, clubs and social activities, sports and social
networks, even shops patronised by only one side or the other. Harris
(1972) in her study of a 1950s’ Northern village found entire, exclusive
networks of distinct socio-economic opportunities and lifestyles within
one small village, with carefully developed patterns of conversation for
when the two sides met. Religion created worlds apart even within the
same locale. Something similar was found by Murray (1985) in his study
of Roman Catholic and Protestant schools in Belfast, each side viewing the
other as alien, with little contact between them. Of particular note was
how Catholic schools tended to shun any contact with the State preferring
to focus on contacts with the Roman Catholic Church. Meanwhile, the
opposite was true for Protestant schools which encouraged state relations
and promoted state employment opportunities, whilst also providing
modern scientific education for an industrial economy.
Against this background there was also ongoing IRA activity in the
North, especially its 1956–62 Border Campaign aimed at instigating a
Nationalist insurrection. This explicitly directed itself to rousing Roman
Catholics against the Northern State (English 2003; Dingley 2012) but
fizzled out since many Catholics ignored it. The reason was simple, for
whatever displeasure they felt at being in a Protestant state was now ame-
liorated by the benefits of being part of the UK’s extensive welfare state
(a development the Roman Catholic Church effectively blocked in the
South: Whyte 1971). Indeed, since 1945 and the extensive educational,
health and welfare reforms of the Attlee government (1945–51) and the
post-war economic boom in the UK, everyone in Northern Ireland had
experienced a marked improvement in their standard and conditions of
living. Segregation and discrimination still existed, but ameliorated by
overall socio-economic improvements, and by the 1960s, there was a
noticeable improvement in community relations and a lessening of sectar-
ian sentiments. Integrated housing estates were being built, for example,
Garvaghy Rd., Drumcree, and a new Northern Ireland Labour Party
(NILP) developed a real cross-community electoral base to challenge
Unionist and Nationalist hegemony in their respective communities

(Kingsley 1989; Hennessey 1997).
The 1960s were also a time of great worldwide socio-economic and
cultural change, including Ulster, which for the previous 40 odd years had
been locked into its own isolated and introverted Home Rule world. Left
to its own devices by London it had little else to concern itself with but its
own internal fears and worries, which invariably came down to a head
count for or against the ‘border’ (partition) and ensuring that each elec-
tion provided, for Unionists, the same result. But this highlights the
Unionist insecurity, that any change might threaten their position.
However, the 1960s did introduce changes (apart from the NILP)
which not only threatened the Unionist Party’s majority but also
Nationalist control of the Catholic community. Each community had
maintained a certain balance of power between themselves in clearly
defined areas, which was important in keeping peace. This was now under
attack politically (NILP) and socially and culturally as the new electronic
media beamed novel social and cultural messages into peoples’ living
rooms, affecting attitudes, old ideas, established authorities and sacred
traditions that had previously held communities together. Concurrently
major new economic forces impacted upon Ulster, as old industries, for
example, linen and shipbuilding, declined and new ones sprang up, often
subsidiaries of big multinationals. These new industries knew nothing of
old sectarian employment practices and cared even less for them, prefer-
ring to recruit in an open market based on economic skills alone. Thus old
economic certainties were suddenly ditched along with old deferential
attitudes to traditional authority and established communities began to
feel their break-up and decline (Hennessey 1997; Teague (ed) 1993;
Kennedy and Ollerenshaw (eds) 1985 and 2013).
This had an added dimension, since not only were communities often
built around workplaces, but they were invariably religiously homoge-
neous. Thus one of the problems Eversley (1989) found when researching
job discrimination was that jobseekers would often not move out of their
own ‘travel to work’ area for fear of crossing sectarian territory. Hence,
community and denomination (religion) felt loss and threat as old securi-
ties, for example, recognised economic and geographic territory, now
crumbled. Into this crumbling world there now entered the added threat
of political change, with new civil rights demands to overtly challenged
settled patterns and distribution networks that had helped to maintain
peace. One is tempted to add that the peace was one-sided in its benefits
148 J. DINGLEY
but this would not necessarily be true. For, whilst the socio-economic and
living conditions of the working classes were some of the worst in the UK
there is no evidence that Protestants were any better off than Roman
Catholics. Equally, many of the complaints made by civil rights activists
applied just as much to Protestants as Catholics, for example, a second
vote in local authority elections for business owners whose business was in
a different ward to the one they lived in (Kingsley 1989; Hennessey 1997;
Rose 1971). As Hennessey (2005) notes, nearly all the civil rights reforms
were accepted by the Unionist government and enacted through parlia-
ment (Stormont) when the ‘troubles’, that is, post-1969 violence in
Northern Ireland, broke out.
In terms of empirically quantifiable disadvantage and injustice there was
often little distinction between Catholics and Protestants, especially since
the UK welfare state applied to all equally. Discrimination, for example,
over public housing allocation, also has to be assessed against the back-
ground of a preference to live in segregated communities the other side
would wish to avoid. Added to this both sides displayed a remarkable abil-
ity to favour their own when given the opportunity, but since there were
more Protestants they had more opportunity as well as control of the state
and a majority of local authorities. What appears to have been the biggest
complaint by many Roman Catholics was a ‘feeling’ of being second-class
citizens in a Protestant State, a subjective sense of inferiority of living in a
state they could not emotionally identify with (O’Connor 1993; English
2007). Such subjective feelings reflect important failures at the ontological
and communal narrative level, which indicate a misalignment of religious
and political identity, of Catholics in the North and Protestants in the
South. It also reflects how political identity has important roots in religion
and how objective discussion of discrimination (mentioned earlier) also
needs to be carefully nuanced with subjective perceptions. Interestingly,
the IRA has never utilised the discrimination argument to justify its
violence.
However, when the civil rights movement emerged (in the mid-1960s)
to challenge the old segregation and discriminatory (however defined)
practices, it got genuine cross-party support, especially from more left-
wing elements, such as Young Unionists and NILP. But it also played
upon dangerous new social, cultural and political currents. This latter
point is illustrated in the way the civil rights campaign blended into the
onset of the ‘troubles’ in 1968–69: once these broke out there was an
overnight return to sectarian ghettoes and tribal hatred. The old fears and
distrust had not gone away, with often the most violent riots and mass
disturbances in those areas that had developed as ‘mixed’ communities,
for example, Ardoyne or Rathcoole in North Belfast, as each side burnt
the other out and returned to segregation (Hennessey 2005). From this,
first the IRA and then a mix of Loyalist terror groups, such as the Ulster
Defence Association (UDA) or the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF),9
emerged, recruiting exclusively from their co-religionists and murdering
the other side (although only the IRA targeted the security forces as agents
of the state).
Old loyalties, rhetoric, symbols, myths and even weapons were taken
out almost overnight and revamped for the new struggle. Once again they
utilised the old religious organisational networks of Roman Catholic
Church and Gaelic Athletic Association (IRA) as against Church and
Orange Order (UDA or UVF). They kept alive the traditional ‘chain of
memory’ and informed contemporaries in their current circumstances.
They also provided supporting narratives for communal solidarity and jus-
tification for acts, invariably criminal and often barbaric, which could not
be justified any other way.
Both drew on religiously informed ideal types, the Nationalists (espe-
cially Republicans) conflated themselves with the kind of suffering and
sacrificial submission to oppression redolent in Roman Catholic symbol-
ism. Thus when the hunger striker Bobby Sands was starving himself to
death (1981) Republican wall murals and posters portrayed him as a
Christlike figure: Sands’ suffering for the cause being highlighted by
images of the crucified Christ in the background, whilst Mother Ireland
(suffering under British oppression) was portrayed as the Virgin Mary
watching her son suffer on the cross. Whilst highly evocative and redolent
of meaning to any Catholic who would understand the message immedi-
ately, it totally alienated any Protestant who treated it with contempt. The
Protestant myth and narrative would emphasise the self-assertive individ-
ual, who lived an useful and materially productive life, got on and worked
hard. Again, the whole question of imagery is symbolic, since Protestants
would emphasise the word (after Luther) and be scornful of emotive
imagery (idolatry). Symbolism and sacrifice, and submission to the cause
9
The two main Loyalist terrorist groups were the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF) and
Ulster Defence Association (UDA), and whilst both were nasty, neither had the deadly effi-
ciency and destructive capacity of the IRA.
150 J. DINGLEY
(Church) are key components of the Roman Catholic Church, the IRA
and Nationalism in general, but wasted life and sacrilegious to a Protestant
(Bryson and McCartney 1994; Dingley and Mollica 2007).
Presbyterians do not kneel in church, have no altar (replaced by a lec-
tern with a Bible), elect their own elders and appoint their own ministers,
and tell them what to do! For such Protestants the sacrifice, suffering and
submission that Catholicism emphasises are rejected; it is even immoral,
preventing men from properly fulfilling productive lives. From this per-
spective the Roman Catholic Church may now be seen as the legitimate
villain (anti-Christ to extreme Protestants) whom one must resist. This
takes one back to sixteenth-century religious wars, where a scorecard of
specific acts of discrimination, sectarianism or whatever becomes irrelevant
as men are propelled emotively onto a cosmic plain of good and evil locked
in combat. Hence acts of violence often accrue a religious dimension that
defies earthly reason (Juergensmeyer 2001).
This latter point is very important in explaining much of the violence
since 1916. For Irish Nationalists, especially Republicans (who support
armed violence), can only legitimate their violence (which also implies
legitimating the Irish Republic) via stressing ideas of oppression. However,
whilst historically there is much oppression in Irish (or any national) his-
tory, by 1829 there was legal and political equality between Anglicans,
Roman Catholics and Dissenters. Meanwhile, for workers, farm labourers
and small farmers there was also an equality of socio-economic hardship,
whilst a burgeoning Catholic middle class was rapidly establishing its
bourgeois socio-economic security (Foster 1989; Lee 1989; Paseta 1999).
As I have argued elsewhere (Dingley 2012, 2015), Ireland after 1829
was no more oppressed than anywhere else in the UK and probably freer
and more secure than most of Europe as part of a liberal democracy. After
independence (1921) Southern Ireland became less free by liberal demo-
cratic standards as Roman Catholic social teaching rigidly informed state
policy, for example, divorce, abortion and contraception were placed
under constitutional bans and state censorship was some of the most
severe in Europe (Foster 1989; Brown 1981). However, this blanket
acceptance of Roman Catholic ‘repression’ (common everywhere in
Catholic Europe) was accepted with equanimity and equated with free-
dom and liberty for most nationalists. And here one has the key to under-
standing the violence: it was the need to realise the divine cosmic order on
earth which called for the ritual sacrifice of violence. The oppression was a
cosmic one, a denial of the realisation of the divine order on earth for
minds structured by a devoutly Catholic upbringing.
As Foster (2015) has illustrated, there was almost nothing objectively
oppressed about any of Nationalism’s leaders in 1916, from Patrick Pearse
(leader and martyr of 1916) to Maud Gonne (leading female and Protestant
revolutionary). However, in his careful study of these figures he found
clear evidence of personal and emotional repression and unfulfilled desires.
There was strong indication of repressed homosexuality amongst many of
the men; others were artists and poets, whose rather lame characters and
poor poetry strongly suggest Berlin’s (2000) quip about Romantics as
third-rate artists and poets. Serious political analysis was almost wholly
absent from any of them. And whilst Victorian society is normally equated
with prudishness and stifling conformity, contemporary Irish society was
being condemned by the Roman Catholic Church and Nationalist politi-
cians as being inundated with immorality, licence, crass materialism and
other such vices emanating from Britain (Brown 1981). The main causes
were the railways, cheap print and mass production, the products of British
plutocracy and modern consumer society. This undermined the ascetic,
poor but spiritually and morally superior simplicity of traditional (Catholic)
peasant life whose resurrection was the avowed policy of independent
Ireland (Brown 1981; Lee 1989; Inglis 1998; Lyons 1982).
Oppression becomes subjective and emotional, a lack of emotional fulfil-
ment and sense of place and being, that is, ontological. Once one shifts from
the objective and empirical to the subjective and emotional, then rationality
slips away, objective reasons to act are replaced by subjective ones, the irra-
tional and emotive: passion replaces reason. And the greatest passion of all
was violence, which for Romantics was authentic, from the soul and raised
one’s consciousness and sensibilities; like sacrifice, it connected with the
Gods above (Eliade 1959). As Berlin (2000, 2007), Greenfeld (1993),
Kedourie (1993), Zamoyski (1999) and Gellner (1994, 1992) have all
argued, the kind of Romantic ethnic nationalism that Irish nationalism
espoused was rooted in passion, not reason. Further, it successfully mixed
spirituality and traditional religion with violence and blood cleansing as a
good thing in itself, rejecting the modern material world for the simple,
ascetic and rural Arcadian vision that rejected industrial Ulster as a second-
rate Lancashire and British, not Irish (Lee 1989; Boyce (ed) 1988).
Oppression and violence therefore need to be seen more metaphysically
and metaphorically than conventional political histories permit—anathema
to most Irish Nationalists. However, it would conform to most analyses of
152 J. DINGLEY
ethnic-separatist nationalism (Gellner 1983, 1992; Kedourie 1993;

Greenfeld 1992) and with much classical social theory, for example,
Durkheim, Weber, Tonnies (Giddens 1987; Dingley 2008). This helps
explain why Catholics in Northern Ireland could not identify with the
State and felt second class (which does not deny any objective factors, e.g.
discrimination). Equally, it helps explain Protestant fears and behaviour,
for the same reasons. Lacking an universally agreed cosmic order to recre-
ate in this world always creates such problems—the entire point of
Anderson’s (1991) Imagined Communities.
An united nation must enable everyone to imagine themselves, that is,
mentally conceive, as one, in an agreed order, structure, values, narrative,
authority and legitimacy, an agreed place in the cosmos as part of an onto-
logical chain of memory. This was entirely lacking in Ireland as a whole
and in Northern Ireland as a province within the UK.
Conclusion
Northern Ireland stirs the passions of many (and bored incomprehension
of many others) and great care needs to be taken when studying it, illus-
trated by the ‘revisionist debate’ in Irish history. This is between those
who advocate scientific and rational analysis, utilising empirical evidence,
and those who advocate an emotive and subjective primacy, addressing
Ireland’s ‘tragic’ and ‘suffering’ history (Dingley 2015; Boyce and O’Day
(eds) 2001). The entire debate merely illustrates the previous few para-
graphs. Unsurprisingly, Unionists (Protestants) advocate scientific meth-
odology whilst Nationalists (Roman Catholics) stress the emotive. To a
large degree both sides have to adopt their respective positions since they
are methodologically symbolic of deeper (religious) values. The Hewitt–
O’Hearn debate (mentioned earlier) is also a classic example of revisionist
debate in practice.
Here it is necessary to understand religion in its social theoretical con-
text, otherwise the debates become meaningless and degenerate into vitri-
olic slanging matches (as often occurs in revisionist debates) (Mollica
2018). From this one can understand not just how emotive rhetoric spills
into violent deeds, but why Roman Catholics and Protestants find it dif-
ficult to live together and develop an imagined community. There is a
constant contest between objective and subjective as prime cause and
therefore of legitimacy, which takes one back to the origins of the universe,
the creator and correct cosmic order. Which order should dominate? This
in turn relates to the material and cultural rewards associated with each
order and who benefits, and also the erection of borders and barriers to
exclude out or include in without harming the purity of the cosmic order.
My point is not to take sides in the revisionist debate, although I priori-
tise science (as a Durkheimian), but to illustrate how important religion is
in understanding Ireland. It is further highlighted in questions of what it
means to be Irish (see Sect. Introduction and Historical Background)—an
objective state or a subjective, emotional one? Indeed, I would argue that
by understanding Ireland in this sense it illustrates the problems of reli-
gion and nationalism worldwide, making religion more important than is
normally appreciated. The key point is that even when formal religious
discrimination or oppression ended (1828 and 1829), it still maintained a
major controlling influence over both individual and communal attitudes,
beliefs, behaviours and definitions of ‘true’ Irishness. Religion has
remained the determining factor in social and political life and identity
formation as either Nationalist or Unionist. The reason for this is because
identity formation has been left in the hands of religion (e.g. via educa-
tional socialisation), which has meant that one religious identity must
always dominate the other as primary determinant of national identity
and, therefore, belonging (the double minority problem).
And since national identity relates ideas of order, which relates to reli-
gion, in which lies the primary source for authority and legitimacy, only
religion can legitimise the nation and order. This is the cosmic problem
that relates to such concepts as ontological security and problems of order
and chaos in the universe, in turn linked to order and chaos in this world,
the one true church reflecting the one true order replicated here on earth.
If it is not replicated, disorder and chaos ensue, such as the break-up of
normal life patterns and life-sustaining relationships that have maintained
the community (local and national) and provided meaningful place, role
and security for the individual. This applies in both daily life and to life
ideas extending over time, from our origins to now and into infinity. In
this I have followed on closely from Zulaika’s (1988) analysis of Basque
violence, which would also correspond to Armstrong’s (2006) analysis of
religion post The Great Transformation, of sacred relations.
This does not explain all aspects of all violence conducted in the name
of religion, for example, revenge or greed, but refers more to underlying
legitimising reasons, justifying violence. This is one reason why detailed
forensic analysis of actual violence often evokes such strong responses
from its defenders, and also why religion is invariably denied as a motivat-
154 J. DINGLEY
ing factor. It also helps to explain the apparent mindlessness of much vio-
lence: it is not rationally motivated but metaphorically and symbolically
motivated, acts of religious sacrifice and suffering to appease the gods.
Here I have tried to point to certain specific events that do violence to
the normal structure of relations, especially change, that disrupt the cos-
mic order and threaten chaos, thus impelling a violent response to appease
the gods. First, for 500 years Protestantism has challenged the cosmic
order defined by Roman Catholicism, on which its authority is based. This
would explain why Protestantism and Roman Catholicism have been ‘at
war’ throughout Christendom, not just in Ireland. Both sides have
wreaked violence on the other because one fundamentally undermines the
other’s order. Second, this order has been associated with changing eco-
nomic relations, where modern market economies have disrupted old
moral economies, replacing feudal relations with industrial ones. Most
obviously this applied to an industrial Great Britain and Ulster in a peas-
ant–proprietor Ireland. Here Protestant-dominated industry was founded
on new industrial and international relations, as opposed to the intro-
verted peasant–proprietor relations of the South which sought protection
from the external world. Third, within the peasant–proprietor economic
relations there was a disruption of moral and social relationships as the
material and cultural products of modern industrial economies ‘invaded’
them. This latter point could well be developed to look at the way Western
socio-economic relations and culture invaded Islamic societies in recent
decades.
Finally, there is the rise of science and material explanations of the way
the universe is structured and envisions new cosmic understandings.
Science offers rational-causal explanations not only of existing causal rela-
tions but also of how they can be rationally acted upon so that one is not
left with a cosmic fait accompli. This new scientific knowledge emerged
commensurate with the Reformation and became the basis of modern
industry and the global order. This has severe implications for religion and
divine order. In Ireland during the Home Rule crisis (pre-1914) many of
the leading Ulster Unionists opposed to it were specifically Presbyterian,
for example, the Rosemary Street Church in Belfast. These Presbyterians
were not only leading Liberals but also some of the leading scientists in
Ireland. Indeed, beneath the popular rhetoric about ‘Rome Rule’, one of
the biggest issues was the threat to science should Ulster come under an
all-Ireland, Catholic-dominated Home Rule Parliament (Bowler and
Whyte 1997; Jones, in Boyce and O’Day 2001; Dingley 2015).
This takes one back to the revisionist debate and how it reflects impor-
tant divisions in Ireland leading to conflict and helps explain the failure to
define and develop an agreed identity that goes beyond religion and all
that it implies for nationalism in Ireland. In many ways subjectivity has
been left to Catholic Nationalists, objectivity to Protestant-Unionists,
with no attempt to match the two up, since one would have to take prior-
ity, even though identity requires both. Hence, currently both are left as
harmful adversaries to each other and impel its adherents into conflict if
forced to coexist because both invoke not only different forms of legiti-
macy but ultimately different concepts of order and consequently truth. If
these cannot be agreed upon there is no basis on which to build Anderson’s
(1991) Imagined Community, either in Ireland or in Northern Ireland.
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CHAPTER 7
Terror-Driven Ethno-Religious Waves:

Mapping Determinants in Refugees’ Choices
Escaping Iraq and Syria
Marcello Mollica
Prologue
The ethnography that follows is based on a multisited fieldwork method
(Marcus 1995; Falzon 2009), interviews, and focus groups which I con-
ducted from 2014 to 2016 in Lebanon (mostly southern Lebanon and
Beirut) and to a lesser extent in the Georgian capital, Tbilisi. A number of
interviews were also conducted in the south-eastern Turkish provinces of
Mardin and Diyarbakır in the late summer of 2016.
Introduction: From Dbayeh to Aksaray

In Lebanon, there are currently 12 official Palestinian refugee camps, with
some 490,000 registered refugees1 out of a total Lebanese population of
some four million. Host (Lebanese) authorities are responsible for the
1
See www.unrwa.org/where-we-work/lebanon. Accessed online on 02.06.2016.
M. Mollica (*)

162 M. MOLLICA
administration and policing of the refugee camps. In these camps there are
69 schools with some 35,000 pupils; vocational and technical training
centres; 27 primary health centres; a community rehabilitation centre; and
9 women’s programme centres.2 One of the 12 refugee camps, called
Dbayeh, is located some 12 km east of Beirut on a hill overlooking the
Beirut–Tripoli highway, between Beirut and Jounieh. It is a Christian
Palestinian refugee camp established in 1956 to accommodate people
originally displaced from Galilee.3
From its opening, Lebanese intelligence infiltrated the camp to prevent
any political activity. However, in the winter of 1976, fighting broke out
between the refugees and factions of the Christian Lebanese Right. The
camp fell after five days to the (Lebanese) Christian factions. According to
a report published by Jana Yasmin Nakhal in 2012 (see Nakhal 2012),
many homes were ransacked and some 70 people killed, including 12
teenagers pulled out of a class at the local Bible School. Phalange
(Christian) leader Amine Gemayel, later elected President of Lebanon
(1982–1988), is said to have stopped bulldozers from destroying the
camp in 1976. However, the camp remained under Lebanese Christian
militia control until 1989, and all Christian Palestinians who remained
there were forced to cooperate with the Lebanese Christian factions. In
1990, in another outbreak of violence, a quarter of the camp was destroyed
and a further 100 refugee families displaced.
Today Dbayeh is the only Palestinian refugee camp of either religion in
the eastern suburbs of Beirut. According to the United Nations Relief and
Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA), there
are 4351 registered refugees,4 but local informants argue that Dbayeh
contains no more than 1800 people. A former Phalangist (Christian) who
took part in the camp occupation recently told me that not all the refugees
were Christians. He also pointed out that the land where the camp was
built belonged to a monastery and there was not a single mosque in the
area. Thus the (Christian) Palestinian refugee camp of Dbayeh was
attacked and occupied by (Christian) Lebanese factions during the
Lebanese Civil War (1975–1990) merely because those dwelling in the
2
See www.unrwa.org/where-we-work/lebanon. Accessed online on 02.06.2017.
3
Mainly from al-Bassa, Haifa, and Jaffa. See www.unrwa.org/where-we-work/camp/
dbayeh-camp. Accessed online on 02.06.2017.
4
See www.unrwa.org/where-we-work/camp/dbayeh-camp.
TERROR-DRIVEN ETHNO-RELIGIOUS WAVES: MAPPING DETERMINANTS… 163
camp were Palestinians whose Christianity was substantially irrelevant to

their ethnicity (Palestinian) even to co-religionists. Consequently, during
the inter- and intra-religious Lebanese Civil War, the main determinant of
Lebanese Christian paramilitary action was the (nominally) ethnic one,
not the religious. Ethnicity literally absorbed any other variable, because in
the public perception of Lebanese Christians a Palestinian was by defini-
tion a Sunni Muslim even if he was (nominally) a Christian.
It was, however, some three years ago, while conducting fieldwork in
the Tur Abdin area, in the south-eastern Anatolia (Turkey) peninsula, on
a different topic, that the mentioned story came back strongly to me. It
was actually in a small village in Mardin province that I met some
(Christian) Franciscan monks, helping Syrian refugees, who told me that
ethno-religious subgroups were being formed as a result of migration
driven by the current (2017) war in Iraq and Syria conducted by the
Islamic State for Iraq and Syria (ISIS). Mostly this occurred amongst refu-
gees in Turkey and to a lesser extent in the Kurdistan Regional Government
area of northern Iraq. It was then that I started looking at those sub-
groups’ migration trajectories. However, if migration was a temporary
problem for Christian refugees escaping from Iraqi and Syrian Sunni areas,
my informants were representing it as, quoting verbatim, ‘an apocalypse’
for Ezidi refugees escaping ISIS persecution. This was because the reli-
giously driven violence Ezidi refugees had encountered in native lands (see
also chapter by Suvari in this book) was now being reproduced in the
(ethno-religiously mixed) refugee camps they were forced to cluster into
to avoid the massacres they were escaping from.
First, there were reports of ethno-religious discrimination against Ezidis
in aid provision by the host countries, for example, in Kurdish (Islamic)
regions of Turkey, where aid was organised by local Kurdish-run city halls
and not by the Turkish government, non-governmental organisations
(NGOs), the United Nations (UN), or other agencies (Beam 2014). The
problem here lies in Turks and Kurds being mostly Muslims who see
Ezidis as heretics or Devil worshipers. Second, after aid discrimination,
Ezidi refugees have often been beaten up due to religious sectarianism, for
example, in the Mydiat (Turkey) camp.5 Others were found living in inhu-
man conditions, for example, in Khanki refugee camp, north of Mosul
(Iraq), where in October 2014, about 8000 Ezidi were recorded as living
in ‘squalor and oppressive heat’ (Rushing 2014).
5
See Turkish gendarmerie beating Yezidi [Ezidi], ÊzîdîPress, 2015.
164 M. MOLLICA
This happened despite the United Nations High Commission for

Refugees (UNHCR) attention being focused on Ezidi refugee camps in
Turkey, following a visit by Angelina Jolie (UNHCR Special Envoy) in
2015. Some Ezidis were not even recognised as refugees by the authorities
in host countries, thus making them worthless in terms of rights compared
with other refugees and even excluding them from the free health care
offered to other asylum seekers from Syria or Iraq. This happened, for
instance, in Fidanlık camp, south-east of Diyarbakır (Turkey), where med-
ical care was provided only by local volunteer medical workers, that is, the
Diyarbakır Bar Association Children’s Right Centre.6 Some Ezidi refugees
were caught up in fights between the Turkish Army and fighters in the
Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) in camps in Turkey and Syria. The Turkish
Army even established a base inside the Nusaybin Ezidi Refugee Camp to
fight nearby PKK militia bases.7 The UNHCR spoke of a ‘humanitarian
tragedy’ in reference to the Newroz Camp in Qamishly (Sidky and
Rummery 2014) on the Turkish-Syrian border. Finally, Ezidis have been
threatened by the same group (ISIS) that massacred them in Mount Sinjar
in the summer of 2014 (Açikyildiz 2014) when ISIS fighters warned those
seeking refuge in the UN-run Aksaray Refugee Camp (Şirnak Province,
south-eastern Turkey) with death if they did not leave the camp.8
Setting the Loci and the Structure

This chapter aims to shed light on the contemporary Middle East’s
increased religious conflicts vis-à-vis diaspora wave patterns that follow
from the ongoing wars against ISIS and other Salafi-jihadi ‘terror’9 groups
in Iraq and Syria. The analysis is restricted to (mostly) Lebanese and (to a
much lesser extent) Georgian loci and does not pretend to be exhaustive.
Above all, this is because I seek to fill an evident gap in fieldwork between
the two research loci, which have largely been ignored. This is, first, due to
the fact that currently researchers and research foci are in turmoil and the
6
See Yazidis [Ezidis] in Turkey’s refugee camps discriminated against, Doğan News
Agency, 2016.
7
See Report: 16,000 Yazidi Refugees in Turkey, 2015.
8
See ISIS Threatens Yezidi Refugees, The Rojava Report, 2014.
9
Whether ISIS is better understood as a terrorist group or a conventional insurgency army
that ignores normal rules of war is a moot point. Currently the term ‘terrorist’ is so overused
and loosely abused as to raise concerns about its continued use. For a critique of contempo-
rary use of this terminology, see Dingley and Hermann 2017.
situation on the ground is at best fluid. Second, despite the case studies
sharing a common history of persecuted minorities escaping from other
countries (Chikhladze and Chikhladze 2003; Harris 2012; Mollica
2016a), such studies are topographically, ethnically, and demographically
extremely diverse. Finally, there are also different rates of migration by
reference to each country’s population.
Nevertheless, both Lebanon and Georgia suffer from the consequences
of the ongoing wars in the Middle East. A large proportion of both coun-
tries’ recent refugee immigrant influx was the result of the same forces and
actors, that is, ISIS and other groups which share their Salafi-jihadi (reli-
gious) ideology and equally target minorities or dissidents. In addition, for
ISIS, there are no borders between Syria and Iraq since they do not accept
any post-Mandate (1919) divisions and borders in the Middle East. These
they regard as imposed and designed by Western imperialists to institu-
tionalise a degree of Middle Eastern instability (something Barr (2012)
would concur with).
Despite this, Muslim and Christian refugees entered into Lebanon via
different routes and constructed different outcomes due in large part to
the already heterogeneous religious composition of multi-confessional
Lebanon, that is, Christian and Islamic communities which are both fur-
ther subdivided into different sects. Each religious refugee group followed
a variety of established religiously defined routes into their new host states
and then clustered together in religiously homogeneous urban and rural
areas with existing co-religionist communities. This then further increased
already long-standing tensions between the different indigenous existing
religious communities and sects within Lebanon (Cobban 1985,
pp. 222–223). Thus, the refugees of various different faiths and sects now
intermingled with Druze (Muslim, own sect) versus Maronite (Christian),
Shia versus Sunni (Muslims), and Alawite versus Sunni (Muslims). These
then added to historical frictions associated with the long-settled
Palestinian refugee groups in Lebanon by further polarising religious and
ethnic communities associated with them.
Alternatively, the south Caucasian (Orthodox Christian) state of
Georgia was one of several destinations chosen by small pockets of Ezidi
refugees escaping ISIS in northern Iraq in the summer of 2014, cluster-
ing in ethno-religiously homogeneous areas of an old, settled Ezidi
166 M. MOLLICA
community.10 In Georgia, however, due to the new influx, the old set-
tled Ezidi community now felt strengthened by the influx of refugees to
the extent of feeling entitled to make political demands on the Georgian
Government. This ran concurrently with the fact that the indigenous
Ezidi community was split within itself over the controversial issue of
building a new Ezidi religious structure in the Georgian capital’s
(Tbilisi) centre (Mollica 2016a).
The rest of the chapter explores the different trajectories of each refu-
gee group and is structured as follows. First, I will look at the way diaspora
have been defined by reference to their (ethno-religious) composition.
Then I will consider the trajectories followed by those diaspora and what
influenced them by reference to ISIS and its ideology. Here, although
ISIS’s deeds might appear ‘mindless’ to outsiders they are extremely clear
and meaningful for those who practise them. The next section will provide
an account of the ideological background of the Salafi-jihadi (ISIS’s reli-
gious ideology) politics of religious cleansing, including the ritualisation
of symbolically driven violence. Finally, I will consider migration patterns
by reference to religiously led perception and stereotypes attached to refu-
gees entering Lebanon, Georgia, and Turkey in a number of fieldwork
sites.
Religiously Driven Diaspora

Here I utilise Kokot et al.’s (2013a, b) definition of diaspora as composing
expatriate groups who consider themselves part of a worldwide network
sharing a common myth or belief in origin and identity regardless of any
individuals’ status or citizenship. In the last 20 years this definition has
been extended to include a variety of migrant groups of different ethno-
religious beliefs and origins (Cohen 1997).
Empirically based evidence (Ma Mung 2004) has indicated that dias-
pora have contributed enormously, materially, spiritually, and culturally,
not just to their homelands but often to their host societies. Nevertheless,
although some diaspora groups have accepted the views, identities, and
even behavioural codes of their host peoples, their original identification is
10
On Ezidi communities already settled in Georgia and in South Caucasia, see Guest 1993,
Asastrian 1999/2000, Chikhladze and Chikhladze 2003, Khutsishvili and Horan 2011,
Ankosi 2012, Allison 2013, Mossaki 2014.
maintained via what Gabriel Sheffer (2013, p. 70) termed ‘their primor-
dial ethno-national-religious or transnational backgrounds’. It is implicit
here that to maintain their ‘primordial’ identities diasporas need to main-
tain ties both to their diaspora groups and to their homelands (Sheffer
2013, p. 71).
Indeed, highly debated contemporary issues such as a diaspora’s degree
of internal cohesion and mutual trust or the amount of their internal
cooperation, have become a function to determine the success of their
agency in host countries (Kokot et al. 2013a, b, p. 12). Nevertheless, most
academic Western narratives have manufactured an image of diaspora
communities as single entities. This is mirrored in many contemporary
ethnographic studies, as Kokot et al. (2013a, b) lucidly explain by refer-
ence to ethno-religious migrant enclaves, competition, and segregation, as
well as mutual exclusion. From this has followed that (ethno-religious,
linguistic, cultural) heterogeneous realities have been irrationally and sim-
plistically turned into (ethno-religious, linguistic, cultural) homogeneous
ones (Wimmer and Glick Schiller 2002). On the contrary, diaspora are
often heterogeneous and scholars should deal with each diaspora commu-
nity as an individual heterogeneous entity. Studies such as the seminal one
conducted by Christian Giordano (2013, p. 218) on the Malaysian city of
Penang indicated that diaspora often contain significant cultural and social
diversity.
The implications and ramifications of a transnational diaspora are felt
beyond the diaspora communities they form in their host countries; above
all this applies if the country of origin is geographically close to diaspora host
country. It is here illuminating to consider the conflicts in Northern Ireland
and Lebanon and how they are influenced by their respective diaspora. As
Mollica and Dingley (2015) indicate, land transactions in the Lebanon are
frequently influenced by religiously driven transnational diaspora attitudes
rather than local concerns. Meanwhile, in Northern Ireland, the justification
of violent acts was often aided by co-religionist transnational groups and
loyalties outside of Northern Ireland (Mollica and Dingley 2015).
Diaspora groups may act in the host countries as inclusive ones to pre-
serve their culture and implicitly resist assimilationist policies, as tested by
reference to Chinese immigrants from Taiwan settled in California
(Avenarius 2013, p. 245). However, diaspora heterogeneity becomes vis-
ible when it comes to the political mobilisation of internal subgroups
within the diaspora, which cluster together in homogeneous areas in the
host countries. Indeed, in the Iraqi and Afghani cases studied by Sheffer
168 M. MOLLICA
(2006, 2013) it was precisely the recent revival of ethno-religious dis-

courses in their countries of origin that brought those (Iraqi and Afghani)
diaspora groups to promote their ‘homeland interests’ in the host coun-
tries that later led them into conflicts with the host authorities.
Nevertheless, the core reason for diaspora groups’ participation in vio-
lent activities, including terrorist acts, has not changed over recent decades.
Indeed, figures (Centre for Defence Information, quoted in Sheffer 2013,
pp. 79–90) point to some 35% of all Mass Casualty Terrorism (MCT)
being performed by ‘ethno-national diaspora’ whilst some 25% of ‘terror-
ist’ actions were conducted by ‘transnational religious organisations’
(Centre for Defence Information, quoted in Sheffer 2013, pp. 79–90).
Ethno-religious diaspora groups have in turn increasingly attracted the
attention of both Western and non-Western countries because of the
recent upsurge in political violence (often too loosely referred to as terror
attacks), which has been linked to them or their transnational affiliates.
This has found significant Western media coverage due to the activities of
two leading religiously motivated organisations directly linked to religio-
political violence, al-Qaeda and ISIS, with the latter slowly superseding
the former in public discourse narratives.
Religiously Driven Terrorist: ISIS

From 2013 until 2014, ISIS overran Iraqi, Syrian, Kurdish, and rival
Islamists forces. Iraqi forces spectacularly collapsed in central and north-
ern Iraq, being incapable of resisting well-trained insurgent units, which
were almost insignificant in terms of numbers compared to the Iraqi forces
(Gerges 2016).11 Indeed, post-Saddam Hussein, Iraqi Ground Forces
have been persistently weak with long-standing and widespread alarm at
their inconsistency (O’Leary 2009). By the end of 2014, ISIS had con-
quered a third of Syria and Iraq, including a huge portion of the Nineveh
Plateau and Mount Sinjar in the north of the country (Mollica 2016a). It
had also gained supporters in Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Libya, and
11
Although, often referred to as terrorists or terrorism and despite their being involved in
some spectacularly nasty acts, such terms have become so loosely used and ill-defined that I
hesitate to use them here, especially since ISIS does conform to some of the basic laws of war,
for example, bearing their arms openly, and wearing recognisable insignia and operating
openly. I therefore prefer the terms insurgent and political violence to describe them. See
Green (2000) and Detter (2013) on the laws of war.
elsewhere, including hundreds of fighters within the Lebanese territory, in

the Beqaa region, on the eastern border with Syria.
ISIS is above all anti-Shia and anti-Iran and its surge was helped by a
number of factors, including the failure of the Arab Springs (Gerges 2016,
pp. 17–18; Danahar 2013) and the sectarian policies of former Iraqi Prime
Minister Nouri al-Maliki. ISIS tolerates no diversity, strictly enforcing uni-
formity and punishing dissent; it considers anyone ‘who disagrees with its
interpretation of sharia a murtad [apostate], a sin punishable by death’
(Gerges 2016, p. 216). Further, ISIS challenges the Middle East postco-
lonial order (i.e. 1919, Barr 2012) and differentiates itself from similar
‘terror groups’ by its land and government goals which ignore existing
rights and borders. To accomplish those goals, ISIS embraces a ‘doctrine
of total war’ translating the Prophet’s Arabia codes (seventh and eighth
centuries) into the twenty-first century (Gerges 2016, pp. 215 & 224,
232–233).
For Gerges (2016, p. 10), ISIS’s violence lies in (i) its origin in al-
Qaeda in Iraq with its focus on identity and communal politics; (ii) its
Iraqi-isation via Baathist tools of repression and legacy of violence; and
(iii) the rural-isation of ISIS’s rank and cadre, being mostly agrarian peas-
ant and lacking theological and intellectual accomplishment. Rural areas
were the base support of Islamists when they used land disputes to mobil-
ise people, including part of the Nineveh Plateau. But the most important
factor was probably the systematic incorporation of many former Iraqi
military and police officers into ISIS’s cadre. Those well-trained, skilled,
and extremely experienced former Iraqi officers joined ISIS en masse,
despite most of them disagreeing with ISIS’s Salafi-Jihadi ideology.
However, the 2003 invasion of Iraq left them unemployed, with no alter-
native job opportunities, and therefore bitter against the West. They pro-
vided both the professional leadership and the military organisation which
allowed ISIS to properly wage even conventional-type combats (Rogers
2017), which raised them above ‘terrorism’.
Together with unemployment, the systemic destruction of resources
and industries and land disputes became the mobilising factors that defined
the ISIS war, providing recruits and support for the otherwise unem-
ployed, from redundant generals to landless farmers. It also marked a
major difference from the Lebanese Civil War, where people kept working
despite the conflict. However, in lands cleansed by Islamists in both north
and east of Syria and north and central Iraq, opportunities flourished for
people accepting Islamic radical ideology and submission. The leader of
170 M. MOLLICA
ISIS, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, in his most famous sermon given in Mosul on
4 July 2014 did not just call on Muslims worldwide to swear loyalty to his
authority but also to migrate to the lands of the so-called Islamic State.12
The message went beyond a call for people to join in order to have the
(now) cleansed Salafi-jihadi lands repopulated by devout colonisers; it also
portrayed (a religiously defined) migration as a (religiously defined) com-
pulsory obligation.
However, initially, the Syrian uprising was not religiously driven. It
originated in rural areas as a civic protest slowly emanating from the south-
ern city of Daraa on the Jordanian border (Hakobyan 2016). The ruling
Syrian Alawite sect, often represented by Sunnis in Syria and beyond as a
propagation of the Shia sect, was able to control the country for more
than 35 years, dominating the military and public positions all around the
country. (Moosa (1988) provides an exhaustive chronology of how the
Alawite sect took control of Syria—via the Assad family.) The Alawite
dominance began with President Hafez Assad, who took power in 1971,
followed by the incumbent president, Bashar Assad, who succeeded his
father in 2000. Alawite control involved both the local and national levels
while also incorporating in their ranks Sunni elites from the cities.
Only at a later stage did the protest in Syria move to being religiously
driven (at least symbolically). This was when Salafi-jihadi factions, such as
Jabhat al-Nusra (later renamed Jabhat Fatah al-Sham) or the Islamic State
for Iraq and the Levant (ISIS/L or Daesh) took control of rural areas
imposing Sharia-like life codes and Islamic courts. As Hakobyan (2016)
argues in his potent account, by reference to Syrian Armenians in Aleppo,
the uprising slowly acquired the shape of a Balkan or a Lebanese Civil War
(Harris 2012). Here religion slowly became the conflict-defining factor
not just for the (religiously driven) terrorists but also for those populations
that ISIS conquered. Thus minorities too had to cope with new, religiously
defined, realities, which slowly took the shape of a historical reproduction
of similar past socio-religious structures and events. For the incumbent
Latin (Christian) priest of Aleppo, Fr Ibrahim Alsabagh (2016, pp. 85–86),
it was precisely the memory of what had happened to the Christians in
Lebanon during its Civil War (1975–1990) that now dictated Syrian
Christians’ actions in the current Syrian War. At the beginning of the
Lebanese Civil War Christians took up their weapons to fight (a religiously
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/jul/06/abu-bakr-al-baghdadi-isis.
12
motivated war against) Druse and Muslim militias, but then ended up
fighting each other (turning what had started as a religiously motivated
war into a number of intra-Christian feuds). Christians had proved they
were not capable of maintaining for long a ‘religious-driven’ communal
cohesion (something the Lebanese historian Makdisi (2000, pp. 118–120,
152–159) would concur with by reference to the way Christian Maronites
lost the 1860 war against the Druze in Mount Lebanon).
The resultant role of religion in Syrian society and in the current war
increased dramatically throughout the country as factions formed along
religious sectarian lines as religion became the ‘viaticum’ of both political
and religious elites which they could use to mobilise their target audi-
ences. Soon after, even the Western-supported, so-called Free Syrian Army
could not function without using Islamic symbols in its messages as a
means to gain public legitimacy (Gerges 2016, p. 174), in a society increas-
ingly mobilising around religiously driven messages. Socio-religious-based
networks dug down into already shared and compelling cultural commu-
nal values, rooted within a diaspora’s formation dynamics, helped the
Salafi-jihadi groups to enter into increasingly religiously radicalised com-
munities. In a similar fashion, the (Sunni) Hamas- or (Shia) Hizbullah-
affiliated organisations had also done this in occupied Palestine or Lebanon
(Mollica 2014). Gerges (2016, p. 177) makes a similar point, first, by
reference to both al-Nusra activities and its target constituencies in rural
Sunni Syrian districts devastated by unemployment, poverty, and war, and,
second, by ISIS in the Sunni Iraqi province of Anbar where no popular
resistance was ever displayed against them, largely because it delivered
goods and services (Gerges 2016, pp. 262 & 265), something that Maliki’s
Iraqi Government was perceived as incapable of providing. Thus religious
mobilisation succeeds where it offers material rewards.
This made religious-based ties and networks stronger than state ones in
both Syria and Iraq. These religious networks strongly re-emerged when
the state ‘glue’ (Baathist ideology and structures above all) dissolved and
proved incapable of resisting religiously driven communal forces. Those
previously hidden (religious) forces were soon capable of challenging state
(artificial) structures, providing an alternative, much stronger, cohesive set
of networks based on religious-tribal relations. Eventually, these (reli-
giously based and Middle Eastern–oriented) relations could easily cross
post-Mandate (secular-based and Western-imposed) borders, as the spec-
tacular and rapid conquest by ISIS of contiguous Sunni areas in Iraq and
Syria in 2014–2015 proved. This provides a valuable lesson in showing
172 M. MOLLICA
that political ties and relations are only strong when reinforced by underly-
ing socio-religious ties, especially when linked to the ability to deliver
materially—an important lesson for all nationalism.
Religion here is a recipient base for cohesion, utilising networks that
bind individuals socially, economically, politically, psychologically, emo-
tionally, and ontologically (Dingley 2011a, b; Giddens 1990, 1991),
above all in times of crisis (Mollica and Dingley 2015). And for refugees,
religious group loyalty is often the perceived means for projecting the
group (Kinnvall 2004; Wellman and Tokuno 2004) via collective mobili-
sation of resources and consciousness. And it was in Lebanon, precisely at
a time of crisis (e.g. the Civil War from 1975 until 1990, the various Israeli
invasions up to the last withdrawal in 2000, and the last war in the summer
of 2006 between Hizbullah and the Israeli Defence Forces), that religious
loyalty proved stronger than national cohesion. The nation fragmented
and did not work, so people fell back on religion and formal religious
structures. One major reason for this was that a number of transnational
religiously based loyalties were stronger than any national-based loyalty
bonds (Mollica and Dingley 2015; Mollica 2015). And by reference to
ISIS, I agree with Gerges (2016) when he argues that the caliphate trans-
formed those religious loyalties into a ‘political entity’, and then trans-
formed that ‘political entity’ into a ‘collective religious obligation’.
Interestingly, Dingley (2015) argues something similar in his Durkheimian
analysis of Ireland and Northern Ireland.
However, once loyalties are completely absorbed into the religious
realm, ‘cleansing’ the land specifically means from ‘all infidel influences’.
Of course, this is not novel in the dynamics of ‘terrorist violence’, for
instance; it finds a striking contemporary parallel in Republican or Loyalist
violence in Northern Ireland, where religion provides legitimating sym-
bolism and the networks to provide the means of transmission of ritual
violence to the target audience (Dingley 2011a, and see Chap. 5 in this
book). Nevertheless, when ISIS portrays flamboyant, ritual, Roman the-
atre–style violence to the process of cleansing the land, it does it, in Gerges’
(2016, pp. 28–30) terms, by ‘deeds, not words’. I would add that this
kind of salvation message portrayed by ISIS ideologists, together with a
tangent conquest policy narrative, expanded well beyond the lands ISIS
currently controls, where ideology and ‘deeds’ find room even in and
against diaspora communities.
Infra-Jihadi Struggle for Religious Purity

For a truly Islamic State to be created (which Hallaq (2013) argues is a
contradiction in terms), its lands need to be cleansed of infidels and here-
tics. ISIS fighters, according to them, have a religious duty to eliminate
with any available means all threats from sociopolitical or religiously driven
opposition groups who threaten their very existence. ISIS could employ
any number of means (allegedly) deemed religiously justified to cleanse
the land, including indiscriminate killing, enslaving women belonging to
religiously not ‘protected people’ (the ‘People of the Book’, i.e. Jews,
Christians, Sabians), and systematic rape. The latter, slowly became an
increasingly powerful recruiting tool for terrorists coming from both con-
servative and ultraconservative Muslim societies where sexual intercourse
with irregular partners is normally strictly prohibited.
Indeed, despite an increased religiosity from the 1990s, the reality was
that Islamic fundamentalists had never found fertile soil in Iraq. Under
Saddam Hussein’s regime, for instance, Iraq was hostile territory for all
religious activists. Paradoxically, the most important variable in the emer-
gence of al-Qaeda was precisely the destruction of the Iraqi state in 2003,
a destruction that allowed al-Qaeda to merge with local Sunnis, who felt
that the new order empowered the Shia (Mollica 2006; Gerges 2016,
pp. 62–63, 69). Meanwhile, the new Iraqi government’s inability to create
a common identity contrasted with the clearly defined ideologies of Salafi-
jihadists, as well as with the (short-lived) governments of Baathists and
nationalists (Gerges 2016, p. 127). In addition, the failure to create any
inclusive, common ideology based on a strong idea of a shared community
aggravated the situation, literally paving the way to the implosion of the
nation state as a common entity (similar to the case in Lebanon; Mollica
2006; Mollica and Dingley 2015).
In the Iraqi case, officers of what was once the Iraqi Army slowly started
joining co-religious armed organisations such as ISIS, thus helping
religious-communal fragmentation of Iraq (Rogers 2017). The dynamic
was similar to what happened in the early stages of the Lebanese Civil War,
which was to tear Lebanon apart for a bloody 15-year-long conflict.
Nevertheless, al-Qaeda Central leaders (first Osama Bin Laden 1988–2011,
and then the current leader Ayman al-Zawahiri from 2011) prioritised the
struggle against the United States (Gerges 2016, pp. 74 & 158).
Alternatively, the first leader of al-Qaeda in Iraq (of which ISIS is an ema-
nation), Abu Musab al-Zarqawi (2004–2006), prioritised Iraq, excom-
174 M. MOLLICA
municating Shia, minorities, and rival Sunnis and justified the collateral
killing of Muslims.13 On a regional level, events such as former Shia Iraqi
Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki’s (2006–2014) support of Bashar al-Assad
intensified Sunni fears in both Iraq and Syria, fomenting anti-government
protests in Sunni areas.
In Syria socio-religious divisions were aggravated by the increasing gap
between different sections of society due to inefficient neo-liberal eco-
nomic reforms, affecting rich and poor alike, particularly impacting on the
agricultural sector. These are the variables Gerges (2016, pp. 171–173)
deemed determinant in explaining why at first the protests in Syria origi-
nated in both rural areas and commercial hubs and was not religiously
driven. It took, however, less than six months to turn those protests into
religious and sectarian ones (Hakobyan 2016; Mollica 2016a). It was
indeed the use of (Sunni) religious networks and religiously based (Sunni)
organisations that mobilised the Sunni communities (being around 70% of
the Syrian population in 201014).
It was, however, in May 2011, when Baghdadi sent Abu Mohammed
al-Joulani from Iraq to Syria to set up a jihadist cell—namely Jabhat al-
Nusra—that the protest took its definitive (religious) form. In April 2013,
Baghdadi made known the connection between the (original) Islamic
State of Iraq and (its Iraqi branch) Jabhat al-Nusra and announced the
merger and creation of a new reality, that is, the Islamic State of Iraq and
Syria (Gerges 2016, pp. 187–188). This could basically be regarded as just
an intra Salafi-jihadist issue of power struggles and nothing to do with
ideologies since when, soon after, al-Joulani rejected the merger it initi-
ated an intra-jihadist fight to affirm (religious) purity. This intra-Salafi-
jihadi fight was then fought on the lines of each trying to discredit their
opponents by connecting them to the former (secular) Baathist regime in
Iraq (Gerges 2016, p. 141), from which country both groups’ elites were
coming.
Between the two jihadi organisations the struggle was fought on the
genealogy of purity and its representation. Meanwhile, their approach to
the secular agendas set by the Baathist parties in Syria and the Shia-led
Iraq Government was represented by both organisations as mirroring
13
See https://scholarship.tricolib.brynmawr.edu/bitstream/handle/10066/4809/
ZAR20050518P.pdf?sequence=3.
14
http://gulf2000.columbia.edu/images/maps/Syria_Religion_Detailed_lg.png.
apostasy ideologies that both ISIS and Jabhat al-Nusra had a religious
duty to cleanse. This was translated into neighbouring countries via each
religious sect’s respective refugee network and camps as well as amongst
indigenous populations, in areas such as the Beqaa in Lebanon, where the
two organisations were also present. In this way the transnational dimen-
sion of those ideologies thus entered not just Iraq and Syria but beyond
them into neighbouring countries via religious networks and organisa-
tional structures that were more effective than national political structures
at conveying and mobilising ideas and beliefs.
The Ezidis: Not Protected People

ISIS killed thousands of Ezidis or forced them to convert to Sunni Islam
(Açikyildiz 2014) largely because they are not so-called protected people
of the Book, that is, the Qu’ran. Thus their destiny was worse than that
reserved for other minorities such as the Christians living in Mosul when
ISIS conquered the city in June 2014 (Miller 2014). Christians were given
a fourth option, that is, leaving the city, besides the other three given to
‘protected people’ dwelling in Salafi-jihadist-controlled areas (dar al-
islam): paying a tax (jizya), converting to Islam, or death. This is why, at
the time of writing (May 2017), there are no Christians left in Mosul, as
all left in the summer of 2014, as documented by the Roman Catholic
Archbishop of the city, Mgr. Amil Shamaaoun Nona (Miller 2014).
Enslavement of Ezidi reached a peak of some 6000 Ezidi civilians. Ezidi
women (including teenagers and children) were put on sale in a number
of markets in ISIS-conquered towns, a price list was even made known for
their cost.15 Meanwhile, the displacement of Ezidis involved something
like 85% of the population dwelling in the Nineveh Plateau and in the
Sinjar Mountain area (Yazda Report 2015). This was the background
against which I conducted my fieldwork amongst a small unit of Ezidi
refugees in Tbilisi.
15
See http://minorityrights.org/minorities/yezidis/; http://www.bbc.com/news/
world-middle-east-33522204. As for the price list, a woman aged 40 to 50 – £27; a woman
aged 30 to 40 – £40; a woman aged 20 to 30 – £53; a girl aged 10 to 20 – £80; a child under
nine – £106 (see on this http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2820603/The-price-
slave-determined-official-ISIS-price-list-Islamist-group-sets-prices-Yazidi-Christian-women-
girls-nine-fetching-highest-price.html).
176 M. MOLLICA
From 2014 to 2016, I worked with the local Georgian and long-settled
Ezidi community and with a small unit (63 people) of Ezidi refugees who
had entered Georgia in August 2014. They arrived just a few weeks before
the Georgian immigration law was changed (September 2014), from
which time a visa is required for all Iraqi citizens wanting to enter the
Republic of Georgia. The refugees settled in Tbilisi had escaped ISIS mas-
sacres evacuating their collective town, not far from Sinjar, just in time
(Mollica 2016a). These Ezidi Iraqi citizens applied for refugee status in
Georgia, for religious and sociopolitical reasons, which they were then
granted and they settled in Tbilisi. The Georgian Government and the
UNHCR jointly supported them by paying their rents, giving them 45
Lari [$20] each per month and guaranteeing health insurance. They were
provided with assistance to teach Georgian to the refugee children and
access to kindergarten programmes. Meanwhile, the local, settled, Ezidis
were happy to help the refugees whilst the Government and all other reli-
gious leaders helped and respected them (Mollica 2016a).
The Ezidis have often been the subject of derogatory attributions, that
is, ‘devil worshippers’. This was mostly by reference to the controversial
meaning of their venerated animal, the peacock, which in Islam is both a
symbol of wisdom and a demonic figure. And negative stereotypes associ-
ated with their religious practices had already been encountered and
extensively documented by European ethnographers centuries ago
(Menant 1892, pp. 13–14, Suvari’s chapter, this book). Consequently, the
Ezidis living in the north of Iraq were considered vulnerable to sectarian
attacks by Salafi-jihadists groups well before ISIS came to the fore (Mollica
2016a). Thus for my Ezidi informants in Georgia, both from the old set-
tled community and the new diaspora community, migration is by
definition linked with persecution. Persecution here means ‘religious per-
secution’ as Ezidis make continuous reference to attacks they suffer
because of their religious affiliation, which subsumes any other cultural
variable when it comes to identity.
Figures coming from organisations working with refugees from Sinjar,
in the Kurdistan Regional Government area, put the number of Ezidi
refugees at between 300,000 and 450,000 (Mollica 2016a). However, the
complex identity cross-ties between Ezidism and Kurdish-ness still play a
major role in local politics and identity categorisation in all south Caucasian
countries and even beyond, making census returns difficult to translate
(Mollica 2016a).
Previously many of the established Ezidis had settled in areas close to

Mount Ararat, southern Caucuses, during the Armenian Genocide of
1915 (Kévorkian 2011) to escape Kurdish and Turkish massacres. From
there they slowly spread into both Georgia and Armenia (Melkumyan
2016, p. 175). In the Caucasus, the Ezidi traditionally generated mecha-
nisms for their survival through loyalty to the local government (Field
1975; Melkumyan 2016, p. 188). However, despite this, during the Soviet
era Ezidis ‘disappeared’ from all official data, since the Soviets used lan-
guage rather than religion as the national identity marker. This ended with
the collapse of the Soviet Union.
Ezidi community leaders estimate that there are currently just 6000
Ezidis in Georgia, whilst, according to the 2002 census, there were some
18,000 Ezidis in Georgia (UNHCR 2008 Report). Between 1989 and
2002, Ezidis in Georgia lost 37% of their population (UNHCR 2008
Report), many of whom appear to have been the better educated and
potential community leaders. And their loss has reduced the Ezidi’s ability
to interact with Georgian civil society (Mollica 2016a). Nevertheless, the
Ezidi community settled in the Caucasus and above all in Georgia seemed
to have somehow rejuvenated their position in recent years because of two
events: first, the building of the new Ezidi temple of Sultan Ezid on the
outskirts of Tbilisi; and second, because of the summer 2014 massacres on
Mount Sinjar and the arrival in Georgia of Ezidi refugees escaping the
well-documented and religiously driven massacre perpetrated by ISIS
against them.
The Armenians from Midan Quarter (Aleppo)

The Syrian crisis and its spillover effects in neighbouring countries had,
however, a much more visible and dramatic impact on the Lebanese econ-
omy, politics, demography, and security (Mollica 2016b) than in the more
distant country of Georgia. Lebanon was indeed both topographically and
culturally closer to Syria than the south Caucasian countries or Turkey,
despite many refugees from both Iraq and Syria sharing similar religious
beliefs with those in Turkey. And by 2015 Lebanon was expecting more
than 1.3 million refugees.16 In response the Lebanese Government estab-
lished an inter-ministerial crisis cell which kept working into 2017.
16
See https://data.unhcr.org/syrianrefugees/country.php?id=122.
178 M. MOLLICA
However, the country is not part of the 1951 Refugee Convention and
thus is able to impose restrictions at the border. Nevertheless, Syrians (of
all religious sects and denominations) in need kept seeking assistance in
Lebanon17 and despite its lawful restrictions refugees kept entering
Lebanon. They utilised a number of border points choosing and changing
them by reference to security-related issues and the ethno-religious para-
military groups controlling both sides of the chosen border checkpoint.
Syrians make up the majority of new refugees in Lebanon, while Iraqis
make up the majority of non-Syrian refugees. Despite assistance from the
Lebanese Government and UNHCR18 the refugees’ conditions are far
from satisfactory. Amongst many problems, one of the most striking is
that concerning the welfare of children. Figures for the UNHCR19 indi-
cate that Syrian refugees born in Lebanon are particularly at risk: for
instance, out of 5779 Syrian newborns in 2014, 72% do not possess an
official birth certificate.
One of the settings of my fieldwork in Beirut was the Howard
Karagheusian Commemorative Corporation, based in Marash Street, in
the Armenian quarter of Bourj Hammoud. This centre belongs to an assis-
tance network created by the rich New Yorker Armenian Mihran
Karagheusian, originally meant to help children who survived the 1915
Armenian genocide. Since then it has opened 100 dental clinics in Armenia
and Syria as well as community programmes to develop skills and
socio-
economic capacities in both countries. In Aleppo (Syria) the
Karagheusian Corporation started providing hot meals to needy children
and to assist widowed families during the Second World War. And since
1948 their services have been extended to other Syrian towns, such as
Qamishli, Hasaka, Latakia, and Kessab. In 1991 they began a programme
around the Armenian Lebanese village of Anjar.
The Karagheusian Corporation medical department today has five clin-
ics and a social assistance programme which was helping some 600 families
up to 2011. However, today the centre also acts as an umbrella organisa-
tion for five Armenian NGOs based in Borji Hammoud. Here Armenian
Churches, social agencies, and medical centres cooperate to face the refu-
17
18
That is, registration, protection, resettlement and humanitarian admission, provision of
cash grants, and access to health and education.
19
gee influx by creating schools and making home visits to assist thousands
of refugees. Refugees from Syria started coming to the Armenian NGOs
in 2012, whilst the UNHCR only started registering them in 2013.
Even in Georgia, although referring to a much smaller number of refu-
gees than in Lebanon, there is a problem of data collection. This refers to
the discrepancy between general data provided by governmental and
international agencies on refugee numbers with those provided by the
refugees’ co-ethno-religious organisations. However, despite any differ-
ences in the trajectories of their migration waves, a common variable
amongst all refugees was trying to cluster in ethno-homogeneous reli-
gious areas. Indeed, for all Armenian refugees and civil workers working
with them I spoke to, it was the religious variable that counted: the glue
that united Armenians in Syria and in Lebanon. This variable was the
underlying path followed by all transnational Armenian migration waves
from Syria to Lebanon during the ongoing war, for example, preferring
religious networks to formal UN networks.
For instance, at the time of my main fieldwork visit to the Karagheusian
centre (mid-April 2016) Syrian Armenian refugees registered with NGOs
there numbered 2266, while according to UNHCR data there were only
1350. This numerical inconsistency between NGOs and international
organisations mirrored larger and deeper inconsistencies, such as a gener-
alised distrust towards non co-ethno-religious organisations. This proved
to be generally a fatal structural and organisational problem in managing
the refugee crisis in both ‘proxy’ countries, remembering that the refugees
were fleeing religiously driven wars. It also added to the already confused
and changing scenario in all the ethno-religious communities impacted by
the Iraqi and Syrian conflicts.
At the Karagheusian Corporation, aid distribution was mostly ‘Syrian
Armenian’, although sometimes in partnership with the UNHCR and the
Pontifical Mission (Roman Catholic). Social workers assisted in 25
Armenian schools, where 700 Syrian Armenian refugees have been regis-
tered since 2013; most of the other aid consisted of providing books and
paying tuition fees for children in 35 schools in Lebanon and Syria.
All interviewed Syrian Armenian refugees came from Aleppo and all
wanted to go on to Canada, where they would be able to utilise religious
networks. They were all female and left Aleppo for Beirut between 2012
and 2015. All had kinship relations with and received support (clothes,
food, and other help) from Lebanese Armenian NGOs, Churches, or the
wider settled Lebanese Armenian community. The refugees all went to
180 M. MOLLICA
Beirut because they knew people who could help in finding them accom-
modation in Bourj Hammoud. And they all said that wherever they will be
sent they will go, but it must be outside of the Middle East, as none of
them would indeed go back to Aleppo.
In August 2016, in Aleppo, Fr. Alsabagh (2016, p. 113) reported 624
Latin (Roman Catholic) families and some 300 Armenian (Roman
Catholic) families. Christians (of all denominations, but above all
Armenians) in the city of Aleppo perceived themselves as a specific target
for jihadi groups (Alsabagh 2016, pp. 137–138) coming from both within
and without Syria. The Christian community dwelt and still dwells in the
western part of Aleppo, which is under Bashar al-Assad’s Syrian Arab Army
control since the beginning of the Syrian conflict in 2011 (the eastern part
of Aleppo was taken by his Army in December 2016). And it is this Army
that most Christians from Aleppo serve in at the time of writing (Alsabagh
2016, p. 139). In only two Christian villages (Sednaya and Kfarbo) did
Christians set up their own paramilitary units to combat ISIS (Alsabagh
2016, p. 140) instead of relying on the Syrian Arab Army.
In the Thick of It: Syrian Armenians’ Accounts

from Aleppo
In August 2016, the entire Christian community living in western Aleppo

numbered some 12,000 families of all denominations, that is, some 60,000
people (Alsabagh 2016, p. 162). In 2012, Aleppo had a population of 2.3
million. The vast majority of the population was Sunni Muslim and apart
from Christians there were also Shia and Alawite Muslims. In addition,
not all Sunnis were Arab; some were ethnic Kurdish, Turkoman, and
Circassian. However, the total number of Christians in all Aleppo was
some 300,000, of whom some 60,000 were Armenians (Alsabagh 2016,
p. 191). It means that between the largest Arab cities in the Middle East
only Beirut and Cairo had a larger Christian population.
The Armenians in Aleppo were regarded as participants in the Syrian
conflict and taking sides with the Government of Bashar al-Assad. This
was because their alleged neutrality was deemed a crime in both political
and religious (Muslim) terms by both moderate and radical groups and
factions opposing the Syrian Government. Indeed for them neutrality sim-
ply meant accepting the incumbent President al-Assad, which in turn
meant legitimising Syrian Arab Republic state structures. Armenians
slowly became a target group and huge material damage was done to their
property in Aleppo. This was because their ‘enemies’ (now represented
and representing themselves as religiously motivated, that is, Sunni
Muslim) were targeting them because of their Christianity, which, by
extension, meant collusion with the Government, which was Alawi
Muslim.
Once those Syrian Armenians from Aleppo relocated (as refugees) to
Beirut (2012–2016) they became almost destitute, having once been
wealthy in Aleppo. Their new reality as part of a refugee diaspora meant a
new reality of destitution and had no source of income in Lebanon. This
placed them in a larger process of polarisation as they clustered together in
ethno-religious homogeneous areas facing similar circumstances within
the host country. This deprived them of viable interactions with other
communities, both native and other diaspora Syrian communities.
The following small interviews are excerpts from my fieldwork diary in
the Armenian quarter of Bourj Hammoud in Beirut. They will exemplify
the rapid process of religious radicalisation in Aleppo as ethno-religious
groups fell back upon each other and isolated themselves from other com-
munities. They will also indicate the sort of aggressive ethno-religious
homogenisation the country went through and the way this intersected
with an increased transnational radicalisation. All the following interview-
ees were Syrian (Christian) Armenian refugee ladies from Aleppo:
We did not have problems with anyone [belonging to any ethno-religious

community], but we were seen as with the Government [of Bashar Assad].
For a month we did not have bread. We had a house and a shop that were
destroyed. I do not know who destroyed the house. The rent in Beirut is
$400 per month, and considering other expenses we need $1000 per month.
(Female, 48 years, she left Aleppo in 2012)
First, in the Christian quarter of Aleppo, both institutional and private

reference points slowly disappeared as civil society slowly collapsed under
the pressure of a war that became definitively religious:
I was pregnant in my ninth month. I called my doctor and he told me that

he was planning to leave Aleppo. (Female, 35 years old, she left Aleppo in
2012)
182 M. MOLLICA
I was in my seventh month of pregnancy when the bomb entered from one
window and exited from the other. Luckily nobody died. (Female, 30 years
old, she left Aleppo in 2014)
Second, moderate and Salafi-jihadi (Muslims) of various groups attacked

Christians for being Christians:
Our shop was bombed; next our house was hit by a rocket; finally, members
of a jihadist faction [allied to the so-called Western-supported Free Syrian
Army] visited the local Armenian church [where his son was working] warn-
ing the priest that they would return in a few days and kill all employees.
(Female, she left Aleppo in 2012)
My house was just on the front-line. We could hear Daesh [ISIS] on loud-
speakers ‘Armenians your turn has come’ or ‘Armenians Leave Midan now’.
(Female, she left Aleppo in 2014)
Midan means ‘field’ in Arabic. Since the war entered Aleppo, Midan
became a battlefield. The area was mostly inhabited by poor, large
Armenian Christian families unable to leave Aleppo to find shelter else-
where in Syria or outside of it (Alsabagh 2016, pp. 26–29). Since the
beginning of the conflict, Midan’s population has been a target of Salafi-
jihadist terrorists. Midan’s population later became a target for Turkish
government–supported Turkmen paramilitary groups. However, Turkmen
attacks against Christians, and above all Armenians, fluctuated following
both internal Syrian events and international events. According to the Rev.
Haroutune Selimian, Head of the Armenian Evangelical Community of
Aleppo, Turkmen militia were even responsible for two days of attacks
(4–6 July 2016) against Armenian areas in retaliation for a German
Parliament decision (2 July 2016) that recognised the Armenian Genocide
of 1915.20
Polarising the Border: Lebanon Beqaa Valley

The complexity of the miscellaneous ethno-religious composition of the
Beqaa Valley, as in the rest of Lebanon or the wider Middle East, is often
lost on Western audiences. In the Beqaa there are Shia, Sunni, Druse, and
20
See https://news.am/eng/news/330602.html.
Christian (of various denominations) villages, which refugees from Syria

identify with as co-religionists and cluster together with. The different
religiously defined homogeneous groups within the local population are
the variables needed to find both shelter and legitimacy of status in their
new place of refuge.
Many villages lie very close to the Syrian border and clearly show their
religious affiliation, for example, mosque or church, style of building,
which have been the relocation markers for many refugees. Towns mirror
similar scenarios in the wider Lebanon, with refugees clustering in reli-
giously homogeneous areas as places of refuge in lieu of any official refu-
gee camps. Most Sunni cluster in the northern Akkar district or in the big
Sunni towns of Tripoli or Sidon; Shia relocate to the Beqaa or to south
Lebanon and in southern Beirut quarters; and finally, Christians are found
in homogeneous areas, mostly in the Keserwan district and in the north-
ern and eastern Christian quarters of Beirut.
This often causes travel problems for locals and refugees; for instance,
to enter the Sunni village of Arsal, in the Beqaa Valley in Lebanon, one
needs to pass through both Christian and Shia villages. Local Christian
informants argue that up to 20 years ago there were no problems associ-
ated with this and that things only started changing when Ruhollah
Khomeini took power in (Shi’a) Iran in 1979. Arsal is a Sunni town in a
valley surrounded by arid mountains and hills and was once known for the
famous Arsal stone found there, used to decorate houses. The roads to get
to the town from the west are controlled by the Lebanese Shia paramili-
tary group of Hizbullah and the Lebanese Army, which is nominally the
Army of Lebanon and composed of soldiers belonging to all religious
groups. Nevertheless, the Lebanese power-sharing system of government
allocates the Command of the Lebanese Army to the largest Christian
Lebanese denomination, the Maronite.
Arsal has a population of 50,000, all Sunni, plus 50,000 Sunni refugees.
All are pro-Syrian Free Army, ISIS, or al-Nusra, thus reproducing at the
local level in a diaspora setting the highly fragmented composition of the
anti-Assad coalition, which is overwhelmingly Sunni. Arsal villagers tradi-
tionally did not get on well with neighbouring villages but since the Syrian
conflict escalated, after 2012, the situation got worse. (For an analysis of
Arsal’s tribal structure and the previous and ongoing religious conflicts in
the area, see Obeid 2010.) But tension in the village has been fuelled by
the ongoing Syrian war and its subsequent mass migrations towards
Lebanon. This has led to a massive relocation of dislocated people into the
184 M. MOLLICA
villages and towns of the Beqaa along with many international aid organ-
isations working with refugees. However, besides UNICEF and other
local and international NGOs, a number of religious organisations, includ-
ing Salafi-jihadist groups, have also located there, working with the
refugees.
Now, despite Lebanese Government statements, Arsal is not controlled
by the Lebanese Army. According to local informants, anyone can enter or
exit the village carrying light weapons, such as pistols or rifles, including
ISIS and al-Nusra. Both groups are at war within themselves as well as
with Hizbullah and the Lebanese Army, and both have their main bases
outside of Arsal, where they can deliver weapons into it (informants even
claim that wounded al-Nusra or ISIS members are treated in the city).
Not far from Arsal, there is the Greek Catholic village of Qaa, which lies
in a famous and fertile plateau known all around Lebanon and beyond for
its citrus and clementine fruits. Even this Greek Catholic village saw a
huge inward migration, of mostly Christian refugees, which brought its
population up from 20,000 to 30,000. In addition there are many aid
workers (UNICEF, local and international organisations, and Christian
organisations) assisting the new (Christian) refugees.
Epilogue: Sub-diaspora Discrimination

and Stereotypes
Dbayeh refugee camp was the initial locus of my fieldwork when I first
entered Lebanon in 2005. Dbayeh interested me then because I wanted to
assess whether or not Lebanese political life had influenced internal camp
activity. And if it had, to what extent, given the religious, topographic, and
cultural proximity between Palestinian Christian refugees and Lebanese
Christian political parties and tendencies, had it played a role? When I
again studied the dynamics in the refugee camp last year, I was able to
trace a number of links and historical parallels that led me to recontextu-
alise and reframe Dbayeh’s history vis-à-vis contemporary events, in par-
ticular the religious violence emanating from Salafi-jihadist groups in
neighbouring Syria.
However, when I first presented a version of this paper at a conference,21

I suggested some parallels between what had happened in Dbayeh refugee
camp during the Lebanese Civil War and what was then happening in
northern Iraq and the south-eastern Anatolian peninsula with Ezidi refu-
gees. Some of the audience were surprised by the comparisons involved.
In particular when comparing ethno-religiously driven discriminatory atti-
tudes in refugee camps in Lebanon during the Civil War by Christian
Lebanese against Christian Palestinians. Similarly, in Turkey, during the
ongoing conflict in Syria and Iraq, by Sunnis against Shia, Ezidi, and
Christians. Later when I reiterated the comparison in a seminar held at my
own university even greater surprised was registered. Nevertheless, this
historical comparison was not the only controversy to arise from my field-
work data.
On a different level, in Georgia, I could document frictions between
the newly arrived Ezidi community and the older settled Ezidi commu-
nity, the latter also being divided amongst themselves between the ‘secu-
lar’ and the ‘religiously’ oriented ones. In Lebanon, the tension between
the several Syrian ethno-religious refugee groups was of course wider and
involved almost all refugee sects and denominations. But frictions between
refugees and locals too were on the increase, ranging from social services–
related issues, security-related issues, and job opportunities. It matched a
common typology well documented, for instance, by reference to Albanian
migration waves towards Greece in the 1990s (Baldwin-Edwards 2004,
pp. 51–65).
Thus in Lebanon a number of stereotypes developed against Syrian
refugees in general. One example lay in entry into the labour market (for-
mal but, mostly, informal) by the new Syrian refugees. The average wage
for a Lebanese construction worker was around $4 per hour, whilst a
Syrian migrant construction worker would work for $1.5 per hour. Yet
Syrian labour was not new to the Lebanese labour market, since seasonal
foreign workers (mostly Syrians) have always worked there because wages
were much higher. But now there was a new, manifest, and strong friction
against the migrant workers. Local informants told me of negative stereo-
types of Syrian car drivers and, more recently, even Syrian taxi drivers as
21
The 14th European Association of Social Anthropologists Biennial Conference
‘Anthropological legacies and human futures’, hosted by the University Bicocca in Milan in
mid-July 2016.
186 M. MOLLICA
dangerous and unreliable also quickly established itself. Finally, in Beirut

city centre Syrians are often the first to be accused of raising tensions and
criminality.
To a lesser degree than with Syrians in Lebanon, ethno-religiously
driven stereotypes have also developed towards the Ezidis from north Iraq
in Georgia. Thus the least prestigious occupations were, and still are, asso-
ciated with them, for example, street sweepers, rubbish collectors, street
vendors. This was already documented in a UNHCR (2008) Report,
which even identified a word play that expressed the stereotypes, that is,
the Georgian words Kurd (kurti) and thief (kurdi). In some Georgian
towns, a number of incidents of police brutality against Ezidis are claimed
to have been motivated by their perceived impunity from prosecution
(UNHCR, Report 2008).
This fits in with a reinterpretation of the past in both countries, which
in turn creates new subverting narratives of the newcomers. During the
Lebanese Civil War, for instance, many Lebanese of various denomina-
tions and sects went to Syria as refugees, as Baathist Syria was regarded as
a safe area for civilians of any religion. Now the ongoing conflicts in both
Syria and Iraq impelled a radicalisation of community differences and ten-
sions within Lebanon. Indeed, in Lebanon, those refugee communities
coming from Syria are mostly accepted only by people belonging to their
own religious affiliation. This is because those settled (refugee) communi-
ties feel threatened by the incursion of refugees not belonging to their
religious group. Primarily this involves a fear of loss of dominant positions
and status if community leaders allow the entry into their communities of
non-co-religionists. Indeed, at times those ethno-religious groups accept
only their co-religious subdenominations via their own transnational net-
works as indicated by Syrian Armenian refugees clustering just in Armenian
areas, Greek Catholics in Qaa, or ultraconservative Sunni communities in
Arsal.
Turning to Georgia, before the ongoing war against ISIS, the country
did not require a visa for Iraqi citizens to enter into the country.
Paradoxically Iraq, above all the Kurdistan Region, was indeed seen as a
rich destination for Georgians. The long-settled Ezidi community in
Georgia could, for instance, only build its temple thanks to money coming
from Kurdish Iraqi politicians (Mollica 2016a). But everything changed in
Georgia once ISIS and other Salafi-jihadi groups came to the fore.
If there is a first conclusion that I can draw from my ethnography it is
that intersecting religious forces, migration, and terrorism combine to
drive up the degree of religiously driven violence. Some such violence fol-
lows their victims into places that should be safe, such as refugee camps
run by the UNHCR. This violence happened because even terrorist
groups have found fertile soil and extended safe havens in ethno-religiously
homogeneous areas in the host countries. Thus they transplant behaviour,
codes, and relations to other groups outside of their homelands. The
polarisation of ethno-religious violence in the refugee homeland was
reproduced in the country of refuge and even blessed in religious terms by
co-religious leaders based in that country, thus giving a sort of transna-
tional legitimacy to religiously dictated behaviour.
This links to a second conclusion which relates to the prospect of a
return migration once the current conflicts in Iraq and Syria end. Here a
major lesson comes from the case of Kessab, an ethnic Armenian town,
north of Latakia, on the border between Syria and Turkey which was
attacked by Salafi-Jihadist groups who had entered from Turkey on 21
March 2014 (Tcholakian 2015). The Armenian town of Kessab preceded
the formation of what was later to become Syria under the French
Mandate, its inhabitants tracing the origin of the town back to the
eleventh-century Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia (Boase 1978). The town
holds a highly symbolic value for all Armenians internationally and when
it fell to Islamist factions it caused enormous consternation among all
Armenian communities.
The Salafi-Jihadists captured the town and all Armenians (Christians)
were forced to flee. The town was then later freed by the Syrian Arab Army
on 15 June 2014 (well documented by the ethnographer Hagop
Tcholakian (2015), an eyewitness). Once the town was freed the majority
of the people went back. This was because the Armenian population of the
town had lived there for generations and its inhabitants had never thought
of themselves as immigrants in Syria, unlike many other Armenians in the
country. Thus the perception Armenians from Kessab always had of their
town was that it was Armenian and that they dwelt in Armenian land.
Apart from return migration within both opposition and regime-held
sectors any future policy about return migration into Syria must keep in
mind the illuminating case of Armenian returnees to the town of Kessab.
Kessab indeed is the only documented case of an ethno-religious commu-
nity in the region re-clustering into their own (ethno-religious) homoge-
neous town. The polarisations due to the conflict have left a legacy of
incredible mistrust towards any idea of ethno-religious mixing. This could
become emblematic of what Syria could become as a whole in the future,
188 M. MOLLICA
that is, completely polarised between a dozen homogenised ethno-

religious communities, as in Kessab. This polarisation has invariably
entered the diaspora communities and will structure the trajectories of
their future return migration. It will make any future inter-religious mix-
ing much more difficult and undermine cross-community bonds able to
maintain a cohesive Syrian identity and national cohesion.
Concurrently, at a national level, this polarisation might simply repro-
duce the same artificial multicultural settlement that enabled neighbour-
ing Iraq to implode. The country was simply incapable of resisting the
simple, communally unifying (Sunni) appeal of a monolithic and reli-
giously informed and transmitted identity offered by Salafi-jihadists. Iraq
lacked communally and socially uniting and bonding relations beneath its
overarching state structure once the state and its Baathist structures were
destroyed; only religion provided adequate alternative structures to which
Iraqis could turn.
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16. Retrieved from http://america.aljazeera.com/watch/shows/fault-lines/
FaultLinesBlog/2014/10/16/yazidi-slideshow.html.
Safran, William. 1991. Diasporas in Modern Societies: Myths of Homeland and
Return. Diaspora 1 (1): 83–99.
Sheffer, Gabriel. 2003. Diaspora Politics. At Home Abroad. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
———. 2006. Diasporas and Terrorism. In The Roots of Terrorism, ed. Luise
Richardson, 117–132. New York: Praeger.
———. 2013. Diaspora as a Resource in International Arena. In Diaspora as
Resource, ed. Waltraud Kokot et al., cit., 67–86.
Sidky, Maha, and Ariane Rummery. 2014. UNHCR Steps up Aid as Yazidis Stream
into Syria from Iraq’s Mount Sinjar. UNHCR, August 14. Retrieved from
http://www.unhcr.org/53ecb7a29.html.
Tcholakian, Hagop. 2015. The Three Days of Kessab (21–23 March, 2014). No
Place of Publication: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform.
Tölölyan, Khachig. 1996. Rethinking Diaspora(s): Stateless Power in the
Transnational Moment. Diaspora 5 (1): 3–36.
Tötölyan, Khachig. 2000. Elites and Institutions in the Armenian Diaspora.
Diaspora 9 (1): 107–136.
Wellman, K. James, and Kyoko Tokuno. 2004. Is Religious Violence Inevitable?

Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 43 (3): 291–296.
Wimmer, Andreas, and Nina Glick Schiller. 2002. Methodological Nationalism
and Beyond: Nation-State Building, Migration and the Social Sciences. Global
Networks 2 (4): 301–334.
Web
www.unrwa.org/where-we-work/lebanon.
www.unrwa.org/where-we-work/camp/dbayeh-camp.
www.theguardian.com/world/2014/jul/06/abu-bakr-al-baghdadi-isis.
https://data.unhcr.org/syrianrefugees/country.php?id=122.
https://news.am/eng/news/330602.html.
https://scholarship.tricolib.brynmawr.edu/bitstream/handle/10066/4809/
ZAR20050518P.pdf?sequence=3.
http://gulf2000.columbia.edu/images/maps/Syria_Religion_Detailed_lg.png.
http://minorityrights.org/minorities/yezidis/.
http://www.bbc.com/news/world-middle-east-33522204.
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determined-official-ISIS-price-list-Islamist-group-sets-prices-Yazidi-Christian-
women-girls-nine-fetching-highest-price.html.
UNHCR Report. 2008. The Human Rights Situation of the Ezidi Minority in the
Transcaucasus (Armenia, Georgia, Azerbaijan). Retrieved from http://www.
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threatens-yezidi-refugees-in-turkey.
CHAPTER 8
Being Ezidi in the Middle East
Çakır Ceyhan Suvari
Introduction
The Sinjar/Şingal massacre carried out by the Islamic State of Iraq and the
Levant (ISIL) in August 2014 meant the killing of thousands of Ezidis in
Iraq.1 In addition, thousands of Ezidi women were made slaves in the
Nineveh Governorate of Iraq. This was not the first Ezidi massacre in the
Middle East as 72 previous massacres of Ezidis have been recorded in his-
tory. This last one is called “the 73rd Ezidi massacre”. But why are Ezidis
killed by the ISIL, and why do they become targets? The reasons for this
are discussed in this study based on fieldwork conducted in North Iraq
and Turkey with Ezidis.
The fieldwork was carried out at different times between the years 1999
and 2015 in Turkey and Iraq. I have paid attention to using a number of
data collection methods at the same time for ensuring healthy research.
Additionally, I used one-to-one interviews and the recording of life stories
as well as participant observation methods. Every effort has been made
not to ask limiting questions to the people I interviewed, and I have
1
See this news at http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/islamic-state/11160906/
Isil-carried-out-massacres-and-mass-sexual-enslavement-of-Yazidis-UN-confirms.html.
Ç. C. Suvari (*)
Istanbul, Turkey

196 Ç. C. SUVARI
preferred the dialogical approach, which provides for interaction within

the group in the form of mutual conversation.2
The Ezidi people live over a wide geographical area, stretching from
Syria to Iraq and from Turkey to the Caucasus. In addition, it is known
that a great number of Ezidis have migrated to Western European coun-
tries, mainly to Germany. According to estimates carried out in recent
years (Suvari 2002: 26), it has been recorded that between 200,000 and
750,000 Ezidi people are living in the Near East and Middle East
(Khenchelaoui 1999: 20) mainly in Iraq and Syria as well as in Turkey, the
Caucasus, and Russia. However, the main bulk of the population is located
in the lands of Iraq.
Ezidis belong to the so-called al-Adaviya Order3 and have a strong his-
torical background, which precedes its more formal recognition in the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, which lies in the Adeviye Order,
within Islam. Bulut (2000: 58) explained the formation of the Adeviye
Order and the emergence of Ezidi belief as follows:
When the Sheikh (Adiy Bin Musafir), deceased in the year 1162, and was
buried in his temple, his temple was transformed into a sepulcher. The
nephew of the Sheikh, Abu’l Bereket bin Sahr, was then selected as his suc-
cessor. The followers of the Sheikh formed an order, named as the ‘Adavi’
and under his leadership members of the order became known as the
‘Adavians’, also known as ‘Sohbeti’ in later periods.
When the Sheikh4 Adiy Bin Musafir died his son Adiy bin Abu’l Bereket
(II Adiy) was selected to be his successor as Sheikh. Because they were of
the (more mystical) Sufi order and tradition, within Islam, these Sheikhs
have to be of the same lineage. During Sheikh Adiy bin Abu’l Bereket’s
2
Dialogical approach implies an interaction between the interviewer and the researcher. It
is a qualitative research technique and involves mutual conversation. Recently the dialogical
approach has become a very common research technique in social anthropology.
3
The name was given after Sheikh Adiy Bin Musafir by his followers (the al-Adawiya).
Sheikh Adiy was born in 1075 in Lebanon. According to Ezidis, he was a prophet. The
Ezidis consider him an “avatar” of Malak Tawus (also spelt Malik Tous, transl. in English as
Peacock Angel, being a central figure in Ezidi religion). His tomb at Lalish, Iraq, is a focal
point of Ezidi pilgrimage. He lived in the mountains, alongside the Hakkari Kurds in the
region north of Mosul, and died at the age of 90 (see also Arakelova 2001, 2004, 2010;
Guest 2001; Suvari 2002).
4
The leaders of this sect are called Sheikh.
BEING EZIDI IN THE MIDDLE EAST 197
reign Muzafferdin Kökburi (a commander of Saladin of the Ayyubids5

who reigned over the territories of Syria and Egypt and fought the crusad-
ers) also became a follower of Sheikh Adiy bin Abu’l Bereket and then
married his sister.
Another religious leader who also became a key figure and helped regu-
late the Adavian Order, located in Lalish,6 was Hasan bin Adiy, born in
1195, who later ascended the throne of his religious father (II Adiy). This
Sheikh, whose work forms the basis of today’s Ezidi belief system, also
entered into religious debates and discussions with other religious leaders
from which it is said that the second holy book of the Ezidis “Mushaf-ı
Reş” (The Black Book) was written by him.7 This then helped the integra-
tion of the Adavi belief system with the existing ancient beliefs of the local
people and clans, which helped spread the new belief widely amongst the
Kurdish tribes located in the mountains of the province of Hakkari8 during
this period.
This created consternation for the ruler of the Kurdish region around
Mosul, Nureddin Lulu, who was afraid of the religious and political force
of the Sheikh Hasan bin Adiy, who had gained many followers from sol-
diers of Kurdish origin who were fighting for Saladin of the Ayyubids. He
therefore arrested Sheikh Hasan in 1246 and had him murdered in a dun-
geon. He also massacred many of the Sheikh’s followers and damaged
Sheikh Adiy bin Musafir’s tomb in Lalish.
This was also the time of the Mongolian invasion and religious conflicts
which affected and involved all the regional tribes and societies at the end
of the thirteenth century. Concurrently, this was also a time of great dis-
ruption in which the new Ezidi Sheikh, Şerafeddin Muhammed, saw
potential advantage for himself. Gathering support from his warrior fol-
lowers from the Hakkari region he marched forward to the provinces of
5
Selahedînê, known as Saladin (1137–93), was the first sultan of Egypt and Syria and the
founder of the Ayyubid dynasty. He was a Sunni Muslim of Kurdish origin. Saladin led the
Muslim military campaign against the Crusader states in the Levant.
6
Lalish is a small mountain valley village situated in the Shekhan District in northern Iraq,
near the border with Iraqi Kurdistan. It contains the holiest temple in the Ezidi religion.
7
The Ezidi people have two written sources: Mushaf-ı Reş (The Black Book) and Kitab
el-Cilve. Kitab el-Cilve contains the address of the holy God to his souls (Turan 1993: 72).
Kitab el-Cilve, is a small book, made up of 8 pages, 109 lines, and 5 sections (Tori 2000:
134).
8
A city in contemporary Turkey.
198 Ç. C. SUVARI
Malatya, Harput, and Erzincan,9 where the Sheikh then went into battle
with the Mongolians, but was defeated and later murdered in Kemah.10
The Sheikh’s son, Zeyneddin Yusuf, then succeeded to his murdered
father’s Sheikdom and began opening “dergah”, also known as “tekke”,
in Damascus and Cairo. These were religious houses for men, which then
became the basis for spreading his message via learning and teaching, thus
increasing his followers in this way.
The Ezidi people generally benefited from the overall lack of a strong
regional authority in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, where the
lack of a central government enabled them to develop unhindered. As a
result they spread amongst the tribes located in the regions of Mosul,
Hakkari, Lalish, Amediye,11 Bahdinan (Botan River),12 Cizre, Nusaybin,
Tur Abidin (Mardin), Diyarbakır,13 Van,14 and Urmiye15 [mostly in con-
temporary Iraq]. The date when the Adavian order, which was known as
Sohbeti in the fifteenth century, was transformed into today’s Ezidi belief
system is not exactly known. The Muslim historian Maqrizi16 writes about
a “vacant period” of 200 years during which Ezidi beliefs evolved slowly,
and it is believed that the Ezidi belief took its current form most probably
in the sixteenth century (see also Bulut 2000: 58).
Lescot (2001: 18), who also puts forward similar views, explains that
the sermons of Sheikh Adiy, influenced by Sufism, directed the order’s
beliefs towards mysticism between the years 1130 and 1160. Adiy formed
an order composed of a great number of people, but after a period this
order divided into two groups. The first group, which settled in Syria and
Egypt, was assimilated into established Sunni Islam after a short time
because they were outnumbered. The second group, which remained in
the Sinjar/Shengal (Iraq) region, slowly forgot the Sunni (Islam) p rinciples

9
A town in the contemporary Turkish province of Erzincan.

10
11
A town in contemporary northern Iraq.
12
A river in contemporary Turkey.
13
14
15
A city in contemporary Iran.
16
Muhammad al-Maqrizi (1364–1442) was an Egyptian historian, also known as al-
Maqrizi or Makrizi.
on which it was founded17 and formed the original core of Ezidi society
(Lescot 2001: 18).
Further, Lescot also claims that, after this first stage of the Ezidi forma-
tion, the belief became a new religion during the reign of Hasan ibn Adiy
Şemseddin (1100s). Lescot further states that during the reign of Hasan
ibn Adiy Şemseddin, who followed his father Şakir Ebul Bereket (who was
also the nephew of Sheikh Adiy) as Sheikh, the order’s members began to
adhere strongly to the old religious practices18 which the previous Sheikh
had ignored. At the same time the order’s members were also extremely
loyal to their new Sheikh.
The ruler of Mosul, Bedreddin Lulu,19 was disturbed by this situation
and sent an army against Hasan ibn Adiy Şemseddin, capturing and then
murdering him. But this and similar attacks, almost perversely, made the
Addavian religion more valuable to its members, who then sought weap-
ons to protect themselves and their new heterodox (Islamic) cult. They
then increasingly withdrew underground where they became a new reli-
gion (see also Arakelova 2004, 2010).
The Ezidi people whom I talked with have a variety of ideas and sources
of information about their religious beliefs and practices, which appear to
be rather non-standardised.20 But in general I observed that they mainly
tend to agree on the influence of Gnosticism21 and Zoroastrianism22 on
their beliefs. Muhammet Altan (local villagers would call him Mohamma),
who lives in the village of Kharabiya, District of Midyat, in the province of
Mardin in contemporary Turkey, explained to me that their religion came
from Zoroastrianism. When in 2001 I asked Altan, who is illiterate, where
17
Sheikh Adiy was a radical Sunni Muslim and established his sect on this basis.
18
Most of them were Zoroastrian practices.
19
Bedreddin Lulu, who succeeded the Zangid rulers of Mosul.
20
They were very impressed by rhetoric, especially those of the secular Ezidis living in
Europe.
21
Gnosticism was a dualistic heresy, which proclaimed salvation through gnosis or esoteric
knowledge. It was a heresy, which flourished in the second century AD. The name comes
from the Greek word gnosis, which literally means knowledge. Gnostics believe that they have
a secret knowledge about God, humanity, and the rest of the universe of which the general
population is unaware (Williams 1996).
22
Zoroastrianism is the ancient religion of Iran. Zoroastrianism flourished during three
great Persian Empires (Achaemenian, Parthian, and the Sasanian). In Zoroastrian cosmol-
ogy, the head of the manifested universe is Ahura Mazda, the “Wise Lord”. He is the univer-
sal and pervasive source and fountain of all life (Suvari 2002).
200 Ç. C. SUVARI
he had learnt this from, he answered that he learnt this from Kavals and
Fakirs23 of the clerical caste while they were visiting their villages sometime
in the past.
In the same way, another informant, Veysi Bulut,24 who lives in the
town of Beşiri (province of Batman in contemporary Turkey) also told me
that the Ezidi belief came from the Zoroastrian religion. He also claimed
that, in this respect, their religion is the oldest monotheistic religion in the
world. Veysi Bulut explains this process as follows:
The origin of the Ezidi belief is Zoroastrianism. There were gods and god-
desses taking orders from a great God in Babylon25 and Nineveh.26 This situ-
ation reached the Zoroaster27 after the evolution during the historical
process. There is the concept of one single God in Zoroastrianism. The King
Nebuchadnezzar28 brought the Children of Israel to the lands of Babel. The
Children of Israel met with the concept of a single God here and they
returned to Palestine and formed the well-known monotheistic religion.29
Veysi Bulut hereby states that Zoroastrianism, which he sees as the first
monotheistic religion, also affected all other monotheistic religions in
addition to the Ezidi belief. Other Ezidi people, like Veysi Bulut,
23
Two castes of Ezidi religion. The social structure of the Ezidis is made up of various
castes. The caste system is then divided into eight categories in terms of their functions.
According to this, the following hierarchical system can be defined as 1-Mirs; 2-Sheikhs;
3-Pirs; 4-Kavals; 5-Fakirs; 6-Koçeks; 7-Fakriyats; and 8-Mürits/Followers (Suvari 2002:
108).
24
I interviewed him in 2001, 2002, and 2004.
25
Babylon was a major city of ancient Mesopotamia in the fertile plain between the Tigris
and Euphrates rivers.
26
Nineveh was an ancient Assyrian city of Upper Mesopotamia, located on the outskirts of
Mosul in modern-day northern Iraq.
27
Zoroaster, also known as Zarathustra [Zarathushtra Spitama or Ashu Zarathushtra], was
the religious founder of Ancient Iran. His transformation of his inherited religion,
Zoroastrianism, inaugurated a movement that eventually became the dominant religion in
Ancient Iran (see Suvari 2002).
28
Nebuchadnezzar was the fourth king of the Second Dynasty of Isin and Fourth Dynasty
of Babylon. He is known for his victory over Elam and the recovery of the cultic idol of
Marduk (see Harris 1995).
29
The empire of David crumbled in a short period after his death. The Empire was demol-
ished for a temporary period when Nebukhadnetzor conquered Jerusalem (586 BC) and
exiled many Jewish people to Babel (Harris 1995: 136). My key informant Veysi Bulut also
gave me an explanation about this historical event.
c onsequently see themselves as the main representatives of the Zoroastrian

belief system. For this reason, they claim that their history dates back to
the Assyrian people and then to Zoroastrianism and they insist that they
are one of the oldest religious societies of Mesopotamia (roughly modern
Iraq).
These explanations made me appreciate that the effect of Zoroastrianism
on the Ezidi belief must be quite strong and some of the Zoroastrian
motives and influences within Ezidi beliefs also support this idea. In par-
ticular, the peacock figure, dualist approach, belief in the holiness of the
sun, the existence of organised clergy and similar ideas occur in both Ezidi
and Zoroastrian religions.30 However, many ancient and new traditions
which do not occur in Zoroastrianism appear in Ezidi beliefs. For exam-
ple, traditions such as circumcision, pilgrimage, alms and baptism and
various Sufi order traditions are also as influential as the Zoroastrianism
ones.31 Apart from these, the most important difference between this reli-
gion and Zoroastrianism is that Zoroastrianism, like Islam, is an expan-
sionist religion but Ezidi belief has no such claims and aims.32 The reason
for this is that entry into the Ezidi belief is only permissible for those born
of an Ezidi Mother and Father.33
30
The relationship between the Ezidis and Zoroastrianism is manifold. They share many
rites, including daily Sun worship, and the premier saviour-deity of both traditions is a solar
god possessing the peacock as a sacred animal. Peacock Angel’s most salient Zoroastrianism
counterpart is the primal bird of paradise, the Simurgh, who possesses a dog or a dragon’s
head and a huge peacock tail. The Simurgh lives on Mount Elbourz, the primal sacred
mountain at the centre of the Earth that serves as an axis mundi uniting Heaven and Earth.
On the other hand, fire and sun are sacred to both religions. In both, worship is done by
turning to the fire or the sun. As in Islam, fire is not a divine punishment, but rather a part
of the god (for more on Zoroastrianism, see Stausberg 2004).
31
Sheikh Adiy was a Sunni Islamic Sufi, so many Sufi teachings and practices were passed
on to the Ezidi religion. A clergyman I interviewed in Iraq (2014) told me the caste system
in their religion originated from Sheikh Adiy’s sectarian order.
32
It is possible to be Zoroastrian by changing religion just as in Christianity and Islam.
However, it is absolutely not possible to be Ezidi by changing one’s religion. Only those
born of an Ezidi mother and father are considered an Ezidi. For this reason, Ezidism is a
closed religion.
33
Their belief, which explains that they are coming from a category which is different from
all other humans, lies at the basis of this idea. This situation is explained in the creation myth
in the 21st verse of Mushaf-ı Reş as follows:
202 Ç. C. SUVARI
Ezidi or Yazidi?
There are different explanations about the source of the Ezidi name. One
̇
opinion is that the name originated from the word “Izid”, which means
Angel in the Avestan language, or it is also said that the name was origi-
34
nally from the term “Yezdan”, which means God in the Avesta language.
̇
In this respect, Izidi and Yezdani mean, in the former, the believer in the
angel and, in the latter, the believer of God (Suvari 2002: 30–32). The
name “Yezdan” appears in all the introductory sentences of the Ezidi
prayers:
In the name of the pure, merciful and generous Yezdan…. (Khenchelaoui

1999: 20)
On the other hand, some researchers claim that the name “Yazidi” (they
do not use the term Ezidi) originated with the Caliph Yezid Bin Muaviye
(Turan 1993: 3; Fığlalı 1908: 221). Meanwhile, the Ezidi people call
̇
themselves Izidi ̇
or Ezidi in Turkey and Iraq, the terms Izidi and Ezidi
meaning “the ones created by God, the ones who worship the God”.
On the other hand, the Ezidi people are often called by different names
in different countries, for example, “Dasnai”35 in Syria. In Turkey, the
Ezidi people, especially those located within and around the Province of
Batman, are known by the name “Khaldi” (Suvari 2002: 73).
A discussion appeared between Adam and Eve considering whether the child was
born from mother and father. Because, each one of them wanted to be the only
source of the next generations. This discussion appeared when Adam and Eve saw the
animals copulate with each other in order to create a child, which resembled them-
selves and their common relationships. After long lasting discussions, each one of
them poured their seeds to a jug and sealed with their own seals and they waited for
nine months. After this time, they opened their jugs and there was Şahit bin Car in
the jug of Adam. The Ezidis are the descendants of Şahit bin Car. After that, Adam
and Eve had sexual intercourse. Eve gave birth to a girl and a boy. Jews, Muslims,
Christians and other nations and cults are the descendants of these.
34
Ezidis speak Kurdish, which is related to the Iranian language. Historical Iranian lan-
guages are grouped in three periods: Old Iranian (until 400 BC), Middle Iranian (400 BC–
AD 900), and New Iranian (since AD 900). Of the Old Iranian languages, the better
understood and recorded ones are Old Persian (a language of Achaemenid Iran) and Avestan
(the language of the Avesta). Middle Iranian languages included Middle Persian (a language
of Sassanid Iran), Parthian, and Bactrian.
35
Dasnai is the name of a great Ezidi tribe who migrated from the regions of Hakkari.
Among the Armenians they are known by the name of Thondrakians36 and
Policheans (Politians), or alternatively Arevortis, a word that means ‘wor-
shippers of the Sun’ in Armenian. (Khenchelaoui 1999: 21)
However, generally all Muslim people use the name Yazidi when talk-
ing of them, which literally means “believers of Satan”.
Why Are Islamists Killing Ezidis?

Most people familiar with Islam will have seen the “cc” acronym after the
word “Allah” in Islamic writing. Here the “cc” acronym refers to two of
the major attributes of God/Allah, namely “celle celalühü” [in Turkish].
These refer to Allah having two opposed qualities, “cemal” (celle) and
“celal” (celalühü): “cemal” means goodness while “celal” means persecu-
tion. In summary, whilst Allah has a good and compassionate character, he
also has an angry and cruel side. The “angry” nature of Allah is manifested
in the actions of organisations such as ISIL/DAESH, Al Nusra, Boko
Haram, and El Shabab, whose actions the West has frequently witnessed
in recent years.
At the same time, the world as perceived by Islamists is based on the
dual contrast of “darü’l-harp”37 and “darü’l-ıslam”.38 According to this
understanding, the world is divided into two parts: “Muslim” and “non-
Muslim”. And “jihad”39 is the main aim of the Islamists (especially for the
Salafi movement) in the non-Muslim regions, that is, the struggle to bring
Islam to the entire world. Struggle may be interpreted in many ways, one
of which is the violent conquest and extirpation of all other (false) reli-
gions (Lewis 2004). Because of this approach the Islamists throughout
history have massacred Ezidis many times, since they are both perceived as
non-Muslim and heretical Muslims, apostates who are subject to Allah’s
anger.
We can learn about some of the massacres of Ezidis from Muslim writ-
ers and travellers such as Rashid al-Din, Ibn al-Fuwati, Magrizi, Evliya
36
Thondraki is a Christian cult which emerged amongst the Armenians during the
Byzantium period (Khenchelaoui 1999: 21).
37
Non-Muslim countries/territories.
38
Muslim countries/territories.
39
It is seen by Islamists as a holy war or struggle against non-Muslims. The etymology of
the concept is to fight for religion (for more on jihad, see Knapp 2003).
204 Ç. C. SUVARI
Çelebi, Muhammed Kâzım, and Said al-Diwahji. Bedreddin Lulu, the

governor of Mosul during 1246–54 (Guest 2001), carried out the first of
these attacks and massacres. The Ottoman Grand Vizier Melek Ahmet
Pasha, who attacked Ezidis in Sengal in 1640, had massacred many Ezidis
according to the testimony of Evliya Çelebi.40 In 1743, Safavid Nadir Shah
marched on the Ezidis after the capture of Iraq and thousands of Ezidis
were killed in this attack (Layard 2000). The Mir of Bothan (Cizre, a town
in modern Turkey), Bedirhan Beg, carried out one of the greatest massa-
cres of Ezidis in 1832.41 In this attack, Ali Beg, the leader of the Ezidis,
was taken prisoner and killed by torture. The Ezidi people, as a result of
this slaughter, tried to escape to Mosul, but they were all slain because
they could not cross the rising waters of the Tigris River. According to
Layard (2000), the Ezidis who survived this massacre were then sold as
slaves. Thus the Ezidis have suffered many massacres during their history,
at the hands of their Islamic foes. So why did and do Islamists, even Kurds,
especially hate the Ezidis and massacre them without mercy?
One major reason for the many attacks and massacres by Muslims
against the Ezidi people and their beliefs is that of the belief in Malak
Tawus of the Ezidis. The reason for this is that Malak Tawus is thought by
non-Ezidis to be the same creature as Satan, who is damned in the holy
books of the Muslim, Christian and Jewish religions. However, the names
of Iblis, Satan/Shaytan, Devil, and Lucifer are prohibited in the Ezidi
belief so there is no mention of them, but they do mention Malak Tawus,
who was the first angel created by God and also that Malak Tawus did not
grovel to Adam.42 However, he made Adam eat the forbidden fruit (some-
thing common to both Semitic religions and the Ezidis) and this is put
forward as evidence, by Islamic theologians, to identify Malak Tawus with
40
He was a famous Turkish traveller in Ottoman times.
41
Bedirhan or Badr Khan Beg (1803–68) was the last Kurdish emir (local ruler of some
Kurdish tribes) of the Bohtan Emirate (Cizre).
42
In Islamic theology, Iblis/Satan/Shaytan/Devil is a being created from fire who was
allowed to mingle with Angels in the heavens until he rejected the command of God/Allah
to bow before Adam. When Allah created Adam, the first human, He said to the angels: “I
will create a vicegerent on earth.” The angels responded: “Wilt Thou place therein one who
will make mischief therein and shed blood?” Allah affirmed and all the angels prostrated
themselves, but Iblis did not. Iblis justified his decision, because he claimed to be better than
a human: “I am better than he: Thou didst create me from fire, and him from clay” (see
Qur’an 2:30 and 2:34).
Satan. Malak Tawus is very important in Ezidi beliefs43 and consequently

prayers are made in his name, and the Fakirs and Kavals44 even make pil-
grimages to statues of Malak Tawus in Ezidi settlements during Ezidi holi-
days and festivals.45 Sculptures made in the name of Malak Tawus are
called “Sencak” or “Sancak” and are made in the shape of a peacock or a
rooster.
These beliefs in Malak Tawus are one important factor leading to the
violence and massacres perpetrated against the Ezidis. Another factor
behind Islamic anti-Ezidi violence lies in the Qur’an itself, where many
verses in the Qur’an are about the killing of non-Muslims, especially those
without revelation, that is, of God, books, some examples of these verses
are46:
• Surah 2. Al-Baqarah:
191: “And kill them wherever you find them, and turn them out from
where they have turned you out. And Al-Fitnah [i.e. polytheism,
or to disbelieve after one has believed in Allah, or a trial, a calamity
or an affliction] is worse than killing. And fight not with them at
Al_Masjid Al-Haram [The sanctuary at Mecca] unless they [first]
fight you there. But if they attack you, then kill them. Such is the
recompense of the disbelievers”.
43
There are many reasons for giving such an importance to Malak Tawus in the Ezidi belief
system. The first and most important of these reasons is the fact that God has left the respon-
sibility of all earthly work as the responsibility of other angels to him. The interpretation of
Malak Azazil (Malak Tawus), who is believed to be damned for not grovelling before Adam,
and for making Adam eat the forbidden fruit in other religions, is totally different from what
the Ezidis believe. It is said that, in the Ezidi mythology, Azazil loves God so much that he
does not grovel to anyone apart from God as God is the only creator. Ezidi people respect
this behaviour of Malak Tawus and they think that God did not damn Malak Tawus after he
was examined at his trial for not grovelling. The fact that Malak Tawus made Adam eat the
forbidden fruit is interpreted as the will of God in Ezidi belief.
44
Footnote 23.
45
The Ezidi religion has four holy festivals: the New Year; the Feast of Sacrifice; the Feast
of Seven Days (September 23–30); the first Friday of December feast, following three days
of fasting (Suvari 2002).
46
For full text of Qur’an/Koran in English and Arabic, see https://quran.com/.
206 Ç. C. SUVARI
193: “And fight them until there is no more Fitnah [i.e. disbelief and
worshipping of others along with Allah] and [all and every kind of]
worship is for Allah. But if they desist, then there should be no
hostility except against the oppressors”.
• Surah 4. An-Nisa:
89: “They wish that you reject faith, as they have rejected [faith], and
thus that you all become equal [like one another]. So take not
Auliya [i.e. protectors or friends] from them, till they migrate in
̇
the way of Allah. But if they turn back [from Islam], take [hold of]
them and kill them where you find them, and take neither Auliya
nor helpers from them”.
91: “You will find others that wish to have security from you and secu-
rity from their people. Every time they are sent back to temptation,
they yield thereto. If they withdraw not from you, nor offer you
peace, nor restrain their hands, take [hold of] them and kill them
wherever you find them. In their case, we have provided you with
a clear warrant against them”.
• Surah 9. At-Taubah:
5: “Then when the sacred Months have passed, then kill the Mushrikan
[i.e. polytheists, idolaters, pagans, disbelievers] wherever you find
them, and capture them and besiege them, and lie in wait for them in
each and every ambush. But if they repent and perform As-Salat, and
give Zakat, then leave their way free. Verily, Allah is oft forgiving,
most merciful”.
As seen in these verses, the Qu’ran is the most important reference for
Islamists. Only Islam, Christianity, and Judaism are recognised as real reli-
gions in the Islamic world view. Islam being the true successor belief that
followed on from Judaism and Christianity, they are all therefore part of
the same tradition, that is, of the Book. However, currently Muslims
believe that the only truly valid religion is Islam and that Judaism and
Christianity are no longer fully valid. This is because after the occurrence
of Islam, as the final revelation of Allah/God, they lost part of their valid-
ity because they did not recognise Islam as the final word of God. Yet,
despite this approach, Christianity and Judaism are still tolerated by

Islamists. But unlike Christians and Jews, Ezidis are “kafir”, “mushrikan”,
and “fitnah” (which means they are all polytheists, idolaters, pagans, dis-
believers) according to Islamists. Therefore, when it was asked of Muslim
Kurds about what kind of relationships they should have established with
their Ezidi neighbours, an informant (interviewed in 2002 in Batman,
Turkey) replied:
There are deep gaps between us. We have no spiritual unity ranging from
the daily life to our behaviours. This does not stem from us. We are more
dependent of the principle of laicism because our religion is laic itself.
Many other (Ezidi) informants (interviewed over a long period of time,

between 1999 and 2015, in both Turkey and Iraq) replied that:
How can we be brothers, they [Muslim Kurds] murdered us!
In addition, many other followers told me that other Ezidis also remem-
bered similar things, especially the massacres of Bedirhan Beg.47 Another
informant (interviewed in Mardin, Turkey, in 1999) added:
We can be friends with the Muslims [here the Muslims are mainly the
Kurdish people who are their neighbours] but we never give our girls and
never took girls from them.
It has been observed that the endogamy tradition is strictly applied

amongst the Ezidi people, so much so that the rule is strictly applied to
both genders. An informant (interviewed in Şanlıurfa, Turkey, in 2001)
stated that the reason for this endogamy tradition is as follows:
47
“The 18th and 19th centuries saw Ezidi influence and numbers decline. The end of the
semi-autonomous Kurdish principalities and the series of Ottoman Tanzimat reforms from
the mid-19th century onward made the region more vulnerable to localised political insta-
bilities. The 1832 massacre by ‘the Blind Prince’ of Rawanduz of the Ezidi Prince Ali Beg,
along with many of his followers in the valley that still bears his name, left a deep scar on the
Ezidis of Sheikhan. Religious tensions inherent in the Ottoman millet system, whereby legal
status was attributed according to religious identity, became more evident, with attacks on
Ezidis and other minorities by chieftains such as Bedirhan Beg of Cezîrȇ Botan” (see more at
http://religion.oxfordre.com/view/10.1093/acrefore/9780199340378.001.0001/
acrefore-9780199340378-e-254?mediaType=Article).
208 Ç. C. SUVARI
Our religion is like milk, white, clean and pure. For this reason, when we
give a girl outside [of our religion], our girl changes her religion. If we took
a girl from outside [our religion], we change our religion and go under the
religion of that girl. Because, if the hands of an outsider touch our pure
religion it will be polluted and damaged.
When I told Ezidis that some Kurdish authors (in Turkey and Iraq)
identify them as Kurds, they strongly objected to this view, because they
do not have or wish to establish any connection with the Kurds in today’s
conditions. They also explained that:
Some of the Muslim Kurdish tribes used to be Ezidis but they then changed
their religion leading to other Ezidis having no more connections with
them.
In the same way, we see that the Ezidis living in Northern Iraq also
share similar ideas and beliefs. In interviews I conducted in 2014, in
Dohuk city of northern Iraq, in Lalish and the Ezidi refugee camps, many
Ezidis48 told me that they did not trust Muslim Kurds. According to the
Ezidis I interviewed when the ISIL/DAESH attacked Sinjar, the
Peshmergas of Barzani49 left the Ezidis alone and ran away.50 This is felt so
strongly that, despite the Kurdish dominance over Northern Iraq, the
Ezidis in the region vehemently deny any of the historical and ethnic links
between themselves and the Kurds. If anything they feel themselves closer
to the Assyrian people and they even claim that they are of Assyrian
origin.51
48
There were many Ezidis whom I interviewed such as priests, lawyers, students, refugees,
and artisans.
49
Peshmerga are the military forces of the autonomous region of Iraqi Kurdistan. The
Barzanis are the leading clan in western Kurdistan.
50
For more, see http://ezidipress.com/en/the-betrayal-of-shingal/.
51 ̇
In this respect, a speech of Prince Anvar Muaviye Ismail, Ezidi Religious Centre
Chairman, which is referred to in Sever’s book (1996: 127, Ezidis and Origin of the Ezidis),
reflects the views of the Ezidis in denying any Kurdish identity:
Both the Ezidis and Assyrian[s] were founded with a common history, on common
lands and with the principle of a single flag and by sharing the same fate. The history
has taught us that the Assyrian[s] and the Ezidis are the real descendants of the great
Assyrian Empire. They have a common nationality. These two societies have been
Despite the fact that the Ezidis speak the Kurdish language, they do not
see themselves as Kurds and they do not even recognise any historical con-
nection with the Muslim Kurds. What this demonstrates is that the cul-
tural characteristics which define group membership and identities
between the Ezidis and the Kurds as well as the organisational structure of
the group have changed over time due to differences in belief.52 According
to Barth (2001: 21), each society has its specific standards, forms, and
values, such as in gender, language, tradition, law, family, and social iden-
tity boundaries. The formation of different ethnic groups becomes easier
when these differences, especially relating to values, coalesce within a
group to mark it out as different from other groups.
The value judgements of the Ezidis are mostly defined by their belief;
that is, they are pure and must retain their purity by not mixing or inte-
grating with others. The fact that they believe they are the descendants of
different ancestors53; the strict prohibition against marriage with people of
different religions for both genders; the exclusion of any person from their
religion if they violate this prohibition; and the fact that some of their
intellectual and practical applications are diametrically opposed to the
rules of Islamic religion54: these have formed the basis of the difference
between the Ezidis and the Kurds, for whom Islam is an important marker
of identity. Meanwhile, the exclusion and alienation of Ezidis which has
emerged as a reaction to the physical attacks on them by Muslim groups
who do not recognise the Ezidi belief as a Semitic religion has also played
a role in developing this difference.
connected to each other with strong fraternity links during the different ages of their
history especially in the times of massacre and disaster. They survived next to each
other against attacks. Fortunately, the protection of common nationalities are as per-
manent as solid rocks. I would like to define once more in front of all related interna-
tional organisations; the Assyrian[s] and Ezidis have the same fate and single
nationality and they are hoping to live in peace under the same flag. With this
announcement, we warn all Kurdish parties especially Mesut Barzani and Celal
Talabani to stop representing the Ezidis at all international levels and stop their
unfounded lies saying that the Ezidis belong to the Kurdish nation and to stop their
demands in Sinjar and Şekhan under the authority of their administrative regions.
52
For example, there is a caste system in the Ezidis but not in the Kurds. This caste system
is based on religion. But they abandoned the caste system when they became Muslims (see
also footnote 23).
53
Footnote 33.
54
For example, Ezidis have a belief in reincarnation and they do not believe in heaven and
hell, whilst Melek Tawus is cursed by Muslims as Satan.
210 Ç. C. SUVARI
Conclusion
Ezidis want to establish neither a historical nor a spiritual cooperation or
identification with the Muslim Kurds with whom they share the same lan-
guage. The difference in faith plays an important role here, but their alien-
ation from the Kurds is also based on the “Ezidi Massacre” in the nineteenth
century, which they mark by reference to the Muslim Kurdish leader
“Bedirhan55”, which is an equally important factor. This historical reality is
still a major reason for their distrust and reaction against the Kurdish peo-
ple today. Also, as a matter of historical fact, they base their origins on an
ancient Assyrian identity, even though they relate to different beliefs, and
thus they are able to establish an identity and ancestry with the Assyrians.
The idea of being descendants of a different origin from Muslim Kurds,
which has long been part of their mythology, has been spiritually very
effective as a factor in utilising their beliefs as the basic reference point in
defining their group identity. However, in reality, the fact that they have
been attacked for centuries because of their religion, their self-exclusion
from intermarriage with other religious groups and also the fact that they
live in isolated mountainous regions in order to find protection from
attacks has been even more effective in group identity formation. As has
been demonstrated, their beliefs (not their language or their origins) are
the reasons for Kurdish and other Muslim attacks on them. This has led to
the Ezidi people being more closely connected to their religion and more
and more protective of it, even at the risk of their own lives. Consequently,
their religious belief has become increasingly the core of their identity,
above all other identities.
I have observed that even the Muslim Kurds who have not seen any
Ezidis in their lives knew something about the Ezidi people during sepa-
rate conversations I had with Kurds living outside of Ezidi areas. Some of
these even told me that they were also Ezidis a few generations ago. Other
Kurds also tell stories about the Ezidis embellished with negative attri-
butes; usually these are stories related to past conflicts. Some of them even
tried to deter me when they heard that I would visit the Ezidi villages.
They believed that if someone visited an Ezidi village, he or she would
have his or her throat slit during the night. They were making statements
about their fellow citizens of Ezidi origin such as “his grandfather is Ezidi.
Footnote 41.
55
They are dirty dogs” and humiliating them by making fun of them.
Another phrase of the Kurds “Eat at the house of an Ezidi but sleep at the
house of a Christian” is another example of the distrust in the Ezidis.
When they were asked why a person could comfortably eat at the house of
an Ezidi despite this distrust of them, they replied that the Ezidis are so
delicate in the issue of cleanliness.
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CHAPTER 9
Conclusion
In all the chapters we have seen the fundamental role of religion as a

mobilising and often popular force against what Westerners would gener-
ally regard as modernity and progress. Especially for the Left the Uyghur
(Islam) mobilisation against the ‘rational economic’ policies of the Chinese
Communist State poses a classic example of this. Equally, the claims of
Lebanese Muslims to reject the essentially civil equality reforms of the new
divorce laws as Western Christian interference in their Islamic world
(Ummah) pose problems vis-à-vis the right to dissent and respect for oth-
ers’ religion and multicultural toleration. This latter example also has
important implications for Northern Ireland’s inter-religious relations,
officially based on multicultural relations and ‘parity of esteem’. This par-
ity is the official policy in Northern Ireland since the Belfast Agreement
(1998) as it is in Lebanon.
In all three instances religion (subjective) has proved to play a far stronger
role in identity formation than formal state (objective) identity and legiti-
macy, and the structures of religion have provided a far deeper and more
influential network of relations over peoples’ attitudes, beliefs and loyalties.
J. Dingley (*)
M. Mollica

Thus in Northern Ireland and Lebanon, state-sponsored religious toleration

has failed to produce lasting stability and agreed legitimacy to the state often
seen as alien, at least by one side. Conversely, the Chinese State, despite any
conflict with the Uyghur, appears to be much stronger and less challenged,
which may indicate that toleration of certain differences may not be condu-
cive to homogeneous communities, such as the nation-state. However, one
must also note that China, whatever reservations one has on its use of force,
is economically successful whereas neither of the other two is.
Meanwhile, in the Ukraine the core religious problem is the way that
internal religious divisions, that is, divided loyalties over sources of legiti-
macy, have dominated and have had a serious impact on the sense of legiti-
macy of the state. Both competing forces in the Ukraine also illustrate how
the utilisation of religious structures can be used to interfere in and under-
mine the internal loyalties to and the sense of legitimacy in the state. It
also illustrates how the sense of legitimacy, even for the state, ultimately
relates to external sources of legitimacy in an ideology, be it formal reli-
gion (even at a symbolic level), nationalism, market economics, science, or
Communism. There appears to be a need in man to refer his primary sense
of legitimacy to the idea of some higher cosmic order with its own laws
and structures.
However, on a more prosaic level the refugee diaspora in Lebanon indi-
cates the importance of (religious) structure and order in providing for
basic material needs in terms of economic and social security and welfare,
just as religion provided employment networks in Northern Ireland. In
both cases religion delivered in a way the state did not, or the state
strengthened itself via unofficially sanctioning them.
In the same way the European Reformation succeeded where new eco-
nomic relations established themselves and delivered quantifiable benefits,
indicating not just networks or structures of shared economic interest but
also the basis for a new legitimacy sanctified by a new religion. These new
(economic and religious) structures formed the basis of a new (‘nascent’
market economy) order which helped legitimate the new economic forces
that disrupted the old, feudal economic order, consequently symbolising
and sanctifying them as a new cosmic order. Here, the political debates in
British politics in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries shed an
illuminating light, where economic and social policies and Parliamentary
reform were debated in openly religious terms. This especially applied to
arguments over free trade and laissez-faire as to whether or not they
reflected divine and scientific laws and Providence. Thus science was
CONCLUSION 215
invoked as God’s laws, which implied the need for (political) non-
interference in the economy and social policy: was God a free market lib-
eral or not and did He approve of Parliamentary reform and undermining
the role of the established church in running society (Clark 1985; Beales
and Best 1985)?
More recently the instance of the Uyghur and China offers an example
of the clash of rationalising economic order in conflict with a traditional
religious one. Even here one can identify the clash of religions—as
Communism can be read as (secular) religion in terms of its belief in a
cosmic order that legitimates its activities and imperatives which contra-
dict those of Islam. This legitimates the Uyghur’s opposition and violence
as resistance whilst to the Chinese it becomes terrorism. Concurrently,
Western sympathy for the Ezidis in Iraq also reflects a similar situation but
this time vis-à-vis ISIS. In both cases Western sympathies basically lie with
the minority claims to resist inclusion and to maintain a national purity
and integrity from a rationalising homogeneity.
In both cases ISIS and China display a logical drive for internal ratio-
nalisation that the West finds abhorrent, partly because of the methods
used and partly due to the specific ideology (religion) which contradicts
Western ideology. However, the reality is that such homogeneity is also
fundamental to the integrity and legitimacy of Western states; equally, the
rationality behind Western ideologies is also universalising, for example,
the desire to impose (scientific?) market economics and liberal democracy
as idealised forms. If one looks at the history of national development in
Europe, for example, unification of Germany and Italy in the nineteenth
century one can see exactly the same process occurring there and just as
bloodily and against much local opposition. To further illustrate the point,
one only has to remember the recent horror of most of Europe when the
Catalans wanted to secede from Spain or Scotland from the UK.
This now helps elaborate our core argument in analysing Islamic vio-
lence (in as much as it exists and is any better or worse than Christian
violence). First, many Islamic fundamentalists, for want of a better term,
would point to Western history and actions and identify double standards.
This and Western attempts to impose its (alien) cosmic order over that of
Islam helps impel a violent response to the perceived violence the West is
believed to be inflicting on Islam as Western culture and values invade
Islamic societies. The Western cosmic order is one premised on the belief
in liberal democracy, market economics and independent nation-states,
and also on the idea of the objectified individual and scientific laws which
are alien to traditional Islam (magnified by ISIS).
The modern Western order is unique to the West, which it often fails to
grasp, and it is also historically relatively new in the West (mostly a product
of eighteenth-century Enlightenment), and is even now still challenged by
Western Romantic ideas. These idealise the premodern world of non-
materialist, rural idylls and the kind of traditional, ‘natural’ life supposedly
still lived in those regions dominated by traditional religion, that is, what
they regard as back to a natural order (Berlin 2000). But the Romantic
challenge serves to emphasise the point that the Western order is new and
was itself fiercely resisted when first introduced, not lest by the Churches
and feudal landlords who often saw it as a threat to Godly order (Burleigh
2005). And this lay behind much of the first wave of modern political
violence (terrorism) in the nineteenth-century West (Crenshaw 1995;
Dingley 2010).
However, one must not fall into the trap of thinking that religious vio-
lence is anything new, it permeates the entire history of mankind, nearly
all wars are fought with ‘God on our side’, if for no other reason than the
need to legitimate them. The more relevant point today is that it now
appears perverse in the West to see war and violence as religiously sanc-
tioned; the West now invokes a secular ideology to legitimate its violence.
And one of the themes to emerge from within the book is that such ide-
ologies may be seen as the new religions: does this make religion simply
another ideology, since all play on the same idea of a cosmic order that
gives meaning and purpose to acts and legitimates them? On the secular
level the answer appears to be yes, although no one can definitely say
whether God does exist on the non-secular level, although one could sug-
gest that God is just a pseudonym for order.
This then raises another question: is there a single God and order, as all
monotheistic religions would argue? This would pertain to the idea of a
single truth, which would imply an ultimate objectivity to such an order
and hence our ability to identify it objectively and so come closer to God.
This was certainly the belief of many early scientists, such as Newton,
Priestly, Galileo and Copernicus (Brooke 1991; Gaukroger 2008), which
they saw as lying in a natural, law-governed order. This would certainly
place ideas of an objective scientific order on a substantially different level
than subjective ones and indicate that those ideologies stemming from the
Enlightenment (that gave birth to science) are of a quantifiably and quali-
tatively different order.
CONCLUSION 217
This in turn leads on to the questions of knowledge, the status of

knowledge, truth, and creating a single narrative from which to integrate
different interests, ideologies, and parties. If one can identify certain
objective truths and knowledge, it then provides the basis for an agreed
narrative rather than simply tolerating differences (parity of esteem) that
are based on subjective, unverifiable beliefs as to what the right order is.
For, as we have already observed, since an harmonious and homogeneous
society needs a single, agreed narrative to establish legitimacy, the only
way to achieve the dominance of one subjective narrative over another on
an objective basis is physical violence, in which case violence is legitimated
in itself. Objectively identified truth provides the only sound intellectual
alternative, and this is the core of science and the scientific method.
We would therefore argue not only for the need for a single unifying
narrative, not toleration of opposed ones, but suggest the solution lies in
science and objectivity. This implies the search primarily lies in the physical
world and not the metaphysical where the search for pre-Enlightenment
knowledge lies and can only ever be speculative. In this way one could also
argue for science as the new religion, the search for an ultimate objective
truth (order). However, this also demands a better understanding of sci-
ence and the scientific method, based as Popper (2002) asserted on the
tests of falsifiability and that all knowledge is to a certain extent provi-
sional. Also, that the ability of those lacking scientific knowledge and com-
prehension to simply acquire it and accept its legitimacy is often lacking,
as an objective fact.
Consequently a scientific and objective world view or order needs, first,
to be premised on critical scientific self-analysis and criticism that recog-
nises knowledge limitations and therefore be non-dogmatic. Second, it
needs to recognise that not all people and cultures can develop a scientific
world view at the same time or pace; it requires careful nurturing over
time and also a sensitivity to existing belief systems that are not speedily
dropped. Recognising the subjective dimensions and needs of man is also
an objective reality that needs scientific understanding; true science needs
an open mind and debates wherein all can agree to proceed using the same
methodology (tests of falsifiability). From this perspective when we look at
resistance to an objective scientific order from other subjective orders, for
example, traditional religion, it may not be so much a rejection of science
per se but the way it is introduced in a confrontational manner. The best
of ideas can be undermined by poor implementation.
This would also help overcome another problem that has emerged in
the chapters, that problems relating to sectarianism and discrimination,
whether between indigenous populations or with immigrant populations,
can equally be solved via a properly constructed, objective scientific
approach. By focusing on objective, quantifiable factors, at least in the
public sphere, one can remove many emotively distorting subjective ones,
making it easier to develop an agreed narrative, homogenising integration
and ideas of legitimacy. One then also removes many of the imperatives to
discriminate. Currently, by ensuring that material and other rewards are
distributed via competing networks and structures one actually creates
vested interests in discrimination. Here the need is for the state in sectar-
ian and divided societies not to piously plead for tolerance (parity of
esteem) but to aggressively dismantle the sectarian structures and assert its
own objectively (as in the objectified individual, not one defined in sectar-
ian terms) based reward structures as the sole ones. This will then help
advance the legitimacy of the state as the only order able to deliver tangi-
ble rewards.
Such a monopoly of reward structures will then reinforce the creation
of a shared, objective, narrative by attaching rewards alone to the objective
structure, thus reinforcing its legitimacy and homogeneity in objectivity.
However, this is precisely what does not occur in either Northern Ireland
or Lebanon. Alternatively, it is what China is attempting to do with the
Uyghur, but in what seems to be a far too inept and insensitive manner.
Change is always a threat since it invariably undermines a certain sense of
security, as Giddens (1991) has observed; it needs careful management
and implementation if it is not to meet violent resistance. This is some-
thing that Western Management has long understood and has led to a vast
literature in the area (known as Organisational Change and Development
[OD]). It also appears to have been something that colonial administra-
tors understood, reflected in them laying the foundations of modern
anthropology by studying and getting to know their native populations,
their cultures, beliefs, values, and religious systems, thus sensitising them
to local sensibilities.
However, such cultural and religious appreciation seems now to have
vanished from much Western international relations and economic activ-
ity. It is not that Western ideas of objective equality are wrong in them-
selves; nor is it to defend beliefs and practices in non-Western societies that
offend our objectified ideas of human rights. It is to recognise that even in
the West we are still a long way from resolving many of our imperfections
CONCLUSION 219
and must also be cognisant that deeply embedded cultural and religious
practices cannot be simply changed overnight by dramatic Western inter-
ventions. Such interventions may not only be seen as Western interference
(neo-colonialism) in their internal affairs but deeply resented as an attack
on ‘their’ order and God which calls forth the legitimate right of violent
defence, just as Christians have violently defended theirs.
Bibliography
Beales, Derek, and Geoffrey Best, eds. 1985. History, Society and the Churches.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Belfast Agreement. 1998. Belfast: HMSO.
Brooke, John. 1991. Science and Religion, Some Historical Perspectives. Cambridge:
Burleigh, Michael. 2005. Earthly Powers. London: Harper Collins.
Clark, J.C.D. 1985. English Society, 1688–1832. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Crenshaw, Martha, ed. 1995. Terrorism in Context. Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania
State University Press.
Dingley, James. 2010. Terrorism and the Politics of Social Change. Farnham:
Ashgate.
University Press.
Giddens, Anthony. 1991. The Consequences of Modernity. Cambridge: Polity.
Popper, Karl. 2002. Conjectures and Refutations. London: Routledge.
Index1
A Andersen, H., 29, 30

Acharya, A., 47 Anderson, B., 24, 32, 140, 145,
Açikyildiz, B., 164, 175 152, 155
Adaviya Order, 196 Aoun Michel, leader of the Free
Adiy bin Abu’l Bereket (II Adiy), Patriotic Movement and President
Sheik, 196 of Lebanon, 86, 92
Adiy bin Hasan Şemseddin, Sheik, Arakelova, V., 199
197, 199 Aristotle, 26
Adiy bin Musarif, Sheik, 196, 197 Armstrong, K., 11, 12, 16–19, 21, 153
Albigensian Cathars, 11 Al Asad, Hafez, President of Syrian
Alder, K., 19, 20, 134 Arab Republic, 93
Ali Beg, Prince, 204 Assad, Bashar, President of Syrian
Allès, E., 45, 53 Arab Republic, 170, 174, 180,
Al-Nusra (Jabhat, later renamed Jabhat 181, 183
Fatah al-Sham), 170, 171, 174, Assad, Hafez, President of Syrian Arab
175, 183 Republic, 170
Al-Qaeda, 48, 168, 169, 173 Assassins, 10, 12
Alsabagh, I., 170, 180, 182 Assi, Manal, 95
Altan Muhammet, 199 Avenarius, B.C., 167
American Department Ayoub, J., 91
of Homeland Security, 8 Azar, F., 76
Amrieh, A., 96 Aziz, J., 83, 84
Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-00284-8
222 INDEX
B Brooke, J., 3, 216

Baader-Meinhof, 11 Brooke, P., 133
Babtain, 40 Brubaker, R., 131
Bacon, Francis, 27 Bulut, F., 196, 198
(Al-)Baghdadi, Abu Bakr, Caliph Bulut, V., 200
of the Islamic State for Iraq Burleigh, M., 10, 216
and the Levant, 170, 174 Bush, J.W., 11
Baldwin-Edwards, M., 185
Barfield, T., 61
Barr, J., 9, 165, 169 C
Barth, F., 62, 209 Cabral, A., 45
Bartholomew, Patriarch of Canon Law (Lebanese Code of), 81
Constantinople Ecumenical Castets, R., 44
Patriarchate, 110, 116 Castro-Gómez, S., 40, 60
Basile, B., 78, 87, 93 Cattan, H., 11
Beales, D., 215 Çelebi, Evliya, 203, 204
Beam, L.A., 163 Chikhladze, G., 165
Bedirhan Beg, Mir of Bothan (Cizre), Chikhladze, I., 165
204, 207, 210 Chinese Communist Party, 43, 45, 54
Bedreddin Lulu, ruler of Mosul, Clark, J.C.D., 215
199, 204 Cobban, H., 165
Bell, B., 11 Cohen, R., 166
Berlin, I., 16, 216 Committee on the Elimination of
Best, G., 215 Discrimination against Women
Bew, P., 135, 136, 139 (United Nations), 83
Bhabha, H., 60 Connell, R.W., 29
Bilani, B., 82 Connolly, S.J., 130–132
Bin Laden, Osama, 173 Copernicus, Nicolaus, 216
Blair, Tony, 11 Cornell, S., 61, 62
Bloom, M., 12 Crenshaw, M., 10, 11, 14, 31, 216
Boase, T.S., 187 Criminal Code (Lebanese), 89
Boko Haram, 203
Bossy, J., 17–19, 21, 22, 26, 27
Bovingdon, G., 51 D
Bowler, P., 137, 154 Danahar, P., 169
Boyce, D.G., 130, 131, 136, 151, Danjou, Jean, Captain, 15
152, 154 Dar al-Fatwa (Lebanese Sunni
Bramley, 86 Muslim authority), 83, 84
Bravo López, F., 50–52 Darwish Bin Abu Naqshbandi
Brehon Law, 129 Mohammed, Sheikh, 83
Brigden, S., 130, 131 Dash, M., 10
Broadie, A., 2 De Paor, L., 130, 140
INDEX 223
Department for Religious and Ethnic Foreign Legion, 15

Affairs of the Ministry of Culture Foster, R.F., 131, 132, 135–137, 139,
of Ukraine, 121 150, 151
Descartes, René, 27 Franz-Ferdinand, Archduke of
Detter, I., 8, 9, 11, 12 Austria-Hungary, 11
Dimitry (Rudyuk), Archibishop, 120 Free Syrian Army, 171, 182
(Al-)Diwahji Said, 204 Freund, J., 18
Douglas, M., 14 Front de libération du Québec
Durkheim, E., 10, 15–18, 24, 29–32, (Quebec Liberation Front, 16
131, 132, 152, 153, 172 Future Movement (Lebanese Political
Dussel, E., 60 Party), 74, 86
E G
Eatwell, R., 32 Galileo, Galilei, 27, 216
Ecumenical Patriarchate Gannagé, P., 78
(Constantinople Orthodox Gaspard, T., 76
Church), 108–111 Gaukroger, S., 26, 134, 216
Eisenstein, E., 26 Geagea, Samir,
El Shabab, 203 Lebanese Forces leader, 86, 90
Eliade, M., 14, 15 Gellner, E., 17, 25, 27, 29, 151
Elizabeth I, Queen, 130 Gemayel, Amine,
Elliott, M., 132 Kataeb Party leader, 162
European Association of Social Géraud, A., 55
Anthropologists Biennial Gerges, F., 168, 169, 171–174
Conference, 3n3 Giddens, A., 22, 24, 30–32, 152,
Euskadi Ta Askatasuna (Basque 172, 218
Homeland and Liberty), ETA, Gildea, R., 31
8, 11, 16 Giordano, G., 167
Ezid, Sultan, 177 Girard, R., 14, 17, 23
Gladney, 64
Goody, J., 28
F Gramsci, A., 49
Falzon, M.A., 161 Grayling, A.C., 2
Farrell, S., 80 Green, L., 12, 131
Feldman, A., 14, 22 Greenfeld, L., 16, 33, 151
Fenians Brotherhood, 11 Grosfoguel, R., 40, 51, 52,
Ferngren, G., 26, 27 55, 60, 67
Fığlalı, E., 202 Guest, J., 204
Filaret (Denisenko), Metropolitan, Guha, R., 60
103, 110, 114, 118 Gunaratna, R., 47
Finley, 43, 44 Gupta, D., 8, 24
224 INDEX
H Institute of Sociology of the

Hajjat, A., 52, 56, 67 National Academy of
Hallaq, W., 18, 19, 23, 27, 173 Sciences of Ukraine, 101
Han, E., 41 International Atomic
Handbook for Legislation Energy Agency, 13
on Violence against Women Irgun, 12
(United Nations), 88 Irish Republican Army (IRA), 8, 11,
(Al-)Haram Al_Masjid, Sanctuary in 12, 16
Mecca, 205 Islamic (Lebanese) Association for
Hariri, Rafiq, Prime Minister Preachers, 83, 84
of Lebanon, 94 Islamic State for Iraq
Hariri, Saad, Prime Minister and the Levant/Syria
of Lebanon, 74, 86 (ISIS, ISIL, Daesh), 9, 13,
Harris, W., 165, 170 164–166, 168–173, 175–177,
Hartmann, D., 61, 62 180, 183, 184, 186, 195, 203,
Hastings, A., 16, 17, 23 208, 216
Héchaimé, A., 92 Israeli, R., 46, 49
Hegel, Friedrich, 16, 64
Herder, Johann Gottfried, 16, 136
Herman, A., 2 J
Hermann, S., 1, 8 Jan Hus, 11
Hervieu-Leger, D., 22, 24, 25 Jewell, H., 18
Hezbollah/Hizbullah, Lebanese Jolie, Angelina, Special Envoy of the
Political Party, 85, 171, 172, United Nations High
183, 184 Commissioner for Refugees
Higher (Lebanese) Shia Islamic (UNHCR), 164
Council, 83, 84 (Al-)Joulani, Abu Mohammed,
Hindley, G., 17 leader of Al-Nusra, 174
Hobsbawm, E.J., 21, 31 Juergensmeyer, M., 14
Horizon 2020, 16 Jumblatt Walid, (Lebanese)
Hrawi, Elias, President of Lebanon, 93 Druze Progressive Socialist
Hudson, M.C., 77 Party leader, 87
Hughes, S., 10, 31
Human Rights Watch, 47, 79, 81, 84
Hutcheson, F., 2, 2n2 K
Kabbani Mohammad Rashid,
Grand Mufti Sheikh, 83
I KAFA, Lebanese NGO, 74, 79, 82,
Ibn al-Fuwati, 203 83, 86, 94–96
Immigration and Refugee Board of Kanat, K.B., 64, 68
Canada, 79 Karagheusian, Mihran, 178
INDEX 225
Karagheusian Howard M
Commemorative Corporation, Ma Mung, E., 166
178, 179 Maalouf, A., 63, 65, 68
Kaspersen, L., 29, 30 Macarius (Maletic), Metropolit of the
Kâzım, Muhammed, 204 Ukrainian Autocephalous
Kedourie, E., 16, 136, 151 Orthodox Church, 115, 118
Kennedy, L., 135, 147 Magrizi, 204
Kévorkian, R., 177 Makdisi, U., 171
Khamis Alnuaimi, D.L., 42 Malak Tawus, 204, 205
Khenchelaoui, Z., 196, 203 (Al-)Maliki Nouri, Iraqi Prime
Khomeini Ruhollah, Minister, 169, 171, 174
Supreme Leader of Iran, 183 Manchus, 42
Khoury, N., 84 Mao Zedong, Chairman of the
Kingsley, C., 10 Chinese Communist Party, 45, 53
Kinnvall, C., 172 Maqrizi, M., 198
Kirill, Patriach, 121 Marcus, E.G., 161
Kirk-Smith, M., 14, 17, 23 Marx, K., 10, 29, 32, 51, 52
Kokot, W., 166, 167 Masood, E., 27
Kung, H., 26 Matusitz, J., 14, 17
Kyiv International Institute Mayer, A.J., 33
of Sociology, 119 McCulloch, D., 20, 131
Melkumyan, H., 177
Menant, M.J., 176
L Meneses, P., 60
Layard, A.H., 204 Merton, R., 134
Lebanese Centre for Messarra, A., 77, 78, 82, 88, 89
Human Rights, 95 Methodius, Ukrainian Autocephalous
Lebanese Supreme Court, 85, 89 Orthodox Church Primate
Lescot, R., 199 Metropolitan, 118
Levi-Strauss, C., 14, 64 Mielants, E., 52, 67
Lewis, B., 10, 21, 27, 203 Mignolo, W., 60
Lewis, C.S., 17, 18 Miller, J.M., 175
Lipman, J., 41, 47 Millward, J.A., 42
Lipset, S., 32 Mkhayber, Ghassan, 91
Little, D., 20 Mohammed, M., 52, 56, 67
Lukes, S., 18 Mohammed/Muhammad, Prophet,
Luria, 28 19, 42, 85
Lutz, M., 91 Mokyr, J., 134
Lyon, J., 11 Moosa, M., 170
Lyons, F.S.L., 133, 137, 138, 151 Moukarzel Héchaime, A., 80, 93
226 INDEX
Movement of Hundred Flowers, 45 Paul (Saint) the Apostle, 81

Mushrikan (polytheists), 206, 207 Paxton, R., 32
Muzafferdin Kökburi, Pearson, G., 10
Commander, 197 Perret, B., 15
Mylonas, H., 41 Peshmergas, Kurdistan Regional
Government Army, 208
Politians, 203
N Pontifical Mission, 179
Nadir Shah, 204 Popper, K., 217
Najm, M.C., 94 Poroshenko Petro, President of
Nakhal, J.Y., 162 Ukraine, 117
Nazir, S., 79 Poston Jr, D. L., 42
Nebuchadnezzar, King, 200 Pratt, D., 27
Nelson, Horatio, 15 Priestly, 216
Neuman, P., 8
Newton, Isaac, 216
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 3 Q
Nisbet, R., 10, 24, 25, 30 Qassem Naim, Sheikh, Hezbollah
Nona, Amil Shamaaoun, Deputy Secretary-General, 85
Mosul Chaldean Catholic
Archbishop, 175
Nye, M., 15 R
Raad Tawk, R., 95
Rabbath, E., 75
O Radio Free Asia, 50
Obeid, M., 183 Ramet, S., 29
O’Boyle, L., 33 Rand Corporation, 2
O’Connell, Daniel, 136 Rapoport, D., 9
O’Day, A., 152, 154 Rashid al-Din, 203
O’Leary, B., 168 Red Brigades, 11
Ollerenshaw, P., 135, 147 Robinson, P., 132
Ong, W., 10, 16, 28 Rogers, P., 169, 173
Onuphrii, Metropolitan Royal Navy, 15
of Kyiv and all Ukraine, 107 Roziel, M., 92
Rummery, Ariane, 164
Rushing, J., 163
P
Pagden, A., 26, 27
Pasha, Melek Ahmet, S
Ottoman Grand Vizier, 204 Saddam Hussein, President of Iraq,
Pate, R., 12 168, 173
Patterson, 135 Sahr bin Abu’l Bereket, 196
INDEX 227
Said, E., 60 Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox

Şakir Ebul Bereket, 199 Church (UAOC), 107, 110–112,
Saladin (of the Ayyubids), 197 115–119, 122–125
Santos (Boaventura de Sousa), Ukrainian Centre of Economical and
43, 60, 66 Political Research, 119
Saul, B., 8, 12 Ukrainian Local Orthodox Church
Scull, A., 18 (ULOC), 102, 104, 105,
Security Council United Nations, 12 108–110, 119, 122–124
Selimian, Haroutune, Head of Aleppo Ukrainian Orthodox Church-Kiev
Armenian Evangelical Patriarch (UOC-KP), 107,
Community, 182 110–112, 115, 118–120,
Şerafeddin Muhammed, Sheik, 197 122–125
Shapin, S., 26, 134 Ukrainian Orthodox Church-Moscow
Sheffer, G., 167, 168 Patriarch (UOC-MP), 105, 106,
Sicarii, 9, 12 110–112, 116, 119–125
Sidky, Maha, 164 Ukrainian Sociology Service, 106
Skocpol, T., 29 United Nation Internal Children’s
Smith, A., 2, 16, 17, 23, 24 Emergency Fund (UNICEF), 184
Spanish Inquisition, 11 United Nations High Commission for
Spivak, G.C., 60 Refugees (UNHCR), 164, 176,
Stern Gang, 12 177, 179, 186, 187
Stewart, A.T.Q., 133, 138 United Nations Population Found,
94, 95
United Nations Relief and Works
T Agency for Palestine Refugees in
Tamil Tigers, 12, 16 the Near East (UNRWA), 162
Taylor, C., 15, 33
Tcholakian, H., 187
Thirty Years War, 14 V
Thugee, 10 Villard, F., 57, 58
Tobich, F., 90, 93 Vladimir, Primate Metropolitan,
Tokuno, Kyoko, 172 119–121
Tomppert, L., 79
Tonnies, Ferdinand, 24, 29, 30
Traboulsi, I., 78, 94 W
Turan, A., 202 Wallace, P., 11, 17–21, 26, 27, 131, 134
Turner, B., 19, 24, 134 Wang, P., 47
Wasserstein, B., 11
(Al-)Wazza Nabil, Sheikh, 84
U Weber, M., 10, 18, 20, 29, 31, 51, 52,
Uglow, J., 133 132, 133, 152
Ukraine State Department on Wellman K.J., 172
Nationalities and Religions, 102 Whyte, N., 137, 154
228 INDEX
William III, King, 132 Yevstratii (Zorya),

Wilson, D., 20, 26 Archimandrite, 120
Wilson, P., 14 Yezid Bin Muaviye, Caliph, 202
Wimmer, A., 167 Young, G.M., 10
Winfield, R., 27 Yushchenko, Viktor, President of
Women Economic Empowerment Ukraine, 120
Portal, 87
Wong, R.B., 44, 46, 50
World Council of Churches Z
(WCC), 113 (Al-)Zarqawi Abu Musab, leader of
World Uyghur Congress, 42, 47, 53 Al-Qaeda in Iraq, 173–174
(Al-)Zawahiri Ayman, leader of
Al-Qaeda, 173
Y Zealots, 9
Yacoubb, R., 96 Zeyneddin Yusuf, Sheik, 198
Yanukovych, Viktor, President of Zhang, L., 42, 64
Ukraine, 113 Zuhur, S., 94
Yates, F., 29 Zulaika, J., 14, 153

Understanding Religious Violence: Radicalism and Terrorism in Religion Explored Via Six Case Studies

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Edited by James Dingley and Marcello Mollica

Understanding Religious Violence

ISBN 978-3-030-00283-1 ISBN 978-3-030-00284-8 (eBook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018961380

Cover credit: Photos.com / Getty Images

2 Classical Social Theory and the Understanding of

3 Religious Independence of Chinese Muslim East Turkestan

4 Women’s Rights Between Civil and Religious Laws: The

5 Geopolitical Vector of Ukrainian Orthodoxy in the Context

6 The Case of Northern Ireland129

7 Terror-Driven Ethno-Religious Waves: Mapping

8 Being Ezidi in the Middle East195

Olena Bortnikova is a candidate of philosophical sciences, associate pro-

Marcello Mollica holds a PhD in Social Sciences from the University of

Religion and associated religious violence has, especially since 2001,

© The Author(s) 2018 1

It is the aim of this collection of studies and ethnographies to correct

Another problem that emerges lies in much of the contemporary dis-

Classical Social Theory

© The Author(s) 2018 7

no follow-up. Since then we have been constantly reminded by many

Such an industry may not welcome questioning the reality of terrorism

More specifically modern terrorism dates back to the mid-nineteenth cen-

Revolutions, street violence, mobs, political assassinations, terrorist attacks

The scenario at present with regard to terrorists is strikingly different from

However, what is actually now so different? Suicide terrorism is ancient

Previously the lack of definition was legally inconsequential – no interna-

Previously clearer ideas existed of terrorism as organised violence moti-

preferred not to wage ‘wars’ against terrorism (Dingley 2010). Additionally,

Religion, War and Violence

concepts such as purity and profanity, symbolism, martyrdom, sacrifice,

The foregoing in turn helps us to understand something of the nature

relations within a guild or merchant company. Similarly it aimed to medi-

Maintaining the religiously sanctioned relations of the community and

knowledge provided non-religious explanations based on material cause-

[T]he victim as surrogate, an emissary for the transfer of pollution out of an

Another aspect of the disruption of unity, order and relations as an

‘mechanical’ or (Tonnies) gemeinschaft society, for example, most Muslim

based on the invention of print and voyages of discovery in the fifteenth

This new consciousness is founded upon science, which is only possible

On Print, Religion and Objectivity

Classical Social Theory

Revolutions did not occur, as Marx predicted, in industrial societies. This

Hughes 1961). Yet concurrently it enabled the individual as an autono-

and terrorism have dominated the last 150 years—attempts to oppose,

———. 1984. The Division of Labour in Society. Basingstoke: Macmillan.

Hobsbawm, E.J. 1973. The Age of Revolution. London: Cardinal.

Pearson, Geoffrey. 1975. The Deviant Imagination. Farnham: Ashgate.

Religious Independence of Chinese Muslim

© The Author(s) 2018 39

State rhetoric is trying to counter this (according to Uyghur activists)

Coloniality, hidden under the rhetoric of modernity, necessarily generates

The unitary national ideal, promoted by the Chinese government, is

Brief Historiographical Introduction

defines itself as a “multi-national country”. This definition is the conflu-

The Han Chinese have built, throughout the country’s history, an

In the case of the Uyghur community, culturally Islamic (Millward

Art, sciences, music and literature flourished as Islamic religious institutions

The Uyghur language, in addition, shows considerable Persian influ-

profits and incomes due to the economic opportunities provided by State

with others of inclusion or submission. This has left an identity question

Religion as an Identity Marker

Muslims were a familiar enemy, closer in doctrine to Christians than most

2 Classical Social Theory and the Understanding of

3 Religious Independence of Chinese Muslim East Turkestan

4 Women’s Rights Between Civil and Religious Laws: The

5 Geopolitical Vector of Ukrainian Orthodoxy in the Context

6 The Case of Northern Ireland129

7 Terror-Driven Ethno-Religious Waves: Mapping

8 Being Ezidi in the Middle East195

Sunni authorities claimed it was an attempt to violate their religious-