The people of Sudan have endured a long and winding road towards realising their dream of a free, just and peaceful country.
Since the arrest of former President al Bashir in April, protesters organised under the Forces for Freedom and Change (FFC), have been engaged in negotiations with the Transitional Military Council (TMC) over the creation of a civilian led transitional administration.
What is clear is that human rights like freedom of religion or belief (FoRB) must be upheld in order for such a transition to be successful. FoRB is a vital right in the context of a democratic society. Being able to live in a diverse society, where a plurality of opinions, beliefs, cultures and expressions are accommodated is key to promoting tolerance, peace, and development.
Although Turkey’s constitution defines the country as a secular state, it
is caught between its secular and Islamic identities. The current government
has publicly endorsed a move towards a Sunni Muslim identity for the country,
conflating religious and national identities, by combining the religious
nationalism propagated by the ruling Justice and Development Party (Adalet ve
Kalkinma Partisi, or AKP) with the secular Nationalist Movement Party
(Milliyetçi Hareket Partisi, or MHP)’s ideology of ‘ultra-nationalism,’ which
is defined as “extreme nationalism that promotes the interests of one state or
people above all others.”
The promotion of religious ultra-nationalism in Turkey has contributed to a rise in discrimination, and in hate speech that incites violence against those who do not adhere to Sunni Islam.
Such incitement is visible in a variety of areas ranging from education and employment, to religious practices and day-to-day administrative procedures. There has also been a surge in the expression of anti-Semitism and anti-Christian sentiments in pro-government media.
official results confirming the re-election of Joko Widodo as President of
Indonesia were announced on 21 May, supporters of his rival, former General Prabowo
Subianto, took to the streets. Riots led to carnage in the capital, Jakarta, with at least
six people dead. The divisions unleashed by the election
campaign were exposed in their ugliest form.
point, Indonesia’s elections had been peaceful and orderly, despite what almost
all observers describe as the most divisive campaign in the country’s recent
history. On 17 April, over 190 million people cast their votes for the
presidency and the national, regional and local legislatures, in one of the
world’s biggest and most complex democratic exercises in recent times. To
conduct such a poll, in the world’s third largest democracy and fourth most
populous nation, across the world’s largest archipelago of 17,508 islands
stretching from the Indian to the Pacific Oceans, is a significant feat.
I spent three weeks in Indonesia during the election period. I witnessed the final week of the campaign, election day itself, and the first twelve days after the elections. I travelled to four cities – Jakarta, Medan in North Sumatra, Surabaya in East Java, and Pontianak in West Kalimantan – where I met civil society activists, religious communities and government advisers. I left Indonesia with profoundly mixed feelings.
A young church leader is unwittingly caught up in a
security dragnet, arrested, falsely accused and imprisoned. Another church
youth leader is shot and killed when security forces open fire on peaceful
protestors. In the same country, the military surrounds a cathedral where over
a thousand peaceful protestors have sought refuge after fleeing tear gas and
violence at the hands of security forces.
What is happening in Venezuela today shows how
religious groups can become caught up in larger political movements, sometimes
despite their best efforts to remain neutral and disengaged from politics.
Once religious groups find themselves in situations like these they can be forced out of their neutrality, putting them in opposition to powerful forces; this in turn can lead to violations of freedom of religion or belief (FoRB) as the authorities crack down on what they perceive to be rebellious religious groups.
On 25 August last year, the Burma army unleashed its attack on the Rohingya people of northern Rakhine state, precipitating the country’s most severe human rights and humanitarian crisis since independence in 1949. The United Nations’ outgoing High Commissioner for Human Rights, Zeid Ra’ad al-Hussein, described this crisis as “a textbook example of ethnic cleansing”, and the UN Special Rapporteur on human rights in Burma, Yanghee Lee, warned of “the hallmarks of genocide”. After the genocides in Rwanda and Srebrenica the world lamented with the words: “Never again”. But a year ago in Burma, “never again” happened all over again.
“They made it impossible for us to stay – how could we survive?”
In March this year, I travelled to the refugee camps on the Bangladesh-Burma border, to meet survivors. Almost everyone I talked to had seen loved ones killed and villages burned. Accounts of mass rape were widespread. I met Rohingyas whose eyes had been shot out and limbs blown off, and heard of others whose eyes had been gouged out, throats slit and limbs hacked off.