New rules which forbid causing ‘outrage’ among religious people have baffled Ireland. We were getting along just fine without them
I’m not sure which piece of unpopular Irish news is being buried by which: the announcement of a second referendum on the Lisbon treaty, or the shuffling through of a law creating penalties for blasphemy, an offence that has never properly existed in the Irish state.
While there is certainly a store of resentment in the population at being asked to vote again (that is: vote properly, you morons, as the government is barely holding back from saying) on the Lisbon treaty, there is a certain sense of bafflement at the new blasphemy legislation, smuggled in under the guise of defamation law reform. Nobody wanted this law: no one can think of a single thundering priest, austere vicar, irate rabbi or miffed mullah ever calling for tougher penalties for blasphemy. Certainly there were the frequent, and frequently ignored missives from Armagh, warning the Irish not to abandon God for 4x4s and Nintendo Wiis. And there was widespread dismay when popular comic Tommy Tiernan pushed the Bible-baiting a bit too far on the Late Late Show. But never did anyone suggest we needed tough blasphemy laws. Until the justice minister, Dermot Ahern, decided we needed to fill the “void” left by our lack of one.
Technically, Ahern is correct that Bunreacht na hÉireann requires that blasphemy be a criminal offence. However, no one ever bothered to formulate what the exact offence might be, and we muddled on for quite a long time without anyone worrying about this (perhaps, as a friend pointed out to me, because all blasphemous material was grabbed by the all-powerful censors long before it could ever get to court). In 1999, there was an attempt to prosecute a newspaper for a cartoon mocking the church, but the judge in that case noted that he could not prosecute, because there was no definition of what legally constituted blasphemy. Well now there is. And it concerns itself with what might or might not cause “outrage among a substantial number of the adherents of [a] religion” (note, not just Christianity, as was the case with English blasphemy law: this is, at least, equal opportunities idiocy).
As Michael Nugent of Atheist Ireland has pointed out:
The proposed law does not protect religious belief; it incentivises outrage and it criminalises free speech. Under this proposed law, if a person expresses one belief about gods, and other people think that this insults a different belief about gods, then these people can become outraged, and this outrage can make it illegal for the first person to express his or her beliefs.
So Irish law has now enshrined the notion that the taking of offence is more important than free expression. If something might cause a motivated group to be “outraged”, rather than, say, cause them to live in fear, then it is illegal, with a fine of up to €25,000 payable.
Note the ease with which a prosecution could be brought, and the punitive nature of the fine: this is not legislation that simply serves to tie up a few loose ends.
The minister claimed that his only alternative to this legislation was to have a referendum. This again, is technically true: any constitutional changes in Ireland require this. But the minister dismissed the notion of organising a referendum as being too costly in these straitened times.
Yet today, we are told there is to be another Lisbon referendum in October. Wouldn’t it have been sensible to hold both the Lisbon referendum and a referendum on the abolition of the concept of blasphemy from the constitution on the same day, cutting down on costs? Wouldn’t it, minister?
Picturing the plight of the Uighurs
Considering China’s demands to silence my film about Uighurs, it’s no wonder so little is heard of their struggle
Last week I was told by Richard Moore, director of the Melbourne International Film Festival, that the Chinese government had demanded my film, The 10 Conditions of Love, be barred from screening. I was not surprised. The film is about Rebiya Kadeer, the exiled Uighur leader regarded by the Chinese government as a threat, someone who incites terrorism in its country.
Ironically, the one country that wants to silence my film gave it press I could never afford. Thankfully Moore stood up for my film’s right to be screened by politely hanging up on the rather persistent Chinese consular official.
I first learned about the Uighurs about seven years ago while having a beer with a friend of mine in Beijing. He told me about a student in his English conversation class who appeared more Iranian than Chinese. My friend asked the student where he was from and was amazed to learn of a thriving Muslim population living in the far western deserts of China. When the Uighur student noticed another Han Chinese student intently listening in, he told my friend to do his own research on his people as there was only so much he could say in public.
Soon after, my friend and I took a four-day train journey to the desert oases and mountain valleys of Xinjiang province. We had done our research and knew how the Chinese had annexed what was once an independent East Turkestan in 1949. We also understood how China saw the Uighurs’ demands for autonomous rule as a threat to its unity, labelling protesters as separatists and terrorists. Some Uighur responses were violent, leading to harsh military crackdowns and human rights atrocities in the region. The Chinese government justified its actions to the world as a homegrown battle in the global war on terror.
Passing ourselves off as tourists we were able to collect footage of a colourful and resilient people. They were Muslim, but the women did not all wear burkas and the men were known to drink alcohol. We met some Uighurs who invited us to a wedding, where we learned how to toast by rubbing shot glasses and dance with other men to show off our moves to the women before they joined in. The Uighurs loved a celebration and after witnessing their second-class status in their own country, we understood why.
Over the next few years I met Uighur exiles in New York in libraries, coffee shops and Turkish restaurants. They suspected me of being a spy for the Chinese, as so many other supposed journalists and filmmakers turned out to be. Why else would anyone be so interested in their plight? Eventually they trusted me enough to introduce me to Rebiya Kadeer, recently released after six years in prison for mailing Uighur newspaper clippings to her exiled husband in Washington DC.
I called Chinese embassies in the US and Australia to get their side of the story. The Chinese have done much in Xinjiang in terms of infrastructural and economic development. While they were happy to discuss these issues, the interview was over once I asked about Kadeer. Suddenly I was being interviewed: “Have you had contact with Ms Kadeer, who’s involved with your film and where is it being screened?” I can’t understand why they refuse to debate these issues in a public forum; this was an opportunity for them to put their side of the story on record.
Kadeer told me how she had overcome a lack of Chinese government support for Uighurs in education and economic development to become a wealthy entrepreneur. I followed Kadeer for three years, watching her at work raising awareness of the Uighurs’ struggle in China. Her daughter Ray feared her mother’s work would endanger her siblings still living in China. An exiled leader makes impossible decisions for her people at the cost of her family.
As Kadeer’s awareness campaign grew, her family situation worsened. Hers is an astonishing story that embodies the living history of a forgotten people as they struggle to demand basic human rights in China.
Considering the Chinese government’s recent demands to silence my film in Australia I am not surprised so little is heard of the Uighurs’ plight. But I have the privilege of living in a society that finds strength in dissenting opinions.