The Right Has Become Post-Religious

Interesting discussion:

From 2016 onward, the relationship between conservative Christianity and MAGA-style populism has generated a wide range of reactions, few of them dispassionate. Center-right evangelicals lament the populist strand of the religious right and distinguish it from the moral strand. Critics on the left argue that the populist and moral strands were always one and the same. They declare MAGA politics to be the culmination of a radicalized religious right, and issue blanket condemnations. Postliberal Christian thinkers see a religious populist backlash as the natural consequence of the excesses of American liberalism. They exult in the prospective crumbling of the liberal system, hope for a robust Christian social order to replace it, and issue calls to arms.

These perspectives contain varying degrees of insight, but none is quite satisfactory as an explanation of how we got here. In his new book The Godless Crusade: Religion, Populism, and Right-Wing Identity Politics in the West (Cambridge University Press 2023), Tobias Cremer offers a different interpretation of the conspicuous religious element in modern populist politics. He argues that across Western democracies, populist parties are increasingly employing religious symbolism and rhetoric in an identitarian rather than a religious way. What appears to be an embrace of Christianity is more a celebration of cultural markers (say, Christian history and architecture) used to define themselves against outsiders than an expression of Christian beliefs or moral commitments—Christendom without Christianity. Mobilizing statistics, political analysis, and the content of interviews with 114 political and religious leaders in Germany, France, and the United States, Cremer makes a strong case that religious-themed populism is not the result of religious revival or even backlash, but rather of secularization. This work marks a key contribution to conversations about religious populism and Christian nationalism.

Secular Uses of the Sacred

Cremer’s argument is fourfold. First, the old economic and moral cleavages that used to shape party politics in Western democracies are being supplanted by a new division between cosmopolitans and communitarians. Cosmopolitans embrace globalization, individualism, and multiculturalism, whereas communitarians place greater value on local attachments, inherited identities, and majority rights. The latter group, finding themselves culturally maligned by internal elites and demographically threatened by external immigrants, seek redress in the form of a combative, “us vs. them” populist style of politics. Second, right-wing populists wield Christian symbolism as a way of marking cultural identity rather than religious belief. For populist leaders seeking to forge a shared national identity in a diverse population, Christianity serves as a symbolically powerful “lowest common denominator” as well as a boundary marker against Muslim immigrants. Third, and crucially, populist use of religious symbolism resonates most strongly with nonreligious voters, while practicing Christians are comparatively immune. Fourth, this “religious immunity” to right-wing populism is dependent on the availability of appealing political alternatives for religious voters, as well as the extent to which religious leaders discourage support for populist parties among their followers.

Cremer illustrates these points with an in-depth examination of the cases of Germany, France, and the United States, each of which receives its own section of the book. All three of these countries saw a rise in the demand for populist politics during the 2010s— Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) in Germany, Marine Le Pen’s Rassemblement National (RN) in France, and Trump’s Republican Party in the United States. In each of these cases, populist use of religious symbols has been highly visible. AfD supporters march in Dresden singing hymns and wielding large crosses. French demonstrators by the thousands, organized by RN, deposit flowers at the feet of a statue of the country’s national saint, Joan of Arc, in veneration. In the United States, crowds wielding bibles and waving Christian flags storm the Capitol building in defiance of the outcome of the 2020 election. Observers of these spectacles draw the seemingly reasonable conclusion that they represent a radicalized religious right in the democratic West.

But this conclusion, Cremer argues, is mistaken. In each of these countries, populist use of religious symbolism has coincided with the marginalization of Christian belief and practice within populist parties. In Germany, AfD expresses skepticism toward the nation’s system of state-supported churches and resists the high social and political status of religious leaders, preferring a reduced role for religion in the public square. France’s RN similarly embraces an extreme form of public secularism, or laïcité. Neither AfD nor RN shows any interest in a conservative social agenda on such issues as same-sex marriage or abortion. Indeed, many statements by populist party leaders explicitly identify the kind of Christianity they advocate as cultural or identitarian rather than religious, and reject the prospect of their parties being influenced by Christian doctrine. While the United States differs in some key respects, the Trump administration shared with its European counterparts an elevation of nonreligious or populist figures over religious ones. Most religious leaders had little access to the Trump White House, and while he maintained an evangelical Faith Advisory Board, Cremer’s interviewees suggest this represented a strategic effort to curb religious criticism rather than any serious desire to institute a Christian policy agenda. In Trump’s administration, the Steve Bannon wing loomed larger than the Mike Pence wing (and current tensions between the Trump campaign and the pro-life movement suggest that not much has changed). Similarly, in AfD and RN Christian members are marginalized while secular, atheist, or neo-pagan strands of the parties wield greater influence.

Religious Immunity

Interviews with religious leaders show that the relationship between religion and right-wing populism is chilly on both sides. In Germany, Catholic and Protestant leaders have been consistent and outspoken critics of AfD, instituting strong social taboos against populist support among their members. Until recently, the French Catholic Church similarly denounced RN without equivocation, even denying sacraments to some of the party’s politicians. Cremer credits strong social taboos against participation in populist politics instituted by religious leaders for the fact that churchgoing Catholics and Protestants in these countries have historically exhibited low support for these parties, indicating a “religious immunity” effect.

Early in the 2016 primaries, this effect was in evidence in the United States as well. Several prominent religious leaders declared Trump an unfit candidate for office, and in the primary vote, churchgoing Republicans were substantially less likely to support Trump than their religiously disengaged co-partisans. Yet by the time of the general election, religious voters were some of his most loyal supporters. Cremer identifies several factors that explain this reversal. First, party loyalty—religious support for the GOP was too entrenched to be disrupted by the nomination of a decidedly irreligious candidate. Second, a lack of alternatives—in a two-party system, the only other serious contender was a Democratic Party with a secularist stance and socially liberal policy platform wholly unacceptable to many religious voters. Third, the Trump campaign made inroads with evangelical leaders and made policy commitments that were appealing to the religious right. Fourth, given the diffuse and non-hierarchical nature of America’s churches, there was a lack of religious leaders with sufficient ability and influence to oppose the right-wing populist movement as clergy in France and Germany had done. These factors in combination undermined the “religious immunity” effect in the United States.

Ultimately, Cremer is positing a Europeanization of American politics in which social cleavages have less to do with economics or morality than the value of national and cultural identity. This shift is captured in a quote from sociologist Eric Kaufmann: “During the Bush years European observers saw American politics as profoundly alien. By 2016 it was to become thoroughly familiar.” American analysts have struggled to provide an accurate diagnosis because they are thinking in categories of class struggles and culture wars that are becoming outdated. For insight into our political moment, we should look across the pond.

Post-religious Right

With respect to the question of “how we got here” in the American case, Cremer’s key insight is that Trump—and more broadly, the style of politics he represents—did not rise to power on the shoulders of the religious right, but rather the post-religious right. Indeed, his presidency was made possible by the very process of secularization that the religious right has long sought to combat. Trump’s coalition may instead be viewed as an alliance between the religious and post-religious right, with the former playing the role of junior partner. Counterintuitively, the conspicuous Christian symbolism present in such populist settings as MAGA rallies and the January 6 storming of the Capitol does not reflect a resurgent and radicalized religious right, but rather one that has been eclipsed by more secular right-wing forces. This understanding offers an important corrective to reductionistic accounts of a Christian nationalist monolith that have dominated scholarship in this area.

While Cremer’s theory goes a long way toward helping us make sense of the past decade’s bewildering political developments, however, it pays little heed to evidence of at least partial overlap between the religious and populist right. Religion data scientist Ryan Burge has shown that in the 2016 Republican primaries, 44 percent of weekly-or-more churchgoers voted for Trump over evangelical candidates like Ted Cruz. This is, if not an outright endorsement, hardly a stinging rebuke. Figures with unimpeachable religious right credentials such as Eric Metaxas have come out as full-throated Trump supporters, while center-right evangelicals like David French and Tim Alberta lament the MAGA-fication of their religious communities. Clearly for many Americans, the tension between their religious commitments and populist politics is surmountable.

On the other side of the ledger, the religious right gained undeniable policy victories from their alliance with the populist right. The religious conservative Holy Grail of the overturning of Roe v. Wade would not have happened if religious voters had withheld support for Trump in the 2016 general election. These facts suggest a possibility absent in France or Germany, where weekly worship attendance is in single digits, but perhaps present in the United States: that of a populist religious right. The populist political style is not incompatible with either religious commitment or social conservatism, and social boundaries can be drawn around religion and morality as easily as birthplace or ethnicity. GOP lawmakers in red states like Texas and Montana offer a taste of what a populist politics that emphasizes religion over ethnicity might look like. Cremer rightly draws our focus to the distinctions and tensions between the religious and populist right, but we should also not lose sight of the prospect of their synthesis.

This caveat aside, The Godless Crusade offers an elegant, compelling, and well-researched account of the overlooked role of secularized religious-themed populism on both sides of the Atlantic—one refreshingly free of pontificating. It deserves to be widely read. Cremer both builds on and challenges existing accounts. His book can create more fruitful conversations about conflicts over the role of religion in the public sphere.

Source: The Right Has Become Post-Religious

When it comes to affirmative action, Canada has a long way to go

Would be much stronger, as is often the case, were the commentary include more of a historical perspective on changes, progress and gaps. And normal, albeit frustrating, the time lag between increased diversity and it being fully represented in the various institutions.

While I haven’t yet looked at the relevant 2021 Census data for the education field of study, in 2016, visible minorities formed less than 20 percent of those in education, Blacks less than two percent, highlighting some of the “supply side” issues and barriers:

As a Canadian, you could be forgiven if the recent U.S. Supreme Court decision striking down affirmative action has furthered your sense of moral superiority over our southern neighbours.

After all, in contrast to America, Canada’s constitution explicitly allows “any law, program or activity that has as its object the amelioration of conditions of disadvantaged individuals or groups including those that are disadvantaged because of race, national or ethnic origin, colour, religion, sex, age or mental or physical disability.” But in the four decades since Canada has had constitutionally sanctioned affirmative action, how much progress have we made in addressing racial disparities?

According to the University of Calgary’s Malinda Smith, the primary beneficiaries of these efforts have been white women. Smith argues that “despite four decades of equity policies — corporate boards, the judiciary, and the police continue to be shaped by racial and ethnic segregation, and remain overwhelmingly white and to a lesser extent male, thus maintaining the historic colour-coded ethnic pecking order even across gender and sexual difference.”

Smith has termed this process “diversifying whiteness,” whereby institutions promote their increased diversity (with respect to gender, sexuality, and disability), while comfortably maintaining a predominantly white workforce.

Nowhere is this phenomenon more evident than in our K-12 education systems. It has long been recognized that having school staff that reflect the students and communities they serve can lead to more equitable outcomes.

For example, in a recent report released by the Toronto District School Board’s Centre of Excellence for Black Student Achievement, members of Toronto’s Black communities overwhelmingly state that having more Black teachers, counsellors, and administrators was critical to improving the educational experiences of Black students and their families.

However, the reality is that our schools are largely the domain of white women. An audit of the York Region District School Board found that while racialized people comprise about half of York Region’s population, just under one quarter of school board staff is racialized.

According to data from the Halton District School Board, while half of its students are racialized, racialized people make up only 18 per cent of its staff. Similarly, an investigation into the Peel District School Board found that while 83 per cent of its students were from racialized backgrounds, racialized people comprise only 33 per cent of its staff. In all boards, staff are predominantly white and female.

So how is it that despite decades of constitutionally sanctioned affirmative action, we still have school systems that are mostly white? It is part of an educational trajectory — that starts in elementary and high schools and continues to universities and school boards — where some people are encouraged along certain paths, and others are nudged away. Addressing the racial disparities in our school systems requires disrupting current practices at all points in this trajectory.

This is why the TDSB’s attempts to diversify admissions to its specialty schools is so important. It is also why the Waterloo Region District School Board should be commended for its recent job fair specifically for Indigenous, Black, and racialized individuals. It takes a certain amount of moral fortitude to persist despite the inevitable reactionary backlash that occurs when racial disparities are addressed so explicitly.

Critics have panned both initiatives as divisive and akin to establishing a racial hierarchy. It is as if we do not already have a well-established racial hierarchy, which is what these programs are trying to address.

Opponents of affirmative action programs state that we should just accept the best candidates, irrespective of race. As U.S. Chief Justice John Roberts once wrote, “The way to stop discriminating on the basis of race is to stop discriminating on the basis of race.”

Yet, decades of studies that continue to show that organizations respond to resumes with white-sounding names at much higher rates than identical resumes with racialized names expose the myth that we are all judged on some objective metric of “merit.” Organizations need to stop pretending that it is complicated. The way to have greater racial diversity is to have greater racial diversity.

Sachin Maharaj is an assistant professor of educational leadership, policy and program evaluation at the University of Ottawa.

Source: When it comes to affirmative action, Canada has a long way to go

Minorités visibles sur le marché du travail: Des avancées importantes, mais encore du chemin à faire

Notable improvement in terms of employment rates, less positive with respect to incomes but still showing improvement compared to 2016:

Un taux d’emploi comparable

L’étude montre une participation de plus en plus active des personnes noires sur le marché du travail, souligne Luc Cloutier-Villeneuve, analyste en statistique du travail à l’ISQ et auteur de l’étude. Selon lui, il s’agit d’un des éléments les plus frappants. « Les taux d’activité sur le marché de l’emploi chez les universitaires et les détenteurs de formations postsecondaires sont relativement identiques à la population qui n’est pas issue d’une minorité visible », indique l’expert. De fait, tous âges compris, le taux d’emploi atteint le seuil du 78,8 % chez les Noirs, comparé à 77,5 % pour les personnes non issues de minorités visibles. 

Le Québec derrière la Colombie-Britannique

Le Québec présente une meilleure équité entre personnes issues des minorités visibles et personnes blanches que certaines autres provinces du Canada, dont l’Ontario. Les Noirs (78,8 % au Québec, contre 68,8 % en Ontario), les Latino-Américains (76,2 %, contre 71,4 %) et les Arabes (70,8 %, contre 57,4 %) ont tous un taux d’emploi supérieur dans la Belle Province. Toutefois, la Colombie-Britannique est plus paritaire du côté des personnes noires (76,1 %) et arabes (60,6 %). Luc Cloutier-Villeneuve constate que plusieurs changements positifs ont été réalisés depuis le recensement précédent, en 2016, mais la partie est loin d’être gagnée. 

Un écart de revenu qui diminue

Le revenu moyen d’emploi des personnes issues de minorités visibles âgées de 25 ans à 64 ans (43 240 $) est toujours inférieur au revenu moyen d’emploi des personnes blanches (56 250 $), confirme l’étude. Mais cet écart diminue. En 2019, il était de 22 %, alors qu’en 2015, soit quatre ans plus tôt, il atteignait 28 %. Plus précisément, en 2019, le revenu d’emploi moyen allait d’environ 41 800 $ (personnes noires) à 47 700 $ (personnes arabes). 

Différences selon l’âge

La parité varie selon l’âge, indique l’étude de l’ISQ. Chez les personnes de 55 à 64 ans, l’écart est petit, ce qui révélerait une meilleure intégration à la société, soutient Luc Cloutier-Villeneuve. « On sait qu’il y a des variables qui jouent sur l’intégration, que ce soit la langue maternelle, la scolarité, la durée de résidence [au Québec], et l’ordre dans l’arbre généalogique », explique l’expert. 

Connaissance du français, un facteur

Un certain nombre de facteurs peuvent expliquer les écarts constatés dans l’étude, souligne Luc Cloutier-Villeneuve. Parmi eux, l’analyste en statistique mentionne la connaissance du français ou encore la reconnaissance des diplômes. « Ce qui est clair, c’est qu’en termes d’analyse subséquente, ce serait intéressant d’aller creuser ces aspects pour comprendre pourquoi ces écarts persistent. » 

Source: Minorités visibles sur le marché du travail: Des avancées importantes, mais encore du chemin à faire

Khan: All women and girls should be allowed play soccer – regardless of their religion

Indeed:

On the eve of the Women’s World Cup, as soccer fans cheer our talented female athletes, let’s not forget the many women and girls worldwide who are being denied the opportunity to play the beautiful game.

Here in Canada in 2007, 11-year-old Asmahan Mansour was set to enter a tournament match in Laval, Que., when a referee barred her from the soccer pitch for wearing a hijabThere had been no issues in previous games; this ref insisted on following a memo from the Quebec Soccer Federation (QSF) forbidding all religious headgear. Asmahan’s teammates, their parents, and coach rallied in her support by forfeiting the match and withdrawing from the tournament in protest – as did four other Ottawa-based teams.

The QSF insisted it was a safety issue. The matter made it all the way to FIFA, which initially upheld the hijab ban, then reversed it in 2012. In the interim, the Canadian Soccer Association allowed the hijab, provided it met safety standards.

In 2013, the QSF banned Sikh turbans, basing the decision on its interpretation of FIFA’s rules. Turbaned children in Quebec could play in their backyards, but not in official matches. The QSF backed down after its suspension by the Canadian Soccer Association, claiming it was all a misunderstanding. Soccer peace ensued; children from all backgrounds can now play “the beautiful game” across Canada. It was admirable to see the pushback against discrimination by ordinary Canadians, who insisted on inclusion and fair play for all children.

Unfortunately, women and girls are denied the opportunity to play the beautiful game elsewhere in the world. Afghanistan comes to mind. And France, where since 2016, the French Football Federation (FFF) has banned any player, coach or referee from wearing the hijab – contrary to FIFA rules. The FFF insists it is in keeping with the official French policy of laïcité, which restricts religious expression in the public sphere. To paraphrase a memorable Seinfeld character, the FFF has declared “No soccer for you!” to hijabi footballers.

This policy has had a painful impact on many aspiring French Muslim female soccer players, who have faced a choice between the sport they love and their faith. In response, Les Hijabeuses, a collective of French female Muslim soccer players, was formed in 2020 with the aim of ensuring that all women can play the sport they love. They’ve launched petitions, gathering support from the broader sports community (including Nike). The members and their allies play soccer together, connect with other French teams and provide training sessions to encourage other young Muslim women to get into the sport. They have gone to court to try to overturn the ban, citing FIFA’s ruling.

Last month, the public rapporteur of France’s highest administrative court (Le Conseil d’État) recommended annulment of the ban, stating that wearing the hijab is neither “proselytism” nor “provocation.” Nor is “neutrality” required for soccer players, since they are not public servants. According to the rapporteur, religious symbols are already present: players cross themselves before entering the pitch. The rapporteur’s recommendation is usually adopted by Le Conseil.

Surprisingly, Le Conseil upheld the ban, in order “to guarantee the smooth running of matches and prevent any confrontation,” while acknowledging this limits freedom of expression and conviction. Without a hint of irony, the FFF welcomed the ruling, stating it would reaffirm “its total commitment to combating all forms of discrimination.” If laïcité was meant to supplant the Catholic Church, it still denies the personal agency of women.

The ban is even more galling given that France is the only European country that excludes hijabis from playing in most competitive domestic sports, and it is unclear whether foreign players with hijabs will be allowed to compete in the 2024 Paris Olympics. Why is France denying Olympic opportunities for its own hijab-clad athletes?

On the eve of the Women’s World Cup, there has been thundering silence from FIFA and national soccer federations regarding the French exclusion. Contrast this to the protests raised against one of the tournament’s sponsors: for the country’s treatment of women’s rights defenders, FIFA’s revoked the sponsorship of Saudi Arabia’s state tourism authority. National soccer federations should mount a united stand against France’s blatant discrimination, with the Canadian Soccer Association taking the lead. FIFA should at least sanction the FFF for violating official FIFA policy.

Listen to Asmahan Mansour’s young Ottawa teammates in 2007: “I like to play soccer, but Azzy is my friend, and I don’t want to play if she’s not going to play,” one said. “If one person can’t play soccer because of her religion, it just wouldn’t be fair. Inside is what matters, not the outside,” said another.

Sheema Khan is the author of Of Hockey and Hijab: Reflections of a Canadian Muslim Woman.

Source: All women and girls should be allowed play soccer – regardless of their religion

The Hindus fighting against ‘caste consciousness’

Of note (California a trendsetter…):

The first-ever Caste Con, an event dedicated to “dissolving caste consciousness,” held in Fremont, California, on Sunday (July 16), may sound to the uninitiated as if its point was to oppose discrimination based on India’s social hierarchy that places Brahmins at the top of the social order and Dalits at the bottom.

In fact, the gathering brought together a group of activists who warn that recent efforts to outlaw caste discrimination in the United States only serve to reaffirm caste differences in a way that could negatively affect the U.S. Hindu community and stigmatize Indian Americans in politics, at school and in the courts. Many of the attendees are outspoken opponents of SB 403, a bill headed for a vote in the California State Assembly that would single out caste bias as a violation of the state’s anti-discrimination statute.

Richa Gautam, a data analyst who organized the event, portrays caste awareness as a version of American identity politics that left-leaning politicians use to force presumptions about caste on Indian immigrants such as her, she told Religion News Service in the days before Caste Con.

“Any seepage of identity politics is against multiculturalism,” said Gautam. “It is against progress, it is against even spiritualism, you know, the whole concept of Hinduism.”

Caste differences, a fact of life in India and other South Asian communities around the globe, has caused increasing controversy in the U.S. South Asian immigrant community since colleges and universities began adding caste to their list of differences, along with race and sexuality and gender identity, that were protected against bias. Brandeis University banned caste discrimination over complaintsfrom some Hindus in 2019; the California State University system added caste to their nondiscrimination policy in early 2022.

Gautam was inspired to join the fight against these measures in 2020, as California was prosecuting the most prominent legal case of alleged caste discrimination involving the computer giant CISCO Systems. An anonymous CISCO employee, a Dalit, accused two of his managers, Ramana Kompella and Sundar Iyer, of passing him over for a promotion. California’s civil rights department sued the two defendants in a years-long case that ended just this month, when it was dismissed due to lack of evidence.

Iyer made a surprise appearance at Sunday’s Caste Con, claiming that the state prosecutors decided he was a high-caste Hindu based on his last name, even though he identifies as non-religious.

“Ramana and I are the state of California’s best and only example of caste litigation,” said Iyer. “The CRD is supposed to protect civil rights, yet deliberately violated my religious liberty.”

More recently, 12 of the complainants in a 2021 lawsuit that alleged forced labor among “lower-caste” workers on the BAPS Swaminarayan Temple of Robbinsville, New Jersey, retracted their claims, saying they were coerced into making false allegations of caste discrimination.

Yet an often cited report on caste bias released in 2018 by Equality Labs, a Dalit civil rights organization and a co-sponsor of the California bill, found that two-thirds of respondents said they suffered discrimination at work; one-third reported that they had faced discrimination in education.

In an article on Caste Files, Gautam’s website tracking the issue, she characterizes the report as “fake and unscientific.” Other Hindu organizations, including the Ambedkar Phule Network of American Dalits and Bahujans, representing traditionally lower-caste groups, have also criticized Equality Labs’ findings.

“Any survey or any bill that is made without us is looking to butcher our cultural existence,” Sandeep Dedge, a volunteer at APNADB, told the Caste Con audience. “The people with little experience are trying to oppress the contributions of the Dalits and Bahujans.”

Those who reject the need for provisions against caste discrimination say not only that such laws have no place in the United States, but they also deny that caste is primarily a feature of Hinduism. Instead they claim that caste was imposed by British colonizers of India, who fastened on varna — a spiritual term dictating one’s inner nature — and jati — a description of a distinctive social group — and conflated both with caste as a way of ordering Indian society under their rule. It should be removed from American consciousness altogether, they say.

Sudha Jagannathan, a board member of the Coalition of Hindus of North America and longtime California resident, says she never experienced discussions of caste before coming to the United States. She began referring to herself as Bahujan only after caste became a talking point in recent years. To her, caste is a “slur against Hindus” that is already covered under the existing anti-discrimination laws.

“The caste discrimination ban is broadcasting caste consciousness into America in big ways,” said Jagannathan. “The Americans who did not know this, whenever they see a Hindu now, the first question they ask is, ‘What is your caste?’”

California, where a vast number of Indian immigrants live, has long been the center of the discourse about caste in America. In 2006, the Hindu Education Foundation, along with the Vedic Foundation and the Hindu American Foundation, fought in California courts to erase mentions of the caste system, among other stereotypes about the Hindu religion, from the state’s school textbooks. The litigation ended in settlements, with repeated text changes.

Source: The Hindus fighting against ‘caste consciousness’

Kheiriddin: Abortion policy is the tool. Authoritarianism is the goal.

Of note and interesting parallels among disparate countries:

This week, Mike Pence made it clear: he would ban abortions when pregnancies aren’t viable. The former Vice President, now candidate for the 2024 Republican nomination, expanded on his anti-abortion position, which includes a federal ban at six weeks gestation, such as Iowa has now imposed, and outlawing the sale of mifepristone, an abortion pill that the FDA approved twenty years ago.

“I want to always err on the side of life,” Pence told AP News. “I would hold that view in these matters because … I honestly believe that we got this extraordinary opportunity in the country today to restore the sanctity of life to the center of American law.”

It seems illogical, not to mention inhumane, to outlaw abortion when there is no chance a fetus can be born alive.  One is not saving a life, because that life will end before it comes to term. And one may be taking a life: a non-viable pregnancy can kill the woman carrying it, as evidenced in a recent lawsuit challenging an abortion ban in the state of Texas.

Forcing a woman to carry a fetus fated to die is also psychological torture of the highest order. Every time a stranger asks about her pregnancy, every time she catches a glimpse of her swollen abdomen in the mirror, every time she thinks of the child she wanted but who is not to be, she is made to suffer. There’s nothing Christian about that.

But that does not matter to Pence. He needs to mobilize the votes of the religious right to win the GOP nomination. He has the pedigree: he championed their issues in the White House during the Trump administration and since then only hardened his stance. “I am pro-life and I don’t apologize for it,” Pence told Face the Nation in April. He argued this week that restricting abortion is “more important than politics” and calls it the “cause of our time.”

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That’s where the clothes come off the emperor. Pence is no defender of the American Constitution, nor is he a conservative. He is a religious autocrat. Founding father Thomas Jefferson famously declared that when the American people adopted the First Amendment, they built a “wall of separation between the church and state.” Christian autocracy flies in the face of this dictate, basing policy not on evidence, reason, or debate, but on the tenets of a specific faith. It violates the United States Supreme Court’s neutrality test that requires that government be neither the ally nor the adversary of religion.

But the American religious right isn’t concerned about this. It has friends in high places. Domestically, it now has the Supreme Court on its side, as evidenced by its overturning of Roe v. Wade. And internationally, it has a lot of disturbing company.

One of those is Hungary’s Fidesz Party, that came to power in 2010 under Viktor Orban. In 2022, the European Union Parliament condemned Orban for creating an “electoral autocracy” that restricts the rights of the judiciary, LGBT individuals, the press and ethnic minorities.  That same year, Orban set his sights on Hungary’s abortion law. It currently permits terminations up to twelve weeks in cases of rape, risks to the mother’s health, serious personal crisis, or a severe foetal disability. But by decree, the Hungarian government now requires that pregnant women must listen to the foetal heartbeat prior to making their decision, similar to laws enacted in Texas and Kentucky.

This is no coincidence. In 2022, Orban addressed the American Conservative Political Action Conference, proclaimed his nation “the Lone Star State of Europe” and said, “The globalists can all go to hell. I have come to Texas.” (Note to my Canadian readers: Orban’s fandom is not just limited to American Conservatives. Just this month, former Prime Minister Stephen Harper, who now heads the International Democrat Union, called for greater ties between conservative parties worldwide, including the Canadian Conservative Party and Fidesz.)

Iran’s Islamic theocracy is another regime infamously hostile to human rights, including those of women. In September 2022, 22-year-old student Jina Masa Amini was killed while in police custody. Her “crime” was not wearing her hijab tightly enough, in contravention of Iran’s strict religious dress codes. Amini’s death sparked nationwide and then worldwide demonstrations under the motto “Woman, Life, Freedom”. In her home country, more than 500 Iranians were killed in the protests and five sentenced to death between September 2022 and April 2023.

As for abortion, it is illegal in Iran unless a fetus is diagnosed with a genetic disorder or the mother’s life is endangered.  But the government has now upped the ante. In May 2023, Iran’s Center for Population Rejuvenation created a volunteer militia called Nafs (life) to identify doctors and clinics performing abortions, and shut them down. Iranian media have dubbed the group the “[Anti] Abortion patrols analogous to the same type of hijab enforcement units that arrested Amini.

Then, there’s China. In 1980, faced with a rising birth rate, China imposed a one-child policy. Millions of women were forced to terminate additional pregnancies, and due to a cultural preference for male children, hundreds of thousands of girls were aborted, abandoned or killed. In 2016, China repealed the policy due to an imbalance of the sexes and low birth rate, resulting in an aging population and demographic decline.

At first glance, China’s policy appears to be the polar opposite of religious pro-life policies that restrict abortion, but it’s driven by the same principle: removing bodily autonomy from women in the name of the state. China’s goal isn’t religious, but secular: the manipulation of the birth rate to ensure a steady supply of workers and soldiers to carry out the nation’s ambitions. And to ensure that the “right” children are conceived, namely, ethnic Han Chinese.

What all three nations have in common is not piety, but ethnic nationalism. The real drivers for their abortion and fertility policies are low birth rates among “desired” groups, coupled with aging populations.

Iran’s Supreme Leader Ali Khameni has described population growth as one of the “most urgent duties and essential policies of the Islamic Republic as the leading Shia country in the Muslim world.” Pregnancies are being documented to prevent abortion “so that the population of the country could grow.” Hungary is not only making access to abortion more difficult, but decreeing that women with four children will be exempt from paying income tax for life. In China, whose population shrank this year and was surpassed by that of India, companies are paying employees to have children. But according to an Associated Press investigation, China continues to limit births – including by forced sterilizations — among ethnic minorities including the Muslim Uyghur population of Xinjiang. It further seeks to assimilate these cultures to achieve its policy of “ethnic fusion”.

Pence’s anti-abortion policies are right in step with those of these authoritarian regimes. They meld religious belief with white nationalism and state power. It is no secret that a majority of the Christian right in the United States subscribes to the Great Replacement theory, a conspiracy which claims that white America is being deliberately replaced by non-white immigrants.

Theocracies are not pluralist. They favour believers and condemn those who dissent to second class status, or worse. If Americans think Pence would stop at abortion, they are deluded. Any minority – defined by race, belief, gender or country of origin – would be in his administration’s sights.

If the Republican party is to truly preserve the Constitution, if it is to offer a truly conservative political option, it must reject authoritarianism, including Pence’s Christian autocracy. Otherwise, it will become just as statist as the Left that it condemns.

Source: Abortion policy is the tool. Authoritarianism is the goal.

Begum: UK Minority ethnic politicians are pushing harsh immigration policies – why representation doesn’t always mean racial justice

Always surprised that so many make these kinds of assumptions about minorities and minority politicians, given that political and ideological differences are normal in most groups:

There’s no question that British politics is becoming more diverse. From only four minority ethnic MPs elected in 1987, now 67 MPs are from a minority ethnic background.

The Scottish first minister, Humza Yousaf, recently became the first minority ethnic leader of a devolved government and the first Muslim to lead a major UK party. Yousaf follows a number of historic firsts: a Muslim mayor of London (Sadiq Khan), the first British Asian UK prime minister (Rishi Sunak), and the first female minority ethnic home secretary (Priti Patel) succeeded by another minority ethnic woman, (Suella Braverman).

People often assume that if a person in power is an ethnic minority, they will advocate more strongly for minority ethniccommunities. But, as our research shows, ethnic diversity in government is not a guarantee of racial justice.

Some minority ethnic politicians align themselves with a “model minority” archetype, attributing their success to quintessentially British, conservative values of hard work and entrepreneurship. This was an oft-repeated message in the 2022 Conservative leadership campaign, the most racially diverse in history.

Minority ethnic politicians’ presence in the senior echelons of UK politics is a symbol of diversity and social progressiveness. This, ironically, allows these government ministers to justify policies that are cruel to immigrants, and ignore legitimate concerns of minority ethnic citizens.

Badenoch has rebuffed calls for more teaching of black history in schools. A 2020 report from the race equality thinktank the Runnymede Trust said that more diversity in what children are taught is key to addressing the racism that is “deeply embedded” in Britain’s schools.

Speaking about perpetrators of child sexual exploitation, Braverman claimed grooming gangs are “almost all British Pakistani men”. This was despite the government’s own evidence to the contrary. She was flanked by Sunak suggesting that “political correctness” and “cultural sensitivities” were getting in the way of stamping grooming gangs out.

As home secretary, Priti Patel criticised Black Lives Matter protesters in 2020, and described England’s footballers taking the knee – a widely-supported symbol of anti-racist activism – as “gesture politics”.

Patel has implied that as a victim of racism herself, she – and the government – understand racial inequality. Her sidelining of others’ very real experiences of racism is seemingly permissible, given Patel’s minority ethnic identity.

Anti-immigration sentiment

There are also examples of minority ethnic ministers pushing policies that actively stigmatise and target vulnerable minority groups.

The illegal migration bill is the latest example of this. As post-racial gatekeepers, politicians like Braverman give legitimacy to hard-right views on race and immigration. At the same time, they prop up the line that immigration is no longer about race.

At the Conservative Conference in 2022, Braverman said, “It’s not racist for anyone, ethnic minority or otherwise, to want to control our borders.” And yet she has likened refugee flows to an “invasion” and said that immigration threatens the UK’s “national character”.

Notably, the government’s immigration policies of recent years are being formulated and championed by politicians who are themselves the children or grandchildren of immigrants. Sunak’s grandparents were among the Hindu and Sikh refugees who fled Punjab following the partition of India. Patel admitted that her own parents would not have been allowed into the UK under her immigration laws.

The illegal migration bill comes just a year after Patel led the passage of the Nationality and Borders Act. Both policies are designed to keep out outsiders, many of whom are black or brown. It is contradictory that the ministers responsible for these policies are descendants of immigrants themselves.

Immigration is still about race

Despite comments like Braverman’s, evidence shows that immigration is still very much linked to race and racism.

Many minority ethnic people – even those who are British-born or naturalised citizens – feel they are still targets of the immigration debate. Ethnic minorities are the worst affected by stringent immigration policies and stigmatised by anti-immigration language.

Perceptions of migrants in relation to worth and value continue to be influenced by class and race. The current system, which depends on a hierarchy of immigrants by “skill”, means mostly white, university-educated and English-speaking migrants are consistently viewed more favourably than black, Asian and Muslim migrants.

And public opinion is far warmer towards Ukrainian refugeescompared with those also fleeing war in Afghanistan, Syria, Sudan and Somalia.

Minority ethnic voters also perceived racial undertones in the anti-immigrant language used by the Leave campaign during Brexit. But while most voted Remain, some minority ethnic Brexit voters supported Leave in opposition to immigration from eastern Europe.

As with minority ethnic politicians calling for harsh border policies, immigrant status or family history is no guarantee of liberal attitudes to immigration or asylum.

Of course, this analysis does not apply to every minority ethnic politician. It is heartening to see other Conservatives speaking out about the inflammatory anti-migrant climate. Mohammed Amin, a former chair of the Conservative Muslim Forum, described Braverman’s rhetoric as “disgusting”.

But it is important to remember that ethnic diversity is not racial justice, nor can it protect the government from challenges to its harmful policies. As Baroness Sayeeda Warsi noted: “Braverman’s own ethnic origin has shielded her from criticism for too long.”

Source: Minority ethnic politicians are pushing harsh immigration policies …

Bernadet: À qui la diversité profite-t-elle le plus?

Another column noting the intersectionality of class:

Le 29 juin dernier, la Cour suprême des États-Unis a mis fin aux programmes d’action positive (affirmative action) dans les universités, s’attaquant aux procédures d’admission dans les campus qui prennent en compte la couleur de peau ou les origines ethniques des candidats. Cette décision a relancé la controverse autour des politiques d’embauche dans les établissements québécois, notamment en raison des plans équité, diversité, inclusion (EDI) mis en place par Ottawa depuis 2017 dans le cadre des chaires de recherche du Canada (CRC). Des mesures, il importe de le rappeler, qui trouvent leur origine dans une tradition de l’État fédéral, depuis la commission royale de la juge Rosalie Abella en 1984 et la Loi sur l’équité en matière d’emploi de 1986.

Dans le camp conservateur, des voix soutiennent ouvertement l’avis des juges américains, y voyant un heureux retour au statu quo comme si les inégalités allaient disparaître par miracle, et qu’il était possible de se dispenser de moyens de correction. D’autres s’inquiètent au contraire des possibles retombées de cette décision de ce côté-ci de la frontière. Dans un contexte de racisme et de colonialisme nourri par le « privilège masculin blanc », certains, comme la professeure de philosophie à l’Université du Québec à Trois-Rivières Naïma Hamrouni, dans Le Devoir du samedi 8 juillet, n’hésitent pas à dire que l’action positive est « l’un des instruments possibles d’une déségrégation sexuelle et raciale progressive de notre société ».

Un tel point de vue accrédite évidemment l’idée que le Québec subirait un modèle de ségrégation, une notion au maniement délicat, qui mériterait d’être rigoureusement définie et documentée tant son emploi est inséparable de l’histoire de certaines sociétés, à commencer par les États-Unis et l’Afrique du Sud. Mais on s’étonne surtout de l’efficacité que ce genre de propos prête aux fameux plans EDI. Car un examen un peu attentif de leurs critères en montre aussitôt les limites.

Il importe de souligner que le gouvernement fédéral a introduit les plans EDI par l’intermédiaire du programme CRC, c’est-à-dire en utilisant une fenêtre très étroite, la seule dont il bénéficiait à vrai dire, pour interférer dans les compétences en matière d’éducation des provinces. On peut bien sûr espérer que ces plans corrigent les inégalités du milieu universitaire, ce qui, à ce jour, reste à démontrer. En revanche, on peut douter qu’ils conduisent à des changements plus larges et profonds, d’autant plus qu’ils ne tiennent pas compte des particularités migratoires et démographiques, économiques ou sociales de chaque province.

Des failles

Cette politique de la diversité a été pensée par le haut et non à partir de la base. La justice dont il est question ici concerne avant tout le corps professoral et plus encore un segment limité de ce corps, les titulaires de chaires de recherche. De plus, les plans EDI sont pour l’essentiel centrés sur le genre et la race. Ils passent complètement sous silence les disparités socio-économiques. Leur but avoué est de favoriser le recrutement de personnes issues de groupes discriminés au cours de leur histoire, des mesures provisoires qui doivent être atteintes par les universités d’ici 2029.

Dans l’usage établi depuis le rapport de la juge Abella, il s’agit des femmes, des Autochtones, des personnes en situation de handicap et issues des minorités visibles, auxquels s’ajoute dans la pratique le cas des communautés LGBTQ. Or, aucune de ces catégories ne se situe sur le même plan. « Autochtones » et « femmes » peuvent difficilement être comparés. Bien qu’elle soit très utile, l’idée de « groupe » en particulier ne cesse pas de poser problème.

Par exemple, les femmes forment-elles vraiment un groupe ? Rappelons d’abord, contre les idées reçues, que certaines femmes peuvent être socialement plus avantagées par rapport à des hommes. Ensuite et surtout, les femmes entre elles ne sont pas égales. Elles n’ont pas les mêmes chances d’accéder à un emploi en raison du capital scolaire, culturel ou économique dont chacune dispose.

Un raisonnement similaire peut être appliqué aux minorités visibles. Il est fréquent de dire qu’elles sont sous-représentées au sein des universités, qui ont les outils pour chiffrer correctement ce phénomène. L’argument est même devenu un lieu commun au sein des élites. Il est repris par la classe politique ou dans l’entreprise, spécialement pour les cadres managériaux, les emplois visibles ou à haute responsabilité. On l’entend encore dans les médias et le monde de la culture.

Or, l’économiste Thomas Piketty l’a bien montré, la sous-représentation des minorités visibles dissimule proportionnellement leur surreprésentation au sein des classes populaires. Il n’est donc pas assuré que les politiques d’action positive soient capables de corriger un tel écart dans la mesure où elles ne touchent souvent qu’un pourcentage réduit de personnes au sein des populations visées. Non seulement les injustices raciales ne peuvent être séparées des injustices sociales, mais les unes et les autres exigent une politique égalitaire plus ambitieuse : une politique pour tous et non une justice d’élite.

À qui profitent donc les mesures EDI ? Est-ce aux groupes cibles, ou n’est-ce pas plutôt aux institutions qui promeuvent la diversité ? La question mérite d’être posée et débattue.

Source: À qui la diversité profite-t-elle le plus?

The names and faces at Ontario’s ‘call to the bar’ show immigration is working

Of note:

The Law Society of Ontario is one of the oldest and, until recently, one of the stodgiest institutions in the country.

Up till 2018, it was still known by its original name, the Law Society of Upper Canada. Founded in 1797, it has its offices in Osgoode Hall, the grand court complex that stands behind an imposing iron fence on Toronto’s Queen Street West. Pictures of its leaders hang on the walls. Until 1983, all of them were men.

But the law trade is changing. Last month, I had the opportunity to see a new crop of lawyers, my daughter among them, being officially admitted to the profession – called to the bar. One by one, they made their way across the stage at Roy Thomson Hall as their names were called out and parents and friends clapped and whooped.

The variety of those names would have astonished the dour men in those Osgoode Hall portraits. Spanish names. Italian names. African names. South Asian names. Eastern European names. Chinese names.

Anglo-Saxon names, too, but they were outnumbered. Three Patels and five Singhs heard their names read out, but not a single Smith, Brown or Taylor.

Remember that this was not a high school or community college graduation, where that sort of diversity is so common now as to be hardly noteworthy. This was a ceremony welcoming new members to one of the country’s leading professions. A law degree opens all kinds of doors. Among the men and women crossing the stage could be future judges, politicians and business leaders (along with a few ambulance chasers).

Law society figures from 2021 shows that just 5.7 per cent of surveyed Ontario lawyers aged 65 and older identify as racialized. That is the old generation, overwhelmingly white and predominantly male. The number rises to 24.3 per cent for those aged 45 to 54, and 35.7 for those under 35. A look at the group that was called to the bar last month suggests it will rise even further in years ahead.

The rise in the representation of women is just as striking. Fifty-six per cent of lawyers under 35 are women, compared with 18.5 per cent for those over 65. It is now routine for women to outnumber men in law school classrooms.

What I saw at Roy Thomson Hall is part of a much bigger story. For decades now, Canada has been taking in high numbers of immigrants, a deliberate policy choice that sets us apart from most other developed countries. Many laboured in menial jobs to make ends meet as they adapted to life in their new country. Others built themselves impressive Canadian careers. The federal government reports that immigrants account for 41 per cent of engineers, 36 per cent of doctors and 33 per cent of business owners with paid staff.

Now their sons and daughters, grandsons and granddaughters are climbing the ladder of success. In Toronto’s recent by-election for mayor, four of the leading candidates came to Canada from somewhere else when they were young. The winner, Olivia Chow, spent her childhood in Hong Kong.

The law society would no doubt be the first to admit that it has a way to go still. There are fewer Indigenous lawyers than the profession would like. Women are underrepresented in the top ranks of leading law firms. Many leave the practice of law and move to jobs in government, education and other fields.

But the arc of progress is unmistakable and vastly encouraging. Despite all the justified concern about lingering prejudice and continuing barriers for newcomers, Canada’s experience with mass immigration on the whole is a remarkable success story.

You can see it all around. In the schools. In the colleges and universities. In the city councils and the legislatures. In the downtown office towers. Even, yes, in the Law Society of Ontario.

Source: The names and faces at Ontario’s ‘call to the bar’ show immigration is working

Malik: France has been laissez-faire on race, the US proactive. Clearly, neither of them has it right

Another call for greater analysis by class, but one that does not ignore identity and race:

Should public policy be “race conscious” or “colour blind”? Should it target the specific inequalities faced by minority groups or treat all citizens equally without any reference to individuals’ racial and cultural backgrounds?

The contrast between these two approaches has often been seen as that between Anglo-Saxon multiculturalism and French assimilationism, the one “based on the right of ethnic minorities, of communities”, the other “based on individual rights”, as Marceau Long, then the president of France’s Haut Conseil à L’Intégration, put it in 1991, adding that the Anglo-Saxon approach, unlike that of the French, was that of “another way of imprisoning people within ghettos”.

Thirty years on, we can see the issues as more complex and less given to simple binary oppositions. Two recent high-profile events illustrate this complexity: the debates around the US supreme court’s decision to strike down affirmative action and those around the riots that ripped through France after the police killing of teenager Nahel Merzouk.

While affirmative action improved prospects for middle-class black people, it left untouched those of the working-class

The supreme court’s verdict that Harvard’s race-based admission policy was illegal has led many to fear that the progress of African Americans in higher education will now stall. Yet, as the African American writer Bertrand Cooper observed even before the decision: “The reality is that for the Black poor, a world without affirmative action is just the world as it is – no different than before.”

Why? Because while affirmative action has improved prospects for middle-class black people, it has left untouched the lives of working-class African Americans. By 2020, the percentage of African Americans admitted to Harvard stood at almost 16% – higher than the proportion of black people within the US population. Black students in Harvard are, though, anything but representative of the African American community.

In most discussions about race, black Americans are regarded as constituting a singular community. However, black America has been, for most of the past half-century, the most unequal racial or ethnic group in the nation. White Americans in the top income quintile possess 21.3 times the wealth of white people in the lowest income quintile. For black people, that figure stands at a staggering 1,382. The poorest black people earn just 1.5% of the median black income.

This disparity shapes everything from education to incarceration. More than 70% of Harvard students come from the wealthiest 20% of families; 3% come from the poorest 20%. There were almost as many students from the wealthiest 1% as from the poorest 60%.

The greatest lack of diversity in America’s elite universities, in other words, is not racial but class-based. It is, though, one that deeply affects black Americans, because that same pattern of elite recruitment applies to African Americans as it does to the population as a whole. Affirmative action is action largely for the black elite.

This is not a new argument. In his seminal 1978 work, The Declining Significance of Race, the sociologist William Julius Wilson noted the changing contours of race and class and the development of a “deepening economic schism” within African American communities, “with the black poor falling further and further behind higher-income blacks”.

The title of Wilson’s book may seem ironic, given the centrality of race in public debate today. In material terms, Wilson’s thesis has proved largely accurate. Politically, though, there has been an increasing fixation with racial identities. This mismatch between material developments and political perceptions has ill-served the majority of African Americans.

It is not that racism does not continue to play an immense role in the lives of black people. It is rather that, as Cooper has observed: “Ignoring class divisions in Black America over the last 40 years has allowed the benefits of racial progress to be concentrated upon the Black middle and upper classes while the Black poor have largely been excluded.”

Many critics of race-conscious policies argue instead for the pursuit of “colour blind” policies that take no account of an individual’s race or culture. Perhaps the nation that most embodies such an approach is France. It is also the one that most reveals the problems with it.

‘Universalism’ has become a weapon with which to point out the ‘difference’ of particular peoples

French policy is rooted in its republican tradition and universalist principles, and a refusal to recognise racial distinctions in policymaking. The universalist belief that one should treat everyone as citizens, rather than as bearers of specific racial or cultural histories, is a valuable principle.

In practice, however, French policy has entailed being blind to racism in the name of being “colour blind”, and of using the demand for “assimilation” as a means of marking out certain groups – Jews in the past, Muslims and those of North African origin today – as not truly belonging to the nation. “Universalism” has become a weapon with which to point out the “difference” of particular peoples and to justify their marginalisation. France, as much as America, too often treats its citizens not as individuals but as members of racial or ethnic communities.

The French state not only refuses to recognise racial distinctions but also bans the collection of race-based data, making it far more difficult to evaluate the extent of racial discrimination, while providing a free pass to deny that such discrimination exists. A host of academic studies, attitudinal surveys and the use of categories, such as parent’s country of origin, that can act as surrogates for race and ethnicity, have exposed the degree to which France’s race-blind ideals are freighted with race-based assumptions, from racial profiling in policing to racial discrimination in employment.

And then there is the brutality of police violence, Nahel’s killing is but the latest example. Police perceptions of minority communities can be gauged by an extraordinary statement put out by two of France’s police unions during the riots, claiming that the police were “at war” with the “savage hordes” and warning that “tomorrow we will be in resistance” to the government.

In France, the refusal to recognise the social reality of racism in the name of “universalism” has helped create the very “ghettos” for which French politicians used to deride the Anglo-Saxon approach. In America, the preoccupation with policymaking by racial categories has neglected the very communities those policies are supposed to have benefited, by ignoring the many other features, such as class, that shape black lives, while also creating new social frictions – witness the tensions between African Americans and Asian Americans. What needs to be forged, beyond these two approaches, is a universalist perspective that embraces equal treatment but does not deny the reality of racial inequality

Source: France has been laissez-faire on race, the US proactive. Clearly, neither of them has it right