Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia 9789048553938

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Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia

Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia

Edited by Victoria Hudson and Lucian N. Leustean

Amsterdam University Press

Cover photo: Virap. The Armenian-Turkish border is visible only a few meters away, a symbol of the interplay between religion and forced displacement. © Lucian N. Leustean Cover design: Coördesign, Leiden Typesetting: Crius Group, Hulshout isbn 978 94 6372 755 6 e-isbn 978 90 4855 393 8 (pdf) doi 10.5117/9789463727556 nur 740 © The authors / Amsterdam University Press B.V., Amsterdam 2022 All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the author of the book.



Table of Contents

List of Tables

7

Abbreviations

9

Acknowledgments

11

1 Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus and Central Asia

13

2 Humanitarian Action, Forced Displacement and Religion

35

An Introduction Victoria Hudson and Lucian N. Leustean

Contemporary Research Perspectives Ansgar Jödicke

Section I  Eastern Europe 3 Religion and Forced Displacement in Modern Bulgaria

61

4 State, Religion and Refugees in Serbia

85

5 Asylum and Migration System Reform

109

6 Responding to Mass Emigration amidst Competing Narratives of Identity

145

Daniela Kalkandjieva

Responses of Faith-Based Organisations, 1991-1996 Aleksandra Djurić Milovanović and Marko Veković

A New Role for the Orthodox Church of Greece? Georgios E. Trantas and Eleni D. Tseligka

The Case of the Republic of Moldova Andrei Avram

7 The Roman Catholic Church and Forced Displacement in Poland 171 Maria Marczewska-Rytko

Section II  Russia and Ukraine 8 ‘My Strength Is Made Perfect in Weakness’

209

9 Forced Displacement, Religious Freedom and the Russia-Ukraine Conflict

247

Russian Orthodoxy and Forced Displacement Roman Lunkin

Dmytro Vovk

Section III  The Caucasus 10 ‘Forgotten by Many and Remembered by Few’

273

11 Welcoming Refugees?

301

Religious Responses to Forced Migration in Georgia Tornike Metreveli

The Armenian Apostolic Church and Forced Displacement Jasmine Dum-Tragut

Section IV  Central Asia 12 The Response of the Metropolitan District of the Russian Orthodox Church in Kazakhstan to the Emigration of Ethnic Russians from Independent Kazakhstan

339

13 Сommunity Intolerance, State Repression and Forced Displacement in the Kyrgyz Republic

367

14 Migration within and from Uzbekistan

391

Index

411

Victoria Hudson

Indira Aslanova

The Role of Religion Rano Turaeva



List of Tables

3.1 3.2 3.3

Ethnic demography in Bulgaria, 1887-2011 64 Religious demography in Bulgaria, 1887-2011 65 Dynamics of the Muslim and Turkish population in 67 Bulgaria, 1881-1887 Major immigration waves in Bulgaria, 1878-1945 72 Population exchange and forced resettlement in Bulgaria, 1913-194072 Major waves of Turkish minority emigration and forceful 76 displacement in Bulgaria, 1878-1989 Numbers of asylum seekers in Bulgaria, 1993-2019 77 Forced displacement of people from Bosnia and Herzego91 vina and Croatia to the FRY and Serbia, 1991-1996 Population shifts in Greece, 1907-2011 120 New arrivals to Greece, 2014-2019 122 Population of Poland by declared religion in 2011 175 Estimated losses of the Polish population during World War II 182 Polish citizens repressed by the USSR authorities 183 Polish citizens deported to perform forced labour in the Reich 183 The stance of the Polish political parties regarding the problem of refugees and immigrants presented in the election programmes in connection with the election 187 campaign in 2015 Religious belonging in Russia, 2012 213 Number of immigrants in Russia, 1990-2000 218 Migration waves in and out of Russia and the Soviet 219 Union, 1991-2016 Selected ethnicities and their favoured Christian churches 224 in Russia, 1989-2010 Religious communities in Donetsk and Luhansk oblasts as of 1 January 2014 256 List of deported nationalities in the Soviet Union 276 Regional migration in the Soviet Union 277 Ecological migration in the Soviet Union 278 Numbers of IDPs in Georgia 280 State funding of the Georgian Orthodox Church after the 286 Rose Revolution Number of Armenian refugees in the Middle East, 1925 308

3.4 3.5 3.6 3.7 4.1 5.1 5.2 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5

8.1 8.2 8.3 8.4 9.1 10.1 10.2 10.3 10.4 10.5 11.1

11.2 11.3 11.4 12.1 12.2 12.3 13.1 13.2

Number of annually naturalised refugees from Azerbaijan in Armenia, 1992-2009 315 Total number of asylum applications in the Republic of Armenia, 1999-2018 318 Citizenships of asylum seekers in Armenia, 2014-2018 319 Selected population data in Kazakhstan in the Soviet era 343 according to the census, 1926-1989 Selected population data in Kazakhstan in the late and 343 post-Soviet era according to official figures Ethnic Russians in Kazakhstan according to region, 2009-2016346 Migration dynamics in Kyrgyzstan, 1999-2020 370 Religious organisations in Kyrgyzstan, 2019 375

Abbreviations AAC ADRA AGBU AMAA ARP ART

Armenian Apostolic Church Adventist Development Relief Agency Armenian General Benevolent Union Armenian Missionary Association of America Armenian Redwood Project Armenia Inter-Church Charitable Round Table Foundation Bulgarian Orthodox Church BOC Churches’ Commission for Migrants in Europe CCME Centre for Coordination of Syrian Armenian Issues CCSAI Commissariat for Refugees and Migration (Serbia) CFR Department of External Church Relations (Russia) DECR displaced person DP Donetsk People’s Republic DPR Ecumenical Humanitarian Organization (Serbia) EHO European Union EU faith-based organisation FBO Federal Republic of Yugoslavia FRY Georgian Orthodox Church GOC International Association for the Study of Forced IASFM Migration Integration Centre for Migrant Workers (Greece) ICMW ICMW-ERP Integration Centre for Migrant Workers – Ecumenical Refugee Programme (Greece) International Committee of the Red Cross ICRC Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre IDMC internally displaced person IDP International Orthodox Christian Charities IOCC International Organization for Migration IOM IRC International Rescue Committee Jesuit Refugee Service JRS LEPL Legal Entity of Public Law Lugansk People’s Republic LPR North Atlantic Treaty Organization NATO NGO non-governmental organisation NK Nagorno-Karabakh Orthodox Church of Greece OCG

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OCU RA RNGO ROC RRF SARF SOC UNHCR UOC-MP USA USCIRF USSR WCC

Religion and Forced Displ acement

Orthodox Church of Ukraine Republic of Armenia religious non-governmental organisation Russian Orthodox Church Refugee Relief Fund (Greece) Syrian Armenian Relief Fund Serbian Orthodox Church United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees Ukrainian Orthodox Church – Moscow Patriarchate United States of America US Commission on International Religious Freedom Union of Soviet Socialist Republics World Council of Churches

Acknowledgments The book is the result of nearly three years of work as part of the project ‘When States Fail: Forced Displacement, Religious Diplomacy and Human Security in the Eastern Orthodox World (2018-2021)’, supported by a grant from the Sustainable Development Programme of the British Academy (SDP2\100014). Our thanks go to all the scholars listed in the book for sharing their experiences of religion-state relations in their countries and to the many other scholars involved in the British Academy project, including Dr. Alina Poghosyan, Institute of Migration and Social Changes, Yerevan; Professor Aghasi Tadevosyan, Institute of Archaeology and Ethnography of the National Academy of Sciences of Armenia; Armen Ghazaryan, Migration Service of the Republic of Armenia, Yerevan; Dr. Yulia Antonyan, Yerevan State University; Dr. Anna Ohanjanyan, Matenadaran – Mesrop Mashtots Research Institute of Ancient Manuscripts; Dr. Aram Vartikyan, Yerevan State University; Lusine Stepanyan, Caritas Armenia; Sharon Brown, Churches’ Commission for Migrants in Europe, Brussels; and Dr. Helena Kupari, University of Helsinki. The book complements the analysis in two previous studies which resulted from the British Academy project, namely an edited book, Lucian N. Leustean (ed.), Forced Migration and Human Security in the Eastern Orthodox World (Routledge, 2019), and a policy report, Lucian N. Leustean, Religion and Forced Displacement in the Eastern Orthodox World (Foreign Policy Centre, London, July 2020). We are grateful to the Foreign Policy Centre for its permission to reproduce some parts of the report. Lucian N. Leustean would also like to add his thanks to colleagues from the ‘Orthodoxy and Human Rights Scholars Project’, sponsored by Fordham University’s Orthodox Christian Studies Center, and generously funded by the Henry Luce Foundation and Leadership 100, for constructive discussions in annual meetings. We are grateful to Maryse Elliott and Saskia Gieling at Amsterdam University Press, who welcomed the editorial project with enthusiasm and provided thoughtful feedback from the start, and to Jaap Wagenaar for his desk editorial work. Lastly, our thanks go to each other as co-editors. Our close families (Tim, Sandra, John, Deborah, Clara and Maia) have been extremely supportive not only through our journeys but, most importantly, through the process of writing and editing.

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Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus and Central Asia An Introduction Victoria Hudson and Lucian N. Leustean Abstract This is the introductory chapter of the book which summarises the key themes of investigation. It addresses the role of religion in the interplay between human security and forced displacement by focusing on religious mobilisation in relation to statehood. It provides an overview of the book’s structure. Keywords: religion, human security, forced displacement, Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, Central Asia, overview

Introduction At first glance, religion and forced displacement seem to have little in common. Religion, in its lived or institutionalised forms, focuses on the transcendence and the other-worldly. By contrast, forced displacement is about the tangible movement of people across geographical boundaries. However, one needs only turn to the foundational texts of some of the world’s religions to find accounts of displacement, along with their wider humanitarian impact. Exodus (Shemot in Hebrew), the second book of the Old Testament, recounts the plight of the Israelites who were led by Moses out of bondage in Egypt to the Promised Land. The Gospel of Matthew in the Christian Bible details how Jesus fled as a child to Egypt to escape King Herod, who sought to have him killed. In Islam, hijrah denotes the migration of the Prophet Mohammed and his followers from Mecca to Medina

Hudson, Victoria, and Lucian N. Leustean (eds), Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463727556_ch01

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to escape persecution in 622. In each case, the experience of emigration and the associated humanitarian hardships constitute a part of formative narratives of the respective religious community. The themes of forced displacement and migration are no less topical today. In spring 2013, a coalition of leading faith-based humanitarian organisations and academic institutions responded to the call of António Guterres, the UN High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), by drafting the document ‘Welcoming the Stranger: Affirmations for Faith Leaders’ (UNHCR 2013). The affirmations draw upon the sacred texts of Hindu, Christian, Buddhist, Muslim and Jewish traditions, aiming to inspire leaders of all faiths to ‘welcome the stranger’ – whether that be a migrant, refugee, internally displaced person (IDP) or other stranger – with dignity, respect and loving support. They were also published in Arabic, Chinese, French, Hebrew, Russian and Spanish, and designed as a practical tool to foster support for displaced people across the world. Signed by more than 1,700 religious leaders, the publication of the affirmations indicates the growing awareness among policymakers at both the UN and national levels of the need to take the religious factor into account in relation to displacement. Despite an increasing number of statements from religious leaders in support of displaced populations, the applicability of religious freedom has remained widely disputed. The 2019 report of the US Commission on International Religious Freedom (USCIRF 2019a) points to numerous instances when restrictions and persecution on religious grounds have compelled people to flee their homes, often becoming refugees, asylum seekers and IDPs. Such infringements include oppressive monitoring, harassment, arrest and detention, sexual assault and rape, fines, arson, restrictions on religious rituals (especially those relating to death and funerals), violence and killing, and pressure to recant. Such persecution may be directed not only at marginalised faiths, their organisations and adherents, but also at those who try to support them (through advocacy, for instance). Simultaneously, charity and compassion are central elements in the core teachings of all world religions. This informs a duty and will to extend assistance and care to those in need, including those displaced by conflict. Indeed, religion, in its diversity of manifestations, has responded in a plethora of ways to migration and migrants, and the associated issues of human security. Yet the intersection of religion, forced displacement and human (in)security has thus far remained under-researched in the scholarly literature (Barnett 2013; Beckford 2015; Betts and Loescher 2010; Bloch and Donà 2019; Buzan et al. 1998; Christiansen 1996; Ferris 2005 and 2011; Fiddian-Qasmiyeh 2011; Fiddian-Qasmiyeh et al. 2014; Frederiks and

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Nagy 2016; Geddes and Scholten 2016; Levitt 2007; Saunders et al. 2016; Waever 1995; Walker et al. 2012; Warner and Wittner 1998; Wellman and Lombardi 2012; Wong 2014). This book examines the relationship between religion, forced displacement and human security in countries of Eastern Europe, the Caucasus and Central Asia, with a focus on religious diplomacy as an intermediary force in relations with states and peoples. Despite an increasing number of publications on religion and migration (Hagan 2008; Hollenbach 2014 and 2019; Mavelli and Wilson 2016; Phan and Padilla 2016; Schmiedel and Smith 2018), most studies focus on predominantly religious actors and humanitarianism (Addy and Prosvirnina 2020; Brown and Yeoh 2018; Leustean 2019, 2021a, 2021b; Prodromou and Symeonides 2016). The book explores twelve case studies in the region, namely Armenia, Bulgaria, Georgia, Greece, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Moldova, Poland, Russia, Serbia, Ukraine and Uzbekistan. These country case studies reflect the diverse nature of the interactions at the religion-displacement-human (in-)security nexus, and show how these themes may be explored from a broad spectrum of perspectives, ranging from the historical to the contemporary, whether approaching with a wide field of vision or taking a magnifying glass to specific aspects of religious reactions to population displacement. In each case, as an emerging literature on the ‘political science of religion’ has shown (Fox 2001; Philpott 2009; Grzymala-Busse 2012; Kettell 2016; Potz 2020), the response of religious organisations and actors is to be considered within the wider context of the political and societal dynamics at play in the country concerned, thereby taking into account not only patterns of religion-state relations but also the deeply rooted influence of religion at individual and institutional levels. Each chapter engages with four key themes, namely: 1) the circulation of ideas on human security between religious and secular courts; 2) religious strategies in relation to violence, tolerance, transitory environments and resettlement; 3) religious support, protection and mechanisms towards displaced populations, and 4) channels of religious diplomacy advancing human security. The issues of large-scale population movements and human security also cast an enquiring light on the constitutional-legal and symbolic standing of religion in the respective society, and on relations between majority and minority faiths within a country. The book argues that states do not always act as providers of human security, and do not always meet the needs of those touched by the experience of migration or forced displacement. In such cases, religious actors, as representatives of civil society and often closer to the grassroots level, can be well placed to serve their community. Religious feeling offers a

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motivating sense of duty to help, although whether that assistance is extended inclusively to all in need or primarily to members of the same faith community varies across cases. Religious organisations often have recourse to networks and information about people’s needs on the ground that make them well suited to intervene in humanitarian crises. As all the case studies show, religious networks benefit not only populations in need but ultimately the local populations. More broadly, the social mobilisation of religious communities reflects and advances social progress (Davie et al. 2018), as evident in all predominantly Orthodox, Catholic and Muslim countries of Eastern Europe, the Caucasus and Central Asia.

Geographies of religion and displacement Recorded since biblical times, large-scale population migration is far from a new phenomenon, and has always posed challenges to the polities affected, whether they be the country of origin or the destination country. What is more, a glimpse at human history suggests that the triggers that have long catalysed population movements – flight from conflict and insecurity, the search for better living conditions and environmental crises – will not cease to be relevant any time soon. Addressing the consequences of migration, both positive and negative, can optimally be achieved by examining and learning from previous experiences. Hence, a study of this theme is extremely pertinent today. The contributions in this study take a broad approach to religion, examining not only the narratives and actions of state-sanctioned religious bodies, but also religiously motivated organisations and faith-based communities. With the exception of Greece, which was drawn into the European Community in 1981 to prevent its embracing a communist experiment, all of the case-study countries were part of the Soviet bloc, either as part of the USSR proper (Armenia, Georgia, Moldova, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, Russia, Ukraine and Uzbekistan) or as satellite states in Eastern Europe (Bulgaria, Poland and Serbia). In line with the atheist ideology of communism, which held religious faith to be a false consciousness, religious organisations were repressed during the socialist period. Although Stalin eased restrictions on religion in 1943 to help shore up the war effort against the forces allied with Nazi Germany, its social role was often compromised as its representatives and organisations were closely monitored and often co-opted by the state security agencies. Nevertheless, in some countries, religious organisations played an important

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role in the movements that ultimately helped topple the communist regimes and the Soviet Union itself. Since the collapse of communism, the paths of the successor states have diverged. Some states have ‘joined the West’, embracing (nominally at least) liberal democracy and the concomitant religious pluralism as part of their membership of the European Union. For other states, EU membership remains an aspiration for now, but the various forms of partnership promoted by the union seek to draw these states into its normative orbit by holding out the prospect of accession to encourage an inclusive liberal approach. The promotion of religious freedoms is an intrinsic part of this influence. For others still, EU membership remains a more distant prospect, although that is not to say the bloc does not exert normative power over religious relations there. Other states remain further down the spectrum of authoritarianism. While migration and forced displacement are issues that have always faced humanity, and have been recorded in relation to religion since the earliest times, this book discusses these issues as they present in recent history; the times of state (re-)formation in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, during and after the Second World War and, particularly, in the immediate wake of the collapse of the communist system in the early 1990s and as the consequences of this paradigm shift have continued to play out in recent years. During the period under study, migration and forced displacement have manifested themselves in a wide range of contexts, although not every country case study endeavours to trace all waves of population movement over this period. While flight from persecution, conflict and associated insecurities remains the major push factor driving large-scale population movements, such as the IDP crisis in Georgia, the contributions here suggest that another major trigger of displacement is change to state borders, or of political authority within existing borders. Indeed, while population exchange agreements facilitated large-scale population movement between Bulgaria and its neighbours, the penetration of the Russian Empire into Central Asia brought soldiers and Russian Orthodox clergy to that region in the nineteenth century. As Russian authority became more entrenched there, managed migration programmes under the Stolypin agricultural reforms of the early 1900s, and the Soviet-era tselina (Virgin Lands campaign) and industrial programmes brought workers from around the Soviet Union to Kazakhstan to further economic development and political objectives. Forced migration was also used as a political tool in the USSR, with entire ethnic groups suspected of disloyalty deported to Central Asia and Siberia.

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The dissolution of empires has often left once privileged nationalities outside their perceived ethnic homeland. Dissatisfaction with new minority status, coupled with a fear or reality of persecution or discrimination, lead Muslims to leave newly independent Bulgaria for areas still under Ottoman control. Similarly, following the collapse of the Soviet regime and the independence of Kazakhstan, the direction of migration has reversed, with many ethnic Russian citizens of Kazakhstan returning to their perceived homeland. Likewise, large proportions of certain ethnic and religious minorities, including Jews, German Lutherans and Catholics, have left Russia for ethnic homelands since independence. These years immediately following the end of the USSR also saw migration triggered by secessionist conflicts in the former Yugoslavia, Georgia and Armenia. Furthermore, even decades later, the reverberations of the changing conjunctures of global power of the early 1990s can still be detected in the bloody conflicts in the Middle East, including Syria, and Ukraine. Each of these provoked waves of migration and associated issues, which are addressed in the Armenian, Greek, Ukrainian and Russian case studies. Meanwhile, the end of the bipolar stand-off has accelerated globalisation, in the form of increased permeability of borders, greater ease of travel, and growing awareness of opportunities and standards of living elsewhere thanks to the media. These factors have also contributed to increased migration for reasons of economic (in-)security, which forms the focal point in the Moldova and Uzbekistan chapters.

Forced displacement and human security: Why religion? The experience of migration often entails signif icant impacts on the human security of those involved. Although human security has always been the ultimate concern for individual human beings, this fact has not always been reflected in the scholarly research agenda. During the Cold War, the imperative to manage the risks associated with the bipolar nuclear stand-off meant that states were considered the main actors in international politics, and thus analyses focused on their behaviours and motivations. As the threat of nuclear annihilation receded after collapse of the USSR and the end of the Cold War, the focus of the scholarly agenda broadened beyond a preoccupation with states to include the (in)security of the human beings, groups and communities living in and across them. Furthermore, rather than focusing narrowly on existential military-type threats of physical harm, the broader agenda also acknowledges that

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individuals and groups may experience insecurity in relation to other spheres of life. Human security is a human right; it refers to the security of people and communities, as opposed to the security of states. Human security recognises that there are several dimensions related to feeling safe, such as freedom from fear, freedom from want, and freedom from indignity. (Global Partnership for the Prevention of Armed Conflict n.d.)

Thus, the broader research agenda also embodies the recognition that security threats lie not only in existential danger and violence, but also include a more comprehensive range of risks to the safety and well-being of human beings and their communities. This broader range of threats may pertain, for instance, to the economic, political, health, food, environmental and other dimensions of human existence. Given this book focuses on religious groups, it is also worth mentioning the parallel term ‘community (in)security’, which relates to the threat of harm based on group or identity characteristics, which, the UN Development Programme notes, ‘can exist at all levels of national income and development’ (UNDP 1994: 23). In this vein, according to the UN Human Development Report 1994, human security implies not only ‘safety from such chronic threats as hunger, disease and repression’ but also ‘protection from sudden and hurtful disruptions in the patterns of daily life – whether in homes, jobs or in communities’ (ibid.: 23). Clearly, then, freedoms and security in relation to religious beliefs and practices are relevant objects of the human security of individuals and groups. The acknowledgement that there is more to security than mere survival and the absence of the threat of violent harm has implications for the consideration of forced displacement. The UN Global Trends report defines forced displacement as occurring ‘as a result of persecution, conflict, violence, or human rights violations’ (UNHCR 2018: 2). The International Association for the Study of Forced Migration (IASFM) takes a slightly broader definition, focusing not only on refugees and IDPs displaced by conflict, but also acknowledging natural or environmental disasters, chemical or nuclear disasters, famine, or development projects as factors compelling people to leave their place of habitual residence. Yet Alden Speare has argued that in the strictest sense migration can be considered to be involuntary only when a person is physically transported from a country and has no opportunity to escape from those transporting him. Movement under

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threat, even the immediate threat to life, contains a voluntary element, as long as there is an option to escape to another part of the country, go into hiding or to remain and hope to avoid persecution. (1974: 89)

Given that this strict definition would tend to exclude much of what is typically described as ‘forced displacement’, it is rather less useful for understanding the dynamics compelling migration. However, it does encourage one to move beyond thinking of migration in dichotomous forced-voluntary terms, and acknowledge that factors driving migration entail a spectrum of compulsion, ranging from violence and existential risks, to poverty, and to discomfort in the face of less tangible forces at play in society, such as social ostracism. This range of push factors is borne out by the examples in the present book. The deportations and exile of individuals and whole ethnic groups in the USSR probably meets – assuming there was no chance of escape – Speare’s above definition of forced displacement. One should also acknowledge the possibility that even apparently voluntary migrations, such as the movements of labour migrants from peripheral villages in search of a higher standard of living, may also be driven be a certain amount of family and community pressure, not to mention the desire to participate in the consumption-driven lifestyles touted as the epitome of success in the global media. Broadening our focus in the study of forced displacement inevitably runs the risk of losing conceptual integrity and clarity, and, worse still, of detracting from the traumatic severity of the experiences of those fleeing persecution or driven from their homes. However, one should also bear in mind that often, prior to experiencing existential threats, forcibly displaced people are often likely to have faced insecurity in relation to their socioeconomic position, suffered infringements of their enjoyment of rights and freedoms widely considered universal, such as the freedom to hold and practice the faith of one’s choice, and experienced discomfort resulting from the mis-recognition of their identities. History’s experience shows that such ‘lesser’ privations often pave the way and facilitate more severe repressions, and serve to create a climate of fear among those affected. Indeed, the UN Development Programme states that human security entails the notion that ‘people can exercise [their] choices safely and freely – and that they can be relatively confident that the opportunities they have today are not totally lost tomorrow’ (UNDP 1994: 23). Hence, individuals and groups should not have to have fled the gravest kinds of insecurity to be considered through the prism of forced displacement.

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As this book demonstrates, religion, human security and displacement intersect in a wide variety of ways. Persecution on religious grounds as a driver of displacement is explored, although it is observed that religion is less commonly the sole motivating factor, and is rather part of a broader picture of exclusion along the lines of pillorised cleavages, including ethnicity and socio-economic status. Large-scale migration may impact upon the religious composition of a state, as was detailed in the chapters on Russia and Kazakhstan, in particular. Reactions to such demographic change vary. In independent Kazakhstan, where the presence of a large proportion of Orthodox citizens of various nationalities is a long-established fact, the multireligious character of the society is drawn upon by the Kazakhstani authorities to bolster a Eurasian identity and promote the country as a harmonious example of multi-ethnic success to others. Conversely, in cases where there are actually relatively few migrants, some opinion-forming actors react negatively to changing demographics and use their media outlets to shape public perceptions, stoking public fears and xenophobic attitudes. Religious and faith communities and their representatives may number among the opinion formers addressing the issues of migration and migrants within a polity, and on the international stage (e.g. Pope Francis as detailed in the Poland chapter). The analyses presented here indicate that the stance taken by religious actors may also vary, with some urging solidarity with migrants, and others taking a more sceptical position (e.g. Bulgaria, Poland, Moldova). Exclusionary attitudes towards in-coming migrants may be fuelled by fears of their engaging in proselytism and missionary activity among the indigenous population, or by anxiety that the mere presence of ‘others’ and indicators of their practices and symbols will pose a threat to the integrity of the identity of the ‘local’ population. By contrast, in Kazakhstan, the large-scale emigration of ethnic Russians and other nationalities is a rather sensitive topic, and tends not to be addressed in the official public discourse of representatives of the Kazakhstan Metropolitan District of the Russian Orthodox Church. A number of the chapters detail the responses of religious groups to the insecurity caused by forced displacement and/or migration. In the case of Serbia, for instance, religious groups, and Protestant evangelicals in particular stepped in to help where the state was unable to respond adequately to alleviate the plight of refugees. Similarly in Ukraine, various branches of the Orthodox Church engaged to assist those fleeing the conflict in the Donbas region in 2014-2015. Meanwhile, the Armenian Apostolic Church has come under criticism for its lack of public stance and the ineffectiveness of its humanitarian response.

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Conversely, in some cases, religious bodies may also assist people with migration. Such examples seem to be far fewer in number, but were reported in Kazakhstan, where the Orthodox Svetoch foundation helps ethnic Russians study in Russia, and Baptist communities reportedly help whole families of adherents emigrate to the USA. Religious belonging and faith may also be strengthened by the experience of migration, with churches and mosques serving as community hubs for diasporic groups, even in cases of voluntary or labour migration, as adherents strive to build a meaningful place for themselves in their new environment. On the other hand, in cases when migrants are scattered, migration away from their faith community may also cause participation in religious life to wane.

How religion interacts with statehood in relation to displacement In relation to displacement and human security, religion engages with the state in a wide range of ways, often symbiotically, sometimes supplementing or standing in for state responses, and sometimes challenging definitions of belonging to the national community. Traditional thinking on security assumed – however inaccurately – that states protected the citizens within them. More recent theorising, however, acknowledges that states may also sometimes be a source of threat to their citizens and residents. State failure to protect religious freedoms adequately may, often in tandem with other forms of discrimination and exclusion, incite a desire to migrate. More directly, states may be active instigators of displacement and migratory movements, as in the case of the Soviet Union, which deported religious believers to remote areas of Central Asia and Siberia, with tragic humanitarian consequences. The deportation of entire ethnic groups (Chechens, Germans, Koreans, for instance) to these regions, and the managed population movements which formed part of Soviet agricultural and industrial programmes, also served the goals of political expediency by increased ethno-religious heterogeneity. Conversely, in the case of Bulgaria, bilateral population exchange agreements concluded with Turkey, Greece and Romania served political goals by the furthering of religious homogeneity. Alternatively, states may find themselves thrust into the position of reacting to migrations triggered by external factors. They may find themselves in a situation where they are unable to discharge a duty of care towards those affected, and in such scenarios, the response of religious organisations may include measures to strengthen human security by providing food, clothing,

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medicines, etc. (e.g. Serbia). More broadly, religious organisations may help meet community security needs by providing a setting that helps preserve collective identities among the diasporic population (Moldova). Rather than a purely reactionary role, religious organisations may also proactively strive to shape state policy on displacement and other humanitarian issues. By contrast, in Kazakhstan, where the out-migration of significant numbers of nationalities traditionally professing Orthodoxy (above all Russian, Ukrainian, Belarussian) is politically rather sensitive, and church representatives have tended to take a discrete approach. Yet religious bodies are not simply one lobbying voice among others. Frequently, a religion may enjoy – whether officially or not – a privileged status reflecting its special role in the nation’s history, culture and identity. This may be reflected in the constitution, as in Armenia where the Armenian Apostolic Church is anchored as a ‘preserver of Armenianness and the Armenian people’, or other legal acts on religion, such as Bulgaria’s 2002 Religious Denominations Act, which explicitly underlines ‘the special and traditional role of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church in the history of Bulgaria’. Analysis reveals that church-state relations have various shades, with the Greek Orthodox Church, for instance, being enshrined in the constitution, despite secularism being proclaimed. Given this close proximity of ethnicity, religion and national identity, adherents of other faiths and belief systems may be suspected of divided loyalties. Hence, missionary activity, proselytism and ‘poaching for souls’ are frequently cited as issues of concern for religious authorities in the case study countries. Thus, migration policies allowing the in-migration of foreign missionaries and religiously framed NGOs may be an object of scrutiny by religious organisations that are already well entrenched in the society in question. Despite the state-religion symbiosis that exists in a number of the case study countries, official attitudes do not tend to divide religions neatly into state-sanctioned and unapproved ones. Indeed, while in the West the religious stand-off is often perceived to be between Islam and Christianity (or, often more accurately, secularism), in the region under study, the cleavages fall differently, and often between what is considered ‘traditional’ and non-traditional religion in the particular case. Differences here often fall along denominational lines within the broadest categories of faith groups. For instance, in Russia, Islam, in the form of the Central Spiritual Administration of Muslims, at least, numbers among the ‘traditional religions’ along with Russian Orthodoxy, Judaism and Buddhism. These ‘traditional confessions’ enjoy certain rights and privileges, unavailable to many Christian denominations, including Protestant groups, Roman Catholics and even Old

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Believers. Muslim countries may differentiate between ‘traditional’ Islam, and Sufism and Salafism. Meanwhile, in majority-Muslim Kazakhstan, Russian Orthodoxy is considered one of the traditional religions. In the separatist-controlled regions of Ukraine, Dmytro Vovk observes the presence of a third category of ‘some tolerated religions, which are neither encouraged nor systematically oppressed so long as the authorities do not suspect them of disloyalty’, alongside the favoured Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate, and other, repressed faiths. By contrast, when it comes to engagement to address humanitarian issues, even within the same states, faith groups differ with regard to their level of activity. This book details the activities of a number of small, but very dynamic evangelical groups in providing aid, and one need only think of the Caritas foundation to understand the scale of action by the Roman Catholic Church, while zakat (charity) is one of the five pillars of Islamic faith, with mosque communities serving as hubs for humanitarian aid. Such work occurs either in concert with states or otherwise. By contrast, as Roman Lunkin notes, the Orthodox Church, across a range of countries, has traditionally not been so active in this regard. However, perhaps observing not only the success of humanitarian missions of other faiths, but also the influence and access such engagement may yield, the Orthodox Church now seeks to expand its humanitarian role. The Russian Orthodox Church, for instance, founded a Synodal Department for Church Charity and Social Ministry and has formed policy documents in this sphere.

An under-studied area: The religion-displacement-human security nexus Thus far, the nexus of religion (religious agents and organisations, believers, religious identities), displacement and human (in-)security has barely come under the light of scholarly analysis. Indeed, as Tony Perkins, chair of the US Commission on International Religious Freedom, noted in observance of 2019 World Refugee Day, although ‘[s]ix of the countries among the top ten from which refugees have fled have appeared for years on USCIRF’s lists of the world’s worst religious freedom violators, […] this enormous driver of the global displacement crisis gets precious little attention’ (USCIRF 2019b). This lacuna follows logically, perhaps, from the ‘notable secularization of humanitarian action’ (Hollenbach 2019: 47) that occurred during the twentieth century, when responses to those suffering forced displacement – and other humanitarian crises – became more institutionalised.

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The requirement to provide for humanitarian needs was enshrined in international law, and ‘neutral’ secular relief agencies were tasked with much of the responsibility for carrying out the activities necessary to alleviate humanitarian suffering. Faith-based organisations have continued to play a role and have often worked together with the large, secular relief agencies, but, as David Hollenbach (2019: 47) observes, ‘the principles and policies of humanitarianism were increasingly articulated in secular terms’. Furthermore, with regard to the post-communist region, as Ansgar Jödicke observes in Chapter 2, not only was religion muted as a societal actor during the communist era, militant atheism also dominated in the social sciences. The collapse of the Eastern bloc and its ideology spurred a growth in interest in faith-related issues, but it has taken time for the growing empowerment of religious actors in the humanitarian sphere, and particularly in regard to matters of displacement, to filter through into scholarly analyses. Where the conflicts in the wake of the end of the Cold War have provide grounds for academic research on the theme of forced displacement and human security responses, scholars of the region under consideration have not always demonstrated interest in the religious aspects of this phenomenon. Jödicke attributes this to two key reasons, namely the focus on the resolution of existential issues over marginal ones, such as, apparently, religion, and, following from this, a reluctance to draw attention to potentially divisive topics. The situation experienced a step change in the 2010s, when the migration crises proved to be a catalyst for public debates on the religious identities of migrants, and provided ample opportunities for engagement by religious actors, whose activities have grown in magnitude and confidence. Consensus has coalesced around the significance of religion in relation to human security, including forced displacement and migration. This has been reflected in the appearance of scholarly and policy-oriented publications testifying to the need to consider the factor of religion as a vital force in society that is not, as it once seemed, destined for the dustbin of history. However, although the need for religion and secular authorities to work together and learn from one another in addressing human security issues is widely proclaimed, Jödicke has nevertheless observed a dearth of empirical analysis, particularly in relation to the region under consideration here. Beyond the choices and preferences of individual scholars, a number of factors may be highlighted as contributing to this state of affairs. Firstly, there is the availability of relevant information. With regard to the Russian Orthodox Church, at least, it is not church policy to provide information on social and charitable work carried out in individual parishes and eparchies,

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and thus their reports on this topic are sparse and superficial. Furthermore, where information is published, it is not always available in English or another widely spoken international language, thereby reducing the pool of analysts to whom it is readily accessible. Indeed, a number of the contributions present in this book contain statistical information not known to be previously available in English. Another key issue hampering research on religious belonging and migration concerns difficulties with gathering data. Religion is not always recorded in population surveys (as under the communist regime), or the question may be optional (as has been the case in the Bulgarian census after 2001), which increases the margin of error. Furthermore, the circumstances of forced displacement can often be chaotic, and thus counting the numbers of those involved can be difficult, and mis-counting or double-counting can easily occur even with the best of intentions on both the part of the recorder and the respondent. In such scenarios, enquiring after and recording religion may also be considered too partisan, or not a priority in the face of existential need. Where people are fleeing persecution, pinning down markers of difference might stoke fears of the information being used against them at a later date, and motivate mis-reporting. Even outside of crisis moments, discrepancies in the data may emerge. For instance, the lack of cooperation characteristic of administrative culture in Moldova (and surely elsewhere) means that different state institutions employ different methodologies to determine the number of Moldovans abroad, thereby leading to divergent data sets. Similarly in the case of Ukrainians fleeing the conflict in the Donbas region for Russia, the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs reports a rather different figure to that of the Federal Statistics Service, with both diverging from the numbers provided by international organisations. Additionally, the Russia-Ukraine border has long been rather porous and diffuse, and not all persons displaced from Ukraine registered as asylum seekers, refugees, or displaced persons, instead simply applying directly for citizenship or a permanent residence permit. For its part, the Ukrainian government has not provided statistics on those displaced across the Russian border since part of it is under the control of pro-Russian proxies. Sometimes, the nature of the migration regime in question means that migrants remain invisible in the statistics, thereby affecting their reliability. In the case of circular migration, whereby migrants retain official residence in their home country but travel abroad to work, perhaps seasonally or for short periods of time, they may not be counted as having emigrated despite spending most of their time abroad. Conversely, individuals with

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dual citizenship or foreign passports do not tend to be classed as migrants as they cannot be separated statistically from ‘local’ citizens of the country concerned. Andrei Avram points to the example of Moldova, whose citizens cannot work in the EU without a permit, but who are eligible for Romanian passports which they use when working in European countries, rendering them simply Romanian for recording purposes. In the case of Uzbekistan, citizens need an exit visa to leave the country. This requirement does not include travel to CIS countries, however, so people migrating to these countries are not counted in official statistics. Besides these issues, there is also the matter of undocumented migration, which, given the bureaucratic obstacles, is rather widespread. In order to gain more accurate data and the insights about population movements this would entail, it is clear that more sophisticated approaches to data gathering are required. These would need to take into account the way people live their lives in reality. This in turn requires political will, and cooperative efforts on the part of the relevant national authorities, and with international partners. The country case studies presented in this book present insights into the nature of the interaction between religion, displacement and human (in-) security. They highlight a wide range of push factors inciting migration, including flight from the threat of violence, conflict and socio-economic exclusion. The cases indicate that approaching migration in terms of a forced-voluntary dichotomy misses much of the complexity driving decisions to leave one’s home. Persecution on religious grounds may constitute a motivating factor, although it is often accompanied by other concomitant forms of exclusion and discrimination. Religion is also present on the other side of the equation, with insecurity resulting from displacement and migration being met by charitable activity by religious organisations, often stepping in where state-lead responses have failed to adequately meet people’s needs. Displacement may also alter the role played by religion in the lives of those affected, either centring it as a hub of support and community identity, or, conversely, where geographic distancing weakens those collective ties. Beyond practical activity, religious actors and organisations often serve as opinion formers, whose mouthpieces may shape the attitudes of citizens and governments. Such advocacy may be characterised by solidarity, or scepticism towards migrants. Either way, it is clear that in many of the countries covered here that a particular ‘national’ religion has a privileged status – officially, or de facto – which gives it a favoured position in interactions with the state and may shape how the state approaches other faith groups.

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It seems inevitable that the issues of forced displacement and migration will continue to attend human history, even as states wrestle with their triggers and consequences. Although as yet under-studied, space has opened upon for the consideration of the role of religion in these processes. The analyses presented in this book underscore that the nexus of religion, displacement and human (in-)security is diverse, and undergirded by multifaceted relations of power. In the region under focus here, religion is in most cases on the ascendant after decades of repression under socialist atheist regimes and therefore warrants particular research to explore how these dynamics unfold as religion – its agents, organisations and networks – continues to consolidate its place in these societies.

The book’s structure The contributions in this book indicate that the intersection between religion, displacement and human security is diverse and goes beyond the familiar ‘religious repression as a cause for displacement’ and ‘religious charitable responses to displacement’ dichotomy, although these issues clearly retain importance. In addition to their capacity for effective agency, faith-based organisations and networks have huge potential for shaping public opinion. The book brings together authors from a range of disciplinary backgrounds, including religious studies, law, international politics, sociology and regional studies, showcasing the variety of analytical lenses through which the intersection of religion and displacement can be explored. At the outset, Ansgar Jödicke provides an overview of the current stand of the research on the role of religion in the context of humanitarian aid, with a focus on the post-communist region. The chapters that follow are structured along lines of country case studies, with each contribution both demanding and reflecting in-depth, contextualised local knowledge, and the capacity to work with sources in the national language(s). With regards to methods, in addition to a range of secondary sources, which often make insights presented in the local languages available to a wider English-speaking audience, the chapters draw upon quantitative and qualitative primary source materials. Input from quantitative sources most commonly entails syntheses of statistical data from surveys and censuses concerning religion and displacement in the countries concerned. Qualitatively, the book also benefits from interviews with eye-witnesses and relevant experts and practitioners in the case study countries.

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The book is divided into four sections, namely Eastern Europe, Russia and Ukraine, the Caucasus and Central Asia. The section on Eastern Europe examines selected countries in the region which have been directly impacted by the refugee crisis. Daniela Kalkandjieva provides insight into the multifaceted experience of migration in the case of modern Bulgaria, revealing how the religious factor has played a diverse role in relation to migration. Labelling refugees exclusively on religious terms has led to an increase in xenophobic discourses and right-wing nationalism. In the chapter on Serbia in the 1990s, Aleksandra Djurić Milovanović and Marko Veković examine how the state and various Protestant evangelical communities responded to the forced displacement in the wake of the civil war. Focusing on the migration crisis that faced Greece following the conflicts in the Middle East in the 2010s, Georgios E. Trantas and Eleni D. Tseligka explore the response of the Orthodox Church of Greece and its NGOs. They note the contradictory expectations the country faces as an EU member state, which is called upon to reflect humanitarian considerations whilst also safeguarding the external borders of the union. In the chapter on Moldova, Andrei Avram explores the role of the two parallel Orthodox churches there in developing the country’s post-Soviet identity, and their work responding the mass emigration of working-age citizens. He shows that the massive emigration of the Moldovan population has been reflected in the ways in which both churches tackled humanitarian programmes. Top clergy under the jurisdiction of Moscow have condemned the refugee crisis, appealing to local population and influencing party politics. Maria Marczewska-Rytko traces the history of population movement in twentieth-century Poland. She notes the important difference between the head of the Roman Catholic Church, Pope Francis, and clerics and lay members of the local church in Poland. The section on Russia and Ukraine compares the two countries. In his chapter on the Russian Orthodox Church, Roman Lunkin observes trends in migration and the condition of religion-state relations in Russia. He examines the social-humanitarian activity of the Orthodox Church, and notes how migration has changed the religious environment in Russia. He points out that a wide range of religious communities are involved in humanitarian programmes advancing religious and ethnic identification and having an impact on religious diversity. Dmytro Vovk analyses deportation and forced displacement in the unrecognised Donetsk and Luhansk People’s Republics in the context of the Russia-Ukraine conflict, and examines relations between religion and political agents in the breakaway

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republics. He shows that the religious factor has been present in two ways: first, religious communities have provided support for internally displaced persons; and second, religious discourses have regularly been politicised. The chapter on Ukraine should be read together with the chapter on Russia to understand similarities and differences among the ways in which religious and state authorities engaged with populations in need. For example, the exact number of displaced populations and currently present on the territory of both countries remains controversial with parallel f igures advanced by state authorities and international organisations. The section on the Caucasus examines Georgia and Armenia. Focusing on the population of IDPs that appeared in post-Soviet Georgia as a result of the conflicts in the two breakaway territories of Abkhazia and South Ossetia/ Tskhinvali, Tornike Metreveli examines the institutional dimensions of religious responses to the humanitarian situation to suggest that more could be done by religious agents to alleviate the plight of forcible displaced citizens. The Georgian case stands out as the country experienced three waves of internal forced displacement. Each wave has shown that religious identity and state-building processes have been interlinked. Jasmine Dum-Tragut highlights the specificities of the case of the influx of ethnic Armenian refugees from war-torn Syria, and examines the response to this crisis by the Armenian Apostolic Church, which has traditionally considered itself the ‘preserver of Armenianness and the Armenian people’. She argues that state authorities and the Armenian Apostolic Church, the predominant religious confession, could benefit from the experience of religious minorities in addressing humanitarian issues. The section on Central Asia investigates three countries in the region affected by migration. Examining demographic and migratory trends in Kazakhstan since the times of the Russian Empire, Victoria Hudson explores the discursive and practical response of the Kazakhstan Metropolitan District of the Russian Orthodox Church to the mass emigration of ethnic Russians citizens of Kazakhstan to Russia since independence. Indira Aslanova focuses on the repression and migration experiences of ethnic population who converted to Christianity in Kyrgyzstan. In the last chapter, Rano Turaeva examines the legal landscape governing internal and external migration in post-Soviet Uzbekistan, pointing to the role of Islam and mosque communities in addressing some of the resultant human security needs.

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References Addy, T., and O. Prosvirnina (eds) (2020). ‘People on the Move’: Stories from Churches and Faith-Based Organisations in Central and Eastern Europe. Prague: International Academy for Diaconia and Social Action, Central & Eastern Europe. https://www.interdiac.eu/resources/people-on-the-move (accessed 1 December 2020). Barnett, M. (2013). Empire of Humanity: A History of Humanitarianism. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Beckford, J. A. (ed.) (2015). Migration and Religion, 2 vols. Cheltenham: Elgar. Betts, A., and G. Loescher (eds) (2010). Refugees in International Relations. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bloch, A., and G. Donà (eds) (2019). Forced Migration: Current Issues and Debates. London: Routledge. Brown, B., and B. Yeoh (eds) (2018). Asian Migrants and Religious Experience: From Missionary Journeys to Labor Mobility. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Buzan, B., O. Wæver, and J. De Wilde (1998). Security: A New Framework for Analysis. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Christiansen, D. (1996). ‘Movement, Asylum, Borders: Christian Perspectives’. International Migration Review 30(1), pp. 7-11. https://doi.org/10.2307/2547454. Davie, G., et al. (2018). ‘Religions and Social Progress: Critical Assessments and Creative Partnerships’. In Rethinking Society for the 21st Century: Report of the International Panel for Social Progress, 3 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, vol. 3, pp. 641-676. Ferris, E. (2005). ‘Faith-Based and Secular Humanitarian Organisations’. International Review of the Red Cross 87(858), pp. 311-325. https://doi.org/10.1017/ S1816383100181366. Ferris, E. (2011). ‘Faith and Humanitarianism: It’s Complicated’. Journal of Refugee Studies 24(3), pp. 606-625. DOI: 10.1093/jrs/fer028. Fiddian-Qasmiyeh, E. (2011). ‘Introduction: Faith-Based Humanitarianism in Contexts of Forced Displacement’. Journal of Refugee Studies 24(3), pp. 429-439. https://doi.org/10.1093/jrs/fer033. Fiddian-Qasmiyeh, E., G. Loescher, K. Long, and N. Sigona (eds) (2014). The Oxford Handbook of Refugee and Forced Migration Studies. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fox, J. (2001). ‘Religion as an Overlooked Element of International Relations’. International Studies Review 3(3), pp. 53-73. Frederiks, M., and D. Nagy (eds) (2016). Religion, Migration and Identity: Methodological and Theological Explorations. Leiden: Brill.

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Geddes, A., and P. Scholten (2016). The Politics of Migration and Immigration in Europe. London: Sage. Global Partnership for the Prevention of Armed Conflict (n.d.). ‘Human Security’. https://gppac.net/human-security (accessed 9 October 2019). Grzymala-Busse, A. (2012). ‘Why Comparative Politics Should Take Religion (More) Seriously’. Annual Review of Political Science 15, pp. 421-442. Hagan, J. (2008). Migration Miracle: Faith, Hope and Meaning on the Undocumented Journey. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hollenbach, D., SJ (2014). ‘Religion and Forced Migration’. In E. Fiddian-Qasmiyeh, G. Loescher, K. Long, and N. Sigona (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Refugee and Forced Migration Studies. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 447-459. DOI: 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199652433.013.0008. Hollenbach, D., SJ (2019). Humanity in Crisis: Ethical and Religious Response to Refugees. Georgetown: Georgetown University Press. Kettell, S. (2016). ‘Do We Need a “Political Science of Religion”?’ Political Studies Review 14(2), pp. 210-222. Leustean, L. N. (ed.) (2019). Forced Migration and Human Security in the Eastern Orthodox World. London: Routledge. Leustean, L. N. (2021a). ‘Orthodox Conservatism and the Refugee Crisis in Bulgaria and Moldova’. Communist and Post-Communist Studies 54(1-2), pp. 83-101. DOI: 10.1525/j.postcomstud.2021.54.1-2.83. Leustean, L. N. (2021b). ‘When States Fail: The Politics of Orthodox Churches, Forced Displacement and Humanitarian Structures in Serbia and Ukraine’. Journal of Refugee Studies 34(2), pp. 1923-1945. DOI: 10.1093/jrs/feaa005. Levitt, P. (2007). God Needs No Passport: Immigrants and the Changing Religious Landscape. New York: The New Press. Mavelli, L., and E. K. Wilson (eds) (2016). The Refugee Crisis and Religion: Secularism, Security and Hospitality in Question. London: Rowman & Littlef ield International. Phan, P., and E. Padilla (2016). Christianities in Migration: The Global Perspective. Basingstoke: Palgrave. Philpott, D. (2009). ‘Has the Study of Global Politics Found Religion?’ Annual Review of Political Science 12, pp. 183-202. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev. polisci.12.053006.125448. Potz, M. (2020). Political Science of Religion: Theorising the Political Role of Religion. Basingstoke: Palgrave. Prodromou, E. H., and N. Symeonides (2016). ‘Orthodox Christianity and Humanitarianism: An Introduction to Thought and Practice, Past and Present’. The Review of Faith and International Affairs 14(1), pp. 1-8. DOI: 10.1080/15570274.2016.1145479.

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Saunders, J. B., E. Fiddian-Qasmiyeh and S. Snyder (eds) (2016). Intersections of Religion and Migration: Issues at the Global Crossroads. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Schmiedel, U., and G. Smith (2018). Religion in the European Refugee Crisis. Basingstoke: Palgrave. Speare, A. (1974). ‘The Relevance of Models of Internal Migration for the Study of International Migration’. In G. Tapinos (ed.), International Migration: Proceedings of a Seminar on Demographic Research in Relation to International Migration. Paris: CICRED, pp. 84-94. UNDP (1994). Human Development Report 1994: New Dimensions of Human Security. UN Development Programme. New York: Oxford University Press. http://hdr.undp.org/en/content/human-development-report-1994 (accessed 25 January 2021). UNHCR (2013). ‘Welcoming the Stranger: Affirmations for Faith Leaders’. https:// www.unhcr.org/uk/protection/hcdialogue%20/51b6de419/welcoming-strangeraffirmations-faith-leaders.html (accessed 25 January 2021). UNHCR (2018). Global Trends: Forced Displacement in 2018. United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. https://www.unhcr.org/5d08d7ee7.pdf (accessed 26 November 2021). USCIRF (2019a). 2019 Annual Report. United States Commission on International Religious Freedom, April. https://www.uscirf.gov/sites/default/ files/2019USCIRFAnnualReport.pdf (accessed 27 January 2021). USCIRF (2019b). ‘USCIRF Statement on World Refugee Day and Link between Religious Freedom and Displacement’. United States Commission on International Religious Freedom, 20 June. https://www.uscirf.gov/news-room/ releases-statements/uscirf-statement-world-refugee-day-and-link-betweenreligious-freedom (accessed 22 January 2021). Waever, O. (1995). ‘Securitization and Desecuritization’. In R. D. Lipschutz (ed.), On Security. New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 44-86. Walker, P., D. Mazurana, A. Warren, G. Scarlett, and H. Louis (2012). ‘The Role of Spirituality in Humanitarian Crisis Survival and Recovery’. In M. Barnett and J. Gross Stein (eds), Sacred Aid: Faith and Humanitarianism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 115-139. Warner, S., and J. Wittner (eds) (1998). Gatherings in Diaspora: Religious Communities and the New Immigration. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Wellman, J. K., Jr., and C. B. Lombardi (eds) (2012). Religion and Human Security: A Global Perspective. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wong, D. (2014). ‘Time, Generation and Context in Narratives of Migrant and Religious Journeys’. Global Networks 14(3), pp. 306-325. https://doi.org/10.1111/ glob.12061.

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About the authors Victoria Hudson is a British Academy Post-Doctoral Fellow in the Department of War Studies at King’s College London. She completed her PhD at the Centre for Russian and East European Studies at the University of Birmingham, submitting a thesis on contemporary Russian soft power in Ukraine, with a particular emphasis on the role of the Russian Orthodox Church in Russian foreign policy. Her publications include ‘The Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate as a Potential “Tool” of Russian Soft Power in the Wake of Ukraine’s 2013 Euromaidan’, Europe-Asia Studies 70(9) (2018), pp. 1355-1380, and ‘The Georgian Orthodox Church and the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate: “Tools” of Russian Soft Power?’, in A. Makarychev and T. Kruessmann (eds), Europe in the Caucasus, Caucasus in Europe: Perspectives on the Construction of a Region (ibidem-Verlag, 2019). Lucian N. Leustean is a Reader in Politics and International Relations at Aston University, Birmingham, United Kingdom. His publications include, as author, The Ecumenical Movement and the Making of the European Community (Oxford University Press, 2014) and Orthodoxy and the Cold War: Religion and Political Power in Romania, 1947-65 (Palgrave, 2008), and, as editor, (with Grace Davie) The Oxford Handbook of Religion and Europe (Oxford University Press, 2021), Forced Migration and Human Security in the Eastern Orthodox World (Routledge, 2019) and Eastern Christianity and Politics in the Twenty-First Century (Routledge, 2014). He is the Founding Editor of the Routledge Book Series on Religion, Society and Government in Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet States.

2

Humanitarian Action, Forced Displacement and Religion Contemporary Research Perspectives Ansgar Jödicke

Abstract This contribution focuses on the role of religion in the context of humanitarian action by using forced displacement as an example. Discussing cases from Eastern Europe, the Caucasus and Central Asia, the aim of the chapter is to map and evaluate the existing research on humanitarian action and religion from the perspective of the study of religion. The chapter distinguishes between local, national and transnational actor-centred perspectives on the one side and structural approaches to the political and religious field on the other side. Thus, it identifies the ways how religion can frame humanitarian action and, vice versa, how humanitarian action can set the tone for the religiosity of people or organisations. Keywords: forced displacement, humanitarian action, religion, Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, Central Asia

Introduction According to data from the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), all countries in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, Central Asia and its neighbouring regions are today affected by forced displacement (UNHCR 2016).1 A variety of groups, organisations and institutions provide humanitarian aid: local, national and transnational, state-run and non-governmental. 1 See also the Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre (IDMC) as part of the Norwegian Refugee Council: http://www.internal-displacement.org/ (accessed 8 March 2020).

Hudson, Victoria, and Lucian N. Leustean (eds), Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463727556_ch02

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Furthermore, refugee and forced migration studies progressed in the 1980s as an ‘independent field worthy of scholarly research’ with a ‘distinct identity’ (Fiddian-Qasmiyeh et al. 2014: 3), engaging a variety of disciplines touching on such diverse fields of research as charity, human rights, development, international organisations and international relations (Saunders et al. 2016). This contribution focuses on the role of religion in the context of humanitarian aid rather than looking at religion as a cause for displacement through repressive religious policy (Kolbe and Henne 2014) or religious clashes like, for example, in Bosnia (Temoney 2017). For many years, academic research on forced displacement and humanitarian aid developed without taking religion into account. This is attributable to two main reasons. First, the situation of migrants required basic, urgent help. The existential nature of these needs put pressure on both practitioners and academics to focus on the essential problems and religion seemed to be of marginal importance. Second, the ethical code of humanitarian action demanded neutrality, whereas religion was generally suspected of being partisan and divisive. Both arguments are under attack today (FiddianQasmiyeh 2011). First, the role of religion can obviously be important when considering the whole chain of humanitarian action from donors to migrants. Religious belief can raise the motivation to help, religious organisational resources can provide infrastructure, and many humanitarian organisations have a religious background. Second, many academic disciplines today are much more concerned with religion than they were 30 years ago. Political science, development studies and international relations, for example, have experienced a boom of publications stating that religion should not be neglected, and that religion fulfils a variety of constructive functions in society beyond serving as a divisive force (Haynes 2013, 2016; Marshall 2018). Moreover, faith-based organisations have started to act much more self-confidently in the international context, and international organisations have begun to favour increased cooperation between secular and religious humanitarian organisations. Forced Migration Review, a well-known online journal, brought together practitioners, researchers and policymakers in an issue about ‘faith responses to displacement’ in 2014.2 Numerous policy papers stressed this ‘learning from each other’ paradigm.3 Nevertheless, the recent consensus among practitioners and academics about the important 2 Accessed 8 March 2020 from https://www.fmreview.org/faith (accessed 2 March 2020). 3 See, for example, the policy paper ‘Faith and the Asylum Crisis: The Role of Religion in Responding to Displacement’, https://kar.kent.ac.uk/45313 (accessed 2 March 2020), with recommendations.

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role of religion in humanitarian action cannot override the fact that empirical research is still rare (Fiddian-Qasmiyeh 2011: 430), particularly in the region under research in this chapter. The most comprehensive collection of 66 articles from around the world (Beckford 2015) comprises just one chapter about this region, namely a Kosovo case study. The aim of this chapter is to map and evaluate the existing research on humanitarian action and religion from the perspective of the study of religion by using forced displacement as an example. The leading perspective from the study of religion favours empirical and historical research rather than normative studies. Although research on displaced persons necessarily entails normative aspects, like acknowledging the valuing of a particular religious culture, the study of religion normally does not produce policy papers and political recommendations. One reason for the conspicuous lack of research on religion and humanitarian aid in the study of religion could be this close relationship to normative questions. ‘Religion’ is an ambiguous category. The study of religion has deconstructed the term by analysing the social and political frames in which ‘religion’ becomes an effective concept (King 2017). Although social, political and legal activity in the observed region classifies actors, organisations or actions as ‘religious’ and ‘non-religious’, the following analysis will show the difficulties and fluid borders of this religious/secular division. As Elizabeth Ferris and others have demonstrated, the variety of ways in which religion is involved in humanitarian action is enormous and some so-called religious humanitarian organisations share more features with secular humanitarian institutions than other religious organisations (Ferris 2011). ‘Religious’ can mean a reference to the institution’s history or an organisational dependency. It can range from a vague or concrete motivation for humanitarian action to a distinct category in religious policy. Moreover, communities legally and historically labelled as ‘religious’ still express a variety of understandings of religion.4 Thus, the qualifier ‘religious’ tells us only little about the activities and attitudes of persons or organisations engaged in humanitarian work. Rather than summarising these different meanings as a single idea encapsulating ‘the religious factor in humanitarian action’, the approach from the study of religion will contribute to a better understanding of the relationship between religion and humanitarian action through identifying 4 The debate between Philip Fountain and Katherine Marshall demonstrates the fundamental difficulty of the term ‘religious organisation’. While Marshall (2013) defends the use of the term, Fountain (2013) suggests forgoing it. Karsten Lehmann (2019) takes a position in the middle, advocating for the term ‘religiously affiliated organisations’.

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the ways how religion can frame humanitarian action and, vice versa, how humanitarian action can set the tone for the religiosity of people or organisations. Heuristically, this article uses a classical concept of religion, addressing churches, faith communities and persons who adhere to these communities or groups. This approach serves as a basis to identify the actors and fields of research, considering that these groups understand their religious affiliation in very different forms. After briefly mapping the situation of forced displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus and Central Asia, this chapter proceeds from an actor-centred perspective. First, from the perspective of migrants, and second from that of religious actors. From there, the discussion moves to a more structural perspective, first looking at the overall political situation of humanitarian action and then analysing the religious f ield. Finally, the analysis will examine the links between religious freedom and humanitarian action as a crossroads that brings together the aforementioned perspectives.

Mapping forced displacement Forced displacement, well-known in history, has become a major phenomenon since the nineteenth century (Buckley and Ruble 2008). Both declining empires and growing nation-states expelled, deported and re-settled people for different reasons. In the twentieth century, the Soviet Union became the most powerful political agent in Eastern Europe. During Soviet history, displacement was a common political instrument with peaks around 1930 affecting the so-called kulaks and around 1940 affecting several ethnic groups. Kulaks were rich peasants who were suspected of being enemies of the communist ideology. They were deported to Siberia, Central Asia or bigger cities unable to support agricultural livelihoods. Deportations in the late 1930s and 1940s served more or less the same political aim of de-homogenisation, although applied to ethnic minorities. By the time of the dissolution of the Soviet Union, few of the deported people had merged with the respective local population; most of them are still visible minorities. After the Cold War, the forms of displacement changed and became mostly related to territorial conflicts and ethnic unrest. The international system of contracts developed with states as main agents – of coping and causing: States faced the challenge of handling the issues associated with displaced people. However, some states stimulated forced displacement by triggering

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or sustaining conflicts. Human rights policy became part of international relations and the United Nations started monitoring refugees. The United Nations focused on involuntary and coerced migration, although the line between forced and voluntary migration remains blurred (Elie 2014). In its statistical yearbooks, the United Nations High Commissioner of Refugees (UNHCR) distinguishes between different types of affected persons: refugees, asylum seekers, internally displaced persons, returned refugees, returned internally displaced persons and stateless persons.5 In contemporary Eastern Europe, forced migration is still a widespread phenomenon, which particularly affects some regions. The overwhelming majority of affected persons fits the UNHCR’s category of ‘internally displaced person’ (IDP), who are defined as ‘people or groups of individuals who have been forced to leave their homes or places of habitual residence, […] and who have not crossed an international border’.6 The most affected regions are those that experienced military and territorial conflicts in the aftermath of the Soviet Union’s collapse: the former Yugoslavia (1992-2001, in particular Bosnia and Herzegovina, 1992-1995, and Kosovo, 1998-1999), Nagorno-Karabakh (1992-1994; 2020), Georgia (1992-1994; 2008) and Ukraine (since 2014). The percentage of IDPs in these countries reaches more than 4 per cent of the overall population, being significantly higher in the regions of settlement.7 However, some forcibly displaced persons crossed national borders. In the First and Second Chechen Wars (1994-1996, 1999-2009), several hundred thousand refugees left the region. The majority of them remained in Russia as IDPs, but some fled to countries in Western Europe. Ethnic unrest in Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan forced people to leave those countries. Especially tragic is the second forced displacement of Meskhetian Turks who fled in 1989 and 1990 from Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan to different countries, after having been deported from Georgia to Central Asia by Stalin in 1944 (Monsutti and Balci 2014). Not all conflicts triggering population displacement have occurred in the region itself. Many countries in the region host refugees from Syria and the Near East. Greece and Turkey are the countries with the highest percentage of refugees of this type (Mavelli and Wilson 2016). 5 https://www.unhcr.org/statistical-yearbooks.html (accessed 8 March 2020). 6 https://www.unhcr.org/statistical-yearbooks.html (accessed 12 March 2020). 7 In Bosnia and Herzegovina, the percentage of IDPs is slightly lower because of the phenomenon of ‘borders moving over people’ (Fiddian-Qasmiyeh et al. 2014: 5). See also the figures from the Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre: https://www.internal-displacement.org/ (accessed 12 March 2020).

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The perspective of displaced persons Although most people affected by forced displacement are in a precarious situation, the literature has underlined that they should be understood as active agents, too. They are not only passive recipients of aid. With regard to religion, they can interpret their situation within a religious frame. One dimension of inquiry into this topic emphasises that religion might strengthen migrants’ resilience, and thus be a resource for starting a new life.8 David Hollenbach, for example, draws on the fact that narratives about migration and displacement are transmitted in many religious traditions (Hollenbach 2014). Thus, knowledge of these narratives can offer meaning to displaced persons. Elżbieta M. Goździak worked in the mental health service of a US camp for Kosovar Albanian refugees. Her experiences and research from 1999 included spiritual care. Her analysis revealed the possibility of ‘[conceptualising] suffering as [a] spiritual experience’. Giving religious meaning to what happened and interpreting traumatic experiences in a religious frame was one of the main coping strategies of IDPs. In the refugee camp, ‘rituals seemed to have had the greatest healing power’ (Goździak 2002: 139, 145). From the perspective of the social sciences, however, it is not necessary to inquire into the psychological function of religion. The question, in terms of individual religiosity, is whether the situation of displacement changes religiosity in a signif icant way. Sometimes the experience of forced displacement encourages religiosity or gives birth to new religious need. One may observe such changes as: a change in the intensity of religiosity, a conversion from un-believer to believer (or vice versa), a conversion from one religion (religious tradition) to another (Akcapar 2019). In many cases the manifestations of religious beliefs and practices may change because the line between preserving identity and creating identity is permeable. A study on ancestor worship among South Ossetian IDPs in Georgia focuses on the transformation of ritual practices. According to international law, the territory of South Ossetia is part of Georgia but de facto ruled by local political leaders with financial and military support from Russia. The long-lasting conflict between the South Ossetian and Georgian population culminated in the 2008 war, after which ethnic Georgians fled from South Ossetia to other regions of Georgia. The borders are still closed today. 8 An overview of approaches from the psychology of religion is provided by GrzymałaMoszczyńska and Kanal 2019. Also see Horstmann 2015 and Naidu 2016.

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Georgian refugees from South Ossetia faced the religious problem that traditional worship at their ancestors’ graves was impossible because these graves remained within the territory of South Ossetia. The study demonstrated that the South Ossetian IDPs in Georgia kept their widely shared custom by transforming the annual visits into increased oral remembrance. Thus, they found a way of commemoration without the material bases of graves. The author’s interpretation identifies two functions of religion in this situation: preserving identity by connecting to the past and supplying resources for a new life in Georgia (Chabukiani 2013).

Religiously framed actors providing help The majority of the literature about religion and forced migration focuses on the role of service-providing institutions. An actor-based and organisational approach helps to understand that religious groups ‘range from small-scale local-level religious congregations, to national interdenominational coalitions and networks, to international humanitarian agencies associated with a particular religion; equally, they have highly diverse histories, underlying motivations, fund-raising mechanisms, and modes of operation’ (FiddianQasmiyeh 2011: 431). Focusing on the social context of humanitarian action, we can distinguish between groups with a local, national, trans-national or international level of operation. Local religious actors The regions in which displaced persons settle down have their own existing religious landscape. As Lucian N. Leustean has pointed out, local first-hand aid towards arriving migrants is often underestimated (Leustean 2019). Both individuals and faith communities on the ground ‘constitute a key potential resource to support humanitarian response’ (Ager and Ager 2016: 295). This religiously motivated voluntary work and charity is one of the many different understandings of social capital to have recently arisen in the field of the sociology of religion (Nemeth and Luidens 2003). A study on humanitarian action in Moscow reveals ‘how members of this particular assistance community in Moscow have mobilised faith-driven ideals about compassion, service, and social action to create an alternative system of social welfare and social justice’ (Caldwell 2017: 8), which would be invisible when only looking at the big religious organisations. This is one of the few micro-level studies in the field of humanitarian action and religion.

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Interestingly, this kind of help seems to be independent from the activists’ theological background. Moscow’s interfaith activities comprise different Christian and non-Christian groups open to non-religious volunteers. Activists share views about compassion and social action, not a common theology. Spontaneous humanitarian action on the ground seems to be independent from the theological imprint.9 Furthermore, the humanitarian action of individual believers and small groups in local faith communities does not necessarily correspond to the policy of the organised religion’s leaders. Face-to-face interaction is to some extent independent from the religious leaders’ off icial position towards displaced persons, which sometimes includes xenophobic aspects. Nevertheless, local religious communities are usually stretched thin when large numbers of migrants arrive. They do not have the resources to intervene structurally over a long time. National religious actors National religious organisations are more powerful institutions with the potential for structural help. Their national character brings them into a relationship with the state’s national and geopolitical agenda. Do they support or object to the state’s positioning towards displaced persons? All of the countries under research in this chapter have dominant religions on their territory with related national religious organisations, mostly Orthodox churches and Muslim boards. These major religious traditions claim to contribute to national identity and wield considerable power in civil society. Although damaged under the Soviet Union, the organisational structures were recreated from the 1980s onwards, with state support after 1991. Moreover, they established strong relations with the state. Their organisational apparatus guarantees some control over religious activities. While the states are far more powerful in most cases, with the religious bodies subordinated, both sides profit from this connection in terms of legitimation and structures. This cooperation can lead to instrumentalisation from both sides. The strong link between these dominant religious institutions and the state frames humanitarian action. A religious group’s policy towards immigrants or IDPs is constantly under political evaluation and has the potential to damage its relationship with the state. Nevertheless, there is a margin in which national religious institutions can demonstrate their autonomy. Some national religious institutions in Ukraine and Serbia compensated 9 Nevertheless, some authors try to fix a theological dimension of humanitarian thought within a particular religious tradition. See, for example, Prodromou and Symeonides 2016.

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for the failure of the state regarding humanitarian aid towards refugees (Leustean 2020). Their action was less bureaucratic, but not necessarily less ideological. The various Ukrainian churches’ statements towards refugees mirror the political positioning of the respective political actors engaged in the conflict (Hovorun 2016; Strielkowski et al. 2016; Yelensky 2019). The following example from the dominant religious bodies in Russia suggests a purely political interpretation of humanitarian action. On 4 February 2018, a high delegation of representatives of Russian Christian churches and Muslim communities arrived in Syria. They were part of the Russian Interreligious Council, which is an influential institution close to the state comprising leaders of the Russian Orthodox Church and of the Muslim, Jewish and Buddhist communities. On its website, the Russian Orthodox Patriarchate described how the delegation ‘distributed in churches and mosques the aid donated by Russian believers […] supervised personally by His Holiness Patriarch Kirill’.10 The event was obviously in line with and in support of Russia’s foreign policy in the Near East. Furthermore, the example above demonstrates that national organisations of religious minorities can work hand in hand with the dominant national religious actors. Beyond the groups taking part in the Interreligious Council, there are other minorities with national organisations in Russia. For example, the Union of Evangelical Christians-Baptists in Russia was founded in 1944, after Baptism spread to Russia during the nineteenth century. The union started a diplomatic and humanitarian initiative after the Russian-Georgian war in 2008.11 Addressing its Baptist sister organisation in Georgia, it suggested peaceful cooperation and a common prayer for peace and humanitarian aid. Goods and money were collected and distributed by the North Ossetian Mission of Christian Compassion, an organisation founded in 1990 by Reverend Peter Lunichkin, who later became the head of the Russian Baptist Union’s social programmes. The Russian Baptist organisation also activated another channel of support: Baptist World Aid, the charity organisation of the Baptist World Alliance, which mobilised financial contributions from the USA and Germany to the Georgian and South Ossetian Baptist communities. Although the overall amount was very low, this example demonstrates the assistance and involvement of international organisations. 10 https://mospat.ru/en/2018/02/06/news156268/ (accessed 8 March 2020). 11 https://baptist.org.ru/read/article/95891 and http://65583.stablerack.com/apps/articles/ default.asp?blogid=0&view=post&articleid=49162&link=1&fldKeywords=&fldAuthor=&fldT opic=0 (accessed 8 March 2020).

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Trans- and international networks and organisations Religiously framed humanitarian organisations with an international outreach are different from local faith communities and national religious organisations in terms of their organisational structure, financial base, and humanitarian and religious policy (Berger 2003). Some authors have tried to classify these organisations in terms of their religious dimension (Sider and Unruh 2004; Thaut 2009; Petersen 2010). For example, they may have either historical religious roots or have been subordinated to bigger religious denominations. The origins of the former, like the Red Cross or, in an Islamic context, the Red Crescent, date back to the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Today, these two are united in the International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement. During the twentieth century, further global institutions like the Aga Khan Foundation (1967), Islamic Relief (1984) or International Orthodox Christian Charities (1992) followed. An example of an organisation subordinated to a larger denomination is the above-mentioned Baptist World Aid, which is supported and supervised by the Baptist World Alliance, headquartered in Washington, DC. Besides the support for Baptist refugees in Georgia, for example, Baptist World Aid supported Hungarian Baptist Aid to deliver goods to Chechen refugees in 2010.12 These organisations run by big denominations have their own structures and act to some extent independently from the core religious organisation.13 As the financial background of these groups is much larger than in regional groups, the amount of money used by these organisations worldwide is enormous. Another starting point of classification and research concerns organisational structure, distinguishing movements or networks from organisations with hierarchical structures. The former, networks like Pentecostalism, Evangelicalism, Hizmet, or Salafism, operate transnationally but can still have very different organisational forms and religious policies. The transnational Salafist network Hizb ut-Tahrir, for example, had an opportunity to increase its influence because of Kyrgyzstan’s failure to protect ethnic Uzbeks. In the aftermath of the ethnic cleansing in 2010, many displaced 12 https://reliefweb.int/report/russian-federation/chechnya-baptists-bring-aid (accessed 8 March 2020). 13 Mark Chaves (1993) calls it the ‘dual structure’ of religious organisations. Baptist World Aid, for example, is part of Act Alliance, a worldwide alliance of churches and organisations active in the field of development and humanitarian aid. So, ‘dual structure’ in this case means that Baptist World Aid has to handle the different discourses of the theological institution (Baptist World Alliance) and the humanitarian institution (Act Alliance).

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Uzbeks received humanitarian support from the network and consequently a growing number of displaced persons in the Fergana Valley joined the network.14 This network already existed in the region, while other networks operate from the outside. Detailed information about international humanitarian activities is slowly emerging in academic research. The Korean World Mission Association is active in Central Asia, 15 as seen in Jean-François Mayer’s report from a Tajik educational camp where evangelicals were trained by Korean missionaries in 2003 (Mayer 2008: 37). What are the activities of smaller groups, like the German-based Licht im Osten (Light in the East) founded by Swiss and German evangelicals after World War I? Refugees are explicitly mentioned on their homepage as one target group.16 Hungarian Interchurch Aid (founded in 1991) supported hundreds of evacuated people in Balakleya, Eastern Ukraine, after the explosion of a munitions depot in 2017.17 International Orthodox Christian Charities helped refugees in former Yugoslavia in 1992, in the Russian Caucasus in 1994 and in Georgia in 2008.18 Thus, many of these smaller religious groups work on location in a very timely way; comparative research on their strategies and policies would be helpful. One interesting variable is the question of whether these organisations offer short-term or long-term assistance; with the latter entraining more complex problems. In the case of long-term engagement, groups expect to remain in the country and establish local communities. Furthermore, some of them try to engage local staff instead of in-group members from outside the country. For example, World Vision, an international, evangelical humanitarian organisation active in a couple of Eastern European countries, hired Orthodox staff and worked with them ‘outside of its traditional evangelical fold. Its staff began to resemble the Christian communities in the countries where it worked’ (King 2012: 938). Some of the international actors are registered at the United Nations where they are called ‘religious non-governmental organisations’ (RNGOs) or ‘faith-based organisations’ (FBOs). Many of them take part in international and academic discourses about humanitarian action, 14 https://www.ecoi.net/de/dokument/1013775.html (accessed 8 March 2020). 15 http://kwma.or.kr/ (accessed 8 March 2020). Also see Kovalchuk 2008. 16 https://www.lio.org/de/fuer-wen.html (accessed 8 March 2020). 17 https://www.segelyszervezet.hu/hu/node/1937 (accessed 8 March 2020). 18 https://iocc.org/how-we-serve/assistance-refugees (accessed 8 March 2020). Also see Papouras 2016: 54-55.

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development, peace or human rights.19 After World War II, international organisations were very sceptical about religion: humanitarian action should be universalist, impartial and non-denominational. In contrast, religious groups were perceived as separatist, fixed on their own beliefs and unable to abstain from missionary work. Religion was regarded as anti-modern and not compatible with modern humanitarian action. Consequently, religious humanitarian groups downplayed their religious side, although many founders of prominent humanitarian organisations viewed religion positively and did not see a contradiction between religion and humanitarian action (Ager and Ager 2016: 290). During the last ten years, these discourses about religious involvement have changed completely. The UNHCR’s annual ‘Dialogue on Protection Challenges’ in 2012 focused on ‘faith and protection’. A subsequent ‘Partnership Note on Faith-Based Organisations, Local Faith Communities, and Faith Leaders’ offered partnership to religious actors on the basis of good practice examples. The ‘Joint Recommendations on the Role of Local Faith Communities in Refugee Response’, signed by the major religiously framed humanitarian organisations, followed in 2018.20

The overall political situation: The religious policy The analysis so far has already demonstrated that the humanitarian action of religious groups is subject to political interpretation and political action: this can be supportive, restrictive, manipulative, exploitative – everything is possible. When moving from an actor-centred perspective to structural observations, the focus on religiously framed humanitarian action demands particular attention towards the interconnection of politics and religion. Humanitarian action is both affected by, and affects, politics. The involvement of religion makes it even more complex by including both the states’ and the religious groups’ policies. As the national political frame was already exemplified in the previous section, the following two examples will focus on geopolitics. 19 A detailed study investigates the involvement of a Protestant (Commissions of the Churches on International Affairs) and Catholic (Pax Romana) group in negotiations about human rights: Lehmann 2016. 20 ‘Joint Recommendations on the Role of Local Faith Communities in Refugee Response’, https://www.unhcr.org/events/conferences/5afc2dcd7/joint-recommendations-role-local-faithcommunities-refugee-response.html (accessed 8 March 2020).

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One example is from Azerbaijan. During and after the Nagorno-Karabakh War (1992-1994), around 750,000 persons left their homes in the occupied territories and resettled in all parts of Azerbaijan.21 The new Azerbaijani state was still unstable and inadequately equipped with the resources to cope with this humanitarian catastrophe. State measures remained insufficient. In this situation both the Azerbaijani government and the population welcomed Iranian support. Iran had a strong interest in good relations with its northern neighbour, which shares the same branch of Shia Islam. An interviewee reported that the arrival of learned Shiites in the country caused renewed interest after years of Soviet anti-religious policy: ‘People engaged in humanitarian aid were coming from abroad and brought us books and materials about Islam’ (interviewee cited in Wiktor-Mach 2017: 150). The impact of Iranian humanitarian aid in combination with religious materials was one factor generating the religious revival in Azerbaijan. The Iranian government organised and supervised the twin pack of support to meet the displaced people’s material and spiritual needs. However, there were fears that the subsequent revival of Iranian Shiism would destabilise the young Azerbaijani democracy by acting in favour of the Iranian political system. The Azerbaijani government’s response was an increasingly restrictive religious policy towards Iranian preachers from 1995 onwards. State involvement in religious groups offering humanitarian action is not confined to a state like Iran. US relief organisations maintain strong relationships to US governmental bodies (Nichols 1988). Moreover, the International Religious Freedom Act of 1998 incorporated religious freedom into the USA’s foreign policy. One lobbying group was comprised of evangelicals who found their international activities supported by this legislation (Bettiza 2019). In reference to possible responses to violations of the human rights listed in the act, it is mandated that the president ‘shall seek to minimize any adverse impact on […] the humanitarian activities of United States and foreign nongovernmental organizations’.22 In the same vein, the creation of a Special Advisor for Religious Minorities in the Near East and South Central Asia through the Near East and South Central Asia 21 The numbers are, of course, contested. I refer to De Waal 2010: 123. A smaller number of refugees from Azerbaijan also arrived in Armenia. The focus on Azerbaijani refugees is a decision taken by the chapter’s author for the purpose of clarity in this example only; it should not be understood as a political statement in this complex conflict. 22 Public Law 105-292 – Oct. 27, 1998, sec. 401. ‘Religious organisations’ are explicitly mentioned in the ‘duty to consult with’ in sec. 403.

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Religious Freedom Act of 2014 facilitated the support of minorities and missionary groups of American origin.

The overall religious situation: The religious field Few authors take into account the effects of forced migration on the religious field.23 The most common expectation is that the settlement of displaced persons increases religious pluralism and changes the religious landscape (Frederiks 2016). Studies on demographic change through forced displacement are rare and politically sensitive. The majority of the literature examines political governance and societal reactions, focusing on the displaced persons’ integration or non-integration to their host societies. This chapter argues for the addition of another aspect here: the change of the religious field through humanitarian groups. Most important in this respect are humanitarian groups that take up long-term residence in the region rather than only bringing short-term help. The following two examples reveal different ways in which the religious field could be affected. The Iranian missionaries’ implicit political message in Azerbaijan and the political response have been introduced above. However, the Iranian humanitarian mission had a structural impact on the religious field in Azerbaijan, too. The missionaries brought Iranian Twelver Shia Islam as an intellectually well-informed and distinctive kind of religiosity. It is worth looking more closely at the specific style of religiosity rather than just focusing on the common Shia Islam of Iran and Azerbaijan. Iranian Shiism was different from the very secularised and unelaborated (often called ‘uneducated’) religiosity prevalent in Azerbaijan. This change in the religious field was a form of awakening. Restrictive Azerbaijani religious policy prevented a dramatic change of the religious field and, thus, the expected change to the political system. This policy could not, however, prevent an ongoing impact on the religious field. Together with other new and renewed forms of religiosity (e.g. Turkish Sunnism, Sufism, Salafism), the entire religious field was stimulated by competition between the different styles of religiosity (Jödicke 2017). A further example illustrates a different kind of change in the religious field. In Armenia, after the 1988 earthquake, several US-based religious 23 I use this term with reference to Pierre Bourdieu in order to emphasise that religious meaning is the arena of access to symbolic capital and power. Competition or alinements are strategies of religious groups to position themselves in this competitive field.

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groups, mostly Pentecostal groups, World Vision and many others, entered the country, supplying humanitarian aid to thousands of homeless people. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, commonly called Mormons, settled down in the country with a long-term perspective. They started preaching and built churches and other institutions (Burchardt and Hovhannisyan 2016: 10). In 2006, Armenian President Robert Kocharyan’s meeting with the primary Mormon donor, Jon M. Huntsman Sr., caused a scandal. Kocharyan had allowed Huntsman (and the Huntsman Foundation) to establish a healthcare centre in Armenia; a step which was viewed by the Armenian Ethnic Minorities and Religious Issues Department and parts of the public as problematic religious activity by an American church.24 The Mormons’ homepage is still positive about their engagement in Armenia. After a detailed description of their humanitarian engagement, it reports the baptism of the first two Armenians, concluding that by 2003 ‘there were 1,537 members’.25 With a total membership of 3,560 in 2020 (according to the homepage and with a small discrepancy from the official census), the general aim to use humanitarian action as a door-opener for establishing a community in the country is obvious. Change and tensions in the religious field can have enormous effects on stability in a country. The construction of homogeneity and the governance of plurality are strongly relevant political phenomena. The mere potential to change a significant part of the population serves as a strong argument in political debates, although the real impact of humanitarian groups on the religious field is hard to estimate. In history, dramatic social change through individual conversion is very rare. Nevertheless, the contribution to religious plurality when smaller groups settle in a country remains significant. In each of the examples above, the ensuing religious plurality had a different character: Iranian Shiites brought a much more elaborated, reflective and intense religiosity to Azerbaijan, thereby stimulating a religious revival. Mormons brought a completely different branch of Christianity to Armenia, establishing a new minority. The difference or similarity is primarily a social or political interpretation. Mormons write on their homepage: ‘This [Armenia] is a Christian nation. […] The spirit of Christianity has been in Armenia a long time’ (ibid.). At the same time, Armenian religious policy categorises Mormons as one of the ‘non-traditional’ religious groups. 24 https://archive.168.am/en/articles/3033 (accessed 7 April 2020). 25 https://newsroom.churchofjesuschrist.org/facts-and-statistics/country/armenia (accessed 21 January 2020).

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Freedom of religion and proselytism A short note on the human rights perspective in religiously aff iliated humanitarian action concludes this overview of the different research perspectives on religion and forced displacement. According to Article 18 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, the ‘right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion’ covers the right ‘to manifest his religion or belief in teaching, practice, worship and observance’ privately or publicly. This issue relates to all the aspects of religious humanitarian aid discussed above. First, displaced persons can reference human rights when seeking support, although often without the possibility of bringing their claims before a court. Second, states can refer to religious freedom in their policies towards religious humanitarian action: either through restriction or support. Third, human rights legal frameworks stimulate competition within the religious field because of the esteem they attribute to religious pluralism. Finally, religious actors can refer to religious freedom when both supplying humanitarian aid and disseminating their beliefs through proselytism.26 This last aspect deserves closer examination. At the heart of the problem is the issue of intertwining humanitarian action and proselytism. The political dimensions are so far-reaching that many religious organisations – mostly those integrated into international discourses – promote non-proselytising policies in reaction to the potential suspicion that they might use humanitarian aid as a cover for proselytism. For example, Article 3 of ‘The Code of Conduct for the International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement and Non-Governmental Organisations (NGOs) in Disaster Relief’ from 1994 says: ‘Aid will not be used to further a particular political or religious standpoint’.27 The staff’s individual beliefs are free, but they must not connect the humanitarian action to any kind of religious (or political) condition. This code reflects the ethical standards of one of the biggest humanitarian institutions in the world. Many international humanitarian organisations have accepted their code – others have not. 26 Some academic authors prefer to avoid the term ‘proselytism’ as being pejorative. Moreover, some religious groups try to distinguish between problematic forms of dissemination (‘proselytism’) and acceptable forms: ‘mission’ or ‘evangelisation’. Nevertheless, I stick to a neutral definition of proselytism as ‘propagation of one’s religion with the intent to convert others’ (Hackett 2008). 27 International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies and the ICRC (1994), ‘The Code of Conduct for the International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement and NonGovernmental Organisations (NGOs) in Disaster Relief’, https://www.icrc.org/en/doc/resources/ documents/publication/p1067.htm (accessed 3 April 2020).

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The human rights perspective itself is subject to historical change, which is crucial to the complex relationship between religion, humanitarian action and proselytism. All common interpretations agree that mission and proselytism are part of the freedom of religion in the founding agreements of human rights, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948) and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (1966, in force since 1976). Interestingly, humanitarian action and charity work were not mentioned in these founding agreements. A major step in discussions of religious freedom between 1948 and 1966 was the Study of Discrimination in the Matter of Religious Rights and Practices, a report commissioned by the Sub-Commission on the Prevention of Discrimination and Protection of Minorities, and presented by Arcot Krishnaswami in 1960 (Kippenberg 2019). This report focused on the various ways in which states can acceptably restrict religious freedom. Krishnaswami identifies proselytism in connection with humanitarian action as one problematic situation in which states can restrict proselytism, and thus, the freedom of religion (Krishnaswami 1960: 27). Like children, recipients of humanitarian aid are considered vulnerable people who might be more accessible to religious influence. Nevertheless, Krishnaswami expects that an improper combination of humanitarian action and proselytism only occurs in a small minority of cases. However, the consequences for the final report were important: humanitarian action was not part of the study, which claimed to cover all the different aspects of religious freedom. Consequently, humanitarian action was not mentioned in the 1966 covenant. Discussions around human rights changed significantly between 1966 and the United Nations’ Declaration on the Elimination of All Forms of Intolerance and of Discrimination Based on Religion or Belief in 1981. Article 6 of this declaration lists the ‘freedoms’ included in the ‘Right to Freedom of Thought, Conscience, Religion or Belief’. Among nine items, the second one is the right to ‘establish and maintain appropriate charitable or humanitarian institutions’. Between 1981 and today, some declarations along the same lines have followed. This fundamental change can be explained by the more powerful position of religious actors in the 1980s and the inclusion of human rights into US foreign policy backed by political evangelicalism, as mentioned above. Consequently, the humanitarian activity of religiously framed groups has been under special observation by governments. Restrictions because of proselytism or foreign influence were counterbalanced by international complaints about these restrictions. It is impossible to generalise which of them was a reaction to the other. A brilliant analysis from Mathijs Pelkmans

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uncovered how some religious groups use their status as non-governmental organisations (NGOs) to promote ‘transparency’ in the humanitarian arena in order to veil their missionary aims (Pelkmans 2009). Many states in Eastern Europe make use of the right to restrict religious freedom. Armenia, Greece and Russia, for example, prohibit proselytism by legislation. With reference to security issues, foreign influence and public order, these restrictions target humanitarian groups among others. In recent years, the situation for NGOs in Eastern Europe has become much more difficult, particularly in Azerbaijan, Belarus, Hungary, Poland and Russia (Kapronczay 2017). In sum, the incorporation of humanitarian action into human rights after 1981 has fostered the geopolitical framing of human rights rather than simply proposing universalist protection. The new acknowledgment of humanitarian action as part of freedom of religion had a dialectical outcome: this contribution to society is better protected but more strictly observed and more often restricted – with both religious groups and states giving an unclear definition of what constitutes misuse of religious freedom.

Conclusion Humanitarian action might be evident when we see humans in distress face to face, yet it is nonetheless a complex topic of analysis, particularly in relation to religion. This chapter has mapped different fields of inquiry from the perspective of the study of religion. What does the academic study of religion add to the range of approaches and fields of research? One finding from this overview is that there is no universal feature common to all forms of religiously framed humanitarian action. Although the discrepancy between strongly proselytising and mainly humanitarian-oriented movements or groups can be striking in some cases, the categories of ‘religious’ and ‘non-religious’ humanitarian action are indistinct and ultimately delusive. Religiously framed humanitarian action is not necessarily sectarian, ideological or instrumentalised for religious objectives as a critical evaluation of religious activities might suggest. If we only focus on ‘the religious’, on proselytism and on these groups’ difference from secular groups, we run the risk of including our own projections into the term ‘religious’ (Fountain 2015). In contrast, if we exclude the religious element and focus on the purely secular nature of the humanitarian action, we will again miss something. We would miss religion as a social and political subject of research, rather than something mystical. In both approaches, it is the misleading concept of the secular/ religious divide that creates misunderstanding (Lynch and Schwarz 2016).

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Rather than developing the essentialist character of ‘the religious’, the contemporary study of religion deconstructs the social and political conditions of religion. Religiously framed humanitarian action is not, in principle, different from secular humanitarian action. Using categories from social sciences, Stephen M. Cherry, among others, suggests the following criteria for research on religious service movements: origins and history within a specific country and within the religious tradition, goals and religious roots thereof, civic engagement and social outreach, and organisational and financial structure (Cherry 2014: 17-21). The study of religion can add specific questions, such as changes in religiosity and effects on the religious field, which has to be characterised in more detail than by generalising terms like ‘Islam’ or ‘Shiism’. A concluding point enquires how research on humanitarian action could contribute to the study of religion. Humanitarian action is not a popular field of research in this discipline. Nevertheless, humanitarian action could be a stronger marker for religiosity of people, groups and institutions than religious beliefs or rituals. The examples analysed in this chapter demonstrate how humanitarian action frames religious beliefs, organisations and the religious field. Thus, humanitarian action is just one more area of research in which we can understand the construction of ‘religion’ through its social and political manifestations rather than from its rituals, myths, beliefs or feelings.

References Ager, A., and J. Ager (2016). ‘Religion, Forced Migration, and Humanitarian Response’. In J. B. Saunders, E. Fiddian-Qasmiyeh, and S. Snyder (eds), Intersections of Religion and Migration: Issues at the Global Crossroads. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 285-310. Akcapar, S. K. (2019). ‘Religious Conversions in Forced Migration: Comparative Cases of Afghans in India and Iranians in Turkey’. Journal of Eurasian Studies 10(1), pp. 61-74. DOI: 10.1177/1879366518814666. Beckford, J. A. (ed.) (2015). Migration and Religion, 2 vols. Cheltenham: Elgar. Berger, J. (2003). ‘Religious Nongovernmental Organizations: An Exploratory Analysis’. VOLUNTAS: International Journal of Voluntary and Nonprofit Organizations 14(1), pp. 15-39. DOI: 10.1023/A:1022988804887. Bettiza, G. (2019). Finding Faith in Foreign Policy: Religion and American Diplomacy in a Postsecular World. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Buckley, C. J., and B. A. Ruble (eds) (2008). Migration, Homeland, and Belonging in Eurasia. Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center Press.

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Lehmann, K. (2016). Religious NGOs in International Relations: The Construction of ‘the Religious’ and ‘the Secular’. Abingdon: Routledge. Lehmann, K. (2019). ‘Religiously Affiliated NGOs’. In T. R. Davies (ed.), Routledge Handbook of NGOs and International Relations. Abingdon: Routledge, pp. 397-412. Leustean, L. N. (2019). ‘Introduction: Eastern Orthodoxy, Forced Migration and Human Security: Concepts and Policy Perspectives’. In L. N. Leustean (ed.), Forced Migration and Human Security in the Eastern Orthodox World. London: Routledge, pp. 1-22. Leustean, L. N. (2021). ‘When States Fail: The Politics of Orthodox Churches, Forced Displacement and Humanitarian Structures in Serbia and Ukraine’. Journal of Refugee Studies 34(2-3), pp. 1923-1945. DOI: 10.1093/jrs/feaa005. Lynch, C., and T. B. Schwarz (2016). ‘Humanitarianism’s Proselytism Problem’. International Studies Quarterly 60(4), pp. 636-646. DOI: 10.1093/isq/sqw024. Marshall, K. (2013). ‘Revisiting the Religious Revival in Development: A Critique of Philip Fountain’. In G. Carbonnier (ed.), International Development Policy: Religion and Development. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 31-40. DOI: 10.1057/9781137329387_3. Marshall, K. (2018). ‘Religion, Politics, and Economic Development: Synergies and Disconnects’. In C. Lancaster, and N. van de Walle (eds), The Oxford Handbook of the Politics of Development. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 123-139. DOI: 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199845156.013.3. Mavelli, L., and E. K. Wilson (eds) (2016). The Refugee Crisis and Religion: Secularism, Security and Hospitality in Question. London: Rowman & Littlefield International. Mayer, J.-F. (2008). ‘Conflicts over Proselytism: An Overview and Comparative Perspective’. In R. I. J. Hackett (ed.), Proselytization Revisited: Rights Talk Free Markets and Culture Wars. London: Equinox, pp. 35-52. Monsutti, A., and B. Balci (2014). ‘Forced Migration in Broader Central Asia’. In E. Fiddian-Qasmiyeh, G. Loescher, K. Long, and N. Sigona (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Refugee and Forced Migration Studies. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 599-612. Naidu, M. (2016). ‘Displaced Sense: Displacement, Religion and Sense-making’. Journal for the Study of Religion 29(1), pp. 104-126. Nemeth, R. J., and D. A. Luidens (2003). ‘The Religious Basis of Charitable Giving in America: A Social Capital Perspective’. In C. E. Smidt (ed.), Religion as Social Capital: Producing the Common Good. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, pp. 107-120. Nichols, J. B. (1988). The Uneasy Alliance: Religion, Refugee Work, and US Foreign Policy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Papouras, P. (2016). ‘Faith through Deeds: Case Studies of a Faith-Based Humanitarian Organization’. The Review of Faith and International Affairs 14(1), pp. 51-57. DOI: 10.1080/15570274.2016.1145477.

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Pelkmans, M. (2009). ‘The “Transparency” of Christian Proselytizing in Kyrgyzstan’. Anthropological Quarterly 82(2), pp. 423-445. DOI: 10.1353/anq.0.0058. Petersen, M. J. (2010). ‘International Religious NGOs at the United Nations: A Study of a Group of Religious Organizations’. The Journal of Humanitarian Assistance, pp. 1-16. http://sites.tufts.edu/jha/archives/84714 (accessed 1 April 2020). Prodromou, E. H., and N. Symeonides (2016). ‘Orthodox Christianity and Humanitarianism: An Introduction to Thought and Practice, Past and Present’. The Review of Faith and International Affairs 14(1), pp. 1-8. DOI: 10.1080/15570274.2016.1145479. Saunders, J. B., E. Fiddian-Qasmiyeh and S. Snyder (2016). ‘Introduction: Articulating Intersections at the Global Crossroads of Religion and Migration’. In J. B. Saunders, E. Fiddian-Qasmiyeh, and S. Snyder (eds), Intersections of Religion and Migration: Issues at the Global Crossroads. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 1-45. Sider, R. J., and H. R. Unruh (2004). ‘Typology of Religious Characteristics of Social Service and Educational Organizations and Programs’. Nonprofit and Voluntary Sector Quarterly 33(1), pp. 109-134. DOI: 10.1177/0899764003257494. Strielkowski, W., Y. Bilan and O. Demkiv (2016). ‘Religion and International Migration: A Case Study of Ukraine’. Religions 7(6). DOI: 10.3390/rel7060064. Temoney, K. (2017). ‘Religion and Genocide Nexuses: Bosnia as Case Study’. Religions 8(6), pp. 112-120. DOI: 10.3390/rel8060112. Thaut, L. C. (2009). ‘The Role of Faith in Christian Faith-Based Humanitarian Agencies: Constructing the Taxonomy’. VOLUNTAS: International Journal of Voluntary and Nonprofit Organizations 20(4), pp. 319-350. DOI: 10.1007/s11266-009-9098-8. UNHCR (2016). Yearbook. United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. https:// www.unhcr.org/statistics/country/5a8ee0387/unhcr-statistical-yearbook2016-16th-edition.html (accessed 8 March 2020). Wiktor-Mach, D. (2017). Religious Revival and Secularism in Post-Soviet Azerbaijan. Berlin: de Gruyter. Yelensky, V. (2019). ‘Orthodox Churches, Nation-Building and Forced Migration in Ukraine’. In L. N. Leustean (ed.), Forced Migration and Human Security in the Eastern Orthodox World. London: Routledge, pp. 25-65.

About the author Ansgar Jödicke holds a PhD in the Study of Religion from the University of Zurich and is a Senior Lecturer in the Department of Social Sciences at the University of Fribourg, Switzerland. His area of research is religion and politics, with a regional focus on the South Caucasus. He is the editor of Religion and Soft Power in the South Caucasus (Routledge, 2017).

3

Religion and Forced Displacement in Modern Bulgaria Daniela Kalkandjieva

Abstract The modern Bulgarian state has encountered a series of forced displacement acts, as either the receiving state or the state of origin. As a rule, they were triggered by outbursts of nationalism, military campaigns, border changes and population exchanges. Meanwhile, the role of religion was not constant: a key factor in the pre-communist acts of forced migration, religion was suppressed under communism (1944-1989). The collapse of this regime returned religion in the public arena, and the recent refugee crisis revealed the renewed potential of religious authorities to influence the attitudes of Bulgarians towards the newcomers. Keywords: forced displacement, refugees, religion, ethno-religious minorities, interreligious relations, Bulgaria

Introduction The modern Bulgarian state emerged onto the map of Europe in 1878. Since then, it has experienced a series of forced displacement acts, as either the receiving state or the state of origin. According to some estimates, during the first seven decades of its existence, Bulgaria witnessed the arrival of about 806,000 refugees and the exodus of another 954,000 people (Mintchev 1999: 125). Most of these migrants were victims of forced displacements provoked by military campaigns, border changes, and population exchanges. After the Second World War, however, the waves of out-migration lost their previous intensity due to changes in the domestic and international political situation. On the one hand, the communist regime established in Bulgaria radically reduced movement across state borders. On the other hand, the inclusion

Hudson, Victoria, and Lucian N. Leustean (eds), Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463727556_ch03

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of the country into the Soviet orbit of influence and the descent of the Iron Curtain impeded migration between the two rival parts of the Cold War world. Until recently, Bulgarian scholars showed no particular interest in the religious aspects of forced displacement. During the communist regime, this approach was additionally nurtured by the dominance of militant atheism in the social sciences. Although the collapse of the ideology of militant atheism triggered a growing interest in faith-related issues, the relationship between religion and migration remained beyond the scope of researchers’ scholarly interest. The situation changed in 2015 when the influx of thousands of refugees to Bulgaria provoked intense public debates centred on the migrants’ religious identity. The journalists, scholars and politicians participating in this discussion gave, however, almost no credit to theological arguments. Even the Holy Synod of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church (BOC), representing the majority faith in the country, did not refer to the holy scriptures in its statements on the refugee crisis (see Kalkandjieva 2019a; see also Holy Synod of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church 2015). In parallel, Bulgarian society approached the religious identity of migrants through the prism of historical accounts about the oppression experienced by the nation’s ancestors at the hands of the Ottomans between the fourteenth and nineteenth centuries. Furthermore, living in a globalised world, Bulgarian citizens have also been influenced by images and notions stirred by the 9/11 attacks in the United States and the more recent Islamist terrorist acts in Europe. Approaching the topic from this broader perspective, the present chapter attempts to outline the involvement of religion in acts of forced displacement that have been undergone or initiated by the modern Bulgarian state since its creation. In this regard, it distinguishes three main periods determined by the mode of government: 1878-1945 (monarchical nation-state); 1946-1989 (communist regime); and the post-1989 democracy. Furthermore, it pays special attention to the first period, analysis of which creates grounds for two types of comparison: between the pre-communist and communist patterns, on the one hand, and between the pre-communist and the post-communist ones, on the other. In this way, the chapter reveals not only the different roles played by religion in forced displacement acts associated with Bulgaria but also the patterns of continuity.

Religion, ethnicity and population The modern Bulgarian state was created as a tributary principality of the Ottoman Empire, with its population of 2,000,000 inhabiting a territory

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of 64,000 square kilometres between the Danube River and the Balkan Mountain range. In 1885, the Principality of Bulgaria united with Eastern Rumelia; an Ottoman autonomous province where the majority of the population was also Bulgarian. This act expanded the territory of Bulgaria to 95,704.5 square kilometres and increased its population to 3,154,375. Later, the Balkan Wars (1912-1913), the First World War (1914-1918), the Treaty of Craiova (1940) and the Paris Peace Treaty (1947) caused new modifications to the state borders. Today, Bulgaria has a territory of 110,371.9 square kilometres and is inhabited by a population of 7,000,000. These territorial changes were not the only variable determining the dynamics of Bulgaria’s religious and ethnic demography. No less important were the processes of external migration caused by military campaigns, population-exchange agreements, and the minority policies of the national governments as well as those of neighbouring states towards the Bulgarian minorities there. They are subject of more detailed analysis in the next part of this chapter. Meanwhile, the impact of all these factors on the ethnic and religious demography of modern Bulgaria can be traced in Tables 3.1 and 3.2. The interpretation of the numbers presented, however, needs to take into account the specific methodologies used in the data gathering. Initially, citizens were obliged to declare only their religious identity and mother tongue. The criterion of ethnicity was introduced during the 1905 census. In its turn, the communist regime excluded information about religion from the census questionnaires, while its fall brought it back. During the 1992 census, Bulgarian citizens were obliged to register their religious affiliation. According to the new instructions, religion was defined as ‘a historically determined belonging of a citizen or that of his/her parents and ancestors to a given group with a specific religious worldview’ (Struktura 2001). In 2001, the census methodology was harmonised with EU legislation. As a result, Bulgarian citizens are no longer obliged to state their religion, ethnicity, or mother tongue. Due to the insufficient publicity given to this development, however, Bulgarian citizens only really took advantage of the right not to provide this information in 2011, when, for instance, 21.8% of respondents declined to answer the questions concerning religion in the census questionnaire. Nevertheless, Bulgarians were much more open to declaring their ethnicity and mother tongue, with less than 10% omitting the corresponding sections of the questionnaire (Arkadiev 2014). The two tables presented below trace the changes in the ethnic and religious demography of the Bulgarian population since the 1885 unification of the Principality of Bulgaria with Eastern Rumelia (see Annuaire 1910; Annuaire 1925; Annuaire 1930; Rezultati 1970; Struktura 2002; Census 2011).

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Table 3.1 Ethnic demography in Bulgaria, 1887-2011 Ethnicity

18871

Bulgarian

2,326,250 73.6% Turkish 607,331 19.3% Roma 50,291 1.59% Jewish 23,541 0.8% Armenian No data

Greek Romanian Russian

TOTAL

58,326 1.9% No data 1,065

3,154,375

1905

1926

1946

1992

2001

20112

3,184,437 78.9% 488,010 12.1% 99,004 2.5% 37,663 0.9% 14,178 0.4% 67,214 1.7% 75,773 1.8% 3,239 0.1%

4,557,706 83.2% 557,552 10.5% 134,844 2.5% 46,558 0.8% 27,332 0.5% 10,564 0.2% 69,080 1.2% 19,706 0.4%

6,073,124 86.4% 675,500 9.6% 170,011 2.4% 44,209 0.6% 21,637 0.3% 3,623

7,271,185 85.7% 800,052 9.4% 313,396 3.7% 3,296

6,655,210 83.9% 746,664 9.4% 370,908 4.7% 1,363

5,664,624 76.9% 588,624 7.9% 325,343 4.4% 1,162 6,552

No data

10,832 0.1% 3,408

2,459

No data

1,088

891

13,200 0.2%

No data

15,595 0.2%

9,978 0.1%

4,035,575

5,483,125

7,029,349

8,487,317

7,928,901

7,364,570

13,417

1,379

Religion-state relations The role of religion in acts of forced displacement has varied throughout the history of modern Bulgaria. An essential factor in social life after the Liberation of 1878 but suppressed under communism (1944-1989), religion has been gradually regaining its positions in society since the fall of the former atheist rule. Furthermore, the status of local religious traditions and their institutions changed over time under the various political regimes. If pre-communist legislation distinguished explicitly between the majority and minority faiths by granting the status of ‘dominant religion’ to Eastern Orthodoxy (1879 Constitution, Article 37), post-communist lawmaking has adopted a different approach. It expresses respect for religious freedoms (1991 Constitution, Articles 13.1 and 37) (see Constitution 1991) while considering Eastern Orthodoxy as ‘the traditional religion’ of Bulgaria (Article 13.3) 1 The 1887 Census contains information only about the mother tongue of the subjects of the Principality of Bulgaria. 2 The 2011 Census contains information only about those Bulgarian citizens who had registered their ethnicity.

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Table 3.2  Religious demography in Bulgaria, 1887-2011 Religion Orthodox Muslim Jewish Catholic Protestant Armenian Apostolic Church TOTAL

1887

1905

1926

2,424,371 3,344,790 4,568,773 76.9% 82.9% 83.4% 676,215 603,867 789,269 21.4% 15.0% 14.4% 24,352 37,656 46,431 0.8% 0.9% 0.8% 18,505 29,084 40,347 0.6% 0.7% 0.7% 1,358 5,644 6,735 0.04% 0.1% 0.1% 5,839 12,622 25,402 0.2%

0.3%

0.5%

3,154,375

4,035,575

5,478,741

2001

20113

5,967,992 7,274,592 84.9% 85.7% 938,418 1,110,295 13.3% 13.1% 43,335 2,580 0.6% 53,074 No data 0.6% 21,878 No data 0.3% 9,672 No data

6,552,751 82.6% 966,978 12.2% 653

4,374,135 59.4% 577,139 7.0% 706

43,811 0.6% 42,308 0.1% 6,500

48,945 0.7% 64,476 0.9% 1,715

0.1%

0.1%

8,487,317

7,928,901

1946

7,029,349

1992

7,364,570

(Kalkandjieva 2019b). According to the Constitutional Court’s Judgement no. 2 of 18 February 1998, ‘the traditional character of Eastern Orthodox Christianity expresses its cultural and historical role and meaning for the Bulgarian State and its current meaning for the civil life, mostly in the system of civic holidays (all Sundays, New Year, Passover, Christmas)’ (Court 1998). In 2002, however, the newly adopted Religious Denominations Act went beyond this definition. It approached this particular religious tradition as a statesustaining factor that has played ‘a historical role in Bulgaria’s statehood and has current meaning in its political life’ (Article 10.1) (Denominations 2002). From this perspective, the evolution in the legal definitions of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church deserves special attention. Under the first Bulgarian Constitution (1879-1947), the BOC’s holy synod exercised exceptional authority not only within its community of believers but also generally with regard to the religious affairs of the Bulgarian Kingdom (Article 39) (Constitution 1879). Although the communist rulers introduced the Leninist model of the separation of the church from the state (1947 Constitution, Article 78.2; 1971 Constitution, Article 53.2) (see Constitution 1947; see also Constitution 1971), they preserved respect to the local Orthodox church as a body linked with the history and traditional faith of the Bulgarian people (1949 Law on Religious Denominations, Article 3) (Denominations 1949). This vision has undergone further development since 3 The 2011 Census contains information only about those Bulgarian citizens who registered their religious identity.

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the fall of communism. In 2002, the Religious Denominations Act explicitly underlined ‘the special and traditional role of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church in the history of Bulgaria to establish and develop its spirituality and culture’ in its preamble (Denominations 2002). Moreover, the BOC was granted ex lege the status of a legal entity (Article 10.2), while religious minorities can obtain this status only via court registration (Articles 14-20). Furthermore, post-communist legislation has not only enhanced the BOC’s image as the guardian of the Bulgarian people throughout the centuries but secured the restitution of its property confiscated by the former totalitarian regime. As a result, this religious institution became the biggest landlord in the country after the state. All this allows Orthodox hierarchs to exert influence on public opinion on various social issues. This new capacity became evident during the recent refugee crisis when the call of the BOC’s holy synod to stop the inflow of migrants as dangerous to Bulgaria’s national identity and state sovereignty found broad social support. The BOC also has arisen as an essential factor in shaping people’s attitudes in relation to national legislation on family affairs, and the church played a substantial role in blocking the ratification of the Istanbul Convention on preventing and combating violence against women and domestic violence by the National Assembly of Bulgaria (Kalkandjieva 2019b: 68-92).

Religion and forced displacement Main refugee streams An analysis of the relationship between religion and forced displacement would be incomplete without taking into account the notion of the Bulgarian nation as a church-centred ethnically homogenous community. This idea took shape in the course of the nineteenth-century struggles of Orthodox Bulgarians for ecclesiastical emancipation from the Patriarchate of Constantinople. It was further enhanced by the sultan’s decree of 1870 which established a separate Orthodox Church under the name ‘Bulgarian Exarchate’. Within the Ottoman millet system, however, this body was in charge not only of the religious affairs of its members but also of municipal and educational matters. In this way, by becoming a centre of national consolidation, this ecclesiastical institution has inspired a notion of the Bulgarian nation as an ethno-religious community. In the long-term perspective, this conception has become an essential factor inspiring the respect of contemporary Bulgarians to their Orthodox Church. It is also at the heart of the BOC’s influence on their attitude towards immigrants.

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The Bulgarian Exarchate’s territorial jurisdiction has also left its imprint on the main flows of refugees. The reason is rooted in the Ottoman legal acts that recognised the jurisdiction of the Bulgarian Exarchate over specific dioceses. In the eyes of Orthodox Bulgarians, these dioceses were markers of their national domain. In the course of the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire, however, some dioceses remained outside the borders of the nascent Bulgarian state, thus becoming the primary source of national refugees; that is, ethnic Bulgarian refugees to Bulgaria. This development is typical for the Exarchate’s structures in Macedonia, which produced the biggest influx of Bulgarian asylum seekers between 1878 and 1919. Furthermore, the establishment of the Bulgarian nation-state on former Ottoman territories provoked a constant flow of Muslim emigrants who started fleeing to lands under the direct control of the Sublime Porte. This movement was provoked by dissatisfaction with their new minority status as well as by fear of persecution. In their turn, the Bulgarians, who had remained under the sultan’s rule, adopted a different approach. Initially, they did not resort to emigration but organised a series of uprisings in an attempt to provoke a revision of the Treaty of Berlin (1878). Ultimately, however, these revolts caused mass emigration to the liberated Bulgarian lands. For example, the Kresna-Razlog Uprising (1878-1879) ended with the exodus of 30,000 Bulgarians, while the Ilinden-Preobrazhenie Uprising (1903) produced a further 30,000 refugees. In this regard, the use of different methodologies by the censuses held in the Principality of Bulgaria (1881; 1887), Eastern Rumelia (January 1885) and the Ottoman Empire (1881-1893; 1897) impede the accurate counting of Muslim emigrants from Bulgaria, and Bulgarian refugees from the Ottoman lands. For example, the first census in the Principality collected data about the mother tongue, while that in Eastern Rumelia enquired about nationality (narodsnost in Bulgarian). The table below gives some idea about the Muslim emigration from the Bulgarian territories in the 1880s. Table 3.3 Dynamics of the Muslim and Turkish population in Bulgaria, 1881-18874 Censuses Muslims Turks/Turkish language

Bulgarian Principality Eastern Rumelia Unified Principality 1881 1885 1887 578,060 (28.79%) 527,284 (26.26%)

224,536 (23.03%) 200,489 (20.54%)

676,215 (21.4%) 607,331 (19.3%)

4 Table 3.3 uses data from the 1881 Census in the Principality of Bulgaria (Resultats 1884) and the 1885 Census in Eastern Rumelia (Resultats 1888).

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At the same time, following the division of the sultan’s subjects into different millets (i.e. religion-based communities), the Ottoman censuses emphasised the religious profile of the population rather than the ethnic one. Furthermore, they undercounted the numbers of children and women (Mutlu 2003: 13). On these grounds, it is difficult to ascertain the precise number of ethnic Bulgarians who had remained in the Ottoman Empire after the Treaty of Berlin (Treaty 1878). Bulgarian-speaking Muslims, also known as Pomaks, were counted as members of the Muslim Umma; the Catholics and Protestants of Bulgarian origin were associated with the corresponding Catholic and Protestant millets; while the Orthodox Bulgarians were divided between their national Exarchate and the Patriarchate of Constantinople. In this regard, there is more clarity about the adherents of the Exarchate as they were treated as a separate millet. According to the Ottoman censuses of 1881-1893 and 1897, the Exarchate had about a million believers (see Karpat 1978: 274; see also Mutlu 2003: 13). The Bulgarian church also registered similar figures. According to a report of 1885, the Exarchate collected taxes from 181,000 married couples in Macedonia and another 40,000 in Edirne Thrace (Kiril 1970: 181-182). Another source points out that in 1913, the Exarchate had a million believers in Turkey as well as 1,625 Orthodox churches with 1,310 priests, and 1,352 Bulgarian schools with 2,105 teachers (Document 1). In short, this community formed the most significant share of ethnic Bulgarian ‘national’ refugees who fled to Bulgaria during the Balkan Wars (1912-1913) and the First World War (1914-1918). National refugees The time between 1878 and 1945 was the period of most intensive inmigration experienced by Bulgaria. During this time, its state authorities had to settle 698,000 national refugees who had fled from the neighbouring countries (Mintchev 1999: 125). As ethnic Bulgarians, all of them were granted Bulgarian citizenship and received significant material and moral support from the state. In its turn, the local Orthodox church took care of their spiritual needs. On some occasions, it also provided them with shelter and food at monasteries. Special attention was paid to the appointment of refugee priests in new parishes. The biggest waves of national refugees took place between 1913 and 1929. They were triggered by Bulgaria’s defeat in the Second Balkan War (JuneJuly 1913), which meant Bulgaria had to cede Southern Dobrudja to Romania, thus losing 2,687 square miles of its state territory and the population of 286,000 people (Treaty 1913). During the First World War, the government

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in Sofia attempted to restore its control over the lost areas and to gain new territories at the expense of Greece and Serbia, especially those areas that had been under the Exarchate’s jurisdiction until 1913. Therefore, it joined forces with the Central Powers but suffered a new defeat and further territorial losses. The most significant of them was the transfer of the regions of Bosilegrad, Tsaribrod (the city of Dimitrovgrad in contemporary Serbia), and Strumica (in contemporary North Macedonia) to the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenians. As a result, a population of 91,888 Bulgarians was subjected to the government in Belgrade and the Serbian Orthodox Church (Stanev 1925: 138). In parallel, the Treaty of Neuilly (1919) confirmed the control of the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenians over the so-called Vardar Macedonia. In this way, a further 617,077 Bulgarians were cut off from their kin state and the Orthodox Church. In a similar fashion, the Greek state and church authorities brought over 183,530 Bulgarians in Aegean Thrace and the eastern part of Macedonia under their control (ibid.: 138). Finally, the Turkish government forced 51,127 Bulgarians from Asia Minor and Edirne Thrace to leave their homes, thereby making space for the Turkish refugees from Macedonia and Aegean Thrace (ibid.: 147).5 According to Detelina Dineva, between 1912 and 1929 Bulgaria offered asylum to 390,000 refugees of Bulgarian ethnic origins. The Balkan Wars (1912-1913) alone caused the displacement of 120,000 Bulgarians. A further 180,000 ethnic Bulgarians fled to Bulgaria after its defeat in the First World War. The next influx of national refugees was caused by the Treaty of Lausanne (1923), when the government in Athens ousted thousands of Bulgarians from Aegean Thrace to create space for the Greek refugees from Asia Minor. In 1927, a Bulgarian-Greek agreement was signed for the exchange of 90,000 Bulgarians from Aegean Thrace for 46,000 Greeks from the Black Sea coastal area (Dineva 2019: 70-71). At the same time, in 1926, the League of Nations prepared a plan for the settlement of 221,191 Bulgarian refugees (Plan 1926). The last big refugee wave took place in 1940 when the Treaty of Craiova returned Southern Dobrudja to Bulgaria. It was used by the Bulgarian and the Romanian governments to reduce the respective minorities in their territories: about 65,000 Bulgarians left Northern Dobrudja and settled in the Southern Dobrudja, while 50,000 Romanians moved in the opposite direction (Kemilev 1941: 42; see also Mintchev 1999; Dineva 2019). During the Second World War, Bulgaria joined the Axis States and occupied the so-called Vardar Macedonia and Aegean Thrace. On 8 September 1944, 5 For the sake of clarity, it is important to note that the Turkish and Greek authors refer to Aegean Thrace as ‘Eastern Thrace’ and to Edirne Thrace as ‘Western Thrace’.

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however, the Soviet Army entered the country, thus causing a change in its political regime and a withdrawal of the Bulgarian military units from the occupied lands. In 1947, the Paris Peace Treaty fixed the territory of Bulgaria within its borders of 1 January 1941. Foreign refugees From 1878 to 1945, Bulgaria also had to deal with tens of thousands of foreign refugees, mostly Armenians and Russians. Bulgarian society met both groups with empathy. The Armenians shared a similar destiny with Bulgarians and used to collaborate in the common struggle against Ottoman rule. The Russians had escaped from a godless regime that had destroyed the Orthodox polity esteemed as the liberator of Bulgaria. The mass migration of Armenians was provoked by a series of massacres initiated by the Ottoman authorities between the mid-1890s and the early 1920s. The first refugees arrived in Bulgaria after the pogroms organised by the Ottoman Sultan Abdul Hamid II (1876-1909) to clear space for Muslims fleeing from the newly established Balkan Orthodox nation-states. Meanwhile, the 1915 Armenian Genocide had little effect on the country because most survivors sought asylum in the Middle Eastern countries. Thus, the next significant influx of Armenian asylum seekers arrived in Bulgaria in 1922. Although many of them continued to the West, those who remained increased the local Armenian community from 5,000 in the mid-1880s to 47,000 in 1922 (Kirkorjan 2001: 414). In contrast to the first cohort of immigrants, who had obtained Bulgarian citizenship, the Armenians who arrived in the 1920s received Nansen passports in accord with an international agreement reached by the League of Nations in 1922. According to the Bulgarian Nansen Office, 25,963 Armenians who lived in the country in 1937 had such passports (Document 2). At the same time, their children, born in the country, were automatically awarded Bulgarian citizenship. If they wished, they were able to decline it upon attaining legal majority. In their turn, the first Russians who had settled in Bulgaria after its liberation retained their Russian citizenship. Until the Bolshevik revolution, their number was insignificant. Between 1919 and 1923, however, about 35,000 subjects of the former Russian Empire arrived in Bulgaria (Kyoseva 2001: 52). According to the local Nansen Office, in 1937 18,304 former Russian subjects held Nansen passports (Document 2). Most of them were ethnic Russians, but there were also many Ukrainians and representatives of other nationalities.

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As in the case of the national refugees, the Bulgarian state and BOC divided their labour to meet the needs of the foreign incomers. However, the diverse profile of the Armenian and Russian refugees required different policies. The Armenians had emigrated with their families, and often with their neighbours and priests. Thus, they were able to establish self-reliant parish-based communities. Their members additionally benefited from the financial support of Armenian diaspora organisations and the Armenian Apostolic Church. They were also skilled craftsmen, who easily found a place in the domestic economy. The Russians presented a different case: two-thirds of them were former military personnel who lacked the skills necessary for integration in a predominantly agrarian society. Therefore, their survival was made possible thanks to annual subsidies secured by the Bulgarian state. Money was transferred to such organisations as the Russian Red Cross and the Union of Russian Military Veterans, which in turn distributed this aid among their members in the form of free soup kitchens, medical and educational services, accommodation, etc. Having been defeated in the First World War, however, Bulgaria was not able to provide the necessary financial support to the hundreds of thousands of refugees who had arrived. Thus, like Armenians, many Russians continued westwards to settle in the wealthier European states. In its turn, the Bulgarian Orthodox Church provided moral and material support to both groups of foreign refugees, even though the Armenians belonged to a different branch of Eastern Christianity. At the same time, due to its schismatic status,6 the BOC was not able to offer pastoral care to Russian co-believers. For this reason, it allowed them to establish a parallel network of parishes under the jurisdiction of the Russian Synod Abroad, which had been set up in interwar Yugoslavia. Additionally, the BOC provided them with the churches and monasteries necessary for their religious life. Population exchanges Another type of forced migration occurred as a result of the bilateral population exchange agreements which Bulgaria concluded with Turkey 6 In 1872, a pan-Orthodox Church council convoked by the Patriarchate of Constantinople declared a schism over the Bulgarian Exarchate. As a result, its episcopate and clergy were not permitted to perform joint liturgies with the representatives of the canonical Orthodox churches or to offer sacraments to their members. The schism was abolished in 1945.

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Table 3.4  Major immigration waves in Bulgaria, 1878-19457 Events

Refugee waves

Bulgarian refugees

Kresna and Razlog Uprising Hamidian Massacres of Armenians Ilinden-Preobrazhenie Uprising Balkan Wars First World War Armenian Genocide Russian refugees

1878-1879 1894-1896 1903 1912-1913 1914-1918 1920-1922 1920-1923

30,000

Armenian refugees

Russian refugees

20,000 30,000 120,000 180,000 25,000 35,000

(1913), Greece (1919, 1927) and Romania (1940). They were facilitated by the reciprocal presence of Turkish, Greek and Romanian minorities in Bulgaria, and of minorities of the corresponding countries in Bulgaria. As a result, the ethnic and religious profile of the displaced persons had a twofold effect: it facilitated their integration in the host state and increased the ethno-religious homogeneity of its population. In the case of the Orthodox displaced persons (DPs), this exchange also allowed them to leave the jurisdiction of an ‘alien’ Orthodox Church and join the national one, where they were able to attend liturgy in a familiar language. A no less noteworthy feature of this type of displacement is the tendency of the DPs to settle in the areas adjacent to the state border that was closest to their previous homes. Table 3.5  Population exchange and forced resettlement in Bulgaria, 1913-19408 Treaty of Constantinople (1913) Displaced Bulgarians from Turkey 47,000

Displaced Turks from Bulgaria 49,000

Bulgarian-Greek Convention (1919) and Mollov-Kafandaris Agreement (1927) Displaced Bulgarians from Greece 90,000

Displaced Greeks from Bulgaria 46,000

Treaty of Craiova (1940) Displaced Bulgarians from Romania 65,000

Displaced Romanians from Bulgaria 50,000

Forced emigration The adherents of Islam were the primary victims of forced emigration from Bulgaria since its liberation. According to Bulgarian scholars, from 1878 to 1945, 7 8

Table 3.4 uses data provided in Mintchev 1999, Dineva 2019 and Kyoseva 2001. Table 3.5 uses data provided in Dineva 2019 and Stanev 1925.

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about 574,000 Muslims left the country and settled in the Ottoman Empire or, later, in Turkey (Mintchev 1999: 125). At the same time, the policy of the Bulgarian state towards this community evolved over the course of time. Until the proclamation of the full independence of the Bulgarian nation-state on 22 September 1908, the Bulgarian authorities had to observe the clauses of the Treaty of Berlin that guaranteed the rights of the local religious and ethnic minorities (Article 5). Therefore, Muslim emigration to the Ottoman territories was not provoked by acts of harsh discrimination but rather by the pursuit of higher social status. In 1909, to protect the rights of this religious minority, the Ottoman Empire concluded a new treaty with Bulgaria. The eruption of the First Balkan War (October 1912-May 1913), however, changed the situation. The new circumstances allowed the Bulgarian state to suppress the rights of the local Muslim communities, who regarded Turkey as their kin state. At the same time, it began to distinguish between the Turkish population, who belonged to a foreign nationality, and the Bulgarian-speaking Pomaks, who were considered ancestors of Orthodox Bulgarians who converted to Islam centuries ago. This shift was inspired by the victory of Bulgaria in the First Balkan War, which permitted its ruling elite to establish control over vast areas densely populated by Pomaks. Under these circumstances, the Bulgarian state permitted the local Orthodox Church to launch a campaign aiming at the mass baptism of Pomaks. As a result, between the autumn of 1912 and the spring of 1913, about 200,000 Muslims living in the regions of the present-day Bulgarian city of Gotse Delchev, the Rhodope Mountains and Aegean Thrace were converted to Orthodoxy (Eldarov 2004: 106). Finally, the Treaty of Constantinople of 16 September 1913 guaranteed the religious rights of this minority, thus allowing its mass return to Islam. In parallel, the rights of the members of the Bulgarian Exarchate in Turkey, who had also suffered persecution during the war, were guaranteed (ibid.: 116). Under these circumstances, the Bulgarian state and church authorities had to alter their policy towards Pomaks and gave preference to their integration into Bulgarian society by the means of education (see Mancheva 2001). At the same time, the Bulgarian state adopted a different approach towards the local Turkish minority. This time, it did not rely on partnership with the Orthodox Church. Instead, it took into consideration the repatriation policy of Kemalist Turkey and its secular ideology (Stoyanov 1998: 82).9 On these grounds, Bulgarian politicians sought to reduce the size 9 During the interwar period, Kemalist Turkey concluded a series of negotiations for the repatriation of the Turkish minorities in Greece (1923), Bulgaria (1925), Romania (1936) and Yugoslavia (1938). In this way, it increased its population with 1,400,000 new citizens.

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of the Turkish minority via bilateral agreements with Ankara. These policy acts also aimed to interrupt some new practices of emigration. Especially harmful for Bulgaria’s interests was the custom of young single men to flee to Turkey and to obtain local passports, thus facilitating the emigration of their families. In many cases, however, the emigrants did not arrange the status of their properties prior to their departure but rather sought the assistance of the Kemalist government to do this upon their arrival to Turkey. In this way, the property issue caused additional complications in the relations between the two countries (Document 3; Document 4). In 1934, a military coup in Bulgaria brought to power an authoritarian regime, which enacted discriminatory measures against the civil rights of the Turkish minority. This step increased the rate of emigration among this group. Meanwhile, the eruption of the Second World War caused a further deterioration of the status of these people, not only in Bulgaria but also in the areas occupied by Bulgaria as an ally of Nazi Germany. Planning to retain the occupied regions of Vardar Macedonia and Aegean Thrace after the war, the Bulgarian state authorities attempted to repatriate the local Muslim population to Turkey (Document 5). In the case of Aegean Thrace, they also forced many Greeks to move to the areas under German control, thus creating space for the return of the Bulgarian refugees to their previous houses (Document 6). Finally, as an ally of Nazi Germany Bulgaria was also involved in Hitler’s ‘final solution’. In this regard, however, the Bulgarian regime distinguished between the Jews who lived within the pre-1941 Bulgarian borders, and those in the occupied lands. The former became subjects of internal forced displacement and their civil rights were also infringed upon, but their lives were saved thanks to the active opposition of many Bulgarians, including the BOC’s holy synod (see Taneva and Gezenko 2002). Unfortunately, this resistance did not prevent the deportation of 11,343 Jews from the occupied areas of Aegean Thrace, Vardar Macedonia and Eastern Serbia. Forced displacement under communism On 9 September 1944, the Bulgarian Communist Party came to power as a chief partner in a coalition of anti-fascist parties. Until the Paris Peace Treaty of 10 February 1947, however, it abstained from measures that might be seen as attempts to bring about the Sovietisation of the country. Once the international status of Bulgaria was fixed, however, the communists got rid of the local political opposition. On 4 December 1947, they introduced a new constitution that separated the church from the state (Article 78) and

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launched measures to encourage the atheisation of society (Constitution 1947). In parallel, the communist regime imposed strict control over the Bulgarian borders, which significantly limited the opportunities for external migration. These changes had a substantial impact on the process of external migration. In the first post-war years, the acts of forced displacement seemed to be closely linked with the geopolitical interests of the Kremlin. For example, in 1946 Bulgaria repatriated 4,500 Armenians to Soviet Armenia (Document 7). Two years later, the Bulgarian communist regime did not oppose the emigration of over 40,000 Jews to the newly created state of Israel (Document 8). Meanwhile, the emergence of the Cold War brought about tightened controls on the Bulgarian borders with Turkey and Greece. During the Greek Civil War (1946-1949), the Bulgarian communist government offered asylum to 7,000 Greeks from the Democratic Army of Greece (Mintchev 1999: 126). Turkish emigration from Bulgaria was also affected by the Cold War. In this particular case, however, there was a thread of continuity with the precommunist approach to the Turkish minority. Like the previous Bulgarian rulers, the communists considered the minority to be dangerous for state sovereignty. They also distinguished Turks from Pomaks. In August 1949, the Central Committee of the Politburo of the Bulgarian Communist Party forbade the repatriation of the latter because of their Bulgarian origins. As such, Pomaks had to contribute to the building of the new socialist society (Gruev 2003: 109). Meanwhile, the attempts for repatriation of the Turkish minority were not abandoned. This time, however, they were justified by ideological arguments rather than by religious or ethnic ones. During the Cold War, the Bulgarian communist regime treated the Turks as a fifth column of Western imperialism. Still, it focused its efforts on the deportation of those Turks who inhabited the region next to the border with Turkey and Greece, while being less concerned with the Turkish population in north-east Bulgaria bordering socialist Romania (ibid.: 109-110). In short, the totalitarian regime gave priority to geopolitical reasoning rather than to an ethno-religious rationale. Furthermore, the incentive of the Bulgarian Communist Party to reduce the Turkish minority evolved over time. While the first repatriation campaign in the early 1950s was dominated by Cold War rhetoric, the next one was influenced by the party’s strategy for building a ‘unified socialist nation’. Launched in 1974, it aimed to eradicate the linguistic and remaining religious differences among Bulgarian citizens. For this reason, the totalitarian state introduced a peculiar system of socialist rituals, which aimed to replace religious rites such as baptism, weddings, and funerals, as well as

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to overcome Turkish ethnocentrism (Stoyanov 1998: 148-151). Within this political context, the second wave of emigration allowed a new cohort of Bulgarian Turks to leave the country. This time it included mostly people who had been separated from their families during the previous campaign. In its turn, the last wave of Turkish emigration demonstrated a return to the nationalist arguments from the 1930s but on the grounds of a new concept. According to its authors, the Turks in Bulgaria had been torn from their compatriots by bloody violations during the times of Ottoman rule. Thus, they were defined as ‘flesh from the flesh of and blood of the blood of the Bulgarian nation’ (ibid.: 175-176). On these grounds, in the mid-1980s, the communist regime launched the so-called Revival Process. As a result, between December 1984 and February 1985, the names of 800,000 Bulgarian citizens of Turkish origin were forcefully replaced with Bulgarian ones (Gruev and Kalyonski 2008: 139). This act provoked the emigration of 320,000 Turks, which was strongly condemned by the international community (see Eminov 1997; Höpken 1997; Stoyanov 1998; Gruev and Kalyonski 2008). After the fall of communism, half of them returned to their birthplaces. Table 3.6 presents the numbers of the Muslim and Turkish emigrants from Bulgaria since 1878. Table 3.6 Major waves of Turkish minority emigration and forceful displacement in Bulgaria, 1878-198910 Time

Nationality

1878-1884 1885-1912 1913-1925 1926-1944 1950-1951 1968-1978 1989 (Summer)

Turks, Tatars, Circassians, Pomaks, Roma Turks, Tatars, Circassians, Pomaks, Roma Turks (and Pomaks) Turks Turks Turks Turks

Refugees 100,000 250,000 100,000 130,000 155,000 130,000 320,000

Religion and migration after the fall of communism The fall of communism stimulated a new type of emigration from Bulgaria. Since 1989, about 1,300,000 citizens of working age (20-59 years) have left 10 Table 3.6 uses data provided in Stoyanov 1998. In 2016, Roumen Avramov announced slightly different figures for the emigration of Turks from socialist Bulgaria: 154,393 in 1950-1951, 115,000 – between 1969 and 1978, and 309,592 – in 1989 (Avramov 2016: 713).

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Bulgaria, mostly for economic reasons (Krasteva 2019: 9). This high level of net emigration has caused a serious demographic imbalance, which has affected the age profile of the population and its labour force potential. Thus, the quality of immigrants to Bulgaria has become a burning issue. In this regard, special attention is paid to such potential resources for solving the demographic crisis as the post-1989 Bulgarian emigrants, the historical Bulgarian diaspora (especially from Ukraine, Moldova, and North Macedonia), and highly skilled third-country nationals (Strategy 2010: 12). From this perspective, the educational level of refugees is far from optimal. According to the Bulgarian State Agency for Refugees, in 2016 only 23% of migrants over the age of fourteen had secondary or higher education (Nikolova and Chernicherska 2016: 9-11). Also, they regard Bulgaria as a transit country. Until 2012, there was a low influx of migrants, and the annual number of asylum applications was below 1,000. In 2013, however, the refugee crisis caused a rapid growth in the number of asylum seekers, which reached a peak of 20,391 in 2015. Under these circumstances, Bulgaria’s responsibility as a country with an external EU border grew as well. The change had a significant impact on the local political elite, shifting its attention away from the humanitarian issues associated with migration to the security aspects of migration pressure. It also stimulated the spread of anti-immigrant rhetoric: initially used by the populists to expand their influence on society, such narratives were soon adopted by the mainstream parties as well. Meanwhile, the return of migration levels to the pre-crisis ones in the last three years has not stopped the misuse of the refugee issue for political ends (see Krasteva 2019: 16, 34-35; see also Kalkandjieva 2019a: 243). Table 3.7  Numbers of asylum seekers in Bulgaria, 1993-2019 Year: Asylum seekers 1993: 276 1994: 561 1995: 451 1996: 283 1997: 429 1998: 834 1999: 1,349 2000: 1,755 2001: 2,428 Source: Agency 2020

Year: Asylum seekers

Year: Asylum seekers

2002: 2,888 2003: 1,549 2004: 1,122 2005: 822 2006: 639 2007: 975 2008: 746 2009: 853 2010: 1,025

2011: 890 2012: 1,387 2013: 7,144 2014: 11,081 2015: 20,391 2016: 19,418 2017: 3,700 2018: 2,536 2019: 2,152

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The recent refugee crisis also pointed to the return of religion as a factor in forced displacement. As in the past, its role continues to be twofold. Sometimes, the religious factor could cause further complications. For example, the statements issued by the BOC’s holy synod and individual bishops between 2015 and 2017 played a substantial role in shaping a reserved and even hostile attitude towards refugees in Bulgarian society (Kalkandjieva 2019a: 243). Particularly influential was the ‘Special Address of the Holy Synod with Reference to the Migration Crisis’ of 2015. This statement called upon the secular authorities to close the state borders to migrants from the Middle East and North Africa as religiously alien people who could present a threat to the national identity and state sovereignty of Bulgarians (Holy Synod of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church 2015). The impact of this vision was increased by intertwining the historical memory of Bulgarians about the five-century subjection of their forefathers to the Ottoman Empire with the more recent impressions relating to acts of Islamic terrorism in Europe and other parts of the world. This document also marked a departure from the legacy of the pre-communist generation of Bulgarian Orthodox hierarchs who had embraced the principle that there was no security without morality when saving the lives of their Jewish neighbours during the Holocaust. Furthermore, in contrast to their predecessors, the present BOC’s leaders do not justify their position by references to holy scriptures but to national security and state sovereignty (Kalkandjieva 2019a: 235-244). Finally, the ‘Special Address’ expresses concerns only about ‘material solidarity’ and offers conditional aid to asylum seekers. It declares: ‘Being Orthodox Christians and an Orthodox society, we are obliged to care for the ones who have already arrived here, doing that in accordance with our scare resources but nothing beyond that’ (Holy Synod of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church 2015). At the same time, religion could contribute to the solution of the refugee crisis. The study of the same Bulgarian case reveals that the ethos of Christian hospitality has motivated individual Orthodox laypeople to oppose the ‘Special Address’. It also motivated local religious minorities to extend a helping hand to asylum seekers. Especially active was the Catholic community, whose priests, believers, and religion-based structures, such as Caritas, played an active part in alleviating the suffering of refugees by providing humanitarian aid. Furthermore, the migrants received moral and material support from non-religious civil society structures, such as the Council of Refugee Women in Bulgaria, or local branches of international organisations, such as the UN Refugee Agency.

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Conclusion The analysis of the role played by religion in forced displacement acts throughout the history of modern Bulgaria outlines three major patterns: pre-communist, communist, and post-communist. The first approach took shape between 1878 and 1945 when the incoming and outgoing flows of refugees in the Balkans emerged as an effect of the collapse of the Ottoman Empire and the establishment of young independent states whose governments pursued the creation of ethnically and religiously homogeneous nations. As a rule, these processes of migration affected neighbouring states and concerned communities whose centuries-old coexistence had brought about specific modes of collaboration as well as religious tensions. Besides, the discussed displacements often included entire parish/mosquebased neighbourhoods. As a result, their members were able to reproduce their religious and social infrastructures in their new settlements. The fact that most refugees were agrarians, who tended to move together with their families from one rural society to another, allowed them to establish self-reliant communities that thus needed less support from the host state and/or international organisations. The refugees from Bolshevik Russia presented the main deviance from this pattern. From a comparative perspective, the experience described might offer new insights in the understanding of post-Cold War migration as an outcome of the Decolonisation Process, and the collapse of the Soviet Union and Tito’s Yugoslavia. In this regard, the Bulgarian experience points to new directions of research linked with: a) the potential of refugee religious structures to assist or impede the sustainable socialisation of asylum seekers in the host society; b) the role of the institution(s) of the majority faith in the host country as a factor shaping public attitudes to the newcomers; and c) the division of labour between the state and the religious authorities in dealing with refugees. Furthermore, while previous cohorts of refugees worked towards a greater ethno-religious homogeneity of Bulgarian society, the contemporary ones would increase its diversity. This perspective unlocks adverse reactions not only because of the historical experience of this society but also because of its gloomy demographic outlook. Furthermore, growing diversity presents a serious challenge not only to Bulgarians but also to those Eastern European societies whose pluralist traditions were uprooted under communism. In this regard, the post-1989 democratisation and Bulgaria’s EU membership have established a new balance between the local majority and minority religions, thus allowing the development of alternative responses to the

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refugee challenge. Still, even in the wider European context, it is difficult for religious communities to reach unanimity on their attitude to the mass influx of refugees and other migrants. From this broader perspective, the policymakers need to pay attention to the possible geopolitical effects of the role that religion might play not only in the cases of forced external migration.

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Karpat, K. H. (1978). ‘Ottoman Population Records and the Census of 1881/82-1893’. International Journal of Middle East Studies 9(2), pp. 237-274. Kemilev, A. (1941). Preselenieto na Severo-dobrudzhanskite balgari prez 1940 godina [The resettlement of the Bulgarian population from North Dobrudja]. Sofia: Tarnovska pechatnitsa. Kiril, Patriarh Balgarski [Patriarch of Bulgaria] (1970). Balgarskata Ekzarhiya v Odrinsko i Makedoniya sled Osvoboditelnata voyna, 1877-1878 [The Bulgarian Exarchate after the Liberation War, 1877-1878], Volume 1 (1878-1885), Book 2. Sofia: Sinodalno izdatelstvo. Kirkorjan, R. (2001). ‘Armenskata obshtnost v Balgariya’ [The Armenian community in Bulgaria]. In G. Hayrabedjan (ed.), Balgari i Armentsi zaedno prez vekovete [Bulgarians and Armenians together throughout the centuries]. Sofia: Tangra, Diocesan Council of the Armenian Apostolic Church. Krasteva, A. (2019). The Bulgarian Migration Paradox: Migration and Development in Bulgaria. A Report Issued within the MIND Project and with the Support of Caritas Bulgaria, Caritas Europe, and Global Migration Policy Associates (GMPA). Sofia: Caritas Bulgaria, May. https://www.caritas.eu/wordpress/wp-content/ uploads/2019/06/CommonHomeBulgariaEN.pdf (accessed 1 December 2020). Kyoseva, T. (2001). ‘Ruskata immigratsiya i balgarskata darzhava (20-te-50-te godini na XX vek)’ [Russian emigration and the Bulgarian state in the 1920s-1950s]. In G. Markov, T. Shamray, L. Revyakina, L. Lyubenova, G. Rupcheva and A. Zlateva (eds), Byalata emigratsiya v Balgariya [White Russian emigration in Bulgaria]. Sofia: IK Gutenberg. Mancheva, M. (2001). ‘Image and Policy: The Case of Turks and Pomaks in Inter-war Bulgaria, 1918-44 (with Special Reference to Education)’. Islam and ChristianMuslim Relations 12(3), pp. 355-374. Mintchev, V. (1999). ‘External Migration and External Migration Policies in Bulgaria’. South-East Europe Review for Labor and Social Affairs 2(3), pp. 123-150. Mutlu, S. (2003). ‘Late Ottoman Population and Its Ethnic Distribution’. Nufusbilim Dergisi/Turkish Journal of Population Studies 25, pp. 3-38. Nikolova, A., and N. Chernicherska (2016). Refugees in Bulgaria: Labour Market and Budgetary Costs. Sofia: Ministry of Finances of the Republic of Bulgaria. Stanev, N. (1925). Nay-nova istoriya na Balgariya, 1912-1920 [The newest history of Bulgaria, 1912-1920], vol. 2: Voyni za obedinenie [Unif ication wars]. Sof ia: Pechatnitsa S. M. Staykov. Stoyanov, V. (1998). Turskoto naselenie v Balgariya mezhdu polyusite na etnicheskata politika [The Turkish population in Bulgaria between the poles of the ethnic policy]. Sofia: Lik. Taneva, A., and V. Gezenko (2002). Glasove v zashtita na grazhdanskoto obshtestvo. Protokoli na Svetiay Snod na Balgarskata pravoslavna tsarkva po evreyskiya

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vaprso (1940-1944) [The power of civil society in a time of genocide: Proceedings of the Holy Synod of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church on the rescue of the Jews in Bulgaria (1940-1944)]. Sof ia: GAL-IKO, Centre for Jewish Studies at Sof ia University St Kliment Ohridski.

Printed sources Annuaire (1910). Annuaire statistique du Royaume de Bulgarie, 1909 (I anneé). Sofia: Imprimerie d’état. Annuaire (1925). Annuaire statistique du Royaume de Bulgarie, 1923-1924 (XV-XVI anneés). Sofia: Imprimerie d’état. Annuaire (1930). Annuaire statistique du Royaume de Bulgarie, 1929-1930 (XXI-XXII anneés). Sofia: Imprimerie d’état. Resultats (1884). Resultats Généraux du recensement de la population du 1/13 janvier 1881. Sofia: Statistique de la Principauté de Bulgarie. Resultats (1888). Resultats Généraux du recensement de la population de la Bulgarie de sûd (Rumelie Orientale) du 1-r janvier 1885. Sofia: Principauté de Bulgarie – Bureau de Statistique. Rezultati (1970). Rezultati ot prebroyavane na naselenieto na 31.XII.1946 godina [1946 census results]. Sofia: Darzhavno upravlenie za informatsiya.

Digital sources Agency (2020). Statistical Information by the Bulgarian State Agency for Refugees with the Council of Minister of the Republic of Bulgaria. http://www.aref. government.bg/sites/default/files/uploads/docs/2020-01/Charts-website-bg_12. pdf (accessed 1 December 2020). Census (2011). 2011 Population Census: Main Results. Sof ia: National Statistical Institute of the Republic of Bulgaria. https://www.nsi.bg/census2011/PDOCS2/ Census2011final_en.pdf (accessed 1 December 2020). Constitution (1879). Konstitutsiya na Balgarskoto Knyazhestvo [Constitution of the Principality of Bulgaria, adopted in 1879. https://parliament.bg/pub/ Konstitutsiya_1879.pdf (accessed 1 December 2020). Constitution (1947). Konstitutsiya na Narodna Republika Balgariya, 1947 (Constitution of the People’s Republic of Bulgaria, adopted in 1947). https://parliament. bg/bg/18 (accessed 1 December 2020). Constitution (1971). Konstitutsiya na Narodna Republika Balgariya, 1971 [Constitution of the People’s Republic of Bulgaria, adopted in 1971]. https://parliament.bg/ bg/19 (accessed 1 December 2020).

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Constitution (1991). Constitution of the Republic of Bulgaria, 1991. https://parliament. bg/en/const (accessed 1 December 2020). Court (1998). Constitutional Court’s Judgement no. 2 of 18 February 1998, Darzhaven vestnik [State herald] no. 22, 24 February. Retractable in Bulgarian from http:// constcourt.bg/bg/Acts (accessed 1 December 2020). Denominations (1949). Zakon za izpovedniyata [Law on Religious Denominations, adopted in 1949]. http://licodu.cois.it/?p=953 (accessed 1 December 2020). Denominations (2002). Zakon za veroizpovedaniyata [Religious Denomination Act, adopted in 2002]. https://original.religlaw.org/common/document.view. php?docId=1368 (accessed 1 December 2020). Holy Synod of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church (2015). ‘Special Address of the Holy Synod with Reference to the Migration Crisis’. 25 September. https://old. bg-patriarshia.bg/index.php?file=appeal_20.xml (accessed 1 December 2020). Plan (1926). Plan d’établissment des réfugiés bulgares. Société des Nations, Genève, le 5 octobre 1926. https://biblio-archive.unog.ch/Dateien/CouncilMSD/C-569M-211-1926-II_FR.pdf (accessed 1 December 2020). Strategy (2010). National Strategy for Migration, Asylum and Integration (2011-2020) of the Republic of Bulgaria. https://www.legislationline.org/download/id/7202/file/ Bulgaria_National_Strategy_Migration_Asylum_Integration_2011_2020_en.pdf (accessed 1 December 2020). Struktura (2002). Struktura na naselenieto po veroizpovednie [An overview of the religious structure of the population in Bulgaria for the period 1887 to 2001]. Sofia: National Statistical Institute of the Republic of Bulgaria. https://www. nsi.bg/Census/StrReligion.htm (accessed 1 December 2020). Treaty (1878). Treaty of Berlin, 13 July 1878. https://ia803201.us.archive.org/19/items/ jstor-2212670/2212670.pdf (accessed 1 December 2020). Treaty (1913). Treaty of Bucharest, 10 August 1913. https://www.fomoso.org/wpcontent/uploads/2018/04/The-Treaty-of-Bucharest-10.08.1913.pdf (accessed 1 December 2020).

Archival materials Document 1. CDA (Tsentralen Darzhaven Arhiv [Central State Archives of the Republic of Bulgaria]), f. [fund] 791k, op. [inventory] 1, a.e. [archival unit] 29. Proceedings of the Holy Synod of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church no. 25, 27 May 1914. Document 2. CDA, f. 370k, op. 6, a.e. 1396. Report of the Bulgarian Nansen Bureau on the Russian and Armenian refugees with Nansen passports, Sofia, 1940. Document 3. CDA, f. 370k, op. 6, a.e. 415. Report on the Turkish minority in the region of Targovishte, 3 October 1934.

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Document 4. CDA, f. 176k, op. 5, a.e. 901. Information about the issuance of Turkish passports to Pomaks with Bulgarian citizenship, 26 October 1928. Document 5. CDA, f. 264k, op. 7, a.e. 304. Verbal note by the legation of the Kingdom of Italy to the Bulgarian government, Sofia, 21 July 1942. Document 6. CDA, f. 264k, op. 1, a.e. 185. Information about the toleration of the Pentecostals and Adventists in wartime Bulgaria, 7 December 1941. Document 7. CDA, f. 1b, op. 8, a.e. 3912. Instruction no. 39 of the Secretariat of the Central Committee of the Bulgarian Communist Party concerning the extradition of Armenians from Bulgaria to the Soviet Union, 29 October 1955. Document 8. CDA, f. 146b, op. 1, a.e. 1195. Letter by Zhak Natan to the Central Committee of the Bulgarian Communist Party, Sofia, 1948.

About the author Daniela Kalkandjieva holds a PhD in History from the Central European University. Since 2004 she has been affiliated with Sofia University ‘St. Kliment Ohridski’ as a project leader of research projects in the field of religious studies. She is the author of the monographs The Bulgarian Orthodox Church and the State, 1944-1953 (Albatros, 1997; in Bulgarian) and The Russian Orthodox Church, 1917-1948: From Decline to Resurrection (Routledge, 2015). Her more recent publications include ‘Orthodox Churches in the Post-Communist Countries and the Separation between Religion and the State’, in J. H. Bhuiyan and D. Jensen (eds), Law and Religion in the Liberal State (Hart Publishing, 2020); ‘The Bulgarian Orthodox Church and the Refugee Crisis’, in L. N. Leustean (ed.), Forced Migration and Human Security in the Eastern Orthodox World (Routledge, 2019); and ‘The Bulgarian Orthodox Church: Authoring New Visions about the Orthodox Church’s Role in Contemporary Bulgarian Society’, in S. P. Ramet (ed.), Orthodox Churches and Politics in Southeastern Europe: Nationalism, Conservativism, and Intolerance (Palgrave, 2019).

4

State, Religion and Refugees in Serbia Responses of Faith-Based Organisations, 1991-1996 Aleksandra Djurić Milovanović and Marko Veković Abstract The forced displacement of people was one of the most significant social consequences of the wars (1991-1995) which followed the dissolution of communist Yugoslavia. The Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, and particularly Serbia, has been widely affected by this process. Studies show that over 650,000 people (mostly from Bosnia and Herzegovina and Croatia) were forcibly displaced to Serbia. This chapter explores how the state and different religious communities responded to the forced displacement of populations in Serbia (1991-1996). It focuses on the responses of the state, through the work of the Commissariat for Refugees, as well as case studies of three faith-based humanitarian organisations, namely Philanthropy, Adventist Development Relief Agency (ADRA), and Bread of Life. The research methods used for the purposes of this chapter include content analysis and a series of semi-structured interviews. The chapter concludes that the Serbian state failed to recognise the potential of faithhumanitarian organisations, even though these organisations were key actors in helping the population in need. Keywords: refugees, religious communities, displacement, faithhumanitarian organisations, Serbia

Introduction In December 2015, the Faculty of Political Sciences of the University of Belgrade hosted a public debate on religious tolerance in Serbia. It gathered highly ranked representatives of four important religious communities in Serbia, namely the Serbian Orthodox Church, the Roman Catholic Church,

Hudson, Victoria, and Lucian N. Leustean (eds), Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463727556_ch04

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the Islamic community of Serbia and the Jewish community.1 As the debate was organised at a time when Serbia was experiencing the consequences of a wave of refugees and forcibly displaced people from the Middle East who were using the Balkan route to reach their final destinations within Western Europe (Stojić Mitrović and Đurić Milovanović 2019a, 2019b), this issue was raised in the Q&A session. In particular, one attendee wondered what exactly the country’s main religious communities were doing to help the refugees during their time on Serbian territory. The responses of the religious officials were almost the same: we did our best, but that was obviously not enough. They also shared something very interesting, claiming that in order for religious communities to use their full potential in supporting the population in need, they should work together with the state. Close examination of the response of Serbian religious communities to the mass population movements of the early 1990s reveals some striking similarities with responses to the refugee crisis in more recent times. The Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY), and particularly Serbia, was widely affected by two waves of mass forced population movement in the 1990s. The first wave was triggered by the Yugoslav Wars (1991-1995), which followed the dissolution of communist Yugoslavia. This conflict resulted in nearly 3 million people from the former Yugoslavia being forced to leave their homes. Serbia, at that time a part of the FRY, was significantly affected by the influx of displaced people, mainly from Croatia and Bosnia and Herzegovina (Meznarić and Zlarković Winter 1993: 3; Zitnanova 2014: 13). According to relevant studies, by December 1995 over 650,000 people had been displaced to Serbia and the FRY.2 It was ‘the largest refugee crisis in Europe since the Second World War’,3 and, as Helton argued, ‘the conflict in the former Yugoslavia became synonymous with the generation of refugees and displaced persons’ (Helton 1999: 184). Moreover, the Kosovo and Metohija conflict of 1999 resulted in the displacement of about 200,000 people, which represents the second major wave of population movement in the region. 4 These population movements caused a significant humanitarian crisis in Serbia in the 1990s. 1 Acknowledgements: We would like to thank to numerous people who have helped the research for this chapter, namely Ivan Georginov, Bojana Nedović, Dane Vidović, Slavica Stanković, Rastko Jović, Bishop Filaret of the Serbian Orthodox Church, Priest Marinko Juretić, Igor Mitrović, Mikloš Kermeci, and Mirjana Knežević. University of Belgrade 2015. 2 UNHCR 1995. 3 UNHCR 2000: 218. 4 See more about this in Lukić 2015; Ministarstvo za ljudska i manjinska prava Srbije i Crne Gore 2004.

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This chapter examines the responses of the state and different faith-based humanitarian actors to the forced displacement of the population in Serbia in the 1991-1996 period. Thus, it focuses on the population that was forcibly displaced during and after the time of the Yugoslav Wars. In this way, this chapter differentiates between forced population movement in the first half of the 1990s and that which occurred as a consequence of the Kosovo War (1998-1999). From the perspective of the responses of the state and religious actors to this issue, such differentiation is both useful and necessary. That is why the specific research question of this chapter is: How did the state, and different local religious communities, respond to the forced displacement of people in Serbia in 1991-1996? Our main argument is that the state of Serbia, as one of the key actors involved in helping displaced people, failed in its task of meeting the needs of that population. However, taking into consideration the fact that Serbia in the 1990s was a war-torn country, characterised by a high level of political and social instability and hyperinflation, and isolated by sanctions imposed by the international community (from 1992 to 1995), its failure is somewhat understandable. That is why different international humanitarian organisations, such as the Red Cross and the UNHCR, were important actors involved in helping the population in need in Serbia. This chapter argues that local faith-based humanitarian organisations were key actors in this process. The two key advantages of the religious communities in providing aid to the forcibly displaced population were: 1) their extensive network of parishes, which were very important assets for disseminating aid; and 2) their international networks, which were very helpful in securing funds and aid from abroad. However, the role of local faith-based humanitarian organisations in helping the population in need in Serbia seems to be widely neglected and ignored in academic research across a range of relevant disciplines (Veković and Đogatović 2019). It is important to mention that faith-based humanitarian organisations were springing up like mushrooms after the rain in Serbia in the early 1990s. For example, Caritas Serbia was founded in 1995 by the Belgrade Archdiocese of the Roman Catholic Church. By using the support of its strong international network, this organisation was very engaged in meeting the needs of the displaced population in Serbia. According to its data, it provided food, fuel and shelter to thousands of people in the 1990s. By the end of 2000, its estimates suggest that it reached over 2 million people in different ways.5 Furthermore, the Roman Catholic Church had another humanitarian organisation active in Serbia in the 1990s, namely the Jesuit Refugee Service 5

Caritas Serbia, https://caritas.rs (accessed 10 January 2020).

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(JRS), which is an ‘international Catholic humanitarian organization […] primary focused on helping refugees around the globe. [The] Serbian office was founded in 1993’ (Stojić Mitrović and Đurić Milovanović 2019b: 576). Protestant communities were also particularly active in Serbia in the 1990s. For example, the World Council of Churches initiated the foundation of the Ecumenical Humanitarian Organization in Serbia (EHO) in 1993. The EHO was founded by representatives of five Protestant churches in Serbia: the Slovak Evangelical Church of the Augsburg Confession in Serbia, the Reform Christian Church, the Evangelical Methodist Church, the Greek Catholic Eparchy of Ruski Krstur and the Evangelical Church of the Augsburg Confession in Serbia.6 Other Protestant communities organised ADRA (Adventist Development Relief Agency) in 1990 and Bread of Life (jointly founded by the Protestant Evangelical Church and the Baptist Church) in 1992. Finally, the dominant religious actor in Serbia, the Serbian Orthodox Church, founded its humanitarian organisation, Philanthropy, in 1991. When it comes to the non-Christian humanitarian organisations, it should be noted that the Jewish community in Serbia was very active in helping the population in need, both in Serbia and in the region, mostly through its humanitarian organisation, Cedaka. Lastly, the Islamic community of Serbia was also active in the 1990s, mostly using the institutional framework of the previously organised Gajret society.7 According to Stojić Mitrović and Đurić Milovanović, ‘[d]uring the 1990s, the activities of faith-based organisations were concentrated on the direct provision of humanitarian aid to refugees and internally displaced people as victims of wars in Yugoslavia’ (Stojić Mitrović and Đurić Milovanović 2019a: 210). However, even though many faith-based organisations were active in Serbia in the 1991-1996 period, this chapter will focus on three relevant and important case studies: Philanthropy (the charitable foundation of the Serbian Orthodox Church), ADRA (Adventist Development Relief Agency), and Bread of Life (a humanitarian organisation jointly founded by the Protestant Evangelical Church and the Baptist Church). This chapter intends to answer the following questions: How, when and why were these organisations founded? What were their major activities in the 1991-1996 period? What was the outreach of their work? Did they reached out to and 6 Ecumenical Humanitarian Organisation, http://www.ehons.org/en/about-us/our-history (accessed 11 January 2020). 7 It is interesting to mention that in 1993 the Islamic community of Serbia divided into the Islamic community of Serbia, based in Belgrade, and the Islamic community in Serbia, based in Novi Pazar. Since, former one is the integral part of the Islamic community of Bosnia Herzegovina. See more about this in Antić and Veković 2012.

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use international support and, if so, how? and lastly, Did they cooperate with the state and, if so, in what capacity? However, before analysing religious responses, this chapter first explores the state’s response to the forced displacement population in Serbia from 1991 to 1996.

State responses to the forced displacement in Serbia (1991-1996) The state’s responses to the forced displacement of people in Serbia in the 1991-1996 period entailed the development and implementation of a legal framework for dealing with refugees and forcibly displaced persons, the foundation of the Commissariat for Refugees, and the organisation of the census on refugees and war-affected persons in 1996. Even though these institutional responses were timely, much needed and very important, they were not sufficient in dealing with the humanitarian crisis in the country. Shortly after it became obvious that the wars would lead to a significant humanitarian crisis, the Serbian state introduced the Law on Refugees in 1992.8 It is interesting that Article 1, paragraph 1, of this law states the following: Serbs and citizens with other nationalities, under pressure of the Croatian regime or regimes in other republics, under threat of genocide, persecuted and discriminated against on the basis of their religious affiliation, national belonging or political stances, and which were forcibly displaced to the territory of Republic of Serbia (henceforth: refugees), will be provided with care according to this law in order to meet basic human needs and social security.9

Article 2, paragraph 1, specifies that the care of the state will cover ‘organised reception, temporary accommodation, food, healthcare, material aid and other means of help’ for the refugees.10 Moreover, this law founded the governmental body entitled the Commissariat for Refugees (Article 5, paragraph 1), which was in charge of dealing with the refugees in Serbia. It is important to mention that the 1992 Law on Refugees was revised in 2002, 8 Zakon 1992. 9 Ibid. Emphasis added. It is interesting to mention that this law was amended in 2002, 2010, and 2012. Article 1 of the 1992 law, which mentions Croatian aggression, discrimination and even the fear of genocide, was changed in 2002. This fact is additional example of the political tenets of the regimes of Slobodan Milošević. 10 Ibid.

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2010, and finally in 2012, and that the former Commissariat for Refugees is still an active governmental body but with the changed title of Commissariat for Refugees and Migration (CFR).11 What is also interesting to note is that the 1992 law mentions religion and faith-based humanitarian organisations only sporadically. Article 3, paragraph 2, states that help could be provided by the ‘Red Cross organisation, humanitarian, religious and other organisations, and by citizens, according to their goals and interests’,12 while Article 6, paragraph 4, adds that the CFR will ‘cooperate with Red Cross, humanitarian, religious and other organisations and citizens’.13 The 1992 law laid the foundations for the implementation of the Decree on the Care of Refugees.14 In terms of the state’s response to the humanitarian crisis, this may be considered to be the most important document. Article 1 says that this decree came into power in order to describe ‘ways and volume of care for refugees by the Commissariat for Refugees, other State organs and organisations, municipalities, the city of Belgrade and autonomous regions, the Red Cross, humanitarian, religious and other organisations, and citizens’.15 Moreover, Articles 4 and 5 introduced the position of local trustees; individuals charged with overseeing the work of the state in their municipalities. Other important regulations consider different types of aid provided by the state, such as refugee shelters (Articles 6 and 7), material help (Articles 8 and 9), healthcare (Articles 12-15) and education (Articles 16-19). Yet, when it comes to the aid provided by the faith-based humanitarian organisations, or eventual cooperation between the state and this sort of humanitarian organisations, the 1992 decree does not specify any details. That said, it does refer to cooperation with the Red Cross and religious humanitarian organisations in determining the level of material aid for refugees (Article 9, paragraph 2). One of the most significant outcomes of the 1992 law was the issuing of refugee identity cards. According to the 1992 law (Article 14, paragraph 2), the refugee identity card contained information just like the personal identity card, and it was the public document to be used to confirm the identity of the holder (paragraph 3). These refugees ID cards were issued by the Ministry of Interior Affairs and were of great importance to the refugees as it was not possible to access the aid provided 11 Commissariat for Refugees, http://www.kirs.gov.rs (accessed 4 January 2020). 12 Zakon 1992. 13 Ibid. 14 Uredba 1992. This decree was amended twice in both 1993 and 1994, and then in 1995 and lastly in 2004. 15 Ibid.

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by the state, or any other humanitarian organisations, without confirming one’s identity and refugee status. Moreover, it should be also said that the state organised the first census of refugees and forcibly displaced people in June 1996, which was a very important contribution of the state regarding this issue. The census registered a total of 566,275 refugees and forcibly displaced persons.16 Most of them (550,920, as stated in Table 4.1), had come from Bosnia and Herzegovina and Croatia, while others hailed from other former Yugoslav republics, or declined to answer the question about where they had come from. The majority of the displaced people had moved in two major waves. The first wave was in 1992, while the second wave happened in late 1995. According to the 1996 census, 91.1 per cent of the people who had moved to Serbia and the FRY over the 1991-1996 period were Serbs. Although there are no data on the religious affiliation of the displaced population arriving in Serbia, it is highly likely that the majority of them were Orthodox Christians. Table 4.1 Forced displacement of people from Bosnia and Herzegovina and Croatia to the FRY and Serbia, 1991-1996 Year 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 No answer

Bosnia and Herzegovina

Croatia

TOTAL

7,797 107,213 21,495 16,667 66,417 30,895 2,893 253,377

35,560 24,893 10,133 6,852 207,131 11,428 2,977 297,543

43,357 132,106 31,628 23,519 273,548 42,323 5,870 550,920

Source: UNHCR 1996

The number of forcibly displaced people in Serbia significantly declined in the post-1997 period, mostly due to the fact a that majority of them had been naturalised, and received Serbian citizenship. Out of the total of 566,275 refugees registered in the 1996 census, more than 60 per cent stated that they wanted to receive citizenship of the Republic of Serbia and stay there.17 This process has been regarded by the Government of the Republic of Serbia 16 UNHCR 1996: 16. 17 Ibid.: 9-10.

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as the ‘largest integration process in Europe’ (Lukić 2004: 16). A further 9 per cent declared their desire to return to their home, while over 50,000 people, or about 8 per cent of the total number, expressed the wish to move to a third country.18 Even though the institutional response from the state was rather prompt, it seems that the CFR experienced many problems at the very beginning of its work. In an interview with our informant (A),19 a high-ranking official of the CFR and one of the few people who had worked in this field for a substantial period of time, the tasks assigned to the CFR were very serious, complex and delicate. In other words, the CFR, and thus the state, were not institutionally capable of dealing with this issue properly. The informant added that one of the most important consequences of the 1992 law was the organisation of a wide network of reception centres for refugees on the municipal level, and that each centre had one employee who had direct contact with the CFR. The idea behind this was for the CFR to develop a network of officials, or trustees, on the municipal level who would be solely responsible for the CFR’s programmes. However, he pointed out one fact which is of utmost importance, namely that in 1992 not so many people were interested in applying for a job at the CFR, as they thought this position would only be active for six to ten months. According to him, this system for dealing with refugees was simply not sustainable in a long run. The CFR organised gatherings of the trustees every six to twelve months, depending of the level of activities. Each CFR trustee had to present a report on their activities. These gatherings lasted for three days with over 500 participants. He pointed out two equally important things. Firstly, he emphasised that the state and the CFR, through its network of trustees and local communities, had invested significant funds in building capacity to accept refugees. By 1996, there were 732 centres with 63,000 people living there. In 2018, the last of these centres was closed. The only one still active is in Bujanovac, where the displaced Roma from Vučitrn, a small city in Kosovo, are stationed. It is important to mention that by 1996, four of these centres had more refugees than the total regular population of the settlement in which they were located. These were the centres in Šid, Inđija, Stara Pazova and Pećinci. Financially, these centres were entirely dependent on state support. Yet, there are no financial reports publicly available. According to our informant, the data from these reports would not be of great help due to the hyperinflation that characterised the period. He also mentioned that 18 UNHCR 1996: 9-10. 19 The interview with informant A held at CFR headquarters in Belgrade on 27 December 2019.

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the humanitarian organisation of the Roman Catholic Church, Caritas Serbia, was very active in the centres, mostly in providing food. When it comes to other religiously oriented humanitarian organisations, he said that CFR had received numerous requests from these organisations to get approval to work in the refugee centres. The approval by the CFR was of utmost importance for them, as they had to have some sort of institutional cooperation and support in order to justify the funds received. He said that the CFR was particularly worried about ‘missionary work within the refugee population, especially by the small sects’. Such cooperation between the CFR and various religious and other NGOs was very rare at the beginning of the crisis, but over time it became more frequent and eff icient. Yet, this cooperation between the state and religiously oriented humanitarian organisations was based on individual connections and networks, rather than on official programmes jointly developed by the state and faith-based humanitarian organisations. What is also interesting is that our informant pointed out the ignorance of the Serbian Orthodox Church, and its humanitarian organisation, Philanthropy, about the state’s ideas on tackling the refugee issue. For instance, while the Muslim communities and the Roman Catholic Church were very active in responding to the issues raised by the CFR, the Serbian Orthodox Church was not. On one occasion, the CFR waited for three months just for the church to agree to discuss the issues relating to helping the population in need.

Religious responses to the forced displacement in Serbia (1991-1996) There is no doubt that local faith-based humanitarian organisations were among the key civil society actors in Serbia helping the population in need. Yet, there is a yawning gap in the literature regarding their humanitarian work in the 1990s. As previously stated, numerous faith-based humanitarian organisation were active in 1990s Serbia, from both Christian and nonChristian denominations. However, this chapter analyses and explores three case studies, namely Philanthropy, ADRA, and Bread of Life. The experiences of these organisations are relevant, important and very useful for explaining the work of humanitarian organisations in 1990s Serbia. Philanthropy Philanthropy, the humanitarian and charity organisation of the Serbian Orthodox Church (SOC), was founded in 1991 by the church’s holy synod.

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According to information provided on its website,20 this organisation was established as a response of the SOC to the humanitarian needs of the refugee population that had started coming to Serbia in 1991. However, the 1992-1995 wars and the influx of forcibly displaced people into Serbia caused Philanthropy to experience major changes, particularly in terms of the development and strengthening of its organisational structure. The website states that soon after its foundation, the needs of people caused by wars, suffering and atrocities on the territory of the former Yugoslavia imposed a fast pace on Philanthropy’s programme and financial development. Until the year 2000, Philanthropy primarily provided humanitarian assistance to those in need.21

According to the publicly available information, the organisation’s work over the 1992-1995 period mostly entailed providing humanitarian aid to the population in need. Yet, there are no publicly available data on the level, specifics and reach of its work. Moreover, the official reports concerning the work of Philanthropy are still kept secret in the archive of the SOC in Belgrade. What is even more interesting is the fact that the current leadership of this organisation is also not familiar with its work in the 1990s. Thus, the humanitarian work of Philanthropy in the 1990s is still largely an uncharted landscape. However, with the help of Bishop Filaret of the Serbian Orthodox Church, who was in charge of the work of Philanthropy in the 1990s, we have managed to get in contact and talk with the deputy of the Philanthropy organisation until 1997.22 Our informant (B), who is also a refugee from Croatia where he served as a priest, offered quite interesting insights into the work of Philanthropy. In an interview, he said that the SOC first founded an internal body entitled the Board for Helping Refugees on 22 August 1991. Later on, this board was renamed Philanthropy. The Board for Helping Refugees consisted of several bishops, with Patriarch Pavle as its head. At the moment of its foundation, Philanthropy’s headquarters were at Belgrade’s fair trade complex. The use of these facilities was free of charge, including rent, electricity and telephone. Philanthropy gathered aid from different sources. According to our informant, over 66,000 tons of aid was gathered and distributed from its 20 Philanthropy n.d. 21 Ibid. 22 The interview with informant B was held in Belgrade on 30 January 2020.

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headquarters in Belgrade between 1991 and 1996. The aid usually consisted of food, clothes and medicine, but it also included hardware, such as cars, trucks, tractors, and even computers. The first source of aid was Serbian civilians who brought items, usually food or clothing, to the office in Belgrade. Furthermore, local churches across Serbia were also very active in gathering aid within their respective parishes. This activity was organised at the local level, usually by the local priests and bishops. However, the greater part of the aid was gathered from Orthodox Christian churches abroad. Before international sanctions were imposed on Serbia in May 1992, most of the aid arrived via Belgrade’s airport. After the sanctions, aid arrived mostly through the port of Thessaloniki. The Orthodox churches most active in sending aid to Serbia were the Orthodox Church of Greece, the Romanian Orthodox Church, the Orthodox Church of Poland, various branches of the SOC in Western Europe, and, most importantly, the Serbian Orthodox Church in the United States. It is interesting to mention that, according to our informant, the Russian Orthodox Church did not send any sort of aid to Philanthropy whatsoever. Lastly, several international non-Orthodox Christian humanitarian organisations also sent aid to Philanthropy. As informant B recalls, these were the Roman Catholic humanitarian organisation St. Egidio from Italy,23 and various humanitarian organisations from Switzerland.24 The key actor in providing aid from abroad was the Serbian Orthodox Church in the United States. American aid was mostly gathered and sent through the organisation International Orthodox Christian Charities (IOCC). At the invitation of the SOC, IOCC opened an office in Belgrade in 1992.25 However, it is of utmost importance to provide a brief contextual framework of its work, particularly in regard to the ‘American schism’ issue. Due to the fact that the SOC was under the influence of the communist regime of former Yugoslavia, part of the Orthodox Serbs in the United States decided to disobey to it and founded the ‘Free Serbian Orthodox Church’ in 1963. 23 The St. Egidio organisation sent the best quality help, according to informant B. He said that once they sent a consignment of aid containing food, clothes and 100,000 doses of medicine. The medicine was disseminated further to the local churches across Serbia and elsewhere in the former Yugoslavia. However, Philanthropy also had its own pharmacy in downtown Belgrade, where medicine was disseminated to the refugees. 24 On 5 March 1994, Protestants churches in Switzerland sent 1,000 tons of flour to Serbia. They sent the aid to Turkey and organised 50 trucks to transport it to Serbia. Three trucks of flour were sent to Sarajevo in 1994. 25 International Orthodox Christian Charities, https://iocc.org/where-we-work/balkans (accessed 31 January 2020).

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After the fall of communism, the late Patriarch Pavle (1914-2009), who held the position of Patriarch of the SOC from 1990 until his death, put a great deal of effort into unifying the church, and finally, in 1991, the two churches united (Veković 2015). This was an important event in terms of the flow of humanitarian aid coming from the United States. It is less likely that the SOC in the United States would have sent such a significant amount of support to Serbia if it had remained separated from the SOC. Its aid was sent through three main channels. First, the Serbs living in the USA gathered and sent financial support to the bank account of the SOC in Greece. Second, they commissioned cargo ships to transport aid to the port of Thessaloniki, and organised onward transport to Serbia. Lastly, members of the SOC in United States often purchased items to help the refugees directly in Hungary, and organised the transport to Serbia (see Nikolić and Dimitrijević 2013). It is important to mention that 10 per cent of aid coming through Hungary was dedicated to the Muslims living in Belgrade. Once the aid arrived at Philanthropy’s headquarters in Belgrade, it was carefully analysed, re-packed and prepared for distribution.26 There were ten people employed by Philanthropy over the period 1991-1997, alongside a number of civilian volunteers. When the aid arrived, it was either labelled for someone specific (usually a local church to which it should be transferred), or just for Philanthropy. Aid was usually transferred towards local churches and cities in Serbia, but sometimes it was also directed towards the Republika Srpska region (Banja Luka, Bijeljina, Trebinje).27 Then, from the local churches, aid was disseminated to the people. However, one of the key problems with this way of reaching people was that usually Philanthropy did not receive any information about who received aid, and when and how. This fact opened a door for the misuse of funds, which informant B was sure happened from time to time. But, as he claims, it did not have any successful mechanism to cope with it. It was deeply dependent on the good will of people. Part of the aid was disseminated to people who came directly to 26 It should be noted that sometimes Philanthropy received trucks of completely useless aid. For example, it received tons of food from English war reserves from 1961, 3,200 pair of mismatched shoes, and even a cargo of three brand new field hospitals from the United States which had been used in the Korean War (1950-1953). On one occasion it also received a set of old stretchers to carry wounded people, each weighting over 20 kg. 27 When Philanthropy prepared to receive help for abroad, it had to send notification thereof two days in advance to the office of the UNHCR in Belgrade. When the truck was prepared to cross the border, a Serbian customs officer was to seal the truck. However, the contents of the truck had to be examined by the UNHCR officers, too. Without their seal, the cargo would not pass through the border. Informant B acknowledges the work of the UNHCR officers in the work of Philanthropy.

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the headquarters of Philanthropy in Belgrade. Informant B said that every person who had refugee identification received help. And the aid was not reserved for Orthodox Christians only, as many Roman Catholics, Protestants and Muslims came for help, too. According to him, Philanthropy did not discriminate between refugees on the basis of their religious affiliation, although the vast majority of them were Orthodox Christians.28 Moreover, it used a rented van to disseminate aid around Belgrade, both to people living in refugee centres and to those in private accommodation.29 Even though Philanthropy did a remarkable job in helping the population in need, it received neither support nor cooperation from the state. However, as informant B said, the state was very well acquainted with its work,30 adding that although the state did not help Philanthropy’s efforts, it did not hinder them, either. One of the reasons why the state did not cooperate with Philanthropy was the fact that it had never officially registered as a humanitarian organisation. Rather, its work was organised under the umbrella of the SOC and its humanitarian work. However, the role of the state was important for the work of Philanthropy in at least three respects. Firstly, the state and the border police helped the humanitarian aid to be transferred by means of simplified customs procedures. Secondly, Philanthropy did not pay for the use of the halls at Belgrade’s trade fair complex. Lastly, it was granted permission by the Oil Company of Serbia to pay for 28 Informant B shared a couple of interesting anecdotes regarding the alleged religious discrimination of Philanthropy. In 1994, when he was in the headquarters at Belgrade’s trade fair centre disseminating aid to people there, a CNN reporter came to investigate who was receiving the aid. The reporter asked him whether it discriminates between refugees on the grounds of religion, and he said that the reporter should ask the refugees that question. According to him, among the 30 refugees who were present at the moment, 8 of them were non-Orthodox Christians. 29 Philanthropy also organised several events for refugees. In order to emphasise the horrors of the war, we will describe the 1993 Easter celebrations, which were organised by Philanthropy for wounded Serbian soldiers in Belgrade’s hospitals at the time. The celebration was held at Philanthropy’s headquarters at Belgrade’s trade fair complex, with Patriarch Pavle leading the liturgy. According to Informant B, it collected 25 buses full of wounded Serbian soldiers. During the liturgy, Bishop Filaret realised that one of the soldiers was using his left hand to say the Trinitarian formula. Bishop Filaret went to him and explained that he is supposed to use his right hand. The soldier responded, ‘I don’t have a right hand’. 30 The state used its intelligence service to control and monitor the work of Philanthropy. Even though this was not official, Informant B said he was quite sure that among the civilian volunteers a number were members of the intelligence service. Moreover, he recalls that one member of the intelligences service came to him in 1993 to say that three trucks carrying mostly food had not disseminated the aid to the intended destination, but rather to a private food-processing plant.

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the fuel it used on a monthly basis.31 The only governmental body which had significant influence on the work of Philanthropy was the sanitary inspection agency. As Philanthropy received and disseminated a lot of food, the sanitary inspection agency had to check and approve each consignment to be disseminated. Philanthropy did not generally cooperate closely with any other humanitarian organisations. However, in 1994 Philanthropy did cooperate with Caritas Serbia and one Serbia-based Muslim humanitarian organisation to send 9,000 packs of aid to Sarajevo. Our informant also points to a degree of cooperation with the humanitarian organisation Matica of Emigrants, which was founded in 1990 and led by Brana Crnčević. This organisation had closer cooperation with the state as it gathered aid from Serbian emigrants across the world, and its headquarters was also at the Belgrade trade fair complex. Adventist Development and Relief Agency (ADRA) The Adventist Development and Relief Agency (ADRA) is a global humanitarian organisation of the Seventh-day Adventist Church. According to the data available on its website, the international network of the ADRA is made up of 130 national offices around the globe, which together make up ADRA International.32 The Serbian branch of ADRA – ADRA Serbia – was founded in 1990. It has become famous worldwide due to the fact that it was the only humanitarian organisation able to deliver humanitarian aid during the siege of Sarajevo. According to its sources, between 1992 and 1994 it distributed ‘around 270,000 15 kg family food parcels and 320,000 letters’, with the latter serving as a vital channel of communication between Belgrade and Sarajevo for friends and families.33 However, it is important to mention that ADRA did an important job in helping the displaced population in Serbia during the 1992-1995 period. The foundation of ADRA’s office in Serbia originated from two sides. On the one hand, the existing international offices of ADRA at that time, mostly based in Germany, Austria and Hungary (European countries with significant number of immigrants from Serbia), had been sending help (food, clothes and medicine) to Serbia on a weekly basis. On the other hand, the local office in Belgrade did not know how to go about effectively 31 This is also interesting because Philanthropy paid for the oil on a monthly basis at a time of hyperinflation. Informant B recalls that it paid for the oil on several occasions in 1993 with sacks of completely useless money. Later on, it paid for the oil in American dollars from the bank account in Greece. 32 ADRA Serbia, https://adra.org.rs/ko-smo-mi/ (accessed 20 January 2020). 33 Ibid.

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distributing the aid to those in need. That is why it decided to send a letter to the state and the Red Cross, asking for permission to disseminate aid. After the request was accepted, ADRA started its activities. It is important to emphasise that ADRA decided to collect and disseminate aid to everyone affected, with no regard to their national or religious affiliation. Data provided on the work of ADRA Serbia are mostly based on interviews with several informants34 who were representatives of ADRA in the early 1990s. From a letter by a pastor of the Seventh-day Adventist Church and the former director of ADRA Serbia for the Vojvodina region35 (1991-1995), we found out that its humanitarian activities in the region actually started quite early, after the 1989 Romanian revolution. In late December 1989, ADRA sent two trucks of aid (mostly food and clothes totalling 6-8 tons) to Timișoara. As it had received a lot of help from abroad, it was able to send 4-5 tons of food to Sarajevo in 1991. ADRA Serbia sent eight trucks of aid to Sarajevo on 20 January 1992. On another occasion, it managed to gather together 32 trucks full of aid for Sarajevo. The pastor describes the strategy in detail: Back in the day, ADRA had boxes of 15-20 kg and every member of the community had to pack the boxes. Cigarettes, alcohol and coffee were strictly forbidden, as they were quite expensive and therefore people tend to sell them. Leaders of the convoys had a list of names, alongside with the letters. Sometimes there were 7,000-8,000 names on the list! Each box has been marked in code. This was necessary, so that the soldiers on the border who opened the boxes did not know the nationality of the person [receiving it]. The trucks would be unloaded in Pale, near Sarajevo, where our volunteers (there were up to 70 of them) would take and deliver them to people in Sarajevo.

The permissions for convoys had to be gathered from different parties: Republican and regional Red Cross offices and the Ministry of Energy. The permissions gathered required different information – for example, the license plate numbers of the trucks, the names of the people leading the 34 The interview with Informant C was held at ADRA’s headquarters in Belgrade on 25 December 2019. We would like to thank him in particular for connecting us with people affiliated with ADRA Serbia in the early 1990s. 35 It is also interesting to mention that, even though ADRA off ices are organised on the national level, the war years and specific needs of the population in Serbia made ADRA Serbia open a regional office in the country’s northern region of Vojvodina. Its main activities were still organised from the central Belgrade office, but the opening of the regional office made it possible for ADRA to develop an even more diversified network.

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convoys, and the names of truck drivers. The year 1993 was a particularly hard one for ADRA Serbia. In the time of hyperinflation, it was hard to gather and disseminate aid. According to its data, ADRA had disseminated over 80 boxes of aid to the elderly in the city of Novi Sad. It also helped hospitals, centres for refugees and mothers with children. Most of the aid for children was transferred from Hungary. The work of the local office of ADRA in Serbia mainly consisted in collecting and disseminating help to the population in need. On the other side, the international offices were not just engaged in collecting and sending help to Serbia. They were rather actively engaged in helping Yugoslav-origin immigrants find a place to stay, find a job, and integrate into the new society. However, the increasing needs of the forcibly displaced population made it impossible for one actor, whether the state or different humanitarian organisations, to solve this issue alone. That is why collaboration and cooperation between different actors was of the utmost importance. For example, ADRA had a very close cooperative relationship with the office of the Red Cross in Subotica, a city in northern Serbia which is very close to the Hungarian border. According to ADRA’s archive, the office of the Red Cross in Subotica was responsible for working with the border police in order to approve the entry of aid into Serbia. As we have already mentioned, in the time of the international sanctions imposed on the FRY, this work was of vital importance. Moreover, ADRA cooperated with other humanitarian organisations, such as the Ecumenical Humanitarian Organization, Caritas Serbia, and Kolo srpskih sestara (Circle of Serbian Sisters). It is also important to mention that ADRA was supported by the former Ministry of Energy of Republic of Serbia, as well as by the oil refinery in Novi Sad. These two helped ADRA by providing fuel and transporting the aid and, most importantly, the Ministry of Energy provided licenses for humanitarian activities in war-affected regions. Lastly, the media did a very good job in providing information on the work of ADRA. Bread of Life Bread of Life was jointly founded by the Protestant Evangelical Church and the Baptist Church in Belgrade in 1992. A pastor of the Baptist Church in Serbia describes in detail how and why this organisation was founded.36 After one Sunday service in the early spring of 1992, members of his Baptist 36 The interview with Informant D was conducted on 22 December 2019 in the offices of the Baptist Church in Belgrade.

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congregation saw a significant number of people on the streets of Belgrade holding nothing but white bags filled with food. When they realised that these people were refugees from Croatia and Bosnia and Herzegovina, they decided to act. Their first move was to print 20 posters addressing the people in need, with a call to come to the church for prayer, help and support. They decided to open the church for refugees and people in need once a week on Thursdays, though they were pretty sure that no one would show up. However, they were wrong. The first meeting was attended by around ten people, and as time passed, the number of people coming to the church grew to exceed the capacity of the church. That is why they decided to send a letter to the Baptist churches abroad in order to get some help. The first reply came from Slobodan Marković, a member of the Baptist Church in Sweden, who managed to gather and send nine tons of aid by truck to Belgrade. As the capacity of the Baptist church was limited with regard to receiving, packing and disseminating this large amount of help, they turned to other religious communities for assistance. This process started in April 1992, and after a meeting with the Protestant Evangelical Church in Belgrade, they agreed to jointly found and register the organisation Bread of Life in September 1992. According to their information, this organisation disseminated: material aid (food, etc.), self-support programs (in-kind donations, micro-loans, workshops, sewing, building furniture, cooking), psychosocial support (for children and seniors), medical assistance, protection projects, sponsoring families, Christmas presents for children. […] In addition, ‘Bread of Life’ also provided assistance to hospitals and other social institutions – nursing homes, children’s homes, homes for people with special needs, kindergartens and other local humanitarian NGOs. Assistance was also provided to Orthodox monasteries in Serbia.37

In particular, the results of the humanitarian work of Bread of Life in the 1990s are as follows: ‒ Import and distribution of about 1,200 trucks with 20 tons of humanitarian aid; ‒ Provision of regular monthly financial assistance to some 40,000 refugees and internally displaced persons; ‒ Distribution of humanitarian aid to about 500,000 people in cooperation with social and medical institutions and other organisations; 37 Bread of Life, http://www.breadoflife.org.rs/en/about.php (accessed 22 January 2020).

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‒ Provision of assistance to approximately 700 refugee and displaced families through self-support programmes. The project included a large variety of in-kind donations, such as heifers, pregnant sows, piglets for fattening, laying hens, chickens, kids, sheep, carpentry and woodworking tools, sewing machines, saws, greenhouses, etc. The obligation of the grantee was to help other vulnerable families with the products of their donations, such as calves, pigs, meat, eggs, home-made goods, vegetables; ‒ Implementation of projects providing psycho-social support to children and the elderly after the NATO bombings in 1999. Thus, through these projects the education of children through various methods to overcome trauma was supported. This included over 1,300 children. Project integration and psychosocial support was implemented through five clubs for the elderly, refugees and internally displaced persons; ‒ Distribution of over 500,000 Christmas presents provided by children from the UK and Germany for children in Serbia since 1994.38

In addition to this list, it is important to mention that in 1995 Bread of Life organised several clubs for refugees. These clubs were designed as a place for refugees to gather, organise and seek help and support. The clubs were opened in Nova Pazova, Batajnica, Pančevo, Rakovica, Obrenovac and Železnik. The last two are still active. However, this wide range of projects and aid for the population in need was not possible without strong international support, on the one hand, and the help of a network of volunteers, on the other. The significant level of international support for Bread of Life was a result of two equally important factors. Firstly, due to the fact that Bread of Life had close ties, connections and cooperation with different Protestant churches in Western Europe, various diplomatic representatives in Serbia came to hear of it. Consequently, they helped spread the word about the activities and mission of Bread of Life. Secondly, international actors recognised the level of transparency, in particular financial transparency, in the work of Bread of Life. That is why this organisation was able to enter into significant cooperation with various other Protestant communities and organisations, including, for example, Tearfund, the Church of Sweden, and Protestant churches from England, Canada, or Germany, as well as the Red Cross, the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) and the International Rescue Committee 38 All stated according to Bread of Life, http://www.breadoflife.org.rs/en/about.php (accessed 22 January 2020).

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(IRC). Moreover, Bread of Life engaged in close cooperation with different regional humanitarian organisations and religious communities, such as the Church of God, the Christ’s Church, the TABITA organisation (from Novi Sad), ADRA, or Ljubi bližnjeg svoga (Love Thy Neighbour), a humanitarian organisation whose activities were mostly based in the southern parts of the country. Lastly, Bread of Life organised its regional branch in Bosnia and Herzegovina in 1994, based in the city of Prijedor. It is important to mention that there was no significant cooperation among Bread of Life and non-Protestant humanitarian organisations in Serbia in the 1990s. One of the main reasons why there was no such cooperation is the fact that other organisations, particularly the younger members, were (and possibly still are) biased against Bread of Life. When it comes to the network of volunteers, Bread of Life was also very original in its approach. Besides the fact that it had a number of volunteers coming from different religious communities, it realised that among the refugee population there were a number of very pro-active people. That is why it tried to actively engage refugees in its endeavours. At the peak of the refugee crisis, Bread of Life had 80 volunteers, and half of them were refugees. Some of them are still employed by Bread of Life. Yet, the representatives of Bread of Life say that even though the state was very familiar with its work, it neither received nor requested any support from the state. This organisation was not focused on the collective centres for refugees (organised and supported by the state and the CFR), but rather on people living in private and rented accommodation. However, when necessary, it also helped the collective refugee centres (for example, when there was not enough food or when presents for children needed to be provided). Yet, the main focus of Bread of Life was on the people living outside the collective centres. Its volunteers made and regularly updated lists of people in need, and families with elderly relatives and children were at the top of the priority list. It is our impression that Bread of Life was more than prepared to work with the state to help the population in need, but the state did not instigate cooperation. Despite its activities, however, it seems that the humanitarian work of Bread of Life in the 1990s has somehow remained unknown to the general population in Serbia. It is clear that this organisation prioritised helping refugees, wherever they were.

Conclusion It is clear that the forced population displacement was one of most significant social consequences of the Yugoslav Wars (1991-1995). The Federal Republic

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of Yugoslavia, and particularly Serbia, was widely affected by this process. It represented a great social challenge for war-torn Serbia, which was institutionally and financially incapable of providing sufficient aid to the population in need. That is why one of the major actors supporting people in need were various faith-based humanitarian organisations. However, their humanitarian work in the 1990s has been widely ignored in the academic literature of relevant disciplines as well as in public discourse. When it comes to the institutional responses of the state, it should be recognised that the state adopted the 1992 Law on Refugees, as well as the Decree on the Care of Refugees of the same year. These legal regulations provided space for the formation of the collective refugee centres across the state, regulated the provision of different kinds of aid by the state, and, most importantly, made it possible for the state to issue refugees identity cards. Later on, these identity documents would become very important legal documents enabling people to receive aid. However, this chapter has shown that the state was not capable of meeting all the needs of the forcibly displaced population. Equally important, the state did not recognise the potential of faith-based humanitarian organisations to help the population in need. These organisations had two advantages over the state in this regard. On the one hand, they already had a significant network of parishes and local church communities which were used to reach more people. On the other hand, they had strong and supportive international networks which were used for gathering of humanitarian aid. Instead of drawing upon these advantages of the faith-based humanitarian organisations, the state did nothing in this regard. Consequently, faith-based humanitarian organisations were left alone and coordinated humanitarian aid distribution on their own. Our case studies of three local faith-based humanitarian organisations (Philanthropy, ADRA Serbia and Bread of Life) have shown some striking results. Firstly, their work and outreach go well beyond their human resources. In the 1990s, Philanthropy disseminated over 66,000 tons of aid, while Bread of Life and ADRA Serbia disseminated up to 20 tons each. If we have in mind that these organisations usually had between five and ten full-time employees, alongside a number of volunteers, these numbers are truly remarkable. Aid provided by these three organisation was disseminated on the local level, but also abroad (mostly to Bosnia and Herzegovina and Republika Srpska, and partly to Croatia). Secondly, their members and leaders had little to no experience of humanitarian work, and no support from the state. They were on their own. Their work has been widely supported from abroad, and this was the most significant part of

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the work. Philanthropy received significant support from abroad, mostly from other Orthodox Christian Churches, while ADRA Serbia and Bread of Life were mostly supported by Protestant and evangelical churches in Western Europe. Yet, it was not uncommon that the aid from abroad came from organisations belonging to a different religious tradition. However, this does not mean that faith-based humanitarian organisations in Serbia cooperated. Their work was usually highly separated, although there were cases when they helped each other, or participated in joint projects. It should be also said that their work was significantly supported by a network of volunteers, most of whom were actually refugees. The involvement of refugees in their work is a characteristic shared by all three organisations included in this study. It is also worth mentioning that providing humanitarian aid for refugees was seen as a part of their evangelical role in society. Besides providing aid in food, clothes or shelter, they also provided hope for refugees. Lastly, our three cases share one important pattern regarding their relations with the state: it did not help them, but it also did not interfere with their work, though it seems that the state was quite familiar with their work and activities. That being said, it is concluded that the responses of the state and faithbased humanitarian organisations towards forcibly displaced population in Serbia in the 1990s were important, much needed and, unfortunately, not sufficient to meet the requirements of those in need. More precisely, the needs of the forcibly displaced population were much higher that these actors could meet. It is likely that the responses would have been more efficient if there had been formal cooperation arrangements in place between the state and faith-based humanitarian organisations. Yet, having in mind the social and political context of the time, the reach of the aid provided by the faith-based humanitarian organisations in 1990-1996 period was quite remarkable and surely deserves to be the focus of a more in-depth empirical studies in the future.

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Lukić, V. (2015). Dve decenije izbeglištva u Srbiji [Two decades of refugees in Serbia]. Beograd: Republički zavod za statistiku. Meznarić, S., and J. Zlarković Winter (1993). ‘Forced Migration and Refugee Flows in Croatia, Slovenia and Bosnia-Herzegovina: Early Warning, Beginning and Current State of Flows’. Refuge 12(7), pp. 3-5. Ministarstvo za ljudska i manjinska prava Srbije i Crne Gore (2004). Izbeglički korpus u Srbiji: Prema podacima popisa stanovništva 2002. Beograd: Ministarstvo za ljudska i manjinska prava Srbije i Crne Gore. Nikolić, M., and D. Dimitrijević (2013). ‘“Macedonian Orthodox Church (MOC)” in Former Yugoslav State’. Politics and Religion Journal 7(1), pp. 193-215. Philanthropy (n.d.). https://www.covekoljublje.org/o-nama.html (accessed 15 January 2020). Stojić Mitrović, M., and A. Đurić Milovanović (2019a). ‘The Humanitarian Engagement of Faith-Based Organisations in Serbia, Balancing between the Vulnerable Human and the (In)Secure (Nation) State’, In L. N. Leustean (ed.), Forced Migration and Human Security in the Eastern Orthodox World. London: Routledge, pp. 207-228. Stojić Mitrović, M., and A. Đurić Milovanović (2019b). ‘Narativi verskih humanitarinih organizacija o edukaciji migranata u Srbiji nakon zatvaranja formalizovanog migracijskog koridora 2016. godine’ [The narratives of faith-based organisations on migrant education in Serbia after the closure of the formalized migration corridor in 2016]. Glasnik Etnografskog instituta SANU 67(3), pp. 573-587. https:// doi.org/10.2298/GEI1903573S. UNHCR (1995). ‘Map of Main Displaced Populations from the former Yugoslavia, December 1995’. https://www.unhcr.org/publications/maps/3ae6bb000/mapmain-displaced-populations-former-yugoslavia-december-1995.html (accessed 22 January 2020). UNHCR (1996). ‘Popis izbeglica i drugih ratom ugroženih lica u Saveznoj Republici Jugoslaviji’ [Census of refugees and other war-affected persons in the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia]. Komesarijat za izbeglice Republike Srbije, Komesarijat za raseljena lica Crne Gore. UNHCR (2000). ‘War and Humanitarian Action: Iraq and the Balkans’. In The State of World’s Refugees 2000: Fifty Years of Humanitarian Action. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 211-243. https://www.unhcr.org/3ebf9bb50.pdf (accessed 10 January 2020). University of Belgrade (2015). ‘Verska tolerancija u Srbiji’ [Religious tolerance in Serbia]. Public debate hosted by the Faculty of Political Sciences, University of Belgrade, December. http://www.fpn.bg.ac.rs/arhiva/node/7055 (accessed 2 December 2019). Uredba (1992). ‘Uredba o zbrinjavanju izbeglica’ [Decree on the care of refugees]. Službeni glasnik RS, no., 20, April  1992. http://w w w.

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pravno-informacioni-sistem.rs/SlGlasnikPortal/eli/rep/sgrs/vlada/uredba/1992/20/1/reg (accessed 26 December 2019). Veković, M. (2015). ‘Political Functions of the Serbian Orthodox Church in United States of America (1945-1991)’. In S. D. Donabed and A. Quezada-Grant (eds), Decentering Discussion on Religion and State: Emerging Narratives, Challenging Perspectives. Lanham: Lexington Books, pp. 177-192. Veković, M., and V. Đogatović (2019). ‘Errando Discimus: Has Post-Yugoslav Political and Social Science Neglected Religion?’ Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 58(3), pp. 753-763. DOI: 10.1111/jssr.12611. Zakon (1992). ‘Zakon o izbeglicama’ [Law on Refugees]. Službeni glasnik RS, no. 18, April 1992. http://www.pravno-informacioni-sistem.rs/SlGlasnikPortal/viewdoc?uuid=5e9c0709-3ad0-4677-b88f-a5726a0f994b (accessed 26 December 2019). Zitnanova, K. (2014). ‘Refugee Protection and International Migration in the Western Balkans’. UNHCR, March. https://www.unhcr.org/5375c9ab9.pdf (accessed 5 December 2019).

Websites ADRA Serbia. https://adra.org.rs/ko-smo-mi/ (accessed 20 January 2020). Bread of Life. http://www.breadoflife.org.rs/en/about.php (accessed 22 January 2020). Caritas Serbia. https://caritas.rs (accessed 10 January 2020). Commissariat for Refugees. http://www.kirs.gov.rs (accessed 4 January 2020). Ecumenical Humanitarian Organization. http://www.ehons.org/en/about-us/ our-history (accessed 11 January 2020). International Orthodox Christian Charities. https://iocc.org/where-we-work/ balkans (accessed 31 January 2020).

About the authors Aleksandra Djurić Milovanović is an anthropologist working as a Senior Research Fellow at the Institute for Balkan Studies of the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts. Her publications include Distinctive Aspects of the Religion and Ethnicity of Romanians in Vojvodina (Institute for Balkan Studies SASA, 2015), Orthodox Christian Renewal Movements in Eastern Europe (Palgrave Macmillan, 2017; co-editor with Radmila Radic) and The Romanian Orthodox Church in the Yugoslav Banat between Two World Wars (Cluj University Press, 2019; co-author with Mircea Maran).

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Marko Veković is an Assistant Professor of Religion and Politics at the Faculty of Political Sciences, University of Belgrade. His recent publications include Democratization in Christian Orthodox Europe: Comparing Greece, Serbia and Russia (Routledge, 2020); ‘Errando Discimus: Has Post-Yugoslav Political and Social Science Neglected Religion?’, Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 58(3) (2019), pp. 753-763 (with Veljko Đogatović); ‘Render unto Caesar: Explaining Political Dimension of the Autocephaly Demands in Ukraine and Montenegro’, Journal of Church and State 61(4) (2019), pp. 591-609 (with Miroljub Jevtić); and, ‘In Pursuit of “Twin Toleration”: Democracy and Church-State Relations in Serbia and Montenegro’, Occasional Papers on Religion in Eastern Europe 39(5) (2019), Article 19.

5

Asylum and Migration System Reform A New Role for the Orthodox Church of Greece? Georgios E. Trantas and Eleni D. Tseligka Abstract After the fall of the Iron Curtain, Greece, until then a country of emigration, became a receiving country for immigrants. In 2015, it was met with a significant humanitarian challenge during the largest migration and refugee crisis in Europe since the end of the Second World War. The Orthodox Church of Greece (OCG) and its NGOs made a significant contribution to dealing with the increased arrivals of refugees, asylum seekers and irregular immigrants. At the same time, Greece has been called upon to respond to this challenge while taking into account both humanitarian consideration and its obligation to safeguard the external borders of the EU in light of Europe’s populist resurgence. This chapter suggests that within the framework of deeper European collaboration, Greece will on the one hand have to prioritise the needs of vulnerable individuals, while on the other hand effectively control irregular migration. Keywords: Orthodox Church, Greece, European Union, migration, displacement, refugees

Introduction The purpose of this chapter is to discuss the potential role of the Orthodox Church of Greece (OCG) in the asylum and migration system at the Greek domestic and European Union (EU) levels. As the Greek and, by extension, the external EU borders have been constantly under migratory pressure – a characteristic they share with Greek humanitarian structures – the need to increase the effectiveness of the EU system is ever more pressing. This is especially the case given the issue has now become entrenched and does

Hudson, Victoria, and Lucian N. Leustean (eds), Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463727556_ch05

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not seem likely to go away. In light of the forthcoming restructure and revision of the current EU and Greek asylum and migration system, the OCG will have its own role to play as a humanitarian actor and will most probably have to realign its organisation to fit the new regime, once it has been determined. Shedding light on the particularities of the sociopolitical environment in which these developments are unfolding, this chapter will examine the religious demographics of the country while taking into account church-state relations. It will also explore distinct cases of displacement that exemplify the typology of state actions in the face of humanitarian challenges as such. Further, we discuss the dominant tendencies informing the reform of the EU asylum and migration system, which will inevitably constitute a model framework for the state and shall therefore indirectly codetermine the corresponding role of the OCG. While undoubtedly secular, Greece remains a country with a high degree of religious sentiment. Orthodoxy is the predominant faith in Greece and it is estimated that 90% of Greek residents are Orthodox Christians. The country’s current constitution has undergone several reforms since 1975, moving towards a more secularist approach. However, among other features, it has maintained its original opening statement, which is an invocation of the Holy Trinity. Due to its history and geographic location, Greece is no stranger to migration and refugee waves as well as population displacement. The beginning of the twentieth century found Greece at the epicentre of a refugee wave involving Christians fleeing persecution from the failing Ottoman Empire, as well as large numbers of displaced persons resulting from the mandatory population exchange ordered by the 1923 Lausanne Peace Treaty. During the Cold War, Greece was predominantly a country of emigration and lost approximately one-fifth of its population to emigration towards Western Europe, the United States and Australia. After the end of the Cold War, Greece became a country of immigration, particularly for individuals from post-communist countries. Since the founding of the European Union, and because of its geographic location, Greece constitutes a transit country for migrants and refugees from third countries, particularly from Africa and Asia. At times, the church sought to have a positive humanitarian impact during periods of turbulence, often in collaboration with state authorities and international organisations. For example, Archbishop Damaskinos Papandreou, in collaboration with the police, managed to save nearly half of Athens’ Jewish population during WWII by providing them with false identities. Since 1978, the church has also played an active role in the repatriation of Greek emigrants, through its relevant association, namely the

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Integration Centre for Migrant Workers (ICMW). The refugee and migrant crisis of 2015 once again brought Greece into the centre of attention, as the vast majority of entries to the EU passed through the Greek borders with Turkey, with 1,181,827 persons entering Greece between 1 January 2015 and 26 November 2019. The church, through its own NGOs and in collaboration with other international organisations, has been actively involved in dealing with the humanitarian aspect of the problem, to the extent of its ability. Currently the EU environment is undergoing a change in attitudes as regards asylum and migration, shifting the focus onto stricter vetting processes, integration and the reinforcement of external borders. In the same vein, Greece’s national plan also includes the reinforcement of its borders with third countries and the enforcement of stricter asylum and migration laws, while prioritising the needs of the most vulnerable groups, such as women, minors and those who fall under an international protection regime and have a right to asylum as defined by the Geneva Convention of 1951 and supplemented by the New York Protocol of 31 January 1967, i.e. typically people fleeing persecution, wars and torture (European Commission 2019). The church is once again asked to contribute to the provision of humanitarian relief, thus playing an instrumental role in aiding the efforts of the state, which in turn also seeks to safeguard its borders, while preserving the principles and values of the European Union and contributing to its integrity.

Religion, ethnicity and population The latest census conducted in Greece in 2011 by the Hellenic Statistical Authority (ELSTAT) found that the country’s total resident population is 10,816,286, of which 91.6% are Greek citizens, 1.8% are citizens of another EU state, 6.5% come from third countries, and 0.04% are of unspecified citizenship or stateless persons (Hellenic Statistical Authority 2019). The census did not collect data on religious affiliation amongst Greek residents, but according to a PEW Forum quantitative study in 2016 on the religious landscape of Central and Eastern Europe, 90% of Greeks identify as Orthodox Christians, 4% identify with one of the other Christian denominations including Catholicism, 2% identify as Muslims, while another 4% were recorded as unaffiliated (Pew Research Center 2017b). However, in another report of the PEW Forum, also in 2016, the percentage of Muslims in Greece appears to be 5.7%, following the 2015 peak of the refugee crisis (Pew Research Center 2017a). The US government estimates that the percentage

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of Orthodox Christians in Greece ranges between 81% and 90% per cent, while 4% to 15% are atheists and 2% are Muslims. A remaining 3% to 5% of Greece’s total population, includes Orthodox Old Calendarists, Catholics, Protestants, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Jews, members of Ancient Greek polytheistic religions, Scientologists, Bahá’í, Mormons, Sikhs, Buddhists and members of the Hare Krishna movement (US Embassy and Consulate in Greece 2019). The lack of concrete, reliable quantitative data on the size of all religious communities that comprise the entirety of Greece’s population makes the study of corresponding social groups difficult. This issue also concerns the lack of qualitative data on what constitute essentially unknown parts of the general population, which hinders the drafting of necessary policies. It follows, that because Greece is not a destination but rather a transit country for refugees and immigrants – although it is not uncommon for them to remain in host structures, reception centres and hotspots indefinitely – the numbers concerning their demographic data are merely estimates. Keeping a tally of migrants is particularly difficult since they tend to move around the country in their search for ways out of Greece and into Central and Northern Europe via the Balkan Route, or because of the poor living conditions in host structures. Furthermore, when their applications for asylum are rejected, they tend to disappear under the radar of the authorities. Limitations also apply because the capacity of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) and the International Organization for Migration (IOM) tracking systems does not always measure up to the size of the migratory movement. Furthermore, the relevant authorities have inadequate access to and information about routes taken by migrants, who do not always cooperate with efforts to count and register them. Data collection can be particularly challenging when dealing with clandestine irregular migration that occurs alongside refugee movement (Global Migration Data Portal 2019). Among other factors, migrants’ decision-making in relation to their movements often depends on social media and access to information via smartphones, before as well as during the clandestine journey. The information comes from social ties and networks that rely to a significant degree on kinship and familiarity, but also on secrecy due to the fear of government surveillance. Hence, the possibility of accessing such data is at best limited (Dekker et al. 2018). In sum, any census and statistical study can only account for the permanent, registered and traceable residents of the country. Moreover, the last census took place in 2011, well before the refugee and migrant crisis that peaked in 2015 and continues to date, while the inflows fluctuate in terms of their volume and demographic composition. Indicatively, according to

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the UNHCR, since 2015 a significant drop has occurred, with the number of arrivals falling from 861,630 in 2015, 177,234 in 2016 and 36,310 in 2017. Yet, a rise in numbers was observed in 2018 with 50,508 arrivals, followed by 71,368 by 15 December 2019 (UNHCR 2019).

Religion-state relations The centrality of religion for the Orthodox communities of South-eastern Europe predates the notion of the nation-state itself, whereby, with the emergence of national entities in the region, Orthodoxy was identified with the Greek nation and its psyche, and ultimately became part of its self-image as a collectively perceived constituent element of identity within the context of the Helleno-Christian construct, as part of the nation-building process. It follows that the Greek state has been closely linked to the Orthodox Church of Greece (OCG) ever since the founding of the latter (1833), and abides by this special relationship to date, notwithstanding the ideological orientation of consecutive governments. In turn, the OCG considers its close relationship with the state a sine qua non and as legitimated, both by history and by its own formative contribution to the Greek-Orthodox particularity. Moreover, the well-being of the state and its people, the safeguarding of the national interest and the preservation of the Hellenic-Orthodox identity is for the OCG a raison d’être (Trantas 2018). It enjoys, directly or indirectly, the widespread social acceptance and sway required to have a role and a say in the sociopolitical affairs of the state. One year after the fall of the junta regime (1974), the 1952 constitution, which was adopted as an interim solution, was replaced by that of 1975. Within its broader context of reviews, revisions and amendments, it repositioned church-state relations, inclining them towards a more secularist direction. For example, the prerequisite that the president be Orthodox and swear to safeguard the creed was removed. Reference to proselytism was omitted from Article 3 and was inserted in Article 13 as a prohibition of ‘proselytism against any faith’ instead. The revised Article 3 guaranteed freedom of worship while acknowledging Orthodoxy as the ‘prevailing faith’, thus constitutionally rendering the OCG an established church instead of a state institution (Koliopoulos and Veremis 2010: 154-155; Koliopoulos and Veremis 2002). The Constitution of 1975 is of particular significance as it marked the ushering in of the Third Hellenic Republic and the shift to a democratic polity, and it is still in force. It has been amended three times since its adoption;

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in 1986, 2001 and 2008. Although no changes have been made as regards religious affairs, it is worth noting that the amendment of 2001 was adopted with extensive parliamentary consensus – four-fifths of the members of parliament – and introduced new fundamental individual rights. Namely, it is stated that ‘everyone has the right […] to the protection of one’s genetic identity’, as well as to ‘participation in the Information Community’ and to the electronically produced, exchanged and disseminated information thereof (Articles 5 and 5A) (Syntagma tēs Ellados 2010: 21). As regards churchstate relations, Article 3 still defines Eastern Orthodoxy as the prevailing faith by declaring that the ‘predominant religion in Greece is the religion of the Eastern Orthodox Church of Christ’, while Article 13 on religious freedom guarantees that ‘the freedom of religious conscience is inviolable’ and that ‘every known religion is free’ and its worship is ‘practiced unobstructed under the protection of the law’, while ‘proselytism is forbidden’ (Syntagma tēs Ellados 2010: 19, 26). The place of religion – not the church, as it is not mentioned – is still connoted by the invocation of the Holy Trinity at the very beginning of the constitution, namely, ‘In the name of the Holy and Consubstantial and Indivisible Trinity’ (Syntagma tēs Ellados 2010: 19). Recent discussions and suggestions at parliamentary level regarding the constitutional amendment and revision of Article 3, leading to the separation of church and state, have not yielded fruit so far. Any expectations that the required parliamentary consensus might be reached to that end in the foreseeable future would be misplaced, considering how unpopular such an initiative would likely be, particularly in light of the pronounced linkage between Orthodoxy and the broadly perceived notions of Modern Greek identity and particularity. Indeed, the amendment proposal of SYRIZA 1 in late 2018, when the party was still in government under Alexis Tsipras, suggested that Article 3, among others, should be revised in order to explicitly declare the neutrality of the state towards religion while acknowledging Orthodoxy as the predominant faith, albeit without that constituting its recognition as an official state religion (Hellenic Parliament 2018). However, constitutional amendments require the vote of at least 180 of the 300 members of parliament, and a consensus as such was not reached as regards Articles 3, 13, 33 and 59, which pertain to the religious neutrality of the state, the religious oath2 and the discrete separation between church 1 The ‘Coalition of the Radical Left’ (Synaspismos Rizospastikēs Aristeras, Gr.: Συνασπισμός Ριζοσπαστικής Αριστεράς). 2 The oath taken by the members of newly appointed governments contains the words ‘in the name of the Holy and Cosubstantial and Indivisible Trinity’. Likewise, heterodox or believers

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and state. These proposed amendments failed to gain, in particular, the support of New Democracy,3 the current ruling party, which countered that the constitution is already equipped to guarantee all those principles. However, the New Democracy government recognises that the existing legal framework for the establishment and functioning of places of worship in Greece requires an overhaul. The Minister of Education and Religious Affairs Niki Kerameus (2019-) intends to replace the outdated law with a new one, taking into particular consideration the fact that approximately 500 places of worship have been functioning in Greece for decades without any official permit. Indeed, such long-standing religious and historical places belonging to several religious creeds and communities were founded and remain in operation, even pre-dating the existing legal framework of 1938-1939. The immediate ministerial priority is to register these places and make sure that they are structurally safe, while those that have been in operation before 9 August 1955 – i.e. before the existing system of building permits came into force – are to receive an official permit to operate. Already, five Armenian Orthodox churches and three historical mosques have been approved (Lakasas 2019).

Religion and forced displacement Concerning incoming refugees, there were no formal or regular structures to administer the necessary services to the forcefully displaced Greek population of Asia Minor, with the involvement of the Refugee Relief Fund (RRF), 4 the Save the Children Fund and the Red Cross being merely an ad hoc arrangement following the Greek Catastrophe in Asia Minor (1922) and the subsequent Lausanne Convention5 of 30 January 1923. The aftermath of the defeat of Greek forces in Asia Minor caused an unprecedented refugee flight from Turkey. Their exact number is difficult to estimate; their volume, combined with the hasty nature of their displacement and ensuing lack of coordination did not allow them to be properly registered upon arrival. However, according to the general population census of 5 May 1928, they amounted to 1,221,849 persons, in a population of approximately 5 million of other creeds take the oath as is customary in their own faiths, while a secular oath is also permitted in the existing constitutional and legal framework. 3 Nea Dēmokratia, Gr.: Νέα Δημοκρατία. 4 Tameion Prostasias Prosfygōn, Gr.: Ταμείον Προστασίας Προσφύγων. 5 Concerned strictly with the population exchange, not to be confused with the Peace Treaty of 24 July 1923.

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in total. According to the League of Nations, the number of refugees who entered Greece at the time was much higher, probably 1.4 million, but between 1922 and 1928, 75,000 died due to extreme poverty and a further 66,000 managed to emigrate to Egypt, parts of Western Europe and the United States (Koliopoulos and Veremis 2002: 89-100; Hirschon 2004; Kontogiorgi 2006). The Italian invasion of Ottoman Libya in September 1911, commonly known as the start of the Italo-Turkish War (1911-1912), made ethnicity and religion the focus of attention in the Ottoman Empire. Christians and Muslims had always had separate roles in the life of the empire, but had coexisted for centuries as Ottoman subjects. From September 1911 onwards, Christians of all denominations and ethnic backgrounds came to be perceived by Muslim Turks as a threat and became the object of hostility (Akçam 2012). Over a period of eleven years from the time of the Italo-Turkish War, the regions of Anatolia and Asia Minor shed most of their Christian inhabitants. The First Balkan War (1912-1913) signified the beginning of a period of mass migration of Anatolian Greeks from the Ottoman Empire, mostly caused by the violence against Christian Hellenophones. The Armenian revolt, which was supported by other minorities in the region, such as the Nestorian Christians in the city of Van, was a catalyst for the orchestrated extermination of the majority of the Christian population of the Ottoman Empire. This campaign of violence is sometimes mistakenly perceived as a series of distinct events, including the Armenian Genocide, the Pontic Genocide (also known as the Greek Genocide), the Assyrian (Nestorian) Genocide and the Greek Catastrophe of 1922 (DiCarlo 2008). The Lausanne Peace Treaty, which was signed in January 1923, brought an end to the various conflicts in the post-Ottoman regions but also signified further human migration, this time due to compulsory population exchange between Greece and Turkey. The importance of religion in the national self-perception of both Greeks and Turks is evident throughout the text of the treaty. For instance, Article 1 speaks of ‘a compulsory exchange of Turkish nationals of the Greek Orthodox religion established in Turkish territory, and of Greek nationals of the Moslem religion established in Greek territory’ (Republic of Turkey. Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2011). The treaty deals with religion as the only element of national identity; for example, Article 2 refers to ‘Moslem inhabitants of Western Thrace’, and Articles 3 and 5 refer to ‘Greeks and Moslems’ as separate national groups, considering Muslims in Greece to be ethnic Turks, while excluding ethnic Greeks from the possibility of being Muslim at the same time (Republic of Turkey. Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2011).

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The mass exodus of Christians from the former Ottoman Empire and Turkey resulted in an unprecedented refugee movement. As stated above, according to the general population census of May 1928, the number of refugees in Greece included 1,221,849 displaced ethnic Greeks. Among them, 626,954 were from Asia Minor, 182,169 were Pontic Greeks from the Black Sea and Anatolia, 256,635 were from Eastern Thrace, and 38,458 were from Constantinople. In addition to those refugees who had fled from Turkey, several thousand more came from the broader post-Ottoman region, specifically 49,027 from Bulgaria, 2,186 from Albania, 5,250 from Serbia, 561 from the Dodecanese Islands that were not Greek territory at the time and 2,083 from various other places in the region (Pallis 1977). However, the fall of the Ottoman Empire was not the only notable historic event that gave rise to human displacement in the region during the first half of the twentieth century. The Russian Revolution, the establishment of communism and the radical atheism in the Soviet Union contributed further to the displacement of ethnic Greeks in the region. Specifically, of the total number of ethnic Greek refugees in 1928 mentioned earlier, 47,091 came from the region of Caucasus and 11,435 had fled from various locations in Russia and the broader Soviet Union (Pallis 1977). In addition to the ethnic Greek refugees registered by the population census of 1928, members of Christian minorities from the Ottoman Empire had also been displaced in significant numbers. For instance, 32,000 Armenians, 1,200 Circassians and 400 Assyrians found refuge in Greece. Legislation enacted in 1927 provided Greek citizenship to the majority of non-Greek Christian refugees in Greece, while the remaining individuals received Nansen passports from the League of Nations (Pallis 1977). The Second World War brought forth another catastrophe, via the displacement of the Jewish Greeks and the Holocaust that eradicated the Greek Jewry almost in its entirety. The Jewish communities in Greece are the oldest in Europe. The Jewish presence in Greece dates back to the Hellenistic era and the establishment of Thessaloniki in 315 BC by King Cassander (Kassandros, Gr.: Κάσσανδρος) of the Antipatrid dynasty, who invited Jewish tradesmen to settle in his newly founded city. By the first century BC, there were established Jewish communities in Veroia, Corinth, Patras, Chania, Athens and Rhodes. On the island of Delos, which was regarded as holy ground by pagan Greeks, both a Jewish and a Samaritan synagogue can be found, dating back to that era. The acts of the Apostles in the New Testament provide details of Paul’s visits to the synagogues of Thessaloniki, Athens, Corinth and Veroia. During the Byzantine era, the Greek Jews were given the name Romaniotes (Gr.: Ρωμανιώτες) i.e. Romaniote Jews, suggesting

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their cultural kinship to the Eastern Romans – distinguishing them from the other Jewish communities in the Mediterranean. Notably, they spoke a distinct Judeo-Greek language and were distinct from Ashkenazi and Sephardi Jews. During the Ottoman era, Sephardic Jews built communities in Greece, often facing the antipathy of the Romaniotes, who by the 1800s found themselves significantly outnumbered. During the Greek War of Independence, the majority of Romaniotes supported the struggle for a sovereign Greek state, while the Sephardic communities sided with the Ottoman establishment that had offered them protection since the 1490s (Georgakas 2007). The city of Thessaloniki was incorporated into the modern Greek state during the First Balkan War in 1913 and by the late 1920s the Jewish community of the city numbered approximately 55,000 people. The transition from imperial to national rule, the demographic shift due to the refugee wave from Minor Asia and Anatolia, as well as the politicisation of the refugee problem progressively fostered a hostile environment for Jews in Thessaloniki. The results of the 1926 national elections in Greece created an association between Jews and communism and the 1927 introduction of numerus clausus in universities in Poland, Romania and Hungary, a measure of discriminating against the Jews in higher education, became the catalyst for anti-Semitic attitudes in Greece (Kallis 2006). This rendered them more vulnerable compared to the Jewish community in Athens, for example, particularly during the Second World War. Regarding the Holocaust, although the demographic information is not precise, there is a scholarly consensus as regards the estimates. Before the Nazi occupation, the Greek Jewish population amounted to approximately 80,000 people; during the Nazi occupation, between 60,000 and 65,000 Greek Jews were deported to Auschwitz, with only 2,500 of those deported surviving the ordeal. The Jewish community of Thessaloniki, for instance, which numbered approximately 56,000 in 1939, was almost completely obliterated along with its social and cultural life, with only 500 surviving, primarily due to their Spanish citizenship. This tragedy was slightly mitigated in Athens, where Archbishop Damaskinos and the chief of police, Angelos Evert, provided a number of members of the Jewish community with false certif icates of baptism and identity cards.6 Moreover, the community there had an Athenian accent and could thus blend in more with the local 6 The exact number is unknown. False baptism certificates as well as identity cards were offered to all who requested them. There are no reliable estimates but, rather, speculations on how many of them were issued.

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population, which also tended to be more sympathetic as compared with that of Thessaloniki, hence, 45 per cent of Athenian Jews, i.e. 3,500 people, survived (Holst-Warhaft 1999). Greece’s post-WWII Jewish population was estimated at approximately 10,000 (Georgakas 2007). Up until the fall of the Iron Curtain, Greece was predominantly a country of emigration, particularly since the late nineteenth century, and then during the interwar period, followed by a peak in emigration in the post-WWII era, which lasted until the mid-1970s. It is estimated that between 1961 and 1974, 2 million people emigrated from Greece to seek employment abroad; this number corresponds to one-fifth of the country’s total population in 1974 (Charalambis et al. 2004). The main destinations were the USA, Australia and Germany. With the repatriation of the Greek Gastarbeiter (guest workers), and the lack of reintegration provisions on the part of the state, the OCG established the Integration Centre for Migrant Workers (ICMW) in 1978, with the aim of supporting returnees from German-speaking countries (Trantas 2019). Post 1989, the migratory paradigm shifted and Western-aligned Greece became a refuge for ethnic Greeks from the former Soviet Union, with Kazakhstan and Georgia being the main countries of origin. Approximately 160,000 Pontic Greeks entered the country between 1990 and 1993 (Venturas 2009). To exempt the diasporic repatriates from the restrictions on work and residency imposed by law on immigrants of foreign descent, they were acknowledged with the terms omogeneis (‘people of the same lineage’) or palinnostountes (‘returnees of Greek descent’), and thus differentiated from the allogeneis (‘people of different lineage’) under a law passed in 1991 (Venturas 2009). State structures proved inadequate in dealing with this humanitarian crisis. In addition, irregular migration from Albania in the 1990s constituted the most notable population movement, with estimates amounting to approximately 600,000 people. The fall of the communist regime in Albania brought forth an interruption in industrial production and the loss of thousands of jobs in the public sector. In 1989, 20% of the Albanian population was between the ages of 15 and 24, and the increased unemployment and economic instability of the state made emigration to the West very attractive for many young Albanians. Greece, as a member of the European Economic Community and later the EU, was the first country of choice for Albanian migrants due to the shared land border, which made crossing safer compared with the journey to Italy, which required travelling by sea (Barjarba 2004). Furthermore, Greece maintained an open door policy for ethnic Greeks of Albanian nationality, who were treated as omogeneis under the above-mentioned

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1991 law, and became the f irst links of chain migration7 from Albania. The integration of such numbers, albeit not unproblematic due to the initial lack of social and institutional preparation and planning, happened organically and successfully, which is attested by how inconspicuous the Albanian community is among the general population, regardless of religious creed (Kokkali 2015). Table 5.1  Population shifts in Greece, 1907-2011 Year

Total population

Total increase

1907 1920 1928 1940 1951 1961 1971 1981 1991 2001 2011

2,631,952 5,531,474 6,204,684 7,344,860 7,632,801 8,388,553 8,768,641 9,740,417 10,259,900 10,964,020 10,939,727

2,899,522 673,210 1,140,176 287,941 755,752 380,088 971,776 519,483 704,120 -24,293

Sources: Chomatianos 1909; Hellenic Republic 2013; National Statistical Service of Greece 1962, 2003; République Hellénique. Ministère de l’Economie Nationale. Statistique Générale de la Grèce 1933, 1946; République Hellénique. Office National de Statistique de Grèce 1994a, 1994b; Royaume de Grèce. Ministère de l’Economie Nationale. Direction de la Statistique 1921; Royaume de Grèce. Office National de Statistique 1972; Vasileion tēs Ellados. Ypourgeion Esōterikōn. Ethnikē Statistikē Ypēresia 1961

The character of migratory trends has gradually shifted since the beginning of the 2000s, when an increase in arrivals from Africa, Asia and the Middle East has been observable, alongside an influx from the Balkans. By 2005, the total number of international migrants in Greece amounted to approximately 1 million, with 200,000 being undocumented (Gropas and Triandafyllidou 2005: 7). A significant increase in the number of asylum seekers and irregular migrants, particularly from Pakistan, Bangladesh, Iraq and Afghanistan, was noted from 2007 onwards, with most arrivals coming by boat through the Aegean Sea. A shift in that pattern was observed 7 Chain migration is defined as ‘that movement in which prospective migrants learn of opportunities, are provided with transportation, and have initial accommodation and employment arranged by means of primary social relationships with previous migrants’ (MacDonald and MacDonald 1964: 82).

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from 2010, demonstrated by an increased inflow of irregular migrants from Asia and Africa seeking passage to other EU destinations, and crossing into Greek territory via the land border with Turkey, especially at the river Evros border and constituting approximately 85% of all detected illegal border crossings at EU level. The shift to entry by land resulted from the assistance Greece received from FRONTEX, the EU border and coastguard agency, in patrolling its sea borders. Greece sought to cope with the large influx of immigrants with new legislation. Law 3536/2007 on ‘Determining matters in migration policy and other issues falling into the competence of the Ministry of Interior, Public Administration and Decentralisation’ was introduced as a revision of the main legislative instrument on migration, Law 3386/2005, on the ‘Entry, residence and social integration of third country nationals into the Greek territory’, which regulated the unification of residence and work permits, as well as introducing a ‘reflection period’ for victims of trafficking. However, according to data from FRONTEX, Greece remained the major gateway of undocumented migrants and asylum seekers from Africa and Asia. In 2011, the European Court of Justice found that 90% of all irregular entries into the EU had passed through Greek borders. Law 3907/2011 represents a further attempt by the Greek state to establish a realistic migration management system through the independent Asylum Service, the operation of First Reception Centres and the adaptation of Greek legislation to Community Directive 2008/115/EC on the return of irregular migrants (IOM 2019b). In 2015, as the first country of entry to the EU for the majority of these incomers, Greece became the epicentre of the biggest migration and refugee crisis in Europe since the end of the Second World War. According to the National Authorities of IOM in Greece, the total number of entries from 1 January 2015 to 26 November 2019 was 1,181,827 persons (IOM 2019a). While for many migrants Greece remains a transit country en route to Central and Northern Europe, there is still a significant percentage for whom Greece is the destination country. In 2018, 11% of the EU’s total first-time applications for asylum were submitted in Greece, making the country the third most popular destination in the EU after Germany and France. Syrian nationals have remained the largest population group of asylum seekers in Europe since 2013. In 2018, asylum applications submitted by Syrians in the EU constituted 13.9% of total applications, followed by those submitted by Afghan (7.1%), Iraqi (6.8%) and Pakistani (4.3%) citizens. In 2018, Greece received nearly 65,000 new applications, of which 13,145 were submitted by Syrians, 11,820 by Afghans, 9,640 by Iraqis, 7,185 by Pakistanis and the remainder by various other nationalities (Eurostat 2019). The emergent

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pattern from the yearly total of new arrivals to Greece between 2014 and 2019 shows a gradual increase since 2017 when the numbers were significantly down on the previous years (UNHCR 2019) (see Table 5.2 below). A new peak, like that of 2015-2016, could prove immensely challenging from a humanitarian and logistical perspective, not to mention with regard to the political ramifications for all actors involved, directly and indirectly, including the EU. Table 5.2  New arrivals to Greece, 2014-2019 Year

Sea arrivals

Land arrivals

Total

2019 2018 2017 2016 2015 2014

57,056 32,494 29,718 173,450 856,723 41,038

14,312 18,014 6,592 3,784 4,907 2,280

71,368 50,508 36,310 177,234 861,630 43,318

The OCG, through its own NGOs, has been heavily involved in dealing with the humanitarian aspect of the problem, even before the peak of the Syrian refugee crisis. It did so initially through its existing organisation and structures, which were intended to serve other purposes. This included, for instance, the ICMW, which has been active since 1978 to assist former Greek guest workers, and Apostoli (Mission), founded in 2010 to deal with the social problems of the Greek debt crisis (Ekklesia 2010). Notably, Apostoli collaborates with the UNHCR within the framework of the ESTIA8 accommodation scheme and mostly focuses on unaccompanied minors and vulnerable groups. Initially its main purposes related to dealing with social problems pertaining to poverty, but its resources and foci were diverted in order to deal with the mounting issues of migrants. In 2012, the OCG founded a new structure, which succeeded the ICMW, under the name Integration Centre for Migrant Workers – Ecumenical Refugee Programme (ICMW-ERP), which focuses on asylum seekers, refugees and immigrants (Orthodox Church of Greece 2012a). It is funded by, among other sources, the Holy Synod of the Orthodox Church of Greece, the UNHCR and Diakonie Katastrophenhilfe.9 8 ESTIA is a UNHCR-funded urban accommodation and cash assistance scheme for refugees and asylum seekers (UNHCR Greece 2017). 9 An evangelical church social service agency of the German Protestant Church and a major humanitarian actor since 1954.

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In summary, its services range from legal assistance, translation, social support and family reunification to international collaborative initiatives, including inter-ecclesiastical programmes.10 Since 2002 the ICMW has been involved in combating human trafficking via its participation in a programme led by the Churches’ Commission for Migrants in Europe (CCME) and in cooperation with Caritas Europe. It also took part in the STOP programme,11 as well as in the actions that succeeded it, known as Christian Action and Networking against Trafficking (CAT). In this framework, the ICWM focused on collaboration with state structures in combatting trafficking, slavery and forced prostitution, and supporting the victims thereof (Dourida 2006). Notably, the ICMW identified the inadequacy of knowledge and insight on the part of the state with regard to Muslim immigrants in Athens, and criticised this as a root cause of the lack of policies and integration strategies. Moreover, it conducted its own research in order to identify and document informal places of worship as well as the denominational, linguistic, ethnic, national and other qualitative characteristics therein (Papantoniou 2009: 348-351). The initiative to combat human trafficking was of high humanitarian value. It suffices to mention that according to the UNHCR in 2015 of the 21.3 million of refugees globally, 47% were women and 51% were children or minors under the age of eighteen. Those two groups suffer increased vulnerability both during their journey but also when sheltered in refugee camps. Their hardships, among other things, include economic exploitation, physical violence, sexual harassment and rape as well as poor health, which is particularly serious for pregnant women (Gallego et al. 2017). Refugee and migrant women are known to experience more complications during pregnancy and labour, such as premature birth and the need for caesarean section. This is mainly due to their poor living conditions, restricted access to healthcare, and a lack of information about their rights to healthcare as 10 Additional websites: Official Website of the Church of Greece, http://www.ecclesia.gr/English/ EnIndex.html; Integration Centre for Migrant Workers – Ecumenical Refugee Programme, http:// www.kspm-erp.com/; Mission, http://mkoapostoli.com/; Bread for the World, https://www.bread. org/; Churches’ Commission for Migrant Europe, https://ccme.eu/; Council of Europe – Commissioner for Human Rights https://www.coe.int/en/web/commissioner/country-monitoring/ greece; Diakonie Katastrophenhilfe, https://www.diakonie-katastrophenhilfe.de; Evangelische Kirche im Rheinland, https://www.ekir.de/www/index.php; Hellenic Republic – Ministry of Citizen Protection, General Secretariat for Migration Policy, Reception and Asylum, http:// asylo.gov.gr/en/; Hellenic Statistical Authority, https://www.statistics.gr/en/home (accessed between 19 November 2019 and 20 February 2020). 11 An EU initiative that dates back to 1996 and targeted human traff ickers and sought to protect their victims (European Commission 2002).

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well as their mistrust of authorities (Ivnik 2017). The vulnerability of women increases in situations of violence, conflict and societal collapse. Generally speaking, individuals can be targeted due to their ethnic or religious identities, when these contrast with the dominant culture and they can be victimised for being ‘the other’. This of course affects both genders, but due to specific dressing codes, such as wearing a headscarf, women are more visible targets (Gallego et al. 2017). Women and persons under the age of eighteen are also more vulnerable to human trafficking, which is the second largest and fast-growing crime worldwide. Human trafficking includes labour trafficking as well as sex trafficking that involves the exchange of commercial sex acts, such as prostitution and pornography, for goods of monetary value. Sex and labour trafficking are often inseparable as, for example, a victim being trafficked for sex may also be required to provide household labour, such as cleaning and cooking. In addition, traffickers may also force their victims to engage in further illegal acts, such as begging and stealing (Belles 2018). Further as regards the research initiative of the ICMW to document informal places of worship and the integration of migrants, the vacuum identified falls well within the framework of an intercultural – rather than multicultural – discourse that has yet to take place, as the dominant approaches follow by and large the multicultural model. Moreover, Makrides suggests interculturalism as a viable approach. Interculturalism can bring together two cultures and result in a partial merging, particularly when there is enough common ground between the two (Makrides 2011). While one culture is acknowledged as the dominant and is treated as elemental for the social cohesion of a democratic state, there is increased interest in understanding the particularities of other cultural groups, respect for their rights, as well as a safeguard from discrimination. Minority groups, for their part, have to respect the institutions, authorities and cultural principles of the host state. This constitutes the common paradigm in Western Europe, and Greece is no exception. Multiculturalism, on the other hand, suggests the existence of different cultural groups, which remain distinct and do not participate in the functions of syncretism. Globalisation brought forth the ideals of tolerance, religious equality, pluralism and of the acceptance of individuality as well as the acceptance of minority rights, in order to prevent future clashes and incidents of racism and xenophobia (Makrides 2011). In this context, the study of the ICMW that identified the problems in promoting integration could function as a stepping stone towards an intercultural policy initiative on behalf of the state, with the contribution of the church.

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However, following its restructure and rebranding in 2012, which coincided chronologically with the outbreak of the Syrian civil war, as stated above, the ICMW-ERP repositioned its purposes and scope. Special emphasis is placed on the vulnerable groups eligible for international protection and the socially vulnerable, i.e. unaccompanied minors, single-parent families, pregnant women, and persons of poor health, etc. (Orthodox Church of Greece 2012b). According to its statute, its primary target groups are, besides Greek migrant returnees, refugees, asylum seekers and those groups that are covered by a humanitarian legal regime and are thus eligible for international protection, and those eligible for legalisation (Ekklesia 2012). Recent examples of the involvement of ICMW-ERP initiatives and cooperation include the programme ‘Rebuild Our Lives – Legal Aid for Refugees in Athens’, with the support of Diakonie Katastrophenhilfe, the purpose of which was to provide legal and social support to those eligible for international protection (KSPM-ERP 2020e). Also, with the support of the UNHCR, the programme ‘Bringing Families Together 2018 – Legal Counselling/Assistance for Family Reunification of Persons of Concern with Specific Needs’ was realised. Its main purpose was to provide information, legal advice and assistance, translation services, as well as psychological and social support to asylum seekers wishing to be reunited with their families in the framework of Dublin III (European Union 2013). Particular emphasis was placed on unaccompanied minors and single-parent families (KSPM-ERP 2020a). Moreover, the Federation of Protestant Churches of Switzerland contributed, via the Churches’ Commission for Migrants in Europe (CCME), to the ‘Legal Aid for Backlog Cases of Ecumenical Refugee Programme’ that focused on processing long-standing reunification applications, via legal advice and representation of recognised refugees (KSPM-ERP 2020b). In addition, the ICMW-ERP, with the help of the Evangelical Church in the Rheinland (Evangelische Kirche im Rheinland) has provided legal and psychosocial support to particularly vulnerable cases (KSPM-ERP 2020c). It must be noted that the need for successful, essential programmes has been recognised, and hence, alternative funding has secured their continuation. For instance, the Swiss embassy intervened and secured the funding of legal and psychosocial support for vulnerable cases in relation to family reunification (KSPM-ERP 2020d). The same applies to the aforementioned ‘Rebuild Our Lives’ programme, which is now supported by Bread for the World, a sister organisation of Diakonie Katastrophenhilfe (KSPM-ERP 2020e). There is a range of similar examples that denote the role of the OCG in dealing with the refugee and migrant crisis, which is indicative but not exhaustive of its role and initiatives.

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A new asylum and immigration system The international environment, and particularly the EU, is undergoing a shift in attitudes as regards the current and future asylum and migration challenges, which has been ushered in with the appointment of the new European Commission under the presidency of Ursula von der Leyen (2019-). The president has explicitly stated that the EU must reform its system and processes for the granting of asylum while simultaneously reinforcing its external borders. Assuming that the issue will not go away and that Europe will remain attractive to migratory inflows, it has been acknowledged that alongside the integration of those who are eligible to stay, the EU must make sure that those who have no such right return to their home countries (Kathimerini 2019d). It would not be amiss to maintain that the appointment of Vice President Margaritis Schinas (2019-2024) with the portfolio of ‘Promoting Our European Way of Life’ is working in the same reformative spirit. Besides being an apparent attempt to allay the concerns regarding migration that are being utilised by populist parties, his title and portfolio constitute a unifying statement that explicitly denotes a common cultural European denominator and affirms that the EU is bound by its overarching values that have shaped its physiognomy and particularity, as well as those of its member states. Moreover, a policy shift is clearly identifiable. In line with the principles of the forthcoming migration and asylum system reform, Margaritis Schinas explained in his introductory speech that ‘Europe will always be a land of asylum’ but at the same time those who are not eligible to stay will have to return to their home countries. It is worth noting that his priorities are ‘to make European society fair and more inclusive, deliver a new pact on asylum and migration and complete the Security Union’ (European Parliament 2019). Alongside the new migration and asylum pact that the European Commission intends to propose, the fact that, according to Schinas, in the coming months the European coastguard will be deployed in order to ‘at last’ guard the common EU borders, may be seen as indicative of the EU’s intention to emphasise security (Kathimerini 2019b). It is equally noteworthy that a reference to irregular migration has been included in NATO’s London Declaration of 4 December 2019. Here, irregular migration is framed as a consequence stemming from the challenges to ‘the rules-based international order’ and the instability beyond NATO’s borders (NATO 2019). Furthermore, Claus Sørensen, former director general of the European Commission’s Civil Protection and Humanitarian Aid Department, has urged a policy reset in four areas. Firstly, as a matter of

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urgency, the EU must secure its external borders, or else the freedom of movement within its internal borders will be jeopardised. Secondly, the logistical management of asylum seekers and economic migrants must be done separately, so that the processing of humanitarian cases is timely and fair, while immigration ought to be dealt with from the perspective of the EU’s interests, with clear targets as regards the influx and selection criteria that address the needs of the labour market. Thirdly, Sørensen has suggested the overhaul of the asylum system and its replacement with an efficient one, so that redistribution between member states becomes workable, with the EU showing solidarity to the frontline member states. Fourthly, Sørensen recommends the establishment of mutually beneficial partnerships between the EU and the countries of origin and transit so that lawful, prompt repatriations can be facilitated. Overall it is recommended that the new European Commission moves from reactive to proactive practices (Sørensen 2019). Federal Minister of the Interior of Germany Horst Seehofer (2018-) also maintains that the EU needs a new asylum system. He considers the Dublin Convention unworkable; hence, in his view, it cannot constitute a basis for a future policy and should be abolished. According to his plan, asylum processes ought to begin at the external borders of the EU, where the preliminary examination of the applications should determine in a few weeks whether the applicants may proceed further with their asylum claims or not. In the event of rejection the applicants will have to be repatriated by a significantly strengthened FRONTEX, whereas those with a prospect of recognition as refugees should be forwarded to those states prepared to accept them, and there the examination of the application will be completed. The structure that should determine those processes would be the European Asylum Support Office (EASO), known also as the EU Agency for Asylum, which would prevent parallel case processing in multiple countries. Moreover, the new ‘fair-share system’ should be analogical, and factor in the population and economic strength of any given state. The analogical principle should also apply to an indexed benefits and social support system, on the basis of the state’s living costs. A significantly strengthened FRONTEX is also considered a matter of urgency so as to effectively guard the EU’s external borders (Der Spiegel 2019). Seehofer’s intention is to prepare a draft asylum and immigration proposal that will replace the Dublin Convention in time for the German EU presidency in the second half of 2020 (Kouparanis 2019). Secondary movement, i.e. ‘the phenomenon of migrants, including refugees and asylum seekers, who for various reasons move from the country in which they first arrived, to seek protection or permanent resettlement

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elsewhere’ (Radjenovic 2017), has been a matter of concern for the European Parliament as well, especially since this often takes place in an irregular way, ‘without the prior consent of the national authorities or without an entry visa, or with no or insufficient documentation normally required for travel purposes, or with false or fraudulent documentation’ (Radjenovic 2017; Executive Committee of the High Commissioner’s Programme 1989). What is more, illegal means – i.e. profitable illegal activities in order to cover the needs of a clandestine journey or the use of violence – and human smuggling may often be involved in the transit process, which carries further security and law-enforcement implications. Other issues of concern include pressure on the receiving countries’ asylum systems, often with multiple and duplicate applications in different countries, which results in the misuse and burdening of the asylum system, and entails consequences for refugees, such as increased backlogs. Further, secondary movement gives rise to tensions between transit and destination countries, which in turn leads to an array of restrictions and deterrents, including border controls, walls, etc. The strain of secondary movement on such EU members states is immense: indicatively, according to the Eurodac report for 2016, out of 1,018,074 asylum-applicants, 307,421 (30%) had made a duplicate application. In addition, of the 252,559 persons illegally present in the EU, 124,558 (49%) had made duplicate or multiple asylum applications. This calls for a harmonisation and homogenisation of the EU asylum system in order to discourage secondary movement and ‘reduce undue pull factors’ (Radjenovic 2017; EU-LISA 2017). The increased social significance of migration is also noted by the Mercator Forum Migration und Demokratie (MIDEM); up until the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic, it had assumed an unprecedented importance as it constituted the most urgent issue in Europe, more than in 2015. Moreover, migration is increasingly being considered an EU issue, as for EU citizens there is seldom a theme as interlinked with the EU as that of migration, which in turn denotes both the importance of the EU as well as its obligation to find a solution, for, such expectations are on the rise; particularly since this theme has had increased salience in the 2019 European elections, to the benefit of right-wing populism (MIDEM 2019). In any case there exists an emergent pattern of securitisation as regards the external borders of the EU, an impetus to control irregular migration, and a broad appreciation that neither the Dublin Convention nor the existing EU asylum system work. Securitisation is identifiable in the agendas of at least two major international actors, including the EU and NATO. At the same time, in light of the populist threat, the concerns pertaining to

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immigration are acknowledged as potentially formative of the European political landscape. Such developments and shifts inevitably affect Greece. The New Democracy government is determined to reform the existing system concerning refugees and immigrants, in line with the forthcoming European reform – EU law supersedes national legislation – which also touches on the role of the church and the church-state collaboration in the new framework, given that the OCG, via its own NGOs, is a relevant actor. The situation in Greece calls for immediate reform and improvement, not least because the conditions for the refugees, asylum seekers and irregular immigrants have worsened. Director of FRONTEX Fabrice Joêl Roger Leggeri (2015-), has urged the acceleration of asylum application processing and the improvement of living conditions in the reception centres, stating that the latter depends on the former (Varvitsioti 2019). The United Nations High Commissioner, Filippo Grandi, has warned of dramatic humanitarian consequences, since the living conditions in the reception centres have deteriorated in comparison with four years ago. The case of the island of Lesbos is particularly problematic, with the reception centre being overpopulated, services inadequate and an increase in violence having been noted (Kathimerini 2019a). The response, however, of the Alternate Minister for Migration Policy, Georgios Koumoutsakos (2019-), was that the increased pressure has brought Greece close to its limits, and that the situation calls for solidarity in the shape of fairer migrant distribution beyond the sympathetic rhetoric and financial support from Brussels and other European capitals. It is worth noting that Koumoutsakos spoke of ‘migrant fatigue’ in local communities on the islands of Lesbos, Samos, Chios, Leros and Kos, where people previously showed notable hospitality and generosity (Mpourdaras 2019). This is confirmed by quantitative research conducted in Greece by Dianeosis, according to which 94.75% of respondents consider the number of immigrants too large, with 74.9% believing that their presence increases criminality and another 69.8% that they increase unemployment among the domestic workforce (Kairidis 2016). Regardless of the validity or otherwise of such viewpoints, the obvious conclusion here is that the situation is unsustainable and that reform is imperative, both for the well-being of asylum seekers, refugees and immigrants, as well as for the preservation of social stability and the containment of populism. Greek Prime Minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis (2019-) has made clear that the current situation, where arrival countries like Greece are treated as ‘convenient parking spaces for refugees and migrants’, cannot continue. At a national level, the plans afoot include the reinforcement of the coastguard, and the building of closed deportation centres, while the asylum law has

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been made stricter and the procedures are expected to be accelerated. Those not eligible for asylum will have to go back, either to Turkey or their countries of origin. At an EU level, the Greek Prime Minister insists on a unitary solution for a European problem and has demonstrated an inclination towards Seehofer’s suggested policies as seen earlier (Höhler and Bastian 2019; Hellenic Republic 2019). The new legal framework for asylum complies with the EU acquis communitaire as regards the rights of the applicants. Distinctions between refugees and immigrants will be in accordance with European criteria, and those distinctions will be made upon arrival, at which point, the immediate categorisation will be determined by one’s high or low refugee profile, as def ined by the EU Asylum System’s statistical data and nationality. Processing is accelerated for those with a low refugee profile, i.e. those not fulfilling the criteria for refugee status, who will have to be registered within three days. Such applications will have to be examined within two weeks, and re-examined within three months in the case of appeal. Moreover, concerning appeals, the examination committees will be increased from 20 to 30, in order to keep up with the predetermined duration. At all stages of the examination, either the applicant or an official legal representative will have to be present. In the event that the asylum application is rejected, those who wish to re-apply will have to do so within three days of the issuing of the verdict (Georgiopoulou 2019b). Further changes pertain to vulnerability. For those who fall into this categorisation the geographical limitations are waivered and they can be transferred to the mainland. However, post-traumatic stress will be exempted from the catalogue of vulnerability criteria. Moreover, the existing national catalogue of safe third countries will be revised. The national catalogue includes the common catalogue of the Council of the EU along with other countries as determined by the member state in question. Those are compiled in the light of data supplied by organisations such as the UNHCR, the European Asylum Support Office and the Council of Europe. The national catalogue is then submitted by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the European Commission (Georgiopoulou 2019b). Within the framework of the new operational plan, there will be significant changes in terms of infrastructure. On the island of Lesbos, the existing structure (hotspot) of Moria will gradually close and it will be replaced by a Pre-Departure Centre (PDC) and Centre for Reception and Identification (CRI), with a capacity of at least 5,000 people. Likewise, the hotspot of Chios will close to be replaced by one as in Lesbos, with the same functions and capacity. Similarly, the existing hotspot and CRI on the island of Samos

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will close and the one currently under construction will expand in order to be used as a PDC and CRI, with a minimum capacity of 5,000 people. The structures on the islands of Kos and Leros will become ‘closed structures’, i.e. facilities with controlled entry and exit, and they will both become PDC and CRI, with a minimum capacity of 2,000 and 1,000 people on each island, respectively. All new structures will be equipped with a range of facilities intended to cater for the residents’ accommodation, subsistence, education, health, leisure, cleanliness and religious needs (Kathimerini 2019c). Moreover, given that the five aforementioned hotspots are overcrowded, the government is planning the creation of approximately fifteen new controlled residence centres on the mainland, and intends to relocate some people there. These structures, together with those already in operation, will function under a controlled residence policy, which means that there will be a register of those residing there and their identification papers will bear a barcode that will allow them to enter and exit the premises (Georgiopoulou 2019a). In addition, on 15 January 2020 Prime Minister Mitsotakis announced the founding of the Ministry of Migration and Asylum. The founding of a ministry dedicated to this issue is indicative of the government’s urgency and prioritisation (Kathimerini 2020). It follows that this systemic overhaul entails a new role for the OCG, given its involvement in the migrant and refugee crisis so far. In fact, on 10 October 2019, following the initiative of the Archbishop of Athens and All Greece Hieronymos II (2008-), the steering committee of the ICMW-ERP held a meeting at the premises of the Holy Synod of the Orthodox Church of Greece dedicated to this issue. The importance of this meeting is highlighted by the portfolios of the attendees, who included Minister of Public Order and Citizen Protection Michalis Chrysochoidis (2019-) and Alternate Minister for Migration Policy Georgios Koumoutsakos, as well as the head of the Central Ecclesiastical Service of Finance, Metropolitan of Samos Efsevios, the General Director Archimandrite Nikodimos Farmakis, and the Arch-Secretary of the Holy Synod Archimandrite Filotheos Theocharis. The archbishop stressed the church’s commitment to contributing to and cooperating with the state. What is more, the main concern of the church was the preservation of the quality of the programmes in which it participates, and maintaining its involvement at all stages of their implementation, such as accommodation, education, employment and social integration, with an emphasis on unaccompanied minors and refugee families (Orthodox Church of Greece 2019). In turn, the Greek government requested the church’s assistance. The OCG was asked to contribute some of its vacant properties to house asylum seeker

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families, and by extension help ease the pressure on the overpopulated hotspots on the aforementioned islands. Moreover, because the church, via the ICMW-ERP’s involvement and experience in relevant programmes, has know-how in refugee identification and data verification, and an experienced, organised legal structure for the granting of asylum and family reunification with an emphasis on unaccompanied minors, the government asked the church to contribute in that area as well. The archbishop agreed to offer the requested assistance; the only condition he set was that no other NGO should be involved in those processes, to which Minister Chrysochoidis agreed (Zioziou 2019). This constitutes, both rhetorically and in practice, a clear indication that church and state are closely collaborating on an issue of immense humanitarian and political significance. They appear in the domestic public sphere as partners, while the OCG is even taking the lead in certain sectors. This prospect of close church-state collaboration corroborates yet again the broader view of the church as one of Greece’s most prominent domestic actors historically. This is further attested by the par excellence political content and symbolic meaning of the meeting on 22 November 2019 between the archbishop and the American ambassador, Geoffrey Ross Pyatt (2016-). This meeting extended beyond the Greek borders and touched on international affairs as it involved a foreign diplomat; moreover, the agenda comprised the refugee problem and the autocephaly of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church. Particularly as regards the former issue here, the archbishop made a special reference to the sea border between Greece and Turkey in the Aegean Sea, stating that Ankara instrumentalises refugees as a means to apply pressure and leverage, and he emphasised the necessity of solidarity on behalf of Europeans and Americans in managing the above-mentioned borders. Further points on the refugee problem pertained to other, unspecif ied NGOs and the alleged lack of transparency in their use of external funding, as opposed to the OCG that ‘has not received one euro’ for its contribution. Also, he stressed that the hosting structures must be arranged in a way that helps protect minors (Adamopoulos 2019). One observes that the OCG demonstrates a degree of adaptability to international affairs that inevitably affect the domestic ones, particularly in a global environment, as it managed to reorganise its existing structures, e.g. the ECMW-ERP, and reposition its attitude and rhetoric concerning, for instance, the EU, among other things (Trantas 2018, 2019). The same is true of the archbishop’s attitude that, by extension, reflects on the approaches and policies of the church. Since his enthronement, Hieronymos

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II has been sure to steer a different course from that of his predecessor, Christodoulos (1998-2008). He depoliticised the church’s public discourse, and departed from the previous interventionist approach that sought to render the church and Christodoulos himself protagonists in the affairs of the state, both domestically and abroad. Moreover, there has been a retreat from EU affairs and the interventionism thereof, coupled with the mending of the OCG’s relations with the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople, sporadic points of friction notwithstanding. Nevertheless, he did not break with his predecessor’s view on how the EU’s identity should be, i.e. that it ought to take into account its Christian heritage and endorse it as a constant of its personif ication (Trantas 2018, 2019). Likewise, there is a degree of continuity as regards migration, in the sense that humanitarianism is not negotiable, but neither should the fundamentals of national identity, with Orthodoxy among them, be jeopardised, particularly since the preservation of the Hellenic-Orthodox construct is a raison d’être for the OCG. However, the Greek debt crisis and its social consequences, followed by the outbreak of the Syrian civil war and the subsequent refugee crisis, triggered an intensif ication of the church’s social engagement, with the founding and restructuring of corresponding NGOs being the main expression of this engagement in practice (Trantas 2019). This has brought forth some increased visibility for the church, which does not necessarily constitute political interventionism, as Hieronymos II continues to steer clear of the affairs of the state. The new element here, though, is that the OCG appears to be seeking the role of a sectorspecific protagonist, namely, that of a humanitarian actor with a focus on the affairs of refugees and immigrants. Initially, this role was dictated by necessity, emerging to fill the vacuum caused by the inadequacy of the state’s institutions and structures. Yet, over time, this engagement appears to be solidifying the church’s role in such matters, not least thanks to the consent and encouragement of the state. In addition, this renders the OCG a sector-specific international actor, considering that migratory and refugee flows transcend national borders, and that the humanitarian action taken is usually the outcome of joint, supranational non-governmental efforts. In this context, and taking into account the forthcoming systemic asylum reforms, both at a national and EU level, it will be interesting to observe the degree and nature of the OCG’s future engagement in practice with the refugee and migration affair, in terms of specific duties, dedicated structures, international collaborations, sources of funding, but also its priorities, services and outcomes.

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Conclusion The phenomenon of forced displacement is not new; Greece has had a long and bitter experience of forced displacement, and it has been primarily its own population that have been persecuted, either because of their ethnicity or their creed. At such moments in the past, Greece had to rely on external assistance since either the state’s predicament or the size of the displaced population hampered its ability to manage humanitarian catastrophes, and there was little the church could do about either. Nowadays, an added complication is that irregular and secondary migration occur in parallel with the movements of refugees and asylum seekers. All this has a bearing on the ability to gather reliable demographic estimates and the drafting of integration policies. Greece’s geographical location at the edge of southeastern Europe, close to the borders with Asia and Africa, renders it a natural transit country for migratory flows into Europe. Geography is relentless, hence Greece needs to have an operational system and contingency plans in place at all times in order to deal with potential refugee and migrant crises in the future. Still, the state has been overwhelmed by the lingering refugee and migrant crisis that peaked in 2015. The numbers of migrants have decreased since then, but they are still a challenge for the system, its structures and its logistical capacities. It is worth noting, however, that the EU has not risen to the occasion, as it has proven reactive rather than proactive. Moreover, systemic shortcomings, both at an EU and a national level, coupled with populist political currents, call for a system reform, which is a need identified by several actors. In turn, the Greek government has no other choice but to strive for reform domestically, and to simultaneously exert pressure for a European solution. Further, the OCG has a moral obligation to act in a humanitarian manner that stems from its own theology. Furthermore, the church will have to contemplate its own role and function within the framework of a new asylum system. The OCG and its NGOs, as stated above, have made a valuable contribution in dealing with the influx of refugees, asylum seekers and irregular immigrants. This has been attested by its participation in international programmes and the acknowledgement of its crucial role by the Greek government. However, the ongoing immigration and refugee crisis cannot be dealt with by the church and its collaborating organisations alone. It is not even a solely Greek problem, but rather a European one. However, being the entry point to Europe and a hub on the Balkan route, Greece has more complicated responsibilities, while concurrently dealing with the consequences of the debt crisis, notwithstanding the improvement of economic figures.

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First and foremost, Greece, as an effective humanitarian refuge and in keeping with EU principles and values, has the inevitable duty to provide those in need with legal representation, translation services, safe and dignified lodgings, allowances for initial expenses, regular medical care and emotional support, access to education, language courses and training, as well as opportunities of integration. In tandem with the state, the OCG has been at the forefront of Greece’s response to these tasks, and will continue to be, but such services are certainly demanding in resources. In order to reduce the long backlog, apart from additional funding and the recruitment of trained staff to speed up the processing of cases, the church, in collaboration with the state, will need to continue to prioritise those in need, comprising, among others, vulnerable groups such as unaccompanied minors, families, victims of human trafficking, refugees and generally cases that constitute a humanitarian emergency. This essentially means applying a two-tier system, which distinguishes between vulnerable and non-vulnerable groups at the first reception stage. This distinction is essential as irregular migration burdens the overwhelmed system and its structures at the expense of those genuinely in need, or eligible to apply for asylum. This essentially means applying a two-tier system, which distinguishes between vulnerable and non-vulnerable groups at the first reception stage – not unlike Seehofer’s draft proposal. This distinction is essential as irregular migration burdens the already overwhelmed asylum system and its structures at the expense of those genuinely in need, or eligible to apply for asylum. For the OCG, dealing with migration as a whole would be an impossible task, and is best left to the state. The church and its NGOs are better versed, structured, equipped and experienced to take the lead on the humanitarian aspect, while prioritising vulnerable groups. Hence the qualitative division of labour should best be maintained. However, both the ICMW-ERP and Apostoli will have to be reinforced with additional staff and funding so as to reduce the backlog. In order to deal with the humanitarian challenges logistically, the state will need to better monitor the influx, residence and outflow of refugees and immigrants, keep a reliable and up-to-date register and database of this information, and make it available to the church and the corresponding international institutions. Furthermore, irregular migration, while not the main cause, has been a catalyst in the resurgence of populism, which erodes support for European integration (Stiftung Mercator 2018). Therefore, Greece, as an EU member state, must help counter populism in Europe by disproving arguments about an open-door policy, and show itself to be in control, by containing en masse irregular migrant movement and thereby its political utilisation and

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mediatisation. By extension, it must help preserve EU freedom of movement, a privilege often weakened by intra-EU and Schengen border controls and prevent the future suspension of a fundamental EU freedom as such. This entails guarding the national and external EU borders more effectively with the reinforcement of FRONTEX in the Aegean Sea and Thrace. In the same vein, it must coordinate its efforts with other EU member states in order to speed up the repatriation of those whose asylum application has been rejected and collectively exert unitary pressure on the safe countries of origin to cooperate. Finally, the OCG and the relevant state ministries must insist on the reform or replacement of the Dublin Convention with a more pertinent framework, and insist on EU solidarity as a principle stemming from the equality between member states.

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Royaume de Grèce. Office National de Statistique (1972). Population de la Grèce au Recensement du 14 Mars 1971. Athènes: Imprimerie Nationale. Sørensen, C. (2019). ‘Europe Needs a Migration Reset: Project Syndicate’. https:// www.project-syndicate.org/commentary/european-union-migration-reset-fourpriorities-by-claus-sorensen-2019-09 (accessed 19 November 2019). Stiftung Mercator (2018). ‘Migration: Katalysator nicht Ursache von Populismus’. https://www.stiftung-mercator.de/de/presse/nachricht/migration_katalysator_nicht_ursache_von_populismus/ (accessed 19 November 2019). Syntagma tēs Ellados [Constitution of Greece] (2010). Athens: Hellenic Parliament. Trantas, G. E. (2018). Being and Belonging: A Comparative Examination of the Greek and Cypriot Orthodox Churches’ Attitudes to ‘Europeanisation’ in Early 21st Century. Frankfurt-am-Main: Peter Lang. Trantas, G. E. (2019). ‘The Orthodox Church of Greece: Church-State Relations, Migratory Patterns and Sociopolitical Challenges’. In L. N. Leustean (ed.), Forced Migration and Human Security in the Eastern Orthodox World. London: Routledge, pp. 164-206. UNHCR (2019). Operational Portal – Mediterranean Situation. https://data2.unhcr. org/en/situations/mediterranean/location/5179 (accessed 19 November 2019). UNHCR Greece (2017). ‘ESTIA – A New Chapter in the Lives of Refugees in Greece’. https://estia.unhcr.gr/en/home/ (accessed 19 November 2019). US Embassy and Consulate in Greece (2019). Report on Religious Freedoms 2018: Greece. https://gr.usembassy.gov/el/religious-freedom-2018/ (accessed 19 November 2019). Varvitsioti, E. (2019). ;Epikefalēs FRONTEX stēn “K”: Hē Diadikasia Asylou prepei na epitachynthei’ [Head of FRONTEX to ‘K’: The asylum process must accelerate]. Kathimerini, 7 December. https://www.kathimerini.gr/1055186/article/ epikairothta/politikh/epikefalhs-Frontex-sthn-k-h-diadikasia-asyloy-prepeina-epitaxyn8ei (accessed 19 November 2019). Vasileion tēs Ellados. Ypourgeion Esōterikōn. Ethnikē Statistikē Ypēresia [Kingdom of Greece, Ministry of Interior, National Statistical Authority] (1961). Pinakes tou Nomimou Plēthysmou tou Apografentos tēn 7ēn Apriliou 1951 kata Nomous, Eparchias, Dēmous kai Koinotētas [Tables of the legal population registered on 7 April 1951 by counties, provinces, municipalities and communities]. Athēnai: Ethniko Typografeio. Venturas, L. (2009). ‘Deterritorialising’ the Nation: The Greek State and “Ecumenical Hellenism”’. In D. Tziovas (ed.), Greek Diaspora and Migration Since 1700: Society, Politics and Culture. Abingdon: Ashgate, pp. 125-140. Zioziou, M. (2019). ‘Cheira Voētheias gia to Prosfygiko Zētei hē Kyvernēsē apo tēn Ekklēsia tēs Ellados’ [The government asks the Church of Greece for a helping hand]. Ethnos, 10 October. https://www.ethnos.gr/ekklisia/ekklisia-tiselladas/65943_heira-boitheias-gia-prosfygiko-zitei-i-kybernisi-apo-tin (accessed 19 November 2019).

144 Georgios E. Trantas and Eleni D. Tseligk a

About the authors Georgios E. Trantas is a Senior Researcher at VID Specialised University, Stavanger, Norway. His recent publications include ‘Greek-Cypriot Religiocultural Heritage as an Indicator of Fundamental Rights and a Means to Cultural Diplomacy’, in Giuseppe Giordan and Siniša Zrinščak (eds), Global Eastern Orthodoxy: Politics, Religion, and Human Rights (Springer, 2020); ‘The Orthodox Church of Greece: Church-State Relations, Migratory Patterns and Sociopolitical Challenges’, in Lucian N. Leustean (ed.), Forced Migration and Human Security in the Eastern Orthodox World (Routledge, 2019); ‘Greek-Orthodox Religioscapes as Domains of Migratory Integration and Hybridisation in Germany and Great Britain: A Comparative Study’, Politics and Religion Journal 13(2) (2019), pp. 309-332; ‘The Question of a Contemporary Greek-Orthodox Economic Ethic’, Zeitschrift für Balkanologie 54(2) (2018), pp. 217-228; and Being and Belonging: A Comparative Examination of the Greek and Cypriot Orthodox Churches’ Attitudes to ‘Europeanisation’ in Early 21st Century (Peter Lang, 2018). Eleni Tseligka is a Teaching Associate in Politics and International Relations at Aston University, Birmingham, United Kingdom. Her latest publications include From Gastarbeiter to European Expatriates (Peter Lang, 2020) and ‘Greek Diaspora in Germany: Church as the Ecclesia’s Forerunner and Point of Reference’, in Giuseppe Giordan and Siniša Zrinščak (eds), Global Eastern Orthodoxy: Politics, Religion, and Human Rights (Springer, 2020).

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Responding to Mass Emigration amidst Competing Narratives of Identity The Case of the Republic of Moldova Andrei Avram Abstract The Republic of Moldova has been in search of a raison d’être as a foundation for a narrative of national identity since becoming an independent state following the dissolution of the USSR. The two main Orthodox churches active in the country have played an important role in this process. Yet both state and church have concomitantly had to react to a more pressing and concrete issue: the mass emigration of predominantly working-age citizens in the context of the economic downturn brought about by the transition from socialism to a free market economy. Keywords: Orthodox Christianity in Moldova, post-Soviet religious revival, Moldovan diaspora, competing Moldovan identities

Introduction Large-scale emigration has represented the single most important social – and even existential – challenge facing the Republic of Moldova ever since the country proclaimed its independence in August 1991. Between 1989, when the last Soviet census was carried out, and 2018, the population of the young state decreased by almost a million citizens, shrinking, according to the National Bureau of Statistics,1 from 3,657,0792 to an estimated 2,681,735 1 Unless otherwise specif ied, the f igures regarding the Republic of Moldova refer to the territory controlled by the central government in Chișinău and do not include the breakaway region of Transnistria, which is referred to separately. 2 This number was calculated by subtracting the population of Transnistria in 1989 from the total number of people living in the Moldovan Soviet Socialist Republic, according to Soviet census

Hudson, Victoria, and Lucian N. Leustean (eds), Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463727556_ch06

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by the end of 2018.3 A similar trend can be noticed in the breakaway region of Transnistria, which counted only 475,100 inhabitants in 2015; a decrease of over 200,000 compared to 1989 (Ostavnaia 2017: 18). The process of migration overwhelmed both state institutions and Moldovan society at large, which were already faced simultaneously with the tasks of democratic statebuilding and the transformation from a Soviet-style command economy to a market-based system. It was against this backdrop that religious life in the country, especially the majoritarian Orthodox Christian faith, experienced an almost spectacular revival, while also having to respond to the most pressing social issues, including the consequences of migration both within the country and in the ever-growing diaspora.

Religion, ethnicity and population The religious landscape of the Republic of Moldova is dominated by Orthodox Christianity, which could have (had) the potential to serve as a unifying factor in this ethnically diverse society, which is divided almost evenly between supporters of European integration and those who would prefer closer ties with Russia. Furthermore, Orthodox Christianity was deeply rooted in public life before the state-imposed atheism in Soviet times after World War II. In fact, in 1946, the Moldovan Soviet Socialist Republic (MSSR) had the highest number of parish churches and houses of worship per 100,000 inhabitants in the entire USSR, thus representing one of the most ‘problematic territories’ from the point of view of Soviet religious policy (Pasat 2019: 31-32). By that time, only 582 churches were still functioning on the territory of the MSSR, which represented a decrease of almost 400 compared with 1944, and by 1989 only 197 churches still provided religious services (Păcurariu 2012: 253). Furthermore, by 1964, 23 of the 24 monasteries in the MSSR had been closed (ibid.: 254-260). As in other Soviet republics, though, Christian beliefs did not disappear from societal consciousness, but became restricted to the confines of private spaces in what has been called the ‘domestication’ of religion (Dragadze 1993). Baptisms, for instance, would take place at home, while funerals would be held directly at the cemetery (Heintz 2012: 559). Alternatively, people would resort to travelling to villages or districts in which churches were figures, available at http://www.demoscope.ru/weekly/ssp/sng_nac_89.php?reg=9 (accessed 30 September 2020). Numbers on Transnistria are quoted by Ostavnaia (2017: 18). 3 Data on the population of the Republic of Moldova is available at http://statistica.gov.md/ newsview.php?l=en&id=6416&idc=168 (accessed 30 September 2020).

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still functioning to perform religious rites (Pasat 2019: 485-486). Religious symbols such as icons or books were also kept in homes, and rituals such as prayer or the celebration of Christian feasts took place there too (Heintz 2012: 559). Notably, compared to other regions of the USSR, there was also a higher proportion of active Christian believers belonging to the local Soviet political and intellectual elites (Pasat 2019: 542-543). Against this backdrop, the revival of religious life after the country gained independence can be viewed as the return of public religiosity from its banishment into the private sphere. The Orthodox faith came to be embedded in the societal debates regarding the identity of the Republic of Moldova, which has since 1992 been the venue of competing Orthodox churches, namely the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova, which is subordinate to the Russian Orthodox Church, and the Metropolis of Bessarabia, which is subordinate to the Romanian Orthodox Church. The latter represent the reinstatement of a similar structure that existed in the interwar period when the historical province of Bessarabia (which comprises most of today’s Republic of Moldova, except for Transnistria) was part of Romania. Ever since its re-activation in 1992, the Metropolis of Bessarabia has promoted a pan-Romanian identity based on the view that Moldovans are, in fact, Romanians and that the Moldovan nation is a construct from Soviet times. The church under the Russian Orthodox Church, by contrast, takes a more inclusive view of its Moldovan flock, which comprises not only the majority Romanian-speaking population, but also the sizeable, mainly Russian-speaking ethnic minorities. It also disseminates the worldview of the Russian Orthodox Church, which regards itself as the depositary of the identity of the former Tsarist Empire, which included Bessarabia (Țugui 2011: 3; Avram 2014). According to the latest Moldovan census, which took place in 2014, 90.1 per cent of the population is Orthodox Christian. 4 A more recent survey from January 2019 gives an even higher figure, with 91.4 per cent of respondents expressing their allegiance to the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova and 3.7 per cent to the Metropolis of Bessarabia (Institutul de Politici Publice 2019: 78). Moreover, the qualitative dimension of religiosity is significant. In a survey carried out in 2014, 31.3 per cent of respondents stated that they went to church either ‘often’ or ‘at least once a month’, which is higher than a decade earlier when the figure stood at 22.6 per cent. Furthermore, the proportion of those who stated that they never went to church decreased from 25 per cent in 2003 to only 10.3 per cent in 2014 (Institutul de Politici Publice 2003: 4 A complete overview of the census results can be found at http://recensamant.statistica. md/en (accessed 30 September 2020).

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91; Institutul de Politici Publice 2014: 82). With regard to religious minorities, only the Baptist faith has a following of more than 1 per cent of the population. The diverging views on identity are also reflected in the statistics regarding the country’s ethnic structure. Accordingly, 73.7 per cent of respondents declared themselves to be Moldovans in the 2014 census, with a further 6.9 per cent stating they were Romanian. Ethnic minorities include Ukrainians (6.5 per cent), Russians (4 per cent), Gagauz (4.5 per cent) and Bulgarians (1.8 per cent). While the religious demography of the internationally unrecognised, so-called Pridnestrovian Moldavian Republic (known internationally as Transnistria) is similar, with approximately 90 per cent of the population belonging to the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova (Suvorov 2017) (with no parishes of the Metropolis of Bessarabia), its ethnic fabric is significantly different, with only 28.6 per cent Moldovans, whereas Russians comprise 29.1 per cent and Ukrainians 22.9 per cent of the population (Tynyaev 2017).

The religion-politics conundrum in the Republic of Moldova Although the law on religious groups adopted by parliament in May 20075 stipulates both the equality thereof before the law and public authorities (Article 15, paragraph 1) and the principle of state non-intervention in religious affairs (Article 15, paragraph 2), the same legal act contains a provision highlighting that the state ‘recognises the significant importance and the primordial role of the Christian Orthodox religion and, respectively, of the Orthodox Church of Moldova in the life, history and culture of the people of the Republic of Moldova’ (Article 15, paragraph 5). A similar provision exists in the corresponding Transnistrian ‘law’, albeit only mentioning the role of Orthodoxy and not of the Moldovan church.6 This may reflect the fact that although the Eparchy of Tiraspol and Dubăsari is subordinate to the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova, it is known to have a de facto special status, having been founded as a compromise between the Transnistrian authorities and the Russian Orthodox Church due to the unrecognised status of the region (Cojocari 2018). The Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova has at times been said to have benefitted from preferential treatment regarding taxation and donations 5 The full text of the law is available at http://lex.justice.md/viewdoc.php?action=view&vie w=doc&id=324889&lang=1 (accessed 30 September 2020). 6 The full text of the law is available at http://www.vspmr.org/file.xp?file=58405 (accessed 30 September 2020).

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of public property upon which to build churches; allegations which the Moldovan Orthodox Church has consistently denied (Consiliul pentru Drepturile Omului 2016: 9). It has also played a key role in the political life of the Republic of Moldova. After taking office in late 2016, having campaigned as the candidate of the pro-Russian Party of Socialists (PSRM), the former president, Igor Dodon, developed and intensified his relationship with the Russian Orthodox Church and the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova, deploying a narrative based on the country’s belonging to the Russianspeaking Orthodox space. Dodon paid several well-publicised visits to Mount Athos and voiced his support for the Republic of Moldova remaining within the canonical jurisdiction of the Russian Orthodox Church. As president, he participated in several events promoting so-called ‘traditional family values’, including the World Congress of Families organised in Chișinău in September 2018, where he gave a speech in which he deplored the existence of ‘serious threats against the institution of the family’, the most significant being ‘an anti-family ideology, which is artificially propagated all over the world’ (Dodon 2018). He also highlighted the need for a ‘philosophy aimed at strengthening the institution of the family and based on the priority of traditional family values’, promising to present a ‘national program to support the family and promote family values in society’, in which the Orthodox Church would also be involved. Notably, Dodon mentioned massive emigration as a threat to the institution of the family in the Republic of Moldova (ibid.). The former president’s close relationship to the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova is not necessarily a novelty. Between 2001 and 2009, when the Party of Communists (PCRM) was in power under President Vladimir Voronin, there was also an informal partnership between the ruling political force and the Moldovan Orthodox Church, with the government supporting restoration work at several churches and monasteries, apparently in exchange for endorsement by members of the clergy, who urged believers to vote accordingly in elections (Vrabie et al. 2010: 77-78). Unlike in present times, though, there appeared to be no necessary correlation between the geopolitical orientation of the PCRM and its privileged relationship with the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova, since Voronin – at least in his public discourse – declared European integration to be the main foreign policy goal of the country, after having previously run on a Russia-friendly platform in 2001 (Avram 2014: 411). This kind of discourse tallies with positions expressed over the past year by the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova and its representatives. In 2012, when parliament passed a law on equal opportunities, containing, inter

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alia, a provision prohibiting discrimination based on sexual orientation in the workplace, the Moldovan Orthodox Church reacted harshly, stating that this was a ‘defiant action’ and a ‘danger to the moral and spiritual integrity of society’, characterising such provisions as ‘an attack against the Christian identity of the people’ (Mitropolia Moldovei 2012). In a speech in parliament four years later, Metropolitan Vladimir called for the law to be scrapped, accusing MPs of not taking the wishes of the people into account (Matei 2016). Notably, the Metropolis of Bessarabia also opposed the legislation, claiming that those who had voted in favour of it had committed a ‘grave sin’ (Mitropolia Basarabiei 2012). It was only after the law on the prohibition of discrimination was passed that, for the first time, the Islamic League obtained official registration, which occurred against the backdrop of protests during the preceding year, including by the Moldovan Alliance of Orthodox Organisations. As a consequence, the small Muslim community in the country has until now refrained from attempting to build a mosque, fearing the negative reaction of the Orthodox Christian community. Obviously, political and societal figures have been prone to engage in Islamophobia; misusing fears and uncertainties for immediate political gain. One such instance occurred during the presidential campaign in 2016, when Dodon’s agenda aligned with the political agenda of the Orthodox Church and his attacks against his main opponent, the pro-European candidate Maia Sandu (who went on to be elected president in 2020), included accusations that she would accept thousands of Muslim refugees into the country. One of the more prominent representatives of the Moldovan Orthodox Church, Bishop Marchel of Bălți (Moldova’s second largest city), even made a public statement flanked by a group of priests, claiming voters faced a choice between a ‘Christian and a non-Christian’ and also accused Sandu of being ‘barren’ (because she has no children) and a ‘danger to the Church’ (Florea 2016). However, it should be mentioned that this position was not endorsed by the leadership of the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova, as Marchel himself admitted. Still, Metropolitan Vladimir did express his support for Dodon before the first round of the election. It was possible to stoke Islamophobia as a source of fake news despite the fact that because of the dire socio-economic situation, the Republic of Moldova has not been on the receiving end of migratory processes to any significant degree. According to official information, in 2014 and 2015, a total of 116 Syrians claimed asylum in the country (Ministerul Afacerilor Interne al Republicii Moldova 2017: 22). Moreover, among the mixed Syrian-Moldovan families that were repatriated due to the conflict in the Middle East, the

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majority subsequently left the Republic of Moldova for Western European countries, some even having perceived that they had been better off in Syria than in Moldova.7 Islamophobia was misused not only during the 2016 presidential election campaign, when certain segments of the media claimed 30,000 Syrian immigrants would be allowed into the country should Maia Sandu become head of state, but also before the mayoral election in Chișinău in 2018, when opposition candidate Andrei Năstase was accused of planning to lease the capital to the United Arab Emirates for a period of 50 years, during which mosques would purportedly be built (Arosoaie 2019: 564). Despite numbering between 3,000 (official sources) and 16,000 (informal sources) (ibid.: 558), the Muslim community in the Republic of Moldova appears to have suffered the most due to societal prejudice and stereotypes. It should be noted that most Muslims are local converts, students (especially from the Middle East) or expatriates working temporarily in the Republic of Moldova, such as Turkish businessmen, rather than immigrants or asylum seekers.8 Yet in the context of the European migration crisis, and with the mainstreaming of the fake narrative of the ‘danger’ of mass Muslim immigration, it does not appear surprising that the Islamic League has complained of worsening attitudes towards adherents of Islam, reporting in particular discrimination against Muslim women wearing the hijab, either when seeking employment or on public transport (US Department of State 2019: 13-14). The Islamic League also mentioned discrimination by police and judicial institutions in relation to Muslim-run businesses as a source of concern, as well as deploring the absence of any kind of institutionalised dialogue – including on social issues – with any non-Orthodox religious community in the country.9 Significantly, no prominent Moldovan politician has actively placed the issue of Islamophobia on the public agenda. The reasons for this approach may vary, but a safe assumption would be that defending Muslim rights may incur political costs or even generate new tensions in society by generating conflicts between segments of the religious majority and the Islamic minority. The Muslim community has also reported that it has been subjected to intimidation attempts by the authorities in Transnistria, where the Islamic League did not register officially and where a local imam was recently sought out for questioning, before fleeing the region (US Department of State 2019: 13). 7 Interview with a Muslim community official, Chișinău, February 2019. 8 Ibid. 9 Ibid.

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An older, albeit less problematic, fault line between Orthodox Christianity and Islam in the Republic of Moldova can be found in the Autonomous Territorial Unit of Gagauzia, which was created in 1994 in the south of the country. The region has a population of approximately 135,000, more than 80 per cent of which belong to the Gagauz minority, a Turkic-language speaking, predominantly Orthodox Christian community. The autonomous status of the Gagauz region was established with the mediation and support in the early 1990s of the Turkish government, which subsequently also provided development assistance to the impoverished region. However, despite Ankara’s promotion of closer ties with the Gagauz, Orthodox Christianity remained an important factor of division (Avram 2011: 220). In fact, it was, inter alia, the fear among Gagauz regional elites of possible Islamic influences from Turkey that led the local establishment to opt to maintain stronger ties with Russia, although during the first years of the autonomous regime’s existence a number of intellectuals had pleaded for the consolidation of cultural links with Turkey (King 2000: 221-222). Orthodox Christianity appears to be a strong enough identity marker for the Gagauz that the number of Gagauz women moving to Turkey (temporarily) for work and converting to Islam is known to have been very low (Avram 2012: 570). Although the Metropolis of Bessarabia appears to be more restrained in taking public stances on political issues, it has been known to occasionally promote unification with Romania,10 and to support events in public life related to Romanian heritage, such as celebrating the anniversary of 27 March 1918, when the unification of Bessarabia with Romania was voted on by the parliament in Chișinău, or commemorating Romanian soldiers who fell in World War II (Avram 2014: 408). During a decade-long quest for official registration by the Ministry of Justice, which was finally obtained in 2002 after a ruling by the European Court of Human Rights, the Metropolis of Bessarabia was publicly supported by the most important unionist party at the time, the People’s Christian-Democratic Party (PPCD), which had a pan-Romanian agenda. One of its most renowned leaders, Vlad Cubreacov, even represented the Metropolis of Bessarabia at the European Court of Human Rights, after also acting as a solicitor for the metropolis on the national level (ibid.: 406-407). Since the disappearance of the PPCD from national politics, however, the Metropolis of Bessarabia has no longer enjoyed any kind of privileged relationship with significant political actors. A rare – and not uncontroversial – display of Orthodox Christian unity took place in September 2019, when Andrei Năstase, in his capacity as deputy 10 Ibid.

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prime minister and minister of internal affairs, inaugurated a crucifix at the headquarters of the said ministry in the presence of the leaders of both of Moldova’s main churches. Yet in a sign of the deep divisions between the two church entities, the two church dignitaries only gave individual speeches, with no common blessing ceremony taking place.11 Subsequently, Năstase was accused by representatives of civil society of having breached the country’s legislation on the neutrality of the state in relation to religious communities. The National Antidiscrimination Council of the Republic of Moldova ordered the dismantling of the crucifix, as well as a public apology by Năstase.12 Not only could a politically motivated decision against Năstase be surmised, given the state of Moldovan democracy in recent years, but the fact that the council adopted such a stance might also point out towards the limits which the Moldovan state may in the future place on public displays of religious symbols. Nevertheless, Năstase appealed against the decision of the council in court, with the Supreme Court of Justice ruling in his favour in February 2021.

The social role of the Orthodox churches in the Republic of Moldova The dominant position of the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova is also reflected in its close cooperation with state bodies. Thus, it has concluded several cooperation agreements with institutions such as the Ministry of Labour, Social Protection and Family,13 the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the Ministry of Defence and the Ministry of Justice. In coordination with the Ministry of Labour, Social Protection and Family, the metropolis has developed a network of social services, including day-care centres and shelters within churches and monasteries, while the church also undertakes to provide spiritual guidance to army and police officers, as well as prison inmates (US Department of State 2019: 11-12). According to its website, the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova has specialised departments for religious education, pastoral work in the army and in the sector of internal affairs, youth work, social and charity work, cultural relations, spiritual work in hospitals and pastoral work in prisons.14 A similar organisational structure 11 The author was present at the event. 12 The full text of the decision can be found at http://egalitate.md/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/ Decizie_constatare_184_2019-1.pdf (accessed 30 September 2020). 13 Throughout the text, the names of ministries may differ since they are referred to by their official designation at the respective moment. 14 The organisational structure of the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova can be accessed at https://mitropolia.md/sectoare-sinodale/ (accessed 30 September 2020).

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exists within the Eparchy of Tiraspol and Dubăsari.15 The homepage of the Moldovan Orthodox Church also lists six subordinate social-philanthropic institutions, including an orphanage and social centres.16 It is not church policy to provide information on social work carried out in individual parishes and eparchies (Mitropolia Moldovei 2016a). However, the metropolis highlights the importance of individual parish social and charity work, as well as the need for cooperation with social, health and educational workers in each community (Mitropolia Moldovei 2016b). The media has in the past criticized the fact that the activity reports of the above-mentioned structures are not published on the official internet presence of the Moldovan Orthodox Church (e.g. Gherciu 2014). The Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova, while publishing press releases on individual social activities, maintains that it does not wish to attract praise to its acts of charity (Mitropolia Moldovei 2016a). The Metropolis of Bessarabia has not as yet been in a position to conclude cooperation agreements with state institutions (US Department of State 2019: 12), although it is active in the social field. It channels most of its charity work through the Diaconia Social Mission, which in 2018 had an annual budget of 459,000 euro. Key social projects include support for vulnerable families and single mothers, food and clothing donations, assistance for the integration of orphans, canteens for elderly citizens, children’s and youth camps, etc. (Misiunea Socială ‘Diaconia’ a Mitropoliei Basarabiei 2018: 33). Notably, Diaconia cooperates with the (small) Roman Catholic community,17 and Caritas Vienna and Ambrosiana are among the organisation’s international donors (Misiunea Socială ‘Diaconia’ a Mitropoliei Basarabiei 2018: 21). Unlike in the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova, to which the Academy of Orthodox Theology in Moldova is subordinated, most future priests of the Metropolis of Bessarabia study in Romania.18 Still, the academy represents one of the positive examples of synergies between the two Orthodox churches in the Republic of Moldova. For instance, several lecturers are graduates of various Romanian faculties of theology (Păcurariu 2012: 283).

15 The organisational structure of the Eparchy of Tiraspol and Dubăsari can be accessed at http://www.diocese-tiras.org/page.php?id=77 (accessed 30 September 2020). 16 The complete list is available at https://mitropolia.md/activitate-sociala/ (accessed 30 September 2020). 17 Interviews with an Orthodox Church off icial and a Roman Catholic off icial, Chișinău, February 2019. 18 Interview with an Orthodox Church official, Chișinău, February 2019.

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Religion and forced displacement The first significant migration process in the Republic of Moldova took place in 1992 when, between the months of March and July, and in the immediate aftermath of the short, yet bloody civil war between Chișinău and Transnistria, approximately 100,000 people fled to third countries and 51,289 were registered as internally displaced persons (IDPs) on the territory controlled by the constitutional authorities (Moșneaga 2013a: 1). A significant proportion of the IDPs settled in the capital, where some were provided with housing.19 However, after the end of hostilities the majority of IDPs returned to the Transnistrian region, with only 200 IDP families remaining on the right bank of the Dniester as of 2012. Furthermore, almost all people who had fled to the Ukraine (60,000) also returned to their homes (ibid.). The process of mass emigration from the Republic of Moldova started in 1993 against the backdrop of worsening economic conditions. By the end of the 1990s, the country’s GDP had dropped to one-third of its preindependence level, and a World Bank study estimated that in 1999 about 80 per cent of the population were living below the poverty line (Roșca 2017: 52-53). Destination countries for emigrants were mainly Russia and, initially to a somewhat lesser extent, EU member states. By 2004, the country had lost almost 300,000 residents compared to 1989. The process of emigration subsequently intensified, reaching 50-60,000 persons per year (ibid.: 52). In 2018, remittances constituted 16.2 per cent of the country’s GDP, the eleventh highest proportion in the world and the third highest among Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) countries.20 Notably, while in the 1990s migration had been largely a male phenomenon, the intensification of the process of migration, and especially the possibility of migration to EU countries, where care workers were sought after, led to a ‘feminisation’ of migration (Vaculovschi and Vaculovschi 2018: 94-97). By 2017, the majority of Moldovan emigrants were women (UN Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division 2017: 9). Moreover, Moldovan emigrants have tended to have a relatively high level of education, with 28 per cent being university graduates. The demographic structure of Moldovan emigration has had serious consequences. In a country where traditionally women were responsible for raising children and caring for elderly relatives, the ‘feminisation’ of migration has generated a wide range of social problems. 19 Ibid. 20 The full dataset is available at https://data.worldbank.org/indicator/BX.TRF.PWKR.DT.GD. ZS?most_recent_value_desc=false (accessed 30 September 2020).

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Furthermore, data provided in 2017 by the Ministry of Education puts the figure of children with one parent abroad at over 77,000 (Ministerul Afacerilor Interne al Republicii Moldova 2018: 31). Also, the combination of the high level of education of emigrants and the growing number of women leaving the Republic of Moldova has led to staff shortages in the education and health sectors (Filip and Coșelev 2017: 259). The Moldovan authorities were unprepared for the challenges of managing the consequences of emigration at home, not to mention systematically engaging with the country’s new diaspora. During the early 1990s, a Department of Migration did exist within the Ministry of Labour and Social Protection, but the lack of efficiency thereof led to the creation of the State Service of Migration in 2001, the priorities of which were the preparation of a legislative framework on migration management, as well as drafting agreements with other countries regulating the status of Moldovan migrant workers (Loghin 2003: 2). In 2002, the first such document was concluded between the Republic of Moldova and Italy, and by 2006 a total of nineteen similar bilateral agreements had been signed (Haruța 2017: 28). By comparison, until 2001 such agreements had only existed with Russia, Ukraine and Belarus (Loghin 2003: 2). However, the State Service of Migration was subsequently dissolved and diaspora engagement was, rather strangely, placed under the authority of the Bureau of Interethnic Relations, which is also responsible for national minority policies, Finally, issues connected with migration came under the purview of the Bureau for Diaspora Relations, which was operationalised within the State Chancellery of the Prime Minister in 2013 (Haruța 2017: 37). The Bureau for Diaspora Relations is responsible for coordinating state policies concerning the diaspora. Yet despite this role, it has never truly had exclusive competence in this regard, thus requiring coordination with several ministries, including the departments responsible for labour and social policy, health, education, foreign affairs and internal affairs (ibid.: 28). The ‘Diaspora 2025’ national strategy adopted in 2016 lists six ministries besides the Bureau for Diaspora Relations as having competencies in drafting and implementing policies related to migration.21 Institutional volatility and the need for complex processes of coordination between various agencies represent one of the challenges in calibrating policies on diaspora engagement, especially since Moldovan administrative culture does not entail loyal cooperation between state bodies. In fact, different 21 The full text is available at http://lex.justice.md/index.php?action=view&view=doc&lang =1&id=363576 (accessed 30 September 2020).

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state institutions use different methodologies to determine the number of Moldovans abroad, leading to divergent data sets. Furthermore, there appears to be no systematic coordination between what has been the declared objective of Moldovan diaspora policy, namely encouraging the return of emigrant workers, and domestic economic, social and labour policies and strategies. The International Organization for Migration notes, for instance, that there are no national assessments of the effects of emigration on the labour market and only sporadic research on the effects on social security (IMO 2018: 4). A special note should be made regarding the lack of reliability of the statistics on the Moldovan diaspora. The diff iculty in establishing the number of Moldovan migrants abroad is due to two reasons. First of all, the vast majority of Moldovan emigrants still maintain official residence in their home country, meaning that more approximate methods of calculating their number are necessary. The most recent methodology presented by the National Bureau of Statistics in July 2019 def ines an emigrant as a person who, over the past twelve months has spent a total of nine months outside the country, after having spent nine months over the previous twelve months in the Republic of Moldova (Biroul Național de Statistică al Republicii Moldova 2019: 1). Based on this system of determining the population, the ‘realistic’ number of people living in the country was estimated at 2,681,73522 – almost a million people less than in 1989. Yet these numbers also offer only a partial picture, since circular migration concerns a significant proportion of Moldovan emigration. For instance, in 2017 about 160,000 people left the Republic of Moldova, whereas almost 110,000 returned.23 A more significant problem is determining the number of Moldovan citizens by country of destination. The main reason for this is the high number of Moldovans who have the citizenship of other states. Notably, according to official Romanian statistics, over the period between 2002 and 30 March 2018, 521,025 Moldovan citizens obtained Romanian citizenship (Malic 2018). Since Moldovan citizens cannot work in the EU without a permit and therefore use their Romanian passports when settling in Western Europe, they cannot be separated statistically from Romanian citizens from 22 The full dataset is available at http://statistica.gov.md/newsview.php?l=en&id=6416&idc=168 (accessed 30 September 2020). 23 The latter number also includes foreigners establishing residence in the Republic of Moldova. However, in 2017 only 3,712 foreign citizens were registered as having immigrated to the country (Ministerul Afacerilor Interne al Republicii Moldova 2018: 15).

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Romania. Thus, the discrepancies between registered Moldovan citizens and the actual number thereof are quite high. For instance, in 2016 the Italian Ministry of Labour quoted a figure of about 150,000 Moldovan citizens registered in the country, making it the second most popular destination for Moldovan emigrants, whereas expert estimates put their real number at almost 240,000. In other countries, the proportion of Moldovans registered as such by the authorities is even lower: in Germany the 15,000 Moldovan citizens recorded in 2015 are estimated to represent between 25 and 30 per cent of their true number, while in the United Kingdom about 90 to 95 per cent are in possession of EU passports (Moșneaga 2017: 49-50, 56). Even outside the EU it is hard to pinpoint the number of Moldovan emigrants. In Russia, which remains the single most important destination country, official data from 2016 provided a figure of 487,911 Moldovan citizens residing in the country (ibid.: 45). Yet since 2006, when Russia introduced a so-called repatriation programme, Moldovan citizens, including those who were not of Russian descent, have made use of this path to emigrate (Ostavnaia 2017: 19), and once having obtained Russian citizenship they no longer appear in the respective statistics. This also holds true of Transnistrians, who have facilitated access to Russian citizenship. Their emigration from the region to Russia does therefore not count as immigration from the point of view of Russian authorities. Despite being overwhelmed by the consequences of mass emigration, Moldovan state institutions do not appear to have systematically engaged with religious communities in order to cooperate both in dealing with the social consequences of emigration at home and in diaspora engagement. In fact, the ‘Diaspora 2025’ national strategy makes no mention of churches at all. This is especially paradoxical, since one stated objective is related to the consolidation of associations of Moldovans abroad, and in many countries, such as Russia, Italy or Portugal, the first such associations were centred around parishes where Moldovan emigrants converged (Moșneaga 2017: 127). Notably, there has not been a systematic, centrally coordinated process of setting up Moldovan Orthodox churches abroad. From a canonical point of view, such an approach would be fraught with issues relating to the prohibition of ‘the existence of separate ecclesiastical structures in a single place’ (Meyendorff 1983: 111). This represents a more general problem of the Orthodox diaspora, where during the twentieth century a so-called ‘jurisdictional parallelism’ has emerged, with national churches setting up structures in countries with significant diaspora communities (Thorbjørnsrud 2015). However, the issue of parallel canonical jurisdiction is related to diaspora structures of autocephalous churches, whereas in the

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case of the Moldovan Orthodox churches a further problem is related to the fact that neither the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova, nor the Metropolis of Bessarabia are independent from a canonical point of view. Thus, any systematic foundation of their own diaspora church structures would generate a jurisdictional parallelism within the Russian and Romanian Orthodox Church, respectively, since both had already established archbishoprics abroad long before the independence of the Republic of Moldova was proclaimed. Thus, only individual Moldovan priests who have been settled in Western European countries for some time tend to establish new parishes in countries such as Italy, France or Belgium.24 This is not necessarily a specifically Moldovan tendency. In fact, Orthodox diasporas from post-communist countries have been known to ‘search for their own Church [abroad], and if there is none, they often tend to establish one’ (Thorbjørnsrud 2015: 649). Only later did the Moldovan Orthodox Church start to systematically send priests abroad (Metropolitan Vladimir 2011). These were included in the structure of the Patriarchal Exarchate in Western Europe, which is under the direct jurisdiction of the Russian Orthodox Church. However, in recognition of the significant Moldovan presence in Italy, in May 2019 a Moldovan Vicariate was created under the authority of the said Exarchate, having been authorised by the Holy Synod of the Russian Orthodox Church. This step placed the 37 Moldovan churches in the country under the authority of the Moldovan bishop Ambrozie of Bogorodsk for the first time (Russian Orthodox Church 2019). How correct this approach is from a canonical point of view may be disputed, yet it reflects the fact that from the parishioners’ perspective the priority is ‘keeping themselves and Orthodoxy alive, not […] ecclesiological correctness’ (Thorbjørnsrud 2015: 648). This also represents a characteristic trait of all Orthodox diasporas. As for the Metropolis of Bessarabia, its faithful in the diaspora are known to join Romanian parishes established by the Romanian Metropolises abroad, e.g. the Romanian Orthodox Metropolis of Western and Southern Europe or the Metropolis of Germany and Central Europe.25 To a certain extent, the division of Moldovan Orthodoxy at home is thus reflected in the European diaspora as well, although this should not necessarily be overstated, since some Moldovans may visit Romanian churches since these exist in a much higher number of places abroad. This is not the case, however, in Russia, 24 Interview with a think tank official, Chișinău, February 2019. 25 Official communication from the Metropolis of Bessarabia, in possession of the author, September 2019.

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where Moldovans tend to visit local churches26 – although the building of the first Romanian-speaking church in Russia, in the city of Surgut, was blessed by Metropolitan Vladimir of Moldova in 2015 (Biroul Relații cu Diaspora 2016b: 67). Moldovan churches in Western Europe play an important function in maintaining the culture and identity of parishioners, although there seems to be no systematic approach to the engagement of the local diaspora, and the types of activities appearing to be the result of the initiatives of the local priest or community. Among the most widespread kinds of activities hosted or organised by Moldovan churches are Sunday or parish schools (e.g. in Mestre, Padua, Turin and Parma in Italy or Faro in Portugal), Romanian-language classes (e.g. Montreuil in France, Padua in Italy) and the celebration of Moldovan holidays (e.g. Independence Day in Faro).27 Moldovan churches in Italy also organised the Week of the Orthodox Diaspora in 2015,28 which appears to have been a one-off event, while n 2009 the Romanian Orthodox Church introduced the celebration of the Sunday of Romanian Migrants on the first Sunday after 15 August, which is observed by churches both at home and abroad (Anghel 2018), and thus also by the Metropolis of Bessarabia. Notably, support for Sunday schools abroad was also included in the programme of the Moldovan government adopted in autumn 2015. The Bureau for Diaspora Relations sent Romanian-language textbooks to Moldovan associations abroad providing Romanian classes within the framework of Sunday schools at churches frequented by diaspora citizens. Furthermore, the Bureau for Diaspora Relations has in the past, with the financial support of the International Organization for Migration (IOM), offered grants to associations for so-called educational centres, with Moldovan religious communities among the beneficiaries (Biroul Relații cu Diaspora (2016a). To a somewhat lesser extent, Moldovan churches also offer social services in order to help migrants adapt to their host country. One example is the church in Montreuil, which offers French classes (Moșneaga 2013b: 102-103). However, the social role of Moldovan churches abroad appears to remain 26 Interview with a think tank official, Chișinău, February 2019. 27 Examples of activities carried out by Moldovan Sunday schools in Italy can be found at: https://brd.gov.md/sites/default/f iles/document/attachments/02_impactul_activitatii_scolilor_duminicale_in_italia_aliona_purci_0.pdf . Examples of activities carried out by Moldovan churches in Western Europe can be found, inter alia, at: https://brd.gov.md/sites/default/files/ pro_diaspora_kids_2016.pdf (accessed 30 September 2020). 28 The full programme of the event can be found at: http://piacenza.cerkov.ru/2015/11/03/ saptamana-diasporei-ortodoxe-a-republicii-moldova-in-italia/# (accessed 30 September 2020).

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limited, with less than 20 per cent of expatriate Moldovans appealing to them for help (ibid.: 35). Paradoxically, in Italy, for instance, Moldovan migrants have appealed to the Catholic Church for support in the social sphere (Moșneaga 2017: 78). While information on activities carried out by Moldovan churches is not available systematically, it is even more difficult to identify specific measures targeted at those left behind in the Republic of Moldova. The above-mentioned approach of the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova regarding the non-publicising of its social activities impedes more in-depth research in this regard. Nevertheless, since it is church policy to support those in need, it can be assumed that the beneficiaries of its social activities include elderly people left behind by their emigrant children, single mothers left behind by emigrant male partners, and children left in the care of elderly relatives or other socially vulnerable categories. The church basically compensates for the ineffectiveness of state institutions, which, especially in rural areas, lack the capacity to respond to the consequences of the mass emigration of working-age adults. At an individual level, parishes abroad have also been involved in the collection of goods to be distributed to vulnerable families at home. More systematic information is available regarding the Metropolis of Bessarabia, which supports families with children whose parents have left the country in search of work, leaving their offspring in the care of grandparents (or other relatives). 29 One Diaconia project even focuses on the creation of ‘a mechanism by which all the community actors (the tutelage authority, religious community, the school, social assistance) could work together to provide assistance to parents who plan to work abroad, [including] consulting services to the person who shall be taking care of the child, and inform[ing] children about protection against any form of violence’ (Misiunea Socială ‘Diaconia’ a Mitropoliei Basarabiei 2018: 13). At present, about 1,500 children are being monitored in the framework of the project. Through its parishes, which number almost 200, the Metropolis of Bessarabia also provides material and spiritual support, as well as psychological counselling, on an individual case basis, through direct contact with the children and the relatives taking care of them in the absence of their parents.30

29 Interview with an Orthodox Church official, Chișinău, February 2019. 30 Official communication from the Metropolis of Bessarabia, in possession of the author, September 2019.

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Towards enhanced cooperation between state and Orthodox churches? Given the impact of emigration as well as the important role Orthodoxy plays in Moldovan society, a case could be made for a more specific partnership between state institutions and both Orthodox churches both to engage the diaspora and to manage the needs of the people affected by emigration at home. A more systematic division of labour, enshrined (or at least included) as an option in a future legal framework on migration management, could generate synergy effects, especially with a view to preserving the culture and identity of Moldovans abroad, including above all knowledge of the Romanian language, and making use of the expanding network of Moldovan religious communities in the diaspora. It would also be of great use to identify parishes of the Romanian Orthodox Church with significant numbers of believers from the Republic of Moldova. This network could also be a partner of the Moldovan state in providing social assistance to citizens abroad. In order to develop optimal policies, the collection of more systematic information on activities already carried out by diaspora communities centred around churches abroad appears essential. At home, the collection of systematic information on the relatives of emigrant citizens left behind is essential. The fact that different institutions sometimes provide significantly different numbers in this regard impedes the development of a holistic approach concerning the social needs of the people most affected by emigration. In this sphere also, a more specific division of labour between state institutions and religious entities may be of use, and could well be based on the precedent of existing cooperation agreements between the Moldovan church and ministries. Furthermore, it would be beneficial if the Moldovan state assumed a more inclusive approach towards engaging systematically with other religious communities to provide social services. This includes in particular the Metropolis of Bessarabia, which has a wide-ranging network of projects but lacks state support, but also encompasses the smaller religious groups active in the Republic of Moldova, which would almost certainly bring added value. Although the latter represent only a small fraction of the country’s population, they do provide social services as well and should be encouraged to offer their expertise and experience of best practices. Given the past privileged relationship with the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova, it remains to be seen how far the current or future Moldovan authorities would be inclined towards a more inclusive approach in this regard. This is likely to depend on the geopolitical

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orientation shaping government policies concerning the general approach to religious communities in the country. Beyond the social sphere, it will undoubtedly be of both academic and general interest to see whether there will be developments in the long-term of the theological and ecclesiological dimensions of Moldovan Orthodoxy, as the churches adapt to the phenomenon of mass emigration from the country. One key question is whether the two metropolises will adopt a theological concept on emigration and the consequences thereof in areas that are related to fundamental Christian values (such as family life) or elements of identity (such as language), as well as a more institutionalised approach to establishing new churches and corresponding structures, based, possibly, on the model of the Moldovan Vicariate in Italy. Should such a tendency emerge, it would certainly represent a further challenge to the already unsolved ecclesiological issue of parallel Orthodox jurisdictions in the diaspora, since it would pose questions regarding the de jure and de facto relationship between churches abroad and church structures at home. While this issue would appear to primarily concern the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova, due to its significantly higher number of believers, it may also become an issue for the Metropolis of Bessarabia. The very fact that, as quoted above, the latter mentioned lack of funds and not canonical reasons as the reason for not opening new churches abroad suggests that such a scenario, while improbable, may ensue at some point. Finally, it should also be noted that emigration poses a demographic challenge for both churches at home, since the much smaller density of Moldovan churches abroad when compared to those within the country inevitably means that once abroad, a significant number of (active) churchgoers may be as lost to both metropolises as they will be to a country which, to this day, remains the poorest in Europe. Thus, the future of Orthodox Christianity in the Republic of Moldova will remain intertwined with the issue of the mass displacement of Moldovan citizens over the next few years and decades.

Conclusion Mass emigration has, on the one hand, represented the main consequence of the transition from a planned to a market economy and, on the other hand, been one of the main catalysts for profound societal changes in the Republic of Moldova. Yet despite the centrality of this issue, including in relation to the identity of the Republic of Moldova, both the state and the main religious communities were initially slow in responding to the consequences

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of emigration. Even years after the first wave of emigration, neither state institutions nor the main religious communities in the country have been able to develop a systematic, coherent response to the social and demographic crisis that ensued as a large proportion of the working-age population resorted to going abroad in order to ensure the economic survival of their families. Instead, Moldovan society has been consumed by a debate regarding whether the country should pursue a path towards the West or towards the russkiy mir (Russian world). This fracture that has influenced not only political life, but is also inherently intertwined with the division between the two Orthodox churches in the country and their worldview, and is also, at least partially, reflected in the newly emerged Moldovan diaspora and the religious communities thereof. And while emigration poses an existential crisis that may in the long run render such debates obsolete, there is as yet no unified response on the part of the two metropolises in this regard. The existence of a growing diaspora will remain a structural challenge with long-term consequences for Moldovan society, although in the aftermath of the COVID-19 pandemic, which affected key destination countries such as Italy or Russia, it remains to be seen whether this trend may stagnate or even reverse. In any case, a multifaceted response will be required, for which state institutions alone, as yet, lack the capacity, both in the area of diaspora engagement and in managing the consequences of emigration at home. The two Orthodox churches will therefore face expectations on the part of both emigrants, on the one hand, and the people left behind, on the other hand, to respond to their need for identity preservation and social assistance, respectively. The competing stances on the essence of Moldovan identity, as promoted by the Russian and Romanian Orthodox Churches, will continue to offer citizens within and outside the country a choice of narratives, while at the same time compensating for the institutional weaknesses of the young Republic of Moldova. Yet the antagonistic worldviews of the two Orthodox entities also appear to preclude productive cooperation between the metropolises in the cultural and social fields. Moldovan politicians have until now generally refrained from attempting to foster – from a neutral position – meaningful dialogue between the Metropolis of Chișinău and All Moldova and the Metropolis of Bessarabia, either choosing a privileged relationship with one of them (mostly the former) or distancing themselves from the conflict. However, it appears to be in the interest of the still-young Moldovan state to try to promote synergies between the cultural and social work of the churches at home and abroad, wherein there may also lie a small chance of at least partly overcoming the identity divide which has been overshadowing the process of state-building ever since the early days of

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independence. Even if this more ambitious goal were not to be achieved, a coherent division of labour between the government (at central and local level) and religious communities would certainly generate better (and badly needed) policy results in the process of managing the consequences of emigration both abroad and at home.

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to the Orthodox portal ‘Pravoslavie i mir’]. https://mitropolia.md/interviulacordat-de-mitropolitul-vladimir-al-chisinaului-si-al-intregii-moldove-porta lului-ortodox-православие-и-мир/ (accessed 3 October 2020). Meyendorff, J. (1983). Catholicity and the Church. Crestwood: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press. Ministerul Afacerilor Interne al Republicii Moldova (2017). Compendiul Statistic al Profilului Migrațional Extins al Republicii Moldova pentru anii 2014-2016 [Statistical compendium of the extended migration profile of the Republic of Moldova for the years 2014-2016]. Chișinău: Ministerul Afacerilor Interne, 2017. Ministerul Afacerilor Interne al Republicii Moldova (2018). Compendiul Statistic al Profilului Migrațional Extins al Republicii Moldova pentru anii 2015-2017 [Statistical compendium of the extended migration profile of the Republic of Moldova for the years 2015-2017]. Chișinău: Ministerul Afacerilor Interne. Misiunea Socială ‘Diaconia’ a Mitropoliei Basarabiei (2018). Asistăm cu drag față de aproapele. Raport anual 2018 [We assist with love for our neighbour: Annual report 2018]. Chișinău: Misiunea Socială ‘Diaconia’ a Mitropoliei Basarabiei. Mitropolia Basarabiei (2012). ‘Mitropolia Basarabiei dezaprobă gestul parlamentarilor care au votat legea “pentru egalitate de şanse”’ [The Metropolis of Bessarabia disapproves the gesture of the parliamentarians who voted for the law ‘On Equal Opportunities’]. http://arch.mitropoliabasarabiei.md/news/578/ (accessed 1 October 2020). Mitropolia Moldovei (2012). ‘Declaraţia Mitropoliei Moldovei referitor la adoptarea Legii cu privire la asigurarea egalităţii’ [Statement of the Metropolis of Moldova regarding the Law on Ensuring Equality]. https://mitropolia.md/declaratiamitropoliei-moldovei-referitor-la-adoptarea-legii-cu-privire-la-asigurareaegalitatii/ (accessed 1 October 2020). Mitropolia Moldovei (2016a). ‘Sectorul Sinodal Asistenţă Socială şi Caritate a prezentat Raportul de Activitate pe anul 2016’ [The Synodal Sector for Social Assistance and Charity presented its activity report for the year 2016]. https:// mitropolia.md/sectorul-sinodal-asistenta-sociala-si-caritate-a-prezentatraportul-de-activitate-pe-anul-2016/ (accessed 1 October 2020). Mitropolia Moldovei (2016b). ‘Şedinţa de lucru a Sectorului Sinodal Asistenţă Socială şi Caritate’ [Working meeting of the Synodal Sector for Social Assistance and Charity]. https://mitropolia.md/sedinta-de-lucru-a-sectorului-sinodal-asistentasociala-si-caritate/ (accessed 1 October 2020). Moșneaga, V. (2013a). ‘Asylum-Seekers, Refugees and Displaced Persons in Moldova: Problems of Recognition, Social Protection and Integration.’ CARIM-East Explanatory Note 13/103. Florence: European University Institute. Moșneaga, V. (2013b). Cartografierea diasporei moldovenești în Italia, Portugalia, Franța și Regatul Unit al Marii Britanii [Ciclul de studii: Cartografierea diasporei

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moldovenești, 2] [Mapping the Moldovan diaspora in Italy, Portugal, France and the United Kingdom of Great Britain [Cycle of studies: Mapping the Moldovan diaspora, 2]]. Chișinău: IOM. Moșneaga, V. (2017). Cartografierea diasporei moldovenești din Germania, Marea Britanie, Israel, Italia, Portugalia și Rusia [Ciclul de studii: Cartografierea diasporei, 3] [Mapping the Moldovan diaspora in Germany, Great Britain, Israel, Italy, Portugal and Russia [Cycle of studies: Mapping the diaspora, 3]]. Chișinău: IOM. Ostavnaia, A. (2017). Cartografierea diasporei din Transnistria [Ciclul de studii: cartografierea diasporei, 4] [Mapping the diaspora from Transnistria [Cycle of studies: Mapping the diaspora, 4]]. Chișinău: IOM. Păcurariu, M. (2012). Basarabia – Aspecte din istoria Bisericii și a Neamului Romȃnesc [Bessarabia – Aspects of the history of the church and of the Romanian people]. Bucharest: Basilica. Pasat, V. (2019). Biserica ortodoxă și puterea sovietică în RSS Moldovenească (1940-1991) [The Orthodox Church and Soviet Power in the Moldavian SSR (1940-1991)]. Chișinău: Cartier. Roșca, L. (2017). ‘Integrarea socială a migranților prin cunoaștere și comunicare. Abordare holistă’ [The social integration of migrants through knowledge and communication: A holistic approach]. Relații Internaționale Plus 2, pp. 48-65. Russian Orthodox Church (2019). ‘Vikarii Patriarshego ekzarkha Zapadnoi Evropy budet okormlyat’ moldavoyazychnuyu pastvu v Italii’ [A vicar of the patriarchal exarchate in Western Europe will take care of the Moldovan-speaking flock in Italy]. http://www.patriarchia.ru/db/text/5444501.html (accessed 3 October 2020). Suvorov, I. (2017). ‘Papskii vizit’ [Paternal visit]. http://newspmr.com/novosti-pmr/ zakonodatelstvo/16166 (accessed 30 September 2020). Thorbjørnsrud, B. (2015). ‘The Problem of the Orthodox Diaspora: The Orthodox Church between Nationalism, Transnationalism, and Universality’, Numen 62(5-6), pp. 639-666. Ţugui, E. (2011). ‘Geopolitica ortodoxiei şi relația stat-biserică în Republica Moldova’ [Geopolitics of orthodoxy and church-state relations in the Republic of Moldova]. Policy Brief 6. Chișinău: IDIS ‘Viitorul’ and Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung. Tynyaev, I. (2017). ‘Perepis’ naselenya PMR’ [Census of the population of PMR]. http:// newspmr.com/novosti-pmr/obshhestvo/15927 (accessed 30 September 2020). UN Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division (2017). International Migration Report 2017. New York: United Nations. US Department of State (2019). ‘Moldova 2018 International Religious Freedom Report’. In US Department of State (ed.), 2018 Report on International Religious Freedom. Washington, DC: US Department of State. https://www.state.gov/ wp-content/uploads/2019/05/MOLDOVA-2018-INTERNATIONAL-RELIGIOUSFREEDOM-REPORT.pdf (accessed 2 October 2020).

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Vaculovschi, E., and D. Vaculovschi (2018). ‘Aspecte de gen ale migrației de muncă din Republica Moldova’ [Gender aspects of labour migration in the Republic of Moldova]. Administrarea Publică 1, pp. 92-100. Vrabie, R., et al. (2010). ‘Percepția Rusiei în Republica Moldova’ [The perception of Russia in the Republic of Moldova]. In I. Chifu, O. Nantoi and O. Shushko (eds), Percepția Rusiei în Romȃnia, Republica Moldova și Ucraina [The perception of Russia in Romania, the Republic of Moldova and Ukraine]. Bucharest: Curtea Veche, pp. 65-142.

About the author Andrei Avram is an Advisor on Public Policy and International Relations in Chișinău, the Republic of Moldova. From 2015 to 2021, he was Programme Coordinator at the Representative Office of the Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung (KAS) in Romania and also worked for the KAS Representative Office in the Republic of Moldova. He served as an Advisor with the Romanian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Moldovan Ministry of Internal Affairs and the Romanian Prime Minister’s Office. His publications include ‘Fragmentation, Fluidity and Personalization: Remarks on Shifts in the Pro-European Party Spectrum in the Republic of Moldova after 2014’, Modelling the New Europe 23 (2017), pp. 31-44, and, with Martin Sieg, ‘Ambivalenz und innenpolitische Bruche: Die rumanische Europapolitik wahrend der EU-Ratsprasidentschaft’, Deutsch-Franzosischer Zukunftsdialog Working Paper, 2019, https://www. zukunftsdialog.eu/2019/06/21/ambivalenz-undinnenpolitische-bruechedie-rumaenische-europapolitik-waehrend-der-euratspraesidentschaft/). He is the author of ‘Orthodox Churches in Moldova’, in L. N. Leustean (ed.), Eastern Christianity and Politics in the Twenty-First Century (Routledge, 2014), pp. 402-425.

7

The Roman Catholic Church and Forced Displacement in Poland Maria Marczewska-Rytko

Abstract In 1926-1938, the number of emigrants returning to Poland was 870,300 people, while repatriates amounted to 1,181,100 people. The period after World War II was characterised by mass population displacements resulting from repatriation, re-emigration and relocation. According to the data of the State Repatriation Office, repatriation and re-emigration to Poland in 1944-1949 amounted to 3.8 million people. Before 1989, the flow of migrants to Poland remained at a very low level. The Polish transformation of the late 1980s and early 1990s and the associated lifting of restrictions on the movement of people resulted in the arrival of the f irst groups of foreigners. The opening of the borders encouraged an influx of migrants from beyond the country’s eastern border. Also, the f irst refugees appeared in Poland at that time. In Poland the category of people defined as refugees is relatively small. In relation to refugees, Pope Francis follows the path set by his predecessors. Pope Francis’ standpoint on immigrants and refugees is not shared by all members of the Catholic and Christian community, including some Polish bishops and priests. Keywords: Roman Catholic Church, Poland, forced displacement, migration

In the city of tents and mud, migrants are identified as ‘non-natives’; no clear distinctions are made between emigrants, exiles, displaced persons and asylum seekers, as they constitute an alternative community. – Mościcki (2017: 286)

Hudson, Victoria, and Lucian N. Leustean (eds), Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463727556_ch07

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Introduction Poland, although today seen as a Catholic country, was for centuries a multireligious state. This was due to a deeply rooted tradition of religious tolerance as well as the geopolitical position of the country. Before World War II, Roman Catholics amounted to approximately 64-65% of the population, while 11-12% were Orthodox; 10-11% Greek Catholic; 10% Jewish; and 2-3% Protestant. During the interwar period, there was no separate law regulating religious issues. However, pursuant to Article 114 of the March Constitution of Poland of 17 March 1921, the Roman Catholicism that prevailed in the society gained a privileged position among recognised religious associations. The shifting of the national borders after World War II was one of the key factors that changed the religious structure of the society. During the communist period, the Catholic Church was seen as the strongest line of opposition against the structures and institutions of the communist state. The election of Cardinal Karol Wojtyła to the papacy in 1978 was an expression of the international prestige the Catholic Church of Poland enjoyed. The transformations initiated in Poland in 1989 have had a twofold signif icance. Firstly, the communist system was replaced with the Western model of democracy, with all the cultural and civilisational consequences this entailed. Secondly, religious communities, particularly the Catholic Church and the related social circles, were forced to f ind a place for themselves in this new reality. The legal relations between the state and the churches and religious communities in modern Poland are regulated in three ways. Firstly, by an international agreement, the Concordat, signed between the Apostolic See and the Republic of Poland in 1993. Secondly, by legal acts regulating the relations between the state and f ifteen chosen churches and religious communities in Poland. And lastly, by the so-called registry of churches and religious communities held by the Department of Religion of the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Administration, which serves as a record of all registered religious communities. The Constitution of the Republic of Poland of 2 April 1997 guaranteed everyone, irrespective of their citizenship, freedom of conscience and religion: the freedom to profess or accept religion, and to own temples and places of worship as needed. Along with the beginning of the system transformation and the liberalisation of religious law in Poland, there was an increase in the number of registered religious groups, both those which had previously existed but had not been granted the status of a religious

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association, and new religious organisations. The main aim of this chapter is to analyse the attitude the Roman Catholic Church in Poland towards migration issues, migrants and refugees, particularly in relation to the 2015 migration crisis. The analysis will examine legal acts, statistical data, the results of scientific research and scientific literature, as well as documents such as reports, encyclicals and political party programmes.

Religion, ethnicity and population Poland regained its independence on 11 November 1918 after 123 years of partitions. The Second Polish Republic was created on an area of ​​386,273 square kilometres (1928 figures). Data from January 1938 indicate an increase to 388,634 square kilometres following the occupation of Zaolzie (Trans-Olza River Silesia). In October 1938 the territory increased again to 389,720 square kilometres. After World War II, the area of ​​Poland, covering 311,700 square kilometres, encompassed the lands belonging to the Second Polish Republic which remained within its borders after 1945 (67%), the former Free City of Gdansk (0.6%), as well as the western and northern territories granted to Poland in 1945 under the Potsdam Agreement (32.4%) (Jezierski and Główny Urząd Statystyczny 2003-2011: vol. 1; Kubiczek et al. 2012). In 1951, the most important border change of the post-war period took place, in the form of an exchange of lands with the USSR. Thus, according to the data of 1 January 2018, the total area of the country amounts to 312,700 square kilometres. It covers land including inland waters (311,900 square kilometres) and a part of internal sea waters (800 square kilometres) (Główny Urząd Statystyczny 2017b, 2018). The population of Poland was as follows: 27,177,000 (1921); 32,107,000 (1931); 34,849,000 (1938); 38,073,000 (1990); 38,434,000 (2017) (Główny Urząd Statystyczny 2006, 2017a, 2017b, 2018). Determining the nationality structure of Poland is not an easy task; a difficulty the literature attributes to dynamic political, social, territorial and demographic changes. The issue of the varied reliability of official nationality statistics are also highlighted (Barwiński 2015: 53; Eberhardt 1996; Gawryszewski 2005). In the interwar period, Poland was a multinational state. The first data concerning the national structure of the population in the Second Polish Republic were obtained during the census of 30 September 1921. According to the 1921 census, the vast majority of the Polish population declared Polish nationality (69.23%) (Główny Urząd Statystyczny 1930). Among the other declared nationalities, Ukrainian (15.17%), Jewish (7.97%), Belarusian (4.03%)

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and German (2.99%) were indicated. Furthermore, 0.15% of the respondents perceived themselves as ‘locals’. The next population census was conducted on 9 December 1931, and returned the following statistics on the national structure: Poles (68.91%), Ukrainians (10.1%), Jews (8.56%), Belarusians (3.1%), Germans (2.32%), Russians (0.43%), Czechs (0.12%), and Lithuanians (0.26%) (Główny Urząd Statystyczny 1938). In general, it should be noted that both interwar censuses did not reflect the actual national composition of the population. They overestimated the number of Poles, at the same time underestimating the number of national minorities (Barwiński 2015). After World War II, the aggregate population count of 14 February 1946 was conducted. The post-war period was marked by the relocation of Germans, Ukrainians, Lemkos, Belarusians, Lithuanians and the resettlement of Polish and Jewish people from the territories occupied by the USSR. On the basis of the data obtained from the census, Poles accounted for 86.7% of the total population and Germans for 9.7%, with persons subject to nationality verification proceedings aiming to differentiate Poles from Germans in accordance with the 1945 Yalta Conference amounting to 1.8% and other nationalities 1.7% (Jezierski and Główny Urząd Statystyczny 2003-2011: vols 1-2; Główny Urząd Statystyczny 1947). The f irst National Population and Housing Census after the system transformation, conducted on 20 May 2002, showed the homogeneity of the Polish national make-up (Wyniki 2002). Another National Population and Housing Census was conducted on 31 March 2011. The questionnaire contained a list of fourteen nationalities which included Polish nationality and thirteen alphabetically listed minorities indicated in the Act on National and Ethnic Minorities and on Regional Language (Ustawa 2005). Furthermore, the option ‘other’ was added, under which a list of 177 nationalities was included (among others Silesian, Kashubian, Mazurian, Ruthenian, Boyko and Hutsul). Based on the data obtained during the census, it appears that 3.81% of respondents declared their nationality to be other than Polish (Dymek et al. 2013). In the interwar period, the largest religious group in the denominational structure was Roman Catholic (64.8%). The next large groups were Orthodox (11.8%), Greek Catholic (10.4%), Jewish (9.8%), and Protestant (2.6%). Again, the question about religious affiliation appeared during the 2011 census. The answer was not compulsory, so the respondents could refuse to reply and 7.1% of the population availed themselves of this opportunity (Dymek et al. 2013: 99).

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Table 7.1  Population of Poland by declared religion in 2011 Religious affiliation

Christianity Catholicism Eastern Christianity (Orthodox Christianity) Protestant and Protestant tradition Bible student movement Other Christian Islam Judaism Buddhism Hinduism Paganism and Neopaganism Other religion Declarations expressing an attitude towards faith Not belonging to any religion Refused to answer the question about religion Not established

Total

Percentage of Percentage of people total population answering the question about religion

34,202,700 33,782,000 157,000

88.8 87.7 0.4

97.3 96.1 0.4

122,600 140,000 1,000 5,100 800 6,000 900 900 3,900 1,800

0.3 0.4 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0

0.3 0.4 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0

929,400 2,733,800

2.4 7.1

2.6 –

626,600

1.6

–

Source: Ciecieląg et al. 2019: 32

Religion-state relations During the interwar period, there was no separate law regulating religious issues. Pursuant to Article 114 of the March Constitution, the prevalent religion in society, Roman Catholicism, gained a privileged position among recognised religious associations (Ustawa 1921). Under the Constitution, relations between the state and the Roman Catholic Church were to be regulated by the agreement with the Holy See ratified by the Sejm (parliament). According to Article 115, religious minority churches and legally recognised religious associations could be governed by their own laws, which were to be accepted by the state. Their regulations had to comply with the applicable law. Article 116 of the Constitution provided for the right to create new religious associations so long as their provisions did not contradict public order and decency.

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In practice, there was a tendency to apply the regulations issued by the former partitioning powers, which were still in force. The dominant role was played by the Roman Catholic Church, operating under the Concordat between the Holy See and Poland signed on 10 February 1925 in Rome and ratified by the government on 23 April 1925 (Konkordat 1925). Six other religious associations were established as legal entities: 1 The Jewish Religious Union, regulated by the decree of the Minister of Religious Denominations and Public Enlightenment of 5 April 1928 (Rozporządzenie 1928a); 2 The Eastern Old Believers’ Church, recognised by the ordinance of the Republic of Poland President of 22 March 1928 (Rozporządzenie 1928b); 3 The Muslim Religious Union regulated by the Act of 21 April 1936 (Ustawa 1936b); 4 The Karaite Religious Union, operating under the Act of 21 April 1936 (Ustawa 1936a); 5 The Evangelical Church of the Augsburg Confession, functioning as per the decree of the Republic of Poland President of 25 November 1936 (Dekret Prezydenta 1936); and 6 The Polish Autocephalous Orthodox Church, functioning from 1923 under the temporary provisions on the attitude of the government to the Orthodox Church in Poland, and then pursuant to the decree of the President of the Republic of Poland of 18 November 1938 (Dekret Prezydenta 1938). Despite the abovementioned Article 116 of the March Constitution, in practice no other religious associations were legally recognised. During the communist period, the Catholic Church was seen as the strongest line of opposition against the structures and institutions of the communist state. Naturally, the conflict went through stages of intensification and diminution. In September 1945, by a resolution of the Council of Ministers, it was stated that the Concordat was no longer in force due to its annulment by the Apostolic See (Uchwała 1945). The period of the most intensive strain between the state and the Church occurred between 1950 and 1956, and was caused by attempts to apply administrative measures to regulate those relations: members of the clergy were prosecuted, and the Primate of Poland Stefan Wyszyński was interned (Łatka 2013). The period of reduced tension after 1956 was interrupted by various incidents, the most notable of which was the reaction to the letter sent by the Polish Episcopate to its German counterpart in 1965 (Konferencja Episkopatu Polski 2016). The authorities interpreted it in political, rather than Catholic, terms. The

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great contribution of the Catholic Church and the related intelligentsia circles to the overthrowing of the communist system is beyond any doubt. In 1984, Father Jerzy Popiełuszko paid with his life for his involvement with opposition activists (Kindziuk 2018). The election of Cardinal Karol Wojtyła to the papacy in 1978 was an expression of the international prestige the Church of Poland enjoyed. The transformations initiated in Poland in 1989 have had twofold significance (Marczewska-Rytko 2001a, 2001b). Firstly, the communist system was replaced with the Western model of democracy, with all the cultural and civilisational consequences this entailed. One of the primary characteristics of the new system was the secular nature of the political order. Secondly, religious communities, particularly the Catholic Church and related social circles, were forced to find a place for themselves in the new reality (Marczewska-Rytko 2001c). In one of its first decisions, Tadeusz Mazowiecki’s government liquidated the Office of Religions (Urząd do Spraw Wyznań), which was seen as a symbol of the previous system. Further legislative decisions were aimed at liberalising legal regulations concerning religious communities, particularly the Catholic Church. The legal acts on the matter were passed by the Sejm on 17 May 1989, and included the act on the relations between the state and the Catholic Church in PRL (the Polish abbreviation for the People’s Republic of Poland) (Ustawa 1989b); the act on the freedom of conscience and religion (amended in 1997, in force since 30 May 1998) (Ustawa 1989a); and the act on clergy insurance (Ustawa 1989c). The legal relations between the state and the churches and religious communities in modern Poland are regulated threefold. Firstly, by an international agreement, the Concordat, signed between the Apostolic See and the Republic of Poland in 1993. Secondly, by legal acts regulating the relations between the state and fifteen chosen churches and religious communities in Poland. And lastly, by the so-called registry of churches and religious communities, held by the Department of Religion of the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Administration, which serves as a record of all the registered religious communities. The Constitution of the Republic of Poland of 2 April 1997 guaranteed everyone, irrespective of their citizenship, freedom of conscience and religion, which includes the freedom to profess or accept religion, and to own temples and places of worship as needed (Konstytucja 1997). Pursuant to Article 25, paragraph 1, of the Constitution, religious associations are guaranteed equal rights. Under Article 32 of the Constitution, everyone is equal before the law and has the right to be treated equally by public authorities, while no one can be discriminated against for any reason.

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In accordance with Article 53 paragraph 4, religious associations with a regulated legal status have a guaranteed right to teach religion at school. The issues of teaching religion in public schools and kindergartens were regulated by the Ordinance of the Minister of National Education of 14 April 1992 on the conditions and methods of managing religious education in public kindergartens and schools (Rozporządzenie 1992). Accordingly, a minimum of seven students per class is required for this type of class to be conducted. The Ordinance of the Minister of the Interior and Administration of 31 March 1999 on the registration of churches and other religious associations established the principles and methods of registering churches and religious associations, stipulated the data and information subject to entry in the register, detailed the manner, form and date of updating entries in the register, as well as the method of removing a church or another religious association from the register (Rozporządzenie 1999a). Groups of at least a hundred Polish citizens with full legal capacity are entitled to submit an application for entry in the register, the process of which is overseen by the Minister of the Interior and Administration. The statute of a church or another religious association should specify the name, area of ​​activity and seat of the authorities, the objectives of its activities and principles of their implementation, organs, sources of financing, the procedure for amending the statute, the manner of representation, acquisition and loss of membership, the method of appointing and dismissing the clergy and their competences. Pursuant to the Act of 7 September 1991 on the education system, schools and public facilities enable students to maintain a sense of national, ethnic, linguistic and religious identity, specifically to learn their mother tongue, receive instruction in their native language, and learn about their own history and culture (Ustawa 1991). Attention should also be paid to the Regulation of the Minister of Labour and Social Policy and Minister of National Education of 11 March 1999 on granting members of churches and other religious associations the right to be absent from work or educational activities in order to celebrate religious holidays which are not public holidays (Rozporządzenie 1999b). The act became a legal basis for justifying the absence of employees and pupils or students belonging to a church or other religious association whose religious holidays are not public holidays. Pursuant to the Penal Code of 1997, crimes against freedom of conscience and religion included interfering with the public performance of a religious act of a church or another religious association with a regulated legal status, insulting religious feelings, and public insulting a subject of religious worship or a public place intended for performing religious rites (Kodeks karny

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1997). Imprisonment from three months to five years was introduced for those using violence or an unlawful threat against a group of people or an individual because of their national, ethnic, racial, political, religious or non-denominational affiliation (Article 119). Along with the beginning of the system transformation and the liberalisation of religious laws in Poland, there was an increase in the number of registered religious groups, both those which had previously existed but could not be granted the status of a religious association, and new religious organisations (Marczewska-Rytko 1997; Marczewska-Rytko 2003). It ought to be stressed that religion plays a particular role in Poland, one which is directly related to its connection to political trends. On the basis of the above, two extreme opinions have been expressed. One of them stating that there is a real threat of clerical totalitarianism. The other, that we have a chance to build a Catholic civilisation to counterbalance the materialist civilisation of the West. Between the two extremities, a whole spectrum of approaches exists. As noticed by Father Józef Tischner, ‘the accusation of clericalism was not entirely unjustified. Clericalism is not about […] priests gaining political power, but rather becoming […] the nation’s leading force, having the power to advice on electoral choices’ (Borowik and Szyjewski 1993: 251). Be that as it may, in many locations priests, parish priests and curates became experts on political candidates and pointed the voters towards the desirable ones. Additionally, there have been reports that notices were being placed in churches listing the candidates whom Christians ought to support. With the experience of communist totalitarianism still in living memory, the fears of a new kind of totalitarian rule were quite real. It was argued that politics can be viewed in a narrow or broad sense. The former referring to exercising power or striving to do so by means of the state apparatus, the latter – to the care for the common good. With such a distinction in place, a priest would have a moral and Christian duty to enter the realm of politics in the broad sense; he should not, however, become involved in the narrowly understood political activity. Neither the episcopate nor the church itself can be claimed to be uniform. On the contrary, we observe numerous divisions and differing points of view. The instrumental treatment of religion and the church by politicians has become an undeniable fact. The church’s public activity during the initial stage of the transformation was a response to the social need for axiological points of reference. The above would account for the ostentatiously religious setting of public events, the constant reference to Catholic values in public debates or the attempts to obtain legitimisation of the social changes from the church. The problem is, however, that at a certain

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point, the general public began to see the trend as a threat to democracy. Vivid polemics were caused by decisions such as the introduction, under the pressure of the episcopate, of religious education in schools in 1990; the parliamentary bill entirely prohibiting abortion; the involvement of a part of the clergy in the parliamentary elections in 1991; demands to create legal guarantees about respect of Christian values in the educational system and the media; interference in appointments to state positions; the privileges given to the church in terms of property restoration and obtainment of radio broadcasting licenses. The period of the mid-1990s saw an attempt by the church to focus on its mission to spread the word of God, while in public matters the episcopate expressed general moral principles. During his pilgrimage to Poland in 1997, Pope John Paul II stated that the church should not become involved in political disputes. The above led to the formation of two contradictory tendencies, which are still observed in Polish Catholicism. On the one hand, the church exhibits general restraint in the realm of politics, and on the other hand, it sees interference in politics as part of its evangelical mission. The first tendency is currently characteristic of the mainstream outlook within the Roman Catholic Church in Poland, while the latter refers mainly to the community of Radio Maryja. Additionally, political formations may be divided into those influenced by the Church and religion, and those advocating for secular religion, i.e. post-communist parties. Nevertheless, politicians of various affiliations claim to find inspiration in the social teachings of the church. Groups have emerged on the political scene which declare their willingness to defend the interests of the church. A major part in this trend was played by Zjednoczenie Chrześcijańsko-Narodowe (Christian-National Union), which referred to Christian-nationalist rather than Christian-democratic traditions. The political and economic modernisation introduced by Mazowiecki’s government (24 August 1989-4 January 1991) was contested. In the 1990 ‘bigwig war’ (wojna na górze), which divided the former anti-communist opposition, the Christian groups unanimously supported Lech Wałęsa against Tadeusz Mazowiecki. In a Poland dominated by Catholics, the Christian Democratic movement has not been a commanding political force (Marczewska-Rytko 1998). At present the Christian Democratic movement is divided and split into several political parties. The programmatic and institutional diversification of the different political parties invites several remarks. First, the Christian Democratic movement tried to use the chance created by the 1989 transformations to establish itself on the political scene of a free democratic country. Second, the lack of a single significant Christian Democratic party testifies

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to the weakness of the groups invoking the canon of values regarded as characteristic of Christian Democracy. Third, a decisive majority of political groups in Poland appeal to the principles of the social teachings of the church and, more broadly, to Christian values in their political programmes. Fourth, a Christian Democratic current may coexist within one group with a secular current, for example, inside the Polish party Unia Wolności (The Freedom Union), now the Civic Platform. Radio Maryja was created by a Redemptorist,1 Father Tadeusz Rydzyk, and begun its operation in December 1991. Initially treated as a folkloristic element in Polish Catholicism, it soon became a powerful social movement bringing together millions of people. The movement focuses on the Family of Radio Maryja (Rodzina Radia Maryja), which revolves around the local branches opened by parishes; the Nasz Dziennik (Our daily) magazine, which has been published since January 1998; the Radio Maryja Institute of National Education (Instytut Edukacji Narodowej przy Radiu Maryja); and the Telewizja Trwam Christian television channel. What differentiates Radio Maryja from other broadcasters is its strong involvement in religious and political matters. The radio programmes present fervency and a constant presence of prayer, as well as an openness to the voices of the audience, which creates a sense of belonging to a community. The political involvement of Radio Maryja is constituted by its avocation of extreme ideas and political views, often contradictory to the general spirit of Christianity, manifested through evangelisation, prayer, meditation, religious music and social and political journalism. Most commonly, Radio Maryja may be seen as the Polish embodiment of the phenomenon of integrism or religious fundamentalism.

Religion and forced displacement There are estimates available regarding emigration in the interwar period. In the years 1919-1938, the total number of citizens emigrating to other countries amounted to approximately 2,573,000 people (61.3% of emigrants left for European countries and 38.7% for non-European countries) (Ambroch et al. 2018). In 1926-1938, the number of returning emigrants was 870,300 people (93.1% from European countries and 6.9% from non-European countries) (Jezierski and Główny Urząd Statystyczny 2003-2011: vol. 1). Repatriates numbering 1,181,100 people should also be mentioned (Jezierski and Główny 1 The Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer (Redemptorists) is a religious congregation of the Catholic Church founded by Alphonsus Liquori, dedicated to missionary work in Italy.

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Urząd Statystyczny 2003-2011: vol. 1). There are different estimates concerning the population losses suffered by Poland during World War II (Kurtyka and Gluza 2009; Łuczak 1979, 1993). Table 7.2  Estimated losses of the Polish population during World War II Total

In the territories occupied by the Third Reich (a) Among the population of Polish nationality Among the population of national minorities Among the Jewish population Poles killed or deceased under the Soviet occupation Poles murdered in Ukraine

Estimated losses according to Czesław Łuczak

Estimated losses according to Janusz Kurtyka, Zbigniew Gluza, Waldemar Grabowski

5,900,000-6,150,000

5,720,000-5,920,000

5,400,000-5,650,000

5,470,000-5,670,000

1,500,000-1,750,000

2,770,000

1,000,000

–

2,900,000 500,000

2,700,000-2,900,000 150,000

–

100,000 (b)

Data refer to the losses of citizens of the Second Polish Republic within the borders of 1939. Explanations: (a) Killed or deceased as a result of German extermination and direct warfare; (b) in Volhynia – 60,000. Source: Ambroch et al. 2018: 36

After Nazi Germany invaded Poland, the Germans launched an organised action to exterminate the Jewish population of Europe and Poland (the Holocaust). As a result of genocide, over 90% of Polish Jews died. The Germans created many ghettos in which Jews from the occupied territories were imprisoned. Many Jews were murdered in the German death camps in Auschwitz-Birkenau, Treblinka, Majdanek, Bełżec, Sobibór, Chełmno or died of starvation in the ghettos. Many died as a result of the activities of the Einsatzgruppen death squads in the East. Some of the massacres on the Jewish population were inspired by the Germans (Jedwabne is an example). In Poland, the death penalty was introduced for anyone who hid or helped Jews. The period after World War II was characterised by mass population displacements resulting from repatriation, re-emigration, and relocation. According to the data of the State Repatriation Office, repatriation and re-emigration to Poland in 1944-1949 amounted to 3.8 million people, of whom 40% came via the eastern border from the USSR, and 60% via the western border (Główny Urząd Statystyczny 1950, 1951). In turn, resettlement

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Table 7.3  Polish citizens repressed by the USSR authorities Years

Estimates established in research

1939-1945

Total

1939-1941

Prisoners of war and interned Shot (Katyń, Kharkiv, Tver) Interned (as POWs until August 1941) Dead and missing Released and handed over to Germany Arrested in the Eastern Borderlands Deported (c) Arrested in the USSR (d) Interned in 1944-1945 Arrested and deported in 1944-1945

1941-1945

570,400 (a) 45,400 14,600 26,200 2,300 2,300 110,000 (b) 320,000 3,000 42,000 50,000

Explanations: (a) It is estimated that 240,000 soldiers and officers were captured by the Russians; (b) including approximately the 7,300 shot pursuant to the decision of 5 March 1940 (mainly in Bykovnia near Kiev and in Kuropaty near Minsk in Belarus); (c) applies to four deportations; (d) most often due to the refusal to accept the USSR citizenship. Source: Ambroch et al. 2018: 38

Table 7.4  Polish citizens deported to perform forced labour in the Reich Total Polish citizens deported to work as civilian workers in Nazi Germany Polish prisoners of war put to work in Nazi Germany

2,857,500 2,826,500 31,000

Source: Ambroch et al. 2018: 39

from Poland to, above all, Germany and the USSR amounted to 2.8 million people (including 81% of Germans, as well as 19% of Ukrainians, Belarusians and Lithuanians living on Polish territory relocated to the USSR by the end of 1946) (Główny Urząd Statystyczny 1950, 1951). After the Second World War and the Kielce pogrom (a series of attacks on the Jewish population) on 4 July 1946, many of the survivors decided to emigrate from Poland. Most of those who remained in Poland were forced to emigrate in the late 1960s as a result of an anti-Semitic campaign inspired by the Communist Party. Before 1989, the influx of immigrants to Poland remained at a very low level. This situation resulted from the tough policy on the issuing of entry visas and strict criteria for granting asylum. Researchers emphasise that this tough policy favoured, first and foremost, communists fleeing the juntas of South America (Gmaj 2012: 25; Iglicka 2005). The Polish transformation of the late 1980s and early 1990s, and the associated lifting of restrictions on the movement of people resulted in the

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influx of the first groups of foreigners. The opening of the borders encouraged the arrival of many migrants from beyond the country’s eastern border. After 1989, the situation of Jews in Poland normalised. All those who had held Polish citizenship before the Second World War or had lost their citizenship during the years of communism were given the opportunity to regain it. Also, the first refugees appeared in Poland at that time. In 1991, Poland signed the Geneva Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees, drawn up in Geneva on 28 July 1951 (Konwencja 1991). Under the Geneva Convention, Poland was able to grant international protection to those who had left their country of origin in fear of persecution and applied to the Polish authorities for protection. Furthermore, there was a rapid increase in the number of undocumented migrants in the early 1990s (Górny et al. 2009). Poland’s accession to the European Union in May 2004 had a significant impact on migration processes. It resulted, among other things, in economic circular migrations: Poles began to travel to Western countries (including, in particular, Germany, Great Britain, and Ireland) to seek employment, while citizens of non-EU countries (especially those from the area of ​​t he former Soviet Union) came to Poland in search of seasonal work (Szczepanik 2016: 14; Okólski 2010). Another important fact was that in 2007 Poland became part of the Schengen Area, the region of f​​ ree movement of persons between Member States, in which internal border checks were largely abolished. Poland became a border country, and the Polish eastern border became the external border of the European Union (Szczepanik 2016: 15). According to the data obtained under the census in 2011, people not having Polish citizenship constituted only 0.15% of the population (57,500 people). Between 1990 and 2017, a positive balance of international migration for permanent residence was observed only in 2016 and 2017, and amounted to 1,500 and 1,400 people, respectively (Główny Urząd Statystyczny 2017, 2018). Foreign migration for permanent residence in the years 1990-2017 totalled 654,700 emigrants and 281,700 immigrants (Główny Urząd Statystyczny 2017, 2018). According to this data, the migration balance reached 373,000 people. The Office for Foreigners regularly publishes annual summaries and reports regarding the number of applications received and cases handled (Urząd do Spraw Cudzoziemców n.d.). Among third-country nationalities, the most numerous groups of foreigners in Poland are: Ukrainians (83,490 people, 37%), Russians (10,034 people, 4%), Belarusians (10,577 people, 5%), Vietnamese (9,324 people, 4%), Chinese (6,118 people, 3%), Armenians (3,328 people, 1%), Turks (3,095 people, 1%), Hindu (3,582 people, 2%), Americans (2,260 people, 1%), and South Korean citizens (1,790, 1%). Citizens of the EU countries registered in Poland come primarily from Germany, Italy,

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France, Great Britain, Bulgaria and Spain (Szczepanik 2016; Urząd do Spraw Cudzoziemców n.d.). This data should be treated as rough estimates. In Poland the category of people defined as refugees is relatively small. To a large extent, the estimated data on the number of refugees in Poland are based on annual statistics published by the Office for Foreigners. In the years 1991-2016, nearly 140,000 applications for refugee status were filed by foreigners, of whom around 20,000 submitted subsequent applications for international protection during this period (Górny 2017: 36). According to the data available, the number of people who obtained international or national protection in Poland after 1991 is much lower compared to the number of applicants. Since 2003 additional forms of protection have been gradually introduced in Poland, and have been available to a broader group of applicants in connection with the less restrictive criteria including subsidiary protection, permission for a tolerated stay2 and for residence for humanitarian reasons (Klaus 2017). In Poland, in the years 2003-2017, only one-sixth of the foreigners under protection within the framework of the Geneva Convention were granted refugee status in the subsequent years, which accounted for less than 4% of the total number of applicants (Górny 2017; Chruściel et al. 2019: 50). The most numerous group among the nationalities applying for protection in Poland is composed of citizens of the Russian Federation coming from the North Caucasian republics, primarily from Chechnya, but also from Ingushetia and Dagestan (Szczepanik 2016). Since the outbreak of the armed conflict in Eastern Ukraine, relatively large numbers of Ukrainian citizens have sought protection in Poland. Among other groups of applicants there are citizens of Armenia, Georgia and Afghanistan. The largest group granted refugee status in Poland was made up of citizens of the Russian Federation, mainly of Chechen background. They accounted for 50% of all people receiving refugee status in Poland between 1992 and 2016 (Górny 2017: 45). In the 1990s, citizens of Bosnia and Herzegovina and Somalia also constituted a significant group among refugees in Poland. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, newcomers from Belarus, Somalia, Iraq and Afghanistan were among the refugees who should be mentioned alongside citizens of the Russian Federation. Since 2013, a visible increase in the number of refugees from Syria has been observed. It should be emphasised that the introduction of additional forms of international and national protection in Poland, besides refugee status, has allowed for the possibility of granting 2 A ‘tolerated stay’ in Polish law means a form of protection thanks to which a foreigner who has been refused refugee status may legally stay on the territory of a foreign country.

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refugee status on Polish territory to citizens of countries such as Armenia, Georgia and Ukraine (Górny 2017: 46). It should also be noted that the number of refugees from Turkey to Poland is on the increase. In the year 2018, 52 Turkish citizens filed applications for international protection in Poland, and 119 applied in 2019, thus becoming the third largest group after citizens of Russia and Ukraine. The total number of foreigners who submitted applications for international protection in Poland has not changed significantly: in 2018 it was 3,835 people, and in 2019 it amounted to 3,769. In November 2000, a law on repatriation was passed, creating the possibility of repatriation for the Poles who remained in the East due to deportations, exile and other forms of national or political persecution (Ustawa 2000/2014). At the end of 2016, the number of repatriated people amounted to less than 5,000 people (Szczepanik 2016: 20). In 2007, the so-called Polish Charter, intended for people of Polish origin in the area of a​​ ll former Soviet republics, was established (Ustawa 2007; Obwieszczenie 2018). Economic migration is also worth emphasising. In Poland, two groups of economic migrants are indicated. The first comprises people with high-level qualifications, while the second includes the lowly qualified who frequently take low-paying jobs (Chruściel et al. 2019: 71-79). From the Polish perspective, the migration crisis was seen primarily through the prism of migrants heading for Europe across the Mediterranean Sea. Most of them were refugees from war-affected areas, i.e. Muslims from the Middle East and North Africa. It provoked an increase in anti-refugee attitudes. In the literature, the sources of the migration crisis are sought in the events initiated by the so-called ‘Arab Spring’ in the early 2010s, when deep political changes took place in most of the countries of North Africa and the Middle East and civil war occurred in some of them (Pasamonik and Markowska-Manista 2017: 8). The consequences of the withdrawal of NATO troops from Iraq and the emergence of the so-called Islamic State are also highlighted. The migration crisis initiated on the southern borders of the European Union forced the Member States to take actions which were aimed at, on the one hand, helping people in need of protection, and on the other at relieving the countries under heavy migratory pressure. Pursuant to the decision of the Council of the European Union of 14 September 2015 and 22 September 2015 (Council of the European Union 2015a, 2015b), Poland made a commitment to accept approximately 7,000 refugees in the years 2016-2017 under relocation and resettlement programs. This obligation to resettle refugees was actually not fulfilled. The escalation of the migration crisis in Poland in September and October 2015 coincided with the parliamentary election campaign. At that time, the problem of migration and refugees became politicised. It became one of

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the main factors motivating the electorates of the two largest rival political groups, namely Civic Platform and Law and Justice (Cywiński et al. 2019). Interestingly, as follows from the research results, the issues of refugees and migrants received little attention in the programmes and policy statements of the political parties during the parliamentary election campaign. Table 7.5 The stance of the Polish political parties regarding the problem of refugees and immigrants presented in the election programmes in connection with the election campaign in 2015 Political party/political movement

Stance towards refugees and immigrants

Law and Justice (Prawo i Sprawiedliwość)

Negative. Admission possible as the implementation of Poland’s international commitment, but above all the issue is the responsibility of the EU. Instead of refugees and immigrants, Poland should allow the return of Poles from the East. Positive. An opportunity for the state, investment in European solidarity, the prerequisite is that the EU bears the costs. Negative. Poland should not accept ‘refugees’, a referendum on this matter is to be conducted and confirm the stance. Instead of refugees and immigrants, Poland should allow the return of Poles from the East. No stance. Positive. An opportunity for Poland, which should pursue an active immigration policy, while the EU should pay for helping current refugees. No stance.

Civic Platform (Platforma Obywatelska)

Kukiz’15

Modern Party (Nowoczesna) Democratic Left Alliance (Sojusz Lewicy Demokratycznej) Polish People’s Party (Polskie Stronnictwo Ludowe) KORWiN (Coalition for the Renewal of the Republic – Freedom and Hope) Razem (The ‘Together’ Party) National Movement (Ruch Narodowy)

Negative. Poland should make sovereign decisions in this area. No stance. Negative. The foundation of the state is a nation understood as a community of values to which refugees and immigrants do not adhere.

Source: Lasoń 2018: 99

The Polish stance on illegal immigration was not uniform. Among the range of opinions, the following are often repeated by sections of the public and certain politicians: Large numbers of people from the Ukraine and citizens of the Russian Federation come to Poland, and the majority of them are Chechens, which

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is not taken into consideration in the relocation process proposed by the EU. Poland does not refuse to accept foreigners, but is afraid of how it will handle a much bigger group in the long term. (Bałamut 2018: 118)

During that period a deep polarisation in Polish society regarding the reception of refugees was observed. Demonstrations by opponents and supporters of bringing refugees to Poland were organised. Research shows that in both the traditional and online media, there was a noticeable increase in hate speech as well as the creation and maintenance of two different discourses which fostered the polarisation of Polish society (Bobryk 2017: 46-67; Kotras 2016; Jura, Kałużyńska). As it appeared, the migration crisis and the accompanying media panic changed the image of refugees prevailing in the eyes of members of Polish society from consistently positive to clearly negative (Pasamonik 2017). The literature also points to the phenomenon of ‘moral panic’ in the media, which is expressed in the sense of disproportion between the level of fear and the real significance of a given phenomenon and the stereotyping and stigmatisation of a given social category (in this case refugees and immigrants) (Łodziński 2017). In addition, it should be noted that [i]ncreased terrorist attacks and the negative behaviour of refugees have caused resentment and fear in society. It should also be emphasised that Poland has no experience of multiculturalism. Of course, foreigners are found on the road, at work or in a store, but this scale is incomparable with other countries, e.g. Great Britain or France. (Bałamut 2018: 117)

According to public opinion polls conducted in May 2015, only 21% of Poles were against receiving refugees from countries affected by armed conflict (Fundacja Centrum Badania Opinii Społecznej 2015). Research from December 2016 showed a 52% increase in the percentage of Poles who opposed receiving refugees from countries affected by armed conflict (Fundacja Centrum Badania Opinii Społecznej 2017b). In April 2017, up to 74% of Poles opposed the reception of refugees from the Middle East and Africa (Fundacja Centrum Badania Opinii Społecznej 2017a). As Janusz Balicki rightly notes, ‘in Polish society, knowledge about refugees is very poor. Poland is a country of emigration’ (Balicki 2017: 17). The Catholic Church sees the sources of migration not only in disparities in economic development between various regions (rich North and poor South) and countries (Paweł VI 1967), but also in persecution and armed conflicts (Jan Paweł II 2003). The official stance of the Church on migrants

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is a derivative of several beliefs: firstly, all baptised persons are treated as members of one community, and individual churches with different traditions and rites are actually in unity in relation to Christ; secondly, the Church perceives migrants through the prism of its own history as a pilgrim people; thirdly, the principles of hospitality and fidelity to Christian identity require that migrants and refugees be welcomed and helped. In the ‘Instruction on the Pastoral Care of Migrants’ of 15 August 1969, the Congregation of Bishops included the obligation to support migrants, and in paragraph 13 a declaration was made: It gives the Church, in line with the intention of The Second Ecumenical Council of the Vatican, a splendid opportunity to promote the unity of Christians; whereas as far non-believers and non-Christians are concerned, it provides an opportunity to become a sign showing Christ through the testimony of the lives of individual believers and the whole community. (Kongregacja Biskupów 2017 )

On the initiative of Pope Pius X, the World Day of Migrants and Refugees was established in 1914. In 1970, a special body was created, named the Pontifical Commission for the Pastoral Care of Migrant and Itinerant People; since 2017 its duties have been performed by the Dicastery for Integral Human Development. The instruction of the Pontifical Council for the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant People of 1988 indicates responsibility towards the migrant brothers and the obligation to cooperate in solving their problems. In the early documents on migrants, the Church used the term ‘emigrant’. In the Apostolic Constitution, Pope Pius XII wrote about spiritual care for emigrants, among other things, that ‘the subversive activity of some people, unfortunately, was aimed at the spiritual ruin of emigrants, instead of providing them with material assistance’ (Pius XII 1952). Currently the term ‘migrant’ is used. In the Code of Canon Law the following terms can be found: a ‘newcomer’ to describe a person residing temporarily in a given place; a ‘traveller’ denoting a person who is away from their permanent or temporary residence; a ‘wanderer, homeless person’ for a person who has neither permanent nor temporary residence. The issues of pastoral care of migrants were regulated in the Code of Canon Law of 1983; the Apostolic Constitution Pastor Bonus of 1998; and the instruction Erga Migrantes Caritas Christi of 2004. As noted by Piotr Wojnicz, for example, although the main responsibility for the evangelisation of migrants rests with the Pope and the organs of the Holy See subordinated to him, an equally important role is played by churches in particular states and parishes (Wojnicz 2016: 62-63).

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In the years 1985-2005, Pope John Paul II delivered Messages for the World Day of Migrants and Refugees (Horowski 2019; Cekiera 2018). In one his messages for the World Migrant Day, John Paul II stated: When different cultures meet and integrate, ‘coexistence of otherness’ becomes possible. It allows discovering the values shared by all cultures which can unite instead of dividing, which are rooted in the same human ‘soil’. This makes it easier to develop a fruitful dialogue to create a climate of mutual tolerance, characterized by realism and respect for everyone’s specific nature. In such conditions, the phenomenon of migration helps to cultivate a ‘dream’ of a peaceful future for the whole human race. (Jan Paweł II 2003)

The Pope also noted that enriching intercultural dialogue is ‘an indispensable way of building an internally reconciled world’. This becomes possible when immigrants are treated with the respect due for the dignity of every human being; when in every possible way we support a culture of hospitality and peace in which the difference between maintaining diversity and pursuing dialogue can be reconciled, without succumbing to the temptation of indifference, when values are at stake. The attitude of openness and solidarity become a proposal and a prerequisite for peace. (Jan Paweł II 2003)

The Pope, being aware of the diverse attitudes towards immigrants, on the one hand expressed appreciation for the help of public and private organisations in diff icult situations; on the other hand, he pointed to the shameful practices of those who ‘unscrupulously exploit migrants, abandoning them on the high seas, on boats or ships which cannot guarantee safety, doing this to people desperately looking for a more secure future. Anyone in such an emergency needs urgent and specific help’ (Jan Paweł II 2003). In the Message of 2005, the Pope warned of the danger of isolating immigrants: We must exclude both the assimilation that tends to transform those who are different into our own copy, and the attempts to marginalise immigrants, which may even take the form of apartheid. The right path is to strive for a genuine open outlook which refuses to consider solely the differences between immigrants and the local people. (Jan Paweł II 2003)

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We can agree with the opinion that ‘Newcomers are always strangers, they disturb the well-earned peace, upset the locals, disrupt the balance. In this context, a temptation to valuate appears: a good immigrant (white skin, Catholic, etc.) and a bad one (different skin colour, different religion, strange culture, incomprehensible language, etc.)’ (Necel 2013: 276). The concept of hospitality was repeatedly used in the Messages of Pope John Paul II. Inter alia, in the 1990 message, he stated that ‘the vocation of the church is to show hospitality to migrants and serve them’ (Jan Paweł II 1990) and in the 1996 message that ‘the duty of hospitality and fidelity to one’s Christian identity require us to accept and show mercy’ (Jan Paweł II 2009). In the encyclical Caritas in Veritate of 2009, Pope Benedict XVI perceives the problem of migration in a broad legal and international perspective, noting that we are facing an epoch-making social phenomenon which requires a strong and far-sighted international cooperation policy to address it in a proper way. The first step in developing this policy is close cooperation between the countries of the emigrants’ origin and the countries in which they arrive. It must be accompanied by relevant international regulations allowing the harmonisation of different legal systems in order to safeguard the needs and rights of emigrants and families, together with rights and needs of the society in which they find themselves. No country can think that it is able to tackle the migration problems of our time on its own. We all see how much suffering, discomfort and aspiration accompanies migration flows. (Benedykt XVI 2009)

Regarding the issues of migration and refugeeism, Pope Francis follows the path set by his predecessors. In his Message on the World Migrant and Refugee Day of 17 January 2016, the Pope emphasised the essence of the challenge posed by the phenomenon of migration with the observation that, today, migrations are not a phenomenon limited to some areas of our planet, but affect all continents and are increasingly gaining new dimensions of a dramatic global problem. It does not involve only those looking for decent work or better living conditions, but also men and women, the elderly and children who were forced to leave their homes in the hope of saving themselves and finding peace and security elsewhere. (Pope Francis 2016)

The Pope drew attention to several issues. First of all, he emphasised the role of effective and intensified cooperation, based both on the exchange of information and the intensification of the networks necessary for rapid

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and universal intervention. Secondly, he stated that state law ‘must be combined with the obligation to resolve and regulate the situation of juvenile immigrants, with full respect for their dignity, making every effort to fulfil their needs’. Thirdly, instead of promoting social integration of juvenile migrants or safe assisted repatriation programs, attempts are only made to prevent their entry, thus compelling them to resort to illegal networks, or sending them back to their country of origin without confirming that the decision is justified by their actual ‘overriding interest’.

As far as the position of the Catholic Church in Poland is concerned, the statements of Father Andrzej Kobyliński are worth noting. He observes that the Catholic Church is internally divided both in Poland and in the wider world (Kobyliński 2017). In Poland, on the one hand, there is a conservative wing (the Church of Toruń), and a liberal faction (the Church of Łagiewniki) on the other. Tygodnik Powszechny (The Catholic weekly) is associated with the liberal wing, while Nasz Dziennik (Our daily), Portal Fronda (fronda. pl) and Radio Maryja are linked to the conservative faction. When asked about the punishment of suspension for priests preaching anti-refugee views, he states that he hopes that ‘such punishments will not be imposed on clergy on account of their attitude towards refugees’, and ‘we can solve difficult issues in our church through dialogue and mutual understanding’ (Kobyliński 2017). Interestingly enough, he draws attention to the need to prepare for the reception of up to several million newcomers of different cultures and religions in the next decades. Referring to the teaching of the popes, Father Wojciech Necel states that serving immigrants, regardless of their denomination and religion, is a school of hospitality culture, and ordinary pastoral work itself based on the ministry of the bishop in the diocesan church and the priest in the parish community is a kind of laboratory for the culture of reception of ‘strangers’ and solidarity with them. (Necel 2015: 84)

He also adds that, the religious diversity of immigrants requires faithful parishioners to be ready for real ecumenical interreligious dialogue. The solid formation of the host church and parish community receiving immigrants in the spirit of culture of hospitality as well as information about other

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denominations and religions should reject all kinds of prejudice, overcome religious relativism and eliminate unfair inhibitions and fears impeding the dialogue between the hosts and immigrants. (Necel 2015: 101)

The research of Father Wiesław Przyczyna shows that, Pope Francis’ teaching did not change the attitude of Poles to refugees. In this situation, a question must arise: ‘Why did this happen?’ Several factors influenced this frame of mind; however, it can be said with great probability that it was predominantly determined by public and rightwing media which added their own comments to the Pope’s teaching or – like Catholic portals – replaced it with journalistic interpretation. (Przyczyna 2017: 13)

The study covered reports from Catholic online information portals related to the papal visit during the World Youth Days held in Krakow on 26-31 July 2016. The author analysed the three largest opinion-forming portals, namely deon. pl, fronda.pl and wiara.pl. In conclusion, Przyczyna says that, the Pope, present at the World Youth Days in Krakow, delivered six speeches in which he called for the reception of refugees from the Middle East and other regions of the world. The Polish people remembered the appeal, but did not change their reluctant attitude towards refugees. The Catholic internet portals, among others, were largely to blame, as instead of quoting the words of the Pope, they provided their readers with a loose interpretation of his message. (Przyczyna 2017: 14)

In the article ‘Antyklerykał Franciszek’ (The anticlerical Francis), Jarosław Makowski asks what has happened to the Polish Church where Pope Francis is perceived as a source of crisis in the Catholic Church. Among the main reasons for the reluctance of a part of Polish clergy and the religious right, he emphasises that, the migration crisis was probably a dramatic event which most clearly showed the gap between the way of thinking represented by the Pope and by our bishops. The first trip which Francis made after his election in 2013 was a pilgrimage to the Italian island of Lampedusa. The purpose was not a visit to a sanctuary, not a meeting with another denominational or religious leader. He chose the island which was a symbol of the refugee drama. (Makowski 2019)

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Lack of solidarity on the issues regarding immigrants and refugees is one of the challenges for the church. The attitude is similar to the perception of those who try to reach Europe from poor regions of the world or conflictaffected areas. Pope Francis’ standpoint on immigrants and refugees is not shared by all members of the Catholic and Christian community. As Janusz Balicki notes, ‘his position is unpopular, as evidenced by the silence of many people who, due to holding important offices and admitting to Christianity, should take a stance on this matter’ (Balicki 2017: 23).

Conclusion Several conclusions can be drawn from the analysis. Firstly, in the interwar period, Poland was a multinational state. The vast majority of the Polish population declared Polish nationality. Among the other declared nationalities, Ukrainian, Jewish, Belarusian, German, Russian, Czech, and Lithuanian should be indicated. According to the National Population and Housing Census conducted on 31 March 2011, only 3.81% of respondents declared their nationality to be other than Polish. In the interwar period, the largest religious group in the denominational structure was Roman Catholic (64.8%). The next largest groups were Orthodox (11.8%), Greek Catholic (10.4%), Jewish (9.8%) and Protestant (2.6%). According to the National Population and Housing Census conducted in 2011, the largest religious group is Roman Catholic (87%). The next groups by size are Orthodox (0.4%) and Protestant (0.3%). Secondly, in the interwar period, the total number of citizens who emigrated to other countries amounted to approximately 2,573,000 people (61.3% of emigrants left for European countries and 38.7% for non-European countries). There are different estimates concerning the population losses suffered by Poland during World War II. The period after World War II was characterised by mass population displacements resulting from repatriation, re-emigration and relocation. Repatriation and re-emigration to Poland in 1944-1949 concerned 3.8 million people, of whom 40% came via the eastern border from the USSR, and 60% via the western border. Before 1989, the influx of immigrants to Poland remained at a very low level. The Polish transformation of the late 1980s and early 1990s, and the opening of the borders encouraged the arrival of many migrants from beyond the country’s eastern border. Between 1990 and 2017, a positive balance of international migration for permanent residence was observed only in 2016 and 2017, and amounted to 1,500 and 1,400

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people, respectively. In Poland the category of people defined as refugees is relatively small. To a large extent, the estimated data on the number of refugees in Poland are based on annual statistics published by the Office for Foreigners. Thirdly, migration issues in Europe are becoming one of the most important political problems on the continent. The European Union adopted measures which were intended to relieve the border states in the south, and the countries which received the largest number of refugees. Basically, the proposals included a relocation and resettlement programme. The measures adopted were not fully implemented, largely due to the lack of solidarity of all EU member states. Fourthly, the creation of a coherent and a well-thought-out migration policy is the foundation for planning the development of the EU and individual European countries. One can agree with the opinion that some of the migrant inflows result from the location of Poland, and are not a consequence of perceiving it as an immigrant-friendly country (Szczepanik 2016: 15). One can, however, hope that Poland as a member of the EU will gradually be transformed from a country of emigration and transit into an attractive destination point of migration. This is not an easy task, especially in the context of the scale of fears and prejudice based on stereotypes: migrant – Muslim – terrorist (Kotras 2016: 82). A clearly negative image of migrants is characteristic of the right-wing, conservative press. The position of John Paul II expressed in the Message for the World Day of Migrants and Refugees in 2004 is still valid: [I]t is obviously the task of Governments to regulate migratory flows with full respect for the dignity of the persons and for their families’ needs, mindful of the requirements of the host societies. In this regard, international agreements already exist to protect would-be emigrants, as well as those who seek refuge or political asylum in another country. There is always room to improve these agreements. (Jan Paweł II 2003)

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Republic of Poland of 22 March 1928 on the Eastern Old Believers’ Church]. Dz.U. [Journal of laws], no. 38, item 363. Rozporządzenie (1992). Rozporządzenie Ministra Edukacji Narodowej z dnia 14 kwietnia 1992 r. w sprawie warunków i sposobu organizowania nauki religii w publicznych przedszkolach i szkołach [Ordinance of the Minister of National Education of 14 April 1992 on the conditions and methods of managing religious education in public kindergartens and schools]. Dz.U. [Journal of laws], no. 36, item 155. Rozporządzenie (1999a). Rozporządzenie Ministra Spraw Wewnętrznych i Administracji z dnia 31 marca 1999 r. w sprawie rejestru kościołów i innych związków wyznaniowych [Ordinance of the Minister of the Interior and Administration of 31 March 1999 on the registration of churches and other religious associations]. Dz.U. [Journal of laws], no. 38, item 374. Rozporządzenie (1999b). Rozporządzenie Ministrów Pracy i Polityki Socjalnej oraz Edukacji Narodowej z dnia 11 marca 1999 r. w sprawie zwolnień od pracy lub nauki osób należących do kościołów i innych związków wyznaniowych w celu obchodzenia świąt religijnych nie będących dniami ustawowo wolnymi od pracy [Ordinance of the Minister of Labour and Social Policy and the Minister of National Education of 11 March 1999 on granting members of churches and other religious associations a right to be absent from work or educational activities in order to celebrate religious holidays which are not public holidays]. Dz.U. [Journal of laws], no. 26, item 235. Szczepanik, M. (2016). ‘Cudzoziemcy w Polsce – zjawiska i charakterystyka kulturowa wybranych grup’ [Foreigners in Poland – Phenomena and cultural characteristics of selected groups]. In E. Ostaszewska-Żuk (ed.), Cudzoziemcy w Polsce. Poradnik dla funkcjonariuszy publicznych [Foreigners in Poland: A guide for public officials]. Warszawa: Helsińska Fundacja Praw Człowieka. Uchwała (1945). Uchwała Tymczasowego Rządu Jedności Narodowej z dnia 12 września 1945 r. w sprawie konkordatu [Resolution of the Council of Ministers on the Concordat of 12 September 1945]. https://silesia.edu.pl/index. php/Uchwa%C5%82a_Tymczasowego_Rz%C4%85du_ Jedno%C5%9Bci_ Narodowej_w_sprawie_konkordatu_z_12_IX_1945 (accessed 20 May 2020). Urząd do Spraw Cudzoziemców [Office for foreigners] (n.d.). Statystyki – Zestawienia roczne [Statistics – Annual summaries]. http://udsc.gov.pl/statystyki/raportyokresowe/zestawienia-roczne/ (accessed 1 May 2020). Ustawa (1921). Ustawa z dnia 17 marca 1921 roku – Konstytucja Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej [Act of 17 March 1921 – The Constitution of the Republic of Poland]. Dz.U. [Journal of laws], no. 44, item 267. Ustawa (1936a). Ustawa z dnia 21 kwietnia 1936 r. o stosunku Państwa do Karaimskiego Związku Religijnego w Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej [Act of 21 April 1936 on the Karaite Religious Union]. Dz.U. [Journal of laws], no. 30, item 241.

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Ustawa (1936b). Ustawa z dnia 21 kwietnia 1936 r. o stosunku Państwa do Muzułmańskiego Związku Religijnego w Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej [Act of 21 April 1936 on the Muslim Religious Union]. Dz.U. [Journal of laws], no. 30, item 240. Ustawa (1989a). Ustawa z 17 maja 1989 r. o gwarancjach wolności sumienia i wyznania [Act on the Freedom of Conscience and Religion]. Dz.U. [Journal of laws], no. 29, item 155). Ustawa (1989b). Ustawa z 17 maja 1989 r. o stosunku Państwa do Kościoła katolickiego w Polskiej Rzeczypospolitej Ludowej [Act on Relations between the State and the Catholic Church in PRL]. Dz.U. [Journal of laws], no. 29, item 154. Ustawa (1989c). Ustawa z 17 maja 1989 r. o ubezpieczeniu społecznym duchownych [Act on Clergy Insurance]. Dz.U. [Journal of laws], no. 29, item 156. Ustawa (1991). Ustawa z dnia 7 września 1991 r. o systemie oświaty [Act of 7 September 1991 on the Education System]. Dz.U. [Journal of laws], no. 95, item 425. Ustawa (2000/2014). Ustawa z dnia 9 listopada 2000 r. o repatriacji [Act on Repatriation]. Dz.U. [Journal of laws] (2000), no. 106, item 1118; consolidated text (2014), item 1392. Ustawa (2005). Ustawa o mniejszościach narodowych i etnicznych oraz o języku regionalnym [Act on National and Ethnic Minorities and on Regional Language]. Dz.U. [Journal of laws], no. 17, item 14. Ustawa (2007). Ustawa z dnia 7 września 2007 r. o Karcie Polaka [Act on the Polish Charter]. Dz.U. [Journal of laws], no. 180, item 1280. Wojnicz, P. (2016). ‘Istota funkcjonowania duszpasterstwa migrantów w prawie Kościoła rzymskokatolickiego’ [The essence of the functioning of the pastoral care of migrants in the law of the Roman Catholic Church]. Civitas et Lex 10(2), pp. 55-67. Wyniki (2002). Wyniki Narodowego Spisu Powszechnego Ludności i Mieszkań 2002 w zakresie deklarowanej narodowości oraz języka używanego w domu [Results of the 2002 national census of population and housing in terms of declared nationality and the language used at home]. http://www.stat.gov.pl/gus/ (accessed 10 May 2020).

About the author Maria Marczewska-Rytko is a Full Professor of Political Science and Religious Studies and Head of the Political Movements and Ethnic Research Department in the Faculty of Political Science and Journalism at Maria Curie-Skłodowska University in Lublin, Poland. She is Vice President of the Research Committee on Political Socialization and Education (RC21) of the

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International Political Science Association and Editor-in-chief of the journal Annales UMCS sectio K: Politologia. Her main publications include, as author, Religia i polityka w globalizującym się świecie (Religion and politics in a globalizing world) (UMCS Press, 2010); and Religie niechrześcijańskie w Polsce (Non-Christian religions in Poland) (UMCS Press, 1997), and, as editor, Handbook of Direct Democracy in Central and Eastern Europe after 1989 (Barbara Budrich Publishers, 2018); Czynnik religijny w polityce wewnątrzpaństwowej i międzynarodowej na przełomie drugiego i trzeciego tysiąclecia. Wybrane problemy (The religious factor in domestic and international politics at the turn of the second and third millennia: Selected problems) (UMCS Press, 2016); and Religion in a Changing Europe: Between Pluralism and Fundamentalism: Selected Problems (UMCS Press, 2003).

8

‘My Strength Is Made Perfect in Weakness’ Russian Orthodoxy and Forced Displacement Roman Lunkin

Abstract This chapter analyses the role of the Russian Orthodox Church in the context of forced displacement in Russia. The author has used historical and sociological methods and material to observe the trends of migration and waves of forced displaced people from the Soviet period till the 2000s. It analyses the state of church-state relations in Russia, the role of religion in civil society, the specifics of religious belonging, and the historical perspective and social activity of the Orthodox Church. The author concludes that the support of forcibly displaced people by the Russian Orthodox Church became effective in the context of the transformation of the Church itself, and under the conditions of religious diversity and competition with other Christian confessions in Russia. Keywords: Russian Orthodox Church, migration, religious policy, religious legislation, state-church relations, social work, freedom of religion or belief

Introduction The Russian Federation is a unique example of a country where changes in society’s cultural atmosphere and religious consciousness depended more on forced displacement than on inner natural changes. The specifics of the religious situation in Russia include the combination of two historical factors: 1) the unprecedented migration waves that affected the territory of the present-day Russian Federation during the twentieth century, both before and after the revolution of 1917, and 2) the anti-religious campaigns that were more devastating on Russian territory than in the other republics of the Soviet Union. Hudson, Victoria, and Lucian N. Leustean (eds), Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463727556_ch08

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Waves of forced migration, the deportation of entire nations under Stalin, and the migration and emigration of the 1990s all directly affected the religious landscape of Russia. First of all, the ethnic composition of many faiths has changed. For example, the ethnic composition of the Lutheran and Catholic communities changed and became more Russian. Whereas at the beginning of the twentieth century it was mainly the German, Polish and Finnish populations that identified as Lutheran and Catholic, from the 1990s ethnic Russians came to make up a larger proportion of adherents to these groups. This was due to conversions due to the weakness of Orthodoxy, the emigration of Germans, decreasing numbers of Poles and Finns, and, in general, because of the growing interest of Russians in other confessions. During the Soviet period, all faiths were under pressure due to the state’s anti-religious policy. However, the period after perestroika and especially the 1990s was a time of religious growth, and it became evident that the Russian Orthodox Church (ROC) had lost its monopoly position. One of the manifestations of the new social role of Christian churches in civil society was their active work with immigrants (refugees and labour migrants). As in the European Union during the migration crisis of 2015-2018, the position of Russian churches regarding immigrants strengthened their role in the public space and in politics, and spurred the development of their social work.

Religion and society in Russia According to the preamble of the Federal Law on the Freedom of Conscience and Religious Associations (1997), the state recognises the historical significance of Orthodox Christianity in Russian history and culture, and gives special respect to Christianity and certain other religions, namely Islam, Judaism and Buddhism. The Russian authorities divide all faiths into ‘traditional’ and ‘non-traditional’ (RIA Novosti 2001). This concept, while absent from the Russian Law on Religious Freedom, has been advanced by the Russian Orthodox Church and Patriarch Kirill of Moscow and All Rus’ since 2009. Orthodox Christianity, Islam, Judaism, and Buddhism are deemed ‘traditional religions’, while even Old Believers, Catholics, various Protestant denominations, and many others are not.1 1 One of the largest surveys on religion found the presence of an ‘All-Orthodox consensus’ in Russian society in 2000s whereby all groups of people and even Muslims or atheists recognise the sacred role of Orthodoxy (Kaariajnen and Furman 2007).

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The concept of traditional religions not only pits worshippers against each other, it also ignores the religious diversity of Russia. Today there are between 5 and 15 million practicing Orthodox believers in Russia (Taranets 2018), 10 million Muslims, 3 million Protestants, 500,000 Buddhists, 200,000 Jews, 150,000 Jehovah’s Witnesses (their organisation was recognised as extremist and banned in 2017), 100,000 Hindus, and 100,000 followers of other religious faiths (e.g. there are about 10,000 Mormons in Russia).2 Thus, Russia corresponds with the average European level of religiosity among its population, with about 20 per cent participating to some degree in the activity of religious organisations in a country of more than 140 million inhabitants (Lunkin 2017). The ROC has laid claim to the exclusive right to a close relationship with the government, and accuses Catholics and Protestants of proselytising in the canonical territory that it considers its own. The ROC’s concern is understandable. According to the Russian Ministry of Justice, ROC organisations are the most numerous in the country: among a total of 31,473 registered religious organisations, there are 19,471 different ROC organisations (dioceses, monasteries and communities), 3,479 Protestant and 5,340 Muslim organisations.3 However, field research published by the Keston Institute in the 2010s4 shows that Protestants and Muslims may be twice as numerous as the official figures suggest. For example, evangelicals are now the second largest Christian denomination in Russia after Orthodox Christians in terms of the numbers of practicing believers and presence throughout the country (5-15 million Orthodox and 3 million evangelicals5) (Lunkin and Filatov 2011). In fact, in many regions of Siberia and the Far East, the number of Protestant communities and active parishioners is higher than the number of practicing Orthodox believers. The concept of ‘traditional religions’ is based on the view that each ethnic group has its own culture and its own religion, but this statement 2 Estimate based on comparison of censuses and sociological surveys (Filatov and Lunkin 2006; Lunkin and Filatov 2011). 3 The information portal on the activity of non-commercial organisations of the Ministry of Justice of the Russian Federation (the list of registered organisations on 23 December 2019): http://unro.minjust.ru. 4 See the results of the field research in Keston Institute (2014-2018). 5 This number is a sociological estimation based on the number of communities and parishioners in different regions. Therefore, mass surveys usually indicate no more than 1% of Protestants in the Russian population because: 1) in every mass survey it is very difficult to capture the true level of religious belief and practice; and 2) mass surveys do not take into account all Protestants as a sum of the different possible self-identifications, such as ‘Protestant’, ‘Evangelical’, and a possible part of the broad category ‘simply Christian’.

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contradicts the ethnic composition of modern religious organisations. In Russia, parishioners of the Russian Orthodox Church are mainly ethnic Russians, although Ukrainians and Belarusians, fellow Slavic peoples, also tend to follow Eastern Orthodoxy. At the same time, there are also other, indigenous peoples of Russia who are historically Orthodox (some coming to the faith in the Middle Ages, others in the nineteenth century). Among the non-ethnic Russian Orthodox citizens of the Russian Federation there are Ossetians (hailing from the Republic of North Ossetia-Alania and in South Ossetia, an unrecognised republic that separated from Georgia in 1991 and has been supported by Russia), Udmurts, a significant proportion of the Chuvashs living in the Volga region, and the Finno-Ugric peoples of Russia, namely the Erzya, Moksha and Mari, as well as the Komi and Karelians in north-west Russia. An important factor is that the head of the Russian Orthodox Church, Patriarch Kirill, regularly declares that Russian Orthodoxy is a multinational faith, and is not limited only to Russia, but also includes churches in Ukraine, Moldova, Belarus, the Baltic countries, Central Asia, Western Europe, the USA, Japan, Southeast Asia and Latin America. Consequently, the Russian Orthodox Church cannot declare itself to be either the only religion of ethnic Russians, or exclusively a religion for ethnic Russians. The Russian Orthodox Church rearticulated the concept of the ‘Russian world’ in broader cultural and multinational lines after the outbreak of the Russia-Ukraine crisis in 2014 due to the extreme politicisation of this term that became associated with ‘Russian aggression’ in Ukraine (RIA Novosti 2015). Russian Orthodoxy has a more open-minded attitude towards migrants. The leadership of Moscow Patriarchate doesn’t support anti-immigrant nationalistic rhetoric though it is the national Russian church as per its title. There has not been a single statement by church hierarchs demanding to restrict migration or ‘expel’ any categories of migrants. There are three reasons: firstly, the geographic location of the Russian Orthodox Church in the post-Soviet space, and not only within Russia; secondly, people come to Russia predominantly from either the neighbouring Slavic republics or from Central Asia, where there are also structures of the ROC; thirdly, the ROC has developed special and friendly relations with the leaders of traditional Islam in Russia and Central Asia. Since the early 2000s, evangelical churches (Baptists, Pentecostals, Adventists, Evangelical Christians) have taken a leading role in the social 6 All-Russian survey by ‘Sreda’ Service and ‘Public Opinion’ Foundation conducted in MayJune 2012, 79 regions, 56,900 respondents. There is no other such detailed survey in Russia on

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Table 8.1  Religious belonging in Russia, 2012 Religious belonging (%) Orthodox and belong to Russian Orthodox Church Believe in God Don’t believe in God Profess Islam Profess Christianity without denomination Profess Sunni Islam Orthodox without belonging to the Church Traditional religion (paganism) Buddhism Old Believers (Old Ritualists) Protestantism Profess Shiite Islam Pentecostalism Judaism Eastern religions Other Christians Other No answer

41 25 13 5 4 2 2 1 0.5 0.3 0.2 0.2 0.1 0.1 0.1 0.1 0.1 5

Source: Sreda 20126

sphere among all religious associations. Parishioners of Protestant churches tend to participate in social activities as volunteers. Up to half of all existing Protestant churches and groups, i.e. about 5,000 communities, are socially active civil society institutions. For comparison, the social activities of the Russian Orthodox Church at the community level are qualitatively not as developed as their Protestant counterparts. The database of social institutions of the ROC on the official website7 of the Synodal Department for Church Charity and Social Ministry includes 2,984 names, but among them there are big projects, as well as helplines, commissions, departments, distribution points for second-hand clothes and services offering legal advice. The Orthodox volunteer movement created in Moscow in 2010 by Bishop Panteleimon (Shatov) is in its infancy, with about 1,000 volunteers in Moscow. It remains the only large-scale movement in the country as all other examples in the regions are few and fragmented. And among the religious belonging. In the author’s opinion the survey from 2012 could reflect Russia’s religious landscape of 2020s. 7 http://www.miloserdie.ru (accessed 15 January 2019). The Russian term miloserdie translates as ‘mercy’.

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15,000 registered organisations of the ROC in Russia, there are about 1,000 parishes and monasteries which can rightly be called socially active cells of civil society, gathering young people and intellectuals around them and organising creative centres (Filatov 2014-2018). At the same time, the societal influence of the churches is not indicated only by the number of socially active communities, but also the quality of the institutions that believers create. These are groups of several hundred people who are united by one Christian faith and certain ethical and moral standards, which are strictly observed, preaching them as the road to salvation and success. As the experience of Orthodox parishes and evangelical churches shows, within the framework of civil society, cohesive volunteer groups, united by a religious idea, are able to cope with the most complex tasks and provide social and spiritual support to vulnerable groups, such as those suffering from homelessness, and alcohol and drug addiction.

Religion-state relations After the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, Russian legislation on religion was gradually tightened. Until 1997, there was a law on the freedom of conscience,8 which was adopted under Mikhail Gorbachev in 1990. Article 5 of this law proclaimed the separation of the church (religious organisations) from the state, and that the ‘state doesn’t interfere in the activity of the religious organisations’, ‘the state doesn’t finance religious organisations and the activity for the propaganda of atheism’. Article 8 gives permission for every religious community to engage in activities without registration.9 There were no significant restrictions on the registration and missionary activities of religious associations. They could exist in two forms, either as a registered organisation or as a religious group that operates freely without registration. In 1997, a new version of the law on the freedom of conscience was adopted, which proclaimed a special respect for the four traditional religions (Orthodoxy, Islam, Judaism and Buddhism) and introduced a moratorium on new religious organisations, which could henceforth receive full rights as a legal entity only fifteen years after their 8 Zakon SSSR ot 1 October 1990 N 1689-1 ‘O Svobode Sovesti i religioznyh organizaciyah’ (The Law of the USSR from 1 October 1990, no. 1689-1, ‘On Freedom of Conscience and on Religious Organisations’), http://www.zaki.ru/pagesnew.php?id=1688 (accessed 15 January 2020). 9 Ibid.

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registration as a community. However, most of the new religions (Holy Spirit Association for the Unification of World Christianity, Falun Gong, Mormons, etc.) had already registered in the early 1990s. In addition, numerous new local branches of established Protestant communities circumvented this issue by claiming registration within the framework of their central organisation, and thus acquired the rights of a legal entity without delay. The legislation was furthered tightened with the adoption in 2016 of a package of laws, better known as Yarovaya Law (the official name: The Federal Law of 6 July 2016 no. 374-FZ ‘On amendments to Federal Law “On countering with terrorism” and other legal acts of the Russian Federation in the parts that constitutes the additional measures in countering terrorism and providing societal security’). The regulation of missionary activity (with ‘mission’ defined in the broadest of terms) and penalties for religious organisations preaching in public places without permission were introduced. Religious groups were henceforth obliged to provide information about themselves to local authorities, which has become a form of quasi-registration. Anti-extremist legislation is also directly related to religious policy in Russia. The law on countering extremist activity was adopted in 2002. It contains the broadest possible definition of extremist activity, allowing law enforcement agencies to apply this law to almost any religious movement. Most of all, this law has affected Muslim communities and movements (the Hizb ut-Tahrir movement, the followers of Said Nursi, etc. are prohibited on the territory of Russia). In 2017, all organisations of Jehovah’s Witnesses were banned under this law, and many of their books and magazines, along with many Islamic ones, were included in the Federal List of Extremist Materials which is available on the website of the Ministry of Justice.10 The reason for the prohibition of Jehovah’s Witnesses is that they proclaim their religion to be true and criticise representatives of other faiths. The decision to ban them and confiscate their property was an act of intimidation against all other non-Orthodox churches. The social partnership between ‘traditional religions’ and the state was supported in 2009 by President Dmitry Medvedev, who oversaw the introduction of military chaplains in the army, courses on the basics of different religions in schools, and the approval of the discipline of theology in higher education. The year 2010 saw the adoption of the law on the transfer of 10 The official list is found on website of Ministry of Justice, https://minjust.ru/ru/extremistmaterials (accessed 23 December 2020).

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religious property to religious organisations, according to which churches can demand the transfer of ownership or use of buildings that were previously (mainly before the 1917 revolution) used for religious purpose; not only for worship, but also as outbuildings in monasteries. The ROC was the main beneficiary of these initiatives. The most successful projects implemented were the introduction of modules about Russia’s ‘traditional religions’ in state schools, the introduction of theology as an academic programme in universities, as well as the large-scale restitution of property seized by the atheist Soviet regime to the ROC (Lunkin 2012). However, in order to more fully understand the activity of the ROC in relation to social service, it is important to take into account the gradual development of the political position of the church, which has come to diverge from the position of the Russian state. During the Russian Empire and until the 1917 revolution, the Russian Orthodox Church was a part of the state and did not have its own voice in public policy. During the Soviet period, the Orthodox Church was used by the authorities in foreign policy settings to make declarations about the peaceful intentions of the USSR. The revival of church activity in different spheres since the 1990s has enabled the church to develop a social and political position independent of the state. Indeed, the open letter (Chapnin 2019) signed by priests of the ROC dated 17 September 2019 in defence of prisoners in the ‘Moscow case’ may be considered a historic event. This case concerns people arrested during protests in the course of the parliamentary election campaign in Moscow. The letter of support was signed by more than 180 ministers of the church and constitutes a declaration in support of the values of individual rights, justice and the code of ethics of law enforcement and judicial officials. One section is devoted to the observance of human rights in court, as punitive justice and the impunity of the authorities have become one of the most extensively discussed public issues. The uniqueness of this appeal lies not only in the fact that it is the first such political and moral action of the clergy. Until this initiative there had been no such large-scale action in recent Russian history. In Soviet times the church was oppressed by the state and was compelled to make political statements loyal to the Soviet regime. There were only a few dissidents among the clergy during this period. The letter of 2019 was supported not only by priests who are considered ‘Orthodox liberals’ (Father Alexey Uminsky, Father Alexander Borisov), but also a wide range of priests from the Russian provinces, from the former Soviet republics and further afield, who are neither well-known conservatives nor liberals. For comparison, in 2012, only a few priests declared the need for ‘fair elections’ (Kishkovsky 2012) and supported the opposition,

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for which Patriarch Kirill called them ‘traitors in cassocks’ (Kishkovsky 2012). In 2019, the leadership of the Russian Orthodox Church did not condemn the authors and signatories of the letter, and moreover, the head of the Department for External Church Relations, Metropolitan Hilarion (Alfeyev), stated that the priests had the right to their opinion (Chapnin 2019). A separate topic is the independent position of the leadership of the Russian Orthodox Church in relation to the Russia-Ukraine crisis. For the f irst time in the history of Orthodoxy in Russia, the Russian Orthodox Church did not offer direct official support for the state’s foreign policy. For instance, the Russian Orthodox Church did not declare its recognition of the annexation of Crimea, rejected the idea of a ‘Russian world’ and did not recognise the self-proclaimed republics in Donetsk and Lugansk (RIA Novosti 2015).

Religion and population movements during the Soviet period The historical context is extremely important for understanding modern Christianity in Russia. Until the early twentieth century, waves of migration flowed into the Russian Empire, enriching its culture and ethnic composition. For the development of Lutheranism and the Reformed Church, the labour migration of Germans, Dutch and Swedes to Russia, beginning in the sixteenth century, was of a great importance, as was the accession of the Baltic and north-western Russia under Peter the Great at the beginning of the eighteenth century, the immigration of German Pietists and Mennonites under Catherine the Great to the south of Russia, and the inclusion of Finland in the empire at the beginning of the nineteenth century. The Catholic Church, as well as its representatives and individual communities, has been present in Russia since the Baptism of Rus’, especially in western regions. At that time, Catholic clergy were already visiting Russia and some Catholic communities among foreign traders had become established in the Russian north (Novgorod, Pskov, Arkhangelsk). However, the number of Catholics increased dramatically after the inclusion of parts of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth into the Russian Empire at the end of the eighteenth century, and the inclusion of the Kingdom of Poland in the empire after the victory over Napoleon. Mixed emigration on national and religious grounds began in the late nineteenth to early twentieth century. Then believers gradually began to leave Russia. The key factors were the collapse of the Russian Empire in 1917, persecution during the Soviet period and the collapse of the USSR

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Table 8.2  Number of immigrants in Russia, 1990-2000 Country Russia

1990

2000

2010

2017

11,520,000

11,900,000

11,190,000

11,650,000

Total number of people living in a country or union republic in which they were not born, by year. Source: Connor 2016

in 1991. Before the revolution of 1917, the Old Believers (Old Rite Orthodox who broke away from the state church in the seventeenth century) and Russian Protestant sects (Dukhobors and Molokans) began to leave Russia for Romania, the USA and Canada. In the first years of Soviet power, between 3 and 5 million people emigrated. Among them numbered believers of all faiths, although most of them were Orthodox. As a result of this outflow, the Russian Orthodox Church Abroad arose in the 1920s (BBC 2012). The tragedy for the Russian Germans was their deportation to Central Asia in the 1940s under Stalin. The last wave of mass emigration from Russia was the 1980s and 1990s, when most of the Russian Germans and representatives of various Protestant churches left for Germany and the USA. Other ethnic groups (particularly Poles, Finns and Lithuanians) either emigrated or gradually decreased in number due to natural decline. One might have expected that the disappearance of other ethnic groups would have consolidated the Russians around Orthodoxy, effectively turning a significant part of Russia into a monoconfessional space. However, both Soviet atheisation (aggressive secularisation of society) and the interest of Russian society in Western Christianity created a very special situation. Orthodox identity itself was eroded for two reasons. Firstly, neither Lutherans, nor Catholics, nor other evangelical movements have disappeared from Russia entirely. Indeed, since the end of the nineteenth century, the Adventists, Pentecostalists, Baptists and evangelical Christians included many Russians, even if there were many Russian Germans among the preachers. Secondly, the emigration of ethnic groups predominantly belonging to the Roman Catholic and Lutheran churches, as well as the rapid upsurge of interest in any religion in the early 1990s, created new non-Orthodox communities based on the underground churches of the Soviet era. These were mostly Russian in terms of their ethnic composition, with a national mission among indigenous peoples of Russia and among immigrants from Central Asia. However, it is also important to trace how the waves of migration have changed the ethno-confessional landscape of Russia: what destroys the Orthodox identity, and what, on the contrary, supports it.

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Table 8.3  Migration waves in and out of Russia and the Soviet Union, 1991-2016 Event

Immigration wave and number of people

Emigration during the late Soviet period of Perestroika (1987-1991)

134,000 people moved from Russia to Israel; 102,000 to Germany; 15,000 to the United States; about 20,000 to other countries 1.1 million

Ethnic Russians and Russian speakers of other ethnic groups moving to Russia Migration to Russia from other former Soviet Republics People that were born in Russia but living abroad in 2015 People who acquired Russian citizenship from 1992 to 2015 The main countries of birth of international migrants in 2010

Refugees from Ukraine, who came to Russia during the Russia-Ukraine conflict (2014-2016)

7.5 million 10.6 million 8.5 million Ukraine (about 3 million people, or 26 per cent of all migrants), Kazakhstan (2.5 million, 22 per cent), Uzbekistan (1.1 million, 10 per cent), and Belarus and Azerbaijan (740,000, or 6.6 per cent each) Federal State Statistics Service: 1 January 2015: 234,360 1 January 2016: 311,134 1 January 2017: 226,044 1 January 2018: 123,434 1 January 2019: 75,006 Total: 969,97811 Collective Security Treaty Organization: February 2016: 1.5 million12 UN Refugee Agency: November 2017: 427,240 IDPs13 Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe: January 2015: over 524,00014

Source: Chudinovskikh and Denisenko 2017

11 Data collected from the website of the Federal State Statistics Service at (https://www.gks.ru/ bgd/regl/b15_107/Main.htm; https://www.gks.ru/bgd/regl/b16_107/Main.htm; https://gks.ru/bgd/regl/ b17_107/Main.htm; https://gks.ru/bgd/regl/b18_107/Main.htm; and https://gks.ru/bgd/regl/b19_107/ Main.htm (accessed 15 January 2020). Many Ukrainians have not sought asylum or received refugee status and have continued to cross the border with Russia freely without registration. These figures related to those who registered as receiving temporary shelter and in total are closer to 1.5 million. 12 TASS 2016. 13 UN Refugee Agency, ‘Ukraine, 1-30 November 2017, “Operational Update”’, https://reliefweb. int/sites/reliefweb.int/files/resources/2017%2011%20UNHCR%20UKRAINE%20Operational%20 Update%20FINAL%20EN.pdf (accessed 15 January 2020). 14 The report states that 524,000 people ‘sought asylum or other legal status in the Russian Federation’ (Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe 2015).

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So there were waves Christian migration from outside Russia, such as, firstly, the Lutherans who became a part of Russian society in the sixteenth century and, secondly, the evangelical groups from Germany who arrived in Russia from the end of the eighteenth century. The phenomenon of emigration touched the lives of many in Russia from the beginning of the twentieth century and continued in the post-Soviet period (Vorobyeva et al. 2018). Members of Russian evangelical sects and Old Believers emigrated to Canada, Latin America, and the USA until the late 1980s. The third type of the migration was Stalin’s deportations to Central Asia. The main focus of this study is the impact of these migratory waves on Russian Orthodoxy, which experienced several types of change. The first change concerns the fragmentation of Orthodoxy into official Orthodoxy and Orthodoxy of the Old Rite (Old Believers who separated from official Orthodoxy in the seventeenth century), which periodically caused waves of migrations from the end of the seventeenth century to the beginning of the twentieth century because of the persecution of the ‘old faith’. Old Believers fled to Moldova, Romania, Poland, and, within Russia, to Siberia and the Far East. Many Old Believers went to China and Latin America, whence they fled from communist China (Kononova 2014). On 9 January 2018 the Fond podderzhki i sodeistviya staroobryadchestvu ‘Pravda Russkaya’ (Foundation for the Support and Promotion of the Old Rite ‘Russian Truth’15) was established. The establishment of this foundation was also undertaken with the support of the authorities. Through this foundation, the authorities intend to actively help Old Believers in Russia. There is also a programme for the resettlement of Old Believers from Latin America and, if desired, from Australia and Canada, on preferential terms in Siberia and the Far East. About 130 families have already moved to the Far East, while several families from Latin America have been granted Russian citizenship by President Vladimir Putin. The appeal to Old Believers has become a symbol of a ‘return to the roots’, but one that offers an alternative to the ROC. For instance, Old Believers have neither numerous and rich parishes and monasteries in Russia, and nor do they cultivate close relations with the state, as the ROC does. Nevertheless, Old Believers form a consistent part of both Russian spiritual tradition and the Orthodox faith. Their special position lies in a combination of deeply rooted patriotism, on the one hand, and opposition to the ROC, on the other. On 31 May 2017, President Vladimir Putin visited the Rogozhskaya Sloboda, the centre of the largest association of the Russian Orthodox Old Believer 15 Pravda-russkaya.ru (accessed 5 December 2019).

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Church in Moscow. For the first time, the head of state met at a high level with the Old Believers. In visiting them, for the first time the president showed support to a competitor of the Russian Orthodox Church. On 25 November 2019, at a meeting between President Vladimir Putin and the head of the Russian Orthodox Old-Rite Church, Metropolitan Cornelius (Titov), it was also announced that 150 families were ready to return to Russia from Latin America in 2020 under the programme approved by the head of state in 2017. Modern Old Believers are descendants of those who fled from the Russian Far East to China, and with the support of the Red Cross left Hong Kong for Brazil and, to a lesser degree, Australia in 1955-1956. In 2019, there were between 5,000 and 7,000 Old Believers in Australia, Argentina, Brazil, Bolivia, Canada, New Zealand, the United States (particularly Alaska and Oregon) and Uruguay (Interfax 2019). In general, the Old Believers have been distrustful or contemptuous of state power in Russia since the beginning of the eighteenth century, when Tsar Peter the Great instigated repressions against Old Believers, including burning them at the stake, and initiated the Church Reform; leading them to consider him as ‘the Antichrist’. They choose their own priests, bishops and mentors. Along with this, the Old Believers are the most striking symbol of Holy Russia and ancient Russian spirituality. No one doubts that the Old Believers are patriots, as opposed to Baptists or Pentecostals. The combination of Russian patriotism and Orthodox faith, which contrasts sharply with the order in the official Church, aroused interest in Old Believers in the 1990s and 2000s. Part of the Orthodox youth in the late 1990s came to the Old Believers on the wave of the growth of nationalistic Eurasian ideology and ideas about the ‘special Russian way’. However, Old Believers did not allow this nationalistic wave to overcome the Church and sweep them into the political sphere. This was facilitated by a strong spiritual tradition in the communities, the difficulty of converting to the old faith from the Nikonians (the name given by Old Believers to representatives of the official Church, after Patriarch Nikon, who carried out the reform in the seventeenth century that brought about the split in the Church). In Old Believer communities, it is necessary to rebuild one’s life for long worship services. Belonging to the Old Believers does not promise any of the material benefits that theoretically priests of the Moscow Patriarchate can receive. The number of Old Believers is growing. One of the most striking examples is the Pomors, who tend to be adherents of a priestless religious community. By the 2010s, the number of registered Old Believers’ associations was just over 350, while a further c. 800 groups remained unregistered. The number of baptised believers with ties to the Old Belief is more than 200,000 (Bezgodov

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2016). Yet the fact that many groups operate without registration (it is often much easier to exist as a group informally than register officially because of the existing laws in Russia) means that the figures say little about the real power and influence of the old faith. In Central and north-western Russia, Siberia and the Far East, many Russian families cherish their Old Believer roots. Students and postgraduates of humanity’s universities are interested in the Old Belief, and some become parishioners and ministers (Filatov 2014-2018: vol. 3, 354). As in many historical churches, the Old Belief is developing in a wave-like fashion: it is mainly children and old people who attend worship, while young people come and go; interest in society flares up, then dies out, to be rekindled again later. To an outsider, it seems that this Christian trend is dying, since it seems that only old ladies attend the long services. But as one of the priests joked, ‘We had old ladies here before the revolution, and now we have old ladies, and some believe that these are the same ones.’ Old Believers strengthen existing communities, increase their cultural influence, so the interest in the historical tradition of Old Belief, as in Tsarist Russia, is gradually arising among politicians and entrepreneurs. Old Believers said in interviews (Filatov 2014-2018: vol. 3, 355) that their communities in the regions have more sponsors among local businessmen than earlier. Also, the attention paid by President Putin to the Old Believer community is remarkable. Secondly, the migration waves deprived official Orthodoxy of human and intellectual strength. During the Soviet persecutions after 1917, the best priests and theologians, and the most active believers were killed or left the country. They settled in France, to a lesser extent in other European countries and in the United States. In 1943, a war-time initiative under Stalin to raise patriotic spirits lead to the revival of the former state church of the Russian Empire but as the Moscow Patriarchate, whose activity was necessarily overseen by Stalin and controlled by the Soviet state. Furthermore, during the Soviet period, the Russian church didn’t have the right to conduct social projects or to help people publicly in other ways, and Sunday schools were also prohibited. The Russian Revolution of 1917 brought about a division in Russian Orthodoxy as members of the ‘White’ movement, including intellectuals, emigrated from ‘Red’ Bolshevik Russia. The Russian diaspora established the Russian Orthodox Church Abroad,16 which remained an irreconcilable critic of Soviet Russia. The Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia unified 16 The Russian Orthodox Church Abroad appeared in the 1920s, and by 2007 had about 400 parishes in the USA, Australia, Britain and Germany.

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with the Moscow Patriarchate (MP) in 2007, and most communities of the Russian Archdiocese of the parishes of Russian tradition (about 80 parishes in France, Britain, Germany and Italy) entered the structure of the MP in 2019. This was a key event in the restoration of the Russian World, which, in the view of the ROC, refers to the spiritual identity community including Russia itself and the Russian diaspora abroad. The Russian Orthodox Church’s reunification with its fellow parishes abroad has also had consequences for the worldview of the ROC. Nowadays most congregations in the United States and Western Europe are composed not solely of Russians but are also made up of the descendants of Russians in mixed marriages, as well as natives of France, Germany, and Britain, and people from other Orthodox countries.17 In addition, the ROC is becoming one of the main anti-Soviet forces in Russia. The Orthodox, as a rule, do not see anything positive in either Soviet symbols or the heroes of this period. Those who endured the persecution of the twentieth century have no nostalgia for the cruelty and hypocrisy of the Soviet regime. Hierarchs and priests of the ROC very actively support the process of decommunisation, including the changing of Bolshevik names in the titles of metro stations and streets, and the ongoing attempts to remove Lenin’s mausoleum from Red Square. Furthermore, the Orthodox Russian diaspora was and remains an irreconcilable critic of ‘red Soviet Russia’. Thirdly, migration, deportations and Soviet atheist policies dramatically changed the ethnic character of Russian Christianity, and showed both the ROC and Russian society as a whole that Russians could be Christians outside the framework of the Moscow Patriarchate. Before the 1917 revolution, non-Orthodox Christian churches were virtually inaccessible to the Russian population. At the moment of the collapse of the USSR, Lutherans and Catholics in Russia existed as separate disparate communities in Siberia. The deportations of the Stalin period became a consistent element of national policy, as did the ‘preventive deportations’ during WWII. About 2.75 million people (Germans, Finns, Greeks, Romanians, Crimean Tatars, Kalmyks and others suspected of collaboration with the German Army) were deported during and after WWII (Polyan 1999). Although the Lutheran and Catholic communities were formally revived in the early 1990s on the basis of Polish or German cultural societies, or by gatherings of people with Polish, Lithuanian, etc. roots, these churches quickly became predominantly Russian in terms of the ethnicity of their parishioners. German Lutheranism in Russia was also negatively affected by the mass migration of Russian Germans to Germany 17 On Orthodox in Western Europe, see Hämmerli and Mayer 2014.

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Table 8.4 Selected ethnicities and their favoured Christian churches in Russia, 1989-201018 Ethnicity

1989 Census of the RSFSR19

2002 Census

2010 Census

Christian denominations

Russians

119,865,946

115,889,107

111,016,896

Ukrainians

4,362,872

2,942,961

1,927,988

Belarusians Lithuanians Latvians Estonians Germans

1,206,222 70,427 46,829 46,390 842,295

807,970 45,569 28,520 28,113 597,212

521,443 31,377 18,979 17,875 394,138

94,594 47,102 124,921

73,001 34,050 93,344

47,125 20,267 60,815

Orthodox, Catholic, Lutheran, Evangelical Orthodox, Greek Catholic, Evangelical20 Orthodox, Catholic Catholic Orthodox, Catholic Orthodox, Lutheran Orthodox, Catholic, Lutheran, Evangelical Catholic Lutheran Orthodox, Lutheran

Poles Finns Karelians21

in the 1990s (about 500,000 Russian Germans and 25,000 Pentecostalists emigrated), so that by the early 2000s the Lutheran church in Russia was in deep crisis (Smirnova 2007; Klyueva 2018). 18 The selection of nationalities in Table 8.1 reflects the focus of this chapter and is not an exhaustive list of all nationalities living in Russia. Consequently, it excludes native peoples of Russia that belong to the Orthodox tradition but have not generally taken part in migration processes. Also, certainly, the decreasing number of Ukrainians and Belarusians in Russia is a separate issue that awaits scholarly attention. The non-Russian native peoples of Russia following Orthodoxy include Ossetians (originating from the territory of the Russian federal subject of the Republic of North Ossetia-Alania and South Ossetia; an unrecognised republic that separated from Georgia in 1991), Udmurts, some Chuvashs living in the Volga region, Finno-Ugric peoples of Russia; Erzya, Moksha, Mari, as well as Komi and Karelians in north-western Russia, etc. Data collected from the 1989 census: http://www.demoscope.ru/weekly/ssp/rus_nac_89.php; official site of the 2002 census: www.perepis2002.ru; official site of the 2010 census: https://www.gks. ru/free_doc/new_site/perepis2010/croc/perepis_itogi1612.htm (accessed 5 December 2019). 19 Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic as a part of USSR. 20 Evangelicals indicates the Protestant churches that formed as a legacy of the Reformation between the seventeenth and nineteenth centuries (Methodism, Baptism, the Salvation Army, Holiness churches) and evangelical movements of the twentieth century (Pentecostalism, Charismatics). 21 The Karelians are a special case among the Finno-Ugric peoples. They inhabit the Republic of Karelia in north-western Russia on the border with Finland, which became a part of the USSR after the Soviet-Finnish War of 1939-1940, and also Finnish Karelia. There has been a gradual emigration of Karelians to Finland since the fall of the Soviet Union. Russian Karels are mainly Orthodox but there are Lutheran communities among them, belonging to the Lutheran Church of Ingria and the Karelian Lutheran Church.

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The favourable policy of the Soviet government in relation to members of ‘sects’ in the 1920s significantly strengthened Russian evangelical Protestantism, which had already taken deep roots among the Russian peasantry, merchants, and partially the nobility in the 1880s. Till 1917 many Russian evangelists were already in exile in Siberia and Far East. The beginning of the 1990s and the early 2000s became the heyday of the evangelical movement throughout Russia, despite the continued emigration of pastors and their families. Many Christian denominations or movements that were only for foreign citizens before 1917, such as the Salvation Army, the Reformed Church and the Methodist Church, disappeared in Soviet times and were revived as Russian churches in the 1990s. The religious boom of 1990s also saw the immigration to Russia of thousands of Ukrainian evangelical missionaries who became Russian citizens, (unlike the evangelists from the USA who mainly left Russia) and came to represent the majority of the pastors of the big Protestant churches in Russia. Russian Germans have played an outstanding role in religious life in Russia, having been represented in the leadership of the Roman Catholic Church, Russian Orthodox Church, Pentecostal and Baptist communities, even after the deportations and emigration (Munz and Ohliger 2003). The culmination of the Soviet government’s anti-German policy was the deportation of ethnic Germans after the outbreak of the war with Nazi Germany. In July 1941, Crimean Germans were evicted from their homes and driven from their villages, in August 1941 the Volga ones, in October 1941 the Caucasian Germans, and in March 1942 all Germans were resettled from Leningrad. More than 800,000 people were sent to Central Asia, especially Kazakhstan, and Siberia (Kurilo 2002: 80). In the 1940s deported believers gathered and prayed in the framework of a few illegal fraternal communities that maintained the Lutheran tradition. Along with Lutheranism, which was considered an obstacle to the assimilation of Germans into Soviet society, other ethnic German Christians were also persecuted: German Catholics were charged with ties to Italian fascism and National Socialism through the Vatican, and the Mennonites were found guilty of incitement to emigration, sabotage of collectivisation, spying for Germany, as well as of undermining the Red Army’s fighting force, since the Mennonites refused to serve in the army (Veber 1989: 372-373). Thanks to German missionaries, Russian Germans who had emigrated in the Soviet era and in the 1990s returned to Russia and began to revive church life. Native German churches that had previously closed down

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due to an absence of parishioners reopened, and Protestant groups and movements became open to the Russian population. The Lutheran and even Mennonite communities lost their ethnic character, although German discipline and national character, attitude to religious discipline and desire for civic activism remain (Burdo and Filatov 2005-2009: vol. 3, 119-120). For example, in the period 2000-2002 Mennonite churches, which had disappeared in the 1990s due to emigration, were re-created in the Urals (in the Orenburg region), but with divine services now in Russian (Burdo and Filatov 2005-2009: vol. 3, 104-130). The paradox of the centuries-old existence of the Germans on Russian territory is that they perceive Russia as their second homeland. Historical ties between Russia and Germany and marriages of Russian royalty with representatives of the German ruling dynasties do not allow the Germans to consider Russians as semi-Asians or northern barbarians. For the Soviet and Russian Germans, such as those living in Kaliningrad (former Eastern Prussia) and other Russian regions, Russia remained and remains a part of Europe, in which the civil order befitting Europeans has not yet been established. By the 2010s, religious diversity had been formed in Russia, which fundamentally changed the situation in the country. Along with Orthodoxy, there were strong Protestant churches and influential Catholic communities, which began to actively assert themselves in the public space. The Russian Orthodox Church continues to be a key element of state ideology, but the idea of Orthodoxy in society is in sharp contradiction with the real participation of the church in the life of its citizens. In this regard, the leadership of the ROC (especially since 2009, when Patriarch Kirill became its head) and some active priests are increasingly becoming aware of the need to create strong communities on new grounds by strengthening the role of the laity, and increasing civic engagement and new forms of mission. In this case, Protestants, Catholics and Orthodox are in much the same situation: they are in competition both with each other and with secular society. The development of the Christian community is important for all confessions, and they face the same problems carrying out their mission in a post-Soviet society that is rather indifferent to the faith. The only sphere where they act together relates to social projects, and different denominational communities are increasingly solving the problem of how to help people together. The most striking example that shows the evolution of the consciousness of Christian churches in Russia is social service among migrants.

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Social work among migrants: Changing Church priorities Social work has become a clear manifestation of the internal development of the Russian Orthodox Church, and the need to be more active in a competitive environment among churches that offer their own interpretations of ‘Russian patriotism’ that detracts from the monopoly of the Moscow Patriarchate. Church activity among Ukrainian refugees (the influx associated with the Russian-Ukrainian crisis of 2014-2016 and the conflict in the Donbas) became possible precisely thanks to the existing system of volunteering. The algorithm for creating volunteer teams and organising social projects was actively implemented by the Synodal Department for Church Charity and Social Ministry of the Russian Orthodox Church. In addition, the very acuteness of the situation, and people’s empathy for those who had fled the civil clashes in Eastern Ukraine, helped to mobilise not only parishioners but also the wider community. The campaign to provide assistance to refugees from Ukraine elicited an increase in interest in volunteering and social work in the dioceses and parishes.22 The first fundraising drive to support refugees from Ukraine was announced by Patriarch Kirill ‘in fulfilment of the Church’s peacekeeping mandate’ in July 2014, and was followed by a second wave in February 2015 (Russian Orthodox Church 2014). A total of 128 million roubles were collected. Back in 2014, recommendations were sent to the diocese of the ROC on how to work with refugees, and a church hotline was opened, with 3,567 people calling in that year. Within the framework of the humanitarian centre in Rostov-on-Don alone 950 tons of aid were distributed, serving about a hundred families daily. A total of 5 tons of school supplies and 350 tons of humanitarian aid were collected in 33 dioceses. The Orthodox service ‘Mercy’23 has been among the organisations most actively involved in working with refugees in Moscow. In Novokosino, an Orthodox help centre was created, to which 21,000 people turned, receiving 13,000 items of clothing, and 15,000 grocery products and medicines. According to the press secretary of the Synodal Department for Church Charity and Social Ministry of the ROC, Vasily Rulinsky, if in the first months of the conflict, refugees were in dire need of clothes, since 2016 most requests from people have related to medicines, since obtaining medical care is difficult for 22 For Orthodoxy and forced displacement in the context of the Russia-Ukraine crisis, see Leustean 2019. 23 Miloserdie.ru (accessed 5 December 2019).

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many due to their lack of official refugee status. In winter 2014/2015, up to 200 people came to the help centre every day, with the figure now around 50 per day. The Synodal Department of the ROC has purchased more than 800 tickets to enable refugees to travel to the regions where they have been accepted. In 2014, 1,800 people were accommodated in 22 dioceses of the Russian Orthodox Church, that is, residents of Ukraine were provided with temporary housing in the Voronezh and Smolensk dioceses, and in Moscow about 200 people were accommodated in hostels. Since December 2014, the focus has gradually shifted from helping refugees in Russia to providing assistance to the residents of south-eastern of Ukraine. Since 2014, 170 tons of humanitarian aid worth 12 million roubles has been distributed by the Church in this regard. The flow of aid to residents of Donbas is currently hampered by stricter border controls on both the Russian and separatist sides of the frontier. Aid can be transferred once a week, and must first pass border control, before being transferred to the hands of representatives of the local diocese of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church – Moscow Patriarchate (UOC-MP). Thus, the aid is distributed only through the dioceses, and not through unrecognised state entities; indeed, the ROC has almost no relation to the humanitarian convoys of the Russian Federation. In the Donbas, almost every church has a canteen where up to a hundred people a day come just to eat for free. It should be borne in mind that the statistics on the provision of humanitarian assistance of the Synodal Department for Church Charity and Social Ministry of the Russian Orthodox Church do not cover the activities of individual churches and monasteries of the Russian Orthodox Church, which independently help refugees. However, the social work of the Church and the volunteer movement attracted both parishioners and those who are not active members of the Church. The Russian Orthodox Church, at the call of Patriarch Kirill, collected 130 million roubles over a period of eighteen months in 2014 and 2015 (Russian Orthodox Church 2014). Quite unexpectedly, the Russian Orthodox Church’s voluntary potential manifested itself in the framework of the inter-confessional RussianAmerican project. In addition, on the example of a unique project that the Russian Orthodox Church carries out along with American Protestant missions, the specifics of the work of Orthodox dioceses with Ukrainian refugees are clearly visible. The project ‘Humanitarian Charitable Assistance to Victims of the Armed Conflict in Eastern Ukraine on the Territory of the Russian Federation’ was implemented together by the Department of External Church Relations (DECR) of the ROC and the Billy Graham Association within the framework of the Samaritan’s Purse programme. In fact, this is the first joint large-scale

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social initiative of the ROC with Protestants from the United States in the last 15 to 20 years.24 Details of the project were revealed on 4 September 2015 during a press conference at the DECR of the Moscow Patriarchate, which the author of this chapter attended. The American side was represented by the Samaritan’s Purse humanitarian project monitoring specialist David Holzhauer and Samaritan’s Purse ‘Christmas Child’ programme representative Randy Cox, while the ROC was represented by Deputy Chairman of the DECR Archimandrite Filaret (Bulekov), as well as clergy of the Belgorod and Don metropolitans (Lunkin 2018). Assistance to refugees was provided in the Rostov and Belgorod regions from April to August 2015. The operators for the distribution of aid were the Don and Belgorod metropolitans. The main burden on distributing kits for those in need fell on the social departments of the dioceses and specific parishes. Help was distributed according to lists of refugees in need of help, and only after presentation of documents confirming their status. Although the action was carried out through Orthodox churches, no one hid the fact that an evangelical mission was involved in the project, and corresponding symbols were displayed on the project packages and posters. Thus, help was received by people of different faiths and those of no faith (no one asked for blessings or evidence of baptism). In total, 63,000 sets were distributed, which included both bed linen and hygiene kits, as well as non-perishable products and school supplies for children (all products were ordered from Russian manufacturers). The organisers of the project did not name the exact amount that was spent during the event, but it seems likely to be in the region of 20 million roubles (about $500,000). The refugee assistance campaign was the first stage of the joint activity of the ROC with the humanitarian mission Samaritan’s Purse. According to Archimandrite Filaret (Bulekov), deputy chairman of the DECR, it is very important that American brethren work alongside the Orthodox who sympathise with the grief of people during the civil confrontation (Lunkin 2018). The ROC sought thereby to stress the international character of this project, and to underscore their view of this conflict as civil war, not as an act of aggression on the part of Russia. The project, as the DECR emphasises, concerns only refugees from Ukraine on the territory of Russia. On Ukrainian territory, the Donetsk and Gorlovka 24 The Moscow Patriarchate has maintained relations with Billy Graham since 1959, when Graham came to Russia and preached at the Elokhovsky Cathedral. In 2014, Metropolitan Hilarion, the head of the DECR, visited Graham in the United States and congratulated him on his 96th birthday.

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dioceses of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church – Moscow Patriarchate (UOCMP) help those in need, and the ROC can officially provide any assistance only through the UOC-MP. Meanwhile, The Synodal Department for Church Charity and Social Ministry of the ROC sent humanitarian aid to the territory of the Donetsk People’s Republic (DPR) and the Lugansk People’s Republic (LPR), but representatives of the department also noted that unlike state humanitarian convoys, church assistance is provided to specific dioceses and parishes of the UOC-MP, but not to representatives of the LPR and DPR. According to Archimandrite Filaret, if the ROC provides assistance to those in need in Ukraine directly from the territory of Russia, it could cause fears and speculation about possible political motivations, which the Church is trying to avoid. All assistance officially from the ROC is provided only after consultation with the central leadership of the UOC-MP. This means that the metropolitans representing the ROC cannot officially carry out their ministry within the territories of the LPR and the DPR, although individual clerics have engaged on an independent basis with their flock in the separatist regions. Parishes have become centres for the distribution of assistance during the period of the humanitarian crisis. As part of the church mission to help refugees from Ukraine in general, it was possible to significantly increase the potential of the volunteer movement of the ROC. The DECR and Billy Graham Association project also helped to develop volunteerism and parish social ministry. As the chairman of the Department of Church Charity and Social Ministry of the Shakhty diocese, Father Vladislav Kasyanov emphasised, a large number of refugees have been accepted in the north of Rostov region, where there are no jobs or charitable organisations. In rural areas, parishes have become the only points of assistance, with a sense of a common trouble and feelings of solidarity rallying the parishioners. The social work of the ROC in the regions bordering Ukraine shows how difficult it is to carry out this work while at the same time maintaining political balance, and avoiding steps that would be hostile to Kiev or could put the ROC at odds with the UOC-MP. In addition to the official assistance, there is also the unofficial assistance provided directly by Russian parishes to Ukrainians in the territories of the LPR and DPR in response to appeals in 2014-2016. By 2019, there were virtually no Ukrainian refugees left on the territory of Russia, although many continue live there without having obtained such a status. Helping Christians in the Middle East has become a significant political topic for the ROC and other denominations. The displacement of the Christian population from the Middle East during the Syrian war was the reason for the return of the ROC to the agenda of Russian foreign policy. The

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theme of the war on terrorism and the protection of Christians simultaneously corresponded with the interests of the Russian Orthodox Church and the line of the Russian Foreign Ministry. In his traditional Christmas interview with the Russia 1 television channel on 7 January 2016, Patriarch Kirill explicitly called the Russian military operation in Syria a justified ‘fair fight’ and a defensive war: ‘After all, if terrorism triumphs in Syria, then it will have a chance to bring misfortunes and troubles to our people. And Russians remember well what misfortunes and sorrows terrorism brings’ (Pravmir 2016). The concern about the fate of Christians expressed in the interview with the Patriarch is due, first of all, to Western criticism and Russia’s efforts in this direction, which is fully consistent with the foreign policy of the Russian Foreign Ministry: Christians today are the most oppressed people on earth. Moreover, they go to extremes not only in those countries where a clash with Islam takes place, but also in prosperous Europe, where you can lose your job for wearing a cross. Christians even stopped wishing each other a ‘Merry Christmas’! From ‘Merry Christmas’, only ‘Christmas’ remains.

Even the phenomenon of terrorism was explained by the head of the ROC as the result of the lack of religion in the modern world – in particular, Western society, where migrants often go (Pravmir 2016). The symbol of Orthodox globalisation led by the ROC was the meeting of the Pope and the Patriarch on 12 February 2016 in Havana, Cuba. The meeting made the Patriarch a global Christian leader, not just a national religious figure who follows President Putin’s line. The joint statement of Pope Francis and Patriarch Kirill can be called a great foreign policy victory of the ROC. The Russian church managed to solve a number of problems, acting on an equal footing with the Vatican. First of all, the statement was a call for peace in the Middle East and for the protection of Christians in the region where the armed forces of the Russian Federation take an active part: We call on the international community to act urgently to prevent further displacement of Christians from the Middle East. Raising our voice in defence of persecuted Christians, we also empathize with the suffering of adherents of other religious traditions who become victims of civil war, chaos and terrorist violence. (Russian Orthodox Church 2016b)

In addition, the Catholic Church de facto sided with the Moscow Patriarchate on the Ukrainian issue, with the Pope noting that the canonical church is

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the Ukrainian church, part of the ROC (Russian Orthodox Church 2016b). After the meeting in Havana, Pope Francis also stressed the need to respect the Minsk Protocol on the regulation of the situation in the Donbas region of Ukraine that had led to the mass forced displacement of people (Radio Vaticana 2016). The ROC needed the help of Catholics in organising work with refugees and helping Christians in Lebanon, Syria and in the Middle East more generally. A number of events in Beirut were organised jointly with the Catholic foundation Kirche in Not (Church in Need), which since the 1990s had provided grants for various projects of the Russian Orthodox Church. In addition, the Russian Orthodox Church has begun to actively cooperate with the Community of St. Aegidia, which is a Catholic movement known for its peacekeeping projects and for helping Christians and refugees in general in the Middle East and other parts of the world. In addition, it is worth noting that the ROC maintains contacts in the Middle East, mainly with the Antiochian Patriarchate, and with other churches in communion with the Vatican (the Melkit Church, the Syro-Jacobite Church, the Syro-Catholic Church, the Armenian Catholic Church and the Maronite Church). Thus, cooperation with the Vatican was, of course, necessary for the ROC (Russian Orthodox Church 2016a). In the case of Russia, most internal migrants (e.g. from the North Caucasus) or immigrants (e.g. from Central Asia, or, in the case of Europe, from the Middle East) belong to the Muslim faith, and hail from a society with a traditional clan way of life (Sidorov 2015). The mission among migrants from different countries is mainly carried out by various Christian churches, including Orthodox, Catholics and Protestants, in Russia and the countries of the European Union. Migrants face unemployment, poverty, a lack of understanding of local laws, and, in general, experience alienation from the surrounding society (usually the metropolis). In this regard, the mission among migrants proceeds from the need, first of all, for social and legal assistance, and may extend to support with social adaptation if necessary. The strategy of Christian missions is built on the basis of social service, and each denomination and each particular church approaches the transition from the social aspect of service to the mission of attracting migrants to their communities in its own way. As in the countries of the European Union, immigrants in Russia may also face religious and cultural dissonance in their interactions with the host society. They associate the secular culture of these societies with Christianity, even if this culture includes a free attitude, in their opinion, to clothing style, sexual behaviour, alcohol, etc. Many immigrants, as claimed by church ministers, have been afraid to accept Christ, as they were afraid

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to become like all the people around them. In this regard, Protestant missionaries, first of all, say that they ‘do not preach religion, but Christ; not culture, but salvation’.25 In contrast to the Christian mission in the Muslim regions themselves or in the Middle East, in the European metropolises there are almost no problems with the Muslim kindred environment. Former co-religionists or co-ethnics may call the newly converted Christian ‘kyafir’, a traitor to the faith of their fathers, but in a big city it is always easy to blend in or leave, which is more difficult to do in the homeland. Many who have taken Bible courses in churches outside their home country become Christians, but are still afraid to talk about it among relatives. However, at present, the stereotype that if you are an Uzbek, Kyrgyz, etc., then you must be a Muslim is gradually breaking down among the natives of Central Asia. In the Protestant environment, a special mission among migrants in large cities is extremely common. For instance, in the Word of Life evangelical church in Moscow, in addition to the ‘Asian Ministry’ for people from Central Asia, there is a group of parishioners from Vietnam and Malaysia. Christians who came from Uzbekistan have an independent Church which meets in the town of Reutov in Moscow oblast. In the Pentecostal ‘Good News’ church in Moscow, which is headed by the American pastor Rick Renner, there is a Kyrgyz group. Some Pentecostal and Baptist missionaries teach Russian and English classes in the area of major markets. In one of the districts of Moscow, the Korean Presbyterian Church has a dedicated ministry to Uzbeks. There is also an emigrant semi-underground ministry in St. Petersburg (the Light of Asia Pentecostal Church). One of the striking examples of such a mission among Muslim migrants is the activity of the Word of Life Protestant church in Moscow, which was founded in the early 1990s by missionaries from Sweden and Norway. The head of the ministry to migrants is Pentecostal Pastor Andrei Mril, who was born in Uzbekistan and then moved to Russia, but still understands how to communicate with immigrants from the Central Asian republics.26 According to Pastor Mril, ethnic borders that are obvious in the homeland are erased in the metropolis, so Uzbeks, Tajiks and Kyrgyz people become simply ‘Asians’ without exact ethnic belonging in the eyes of local citizens. In addition, they face the same problems. 25 The f ield material of the author. The information on the mission of the church among migrants is based on the field research of the author and on a sociological interview with the pastor of the Word of Life charismatic church, Pastor Andrei Mril, on 9 February 2019. 26 Ibid.

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The religious mission of the Church faces a number of difficulties. The first issue frequently encountered concerns the understanding of Jesus Christ as a prophet, almost the same as the Prophet Muhammad. In addition, when people from Central Asia are told about the church, they imagine exclusively an Orthodox church, a building, and not something else, a more abstract theological concept (in this case, Orthodoxy is considered only the ‘Russian faith’). As a consequence of the fact that 90 per cent of immigrants in Russia have to some extent been brought up in a religious Muslim environment, they tend to be of the opinion that the Orthodox Church is ‘not ours’. Therefore a direct invitation to the Church provokes opposition. According to Pastor Mril, ‘They seem to have some kind of religious anti-virus installed. If someone goes to the temple or comes to Christ, then he becomes a traitor.’ In this regard, work with immigrants from Asia begins at the societal level in the form of assistance with paperwork, housing, finding work, arranging documents to help illegal workers regularise their migration status (as a rule, the first consultation is free), and assistance with renting an apartment. The Church finds a non-religious platform in order to help and communicate with immigrants. If a Tajik or Kyrgyz is invited directly to the Word of Life church in Moscow located near the Alekseevskaya metro station, then upon arrival he might often turn around and leave because of the inscription ‘Christian church’ on the building, even if a person was invited to a legal consultation. Therefore, in this regard, social support activities are extremely important for integration and missionary work. Within the framework of the volunteer projects, flyers are distributed with offers to help with registration and work, and the Word of Life church helps some people to rent an apartment and to get a job in the construction industry. Since 2011, volunteers have been feeding people in need at Kazansky railway station, the Moscow terminus for many trains coming from the south. Many people there have lost their documents, or become victims of scams and been left without money. Homeless people are first sent to the Recovery Centre (rehabilitation centre) run by the Word of Life church, and then they are offered jobs. Among the rehabilitants there are representatives of the intelligentsia and former criminals. If they wish, they can attend Bible courses and services, after which some remain in the Church, but most leave for their homeland. Within the framework of the existing Christian community of Central Asians (the Asian church ministry) at the Word of Life church in Moscow, the liturgy is conducted in Russian, as there are representatives of several nationalities among believers. However, ‘glorification’, that is, the singing of Christian songs, is performed in various languages, and sermons

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sometimes take place in native languages, depending on the composition of the congregation. The church choir consists of Uzbeks and Tajiks. In total, up to 80 people gather as part of the Word of Life Asian community in Moscow. As Pastor Mril notes, ‘the number of people gathering depends on the weather, immigration service or police inspections and the presence of police nearby’. Once a year the Church celebrates the Muslim spring holiday of Navruz, which unites all immigrants from Central Asia. Intra-church work includes two formats, namely ‘temple’, that is, meetings directly in the Word of Life church, and home groups, whereby people gather in apartments. Home group meetings are closer to Asian culture in style: all the people sit on traditional-style mattresses on the floor, periodically make pilaf, read the Holy Scriptures in Uzbek and Tajik languages. As Pastor Mril notes, ‘We do not have as our task to break their culture. We, on the contrary, want to preserve Asian customs, but we divide culture and religion. There are moments where we draw a line.’ Drinking tea from a bowl and eating pilaf with your hands, which not everyone does, these are cultural elements, whereas prayer (namaz) after eating is a religious part. In home groups, Protestant ministers pray with former or self-identified Muslims, raising their hands in the air and performing ablutions (ritual cleansing) like Muslims do. At the same time, ‘Our Father’ is read as a prayer. Within the Protestant denominations there are differences in approach to ministry among immigrants from different countries: Pentecostals combine social work with evangelism and conversion, while Baptists are more focused in attracting would-be believers to the church. Liberal Lutheran churches, meanwhile, put conversion to the background or by the wayside. The difference between the situation in Russia and in the countries of the European Union (largely Western Europe) is that in Russia, national communities are a part of larger Russian-speaking churches, while in Europe over the past ten to fifteen years independent national churches of immigrants from Africa, the Middle East, Turkey and Latin America have appeared, where the native Europeans represent a smaller part of the congregation (for example, Catholic communities of refugees as a result of the mission of St. Egidio community in Italy, or the Caribbean or black African evangelical churches in France and Britain) (Maxwell 2012). Within the framework of the Russian Orthodox Church there was no focused work with immigrants for a long time, although separate initiatives existed. The Missionary Centre of Father Daniil Sysoev, who was killed in 2009 for his missionary activities, was active from 2006 to 2009. In 2014, an official document was adopted on the principles and directions of work with

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migrants in the Russian Orthodox Church, which proclaimed the principles of mercy (compassion) and inter-religious dialogue: Church work with migrants, many of whom profess traditional nonChristian religions, is inseparable from inter-religious dialogue. The Church, while respecting the beliefs of people professing other traditional religions, at the same time considers it possible for them to become familiar with the religious traditions of the host country, and also promotes their involvement in the lives of those co-religionists who are known for constructive activities in the host society.

In 2018, the ‘Asian’ project of the Russian Orthodox Church was launched under the patronage of the Commission for Missionary Work and Catechesis of the Diocesan Administration of Moscow for the translation of church literature into the languages of the peoples of Central Asia. Then, Deacon Dionisy Grishkov, head of the Centre for Social Assistance to Migrants at the Euphrosyne of Moscow Church in Kotlovka, noted that the project originated long ago among ordinary Moscow missionaries, including those from the migrant community. According to Father Dionysius from the same centre, [T]he need for translation of church literature appeared, since there are already baptised inhabitants of Central Asia in Moscow. I want to arrange their first meeting, to organise a service for them with elements of national languages. To do this, we have recently translated the horologion [text of the liturgy] into the Uzbek and Kyrgyz languages and the prayer book into Tajik. We have to turn to the help of professional translators. They are often native speakers baptised into Protestant communities. […] All the peoples of Central Asia have their own Christian history. But even if they did not, it is the duty of the Church to take care of the fulfilment of the commandment to teach to all Nations. (St. Basil Orthodox Centre 2019)

The strategy of religious associations (Christian churches) regarding their work with migrants includes several stages: social support, integration into society, involvement in church activity, and making a migrant a member of the community or a person who, at least, sympathises with this community and is not afraid of it. Protestants and Catholics were the most involved in this mission. Representatives of the Russian Orthodox Church are only just embarking on service in this area, but to a large extent they follow the experience of Catholics and Protestants. While Protestant denominations emphasise social adaptation and integration, with missionary activity following

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afterwards or in parallel, Orthodox and Catholics emphasise cultural mission, which consists of a combination of education, study of local culture, legal integration into society and support finding employment. Protestants directly express their intention to evangelise migrants (the exception is liberal churches, for example, Lutheran churches in Scandinavia, which work with Muslims and help them, but do not directly aim for their conversion). For the Orthodox and Catholics, the main focus of their work with migrants is not conversion, but rather the inclusion of migrants into the culture of the host society, while for many evangelists this context is not significant within their worldview. Both approaches to social missionary activity lead, firstly, to the integration of immigrants in the public environment, and secondly, to the creation of a positive environment for migrants to live in, where there are no grounds for the spread of extremist pseudo-religious ideas. Social work among various categories of migrants has become a clear manifestation of the internal development of the Russian Orthodox. It indicates that church leaders have recognised the need to be more active in a competitive environment among churches that offer their own interpretations of ‘Russian patriotism’, and thereby detract from the monopoly aspired to by the Moscow Patriarchate. The evolution of the worldview of the Russian Orthodox Church has led to a convergence in the views of the Moscow Patriarchate and the Catholic Church on the problems of migration and adaptation, which are generally common to all categories of immigrants. Both churches cooperated in helping Christians in the Middle East and helping immigrants to integrate in Russia and the EU. For example, in 2016, a joint Orthodox-Catholic humanitarian mission with the support of the Catholic Foundation ‘Kirche in Not’ visited Syria and Lebanon, and in 2017 the head of the Department of External Relations of the ROC, Metropolitan Hilarion of Volokolamsk, accompanied the humanitarian mission in Lebanon within the framework of dialogue with the Catholic Church (Russian Orthodox Church 2018). Pentecostals and Baptists in Russia combine social work with evangelism and conversion, which remain as objectives when attracting the needy to church activities (Bogatova et al. 2019). Many social projects, such as volunteer groups at parish level appeared when the ROC helped the refugees from Ukraine: in 2014-2015 donations amounting to 128 million Russian roubles were collected, and 22,000 refugees received direct help, while in 2015-2016 a joint project of ROC and the Billy Graham Association was undertaken to support refugees in southern regions of Russia (Russian Orthodox Church 2015). The Orthodox Church was the most active institution in the social work among displaced people, but evangelicals (Pentecostals and Baptists) also established special centres (Sopova and Orlova 2014).

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Conclusion Religious organisations provide a variety of tools to effectively solve social problems, including problems associated with migration. Some churches are able to implement large-scale projects, others are focused on targeted volunteer work. The liberal, secular part of society reacted with disbelief to the work of European churches during the migration crisis, doubting that they could radically change the situation and benefit society. Critics of the ROC also exist in Russia, which is partly a consequence of the Soviet atheist rule, a kind of analogue to European secularisation, in terms of the displacement of religion from public space, politics and the everyday life of people. At the same time, the academic community, politicians, officials and journalists need to take into account the reality of the new role of religious institutions in society. Religious organisations need an individual approach to assess their capabilities. In this case, receiving grants or other forms of state funding to support the efforts of churches to work with refugees and others in need would enable the churches to be more successful in achieving their goals and helping the victims. Public authorities, human rights organisations and non-prof its working with migrants should establish cooperation with religious institutions. Moreover, the priority should be partnership not so much at the official level, but within specific parishes and communities, and in relation to specific initiatives. The support and strengthening of religious pluralism in society constitutes a de facto recognition of the changed situation in the post-Soviet space. However, overcoming religious xenophobia and stereotypes associated with ethnic religiosity (the notion that if you are Russian, then you are inevitably Orthodox, or if Tatar, then only Muslim) remains a problem. For instance, campaigns railing against sects are organised in the mass media, while society knows little about other faiths besides Orthodoxy, and information about Islam or Buddhism is widely distributed only in the corresponding national republics of Russia (in Bashkortostan about Islam, and in Buryatia about Buddhism and shamanism, etc.). A significant negative factor in Russia and in the Central Asian republics is the strict control of religious activities in general, and mission, preaching and the distribution of religious literature in particular. Due to strict legislation and constant checks by security forces, most communities refuse to register and exist in a semi-underground situation. Such rules do not contribute to the active inclusion of religious institutions in civil society, let alone in social projects. In this case, the state refuses to use even the potential of quite loyal registered associations, although it is unclear what harm they could

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bring. The regulation of missionary activity and fines cause a latent fear of any preaching of the word of God. The Soviet legacy is reflected in officials’ fear of any religion, as well as the emigration of the most active believers in the 1980s and 1990s to Russia from Central Asia, and from Russia on to the West. The liberalisation of legislation in the sphere of freedom of conscience and social partnership between the state and religious associations has become an urgent task that should be addressed as a priority. Was the twentieth century destructive for Russian Orthodoxy? Of course, the Soviet government destroyed the cultural tradition that had existed before 1917. Millions of victims suffered religious persecution and ethnic deportations, and paid with their lives for collectivisation, industrialisation and victory in World War II. After Soviet secularisation, the Russian Orthodox Church faced the need to embrace modernisation and shift to a more active social role. There are three factors that help to understand how much the ROC has changed, becoming involved in social activity in general and helping displaced people. First, the social factor. The Russian Orthodox Church began to develop modern forms of social service quite late. Protestant churches already occupied many niches in the sphere of assistance to people experiencing various forms of difficulty in the 1990s, while Catholic parishes successfully, albeit on a smaller scale, ran projects within the framework of the work of ‘Caritas’ and on the personal initiative of the clergy. Volunteer movements, so necessary for social projects and charity events, began to appear in the Russian Orthodox Church only by the end of the 2000s, as the church had until then been preoccupied by the restitution and restoration of church property and paid less attention to social services. Second, the political factor. Notions of civic duty, and commitment to European democratic values are becoming increasingly accepted among the clergy and believers of the Russian Orthodox Church. One indicator is the public support of opposition leader Alexei Navalny in 2020-2021 on the part of some clergy and Orthodox intellectuals. In this context, the official position of the Moscow Patriarchate that the church is open to all political forces became credible. Third, the missionary factor. Social work, religious diversity, and the weakness of its own forces set new tasks for the Russian Orthodox Church. This is, first of all, work with young people, translation of worship into Russian – this has already become a reality in a number of dioceses, and does not cause indignation, as before. In addition, contacts with Protestants and Catholics have become generally accepted, not only at the highest diplomatic level, but also in Russian regions. As part of religious competition, the Russian

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Orthodox Church also finds many useful things, no longer perceiving Russian charismatics or Catholics as ‘traitors to the faith’.27 Moreover, it is obvious that the mission of non-Orthodox Christian churches not only does not undermine the influence of the ROC in post-Soviet society, but vice versa. Missionaries foster interest in the faith and cultivate a habit of organised religious life, which was destroyed in the Soviet period. The consequence of all battles with religion and with people in Soviet times is the difficult and often contradictory reconciliation of the Russian Orthodox Church with its own society, and the step-by-step process of accepting democratic values and various forms of inter-Christian dialogue inside Russia. These new challenges faced by the ROC have lead to a new type of social service and missionary work and raised independent initiatives at the community level. In fact, Russian Christianity has been reformed by forced migration and the devastation of the religious landscape due to displacement and persecution. The case of Russian Orthodoxy, as of Christianity itself, shows that religion could revive in the most difficult circumstances following the Bible principle: ‘And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me’ (2 Corinthians 12:9). The clue to resolving the puzzle of how to revive the Church from the ashes in post-Soviet society lies in its proximity to the needs of people.

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About the author Roman Lunkin is Director of the Center for Religious Studies at the Institute of Europe of the Russian Academy of Sciences. He is Editor-in-chief of the

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magazine Contemporary Europe and is a member of the Russian team of the Keston Institute, Oxford, of the project ‘An Encyclopedia of Religious Life in Russia Today’. His latest publications include ‘The Status of and Challenges to Religious Freedom in Russia’, in A. Hertzke (ed.), The Future of Religious Freedom: Global Challenges (Oxford University Press, 2012), pp. 157-180; ‘A Reaction of Russian Churches on Ukrainian Crisis: A Prophecy of Democracy’, in R. van der Laarse, M. N. Cherenkov, V. V. Proshak and T. Mykhalchuk (eds), Religion, State, Society, and Identity in Transition: Ukraine (Wolf Legal Publishers, 2015), pp. 435-476; and ‘Changes to Religious Life in Crimea since 2014’, in E. A. Clark and D. Vovk (eds), Religion during the Russian-Ukrainian Conflict (Routledge, 2019), pp. 144-156.

9

Forced Displacement, Religious Freedom and the Russia-Ukraine Conflict Dmytro Vovk Abstract The chapter explores religiously motivated forced displacement from the territories controlled by the so-called Donetsk and Luhansk People’s Republics (DPR/LPR). The chapter argues that there are two forms of religiously motivated forced displacement: the first form is deportation and forced displacement as a result of violence and religious discrimination and religiously motivated hatred, inspired or supported by public authorities of DPR/LPR; the second form is more ‘voluntary’, in the sense that religious communities’ members opt to migrate in order to preserve their right to practice their religion freely. While deportation and forced displacement relate to more serious violations of religious freedom, the second, more ‘voluntary’ form of forced displacement is far more widespread. This approach to the study of religiously motivated forced displacement proves that violations of religious freedom by DPR/LPR go beyond a few, even quite brutal isolated incidents; they have been systematic and targeted significant numbers of people belonging to various religious minorities. It should also guide the Ukrainian government efforts in monitoring, identifying and prosecuting violations of this fundamental right in the Donbas. Keywords: religious freedom, human rights, forced displacement, RussiaUkraine conflict, Donbas

Introduction The Russia-Ukraine military conflict in Eastern Ukraine has become a humanitarian catastrophe. Thirteen thousand lives, both military and

Hudson, Victoria, and Lucian N. Leustean (eds), Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463727556_ch09

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civilian, have been lost (OHCHR 2015), and millions of displaced persons have fled the territories controlled by the so-called Donetsk and Luhansk People’s Republics (DPR/LPR) because of serious threats to their lives, freedom and security.1 The conflict has generated innumerable harsh violations of religious freedom, including assassinations of priests and believers, torture, incitement to religiously motivated hatred and religious discrimination. In addition to examining these horrific acts, this chapter argues that a human rights perspective requires that our attention be turned toward the forced displacement of those who were compelled to leave the DPR/LPR territories for religious reasons. Though forced displacement on religious grounds is sometimes difficult for state and human rights institutions to track because religion is rarely the only motive for leaving the DPR/LPR, the study of forced displacement proves that violations of religious freedom in the DPR/LPR territories go beyond a few isolated incidents which are quite brutal; violations have been systematic and targeted significant numbers of people belonging to various religious minorities. Moreover, exploring religiously motivated forced displacement helps to cast light on the whole range of difficulties experienced by individuals and communities, whose religion is considered by the DPR/LPR public authorities as disloyal, suspicious or untraditional. This chapter starts with an overview of religion and religious freedom in the DPR/LPR. It analyses several cases of religiously motivated forced displacement based on interviews conducted by the author with priests and representatives of the Orthodox Church of Ukraine (OCU)2 (Archbishop 1 The Ukrainian government has not provided statistics on how many Ukrainian refugees have fled to Russia since 2014, particularly because a part of its border with Russia is under the control of pro-Russian proxies in the Donbas. The Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs reported more than a million persons displaced from the Donbas to Russia (UNIAN 2017). This figure, however, does not correlate with statistics posted by the Russian Federal Statistics Service (Rosstat 2019). According to the UN Refugee Agency (2018) data, as of November 2018, there were 427,240 asylum seekers from Ukraine in Russia. The Council of Europe’s Parliamentary Assembly (PACE Resolution 2028 (2015)) mentions 524,000 Ukrainians having sought asylum or other legal status in the Russian Federation after the annexation of Crimea and the armed conflict in Ukrainian Donbas. The true figures lie probably between those given by Russia and those of the international organisations, because not all persons displaced from Ukraine were registered as asylum seekers, refugees or displaced persons; some of them may have applied for citizenship or permanent residence permits. 2 In December 2018, the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Kyiv Patriarchate, the Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox Church (neither were recognised by other Orthodox churches), and a few clerics and laymen of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate in the presence of the Ukrainian President, Petro Poroshenko, established the Orthodox Church of Ukraine. In January of 2019 the OCU was granted autocephaly (ecclesial independence) by the

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Afanasiy Yavorsky, Father Georgy Kovalenko), the All-Ukrainian Union of Churches of Evangelical Christian Baptists (Serhiy Moroz), local Baptist communities (Oleh Larkov, Yelisey Pronin) that were previously located in DPR/LPR territories, and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS Church) (Volodymyr Denshchykov). These interviews were conducted between November 2019 and January 2020. These religions are all religious minorities in the Donbas, each with many members and visibility in the public arena, but are nevertheless considered ‘alien’ in the DPR/LPR for different reasons. The OCU is associated with the Ukrainian government and Ukrainian nationalist groups. Baptists are associated, on the one hand, with the Ukrainian government, since Ukrainian politician Olexandr Turchynov (acting president of Ukraine in 2014) is a Baptist, and on the other hand, with the West, where the Baptist missionaries originally came from. Likewise, the LDS Church is linked to the United States. Separatists disapprove of these Western ties because they claim that the US supports the Ukrainian government and inspired the conflict with Russia through the Euromaidan – the mass protests against Ukrainian President Viktor Yanukovych’s rejection of European integration policies that started in November 2013, ending with the fall of Yanukovych and his flight to Russia. My interviewees also included a cleric of the Kherson eparchy of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate (UOC-MP) (Georgy Gulyayev) and a former UOC-MP cleric who joined the OCU in 2019 (Volodymyr Mahlena). These priests clarified the UOC-MP’s position in the DPR/ LPR and its role in restricting religious competition there. I also interviewed Ihor Kozlovsky, a prisoner of conscience in DPR/LPR during 2016-2017 and a Ukrainian scholar of religion focusing on the Donbas, and Maksym Vasin, the executive director of the Kyiv-based Institute of Religious Freedom, a human rights NGO that, among other things, is involved in documenting religious freedom violations in the Donbas, though the information he provided in his interview was not included in the reports of this organisation. There were ten interviews altogether, and eight of them are cited in the chapter. Based on these interviews, this chapter argues that religiously motivated forced displacement should be considered as either a separate violation of religious freedom or as a result of other violations of religious Ecumenical Patriarchate and became the second biggest religious group in Ukraine after the UOC-MP. During the Poroshenko presidency the UOC-KP and then the OCU played the role of the main religious partner of the state. For example, most Ukrainian military chaplains were affiliated with the OCU. Poroshenko’s successor, Volodymyr Zelensky, has been significantly less committed to this partnership (for more, see Vovk 2020).

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freedom, including violence, psychological pressure on believers, and inspiring, encouraging or tolerating hostility towards certain religions. Finally, two reservations should be made with respect to the scope and focus of this research. Firstly, this study does not claim to describe all cases of religiously motivated forced displacement caused by the Russia-Ukraine conflict; this task would be impossible in a single chapter. There are many other examples of religiously motivated forced displacement in the Donbas, and the whole picture is still emerging. The particular cases included here serve only as empirical examples for further analysis of forced displacement from a human rights perspective and provide enough material to conclude how religiously motivated forced displacement should be assessed. Second, the Russia-Ukraine conflict, which started in 2014, involves two major episodes: the annexation of the Crimean Peninsula by the Russian Federation and the military conflict in the Donbas, which has led to the formation of the DPR/LPR. Although the annexation of Crimea has also triggered various violations of religious freedom in the region (Crimean Human Rights Group 2018), including the deportation of priests and religiously motivated forced displacement, the Crimean and DPR/LPR cases are quite different. Public power in the DPR/LPR is more arbitrary and violations of religious freedom are more intense, severe and harmful for believers and communities. Therefore, this chapter focuses solely on the DPR/LPR.

Religion and religious freedom in the DPR/LPR Using Monika Duffy Toft, Daniel Philpott, and Timothy Samuel Shah’s (2011) distinction between the peripheral and central influence of religion in violent conflicts and wars, Elizabeth Clark and Dmytro Vovk (2020: 1-2) have argued elsewhere that ‘the Russian-Ukrainian conflict has manifested a more peripheral influence, which primarily relates to the identities and loyalties of the players in the conflict, as opposed to a more central influence, which involves the political goals of combatant parties’. The DPR/LPR regimes, as well as Russia in the conflict with Ukraine, do not pursue any global religious goals, although they clearly associate themselves with Russian Orthodoxy and the Russian Orthodox Church (ROC), and accordingly employ religion as both casus belli and a weapon against Ukraine, perceive as enemies those who support the opponents of the ROC in Ukraine, and manipulate religion to strengthen the legitimacy of DPR/LPR separatism. Both the DPR and the LPR try to imitate the Russian model of church-state relations, implying the existence of an official religion and significant

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restrictions on religious competition in favour of the official religion. The authorities of the pseudo-republics favour one church, namely the UOC-MP as represented by its Donetsk and Luhansk eparchies,3 even though officially the UOC-MP does not support either side in the Donbas conflict, and calls for peace, according to the leadership of the UOC-MP (Metropolitan Onufry 2015). These eparchies do not in any way influence the DPR/LPR political agenda, and their hierarchs are not among the de jure or de facto leaders of the pseudo-republics. This officially endorsed religion is a junior partner in tandem with the authorities that is subordinate to the political will of the DPR/LPR even more than the Russian Orthodox Church is subordinate to the will of the Russian government. In exchange for this subordination and active political loyalty, the Donetsk and Luhansk eparchies of the UOC-MP enjoy the privileges of simplified registration procedures, broad access to public educational institutions, and public support for the development of their infrastructure, including the ability to take the property of other religious organisations, and more advantages. Father Georgy Gulyayev, who was a press secretary of the Donetsk eparchy of the UOC-MP in 2014 and then moved to territory under the control of the Ukrainian government, provides an example of how the DPR public authorities tried to favour the UOC-MP at the expense of another religious community. According to Gulyayev, the separatists offered the UOC-MP properties owned by the LDS Church. The eparchy declined this offer. According to information from the LDS Church, these buildings now host various ‘republican’ bodies, registry offices or youth centres. Another incident was reported by the Orthodox Church of Ukraine. In April 2019, by request of the Moscow Patriarchate, the DPR authorities decided to take over its church building in the village of Kuznetsovo-Myhaylivka and transfer it to the UOC-MP (Orthodox Church of Ukraine 2019). The UOC-MP, however, denied that it was in any way involved in the seizure of the building or interested in owning it (Union of Orthodox Journalists 2019). Yet, affiliation with the UOC-MP and the associated advantages do not necessarily secure protection for a politically disloyal priest or believer. In 2014, Volodymyr Mahlena, then a priest of the UOC-MP Luhansk eparchy, decided to leave the separatist-controlled territory to avoid persecution for his pro-Ukrainian views. Even his status as a priest in the UOC-MP did not 3 The UOC-MP defines itself as an independent church that maintains ‘ecclesiastical unity’ with the Russian Orthodox Church (ROC). The ROC charter defines the Ukrainian church as a self-governing church ‘with rights of broad autonomy’ belonging to the Moscow Patriarchate (Russian Orthodox Church 2000).

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safeguard him from social hostility and potentially from oppression and persecution by the public authorities or separatist militants, who alleged he was disloyal to the LPR. Thus, for DPR/LPR authorities, Russian Orthodox identification plays only in concert with or even as a part of loyalty to the DPR/LPR political regimes. From this perspective, being Russian Orthodox means also being supportive of the DPR/LPR and the regions’ separation from Ukraine, while a pro-Ukrainian political stance means that he or she is not truly a Russian Orthodox Christian. Faith communities affiliated with any other religion except the UOC-MP are under pressure from the DPR/LPR law enforcement and state security agencies, and many of them also face heavy persecution for living out their beliefs. Yet in the republics there are also some tolerated religions, which are neither encouraged nor systematically oppressed so long as the authorities do not suspect them of disloyalty. According to the former head of the DPR, Alexandr Zakharchenko, in addition to the Moscow Patriarchate three further religions are recognised: Islam, Judaism and Roman Catholicism (ANNA-News 2015). Toleration of these religions, however, does not mean that they can function freely without fear. In the spring of 2014, anti-Semitic leaflets were distributed by armed people in Donetsk, in which all ‘citizens of Jewish nationality’ over sixteen years old were required to undergo paid registration. These leaflets were a clear allusion to Nazi practices in Germany in the 1930s (Novosti Donbassa 2014). In addition, in May 2014 separatists kidnapped the Roman Catholic priest Pavel Witek, whose release was made possible thanks to the efforts of Polish diplomats. Furthermore, as Ihor Kozlovsky mentioned in his interview with me, in 2015 the DPR law enforcement agency came to the synagogue of the Donetsk Jewish community (belonging to the United Jewish Community of Ukraine) and confiscated the ritual wine, while in 2017 the community faced troubles with importing matzah, the unleavened flatbread eaten by Jews during Passover. Finally, a third group of religions consists of those that are disfavoured or actively persecuted as alien and harmful to the population of the DPR/ LPR. These include Ukrainian churches, such as the Orthodox Church of Ukraine and the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, Protestant churches associated with the West and specifically the United States, such as the LDS Church and Jehovah’s Witnesses, and Eastern religions. Some of these religions are suspected of political disloyalty or even subversive activities, and some are considered by public authorities as harmful to the population. To intimidate ‘alien’ religions, the DPR/LPR authorities employ legal instruments like those seen in Russia, including compulsory registration for religious communities as a necessary precondition for any religious

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activity,4 heavy restrictions on missionary work similar to the Yarovaya Law in Russia,5 and anti-extremist legislation similar to the 2002 Russian Law on Combating Extremist Activity prohibiting propaganda that promotes religious exclusivity and superiority based on religious affiliation. Because this exclusivity is entrenched in the theology of most religions, this provision allows public authorities to liquidate almost any religious organisation and to prosecute its members as extremists. However, unlike in Russia, where the legal system is stable and relatively effective (though religious legislation is often unfair and violates international human rights laws), the DPR/LPR legal rules and procedures can be spontaneously replaced by purely arbitrary exercises of power. This was the case, for example, in 2014-2015, when militant groups operating in the DPR/LPR violently confiscated several church buildings for bases and firing points, seized church property for their needs, and committed acts of violence and humiliation against non-Orthodox believers. Legal restrictions are accompanied by a hatred of ‘alien’ religions. The authorities encourage this hatred by actively using anti-sect rhetoric against these religions by organising, encouraging or supporting periodic protests held against ‘sects’ and ‘pseudo-religions’,6 and anti-sect events in public schools, sometimes in collaboration with UOC-MP priests (GTRKLNR 2017). They usually make two types of claims: first, that missionary work undertaken by these religions negatively affects the ‘true’ religion (Russian Orthodoxy) and their believers, and second, that pro-Ukrainian (proAmerican, pro-Western) propaganda is disseminated by these religions as a means to undermine the political and social order of the DPR/LPR (Novosti Donbassa 2016). The heavy restrictions imposed on these religions therefore help both to strengthen Russian Orthodox identification among members of DPR/LPR society and, most of all, to increase political loyalty by oppressing allegedly disloyal individuals and communities. Religious intolerance and hatred, official disfavour of religious minorities and harsh arbitrary interference in their activities have inevitably led 4 In fact, regulations in the DPR/LPR are even more restrictive than in Russia. The 1997 Russian religious law distinguished between religious organisations and religious groups. While state registration is compulsory for the former, the latter can function without registration. In the DPR/LPR regulations there are no religious groups, and every religious community must register before holding services or engaging in clerical activities. Without successful registration, members of such a community can be punished with a fine, or face criminal prosecution. 5 For more on the Yarovaya Law, see Clark 2016. 6 A short, but very clear, explanation of why the term ‘sect’ has a negative connotation both in the Russian language and in Russian Orthodox theology is provided by Stanislav Panin (2020).

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to systematic and brutal violations of religious freedom in DPR/LPR,7 including: ‒ Murder and kidnapping of priests and believers. For example, four Pentecostalists were kidnapped and killed in Slavyansk while the city was under the control of separatists and Russian militants (Peterson 2014). ‒ Torture of religious leaders and activists, like Donetsk Protestant pastor Olexandr Khomchenko, who was beaten and tortured with suffocation while he was in detention and who died in 2018 (Krym.Realii 2018), or Greek Catholic priest Tyhon Kulbaka, who was forced to suffer his own mock execution (Tereshchuk 2015). ‒ Seizure of properties owned by religious organisations, such as the Word of Life church in Donetsk (Evreyskiy messianskiy portal 2014), the campus of the Donetsk Christian University, which was turned into a military base for separatist militant units (Novosti Donbassa 2015), fourteen properties belonging to the Jehovah’s Witnesses in the LPR (OHCHR 2015), or many properties of the Orthodox Church of Ukraine in the DPR (OHCHR 2019). ‒ Discrimination against and stigmatisation of religions labelled as ‘sects’ like Pentecostalists (Ignatov 2016), Jehovah’s Witnesses (Lyah 2015), Baptists (Relihiia v Ukraini 2015), Greek Catholics (OIRF 2018), and others. For example, the UHCHR reported on a protest that had occurred on 29 September 2015 in the town of Shakhtarsk (Donetsk oblast, controlled by the DPR) next to the Jehovah’s Witnesses Kingdom Hall. Protesters held signs that read ‘Away with the Sect!’ and ‘No place for sects!’ (OHCHR 2015). ‒ Deportation and a ban on entering DPR/LPR territory for priests and religious activists like the OCU priest Olexandr Sushko, who was barred from returning to the DPR (Corley 2020). ‒ Acts of vandalism and humiliation against religious minorities, including destroying religious items and using copies of the Bible to keep a fire going and cooking food in a Baptist church (Sorokun 2020). ‒ Prohibition on religious literature including Muslim, Baptist, and Jehovah’s Witnesses sacral texts, books, brochures and online resources (Corley 2019). 7 In this chapter I do not discuss the problem of which actor is responsible for religious freedom violations in the DPR/LPR. The key question is whether Russia as a state actor or the DPR/LPR as a non-state actor should be held responsible for these violations. The answer to this question depends on whether one considers the Russian government’s control over DPR/LPR to be full and effective enough. For different views on this question, see Blitt 2020 and Institute of Religious Freedom 2019.

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Although these violations are largely covered in the analytical reports of human rights organisations (Kovalenko 2015), these reports, as a rule, do not contain systematic information on religiously motivated forced displacement from the DPR/LPR. To some extent, this tendency can be explained by the fact that such violations of religious freedom are less visible and not so brutal as murder or kidnapping. However, they are an important part of the whole picture and help to understand why these more visible atrocities occur. Many people have been deprived of their right to practice their religions, forced to leave their homes, and felt compelled to move to other regions of Ukraine and other countries, all because their religious identities did not correspond with those of the separatists and Russian militant groups. Some departed only after being attacked by militants and both stigmatised and discriminated against by the DPR/LPR authorities. Displacement has significantly complicated the lives of many priests and believers and has radically changed the religious landscape of the Donbas region, which prior to 2014 was one of the most religiously diverse in Ukraine due to the significant representation of Protestant communities, which numbered 35.9 per cent of the number of religious communities in the Donetsk religion and 32.9 per cent in the Luhansk region. Overall, religious minorities represent about a half of religious communities in both the Donetsk and Luhansk region (see Table 9.1). The new landscape is still to be fully researched and complete studies could hardly be available before the end of the war, but already it is clear that religious diversity in the Donbas has declined tremendously. Ihor Kozlovsky pointed out that in the pseudo-republics the number of communities and members of all religions, except the UOC-MP, have decreased. Some religious communities have lost two-thirds of their members (Pentecostalists), and others have disappeared or gone underground (Jehovah’s Witnesses, the LDS Church, and Hare Krishnas).

Cases of religiously motivated displacement For the most part, members of religious communities have been forced to leave the DPR/LPR for a variety of complex reasons. Not only did it become impossible for them to exercise their religions freely, but these restrictions were accompanied by threats to other fundamental rights typical of every military conflict. OCU Luhansk Bishop Afanasiy (Yavorsky) pointed out that before the war began in 2014, his church had seventeen parishes and nineteen priests in the region, but after the war began only one parish

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Table 9.1 Religious communities in Donetsk and Luhansk oblasts as of 1 January 20148 Religion

Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Kyiv Patriarchate Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church Roman Catholic Church Protestant churches (Baptists, Pentecostals, etc.) Jehovah’s Witnesses The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints Muslim communities Jewish communities Hare Krishna communities Buddhist communities Others Total

Number of communities, Donetsk oblast

Percentage of communities, Donetsk oblast, %

Number of communities, Luhansk oblast

Percentage of communities, Luhansk oblast, %

762

42.4

423

50.7

86

4.8

35

4.2

36

2

6

0.7

14 646

0.7 35.9

1 275

0.1 32.9

83 6

4.6 0.3

28 1

3.4 0.1

37 19 6 13 89 1,797

2.1 1.1 0.3 0.7 5 100

13 14 2 6 31 835

1.6 1.7 0.2 0.7 3.7 100

and three priests remained in territories under the LPR’s control. Some OCU priests, including Bishop Afanasiy, were deported from the LPR by the separatist authorities, and when Afanasiy later attempted to return to Luhansk, his friends with connections to the LPR authorities recommended that he refrain from coming back. According to Afanasiy, most of his priests and believers had departed because of threats to their lives and health imposed on them and their relatives by the conflict. Meanwhile, Bishop Afanasiy believes that the OCU community is permitted to operate in LPR only because the authorities want to show that there are no problems with religious freedom in the LPR. Still, the OCU’s activities are under close surveillance. The media report that from time to time separatists film believers visiting the OCU church in Luhansk (RISU 2019), and, as Afanasiy mentioned, the head of the OCU parish came under investigation for extremist activities, which again copies Russia’s practices 8 Statistical data about state-religion relationship in Ukraine is taken from Ministry of Culture of Ukraine 2014.

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where law enforcement agencies and courts employ vague and overly broad anti-extremist legislation to attack religious minorities.9 Volodymyr Denshchykov, a representative of the National Committee on Public Relations of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Ukraine, stated that most members of his church had left the DPR/LPR, and all communities in the region had closed. Religious activities, including evangelisation, ceased because the church was not able to guarantee the physical safety of its members and missionaries. After the Russia-Ukraine conflict began, unknown militants came to one of the church’s assembly halls and detained some members of the congregation. Further, some members reported negativity towards them on the part of the public authorities.10 Baptist Pastor Yelisey Pronin indicated that his community numbered 320 members before the war. After the outbreak of hostilities, members of the community began receiving threats once Baptists became associated with Olexandr Turchynov and his policies. Pronin’s church building was destroyed by fire, which he believes was the result of arson, and 280 community members fled the DPR. They were unable to remain united as members spread out and ultimately joined other Baptist communities in their new locations. Oleh Larkov, a Baptist pastor from Bryanka in Luhansk oblast, stated that he received threats from local people who considered him to be an ‘American pastor’. Because he did not face any kind of religious intolerance before 2014, Larkov believes that the rise of local hostility towards him was encouraged by separatists. During this time, his community split into those who had a pro-Ukrainian outlook, on the one hand, and those who held pro-Russian political views, on the other. Fifteen of 50 members of his community left the LPR. Although believers typically fled the DPR/LPR individually or as families, some cases of collective displacement of religious communities from the LPR have been reported. The vice president of the All-Ukrainian Union of Churches of Evangelical Christian Baptists, Serhiy Moroz, described two evangelical Baptist churches that left the LPR collectively: the Road to God Church from Luhansk and the Renaissance Church from Molodogvardiysk. According to Moroz, no more than 20 per cent of the members of these 9 The infamous 2017 Russian Supreme Court decision to liquidate the entire organisation of Jehovah’s Witnesses in Russia cited numerous violations of the 2002 Russian Law on Combating Extremist Activity. 10 Similarly, many Jews have fled the Donbas due to a general sense of danger and the dissemination anti-Semitic leaflets. The murder of Georgy Zilberbord, one of the leaders of the Donetsk Jewish community, make these feelings of danger all the more real (TCH 2014).

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churches remain in LPR territory. A number of Baptist bishops, presbyters and pastors, including Moroz himself, were forbidden from returning to the pseudo-republics by the DPR/LPR authorities. Several cases of forced displacement of believers from DPR/LPR-held territories have been documented by human rights organisations. Maksym Vasin, the executive director of the Institute of Religious Freedom, indicated that his organisation has documented multiple cases of evangelical Christians who have been forced to leave the DPR because of their religious beliefs. One of these cases concerned a family of believers who in 2014 escaped to another region of Ukraine but later returned home for a year and attempted to resume their religious activities, including missionary activities. An unknown informant reported their activity to the authorities, and the family was summoned for questioning by a local law enforcement body. They were required to hand over church-owned sound equipment, and DPR officials compelled them to either leave their home or face arrest. These believers emigrated to the United States, where they were granted refugee status. Another family of Christian evangelicals interviewed by Vasin’s organisation left for the US in January 2019 after carrying out their activities underground for years because their community had not been re-registered by the DPR authorities and was therefore illegal. The Institute of Religious Freedom also documented a case of an evangelical pastor who left the DPR for the European Union in 2015 and later returned to Kyiv, where he founded a new community with new members. His followers in the DPR started to leave in 2014 after militants came to their church, destroyed their Bible and forced them to publicly abandon their faith. This information quickly spread inside the community and prompted believers to leave the territory under DPR control. Thus, it seems reasonable to suggest that religion constitutes a significant factor in the forced displacement of believers and is determined by the extent and form of their involvement in the life of their religious community. For religious leaders, priests and members of religious communities who are regular churchgoers, the lack of religious freedom is sufficient grounds for fleeing their homes because practising their faith is a vital part of their everyday lives. Since their religious affiliations are more visible to others, the risk of persecution by the DPR/LPR authorities is much greater. In contrast, believers for whom religious affiliation is more a matter of identification (and, as Yelensky [2020] notes, in the case of believers of the OCU, it is also a manifestation of a pro-Ukrainian political position or ethno-cultural identity) than a regular religious practice, religion is a less important factor in the decision to leave the DPR/LPR.

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Religious life after displacement In the cases I have studied, the destination of believers who have been displaced generally follows the same pattern as other displaced persons: most people travel to the parts of the Donbas under the control of the Ukrainian government or to other regions of Ukraine. Some have moved to Russia, to the US or to EU countries. Displaced persons prefer to relocate to big cities (Kyiv, Kharkiv and Dnipro) and industrialised regions, where they can find housing and jobs (Yelensky 2020), or to regions where they have relatives. According to Bishop Afanasiy (Yavorsky), members of the Orthodox Church of Ukraine who have left the Donbas usually do not maintain ties with their previous communities. Nonetheless, his eparchy sustains parishes in the government-controlled parts of Luhansk and Donetsk oblasts, including the cities of Severodonetsk, Starobilsk, Lysychansk and Rubizhne. These parishes, however, are small and lack religious infrastructure. In particular, in Severodonetsk, where the bishop is seated, church services are regularly attended by 20 to 25 believers. In Starobilsk, services were first held in a rented construction trailer until it burned down. The services were thereafter held in a facility provided by one of the Protestant churches or in private homes. According to Serhiy Moroz, before the war the Baptist community in Luhansk oblast consisted of approximately 3,500 members; of these, 1,500 still live in the region, including 800 Baptists who stayed in LPR-held areas, while the rest have moved to other regions of Ukraine, Russia or Poland. Members of the Road to God Church, who left the DPR collectively, failed to maintain their unity: some settled in the Dnipro and others in Cherkasy. By contrast, members of the other example of collective displacement, the Renaissance Church, settled in Kharkiv and continue to operate as a single church. Though he had no intention of organising a church for displaced persons, Baptist Pastor Oleg Larkov ended up creating a new God Design Church in Kyiv. As the church provided assistance to displaced people, some of them joined his church, including those who had not previously been religious. Currently, Larkov’s community has 50 members; one once said: ‘Thanks to the war because otherwise we would not have come to God.’ Another Baptist pastor, Yelisey Pronin, founded the Disciples of Jesus Christ Church in Lviv, which currently has 80 members. Although initially the church focused on displaced people who had chosen Lviv as their new home, in recent years the community has included locals as well. Members of Pronin’s former church who left LPR territories joined other Baptist communities.

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Although believers usually fled the DPR/LPR on their own, some religions provided assistance during relocation, for example, the LDS Church. The church’s representative, Volodymyr Denshchykov, noted that with the church’s assistance most Latter-day Saints moved to Kyiv and other large cities, though some deliberately chose Ukrainian-speaking and politically pro-Ukrainian cities in Western Ukraine, such as Lviv and Ivano-Frankivsk, as an antithesis to the pro-Russian DPR/LPR. Some members of the church emigrated to Russia, the US and the EU. After leaving the Donbas, members of the former Luhansk and Donetsk communities joined other Latter-day Saint communities in other cities in their new homes. The Jewish community provides another example of relocation assistance for forcibly displaced believers offered by a religious community. Near Kyiv, the Ukrainian Jewish population built a community area called ‘Anatyevka’, the name of which was taken from famous Yiddish writer Shalom Aleichem’s novels. Initiated by the Chief Rabbi of Kyiv of the All-Ukrainian Congress of Jewish Communities, the Anatyevka community is composed of up to 500 Jews who fled the Crimea and Donbas regions and is supported in large part by international sponsors (Kurtsanovskaya 2015). The settlers celebrate Jewish holidays and teach Jewish religion and culture. These examples show that, for several reasons, displacement has a significant impact on religious life both at the individual and the collective level. It is almost always the case that a displaced person loses touch with his or her community from back home, which may result in a dramatic decrease in their participation in the life of their faith community, or they may even lose contact altogether.

Forced displacement and the right to religious freedom International human rights law protects religious freedom as the right to have, adopt, change or leave religion and to practice religion, both individually and in a community with others.11 There are two dimensions of religious freedom – forum internum, the right to have, change or leave religion, and forum externum, the right to freely exercise religion (Durham and Scharffs 11 Article 18.1 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. For regional standards see, for example, Chapter 2 of ODIHR (2019). Democratic constitutional systems entrench the same distinction between the right to believe and the right to exercise religion, although they may not use forum internum/forum externum terminology. On the US system, see, for example, Guiora 2013: 103.

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2019: 177). While forum internum, the inner dimension of religious freedom, is an absolute right, which cannot be restricted under any circumstances, the state in some situations may impose restrictions on forum externum. Nevertheless, these restrictions must not be arbitrary; international law on human rights requires that they be prescribed by law, necessary to protect a compelling public interest (public order, safety, health, rights of others, etc.), the least intrusive means for protecting such an interest, and non-discriminatory.12 Religious freedom also has individual and collective dimensions. In most religions, various ceremonies, sacraments and festivities are performed collectively and require believers’ collective involvement in the religious community. Thus, believers who are deprived of the opportunity to join and live in their communities may feel that their exercise of religion is incomplete and that they will not be able to realise their religious goals. And furthermore, while religious freedom belongs to individuals and not to religions,13 religious organisations shall be recognised as separate holders of religious freedom, as well as some other human rights, such as the right to peaceful assembly. Religiously motivated forced displacement constitutes a violation of the religious rights of both individuals and religious communities. Displacement is not only the result of indirect pressure; it could involve physical force applied to individuals, including when the LPR/DPR public authorities deport or force priests or believers to depart because of their religious activities or forbid them from returning to territories under DPR/LPR control. In this situation these persons’ right to freedom of movement is violated, which has been interpreted to include protection against all forms of forced internal displacement (Woldermariam et al. 2019: 257-258). Religious or religiopolitical motives for deportation also indicate the violation of freedom of religion. In many cases, forced displacement is quite close to deportation, even when authorities do not use physical force or threats to exercise coercive influence over believers to make them leave. When forced displacement is the direct result of violence and threats of violence against priests and believers, their criminal prosecution, and acts of vandalism against or the seizure of church properties, the pressure on believers imposed by public 12 Article 18.3 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights; Article 9.2 of the European Convention on Human Rights. 13 Human rights institutions constantly reiterate this axiom in their documents. See, for example, UN Special Rapporteur on Freedom of Religion or Belief 2020: para. 49; Council of the European Union 2013: para. 31.

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authorities and other actors is so strong and intense that their decision to escape to another region or country is deprived of any element of real voluntariness. Though forced displacement may have a more ‘voluntary’ appearance, in the sense that religious communities’ members opt to migrate in order to preserve their right to practice their religion freely, there are many factors that encourage or compel priests and believers to leave. In the DPR/LPR case, they experience random visits by militants to churches and prayer houses; surveillance; compulsory registration of religious communities entrenched by public authorities and aggravated by systematic refusals to register religious minorities, which means that every member of the community can be prosecuted for practicing their religion, even in private; an officially directed, supported, or tolerated atmosphere of hatred toward religious minorities; and their stigmatisation due to their alleged political disloyalty, unconventionality and connections with the West, and religious discrimination. All of these influences force believers to choose between personal security and personal freedom. The obvious, but still very difficult, option is to leave. Moreover, through acts of violence, vandalism, humiliation and the cultivation of religious hatred, the public authorities may demonstrate that they attack not just particular priests or believers but certain religions as a whole. This tactic is especially noticeable when certain religions are publicly labelled as cults whose presence in the DPR/LPR is undesirable. From this perspective, these violations should be interpreted not only as illegitimate restrictions of forum externum, but also as infringements upon forum internum, because the public authorities not only interfere with the practice of a religion but also stigmatise the religion itself, its adherents, and their faith, and thus interfere with their right to believe. While deportation and forced displacement as a result of violence and humiliation relate to more serious violations of religious freedom, the second, more ‘voluntary’ form of forced displacement is far more widespread. Displacement covers a large number of individuals who, although not direct victims of violence or abuse, lived with a constant sense of danger to their health, physical integrity and property, only because they belong to a disfavoured and persecuted religion. Forced displacement also affects religious freedom for believers and communities after people flee. The end result of forced displacement dramatically changes and often impairs individuals’ religious life. Moving to a safer place may technically renew religious freedom for displaced persons, but in practice moving to a region where a given religion is not represented may

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lead to the end of an individual’s religious activity when usually collective practices cannot be supported by a familiar community. The same is true for the collective dimension of religious freedom. Even when communities leave the DPR/LPR together, they are still not necessarily preserved as a community as social and economic factors can push believers to move to different places. Conflict, either political or religiopolitical in nature, may arise between a priest and his community if the latter did not support that priest’s actions, or between members of a community (see, e.g., Oleg Larkov’s church) who prefer to leave or to stay in the DPR/LPR. Believers’ displacement can result even in the disappearance of whole communities from a region, like with Latter-day Saints who previously met in the Donbas. Often this loss is accompanied by the seizure of church-owned property by DPR/LPR authorities, including the loss of church buildings. Instead, believers may find or establish new communities in their new locations. Finally, as with every human rights violation, the Ukrainian state has several obligations with respect to forcibly displaced believers and religious communities. This includes an obligation to facilitate the restoration of their religious freedom as much as possible, for example by providing religious communities with legal mechanisms to obtain their lost documents and renew their charters. Another obligation includes monitoring and investigating violations of religious freedom. For the state, the fact that forced displacement of believers and religious communities has occurred indicates possible violations of religious freedom and other human rights. Therefore, the Ukrainian state should work with and support non-governmental initiatives aiming to identify and document the violations of religious freedom faced in the DPR/LPR.

Conclusion While religious motives neither signif icantly inf luence nor prevail over political goals in the Russia-Ukraine conflict, religion still has a peripheral influence on the clash between two post-Soviet republics. The DPR/LPR strongly affiliate themselves with Russian Orthodoxy and this affiliation in concert with various suspicions towards most religious minorities has led to systematic violations of religious freedom in the pseudo-republics, including forced displacement of clerics and believers, which may constitute a distinct violation of this fundamental right. The Russia-Ukraine conflict has disrupted nearly all religious associations in

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the Donbas with the clear exception of the UOC-MP. A systematic study of forced displacement cases will facilitate a fuller understanding of the religious freedom violations in the DPR/LPR and potentially could lead to the conclusion that these violations were, and are, even more widespread than it was thought before. There are several Ukrainian NGOs trying to document religious freedom violations in the DPR/LPR, including the above-mentioned Institute of Religious Freedom. In 2019, a new initiative appeared, namely the Roundtable on Religious Freedom, which is a coalition of human rights and religious organisations working, in particular, on documenting religious freedom violations in the Crimea and Donbas regions (IRF 2019). This is encouraging, yet these organisations lack financial and institutional resources as well as access to information necessary to systematically document religious freedom violations, including forced displacement. They need official assistance to identify and locate victims of religious freedom violations, and therefore, the Ukrainian government should become an active participant in this process. This step will help Ukraine fulfil its obligation to protect religious freedom and remedy the bitter truth of what has happened to religious freedom in the Donbas since 2014.

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About the author Dmytro Vovk runs the Center for the Rule of Law and Religion Studies at Yaroslav Mudryi National Law University in Kharkiv, Ukraine. He is an expert on the rule of law and religious freedom for UNFPA, OSCE/ODIHR, the Council of Europe, Freedom House, and USAID. He is an academic adviser to the Constitutional Court of Ukraine and the Ukrainian State Agency for Ethnic Policies and Freedom of Conscience. In 2019, he was appointed as a member of the OSCE/ODIHR Panel of Experts on Freedom of Religion or Belief. His publications include, as author, a chapter on ‘Soviet Law and Political Religion’ for a volume on Law as Religion, Religion as Law (Cambridge University Press, 2021) and a policy report on Religion and Forced Displacement in Ukraine (Foreign Policy Centre, 2020); as co-editor (with Elizabeth Clark), Religion during the Russian-Ukrainian Conflict (Routledge, 2020); and, as a translator, W. Cole Durham, Jr. and Brett G. Scharffs, Law and Religion: National, International and Comparative Perspective (Russian translation, 2021) and Paul Gowder, Rule of Law in the Real World (Ukrainian translation, 2018). He is co-editor of the ‘Talk About: Law and Religion’ blog of the BYU International Center for Law and Religion Studies.

10 ‘Forgotten by Many and Remembered by Few’ Religious Responses to Forced Migration in Georgia Tornike Metreveli

Abstract This chapter examines the institutional dimensions of religious responses to forced migration in contemporary Georgia. It focuses on the internally displaced population of Georgia from the two breakaway territories of Abkhazia and South Ossetia/Tskhinvali region to further scrutinise how major religious organisations respond to the significant migration crises on the level of policy and discourse. The chapter shows that despite significant organisational capacities, internally displaced people are largely ignored by all major religious organisations who, beyond political disagreements, also engage in various property and economic disputes. Keywords: Georgia, refugees, internally displaced people, religion

Introduction Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, Georgia has witnessed three large waves of internal forced migration as a result of armed conflicts. The armed conflicts in the breakaway Georgian regions of Abkhazia (1992-1993) and Tskhinvali region/South Ossetia (1991-1992 and 2008) resulted in the displacement of 273,411 people, overwhelmingly ethnic Georgians, from South Ossetia and Abkhazia to Georgian administered territory (IDP Figures 2019). In addition to the history of internal displacement, as a result its location at the geographical crossroad of Europe and Asia, and its experience of domination under the Ottoman and Russian Empires, Georgia’s religious field has evolved in the context of a fusion between

Hudson, Victoria, and Lucian N. Leustean (eds), Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463727556_ch10

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religious and ethnic identities. In the course of its interactions with political power structures, the Georgian Orthodox Church (GOC) managed to normatively intertwine the concept of nationhood and ‘being Georgian’ with the religious identity of ‘being Orthodox Christian’. Ethnic and religious minorities were thereby excluded from the church’s national project. The two next largest minority religious organisations in Georgia, namely the Islamic community and the Armenian Apostolic Church (AAC), struggled to compete for fundamental rights and liberties. With major religious organisations busy with advancing their organisational interests or challenging existing power relations, internally displaced persons (IDPs) were marginalised in the major ongoing process of Georgia’s economic, social and political transition. Hence what might seem like a contradiction of the universalism of Christian theology became gradually entrenched through the Church’s collaboration with the state. Unlike the Islamic community or the AAC, which have both had a historical presence in Georgian national culture, only the GOC managed to acquire unprecedented political power, allying itself with major political actors and securing legal superiority over other religious denominations. In the process of the major economic, social and political transition which contemporary Georgia is still undergoing, the discourses of ethnic inclusion and civic nationalism still arguably coexist with clientelism and religious particularism on the state level (Metreveli 2016). However, the question remains whether and how those discourses and practices operate on a non-state level when it comes to the engagement of major religious organisations with IDPs and the sociocultural consequences of forced displacement. Against this background, this chapter will examine the extent to which the three major religious organisations in Georgia – the GOC, the Armenian Apostolic Church and the Islamic community – engage with forced migration, and how the state responds to interconfessional interactions. Structurally, the chapter provides an overview of the typology and character of population movement in the Soviet Union and independent Georgia. Then follows an overview of the religious and ethnic composition of Georgia. Further, the chapter shows the patterns and character of population movement across three different time periods. Continuing the empirical thrust of the chapter, the third section examines the legal framework regulating the interaction of religions with the state. It will also analyse various practices of law as applied to the three major religions of Georgia. The fourth section scrutinises the official documents and programmes of religious organisations to reflect on the case study of IDPs.

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Typologies of population movements in Georgia Georgia encountered three waves of rapid population decline over the course of the past hundred years, which were caused by major structural transformations experienced during the past century. The two world wars and the aftermath of the Soviet collapse had catastrophic effects on the country’s demography. During the First World War (1914-1918), the population declined by 263,000, while during and in the wake of the Second World War (1940-1950) the population decreased by a further 196,000. However, the most significant period of population decline was the post-Soviet period between the censuses of 1989 and 2002, when the populace of Georgia was reduced by a million. Scholars have pointed to three main reasons for such a dramatic population decline in the wake of the Soviet collapse, namely depopulation, low birth rate and intensive emigration (Tukhashvili and Shelia 2012: 2). As Turkhashvili and Shelia showed, population decline and low birth rate were caused by economic and political factors. Georgia experienced military conflict and civil war that led to massive internal displacement, economic decline and immense inflation. Between 1989 and 1990, Georgia’s birth rate dropped by 5.1 percentage points, which meant that ‘the prospective birth rate of the country’s population was achieved only by a quarter (25.5%) of the population’ (ibid.: 2). This chapter will not focus on the labour migration under which thousands of people emigrated in search of better economic opportunities in the aftermath of the Soviet collapse. Although the impact of labour migration on natural population movements could be significant, categorising it as forced migration could be misleading without a systematic study of the phenomenon. In this chapter, a distinction will be made between the three types of forced migration which Georgia has encountered in the recent past: political, industrial and that resulting from natural disasters (avalanches/ landslides, flooding, and earthquakes). The first two have been closely tied to the repressive Soviet policies of collectivisation (1930s-1950s) and industrialisation. Trier and Turashvili have argued that the natural causes of forced migration have mostly been ecological, although to a certain extent they are also the result of human activity, if one considers the unintended consequences, such as the flooding of villages in particular, of the dams that have proliferated in recent years (Trier and Turashvili 2007). Table 10.1 shows the populations of the selected deported nationalities according to the Soviet census of 1989. When ‘deported nationalities’ are referred to, these are understood in terms of coerced migration according

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to Charles Tilly’s definition. Tilly defines coerced migration as ‘obligatory departure, forced severing of most or all ties at the origin, and little or no personal connection between migrants and people at the destination’ (Tilly 1990). While the numbers remain disputed, especially among those groups who were the victims of Soviet repression, the reference to the Soviet census of 1989 gives a broader picture of the scale of forced migration under communist rule. Table 10.1  List of deported nationalities in the Soviet Union Deported nationalities

Number

Germans Chechens Koreans Crimean Tatars Ingush Meskhetian Turks Kalmyks Karachays Kurds Balkars

2,039,000 957,000 439,000 272,000 237,000 208,000 174,000 156,000 153,000 85,000

Source: Quoted in Soviet Census 1989; Helsinki Watch 1991

According to the Soviet census, while Germans were the largest deported group on the territory of the Soviet Union, Meskhetian Turks were the largest victims of coerced migration on the territory of Soviet Georgia. Some scholars have put the total number of deportees of German, Meskhetian and Pontic Greek origin at 170,000 (Trier and Turashvili 2007: 8). The official justif ication for the forced displacement of Meskhetian Turks was the threat that their ethnic-religious composition and geographic location in south-western Georgia posed to the Soviet state. As the Soviet State Defence Committee decree N 6277ss (dated 31 July 1944) stated: ‘To defend Georgia’s state border and the state border of the USSR we are preparing to relocate Turks, Kurds and Hemshils from the border strip’ (Bugaĭ 1996: 137). The Meskhetian Turks were deported to Central Asia. The same period accounted for yet another enforced population movement on the territories of Soviet Georgia to Kvemo-Kartli, Meskheti and Abkhazia under the guise of collectivisation programmes and industrial requirement (Trier and Turashvili 2007).

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Table 10.2  Regional migration in the Soviet Union Origin

Destination of Period of coerced coerced migration migration

Racha, Lechkhumi, Zemo Imereti Imereti and Kartli Samegrelo, Racha, Lechkhumi, Svaneti

Kvemo-Kartli Meskheti Abkhazia

1941 1945 1946-1950

Number of families 2,390 5,500 4,200 Total: 12,090

Source: Trier and Turashvili 2007

Table 10.2 shows trends of enforced migration by origin and destination of migrants, as well as the period when resettlement occurred and how many families were involved. 1 The Soviet authorities, under the pretext of utilising lands which were not cultivated, resettled a number of communities from the mountainous regions to the rest of Georgia. As Table 10.2 demonstrates, based on the data of Trier and Turashvili, the Soviet government moved 2,390 new households from Racha, Lechkhumi and Upper Imereti in 1941 to the villages of Kvemo Kartli. The same research points to 5,500 households from Imereti and Kartli, who were moved to Meskheti in 1945 for the exact same purpose. In Abkhazia, approximately 4,200 households from Samegrelo, Racha-Lechkhumi and Svaneti were resettled during 1946-1950. Some of these internally displaced people from Racha-Lechkhumi were eco-migrants who had lost their houses during landslides in the villages of Racha region (Trier and Turashvili 2007: 8-9). Table 10.3 shows patterns in the early 1980s that witnessed yet another round of resettlements due to natural disasters. At this time 1,010 families from mountainous Ajara resettled to Kakheti, Samegrelo, SamtskheJavakheti and Shida Kartli in 1981-1983. Moreover, the natural calamities in mountainous Svaneti region were the reason for the relocation of 2,500 families from Upper and Lower Svaneti to Kvemo Kartli, Shida Kartli, Kakheti, Imereti and Guria. In 1989, mountainous Adjara was hit again by natural disaster, which forced 5,657 families to relocate to Guria, Shida Kartli, Kvemo Kartli, Kakheti, Imereti, Samtkhe-Javakheti and the seaside Adjara regions.

1 The measurement of migration by number of families gives rough estimates. Due to the prevalence of unreliable data, this proved the only accessible variable.

278 Tornike Metreveli Table 10.3  Ecological migration in the Soviet Union Origin

Destination of coerced migration

Period of coerced migration

Number of families

Mountainous Adjara

Kakheti, Samegrelo, SamtskheJavakheti, Shida-Kartli Kvemo Kartli, Shida Kartli, Kakheti, Imereti, Guria Guria, Shida Kartli, Kvemo Kartli, Kakheti, Imereti, Samtkhe-Javakheti, Seaside Adjara

1981-1983

1,010

1987

2,500

1989

5,657

Svaneti Mountainous Adjara

Total 9,167 Source: Trier and Turashvili 2007

Internal displacements and social demographics Given Georgia’s situation in the early 1990s, with crumbling state institutions and a dysfunctional state apparatus, the integration or even accommodation of IDPs was not a priority area of policymaking for the Georgian government. This manifested itself in the non-existence of a state integration strategy to address the issues posed by the significant internal population displacement. Only in 2007, by the 47th Decree of the Government of Georgia, was the first ‘State Strategy towards IDPs’ adopted. It outlined the mechanisms and objectives of the Georgian state with regard to the integration of IDPs in Georgia’s sociopolitical life, as well as the approach to facilitating dignified living conditions for the internally displaced. After escaping the two wars of the early 1990s, most IDPs ended up living in so-called IDP settlements, which were often regular schools, old Soviet hotels or kindergartens that had been repurposed to accommodate them. Due to endemic corruption at the state level, the aid programmes designed for Georgian IDPs often failed to reach their target audience. The involuntary character of their migration resulted in an impoverished and sociopolitically disengaged population of IDPs in the new settlements. In 2008, however, after the war with Russia, the new IDP population of Georgia received considerable assistance from both Georgian state institutions and from external donors such as USAID and the EU (Metreveli 2016). The scale of these two waves of internal displacement, as well as their respective proximity to armed conflicts, differed significantly. If the Abkhazian war of the early 1990s led to the displacement of (by various estimates) between 200,000 and 230,000 people, the more recent armed conflict in Tskhinvali region/South Ossetia forced 26,000 Georgian citizens to flee their homes in the conflict zone

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(Ministry of Refugees and Accommodation of Georgia 2020). Lastly, internal displacement and armed conflicts affected all major religious organisations in Georgia in terms of limiting access to their canonical territories (eparchies) and their ability to conduct pastoral duties in the breakaway territories. According to the most recent census conducted in Georgia in November 2014, the population of the country is 3.71 million. Of that number, 57.2% lives in urban areas. Ethnic Georgians constitute the dominant group with a majority of 86.8%. Of the population, 6.3% are Azerbaijani and 4.5% Armenian, while other ethnic groups (e.g. Russians, Ossetians, Yazidis, Ukrainians, Kists, Greeks, Assyrians and Jews) constitute 2.4% of the total. The census states that 83.4% of the Georgian population adheres to the Orthodox denomination of Christianity represented by the Georgian Orthodox Church (National Statistics Office of Georgia 2014). Muslims are the second largest religious group, constituting 10.7% of the total population, while 2.9% of the population belong to the Armenian Apostolic Church (AAC) (ibid.: 7-9). It is essential to map the ethno-religious composition of the capital of Georgia, Tbilisi, which is the largest and most populous city of the state (Ministry of Refugees and Accommodation of Georgia 2019). The population of Tbilisi is 1.1 million; 97.3% of the Tbilisi population resides in the city part, while the remaining 2.7% lives in four rural and two communal settlements and 22 villages included in the territory of the capital. Of the population of Tbilisi, 89.9% are ethnic Georgians. Armenians constitute the second largest ethnic group with 4.8%, while Azerbaijanis rank as the third most significant ethnic group of the capital with 1.4% of the total population. The census refers to the category of ‘other’ ethnicities with 3.9% of the population without giving explicit mention of in-group dynamic (ibid.: 11-12). In terms of religious composition, Orthodox Christians constitute the overwhelming majority of the Tbilisi population with 92.4%, followed by the parishioners of the AAC with 2.6% and Muslims with 1.5% (ibid.: 13-14). Due to several historical and geographic factors, the majority of the Muslim population of Georgia is distributed predominantly among two regions: the Autonomous Republic of Adjara (hereafter Adjara) and Kvemo Kartli. Adjara, in western Georgia, borders Turkey and has a historical pattern of migration and higher rates of conversion to Islam compared with the rest of Georgia. Unlike Kvemo Kartli, where Islam is represented predominantly by Azerbaijani minorities, in Adjara, the majority of the Muslim population are ethnic Georgians. According to the latest census, the total ethnic composition of Adjara is overwhelmingly ethnic Georgian (96%). However, the region’s religious composition is not similarly homogenous. For example, Orthodox Christians constitute 54.5% of Adjara residents,

280 Tornike Metreveli Table 10.4  Numbers of IDPs in Georgia Region Adjara Guria Tbilisi Imereti Kakheti Mtskheta-Mtianeti Racha-Lechkhum-Kvemo Svaneti Samgrelo-Zemo Svaneti Samtskhe-Javakheti Kvemo-Kartli Shida-Kartli

Number of IDPs 6,830 521 105,956 26,195 1,534 11,196 782 87,220 2,414 13,251 17,512 Total 273,411

Source: Trier and Turashvili 2007

whereas 39.8% are (Georgian) Muslims. The majority of residents of Batumi, the largest city of Adjara, identified as Orthodox (68.7%) or Muslim (25.4%). However, four out of five municipalities in Adjara have a majority Muslim population; specifically Keda (62.1% Muslims vs 31.3% Orthodox), Shuakhevi (74.4% Muslim vs 23.5% Orthodox), Khelvachauri (56.3% Muslim vs 36.4% Orthodox) and Khulo (94.6% Muslim vs 4.1% Orthodox) (National Statistics Office of Georgia 2015: 18-45). Kvemo Kartli, which borders both Armenia and Azerbaijan, has the most significant religious minority population of Muslims at 43%, compared with 51.4% Orthodox. Unlike in the mountainous Adjara region, where adherence to Islam does not translate into Turkish or Azerbaijani ethnic belonging, in Kvemo Kartli, ethnic and religious identities are firmly fused with each other. Ethnic Azerbaijanis constitute 41.8% of region’s population, whereas Georgians represent 51.3%. The region’s religious composition is mostly Orthodox Christian (51.4%), compared with 43% Muslim. Municipalities in Kvemo Kartli region with significant Muslim presence include Bolnisi with 62.9% Muslims (vs 31.7% Orthodox) with an ethnic Azerbaijani population of 63.4% as compared with 30.9% Georgians. The second-largest minority group after Georgians are ethnic Armenians, which constitute 5% of Bolnisi’s population. Another larger settlement in Kvemo Kartli region with a considerable Azerbaijani ethnic minority population (43.5% vs 54.2% Georgians) is Gardabani, where Orthodox Christians are still the majority at 55% with 42.9% Muslims. In Dmanisi Muslims make up 64.5% and Orthodox 33.9% of the population, while the

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ethnic composition is 65.5% Azerbaijani vs 33.1% Georgian. The settlement of Marneuli counts 83% of the population as Muslim with 9.3% Orthodox (National Statistics Office of Georgia 2014: 313-349). The most interesting case in terms of diversity is the small municipality of Tsalka, which has three major religions and three ethnic groups almost equally represented. Muslims constitute the largest religious group with 39.1%, followed by adherents of the Armenian Apostolic Church at 35% and a combined 25.9% for the category of ‘others’. Taking into account the ethnic composition of this municipality, namely 46.7% Georgians, 38.8% Armenians, and 7% Azerbaijani, the religious category of ‘others’ might unite adherents of Orthodox Christianity (the census refers to all denominations of Orthodox Christianity, without specifying intra-denominational distinctions) as well as other small denominations and sects. Another region with a significant Muslim population is Kakheti region in eastern Georgia, where 85.7% profess Orthodox Christianity and 12.1% adhere to Islam, while three municipalities have both a Muslim and Armenian presence. Particularly interesting is Akhmeta municipality, with 79.1% Orthodox vs 18.9% Muslim (mostly Chechen refugees of the Chechen-Russian wars in the 1990s), Telavi with 86.1% Orthodox vs 12.6% Muslim, Lagodeskhi with 74.2% Orthodox vs 23.2% of Islam, and Sagaredzho with 66.2% Orthodox vs 30.5% Muslim in an area with a 33.2% ethnic Azerbaijani minority. The largest area of compact settlement by Armenians in the Kakheti region is Dedoflistkaro municipality, where ethnic Armenians constituting 4.3% of the population reside together with the 3.6% Muslim minority (ibid.: 128-171). Islam is particularly present in the Guria region, with 11.4% Muslim vs 86.7% Orthodox Christianity. The municipalities of Ozurgeti (15.9% Muslim) and Tchokhatauri (12.8%) have the highest number of Muslims. Georgians are in the minority is Samtskhe-Javakheti with 50.5% of the population being ethnic Armenians compared with 48.3% Georgians. Orthodox Christians constitute the majority with 45.2% of the population, although 40% of residents belong to the Armenian Apostolic Church (ibid.: 281). Other religious denominations (which the census does not specify) constitute 14.8%. If one looks at the municipal level, Akhaltsikhe comprises 64.8% ethnic Georgians and 34.5% Armenians, while the largest religious minority group is Roman Catholics with 21%. Of the population of Akhaltsikhe, 60.3% identified themselves as Orthodox Christian. The census does not specify the exact share of ethnic Armenians in the remaining category of ‘other religions’, which constitute 18.7%. On a municipal level, the city of Akhaltsikhe, which is the regional centre of the Akhaltsikhe municipality,

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is comprised of 71.7% ethnic Georgians and 26.7% Armenians, and when it comes to religion, 77.1% of the population belong to Orthodox Christianity vs 17.6% the Armenian Apostolic Church. Here too, the census refers to all denominations of Orthodox Christians without distinguishing sub-groups. A perplexing dynamic in the Samtskhe-Javakheti region is the municipality of Adigheni, where 67.7% are Orthodox Christians, 20.1% adhere to Islam and ‘others’ constitute 12.2%, while 97.1% is ethnically Georgian and 2.3% identifies as ethnic Armenian. Similar identification dynamics are observed in Aspidza municipality, where ethnic Georgians constitute 86.4% of the population against 13.3% ethnic Armenians while 74.9% are Orthodox Christians, Muslims constitute 11.6% with the remaining 13.5% categorised as ‘others’. The city of Akhalkalaki in the same region has an ethnic Armenian population of 92.9% compared with 6.8% Georgians. Of this population, 78.8% belong to the AAC and 11.7% belong to the Roman Catholic Church. Even more ethnically homogenous than Akhalkalaki is Ninotsminda municipality where 95% of the population is Armenian and 4.2% identifies as ethnic Georgians. When it comes to religion, 80.8% follow the AAC with 12.1% considering themselves Roman Catholics. In terms of the IDP population, Tbilisi accounts for the largest share of IDPs (105,956 people), who live across nine districts of the capital. The largest IDP population after Tbilisi is Samegrelo-Zemo Svaneti, with 87,220 residents. This could be explained by the sub-ethnic composition of Georgians residing in Abkhazia, most of whom were Megrelians, who, in turn, constituted the majority of the internally displaced. Only 2,414 IDPs are registered in the Samtskhe-Javakheti region in the official database of the Ministry of Internally Displaced Persons. The IDP population of both Kakheti (1,534 people) and Guria (521 people) is minimal. As demonstrated in Table 10.4, Kvemo Kartli accommodates 13,251 internally displaced citizens while Adjara region has 6,830 IDP residents (Ministry of Refugees and Accommodation of Georgia 2019). One might, of course, speculate whether and to what extent the categories of ethnic belonging are useful for an accurate description of the religious field. Taking into account the situational nature of identity and belonging, and the fluidity of ethnic features of national identity, one can critically reflect on the sociological breadth of census data.2 The following sections will situate the contextual information provided in this part within the wider dynamics of church-state relations to further analyse the positioning of IDPs in the discourse and practices of the three major religious organisations of Georgia. 2 For a distinction between category of analysis and category of social, political and religious practice, see Brubaker 2013.

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Religion-state relations The relationship between religion and the state in Georgia is regulated by the Constitution of Georgia (Parliament of the Republic of Georgia 1995), and various organic laws and normative acts. This section will provide a selective overview highlighting the most salient elements in the state’s interaction with religious organisations. Article 11 of the Constitution of Georgia concerns the right to equality, and in its first paragraph prohibits ‘[a]ny discrimination on the grounds of race, colour, sex, origin, ethnicity, language, religion’ (Article 11, paragraph 1) Furthermore, the second paragraph states that Georgian citizens ‘regardless of their ethnic and religious affiliation or language, shall have the right to maintain and develop their culture, and use their mother tongue in private and in public, without any discrimination’ (Article 11, paragraph 2). Article 16 on the freedom of belief, religion and conscience recognises everyone’s ‘freedom of belief, religion and conscience’ (Article 16, paragraph 1) and prohibits persecution ‘because of his/her belief, religion or conscience, or be coerced into expressing his/her opinion thereon’ (Article 16, paragraph 3). Article 23 on the freedom of political parties bans any party that ‘propagates war or violence or incites national, ethnic, provincial, religious or social strife’ (Article 23, paragraph 3). The Constitution refers to the Georgian Orthodox Church and defines the relationship between the Georgian state (not the Georgian government) and the Church in Article 9 on the relationship between the state and the Apostolic Autocephalous Orthodox Church of Georgia (Article 9, paragraph 1). According to the Constitution adopted by parliament in 1995, paragraph 1 of Article 9 states that ‘the State declares full freedom of belief and religion, and also recognises the special role of the Apostolic Autocephaly Orthodox Church of Georgia in the history of Georgia and its independence from the State’ (ibid.). Here, a seemingly standard normative text of the Constitution moves in the direction of religious particularism by codifying the special status of the Church in Georgian history through the Constitution. Paragraph 2 of Article 9 of the Constitution determines the nature of church-state relations: The relationship between the state of Georgia and the Apostolic Autocephalous Orthodox Church of Georgia shall be determined by a constitutional agreement, which shall be in full compliance with the universally recognized principles and norms of international law in the area of human rights and freedoms. (Article 9)

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The same agreement is recognised as a normative act and in line with the Law of Georgia on Normative Acts. According to this law, Article 7, paragraph 4, states that the constitutional agreement ‘take[s] precedence over any other normative act, unless it contradicts the Constitution of Georgia and the Constitutional Law of Georgia’ (Government of Georgia 2009). This legal framework has shaped Georgia’s religious field ever since the adoption of the Constitutional Agreement in 2002. The ‘constitutional’ status of the agreement gave it priority over other domestic legislation. The sheer fact that the signatories of the agreement were the Georgian state and the president mimicked an international agreement. The Venice Commission, an advisory body on constitutional law of the Council of Europe, considered that ‘the Church came close to the constitutional status of government branches and had the potential to raise doubts and risks of the domination of religious issues over secular ones’ (Begadze 2017: 1). The agreement exempts the GOC from taxes, its clerics from military service, and gives the Patriarch of Georgia Ilia II a special legal status (Constitutional Agreement, Article 1, paragraph 5). Orthodox priests were given the exclusive right to enter the penitentiary system, particularly prisons, and maintain an Orthodox Christian corner inside of prisons (ibid.: Article 30, paragraph 1 (K)). The agreement also guaranteed the Church the right to appoint teaching personnel responsible for religious studies in public schools and the adoption of the programme (Metreveli 2016: 700-707). Moreover, it defined the status of the Church as a Legal Entity of Public Law (LEPL) (Constitutional Agreement, Article 1, paragraph 1 (K)). Other religious organisations did not have the legal possibility of registering with this status. The representatives of other non-Orthodox religious communities in Georgia were permitted to gain legal status only in 2005. This meant that from 2005 religious entities in Georgia could register as a Legal Entity of Private Law. This status was not satisfactory to the overwhelming majority of religious organisations operating in Georgia. The Roman Catholic Church, the Armenian Apostolic Church, the Evangelical-Baptist and the Evangelical-Lutheran Church, and the Muslim and Jewish communities were unwilling to register as non-profit (non-governmental) organisations as this rule arguably deprived them of the privilege to be formally recognised as religions in Georgia (Heinrich Böll Stiftung 2011). In 2011, the Georgian government under President Mikheil Saakashvili (2004-2013) initiated an amendment to the Civil Code of Georgia granting other religious organisations the right to registration (Metreveli 2018). This both gave other religious organisations the legal status of either LEPL or non-profit (non-commercial) legal entity, and gave them a legal status equal

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to that of the Orthodox Church. This legal change was accompanied by a massive rally led by the Georgian Orthodox Church (Civil Georgia 2011c). In a statement preceding the rally after the amendments to the Civil Code, the Patriarch of Georgia Ilia II warned the government of the allegedly grave consequences of the law for Georgia: This law is so important and so dangerous that lawmakers should have thought about what its consequences might be in ten or a hundred years. […] We lack analytical thinking. Analysis should be made before doing something and not afterwards. […] We are not saying that religious [minorities] should not be granted with [legal] status. We are saying that we should sit down, invite academicians, clerics and specialists and discuss it. (Civil Georgia 2011b)

The political context accompanying Patriarch Ilia’s statement was the visit of the Armenian Catholicos, Karekin II, to Georgia to discuss with the Georgian government the legal status of the Armenian Apostolic Church in Georgia and issues with regards to the disputed ownership of church buildings. This visit preceded the legal changes. According to the Armenian church’s statement after the meeting with the ruling elites, Saakashvili agreed to register the Armenian Apostolic Church in Georgia. A similar consensus was not reached between the heads of the Georgian and Armenian churches. The request of the Georgian patriarchate was that the legal status of the Georgian church in Armenia should be the same one that the Armenian church sought in Georgia. In an official statement following the meeting of the two church leaders, Patriarch Ilia stated: ‘It is noteworthy, that the issue of ownership and taking care of the Georgian churches in other countries has not been raised so far and the discussion of status of our church [in foreign countries] has not yet started too’ (Civil Georgia 2011b). A few days later, the Patriarch clarified that his previous ‘statement in no way contains any opinion against Armenians. Despite all conversations, Georgians and Armenians have always been and will be brothers; this is necessary. When Armenians are in trouble, we provide our help, and when we are in trouble, they provide us help,’ adding that what he said, ‘was that this [situation] is so complicated […] and this law may be misused’ (Civil Georgia 2011b). Taking into account the high degree of public authority enjoyed by Patriarch Ilia, the GOC’s official position over the suspension of the law allowing minority churches to register as LEPLs caused public protest against minority church registration. The sheer fact that thousands of Georgians protested against the equality of the GOC and other religious organisations

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shows certain features of ethnic particularism accompanying the processes of Georgia’s political and economic transition. To understand how the major religions address the processes of migration, it is worth examining how the state addresses ethno-religious minority integration in the first place. The next section will argue that one factor explaining why the some of these religious organisations do not demonstrate active engagement with the problems of forced migration concerns their problems of integration. The GOC’s response to minority registration in 2011 echoes ambivalent inter-religious relations between the major religions in Georgia, which are manifested in competition between the religions in advancing their own organisational interests. Among the major issues of disagreement between the three main religions in Georgia is the ownership of churches and responses to ambivalent funding practices. If one examines the Georgian government’s funding practices concerning religious organisations between 2004 and 2013 (Table 10.5), it is clear that the GOC enjoys overwhelming privileges compared to the AAC and the Islamic community. Table 10.5 State funding of the Georgian Orthodox Church after the Rose Revolution Year

2004

2005

2006

2007

2008

2009

2010

2011

2012

2013

State funding in million GEL3

1.64

1.29

4.80

4.27

12.93

26.39

25.68

24.39

22.80

25.00

Source: Transparency International 2013

The increase in the GOC’s funding coincides with a major political crisis undergone by the Georgian government since 2007. If one compares the total combined funding that was allocated to the Georgian Patriarchate during the presidency of Saakashvili with the funding available to other religious denominations, one sees a significant difference. While the GOC received 149,190,000 (GBP 48,438,311) between 2004 and 2013, the Armenian church, for instance, received financial assistance amounting to only 35,624 GEL (GBP 11,566) from 2009 to 2012, despite being the second biggest Christian organisation in Georgia, and the third largest religious minority group. This 3 GBP equalled an average 3.08 Georgian lari (GEL) according to the National Bank of Georgia’s off icial exchange rate between 2001 and 2018. The daily exchange rates of the lari against foreign currencies between 2001 and 2018 are available at https://www.nbg.gov.ge/index. php?m=582&lng=eng (accessed 28 September 2020).

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disproportional trend continued under the Georgian Dream government which has been in power since 2012. 4 The data of the Department of Muslim Affairs, which deals with Muslim affairs on the state level, shows that by 2016 there were a total of 312 mosques, in which more than 400 Muslim clerics conduct services every day. There are more than 30 elementary spiritual centres in which every person interested has the opportunity to learn about the foundation of Islam, the text of the Quran and the Arabic language. In partial and symbolic compensation for the damage to religious communities during the Soviet regime, the Islamic community of Georgia received GEL 1.1 million (GBP 357,142) in 2014 and GEL 2.2 million (GBP 714,284) in 2015 (Caucasian House 2016). Whether the practices of clientelism on behalf of Georgian political elites influenced how religious organisations saw forced migration needs to be tested across time and place. With the information available on the subject of religion and forced migration in Georgia, which the next sections will discuss, one can speculate rather than make generalisable claims. This echoes a broader problem pertinent in the data analysis and verification when it comes to the religious organisations and their internal documents. Therefore, either one has to conduct an ethnographic study of the meaningmaking processes whereby the priests communicate to their parish on the role which the churches must play in the reintegration of the internally displaced.

IDPs and Georgia’s major religions Within the limited scope of the verifiable data concerning the activities of the three main religious organisations in relation to internally displaced people, this section will evaluate the available evidence on the positioning of Georgia’s IDPs in the programmes and discourse of the three largest religious organisations. Before doing that, however, it worth pointing out that this section cannot claim to be a nuanced ethnographic account of individual practices and agency in relation to the issues of IDP integration. Therefore, this section focuses strictly on the analysis of the narrative, which manifested itself in 1) the story of the so-called annual pastoral letters of the Patriarch of Georgia; 2) the departmental function of AAC’s diocesan departments and cultural centres; and 3) the activity reports of the Division of Muslims of All Georgia. By doing this, the chapter attempts to 4

For a detailed analysis of political events and their context, see Metreveli 2016.

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pose further questions regarding the understudied (if not underestimated) role of religion as a salient factor of human security in Georgia. If forced migration contributes to underdevelopment, as some studies have shown (Castles 2003), then how do religious organisations respond to growing challenges of forced migration in Georgia? To examine how the GOC approaches the IDP issue, it worth briefly reflecting on the central document that represents the GOC’s vision and priorities. The so-called pastoral letters analysed in this section are annual documents read aloud by the close affiliates of Patriarch Ilia, the spiritual leader of the GOC, at Easter and Christmas. The whole process of reading a pastoral letter is transmitted live by both the Georgian Public Broadcaster and the Georgian patriarchate’s TV channel Ertsulovneba. (Unanimity). The official known author of the pastoral letters is Patriarch Ilia himself. The letters constitute the official position of the church on the most important societal themes. The rationale behind examining the activities and official statements of the diocese of the AAC in Georgia and the Division of Muslims of All Georgia is twofold. Firstly, the programmatic statements of the major departments of the two largest minority religious organisations in Georgia portray the prevalent official discourses of these institutions and their public outreach (or lack of it) regarding the theme of forced migration. Secondly, showing the functional dimension of the major departments and their activities provides a snapshot of the institutional practice of minority religions in Georgia. However, due to the limited availability of ethnographic data, the chapter relies on publicly available reports and statements, which formed the basis for the analysis. The selected reading of the Easter and Christmas pastoral letters of the past 40 years since the enthronement of Patriarch Ilia II (1978-2018) reveals that forced migration/internal displacement are referred to considerably less frequently than other threats to human security. The prevalent issues discussed in the pastoral letters alongside territorial questions are abortion, demography and drug abuse. The overarching themes of solicitude and empathy towards the internally displaced are expressed in his 1994 Christmas pastoral letter, in which the patriarch encourages IDPs from Abkhazia and South Ossetia to ‘not lose faith, hope and love’ and to ‘not be stumbled and pray’ (Zviadadze 2012: 198). In the same letter, the patriarch refers to the IDPs as refugees, which raises the question of whether the IDPs were referred to in the context of ‘our refugees’ thus distinguishing the internally displaced from ‘us, Georgians’? Or was the patriarch’s refugee reference a terminological insensitivity pointing

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to the GOC’s position of othering the new migrant groups who had been forcibly displaced? One can only speculate whether or not this reference constitutes an essential feature of the GOC’s vision of nationhood. Similarly, in the 1995 Easter pastoral letter, Patriarch Ilia refers to the restoration of territorial integrity and expresses his hopes and prayers for ‘refugees’. This is yet another dimension of how the GOC connects the concepts of fragmented territoriality with the narrative of the victimisation of IDPs. Even during the periods of armed conflict in the 1990s or in the aftermath of the Russia-Georgia war there were fewer mentions of key territorial terms such as territorial integrity, territorial loss, Abkhazia, South Ossetia, Samachablo and Tskhinvali region, than in 2011. His 2011 pastoral letters provide the context to understand what caused such a spike in interest in the territorial question. In his 7 January (Orthodox Christmas) address, Patriarch Ilia II lauded the decision made two weeks earlier by GOC’s holy synod to appoint him as the archbishop of the Eparchy of Tskhum-Abkhazeti and Bichvinta (known in brief as the Abkhazian Eparchy), thereby making the territory his direct jurisdictional responsibility. He defines this legalcanonical decision as ‘yet another public affirmation of historical reality’ according to which ‘Abkhazia has always been an inseparable part of the Georgia and Abkhazian population – spiritual children of the Georgian church, confirmed by written sources and existing churches in the area’ (Merabishvili and Metreveli n.d.) The GOC focuses far more on the ‘threats to Georgianness’ which come from numerous directions: ‘religious sects’, ‘sexual minorities’ and ‘liberalism, which inevitably will work in favour of enemies and will completely destroy the country’. IDPs are not especially positioned within the church’s discursive frameworks (ibid.). No publicly available data shows how the GOC engages with IDPs from an institutional perspective. For example, the GOC’s office runs 90 educational and social institutions (seminaries, schools and kindergartens) with 2,000 employees and attended by approximately 18,000 children. Furthermore, the GOC operates between seven and nine orphanages, which house between 1,200 and 1,500 children. The patriarchate of the GOC has sixteen charity and development foundations, ten of which focus on charity, education, and the construction and restoration of churches. Data becomes untraceable due to the constitutional agreement between the Georgian state and the GOC, as a result of which the state institutions have no access to the Church’s organisations, and the GOC is not obliged to report on their activities (Transparency International 2014). Therefore, one can only speculate whether and to what extent the GOC engages with IDPs when it comes to humanitarian and social practices. What we know, however, from Transparency International’s

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(TI) research is that the Church partially or fully owns ‘27 limited liability companies […] that cover a variety of commercial spheres, ranging from mineral water production to education’ (ibid.). For example, TI gives a list and profile of companies which the Patriarchate owns or has shares in. For example, Akva Geo, a company that produces the mineral water brand Sno and 20% of whose shares are owned by GOC organisations (the GOC owned 80% of its shares until April 2010), won 26 competitive government tenders (out of more than 45 tenders it bid on) from various government entities, worth a total of GEL 502,145 (GBP 163,034). Moreover, TI’s research shows that Akva Geo ‘has been awarded 166 government contracts without tenders, through the simplified procurement procedure, worth more than GEL 200,000 (GBP 51,000) since February 2012’ (ibid.). The patriarchate owns three hospitals, and TI’s report states that [a]ll three hospitals have participated in the Social Service Agency’s Referral Service program, which pays for health care services for socially vulnerable citizens or those injured during natural disasters. The hospitals have been awarded a total of 126 contracts through simplified procurement procedures worth a total of GEL 241,834 since 2011. (Ibid.)

Other companies which the patriarchate (co)owns, according to Transparency International, include organic food production companies, the GOC’s own television production company and channel, and a construction company. The Armenian Apostolic Church receives considerably less funding than the GOC. Hence, relatively little is known about its activities. Based on content analysis of the statements of clerics, and the websites of the diocesan departments and cultural centres run by the AAC in Georgia, the primary mission and objective of the AAC’s Department of Youth Affairs is to ‘unite the Armenian youth of Georgia around the Church, to promote Armenian education and inculcate a sense of commitment to the lofty ideals of preservation of national identity’ (Department of Youth Affairs 2019). In addition to helping the academic progress of the ethnic Armenian population of Georgia, the objectives of the department also list the ‘civic education of the youth’ as its primary objective. Along the lines of civic education, the church sees itself as a promoter of human rights’ education in order to ‘help [the Armenian population] to integrate into Georgian civil society’ (ibid.). The AAC organises various pilgrimages and visits to historical places in Armenia and ‘Artsakh’, which is internationally recognised as Nagorno-Karabakh.

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Further activities of the church with youth groups serve what it calls ‘the unification of the Armenian youth studying at different universities’ (ibid.). The mission statement concludes with reference to the patriotic duty incumbent upon this department of the AAC: ‘the patriotic duty of the youth organisation is to take care of the Tbilisi Pantheon of the Armenian Writers and Public Figures “Khojivanq” (the Armenia Pantheon of Tbilisi). Voluntary groups of young people organise clean-up activities, plant trees, [and] take care of the Pantheon’ (ibid.). The reference to the preservation of national identity in the programmatic mission statement of the AAC begs the perennial question of whether the concepts of ethnic and national identities are used as synonyms. In the most recent political statements, the national identity of Georgian Armenians is not tied to an ethnic category. During his last visit to Georgia in March 2020, Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan in response to a journalist’s question about whether the Armenian government plans to return Armenians to Armenia, he stated that ‘Armenians living in Georgia must be proud they are Georgian citizens’ and that they ‘already live in their homeland’ (Pertaia 2020). Pashinyan’s response could be interpreted as unconventional in the light of the Pew Research Center’s survey results on religious belief and national belonging in Central and Eastern Europe. The survey showed that the association between religious identity and national identity is the strongest in Armenia and Georgia among all Orthodox countries. Among those in Orthodox majority countries, the proportion stating that ‘being Orthodox is very or somewhat important to truly be a national of their country’ was 82% in Armenia, closely followed by Georgia with 81% (Pew Research Center 2017). In response to a journalist’s enquiry about the kind of social and humanitarian projects undertaken by the Armenian church in Georgia, a high-ranking priest, Father Narek Kushiyan, from the AAC’s cathedral in Georgia states: It should be noted that we primarily serve the parish of the Armenian diocese. There are different circles in our church: those who share interests in national dance, Armenian secular music and church chanting, we have studios where people can prepare religious items. We organise various cultural events on certain days of the year. Unfortunately, we do not have any social projects such as free dining for helpless people or medical services. However, if the need arises, we occasionally help people in need. (Tinikashvili 2013)

One explanation of why the AAC is not engaged in social and humanitarian projects concerns its tense relations with the GOC because of the continued

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disagreements about church property ownership. The two churches have at least five ongoing disputes about Armenian churches in Tbilisi and one in Akhaltsikhe. According to the GOC, the Armenian side requests the return of Armenian churches, while the GOC cannot exercise its duties in (also five) churches under the canonical jurisdiction of the Georgian church because, as the argument goes, the AAC considers these churches to belong to itself. These churches, according to the GOC, are the Chalcedonian churches of Akhtala, Koberi, Kirants, Hnevanq and Shahnazar, which are on the territory of Armenia. As the argument goes, the two churches dispute the authenticity of each other’s claims over the respective churches. In his prominent interview about the future of the Armenian Apostolic Church in Georgia, Father Narek Kushiyan stated that ‘[i]f the Georgian Orthodox Church considers that the temples built by Chalcedonites of Armenian origin should be handed over to the Armenian church, it should address this matter to the Armenian authorities’. He continued that ‘[a]t the same time, it is not possible for the Georgian Orthodox Church to keep Armenian parishes on the territory of Georgia as hostages of this negotiation’ (ibid.). One version why the Georgian Patriarchate does not demand that the Armenian authorities hand over these temples which are on the Armenian soil to the Georgian side, concerns the GOC’s organisational interests. According to Father Narek of the AAC’s cathedral in Tbilisi, whose journal interview this chapter refers to, the GOC avoids demanding higher legal status in Armenia because it is afraid of the reciprocal steps it would have to make in Georgia to meet the AAC requests for legal recognition: Why does the Patriarchate not demand that the Georgian parish in Armenia be given a higher status than it has now? The point is that the Patriarchate does not really want to ask for it, because if this demand is met, then the Patriarchate will have to take steps which it fiercely opposes. (Ibid.)

If one takes into account the tense relationship between the GOC and the AAC, the lack of any reference to displaced persons in the AAC’s departmental objectives becomes more understandable. Things are no less complicated with regards to the Islamic community. As shown by the census, Muslims in Adjara self-identify as ethnic Georgian while Kvemo-Kartli Muslim communities identify as ethnic Azerbaijani.5 The theme of IDPs is not 5 There is also a minority of Chechen refugees from the Russo-Chechen wars who reside in Pankisi Gorge.

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included in the social and humanitarian concept of the Islamic communities for two main reasons. Firstly, the ambiguous status of Georgian Muslims in the national polity manifests itself in antagonistic discourses and practices towards this community on the part of the Orthodox Christian majority and/or political elites. For example, the rituals of mass baptism, organised in Batumi by Georgia’s first president, Zviad Gamsakhurdia, in the early 1990s, was the most explicit message to Georgia’s Muslim community that on the state level, Georgian Muslims lacked something to be considered ‘genuine Georgians’, and that missing component was the Orthodox faith. The state’s self-ascribed function of a codifier of national identity continued under Eduard Shevardnadze’s presidency. The government initiated a compulsory course in the state school curriculum on culture and religion. The focus of the course was exclusively on Orthodox Christianity’s role in Georgian history. Under President Saakashvili, the government initiated the seemingly secularist Law on General Education (Government of Georgia 2005) by which it 1) guaranteed the independence of state schools from religious unions (Article 3); 2) established principles of neutrality and non-discrimination and prohibited the use of state schools for religious indoctrination, proselytism or forced assimilation (Article 13); 3) assured that religious symbolism would be used in high schools only for academic purposes and not for propaganda or indoctrination (Article 18); and 4) moved the study of religion in high schools from a compulsory to a non-academic, non-compulsory subject (Article 13.2 of the Georgian Law on General Education) (Government of Georgia 2005). With the amendments to this law, the state attempted to eliminate an ingrained connection between the education system and religious institutions. On the level of practice, however, the exclusion of Georgian Muslims from the national polity and discourse over identity manifested itself in the selection of a national flag – the Georgian government picked a flag with five St. George’s crosses. The flag of Adjara also changed without extensive public discussion. The selection of symbols echoed elements of the ethno-religious particularism of the Georgian state by leaving the crosses and adding the seven blue and white stripes that stood for the Black Sea. There was no reference to Islamic symbols despite the significant Muslim population of Adjara. Symptomatic to what shall be called the ‘hybrid nationalism’ (Metreveli 2016) of the Saakashvili government, in parallel with the ethnic particularism expressed in the selection of symbols, the state created a department of Muslim affairs in 2011, which focused primarily on the protection of the rights of Muslim minorities in Georgia. However, some observers had reservations

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about the independence of this institution given the fact is funded by the state. In addition, the sheer fact that Shia and Sunni Muslims were put under one umbrella organisation pointed to an insensitivity on behalf of the Georgian government towards important intra-religious distinctions (Caucasian House 2016: 60). Apart from purely confessional activities, the organisation arranges scientific conferences and seminars, and establishes contacts with state agencies and other religious bodies in Georgia. Under the Georgian Dream government, the prime minister of Georgia in 2014 authorised the creation of a State Agency for Religious Affairs. The agency focused on determining the state’s religious policy. The agency cooperates with representatives of all religious denominations and brings together experts in the field of religion which together constitute the socalled interreligious council, a consultative organ of the agency. A year later, in August 2015, Prime Minister Irakli Gharibashvil approved the 2015-2020 state strategy and action plan addressing the issues of civic equality and integration. The main objective of the strategy was to support each ethnic group in Georgia to preserve its authentic cultures and integrate into Georgian socio-economic life. The plan outlined four dimensions of engagement with religious minorities: full and equal participation in public and political life; equal social and economic conditions and opportunities; access to quality education and opportunities to learn the state language; the preservation of ethnic minority cultures to ensure a tolerant environment (Government of Georgia 2015). However, institutionally and legally codified strategies diverge from the actual practice and implementation of those action plans. The government is either unable or unwilling to ensure the consistent execution of those integrative strategies. The Georgian Muslim community in Adjara continue to find themselves on the receiving end of ‘othering discourses’, which manifest themselves in public pressure on the practising of their religion. The fusion of Orthodox Christian identity and the concept of Georgianness is strong enough to occasionally legitimise the practice of enforced conversion to Christianity and other discriminatory practices (Zviadadze 2018). The official publicly available report on the activity of the Division of Muslims of All Georgia between 2013 and 2018 makes no reference to forced migration. The report mostly focuses on achievements with regard to advancing the popularity of Islam in Georgia which are manifested in: Fifteen new mosques, over 170 amortised mosques [having] been repaired […] [and] dozens of mosques [being] provided with the necessary equipment; […] four websites owned by the Muslim Division and two internet

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TV stations […] [and] up to 1,000 TV shows. One hundred and fifty kinds of books, newspapers, posters and magazines of various kinds have been published in large circulation; […] more than 50 conferences, 70 seminars […] [and] 50 trainings. (Division of Muslims of All Georgia 2018)

If Rogers Brubaker and Frederick Cooper are right, and the state is responsible for the reproduction of various categories of practice and categories of identification, then the Georgian state with its clientelistic government practices, preferential selection of symbols for majority culture and legal codification of religious particularism has to take a share of the blame for the absence of the IDP issue from the agendas of the main religious organisations (Brubaker and Cooper 2000). Due to a lack of access to the internal ruling and policy documents of the GOC, the AAC and the Division of Muslims of All Georgia, this chapter relies on the information available from the pastoral letters, official websites and annual reports. These institutionalist accounts should not be seen to discount the possibility and fact of individual humanitarian practices by various priests or imams. However, without ethnographic research, documentation of those practices remains challenging.

Conclusion The focus of this chapter has been the interaction of religion with internal displacement in contemporary Georgia. The chapter gave a short overview of population movements during and after the collapse of the Soviet Union. It showed that Georgia has experienced three waves of population decline: the first two during the two world wars, where thousands of people lost their lives. The most significant population decrease, however, occurred in the aftermath of the Soviet collapse which contributed to the differences in ethnic and religious composition of Georgia’s regions. The most recent census data in Georgia showed the ethno-religious composition of the country and causal mechanisms for forced displacement. The census also showed that the greatest share of the internally displaced population resettled in Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia, while a significant minority stayed in western Georgia while another minority moved to the rest of Georgia. As a result of three armed conflicts, Georgia experienced waves of internal displacement. The first two armed conflicts in the 1990s coincided with the weakening (if not failure) of Georgian state institutions, a polarised post-war political climate and no real accommodationist state strategy to

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address the new challenges of large-scale displacement. In 2007, almost fifteen years after the first large-scale waves of internal displacement, the Georgian government attempted to create a systematic strategy and plan for the IDPs. Following the 2008 Russia-Georgia war, although the scale of internal migration was considerably lower, the government still demonstrated more readiness to act than in the 1990s. For their part, Georgia’s religious organisations underwent the processes of transformation and institution-building in parallel with the state itself. The competition between the three most significant religious groups – Orthodox Christians, Muslims and Armenian Apostolic Orthodox Christians – manifested itself in disagreements over property rights, funding policies and the overall status of religious organisations in society. The Georgian Orthodox Church managed to legally codify its superiority over all other religions through direct government involvement. The so-called constitutional agreement between the Georgian state and the GOC, which the government signed in 2002, gave an unprecedented position of privilege to the GOC both in an organisational sense and in terms of a hegemonic standing in the claims-making over identity. While the GOC as a Legal Entity of Public Law with a special constitutional reference had exclusive access to education, military and was able to operate tax-free businesses, all other religions in Georgia had no right to register as religious organisations until 2005 and then in the form of a Legal Entity of Private Law. Amendments to the legal status of minority religions made in 2011 upon the initiative of the Saakashvili government granted other religious organisations the right to registration on an equal legal standing to that of GOC. This was met by fierce criticism from the GOC leadership, and led to protests against the government. Despite the significant financial advantages which the church maintained along with the clientelist government practices under Saakashvili’s presidency, the status of other religions was something that the GOC claimed to find threatening and challenging to its dominant position on the religious market place. In parallel with liberal inertia that allowed the religious minorities to register and exercise similar legal rights, the Georgian state wittingly or unwittingly engaged in ethno-religious particularism as reflected in the selection of national symbols in general and the flag in particular. Not only did the government ignore the possible preferences of Muslim Georgians with regard to the use of exclusively Christian symbols of the national flag, it also completely ignored putting the Islamic theme or even a symbol in the design of the new flag in the Muslim-Georgian inhabited region of Adjara, which as an autonomous republic has its own flag.

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With the secular identity of the Georgian state still in the process of creation, IDPs are little different from other minorities when it comes to integration and accommodation. The ethno-religious markers of distinction are still robust pillars of identity claim-making. Whether one is an IDP, a Georgian Muslim or an ethnic Armenian, the binary category of ‘Georgian therefore Orthodox’ still finds expression in symbols, funding practices and in the execution of the law. Whether, and in which direction this can or will unfold remains to be seen, but minorities – ethno-religious or the internally displaced – continue to challenge the normative status quo in order not to become Georgia’s forgotten ones.

References Begadze, M. (2017). ‘Georgian Constitutional Agreement with the Georgian Orthodox Church: A Legal Analysis’. Occasional Papers on Religion in Eastern Europe 37(2), Article 2, p. 1. http://digitalcommons.georgefox.edu/ree/vol37/ iss2/2 (accessed 22 November 2019). Brubaker, R. (2013). ‘Categories of Analysis and Categories of Practice: A Note on the Study of Muslims in European Countries of Immigration’. Ethnic and Racial Studies 36(1), pp. 1-8. Brubaker, R., and F. Cooper (2000). ‘Beyond “Identity”’. Theory and Society 29(1), pp. 1-47. DOI: 10.1023/A:1007068714468. Bugaĭ, N. F. (1996). The Deportation of Peoples in the Soviet Union. New York: Nova Publishers. Castles, S. (2003). ‘Towards a Sociology of Forced Migration and Social Transformation’. Sociology 37(1), pp. 13-34. DOI: 10.1177/0038038503037001384. Caucasian House (2016). Islami sakartveloshi: politika da integracia [Islam in Georgia: Policy and integration]. Tbilisi: Caucasian House Publication. Civil Georgia (2011a). ‘Georgian Church: Suspend Legislative Procedures on Legal Status of Some Religious Groups’. https://old.civil.ge/eng/article.php?id=23701 (accessed 9 August 2020). Civil Georgia (2011b). ‘Patriarch: Legislative Amendment on Religious Groups’ Status “Dangerous”’. https://old.civil.ge/eng/article.php?id=23716 (accessed 24 August 2020). Civil Georgia (2011c). ‘Thousands Protest Law on Religious Minorities Legal Status’. 10 July. https://civil.ge/archives/121272 (accessed 22 July 2020). Council of the European Union (2014). ‘EU Guidelines on the Promotion and Protection of Freedom of Religion or Belief’. 24 June. https://www.consilium. europa.eu/uedocs/cms_data/docs/pressdata/EN/foraff/137585.pdf (accessed 2 December 2021).

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Department of Youth Affairs (2019). Diocese. https://armenianchurch.ge/en/diocese/ department-of-youth (accessed 30 August 2020). Division of Muslims of All Georgia (2018). Sruliad sakartvelos muslimta sammartvelom bolo khuti tslis angarishi tsarmoadgina [Division of Muslims of All Georgia presents a report for the past five years]. http://www.amag.ge/index.php/report/ item/459-2018-11-13-07-13-37 (accessed 15 August 2020). Government of Georgia (2005). Law on General Education [kanoni zogadi ganatlebis shesakheb]. http://www.mes.gov.ge/uploads/Licenzireba/kanoni%20zogadi%20 ganatlebis%20shesaxeb.pdf (accessed on 28 September 2020). Government of Georgia (2009). Law of Georgia on Normative Acts. https://matsne. gov.ge/en/document/download/90052/12/en/pdf (accessed 7 August 2020). Government of Georgia (2015). ‘Sakartvelos sakhelmtsifos religiuri politikis ganvitarebis strategia’ [Georgian state religious policy development plan]. https:// religion.gov.ge (accessed 20 August 2020). Heinrich Böll Stiftung (2011). ‘Registration of Religious Organizations as Legal Entities of Public Law, Tbilisi Office’. https://ge.boell.org/en/2011/09/14/registrationreligious-organizations-legal-entities-public-law (accessed 20 September 2020). Helsinki Watch (1991). ‘“Punished Peoples” of the Soviet Union: The Continuing Legacy of Stalin’s Deportations’. Human Rights Watch, 1245. https://www.hrw. org/reports/pdfs/u/ussr/ussr.919/usssr919full.pdf (accessed 30 August 2020). IDPs Figures (2019), Ministry of IDPs Issues. www.mra.gov.ge/geo/static/55 (accessed on 9 November 2019). Merabishvili, G., & Metreveli, T. (2021). Spiritual geopolitics of Georgia’s territorial integrity. Political Geography, 87, 102374. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.polgeo.2021.102374. Metreveli, T. (2016). ‘An Undisclosed Story of Roses: Church, State, and Nation in Contemporary Georgia’. Nationalities Papers 44(5), pp. 694-712. https://doi.org /10.1080/00905992.2016.1200021. Metreveli, T. (2018). ‘Georgian Orthodox Church: Whither the Foreign Policy Role?’ Civil Georgia. https://civil.ge/archives/247434 (accessed 26 September 2020). Ministry of Refugees and Accommodation of Georgia (2019). ‘Devnilta statistika’ [IDP figures]. http://www.mra.gov.ge/geo/static/55 (accessed 9 August 2020). Ministry of Refugees and Accommodation of Georgia (2020). ‘IDP Issues – General Information’. http://mra.gov.ge/eng/static/47 (accessed 29 August 2020). National Statistics Office of Georgia (2014). Sakartvelos 2014 tslis mosakhleobis sakoveltao aghtseris dziritadi shedegebi [2014 general population census main results]. http://census.ge/ge/publication (accessed 20 August 2020). Parliament of the Republic of Georgia (1995). Constitution of Georgia. Departments of the Parliament of Georgia, 31-33, Consolidated versions 23 March 201829  June  2020. English version. https://matsne.gov.ge/en/document/ view/30346?publication=35 (accessed 28 September 2020).

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Pertaia, L. (2020). ‘Unda iamakon rom sakartvelos moqalaqeebi arian – fashiniani ethnikurad somkhebze’ [They have to be proud that they are citizens of Georgia – Pashinyan on ethnic Armenians]. @netgazeti.ge, 4 March. https://netgazeti. ge/news/431558/ (accessed 20 April 2020). Pew Research Center (2017). Religious Belief and National Belonging in Central and Eastern Europe. https://www.pewforum.org/2017/05/10/religious-beliefand-national-belonging-in-central-and-eastern-europe/#views-on-diverse-vshomogeneous-societies (accessed 11 September 2020). Tilly, C. (1990). ‘Transplanted Networks’. In V. Yans-McLaughlin (ed.), Immigration Reconsidered: History, Sociology, and Politics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tinikashvili, D. (2013). ‘Somekhta samotsikulo martlmadidebeli eklesia sakartvelosshi’ [Armenian Apostolic Orthodox Church in Georgia]. Interview with Fr. Narek Kushiyan, 18 April. http://liberali.ge/articles/view/3119/somekhta-samotsiqulomartlmadidebeli-eklesia-saqartveloshi (accessed 28 September 2020). Transparency International (2013). ‘An Overview of Public Financing Provided to the Georgian Patriarchate’. 2 August. https://transparency.ge/en/blog/ overview-public-f inancing-provided-georgian-patriarchate (accessed 27 September 2020). Transparency International (2014). ‘The Companies and Other Organizations Related to the Georgian Orthodox Church’. 5 September. http://www.transparency.ge/ en/blog/companies-and-other-organizations-related-georgian-orthodox-church (accessed 28 September 2020). Trier, T., and M. Turashvili (2007). Resettlement of Ecologically Displaced Persons: Solutions of a Problem or Creation of a New? Eco-Migration in Georgia 1981-2006. Monograph no. 6, European Centre for Minority Issues, Flensburg: Germany. https://www.files.ethz.ch/isn/39504/monograph_6_en.pdf (accessed 10 July 2020). Tukhashvili, M., and M. Shelia (2012). The Impact of Labor Emigration on the Demographic and Economic Development of Georgia in the Post-Soviet Period. CARIM-East Research Report 2012/29. http://cadmus.eui.eu/bitstream/handle/1814/24872/CARIM-East_RR-2012-29.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y (accessed 8 September 2020). Zviadadze, G. (2012). Epistoleni (Pastoral letters). Tbilisi: Exclusive Print +. Zviadadze, S. (2018). ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being Muslim and Georgian: Religious Transformation and Questions of Identity among Adjara’s Muslim Georgians’. Region: Regional Studies of Russia, Eastern Europe, and Central Asia 7(1), pp. 23-42.

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Websites of religious organisations Division of Muslims of All Georgia/Department of Muslim Affairs. http://www. amag.ge/ (accessed 8 September 2020). Georgian Orthodox Church, official website. http://patriarchate.ge/geo/ (accessed 8 September 2020). Primate of the Diocese of the Armenian Apostolic Church in Georgia Apostolic Church, off icial website. https://armenianchurch.ge/en/ (accessed 8 September 2020).

About the author Tornike Metreveli is a Postdoctoral Researcher at Lund University and a Research Affiliate at the Center for Governance and Culture in Europe of the University of St. Gallen, Switzerland. He held various research fellowships at St. Gallen, Harvard, University of Bern and the London School of Economics. His most recent book, Orthodox Christianity and the Politics of Transition: Ukraine, Serbia and Georgia (Routledge, 2021) discusses how Orthodox Christianity was involved in and influenced political transition in Ukraine, Serbia, and Georgia after the collapse of communism.

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Welcoming Refugees? The Armenian Apostolic Church and Forced Displacement Jasmine Dum-Tragut Abstract The reception of approximately 22,000 refugees from Syria by Armenia has been widely reported both in the Armenian and foreign press. This has been internationally lauded, and, as such, has also boosted national pride and self-confidence. There is, however, an essential difference from the reception of Syrian refugees in neighbouring Syrian states or Europe: the displaced Syrians in Armenia are in fact ethnic Armenians. The focus of this study is the refugee response of the Armenian Apostolic Church, particularly from the point of view of its traditional role as the ‘preserver of Armenianness and the Armenian people’, which has been anchored in the constitution of the present Republic of Armenia. The refugee aid of the Armenian Apostolic Church will be analysed by reference to research published in both the international and Armenian scientific literature and public media. The analysis will take into account responses to the historical refugee waves during the Armenian Genocide and the Karabakh conflict, and will thus also consider the changing sociopolitical conditions and the ethical challenges facing the Armenian Apostolic Church in today’s Republic of Armenia. Keywords: Armenia, migration, refugees, religion

Introduction1 The Republic of Armenia (RA) is generally regarded as a traditional emigration country. The figures for the last 30 years indicate a continuing 1 To ensure the clarity and readability of the present article, the names of people and places in Armenian have been transliterated in the format most familiar in English instead of the

Hudson, Victoria, and Lucian N. Leustean (eds), Religion and Forced Displacement in Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463727556_ch11

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trend. The high level of emigration was initially a consequence of the 1988 earthquake, the armed conflict over Nagorno-Karabakh (NK) in the 1990s, and economic factors ongoing since independence, and only to a limited extent due to discrimination or persecution based on political, religious or sexual orientation. Although the Republic of Armenia is not considered a typical host country for refugees, asylum seekers or migrant workers, it has nevertheless become a popular destination for many displaced persons of Armenian origin in recent decades. The displaced population in the RA consists largely of ethnic Armenians, and is composed only of a relatively small proportion of non-Armenian refugees and asylum seekers. In the early 1990s, the young republic was overwhelmed by the mass influx of 360,000 ethnic Armenian refugees from Azerbaijan as a consequence of the NK conflict between 1988 and 1992. Since 2004, Armenia has welcomed hundreds of ethnic Armenian refugees from Iraq, as well as small numbers of alien asylum seekers and refugees from the Middle East and Asia. The conflict in the Ukraine has led to a noticeable wave of arrivals since 2014. Since 2012, however, the most significant influx has come from Syria. Some 22,000 people, mainly ethnic Armenians, sought shelter in Armenia, and by 2018 about 15,000 of them remained in the country. Following a short escalation in NK in April 2016, about 2,000 additional people were displaced from the NK villages of Talish and Mataghis. Armenia has thus been confronted with a recent refugee crisis. The government, international and national NGOs, the population at large and last but not least also church organisations, especially the Armenian Apostolic Church as a constitutionally protected quasi state church, were called upon to help, and often found themselves severely overtaxed. It was necessary to provide humanitarian aid, training facilities and above all shelter for the new arrivals quickly – avoiding the hurdles of official channels and acting as informally as possible – and to regulate the legal status of these persons, while also going around the slow asylum procedures. Public criticism of the lack of refugee response in Armenia was directed less at the state, which was trying to improve the legal status of these people by amending the relevant laws and regulations, but rather at the Armenian Apostolic Church (AAC). The AAC was blamed for not making a clear statement regarding its refugee response, and for failing to provide sufficient humanitarian aid, especially in comparison with the tightly organised scientif ic transliteration of Armenian. Only quotations, terms and references in Armenian are presented in the scientific transliteration according to the Revue des Études Arméniennes.

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Armenian ‘sister churches’2 and other officially registered religious communities in Armenia. Until now, humanitarian aid from the AAC to refugees seems to be poorly organised and hardly effective. Little is known about relief actions for displaced persons initiated or implemented by the AAC, at least in Armenian public opinion, in government circles and in the media. The various approaches to refugee inflows on the part of the Armenian Apostolic Church in Armenia are the focus of this chapter. With a view to clarifying the current refugee response, particular attention will be paid to 1) the historical dimension of Armenian relief work, i.e. humanitarian aid provided by the AAC and its ‘sister churches’ in the past, and 2) the current numerically biggest group of refugees in Armenia, namely Syrian Armenians. Thus, the present status of Syrian Armenians in Armenia will be investigated; starting from the historical, post-Genocide Armenian diasporisation in Syria, to their legal and societal status in the Republic of Armenia today. The discussion will include a critical examination of the extent to which the ongoing reception of ethnic Armenian refugees from Syria, as well as Iraq and Iran, must be viewed differently from the reception of refugees from Ukraine, for example, particularly with regard to double standards concerning socio-economic integration measures (Armenians vs foreigners/aliens) and the quite common media portrayal of Syrian Armenians as returnees and repatriates. Additionally, a spotlight will be cast on the government’s response to refugee Armenians from Syria, because the most common response, namely the rapid naturalisation of ethnic Armenian refugees, not only has noticeable demographic consequences for the republic of Armenia, but also entails consequences for these Syrian Armenians, who, as citizens, no longer have the right to receive official support as ‘refugees’. Furthermore, a retrospective look will be taken at the role of humanitarian aid provided by the Armenian Apostolic Church and its ‘sister churches’ during the two major refugee waves in Armenian contemporary history: the Genocide (1915-1917)3 and the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict (1988-1994). 2 Sarkissian quotes an official of the Holy See of Etchmiadzin in differentiating two types of religious organisations in Armenia, the so-called sister churches (namely the Catholic Armenian Church and the Evangelical Protestant Armenian Church) and ‘non-desired cults and sects’. Sarkissian 2008: 171. 3 From 8 November 2019 to April 2020, the Armenian Genocide Museum-Institute hosted a temporary exhibition entitled ‘The Rescue of Armenians in the Middle East, 1915-1923: From National Unity to Revival’, which also emphasised the role of the activities carried out by Armenian people and organisations, such as the AGBU (Armenian General Benevolent Union), the Armenian National Union, the Armenian Orphan Relief of Egypt, Armenian Organisations in Mesopotamia, the Armenian Red Cross as well as the under-estimated role of the Armenian

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Historical overview4 The Armenian Genocide: ‘Each religious community has a relief committee to care for its own’5 In the course of the Armenian Genocide (1915-1917), the Western Armenian settlement area in the Ottoman Empire was depopulated by the systematic extermination and deportation of Armenians by the Young Turks. Nevertheless, an estimated 600,000 Armenians survived the catastrophe. Many of the surviving Armenians, as well as members of other religious minorities of the Ottoman Empire, managed to escape to the Arab-dominated south of the Ottoman Empire on the Mediterranean Sea. Many of them also became refugees in the immediate adjacent territories along the Ottoman-Russian border and in Tsarist Russian Armenia. According to research, almost as many Armenians found refuge in Tsarist Russia as in the south of the Ottoman Empire.6 The Russian imperial government as well as a number of aid organisations supported these refugees.7 The influx of thousands upon thousands of refugees crossing the north-eastern borders of the Ottoman Empire generated an immense humanitarian crisis on both at the Turkish and the Russian side of the border and in the surrounding areas. A great number of public, governmental and church organisations and institutions, among them the Committee of Her Highness Grand Duchess Tatiana Nikolaevna, the All-Russian Union of Towns and the Russian Society of the Red Cross, initiated refugee relief work. Thousands of Armenians survived the Genocide thanks to a humanitarian network maintained not only by committed individuals from the West, Western diplomatic and missionary organisations and institutions, but also and above all, as new research and archive data increasingly prove, thanks Apostolic Church and other Armenian religious organisations, http://www.genocide-museum. am/eng/13.11.2019-TempExh.php (accessed 2 February 2020). 4 In order not to go beyond the stipulated scope and subject matter, this chapter is limited to brief overviews of essential information on the refugee flows into the territory of the present-day Republic of Armenia, and on the refugee response of local public, governmental and church authorities, particularly the AAC in Armenia. 5 US Consul Jesse B. Jackson reporting to his superiors. See Sarafian 2004: 308. Comp. Moranian 2003. 6 According to Libaridian, about 400,000 survived by fleeing to Russian Armenia, the Caucasus and Iran, and perhaps the same number in the southern or Arab provinces of the Ottoman Empire. Libaridian 1987: 206. Comp. Kévorkian 2002: 206f. 7 Comp. Ošerovskii 1915; Darbinyan 2016. Despite of the effective assistance to Armenian refugees, the Russian motivation for humanitarian action is disputed. See Harut’yunyan 2002b.

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to the courageous efforts and humanitarian resistance of local Armenian individuals, the Armenian authorities and clergy of the Armenian churches (Mouradian 2016).

Flight to the Caucasus The refugees from the Armenian (Caucasian) provinces of the Russian Empire As early as 1916, the number of refugees was published in the Russianlanguage weekly journal Armjanskij Vestnik. By January 1916, 182,800 refugees had already arrived in the Caucasus: 105,000 in Erivan governorate, 9,500 in Elisabethpol governorate and 7,400 in Tbilisi governorate. According to the Russian Refugee Committee, 164,000 refugees were living in the Caucasus at the beginning of January 1916, with 100,716 in Erivan governorate, 7,660 in Tiflis governorate, 1,360 in Tiflis and 11,000 in Kars oblast (Armjanskij Vestnik 1916: 14). Other sources quote even higher figures for the same period. Harut’yunyan, for instance, mentions a figure of 234,400 refugees between January and December 1916 reaching 283,063 in January 1917.8 In December 1915, the Erivan Provincial Committee (Russ. Erivanskij gubernskij komitet) was founded, and tasked primarily with caring for refugees. The committee reported for the first quarter of 1916 that in Erivan governorate alone a one-time amount of 1,057,875 roubles and each month a further 993,406 roubles had been spent on the most necessary clothing, shoes, blankets and food, support of orphans and school children, healthcare and the like. The report notes that ‘105,000 refugees of our Erivan governorate have received clothes and shoes, and with an allocation of 8 roubles a day, the refugees can still shop according to their wishes’ (Armjanskij Vestnik 1916: 14). Aid provided by the Mother See of Holy Etchmiadzin, Armenian Apostolic Church Located on the Ararat plain, the small town of Etchmiadzin is the seat of the Catholicos, the Armenian church leader, and the Holy See of the Armenian Apostolic Church. It became a veritable refugee town, with reports speaking 8 Harut’yunyan quotes figures from various newspapers, reports and magazines. Harut’yunyan 2002a: 25.

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of 60,000 Armenian refugees and 3,000 orphans having found shelter on the territory of the Holy See already in 1915. The Armenian Apostolic Church opened its doors to its fugitive countrymen, and granted protection and help to countless people, not only in the Holy See of Etchmiadzin in Russian Armenia, but also in the churches of the Ottoman Empire, especially in Syria, Aleppo and Damascus, and in the Armenian Patriarchate of Jerusalem. Even the Catholicos of the Great House of Cilicia, who was threatened and forced to flee from the Cilician homeland, from Sis (present-day Kozan, Turkey), tried to provide as much help as possible from his exile in Aleppo. Catholicos Gevorg V. Surenyants (1847-1930, Catholicos 1911-1930), being much involved in political affairs, was one of the first Armenian church leaders outside of the Ottoman Empire to organise relief efforts for survivors and refugees of the Armenian Genocide. It was in December 1914, on the eve of the Genocide but in the shadow of the Hamidian (1894-1896) and the Adana massacres (1909), that he founded the Holy Etchmiadzin Fraternal Relief committee (Surb Ēǰmiacni ełbayrakan ōgnut’yan hanjnažołov) to cover refugee needs. He presided over this relief committee for Armenian victims, refugees and wounded soldiers and their families. In July 1915, with the support of this committee, refugees were settled in the provinces of Shirak and Kotayk, in the towns of Nor Bayazet (present-day Gavar) and Aparan. The construction of refugee shelters in the vicinity of and in monasteries began in August. In the same year, the committee cared for 300 orphans at the Holy See of Etchmiadzin, as well as supporting seven other orphanages in Yerevan and one in Bayazet. As of 16 June 1916, 1,145 orphans were housed in fourteen orphanages run and supported by the committee. The spiritual leaders were also active on site, many of them even put their own lives at risk rescuing numerous Armenian refugees and orphans in the Ottoman-Russian border area (Harut’yunyan 2002a: 25). Many reports from helpers and committee members provide accounts of the catastrophic conditions between Igdir and Etchmiadzin. Excerpts from the written reports of Sampson Aroutiounian to the journal Horizon in Tiflis illustrates the situation. He was the president of the National Committee of Armenia in Tiflis and personally witnessed the refugee problem in Etchmiadzin in mid-August 1915. Between the Turkish frontier and Igdir (the first Russian village), the whole countryside is filled to overflowing with refugees. Further on between Igdir and Etchmiadzin, all the gardens and vineyards are full of them. At Igdir, the first arrival depot, a mass of 20,000 has accumulated, and another 45,000 at Etchmiadzin. (Dispatch, 13 August 1915) (Bryce and Toynbee 2002: 226)

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Hundreds of thousands of refugees are arriving at Etchmiadzin from Turkish Armenia. There seems no end to these solid columns moving forward in a cloud of dust. The majority are women and children, barefoot, exhausted and starving. (Dispatch, 13 August 1915) (Bryce and Toynbee 2002: 227) At present moment more than 35,000 of them have accumulated at Etchmiadzin, and 20,000 at Erivan. In spite of all the zeal displayed by the Relief Committee of Etchmiadzin, under the presidency of the Prelate Bagrad, and by the National Committees of Tiflis and Moscow, with their numerous affiliated committees, the situation is extraordinarily harrowing. (Dispatch, Erivan, 21 August 1915) (Bryce and Toynbee 2002: 227)

Flight to the south Of those who survived, many settled in Syria and Lebanon, often moving several times and gathering in mixed areas where there were small pre-existing Armenian communities, such as Alexandretta, Aleppo, Beirut, Damascus and Jerusalem. Here, Armenians had already established themselves as merchants, jewellers, bankers, blacksmith, tailors and shop owners. The arrivals of 1915 were far more numerous than the pre-existing Armenian communities in the Levant, i.e. in Syria, Palestine, Lebanon and Egypt. Humanitarian aid was provided by American agencies, mainly having emerged from American Evangelical-Protestant missions that had been present in the Ottoman Empire since the 1830s. Various Armenian churches and religious organisations helped the survivors also by founding orphanages, schools, clubs and cultural associations. Again, the numbers of refugees and survivors having arrived in the southern provinces of the Ottoman Empire are only given in the form of estimates, based on the numbers recorded in local registers or counts. Kévorkian writes of a total of 240,000 survivors, of which 70,000 were in the region of Aleppo in time of the Ottoman military retreat in 1918 (Kévorkian 2002: 206). Due to the ongoing nature of the migrations, the return of survivors to their homeland, and the additional population movements that followed the Franco-British-Turkish negotiations at the end of the war, it is almost impossible to give exact figures. Dekmejian (1997: 424) estimated the presence of 200,000 Armenians in the Middle East, while Sanjian (2001: 4) states that by the mid-1920s there were 100,000 Armenians in Syria, more than 40,000 in Lebanon, around 10,000 each in Iraq, Palestine and Jordan, and 25,000 in Egypt. The list of Armenian refugees in the Middle East in 1925 by Hovannisian, as shown in Table 11.1, is considered reliable.

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Table 11.1  Number of Armenian refugees in the Middle East, 1925 Country Syria Lebanon Palestine and Jordan Egypt Iraq Iran

Number of refugees 100,000 50,000 10,000 40,000 25,000 50,000

Source: Hovannisian 1974

Armenian-Apostolic Catholicosate of the Great House of Cilicia In the course of the Genocide, the Armenian population in historical Cilicia was largely annihilated, and important centres of Armenian culture were destroyed. Cilicia’s population found refuge in the southern provinces of the Ottoman Empire, in Syria, Lebanon and in Palestine. Catholicos Sahak II Khabayan (1839-1939, Catholicos from 1902 to 1939) fled into exile from Sis to Aleppo in 1915, at which point he founded a deportee committee. In 1916, the Young Turk government abolished the Catholicosate of Cilicia and instead established a single Catholicos-Patriarchate for all Armenians living in the Ottoman Empire with its seat at the Jerusalem Armenian Patriarchate. The new post of Catholicos-Patriarch was given to Sahak II, who was at that time in exile, this time in Jerusalem. Sahak II took responsibility for the hundreds of Armenian refugees living within the walls of the St. James Monastery compound. After having returned briefly to Adana, he was forced to leave Kemalist Turkey in 1921 after further massacres. Subsequently, he ruled as a Catholicos without a Catholicosate from various places in Syria or Lebanon. The new Catholicosate of Cilicia was established in 1930 in Antelias near Beirut in the former buildings of an orphanage, which had been built by the American Near East Relief charity for Armenian orphans in 1922 and abandoned in 1928. The role of Sahak II, the Catholicosate of the Great House of Cilicia and the Patriarchate of Jerusalem in housing and caring for Armenian refugees, and particularly for orphans, is regarded as having a major importance for the development of a post-Genocide Armenian diaspora in the Middle East.

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Armenian Patriarchate of Constantinople The Armenian Patriarchate also played a significant role in rescuing the remaining Armenian population. In this restless and tragic period in the history of the Armenians in the Ottoman Empire, the post of Patriarch remained vacant from 1915 to 1919. In August 1916, Patriarch Zaven I Der-Yeghiayan, who had been appointed in 1913, was deported to Baghdad. In addition to his tireless efforts to personally track down and rescue Armenian orphans, he also oversaw the foundation of the Armenian National Relief charitable organisation in February 1919. From the funds raised by Patriarch Zaven I, shelters and orphanages were built in Konya, Aleppo, Karin and Bursa. In February 1919 he returned to Constantinople for a short period, but then moved to Cyprus in 1926 and back to Baghdad in 1927. Particularly impressive is his My Patriarchal Memoirs ((Der Yeghiayan 2002; originally published in Armenian as Patriark’akan yušers. vaweragrer ew vkayut’iwnner in 1947) in which he, as an eyewitness to the atrocities, gives a detailed account of the Armenian Genocide and his attempts to stop it. In his memoirs, he also describes the help provided by the local Armenian community, which had formed three bodies to take care of orphaned Armenians in the Ottoman Empire: the Orphan Relief (orbaxnam) charity, the Society for the Exiled (Taragreloc’ ěnkerut’iwn) and the Armenian Red Cross. The latter two organisation merged to form the Armenian National Relief (Hay Azgayin Xnamatarut’iwn) in 1919 (Der Yeghiayan 2002: 176). Prelacy of the Armenian Apostolic Church of Beroea9 The Armenian community of Aleppo, numbering about 10,000 individuals, began to organise help as soon as the first deported Armenians arrived, and, together with the prelacy of the AAC, took immediate measures to care for the new arrivals. By mid-May 1915, 400 deportees had already been provided with sufficient food. On 24 May 1915, the prelacy invited wealthy Armenians from the surrounding area to form a council with them, later called the Council of Refugees (Arm. Gałt’akanac’ žołov), with the aim of ‘caring for the immediate financial, moral and health needs of the arriving Armenians’.10 9 The Armenian Diocese of Beroea covers Aleppo as well as Deir-ez-Zor, Idlib, Latakia and Raqqa. The name refers to the ancient name of Aleppo Beroea, which was given to the city in 301 BC by Seleucus Nicator. The prelacy was founded in 1432. The seat of the bishopric is the Cathedral of the Forty Martyrs in Aleppo. The diocese is under the jurisdiction of the Holy See of Cilicia (Shemassian 2013). 10 Council Records, Folder 38, minutes of Session 1. Comp. Mouradian 2016.

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Despite the tense situation, the Church – with the help of this council – was able to provide food for arrivals not only in Aleppo but also in the surrounding area as far as Deir Ez-Zor. Although, the council soon reached its financial limits due to the large influx of refugees, it was then actively supported by the Armenian Patriarchate of Constantinople as well as by the Catholicosate of Cilicia and by donations from the wealthy Armenian community of the diocese. After the deportation of a large proportion of the Ottoman Armenian population to Syria in the autumn of 1915, the ‘refugee city’ Aleppo attracted the interest of the Young Turk government, and a targeted blockade of the city and a re-deportation began. The political pressure on the deportees in Aleppo was further increased by the precarious situation in the shelters and the outbreak of typhus. They had to be brought out of the city quickly. However, the humanitarian resistance of the established Armenian community and the AAC remained unbroken (Mouradian 2016). The Armenian Catholic and Evangelical churches also launched their own humanitarian initiatives, and provided help and shelter for the refugees, quite often in cooperation with the AAC. Armenian Evangelical Church of Aleppo11 Since the middle of the nineteenth century the Armenian evangelical movement has gained a foothold in various regions of the Ottoman Empire and the Caucasus. However, while the Armenian Protestants were recognised as millet by the Sublime Porte as early as June 1846 and were able to consolidate themselves in various provinces of the Ottoman Empire from 1860 onwards, the East Armenian evangelicals in the Caucasus were long undermined by the Russian Empire. The efforts of the local Lutheran Church to bring the Armenian Protestants in the Caucasus under their influence also prevented their recognition and independence. It was thus not until 1914 that they were recognised as a separate religious community. In the Ottoman Empire, Protestantism was becoming predominant among the Armenians in Syria, especially in the cities of Aleppo and Kessab, where the first communities were founded in 1852 (Aleppo) and 1853 (Kessab). Upon the arrival of the first refugees in Aleppo in 1915, the pastor of the Evangelical Emmanuel Church of Aleppo, Reverend Hovhannes Eskiĵian, took a key role

11 For an overview of the history of Armenian evangelical movement, see Tchilingirian 1991. For a detailed report on the Armenian evangelical Community of Syria, see Hovyan 2010.

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in local relief activities.12 He opened orphanages for refugee children, after having identified them among the streams of refugees entering Aleppo, and emerging from trains and deportation camps. He rescued the living who had been dumped in ditches with the dead. He played a crucial role in providing reports on the condition of the Armenians to US attorney general for the Middle East, Consul J. Jackson, which were forwarded to Henry Morgenthau, the American ambassador to Turkey, so that relief could finally be provided to the Armenians. When, in summer 1915, the refugee crisis hit Aleppo, Eskijian understood that his efforts must not be limited to his own Protestant community. Overcoming all the differences that had separated the different Armenian communities in the area in previous years, Eskijian contributed to the creation of a unified Armenian relief effort. He worked together with Father Haroutune Yayian of the Armenian Apostolic Church in the distribution of relief funds (Kaiser and Eskijian 2002: 38). According to records held by the Council of Refugees, the council also received financial support from the church and its community (Mouradian 2016). Armenian Catholic Church in Syria and Lebanon13 The Armenian Catholic Church was already a historical institution in the south of the Ottoman Empire, particularly in Lebanon. The Armenian Catholic Church was formally recognised as a part of the Roman Catholic Church by Pope Benedict XIV in 1742. Due to the hardship faced by Catholic Armenians in Constantinople,14 a monastery was founded at Bzommar in 1771 to house the head of the Armenian Catholic Church. Only a century later, 12 Eskijian was born in Urfa. He experienced the murder of his father at a young age in 1885 and was taken to an American orphanage by an Armenian American. After his schooling in Aintab, he attended the American Board’s Marash Theological Seminary and was ordained a priest in 1908. In 1910 he got married and moved with his wife, first to Ayntab, then to Kessab. From there he was called to Aleppo’s Emmanuel Evangelical Church in 1913. In the course of his self-sacrificing commitment to Armenian survivors and orphans in Aleppo and the surrounding area, he fell ill with typhoid fever and died at the age of 34 in 1916. H. Kaiser, together with Eskijian’s granddaughter Nancy, dedicated a monograph to the work in 2002 (Kaiser and Eskijian 2002). There is also an Eskijian museum in California: https://www.ararat-eskijian-museum. com/ (accessed 2 February 2020). 13 For more, see Whooley 2016. 14 The Ottoman millet system regulated the administrative autonomy of non-Muslim minorities under the leadership of their religious leaders. The Armenian Catholics were under the civil jurisdiction of the Armenian-Apostolic Patriarch of Constantinople, which repeatedly led to serious conflicts and even persecution. Many Armenian Catholics were forced to leave the country. It was only in 1829 that the Sublime Porte granted them – probably under European pressure – the right to organise themselves as an independent millet with their own Armenian-Catholic

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the Armenian Catholicos-Patriarch moved to his new see in Constantinople as the head of the officially recognised Armenian Catholic millet, in 1830. During the Genocide the Catholicos-Patriarch, Boghos Petros XIII Terzian (Patriarch, 1910-1930), left his official seat in Constantinople to return to Lebanon to help the refugees.15 The church leadership in Lebanon supported the newly arrived refugees regardless of their religious affiliation, and acted as a successful mediator, obtaining lands for the refugee camps from the local Arab landowners and authorities (Migliorino 2008: 51). In fact, the later Armenian Quarter of Beirut, Bourj Hammoud, emerged on the site of the former refugee camps. At the same time, the Armenian Catholic Church of Aleppo, having been established already in 1710 as the Catholic Eparchy of Aleppo and promoted in 1899 as the Catholic archdiocese of Aleppo, lodged and fed 3,000 deportees.16 There is an urgent need for research on the refugee response of the Armenian Catholic Church and even more for the relief provided by other churches and religious organisations in the Ottoman and Russian Empires during the Genocide as the current state of research is unsatisfactory.

The Nagorno-Karabakh Region17 Karabakh, one of the historical provinces of Armenia, had been the semidependent Karabakh khanate since 1747. It was administered under Iranian rule until it was disestablished in 1822. With the expansion of the Russian Empire, and as consequence of the Russo-Persian Wars (1804-1813, 18261828), Karabakh came under Russian control. In 1805 an agreement was reached, according to which the supremacy and dominance of the Russian Empire was recognised. In 1806, the Karabakh oblast was established. As a consequence of the peace treaties of Gulistan in 1813 and Turkmenchay in 1828, the region was incorporated into the Russian Empire. The Karabakh oblast was dissolved in 1840 and the region was administratively united with others forming the Caspian oblast. In 1868, Karabakh, as well as a large part Archbishop of Constantinople. In 1846, this archbishop was also granted civil authority. Comp. Merten 2014: 54f. 15 Until 1928, the official see of the Armenian Catholicos-Patriarch was Constantinople; only then was it officially moved to Beirut, Lebanon. 16 See report of Consul Jackson sent to Ambassador Morgenthau on 29 September 1918, in Sarafian 2004: 314. 17 For more, see Chorbajian et al. 1994; Geukjian 2012.

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of the southern Armenian region of Zangezur (Syunik), was unified in the governorate of Elisabethpol, where it remained until 1917. After the collapse of the Tsarist Empire, however, Armenia’s neighbours were able to assert themselves more strongly, as Armenia had been severely weakened by the Genocide. Karabakh remained within the borders of Azerbaijan, even when Azerbaijan became Soviet in 1920. In the same year of its annexation to the Soviet Union, it was decided that three Armenian settlement areas, namely Karabakh, Zangezur and Nakhchivan, should be allocated to Armenia. This territorial change was confirmed by a decision of the Supreme Soviet and a corresponding declaration published in Pravda. Yet a few months later only Zangezur was transferred to Armenia, while Nakhchivan and Karabakh remained autonomous regions in Azerbaijan. In the mid-1960s, after several Armenian pogroms in Karabakh, the population in Armenia became aware again of their kindred Armenians in Karabakh.18 Major anti-Armenian riots began in the village of Agdam in eastern Karabakh, but culminated in the Sumgait massacre of February 1988. The real conflict began in 1989 and escalated into a full-scale war between Armenia and Azerbaijan between 1992 and 1994. The territory had declared its independence on 2 September 1991.19 In spring 1993, Armenian troops annexed territories outside Karabakh, but bordering Armenia. By the end of 1994, the Armenians were in control of most of the territory of the former enclave and about 9 per cent of Azerbaijani territory outside the enclave. The ceasefire was signed in May 1994, and since then Armenia and Azerbaijan have held peace talks mediated by the OSCE Minsk Group (Chorbajian et al. 1994; Geukjian 2012). Refugees and displaced persons during the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict As result of the armed conflict, an estimated 230,000 Armenians from Azerbaijan and 800,000 Azerbaijanis from Armenia and Karabakh were 18 There were hardly reports about the Armenian population in Mountainous Karabakh before that time. Moreover, it was only in the mid-1960s that Soviet Armenians started to rebuild their nation: on the one hand, they were allowed to off icially remember the Genocide (and to construct a Genocide memorial in Yerevan), and on the other hand, they started to receive more information about the oppression of the Armenians living in Karabakh and the ongoing linguistic and cultural ‘Turkification’ of the region. 19 Following a referendum in February 2017, the independent (but not internationally recognised) Republic of Nagorno-Karabakh changed its name to the historical Armenian name Republic of Artsakh.

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displaced. As noted, it is extremely difficult to know how many refugees were actually granted refugee status at that time. The Armenian government at that time did not count the refugees arriving directly from NK. According to the US State Department, some 185,000 ethnic Azerbaijanis left Armenia, and some 330,000 Armenians living in Azerbaijan sought refuge in Armenia, some 50,000-70,000 directly moved to Russia.20 The number of refugees at that time in Armenia ‘made up more than ten per cent of the population resident in Armenia’ (MacFarlane and Minear 1997: 37). Ethnic Armenians and other Christians came to Armenia from Azerbaijan in two big waves. The first was between 1988 and 1991, following the pogroms of Sumgait and Baku. The second wave occurred when the war broke out in 1991. The population exchange outside the territory of NK had already taken place prior to this. As a result of the population movements, three displaced groups emerged, with the largest share being the displaced Azerbaijanis. The second group was composed of Armenians who had fled to Armenia, and the third group consisted of Armenian refugees who had settled in NK during the first refugee wave (Seethaler 2013: 82). Again, the figures are not absolutely reliable, as there was no continuous monitoring system in Armenia. In any case, the official figures of the Armenian government, which reports 245,106 officially registered refugees, are correct. By the end of 2009, 83,000 of these refugees had already taken Armenian citizenship (Makaryan 2010: 112). For many Armenians from Azerbaijan, Armenia was only a transit destination and in the following years many moved on to Russia and especially to Western Europe. Thus, in the course of the two decades following the collapse of the Soviet Union, thousands of Armenians left the country. In the period from 1992 to 1999, 36,100 official asylum applications from Armenia were registered in Europe, with 64 per cent of them lodged in Germany (UNHCR 1999: 17). Devastated by war and the 1988 earthquake, and struggling with economic and energy shortages, the Armenian government was unable to take suff icient humanitarian measures to provide for the needs of thousands of displaced persons (DPs) and internally displaced persons (IDPs), and could not even manage to set up refugee camps. Those refugees who could not find shelter with relatives or friends were accommodated in abandoned state buildings, and in houses and villages deserted by the former Azerbaijani minority. In wartime, national and international aid 20 Most quoted numbers may be found in De Waal 2010; iDMC 2010.

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Table 11.2 Number of annually naturalised refugees from Azerbaijan in Armenia, 1992-2009 Year

Total annual number of refugees

1992

300,000

1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009

334,000 304,039 218,950 218,950 219,000 310,012 206,216 280,591 264,337 247,550 239,289 235,235 219,550 113,226 4,566 3,953 2,700

Refugees naturalised annually

7,000* 7,497 16,631 16,259 9,055 8,287 4,149 2,274 1,200 700 733 400

* Stands for the total number of refugees naturalised prior to 1998 (Makaryan 2010: 8)

programs tried to provide the refugees with the most urgently required assistance.21 After the end of the war in 1996-1998, due to the deteriorating economic situation, the general housing and living conditions in the country were so bad that refugees were even more dependent on help from the Armenian diaspora and from foreign countries and NGOs. Since 1999, however, successive governments have endeavoured to improve the legal position of the refugees by gradually adapting new laws, and strengthening integration and naturalisation policies. The rapid naturalisation of refugees also relieved the state and its treasury of the diff icult task of caring for refugees. The downsides of this, however, were experienced by the new citizens, since becoming citizens of the Republic of Armenia usually meant they lost access to international aid. The citizenship law providing this accelerated naturalisation process for ethnic Armenian

21 For more see UNHCR 1994.

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refugees was passed in 1995, but amended several times, mainly modifying Article 10(2).22 Nagorno-Karabakh: The ‘might and plight’ of the Armenian Apostolic Church As a consequence of the Karabakh war, which also affected many border regions of Armenia, there was a massive economic crisis, coupled with acute problems in the supply of energy and food. International aid organisations reacted quickly to alleviate the resulting suffering by providing refugees with the most necessary food and health assistance. According to a survey in 1995, there were 61 institutions responding to the humanitarian challenge, among them nine UN intergovernmental bodies, f ive bilateral government agencies, 46 NGOs and the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) (MacFarlane and Minear 1997: 41). Among the international aid providers there also numbered organisations from Russia and even Iran, as well as many Christian, especially Protestant and charismatic groups that had arrived in Armenia after the earthquake, as well as the World Council of Churches (WCC), Catholic and Protestant church organisations. Armenia had off icially requested help from the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), which had established its presence in the country only in December 1992, mainly concentrating on programmes to address the core needs of the refugees from Azerbaijan. Between 1994 and 2010 the UNHCR spent USD 32 million providing services to refugees in Armenia.23 The AAC, however, was torn between its new and powerful role as spiritual and political leader of the Armenian people, on the one hand, and its lack of financial and organisational capacity to provide humanitarian aid to the refugees, on the other. Indeed, there is some public criticism that the AAC had assumed a significant role in the conflict – in creating formal and informal links between various social and political movements – but not as helpers for its people in need. Particularly in the early days of the Karabakh liberation movement, and right up to the declaration of independence in 1991, the Church played an important role as an advocate for the people and

22 Makaryan 2010: 7-8. The given law’s Article 10(2) reinforced the ‘zero option’, whereby former USSR citizens, having been permanent residents in Armenia for a period of three years prior to 1995, were declared citizens of the Republic of Armenia. 23 UN in Armenia n.d.

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their rights. In the absence of a recognised political leadership, the Church became the unofficial representative of the Karabakh movement. But the Church failed to respond adequately to the humanitarian challenge in the 1990s. The lack of official reports and publicly available documents on the humanitarian response to the refugee wave in the 1990s from the AAC in Armenia makes it difficult to report on the actual humanitarian response of the AAC. It seems as if, while the country was overwhelmed by a wave of displaced people, the AAC leadership was rather focused on restoring the Church in Karabakh to its historically important role in the region. These efforts were initiated by Catholicos Vazgen I with his encyclical24 for the restoration of the diocese of Artsakh in 1989, and the installation of the charismatic bishop, Pargew Martirosyan. Together with a small group of selected clerics, he was charged with protecting and defending the important sacred sites of Karabakh, reviving old churches closed during the Soviet era and providing spiritual assistance to the wartorn people of Karabakh. Some scholars thus compare the role of the clergy in Karabakh with the role of the clergy during the legendary battle of Avrayr in AD 451,25 ‘that is, they gave spiritual advice, encouragement and offered prayers to the soldiers’ (Tchilingirian 1998). However, other church scholars are more critical, with Agadjanyan, for instance, describing Etchmiadzin’s role as being one ‘of evangelizing the new territory and placing it under the Church’s aegis, which accompanied Armenia’s military acquisition of the Karabagh territory’ (Agadjanian 2016: 80). Such active involvement in political and wartime affairs has in part revitalised the AAC, emphasising its links with Armenian nationalism, but it has not done much to diminish the perception among the Armenian people that the AAC’s is relatively indifferent to the Christian faith aspect and Christian charity (Matsuzato and Danielyan 2013; Tonoyan 2018: 16f.). One of the main problems, namely need to provide housing for the large number of refugees, was resolved thanks to a significant economic upturn and relative economic stability, as well as through changes in the law and the construction of new housing with funding from international 24 An encyclical is a pastoral circular letter of the Catholicos written for the whole Armenian Apostolic Church (and nation). 25 In AD 451, the Christian Armenian army fought against Zoroastrian Sassanid Persia on the Avarayr plain in the region of Lake Van (in today’s Turkey). Armenians consider this battle both a battle of liberation from foreign rulers and a battle for the defence of the Christian faith. In the following Sassanid-Armenian Peace Treaty of Nvarsak, the Armenians were guaranteed the freedom to practice Christianity. Vardan Mamikonian, the commander of the Armenian forces, has been canonised by the Armenian Apostolic Church.

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Table 11.3 Total number of asylum applications in the Republic of Armenia, 1999201826 Year

Asylum seekers

Refugee status/asylum granted

1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018

23 9 10 8 82 162 163 650 291 207 67 68 73 579 320 226 316 110 151 218

5 3 2 1 0 1 4 5 3 8 8 25 54 390 260 136 202 37 99 72

organisations. Even today, the situation of Karabakh and Azerbaijani refugees from the wave of the 1990s does not seem to be satisfactory, the housing situation is still difficult, the situation described above is far from resolved. Armenia, the Middle East and the Caucasus after 2012 As already mentioned, the Armenian authorities, the churches and the civil population on the territory of today’s Republic of Armenia had to face refugee waves in the first and last two decades of the twentieth century. Historical circumstances, war and persecution, economic decline, famine and supply 26 Official numbers as published by the Ministry of Territorial Administration and Development of the Republic of Armenia, Migration Service. Comp. numbers for 1999-2009: http://www. smsmta.am/?menu_id=146; 2010-2013: http://www.smsmta.am/?menu_id=145; and 2013-2019: http://www.smsmta.am/?menu_id=144 (accessed 2 February 2020).

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shortages made an adequate response to refugees considerably more difficult, and sometimes almost impossible. During this period Armenia was extremely dependent on financial and humanitarian aid from the diaspora and international organisations. Decades later, in the first two decades of the twenty-first century, Armenia is once again challenged by an influx of refugees. Since 2004, hundreds of refugees have arrived from Iraq, and since 2014 also from Ukraine. Since 2012 Armenia has seen an influx of about 22,000 people from Syria. Following a flare up in the smouldering conflict in NK in April 2016, about 2,000 people were displaced from their villages to Armenia. As in the twentieth century, the majority of the displaced persons are ethnic Armenians seeking refuge in their perceived ‘ancestral homeland’. But unlike before, the economic, legal, political, administrative and social situation in the Republic of Armenia is in many cases much better. The displaced population in RA thus consists largely of ethnic Armenians, and is only to a relatively small proportion composed of non-Armenian refugees and asylum seekers. The Armenian authorities have reacted to the growing issue of DPs and refugees by implementing corresponding laws and international agreements. In addition, Armenia quickly adopted various regulations to facilitate the status of ethnic Armenian DPs. Nevertheless, the majority of displaced ethnic Armenians mainly from NK, Iraq and Syria chose the administratively simpler and socially more prestigious residence permit or citizenship.27 Thus, while more than 15,000 displaced Armenians from Syria had received Armenian citizenship by 2015, 28 just a few of them actually registered officially as asylum seekers or received the status of refugee. However, the majority of ethnic Armenians with residence or citizenship status nevertheless live in refugee-like conditions. Officially, there are 18,085 refugees and asylum seekers registered in Armenia, among them 14,718 from Syria, 1,354 from Azerbaijan, 1,092 from Iraq and 573 from NK.29 The relevant legal framework is mainly laid out in the Law of the Republic of Armenia on Refugees and Asylum (2011) and in the Law of the Republic of Armenia on the Citizenship of the Republic of Armenia (1995; amended in 2011), laws providing legislation for refugees from 27 UNHCR 2004. 28 ‘15,465 displaced Armenians from Syria were granted Armenian citizenship between 2012 and June 2015’. See Deutsche Gesellschaft für Internationale Zusammenarbeit 2017: 17. 29 See UNHCR 2019.

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Table 11.4  Citizenships of asylum seekers in Armenia, 2014-201830

Iran Iraq Syria Ukraine Others Total

2018

2017

2016

2015

2014

Total per country

57 55 21 10 75 218

13 34 52 10 42 151

18 14 59 8 11 110

22 75 104 93 22 316

27 19 50 114 16 226

137 197 286 235 166 1,021

Azerbaijan31 and for foreigners in general.32 The State Migration Service, the National Security Service, Border Guards Troops, the Passport and Visa Department, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the off ice of the president of the RA and others are the primary responsible governmental entities. Displaced Armenians from Syria33 Armenian settlement on Syrian territory can be traced back to the time of the Armenian King Tigranes the Great (140-55 BC). This small community was enlarged by the Armenians abducted by Arabs to northern Syria after the Arab invasion in the seventh century and particularly by the Armenians fleeing the Seljuks in the eleventh century. Finally, the fall of the Cilician kingdom in the fourteenth century again brought Armenians to northern Syria, where they succeeded in organising themselves as a community in the urban centres of Aleppo, Antioch (present-day Antakya, Turkey) or Aintab (present-day Gaziantep, Turkey) and establishing the diocese of Beroa in the fifteenth century. Those expelled from their Western Armenian homeland during the Genocide met a small, functioning community in Syria. The number of 30 Table 11.4 compiled from data available at http://www.smsmta.am/?menu_id=152 (accessed 2 February 2020). 31 ‘On the legal and socio-economic guarantees of the refugees from the Republic of Azerbaijan from 1988-1992 who acquired the citizenship of the Republic of Armenia’, adopted on 6 December 2000; ‘On allocating the apartments built for the refugees displaced from the Republic of Azerbaijan in 1988-1992 to the refugees with ownership right’, adopted 20 November 2002. For a more detailed and complete overview of all Armenian regulations and legislation regarding refugees and asylum, see the website of the Armenian State Migration Service: http://www. smsmta.am/?menu_id=2 (accessed 2 February 2020). 32 The Armenian law ‘On Foreigners’, 15 December 2006, mainly provides for residence permits for foreigners working and studying in Armenia. 33 For more, see Sanjian 1965.

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Armenians in Syria was about 100,000 by 1930, the community again grew due to the influx of Armenian refugees from the Sanjak of Alexandretta in 1938. In 1946, with gaining independence and freeing from the French mandate, Syria hosted about 125,000 Armenians, and by the beginning of the 1960s this number had increased to about 150,000. Since the early 1960s, however, there has been a steady emigration of Armenians from Syria, and the well-established and relatively secure Christian minority has turned into a ‘declining diaspora’ (Payaslian 2007: 16). At the beginning of the twenty-first century, according to reports of the Armenian Ministry of Diaspora, the number of Armenians in Syria had fallen to about 65,000-70,000. Sanjian affirms that due to ongoing emigration and the growth of the population in Syria, by 2011 Armenians would make up only 0.3 per cent of the pre-war population and not 4 per cent as in 1938 (Sanjian 2000; Migliorino 2008: 32-34). Siriahayer Armenians from Syria In the few decades of their presence in Syria, the Armenians have been able to maintain a certain degree of independence and socio-economic stability among the Arab majority, in spite of their considerable intra-ethnic sociocultural, linguistic and even religious differences (depending on the Armenian individual’s region of origin). They had understood early on how to merge their heterogeneous ethnic characteristics (Payaslian 2007) in favour of a more homogeneous, specifically Armenian-Syrian subculture and way of life, to found institutions and schools across the various intra-ethnic groups and even intra-religiously, and thus to form a very specific diaspora society. High respect for the varieties of the West Armenian language, a specific Armenian culture and strong loyalty to the church(es) are common stereotypes associated with Syrian Armenianness, as well as a ‘tripartite’ sense of home – the new home of Syria, the home from which their ancestors were expelled (the Ottoman Empire, i.e. Turkey) and the historical, idealised home, Armenia (Sanjian 2001: 158). With the outbreak of the civil war in Syria in March 2011, Syrian Armenians fled first to the neighbouring countries of Lebanon, Jordan and Turkey, then also to Europe, the USA and Canada as refugees or asylum seekers from Syria. Many also chose their ‘ancestral homeland’ as a refuge. According to the information provided in September 2015 by former minister for diaspora, Hranush Hakobyan, at that time there were only 15,000 Armenians left in the whole of Syria.34 By the end of the same year 34 Lragir 2015.

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17,000 Armenians from Syria had already entered Armenia (UNHCR 2015). By the end of 2019, this number had increased to 22,000. Most of these Syrian Armenians, 14,718, have stayed in Armenia, while several have returned to Syria or regarded Armenia as just a stopover to Europe, the USA, Canada or the Gulf States. While the majority of Syrian Armenians has successfully applied for Armenian citizenship through a much simplified citizenship procedure or obtained temporary, permanent or special residency permissions, a very small proportion has been granted official asylum status in Armenia. Only 289 individuals with Syrian citizenship were granted asylum status between 2014 and 2018, and in 2019 this figure was only 3.35 Refugee response of the AAC In recent years, many scholars from different disciplines and countries have tried to analyse the extraordinary situation, sociopolitical status and integration of Syrian Armenians in Armenia. Contributions range from analyses of the expected linguistic-cultural differences/clashes between diaspora Armenians and the Republic Armenians, to studies on the disappointed expectations of refugees (Yepremyan 2018; Ghahriyan 2017; Hakobyan 2016). Some investigated the Syrian Armenians’ ambivalent attitudes and feelings towards Armenia, now that they no longer regard it from a distance and through rose-tinted glasses, but find themselves facing Armenia’s everyday reality.36 There are also reports about obvious, positive socio-economic changes, particularly in Yerevan, due to the Syrian Armenian experience in the gastronomy and service sectors.37 A few scholars have looked into the psycho-social phenomenon of rapid naturalisation and its consequences, from either the Syrian Armenian or the republican-Armenian point of view (Davtyan 2017). Hardly seen serious analyses examining the religious expectations and experiences of the Syrian Armenians, who were raised in church-oriented and even church-centred Armenian communities in Syria.38 Thus, scholars rarely question how the Armenian churches in the 35 The government information available does not allow a further breakdown of the figures between Syrian Armenians and other individuals with Syrian citizenship. From reports and interviews, however, it can be assumed that these figures also include some non-Armenians, such as Syrian Yazidi, other Christians or Syrian Arabs. 36 Thomas et al. 2019. Deutsche Gesellschaft für Internationale Zusammenarbeit 2017. 37 Mkrtchyan 2019; Zalan 2018; Grigoryan 2016. 38 Quoting a Syrian Armenian woman from Aleppo: ‘For us, the leader of the Church is our king, and the Church is our kingdom’ (Sarvarian 2018).

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country react to these refugees, both regarding their humanitarian activities and pastoral care. Do they meet the spiritual needs of Syrian Armenians? The AAC, which for centuries was the most important supporter of displaced Armenians in the diaspora, as shown in detail above, seems to have significant difficulties in maintaining this function in the RA. Whereas until the early 2000s the precarious economic situation and the deficit of priests were given as the main causes for the absent or inadequate humanitarian aid to DPs, in recent years serious efforts by individual church NGOs and organisations have been repeatedly hampered due to ‘hunting for souls’ – proselytism – on the part of other churches. The AAC feels threatened in its role as national church by many religious groups, but above all by those able to win numerous ethnic Armenians for their religious communities, thanks mainly, according to the AAC, to their humanitarian aid campaigns and the active support offered to both IDPs and DPs who crossed national borders. Due to the dearth of coverage of AAC-initiated efforts for DPs in the media and on social media, many of the AAC’s successful refugee projects have simply not been noticed, either by governmental organisations or by the average Armenian citizen. For example, the efforts of the Armenia Inter-Church Charitable Round Table Foundation (ART),39 which is an ecumenical organisation collaborating closely with churches and nongovernmental organisations with the aim of actively involving the church in social work, are almost unknown. Furthermore, there are many other, smaller NGOs and private initiatives of AAC priests and members that are engaged in supporting displaced Armenians from Syria, but likewise suffer from a lack of public awareness. Thus, in the eyes of the public, the AAC is neither involved in supporting DPs, IDPs and returnees, nor does it maintain any cooperation with governmental institutions on refugee issues. Allegedly there is also a lack of clear statements by the AAC regarding DPs. The AAC also seems to barely cooperate with foreign, religious NGOs or organisations (e.g. Caritas), but rather tries to compete with them. This criticism must be countered, first of all by the fact that the diasporan AAC has reacted with great commitment both in Syria and Armenia. Apart from various smaller aid campaigns and fundraising activities by individual diaspora parishes and dioceses, some outstanding projects were initiated in coordination with the UNHCR Armenia, the Armenian General Benevolent 39 The website of the Armenia Inter-Church Charitable Round Table Foundation is available at http://www.roundtable-act.am/en/ (accessed 2 February 2020).

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Union (AGBU) and the Centre for Coordination of Syrian Armenian Issues (CCSAI). 40 For example, in 2014, the Western Diocese of the Armenian Apostolic Church had implemented a special programme on emergency housing assistance in Armenia for Syrian Armenian refugees together with the Armenian Redwood Project (ARP)41 and the Syrian Armenian Relief Fund (SARF), 42 and has helped hundreds of refugee families in obtaining rent subsidies. Before that, in 2013, the same diocese allocated USD 20,000 to help Syrian Armenians. 43 The Georgian diocese of the Armenian Apostolic Church had already collected funds for Syrian Armenians in 2012, 44 and Armenian parishes from all over the world forwarded help to Syrian Armenians in Armenia and in Syria. Still, direct help from the AAC in Armenia is hardly perceived by the public. It is evident that the organisational and humanitarian structure of other religious organisations, especially the Catholic and evangelical Armenian churches, work faster, more effectively, and above all with a much better public relations and social network, and definitely have more experience in the field of humanitarian aid provision than the AAC in Armenia. Two particularly experienced humanitarian organisations that have developed special projects for the Syrian Armenians should be mentioned here as an example. The first is the Armenian Caritas, 45 which has completed one 40 The CCSAI was founded in October 2012 to help Syrian Armenians to integrate into the educational, social, economic and legal aspects of life in Armenia, to improve their social-economic status, to protect their rights and to plan and realise charitable projects. The NGO has no separate homepage but is active on social media (Facebook) under its Armenian denomination: Սիրիահայերի հիմնախնդիրները համակարգող կենտրոն ՀԿ (Siriahayeri himnaxndirnerě hamakargoł kentron HK). This NGO cooperates with a great number of national and international organisations. 41 Founded in 2014, the Armenian Redwood Project (ARP) is a non-profit social enterprise alliance among diasporan Armenian philanthropists, NGOs and international aid organisations which aims to complement the efforts of the government of Armenia in improving the lives of Syrian refugees that have taken refuge in Armenia by means of providing affordable housing. 42 The Syrian Armenian Relief Fund (SARF) was founded in 2012 in Los Angeles and provides financial assistance to Syrian Armenians. It provides support for education, meeting nutritional needs, essential housing repairs and healthcare throughout Syria. Armenians living inside Syria, specifically inside Aleppo, have been the primary recipients of this assistance, although SARF has also worked together with the Armenian Redwood Project and OXFAM to provide housing rent subsidies to Syrian Armenian refugees who have fled to Armenia. 43 ‘US Western Diocese of Armenian Apostolic Church Allocated 20,000 USD to Help Syrian Armenians’, 3 May 2013, https://armenpress.am/eng/news/717565/ (accessed 2 February 2020). 44 ‘Georgian Diocese of Armenian Apostolic Church to Collect Funds for Syrian Armenians’, 19 November 2020, https://news.am/eng/news/129165.html (accessed 2 February 2020). 45 The Armenian branch of CARITAS was founded in 1995 by the Armenian Catholic Church; the headquarters are located in Gyumri, and other offices are in Vanadzor, Tashir, Artashat, Gavar and Yerevan. For more information, see https://caritas.am/ (accessed 2 February 2020).

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long-term project and is currently undertaking another one, which focuses on increasing the resilience of Syrian Armenians and the host population (IRIS), (2018-2021)46 by aiming to improve housing conditions, increase access to health and social services, and facilitate better integration. The second organisation, which resembles an evangelical-Protestant counterpart to the Catholic Caritas, is the Armenian Missionary Association of America (AMAA). 47 Since 2013 the organisation has received funding to support Syrian Armenians in Armenia, with an emphasis on bringing about an improvement in the living conditions of Syrian Armenians in Armenia with short-term projects like the current ‘Work for Syrian Armenians’. Many other organisations from registered communities in Armenia have assisted Syrian Armenians, among them, just to name a few, the evangelical-charismatic Diaconia Charitable Fund (DCF), 48 the Presbyterian Jinishian Memorial Foundation, 49 the Armenian Bible Society, or the inter-confessional Christian Youth Organization or the Armenian YMCA.50 The most important representative of the AAC refugee response is the above-mentioned sub-organisation of the World Council for Churches, the Armenia Inter-Church Charitable Round Table Foundation (ART).51 Thus, already in 2012 and 2013, ART, supported by the Araratian Pontifical Diocese,52 implemented two humanitarian projects to provide food security to about 46 For a more detailed description of the project, see https://caritas.am/increased-resilienceof-syrian-armenians-and-host-population-iris/ (accessed 2 February 2020). 47 For more information, see https://www.amaa.am/en/ (accessed 2 February 2020). 48 A US/Swiss/Germany-based evangelical humanitarian organisation that was founded as an Armenian help centre after the 1988 earthquake and renamed the Diaconia Charitable Fund in 2001. The fund has already supported DPs from the Karabakh conflict and continues its charitable work with Syrian Armenian refugees (a programme for creating small businesses), http://diaconia.am/. There is a joint endeavour with the Swiss-based organisation AMRO (formerly Diaconia Hilfswerk), https://amro-ev.de/armenien/ (accessed 2 February 2020). 49 The Jinishian Memorial Foundation (JMF) has worked in Armenia since 1993. It is primarily sponsored by the Jinishian Memorial Program (JMP) of the Presbyterian Church USA. It has a programme on assisting Syrian Armenian DPs with housing. See https://www.jinishian.org/ emergency-housing-assistance-to-refugee-households-displaced-from-syria-eng (accessed 2 February 2020). 50 The Armenian YMCA was founded in 1992 to support the regions and people affected by the earthquake of 1988. It was also active in relief programmes for Armenian refugees from Azerbaijan and is now also supporting Syrian Armenian families and youth. YMCA Armenia also maintains an initiative group of Syrian Armenian youth. The headquarters are in Spitak, with other offices located in Gyumri, Vanadzor, Vardenis and Parakar. See https://www.ymca. int/member/ymca-in-europe/ymca-armenia/ (accessed 2 February 2020). 51 For more information, see http://www.roundtable-act.am/en/ (accessed 2 February 2020). 52 The Araratian Pontifical Diocese, covering Yerevan and the whole province of Ararat, is the largest diocese in Armenia.

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1,000 refugee families (about 4,000 people) by contributing pre-loaded food purchase cards and by assisting refugee families with hygiene kits, blankets, school kits, etc.53 In 2015, ART initiated two workforce development programmes for Syrian refugees. Both programmes aimed at developing skills and capacities for the Armenian labour market. One of them was IT training for 21 young Syrian Armenians to improve working opportunities in the IT sector. Another one, in cooperation with an Aleppo NGO, gave 50 refugees the opportunity to improve their education in the service sector or in the craft sector. Moreover, ART provided professional toolkits to fifteen refugees, psychological and spiritual support to 1,500 people and humanitarian support to 2,000 people (ART 2015: 15-16). In 2017, ART continued its response to the Syrian refugee crisis in Armenia by providing psycho-social support and, in cooperation with several NGOs, by helping to prepare Syrian Armenians for the job market by providing vocational training, language training, etc. A special project in cooperation with the Theatre8 NGO was the performance ‘At Home among Strangers’ relating to the challenge of social and cultural integration of Syrian Armenians, with two Syrian Armenian actors (ART 2017: 13). The year 2018 saw the start of further humanitarian projects, such as ‘Ensuring Dignified Lives for Syrian Refugees in Armenia’, in which 40 refugees received vocational training, and ‘A Better Future for Syrian Armenian Youth’, which helped young people between 17 and 35 to integrate in Armenian society by capacity building and value teaching, and enabling them to continue their studies by providing scholarships. The latter helped 182 young people, not all of them Syrian Armenian refugees, but also vulnerable people from the northern region of Armenia (ART 2018: 15). Another good example of AAC activities directed towards helping Syrian Armenians are the initiatives of the above-mentioned Araratian Pontifical Diocese. Since the majority of the Syrian Armenians live in Yerevan and its surroundings, this diocese is also responsible for them. In recent years, the Syrians have chosen the ancient church of Zoravor St. Astvatsatsin in the centre of Yerevan as their spiritual hub, and they are also given special pastoral care. For several years now, the diocese has supported the neediest families at Christmas by supplying 20,000 dram shopping vouchers and gifts for children, as well as organising community celebrations. They are trying to help the Syrian Armenians found a new church community and 53 ART 2013: 15-16. Also some press releases in 2013 quoting (in Armenian): ‘Syrian Armenians are assisted by various structures, one of which is the Armenian Apostolic Church. Thanks to the church more than 1200 families have been given free access to Yerevan City stores with free cards’, https://www.civilnet.am/news/2013/06/21/ (accessed 2 February 2020).

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life in Yerevan, because as the diocese’s Archbishop Navasard Kochoyan has declared, ‘the Syrian Armenians also enrich the life in our Armenia’.54

Conclusion Armenians fleeing the massacres and deportations of the Young Turks came to Russian Armenia mainly from their historical settlement area in Western Armenia, and later from the eastern Armenian enclave of Karabakh to Soviet Armenia. The Armenians from Syria seek refuge in the Republic of Armenia, as do Azerbaijani, Iraqi, Iranian or Ukrainian Armenians. Why does it seem that Syrian Armenians are treated differently by the governmental and church authorities and civil society? All are displaced Armenians having escaped from war and massacres to Armenia. Unlike the Ottoman, Karabakh, Azerbaijani, Iraqi and Iranian Armenians, the Syrian Armenians are the descendants of the survivors of the Genocide. They are rather regarded as returnees or repatriates than as refugees. However, strictly speaking, they do not return to their homeland, to the land of their ancestors, which was the Ottoman Empire and thus the territory of Western Armenia, but rather to the symbolic, imaginary homeland of all Armenians. Moreover, to label the flight of the Armenians from Syria as a second genocide creates further problems, because, according to Sossie Kasbarian, ‘Flying in the face of the Armenian collective memory of genocide, many Armenian locals remain hesitant in their acceptance of Syrian-Armenian refugees’ (Kasbarian 2015: 359). The question as to why there have been differing reactions to ethnic Armenian refugee flows, is left to further in-depth research. In the first enormous refugee/survivor wave from the Ottoman Empire, the Armenian leadership at that time, the AAC, was called upon to resist the extermination of its own people, to care for the survivors and to save as many Armenians as possible. As explained in the preceding sections, what had appeared impossible became possible, as masses of survivors were supplied with the means to meet their basic needs and accommodated in and around the centre of the AAC in Etchmiadzin. Decades later, during the Karabakh conflict, the liberation and independence of Karabakh, the detachment from political dependency on the former Soviet structures and the building of a 54 There are reports about the Christmas celebrations with Syrian Armenians organised by the Araratian Pontifical Diocese, however, only in Armenian: see https://www.qahana.am/am/news/ show/912623089/40; http://armchurch.info/diocese/աջակցություն-սիրիահայ-համայնքին/ (accessed 2 February 2020).

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new Armenia and Karabakh had become the focus of the attention both of the government and the AAC. It was necessary to Armenianise Karabakh again, also in a religious sense. The thousands of refugees from Azerbaijan and Karabakh have caught Armenia almost unprepared. Reports convey the impression that these refugees were actually not wanted, but only tolerated in Armenian society. Perhaps the Armenians were also not sufficiently prepared for the fact that their ‘brother’ Armenians from Azerbaijan and Karabakh were so different in terms of their language, culture and values. The empathy of the local population towards the divergent culture, language variety and values of other Armenians is small, even today.55 Furthermore, the refugees have not, as was foreseen, returned to Karabakh, their new, independent homeland with a restored AAC diocese. In the eyes of the diaspora and the rest of the non-Armenian world, it seems as if all humanitarian efforts have been directed towards Karabakh, while what happened inside Armenia received less attention, as could also be seen from Armenia’s helplessness after the earthquake. The situation is completely different for the Syrian Armenians, even though they number far fewer than those of the Genocide and Karabakh refugees. In any case, the reaction of the government, the Church and civil society and their willingness to help have shifted in a positive direction, as described above, through different relief actions of the Church and the government, important changes to the relevant laws, and closer and better coordinated cooperation of the government and the Church with different NGOs. This positive change may also be due to the serious demographic issue facing the Republic of Armenia: high emigration rates, growing labour migration and falling birth rates have noticeably reduced Armenia’s population since independence in 1991. With its diaspora policy and the amendments to the citizenship laws, Armenia is campaigning for the return of diaspora Armenians. In recent years, many Armenians around the world have been granted Armenian or dual citizenship, many of them without permanent residence or even temporary residence in Armenia. This rapid naturalisation and the efforts facilitate the equally rapid integration (which is often rather an assimilation) of Syrian Armenians thus also benefits the country’s population statistics. Certainly, there is also a simple economic 55 Some examples from public media: ‘Baghdad in Ararat: Iraqi-Armenian Refugees Face Diff iculties Adapting to the “Homeland”’, 5 February 2010, http://www.armenianow.com/ features/20705/refugees_fro_iraq; ‘Syrian Armenians in Armenia: Problems and Prospects’, November 2017, https://www.osf.am/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Syrian-Armenians-in-Armenia.Repatriates-or-Refugees-policy-brief.pdf; ‘Some Syrian Refugees Want to Leave’, 1 May 2014, https://eurasianet.org/armenia-some-syrian-refugees-want-to-leave (accessed 2 February 2020).

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reason for the shortened citizenship process: the Armenian state saves on the enormous costs otherwise due in line with conventional refugee and asylum procedures. At the same time, it helps ensure quantitative growth of the Armenian population, and offer the Church the prospect of an increase in active followers. In the meantime there is a lively discussion ongoing about whether obtaining citizenship also has disadvantages for ethnic Armenian refugees in terms of humanitarian care from outside and further migration.56 To call the Armenian refugees from Syria repatriates or returnees is not appropriate because, as Della Gatta appropriately argues, ‘the latest return is not voluntary, but rather enforced and unwanted due to the impossibility of staying in war-torn Syria’ (Della Gatta 2019: 350). A close look at the refugee response in Armenia reveals an increasingly organised response on the part of the AAC, in addition to the targeted measures of the government and self-help NGOs of Syrian Armenians. This applies both to humanitarian actions, as discussed above, and to spiritual or pastoral care. As reported, church holidays and festivities are celebrated with the new Syrian Armenian community, pilgrimages are organised and pastoral talks and care are also offered within the framework of joint aid projects.57 The fact that many of the activities mentioned are mainly carried out through ART and through dioceses or parishes can possibly be given as one simple reason why the response of the AAC is hardly noticed by the population. ART is not really well known to the Armenian public and, moreover, there is neither a reference to the activities of the social service arm of the Mother See, nor a link to ART or specif ic reports on refugee responses on the official website of the Mother See of Etchmiadzin. Public opinion about the refuge response of the AAC might also be influenced by distrust in the AAC’s leadership. Corruption scandals, controversial church buildings and the involvement of oligarchs in church construction, for example, may have caused the population to doubt the AAC and perceive all activities of the AAC quite selectively.58 56 ‘Syrian Armenians and the Legal Snares of Armenian Citizenship’, 30 May 2019, https://armenianweekly.com/2019/05/30/syrian-armenians-and-the-legal-snares-of-armenian-citizenship/ (accessed 2 February 2020); Davtyan 2017. 57 Some reports in Armenian media (in Armenian): ‘Pilgrimage of the Syrian Community to Tsaghkevank’, June 2018, http://www.surbzoravor.am/post/view/siriahayeri-ukhti-hogenorog-ory (accessed 2 February 2020); ‘Pilgrimage of 50 Syrian Armenians to St. Hakob Church in Mrgavan’, 3 April 2019, http://www.surbzoravor.am/post/view/siriahayeri-ukhti-hogenorog-ory (accessed 2 February 2020). 58 See e.g. ‘Armenia’s Uprising Spreads to Its Church’, 20 July 2018, https://eurasianet.org/ armenias-uprising-spreads-to-its-church (accessed 2 February 2020); ‘Armenian Church Leader Faces Growing Opposition’, La Crox international, 19 July 2018, https://international.la-croix.

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The Church could certainly regain confidence in Armenia by providing targeted pastoral care and humanitarian aid and taking a clear line regarding its assistance to refugees. It could also become an opinion leader with regard to many ethical questions that are viewed contradictorily in Armenia. This could also help the Church to deal better with other religious groups in the country. The perception of threat emanating from other groups could be reduced if the AAC were to cease criticising the refugee response of the ‘others’ or dismissing them as ‘only directed to their own people’ or arguing that humanitarian aid is much easier to organise for the ‘others’ because they receive financial support from the rich West.59 The AAC should at least try to catch up with these groups in the field of humanitarian aid. The arguments put forward by diverse actors in the public sphere against the Church are weak. First, the AAC also finances most of its current aid activities with the help of the diaspora or in cooperation with various international relief organisations. Second, the AAC comes in for some public criticism that it provides help mainly to its own people, i.e. ethnic Armenians. The latter is a crucial ethical issue in Armenia, given the xenophobia and the fear that ‘aliens’ could change or negatively influence Armenian culture and values. Ethnic Armenian DPs are welcome, while others are only greeted with reservation or not at all. And even ethnic Armenian DPs are not all treated in the same way. Nationalism has the power both to unite and to divide people; to strengthen both the perception of ‘people like me’ and of ‘the others’. Such an attitude appears to be incompatible with universal human rights and Christian ethics. Yet research projects triggered by the refugee debate in Europe and elsewhere clearly show that the willingness to help is more likely to emerge when the host population shares religion and (presumed) culture with that of the refugees, which also facilitates integration.60 This phenomenon can also be observed in many countries, because the issue of cultural change or loss is often raised com/news/armenian-church-leader-faces-growing-opposition/80872 (accessed 2 February 2020). Regarding trust, according to a report on 11 October 2017 in Arminfo, 60 per cent of respondents of the EU program do not trust the church ‘elite’ of Armenia: https://arminfo.info/full_news. php?id=27702&lang=3 (accessed 2 February 2020). 59 In an interview with the author in May 2019, a high-ranking clergyman put forward exactly these arguments against Caritas: that it was only financed from the West and that humanitarian aid in Armenia was only given to its own people, i.e. to Catholic Armenians. 60 ‘The Syrian Refugee Crisis: Religious Identity as a Stronger Predictor Than National Identity of Helping in Global Emergencies’, April 2018, https://blogs.lse.ac.uk/religionglobalsociety/2018/04/ the-syrian-refugee-crisis-religious-identity-as-a-stronger-predictor-than-national-identity-ofhelping-in-global-emergencies/ (accessed 2 February 2020).

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in public.61 People are worried about cultural cohesion, racial divides and religious difference, as is expressed in the keyword European Islamophobia. Nevertheless, the AAC should start to reconsider its Christian ethics for the preservation of Armenian culture and the Armenian Christian nation. It should likewise – as the government authorities already attempt – to grant people equal rights and help, regardless of their religious or ethnic affiliation, and to increase the empathy also for ‘others’ in their pastoral efforts. Thus it would be useful to re-orientate its activities along the lines of the example of foreign relief organisations, such as Caritas, which, both internationally and in Armenia, distance themselves from notions of helping only their own people or Christians. The AAC would have a realistic chance of being perceived in a better light were it to issue a decisive Christianethical statement regarding displaced people, and cooperate with other church organisations, religious groups and with government authorities. Furthermore, it should also organise better public relations work and, above all, deprioritise its role as a ‘preserver of Armenianness’ with a view to benefitting the welfare and pastoral care of all people living in Armenia.

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