The Economist - UK - 09.14.2019

36 Europe The EconomistSeptember 14th 2019

I

n theOld Testament, priests are told to

take a tenth of every believer’s crops as

a tax to support the faith. In these latter

days, they can outsource the job to the

state. In many European countries,

“church taxes”—levied on all registered

members of religious organisations by

governments—still exist.

The governments of ten countries

across Europe administer membership

fees on behalf of religious organisations.

In two of these, Spain and Portugal,

believers can opt to pay a portion of their

income tax to their religion of choice. Six

others run opt-out systems, whereby

registered members of certain Christian

churches (and, in some cases, other

religious groups) are required to pay tax.

In most of these, apostasy is the only way

to get out of paying. Some states in Ger-

many require even more arduous meth-

ods of disassociation—in addition to

leaving the church, you must also file a

notarised deregistration form with the

local government, which demands a fee.

In Italy and Iceland churches get a cut

of income tax, so it is hard for taxpayers

to avoid bankrolling them. But not im-

possible. Italians can ask for their share

to go to the state, to spend on humanitar-

ian aid. Icelanders, meanwhile, have

found a cunning way to get refunds.

Their tithes are distributed to each reli-

gious group according to the size of its

flock. A surprising number of people

have registered as members of the Zuist

Church of Iceland, a previously obscure

group that preaches ancient Sumerian

beliefs. It refunds the contributions of its

members, greatly broadening its appeal.

Some people are content to keep

paying. A report in April found that in the

six European countries that run opt-out

systems, 68%-80% of people said that

they pay the church tax. Not all of them

are religious—in Sweden 32% of people

reported paying despite being unaffiliat-

ed to any creed.

Why would the godless choose to

fund a faith? Many believe, often rightly,

that churches help the needy. The sheer

bother of bureaucracy probably stops

others from opting out. And some find it

emotionally difficult to make a formal

declaration that they are leaving the faith

in which they were brought up. “I can’t

for some reason get myself to leave the

church altogether, although I’m highly

sceptical of the institution,” explains

Jonas, a German who gives about €50 of

his monthly salary to the Catholic

church. “I know it’s a bit irrational, but

there’s something that holds me back.”

Nonetheless, many secular types

wonder what business the state has in

collecting membership dues for reli-

gious institutions. No other civil associa-

tion is so lucky. Ironically, church taxes

were first introduced to separate church

and state by preventing the state from

funding churches directly.

Pay to pray, even if you don’t

Church taxes

The strange persistence of state-administered tithes

“I

grew upapolitical, I never voted, and

all I cared about was vacation, travel,

and debt,” a young man in a buttoned-up

polo shirt says into the camera. “Now I’m

too scared to tweet, I’m afraid of my own

country’s police.” The camera pulls out.

The man, it is revealed, is behind bars. Seat-

ed to his side is Sarp Palaur, better known

as Saniser, a popular rapper. “Sorry to say,

but this hopeless generation is your cre-

ation,” Mr Palaur snaps back at his cell-

mate. “The justice that was supposed to

protect you will come knocking and break

down your door...you didn’t say a word,

which means you’re guilty.”

Packed with such lyrics and images,

“Susamam” (“I can’t stay quiet”) has

touched a nerve among a large number of

Turks. In the week since its release, the

song and accompanying video have earned

praise from opposition figures, 20m views

on YouTube and accusations of links to ter-

ror groups from pro-government newspa-

pers. A searing jeremiad on the current

state of Turkey’s democracy, “Susamam”

pulls few punches. Over the space of 15

minutes, a parade of about 20 rappers, in-

cluding Mr Palaur, who masterminded the

project, fume about corruption, violence

against women, the arrests of journalists,

education, the lakes of concrete poured

over some of the country’s natural won-

ders, and creeping fascism. The song does

not mention Turkey’s President, Recep

Tayyip Erdogan, by name. But it is as good

an indictment as any of his government’s

recent abuses.

The string of losses Mr Erdogan and his

Justice and Development (ak) party suf-

fered in local elections earlier this year

seems to have emboldened some previous-

ly tongue-tied government critics. Ekrem

Imamoglu, the opposition politician the

government robbed of victory in the Istan-

bul mayoral race back in March, pointedly

called on artists and businessmen to break

their silence before the re-run. Many did

so, and endorsed Mr Imamoglu, who went

on to win big. A handful of former akbig-

wigs have since broken with Mr Erdogan,

confirming they would launch one or more

rival parties.

Yet speaking out continues to come at a

price. On September 6th, the day “Susa-

mam” was released, a Turkish court sen-

tenced Mr Imamoglu’s closest associate,

the head of his party’s Istanbul branch, to

nearly 10 years in prison for “insulting the

president”, “inciting people to hatred and

enmity” and “terrorist propaganda”. The

evidence against her consisted of a collec-

tion of social-media posts. A couple of

weeks earlier, the government unseated

the newly elected mayors of Diyarbakir,

Van and Mardin, three of the country’s big-

gest Kurdish cities, over alleged (but un-

proven) links to an armed separatist group,

the pkk. Rumours persist that other oppo-

sition mayors may meet a similar fate.

Many Turks are now calculating that it

is better to be silent than sorry. A recent

study by the Reuters Institute found that

65% of respondents said they were anxious

about expressing their political views on

the internet, the highest among the 37

countries examined. Only last year, over

36,000 people were investigated on char-

ges of insulting Mr Erdogan. The artists be-

hind “Susamam” may be next in line. One

government mouthpiece has already re-

ferred to the song as the work of outside en-

emies and terrorist groups. “Susamam” is

in fact something more dangerous to Mr

Erdogan—a reminder that Turkish society

is too diverse, too young and too unruly to

remain quiet for long. 7

ISTANBUL

Not going quietly

Tu r ke y

Protest rap in

Turkey