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By Joseph Daniel, October 16, 2025 

I remember years ago when I filled out my first visa form in the Middle East, I paused at a line that startled me: “What is your religion?”  

As an American, my immediate reaction was surprise. I thought, “They can’t ask that!” In the United States, religion is considered a private matter. It is rarely recorded on government-issued documents like passports, driver’s licenses, or birth certificates, and asking about it would generally be seen as inappropriate, if not unconstitutional. But in much of the Middle East and North Africa, the question is routine. Religion is a matter of public record, formally documented and woven into legal, administrative, and social systems. 

This article traces how religious identity became embedded in state systems across the Middle East. It begins by defining what religious registration means and how it functions today, then examines its historical roots in the Ottoman “millet” system. Drawing on examples from Turkey, Egypt, and the Levant, it explores how these laws continue to shape marriage, education, and citizenship, and concludes by considering what meaningful reform toward religious freedom could look like. 

Defining Religious Registration 

Religious registration is the idea and practice of assigning everyone a religion at birth. In the Middle East, that religion is usually decided based on the father’s registered religion. In many countries, one’s registered religion is displayed publicly on official documents such as birth certificates, national IDs, passports, and marriage certificates. The religion assigned will then determine which rules and laws that person is subject to within the national legal and social system. 

This system affects daily life, determining which courts handle family disputes, who one may marry, what children study in school, and even where one may be buried. 

Religious registration can also lead to systemic persecution when Christians are barred from certain positions because their ID identifies them as Christian. Certain positions in government, education, sports, or the military are reserved for Muslims. 

This marked identity can also expose individuals to harassment or targeting, especially in times of conflict or sectarian tension. In Lebanon, Iraq, and Syria, for example, people may face discrimination at checkpoints, in schools and universities, during military service, or in other social settings, resulting in shunning, verbal abuse, or even physical mistreatment and violence. 

In cases where a Christian child’s father dies and the mother remarries a Muslim man, in some countries, custody issues arise, and several high-profile cases have resulted in the child’s religious registration being changed to Muslim. Similarly, when a father converts to Islam, custody of the wife and children can be affected. 

For Muslim-background Christians, the Muslim ID can hinder them from publicly practicing their new Christian faith. Attending a church, especially during holidays, can carry risk, as being caught may lead to serious consequences from authorities. Online activity is also monitored in some countries to ensure that individuals do not disturb social or religious harmony within the Muslim-majority community. 

These Christians from a Muslim background, especially women, face major challenges in exercising freedom in who they marry. They remain registered as Muslim and therefore cannot legally marry outside Islam due to Islamic regulations prohibiting Muslim women from marrying non-Muslim men. Her only legal marriage option is to a Muslim man. If she wishes to marry a Christian according to her privately held Christian faith, she must find another Muslim convert to Christianity. However, when they have children, those children will still be registered as Muslim and must enroll in an Islamic curriculum at school, despite being a “Christian” family, but not in the eyes of the legal system.  

For converts from Christianity to Islam, a similar problem arises: their family will be considered Muslim even if they raise their children in a Christian environment for generations. This dilemma can be so burdensome that it leaves families with few options and contributes to many Muslim-background Christians emigrating to Western countries, where there is more freedom to live according to their beliefs and to raise children outside compulsory Islamic education.  

This religious registration system did not appear overnight. Its logic reaches back centuries, to the Ottoman Empire’s millet system, which formalized religious identity as the basis of governance. 

Historical Roots  

The religious registration system has its roots in the Ottoman millet system. For more than six centuries, the Ottoman Empire ruled most of what is now the modern Middle East. As an Islamic monarchy, it governed diverse and sizable non-Muslim minorities, including diverse Christian communities, within its borders. These groups were organized into distinct religious communities — known as “millets” — and each millet was granted internal autonomy over its own religious and personal-status affairs. 

Under this system, each community had jurisdiction over matters such as marriage, divorce, and inheritance, which were governed according to its own religious law. For example, Christian communities followed canon law in ordering family and church matters. Registration, too, was organized by the religious community — personal documents identified individuals by their millet affiliation. 

Despite this internal autonomy, non-Muslims were still regarded as second-class citizens within the empire, holding “dhimmi” status. This meant that they were protected under Islamic law in exchange for paying the “jizya,” a tax levied on non-Muslim subjects. But these communities did not enjoy the full rights of Muslim citizens. Dhimmis were excluded from military and high civil service positions, faced limitations on the construction and public display of religious buildings, and were restricted as witnesses in Islamic courts. Their protection was contingent on loyalty and payment, not equality of citizenship. 

The collection of the jizya and other community taxes was the responsibility of each millet’s leadership, who acted as intermediaries between their people and the Ottoman administration. In this way, the empire sought to maintain sectarian cohesion and minimize conflict by allowing communities to govern internal matters while maintaining ultimate imperial control based on Islamic principles. The millet system thus institutionalized religion as a category of governance — a legacy that would outlast the empire itself and shape how modern states defined citizenship and belonging. 

After the fall of the Ottoman Empire in 1922 and the rise of Arab nationalism, newly formed states adapted the millet model to the nation-state framework. Where the Ottoman system managed religious identity communally, the modern state largely applied it to individual citizens. In theory, this shift promised equal rights for all; in practice, many citizens continued to experience discrimination under laws influenced by Islamic tradition, limiting full freedom of religion. By the time the modern Middle Eastern states emerged, the millet system’s logic had been absorbed into national law religion remained the organizing principle, only now applied to individuals rather than communities. 

The adaptation of the millet legacy took many forms in the region. Lebanon developed a confessional representation system, reserving political positions for members of specific religious sects, including for Maronite Christians in parliament and the presidency. Jordan, with its parliamentary monarchy and official state religion of Islam, allows for state-registered churches and reserves a certain quota of registered Christians in parliamentary seats. Iraq, since 2003, has adopted the “muhasasa” system, allocating government representation to Muslim sects and ethnic groups (including Syriac/Chaldean Christians).  

Turkey and Israel established formally secular republics, though both remain influenced by dominant religious traditions. Meanwhile, Syria, Iraq, and Egypt developed strong centralized states — Ba’athist regimes in Syria (under the Assad family) and Iraq (under Saddam Hussein) — that alternated between secular authoritarianism and challenges from Islamic movements. Egypt’s brief Muslim Brotherhood government (2012–2013), along with the rise of extremist groups such as the Islamic State group (ISIS) and al-Qaida, illustrates how the tension between religious and secular authority continues to shape the region. 

Modern Landscape in the Middle East 

In the contemporary Middle East, the legacy of religious registration remains deeply entrenched, though it manifests differently across countries. Some states have removed religion from the visible fields of identity cards, while others continue to display it openly. Yet in nearly all, governments still record and track each citizen’s religious affiliation through internal registries that regulate personal status law, marriage, inheritance, education, and other key aspects of life. 

Egypt remains one of the most visible examples. Religion continues to appear on national ID cards, and conversion from Islam to another religion is not officially recognized. While Christians and others may legally convert to Islam, the reverse is seldom allowed. Even when courts privately acknowledge a person’s conversion, official records continue to classify that individual according to their birth religion — creating serious challenges for converts and their families. Egyptian Christians have long struggled under a unified national family law system influenced by Islamic jurisprudence. To address this, church leaders have pushed for a distinct personal status law for Christians — based on canon law rather than Islamic or mixed secular frameworks — though progress remains slow and politically sensitive. 

Lebanon presents a contrasting model. Religion does not appear on ID cards, yet the entire political and legal system is structured around confessional representation. Every citizen is registered within a sect — Maronite, Sunni, Shi‘a, Druze, Orthodox, and others — and personal status law is adjudicated through that sect’s religious courts. The absence of religion on the ID card gives an appearance of neutrality, but in practice, the sectarian system remains the foundation of public life and governance. 

Jordan officially removed religion from its ID cards in 2016, but the internal civil registry continues to record it. This registry determines which personal status law applies to each citizen, meaning that interfaith marriage, conversion, and child custody remain under the jurisdiction of religious courts. Thus, religious registration remains fully operative — perhaps only less visible. Muslims fall under the jurisdiction of Sharia courts, while Christians are governed by ecclesiastical courts, also known as the Tribunals of Religious Communities. 

Iraq, after 2003, adopted a constitution guaranteeing freedom of religion. In practice, however, conversion from Islam remains prohibited, and children of a Muslim father are automatically registered as Muslim, regardless of the mother’s faith. ID cards continue to display religion, and religious identity often shapes access to state employment, education, and even physical safety — especially in areas marked by sectarian conflict. Recent efforts, particularly in the Kurdistan Region, seek to introduce personal status laws like those in Lebanon and Jordan to help protect Iraq’s dwindling Christian minority, but these reforms face both legal and political resistance. 

Turkey officially removed the religion field from new electronic IDs in 2017, marking a major step toward secularization. However, the Directorate of Civil Registration still maintains records of each citizen’s religion in the national database. Citizens may request to leave the field blank, but many avoid doing so out of fear that it could draw scrutiny or suspicion from employers or authorities. 

Israel, meanwhile, maintains a system rooted in its religious-national identity. While religion does not appear on ID cards, it determines access to marriage and family law through the authority of recognized religious courts — Jewish, Muslim, Christian, and Druze. Individuals may marry only within their registered community, and interfaith marriages must be performed abroad to be legally recognized within Israel. 

Across these contexts, one pattern stands out: whether visible or hidden, religious registration continues to define legal belonging. The outward removal of religion from identity cards often conceals a deeper administrative reality of the persistence of state-managed religious identity. Reforms such as those proposed in Jordan, Egypt, and Iraq that aim at creating separate personal status laws for Christians represent meaningful steps, but their implementation and impact remain limited and contested. 

Who Benefits? Who Is Disadvantaged? 

Religious registration serves multiple purposes. Administratively, it allows the state to regulate marriage, custody, inheritance, and burial through personal status law. Politically, it enables governments to monitor sectarian demographics, especially in countries such as Lebanon and Iraq, where communal balance is sensitive. For established religious institutions, it provides a mechanism to identify members and maintain legal authority over family law. 

But this system also produces clear disadvantages. Converts from Islam face near-insurmountable barriers, unable to change their official religion or marry within their new faith. Minority communities are confined to their registered identities, even across generations, while individuals with no formal religion remain legally invisible. 

Yet the deeper issue is not merely bureaucratic, but whether religion is an individual’s status, a communal category, or a matter of state authority. 

Effects on Religious Liberty 

This debate goes to the heart of one of humanity’s most fundamental rights: freedom of thought, conscience, and religion. Religious registration determines whether people are treated as full citizens or bound by identities they did not choose. By turning faith into a matter of public record, states blur the line between private conscience and public status. 

In the West, religious freedom is viewed as an individual right — the ability to believe, not believe, or convert. In much of the Middle East, religion functions as a communal identity that provides belonging and protection. Changing faith, therefore, crosses social and political lines, not just theological ones. Reform must navigate both individual rights and communal realities if it is to take root in societies where faith has long been tied to citizenship and security. Understanding this difference is essential because the path toward reform depends on reconciling these two visions of religious freedom. 

Conclusion 

This system has deep historical logic. It was designed to manage diversity and maintain social order in a region of extraordinary religious complexity. Yet today, that same system often confines individuals within identities they did not choose, limiting freedom of belief and reinforcing divisions that modernization promised to overcome. 

For millions of Christians, converts, and other minorities, it shapes not only what rights they have, but how safely they can exercise them. 

Still, reform is possible. Some governments have already taken incremental steps — removing religion from visible documents, expanding civil marriage options, or recognizing new communities. Legal reforms that make registration voluntary, restrict state access to personal religious data, or create unified civil personal status laws would represent tangible progress. Each small administrative change expands the space for conscience, for pluralism, and for coexistence. 

Ultimately, the question that startled me years ago on that visa form continues to echo: “What is your religion?” The challenge before the Middle East is whether that question will remain one the state must answer for every citizen — or whether one day, it will again become what it was always meant to be: a question of personal faith, freely held, freely lived.