Women in Islam Journal - Issue 4

WO M E N SIHA Journal / Issue No. 4

The Legacy of Fatima Ahmed Ibrahim Navigating Politics and Feminism in a Traditional Society

Eritrean Women Fighters Memories of War and Representation of Women's Bodies

Faith, Love, Emancipation Why Kenyan Women Join Al-Shabaab

DOSSIER: Women's Sexuality in Islam

In Islam

EDITORIAL 05 Three Questions To: Ssali Yusuf, an Artist Inspired

by African Women

PEOPLE

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06 The Conflicting Legacy of Fatima Ahmed Ibrahim Navigating Politics and Feminism in a Traditional Society 10 Women in the Thought of Mahmoud Mohammed Taha A Critical Approach 14 When Women Take the Wheel Nasra's Journey to Becoming a Mechanic 16 Growing Up as a Muslim Girl 18 Painting to Heal How Female Ethiopian Domestic Workers Overcome Trauma 20 Anticlockwise A Poem by Kishwara Naheed

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EQUALITY 22 Men In Charge?

Rethinking Authority in Muslim Legal Tradition 25 A Fatwa Against Sexual Violence The Story of a Historic Congress of Female Islamic Scholars 28 Under the Laws of Men 31 Invoking Justice: A Film Review In Southern India, Marriage Can Become a Matter of Life or Death 34 Women's Struggle for Equal Inheritance in Somaliland

BETWEEN TWO WORLDS

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36 Memories of War and the Bodies of Eritrean Women Fighters 40 The New Jackpot When Corporations Capitalise on Muslim Women 43 The Fiction of ‘Back Home’ Among the Canadian Darfur Diaspora 46 Wanted Women: Reflection on the Lives of Ayaan Hirsi Ali and Aafia Siddiqui A Book by Deborah Scroggins 49 Tribute to My Grandfather An Unconventional Sudanese Muslim Man

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THE PUBLIC AND THE PRIVATE 52 The Taming of the Shrew 55 "He was the Love of My Life" Why Women Marry into Boko Haram

PHOTO STORY 58 Looking Back to Look Ahead When Women Take the Stage

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61 The Fatwa Discourse Women at the Mercy of Religious Legal Opinions 64 Cycling on the Road to Equality An interview with Enass Muzamil, Founder of the Sudanese Female Cyclists Initiative

PERSPECTIVES 66 The Impact of Dogma on Scientific Progress 69 Faith, Love, Emancipation Why Kenyan Women Join Al-Shabaab

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72 Women and Islam in Contemporary Indonesia 76 Smash the Patriarchy: Allies and Surrogates 79 A Way Forward Reviving Female Scholarship in Islam

WOMEN’S SEXUALITY IN ISLAM Between Obsession and Taboo 82 Afghanistan: The Taboo of Sexual Rejection 85 Women's Burden Prosecution of Adultery in Sudan

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87 The Shame is Ours 90 Condemned for Being a Mother 92 Child Marriage Reform in Sudan Religious Counter-Mobilisation 95 Women's Sexuality in Islam An Unjustified Taboo 98 Unwed Mothers Do Not Belong Here 102 The Echo 103 SIHA Publications

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EDITORIAL Impressum Publisher Strategic Initiative for Women in the Horn of Africa (SIHA) Editor-In-Chief Hala Alkarib Editorial Coordinator Célia Hitzges Editorial Team Alsir Alsayed, Aisha Al-Smani, Abdulkhalig El-Sir, Mayada Eltayb, Justine Namuyanja, Mar tha Tukahirwa Proofreaders Ginger Johnson Translators Sam Berner, Faisal Elbagir, Mohamed Elfaki, Shamseldin Osman Contributors Tagreed S. Z. Abdin, Feda Abdo, Bidur Fath Elrahman Ahmed, Dina Afrianty, Yosra Akasha, Hala Alkarib, Alsir Alsayed, Safia Alseddig, Odharnait Ansbro, Fathima Azmiya Badurdeen, Zahra Bajwa, Naqiba Barakzai, Faouzia Farida Char fi, Mohamed Elfaki, Abdulkhalig El-Sir, Sondra Hale, Abdifatah Hassan Ali, Célia Hitzges, Guleid Ahmed Jama, Kate Kingsford, Mirjam Künkler, Faridah Kyomuhangi, Ziba Mir-Hosseini, Ayaan Khalif Mohamed, Osman Mubarak, Enass Muzamil, Eva Nisa, Shahinaz Sabeel, Tashny Sukumaran, Yousef Timacade, Liv Tønnessen Art Ahmed Abushariaa, Sara Mekki Ahmed, Hanna Barczyk, Dann Connell, Nusreldin Eldouma, Salah Ibrahim, Ipoot Joshua, Hussein Mirghani, Roney Ogwang, Rayah Ombaddi, Blaise Patrix, Anne-Laure Pierrelot, Ibrahim Sayed, Galal Yousif, Ssali Yusuf Design Tarek Atrissi Design ISSN Number 9-789970-949649 These compilations are © copyright by their respective authors or SIHA. All editorial content and graphics may not be copied, reused, reprinted or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the authors or SIHA. Request for permission should be directed to: Strategic Initiative for Women in the Horn of Africa (SIHA) Plot 3 Katalima Bend, Naguru, Kampala P.O. Box 2793, Kampala, Uganda sihahornofafrica@gmail.com www.sihanet.org Visit our blog at: womeninislamjournal.org

Dear Reader,

After a long journey, we are pleased to present you with the fourth issue of Women in Islam! Amid current global political crises and the growth of religious fundamentalism, the emergence of the ‘Me Too’ movement in the United States and in Europe offers a glimmer of hope. The movement, which amplifies women’s voices to expose the rich and the powerful and challenge patterns of exploitation and abusive gender relations, is definitively a step in the right direction.

However, for women in the Horn of Africa, indeed for many women throughout the world, the struggle often takes a different form. Sexual exploitation and abuse do not happen behind closed doors. On many occasions, sexual violence is justified and normalised by religious doctrines and cultural norms which are often endorsed by laws and legal practices. While male guardianship is protected under the law in several countries of the Horn of Africa, the right of women to consensual sex is denied and the criminalisation of marital rape is rejected. This legal and societal construct naturally creates an enabling environment that normalises sexual violence.

The good news is that, thanks to the tireless work of generations of women’s rights activists, younger women in the Muslim world are becoming more outspoken about sexual exploitation and violence. However, the battle remains complicated.

Movements that call for change must have the audacity to challenge patriarchy as an extension of long-established political and economic power dynamics. We should not only denounce sexual violence but also expose the norms and conditions that enable women to be exploited, abused and harassed.

It is with all this in mind that we have decided to dedicate the dossier of this year’s journal to the issue of women’s sexuality in Islam, a topic too often surrounded with prohibition and fear. In particular, the dossier unveils the paradox according to which women in the Horn of Africa and other Muslim countries live in societies that regard them as sexual beings while they are all too often trapped in ‘sexual misery.’ Beyond the dossier, this issue of Women in Islam continues to reflect the powerful voices of women and men who are debating issues such as the recruitment of women into militant movements, the impact of religious dogma on science, and the legacy of influential figures from the region.

Dear Reader, the Women in Islam Journal is gaining in importance and finding its niche as a feminist publication focused on gender relations and women’s lived realities. As we are expanding our reach, it is essential to remember that our growth is directly connected to you. Your support and contribution, as a reader, a writer or a commenter are crucial to the success of the Journal.

Finally, I would like to thank my colleague and Co-editor, Célia Hitzges, who worked with me on the past two issues of Women in Islam and who will now be moving onto a new chapter in her career. The entire editorial team, and myself in particular, will greatly miss Célia. Her professionalism and passion are qualities rarely encountered.

This volume of Women in Islam would not have been possible without the assistance of the International Women’s Program of the Open Society Foundations and Sigrid Rausing Trust Fund. We are very grateful for their continued support.

Sincerely, Hala Alkarib Editor-In-Chief

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THREE QUESTIONS TO:

Ssali Yusuf: An Artist Inspired

by African Women PATRIARCHY

can be defined as the “manifestation and institutionalisation of male dominance over women and children in the family and the extension of male dominance over women in society in general. It implies that men hold power in all the important institutions of society and women are deprived of access to such power. It does not imply that women are either totally powerless or totally deprived of rights, influences, and resources.”1 From a feminist perspective, patriarchy is regarded as a powerful mode of organising society, culture and individuals that reproduces a social system of gender inequality.

1

arilyn French, Beyond Power: On Women, Men M and Morals (New York: Summit, 1985), 239.

Measuring women , s world

is the age at which a girl can be legally married in Sudan according to article 40 of the current Personal Status Act of 1991.

Ssali Yusuf, born in Uganda in 1983, is a prolific artist whose work had been widely exhibited in Africa, Europe and the United States. He began his professional career in 2002 while studying industrial art and design at Makerere University in Kampala. Ssali currently lives in Oakland, California and is the proud father of three children.

Why did you name this painting “Taking a Decision”?

“I chose this title because I wanted to address the participation of women in decision-making. I believe that women now have the capacity to change the world we live in and that they are key actors in the development of our societies. They cannot be left behind anymore. Women act as a bridge between culture and traditions and tomorrow’s reality.”

What is your main source of inspiration?

It is part of our culture and can be used as an educational or therapeutic tool. It is very important for me to spread the joy and pleasure of working in art with others – not only to teach the skills and materials of art, but to help people find and express their own creativity. I have spent a lot of time providing art therapy to HIV/AIDS patients and art classes to orphans and street children in Uganda.

I believe that art has the power to bring people from all walks of life together.”

“I draw my inspiration from the day-to-day life of African women and nature – birds, fish, butterflies, etc. I often depict African women because I believe that they embody the cultural diversity of Africa and are the backbones of our nations. I want to support the emancipation and empowerment of women so that they are considered as human beings who deserve the same respect as men.”

Do you think that art can be used to create cohesion between communities in Uganda and beyond?

“Art, be it abstract or realistic, is a language that speaks to everyone.

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The Conflicting Legacy of Fatima Ahmed Ibrahim Navigating Politics and Feminism in a Traditional Society Fatima was born at a time of transition. In the 1930s, Sudanese society was swinging between the conservative legacy of the defeated Mahdiyya state and the capturing lights of modernity brought in by the Anglo-Egyptian administration who took over Sudan in 1898. The 1930s also marked the brutal repression of military elites by the colonial regime after the failed revolution of 1924 in which insurgents attempted to overthrow the British administration. This crackdown sent a strong message that any attempt to rebel against colonial rule would not be tolerated.

Fatima was brought up in a privileged home. One of her grandfathers (on her father’s side) was an Imam, while her other grandfather (on her mother’s side) was a school headmaster. Fatima’s father, Ahmed Ibrahim, was a Gordon Memorial College graduate2 who later became a school headmaster. Her mother was a woman from Khartoum who had received an education, a rare occurrence at the time. Being the descendant of an Imam, Fatima benefited from a traditional upbringing while having access to secular education and whitecollar positions. This dual background was an essential factor in shaping Fatima’s, and more generally Sudanese elites’, class identity and sense of being.

Painting by Nusreldin Eldouma, Sudan

In the early morning of August 12th, 2017, Fatima Ahmed Ibrahim, a renowned Sudanese political activist who influenced the women’s rights movement in Sudan, passed away. Fatima was born in 1933 in Omdurman, one of the three towns that form greater Khartoum. Lying on the western bank of the Nile River, Omdurman was the capital of the Sudanese Mahdist state,1 established after the overthrow of the Turco-Egyptian regime that ruled the country from 1820 to 1885.

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Fatima was also born into a political and rebellious family. After his appointment to the Department of Education, Fatima’s father was fired by the British administration when he refused to teach his subjects in English. His opposition to the colonial authority had an extended influence on his children, including Fatima.

The house of Ahmed Ibrahim became the meeting place in Omdurman for anti-colonial and liberation advocates, and his children quickly grew interest in the emerging Sudanese communist movement in the 1940s.

When Fatima entered secondary school in the late 1940s, she was already involved in the nascent and youthful anti-colonialist movement. She led a fearless

campaign in her school against the administration’s decision to cancel science lessons and limit girls’ education to home economics. Fatima and her fellow female students went on strike, forcing the school to back down. She also produced at that time a student wallpaper called Al Rayed which was largely influenced by anti-colonialist ideas.

In 1947, Fatima joined efforts with a number of educated women from Omdurman such as Dr. Khalda Zahir, a physician and women’s rights activist, and formed the Intellectual Women’s Association. In 1952, she established the Sudanese Women’s Union (SWU) where she served as president for most of her political career. The Union published one of the first feminist magazines – Sawt al-Marʾa (Woman's Voice) – on the African continent. In 1954, Fatima joined the Sudanese Communist Party (SCP), which was leading the anticolonialist struggle based on socialist principles.

Following the independence of Sudan in 1956, a large number of educated elites joined the SCP, whose growing influence was regarded as a threat by traditional and religious-based political parties including the emerging Muslim Brotherhood. External powers also looked with concern at the rise of the SCP at a time when the Cold War agenda dominated global politics. The SCP was eager to recruit women, recognising early on that the participation of women as political and economic actors was instrumental in the growth of the party. It also very quickly recognised the potential power of SWU, which eventually became an extension and affiliate organisation to the SCP. Aware of the conservative context in which they were operating, both SWU and SCP were keen on demonstrating respect for traditional values while also promoting the rights of women to vote, be elected, get equal pay for equal work, and obtain maternity leave.

As an activist, Fatima succeeded in mediating and

enforcing the political agenda of her party with regards to women’s rights and their engagement in public life.

Her discourse about women’s liberation extended across Sudanese society and surely contributed to a significant shift in gender relations in Sudan.

There is no doubt that Fatima was an icon of her time.

She personified the image of the modern woman in the Sudan of the 1960s. She had the credentials to become a successful leader. She came from a elite, privileged family originating from central Sudan with a mixed tribal and cultural background. She wore the traditional Sudanese thoub (long piece of fabric which wraps around the body) and, more importantly, had an eloquent and coherent discourse appealing to the public.

Hala Alkarib, an activist and researcher from Sudan, has a long history of promoting the rights of women in the Horn of Africa and East African region. She is Director of the Strategic Initiative for Women in the Horn of Africa and the Editor-in-Chief of Women in Islam.

Fatima became among the most popular figures in post-independent Sudan. Women imitated her look – modern but respectful of tradition – and men appreciated her reserved and non-threatening presence.

Fatima gave Sudanese society a comfortable and non-intimidating example of how educated women should be and act.

Her popularity climaxed with her election to parliament in 1965 when she was only 32-years-old.

She became the first elected female parliamentarian not only in Sudan, but in the Middle East and Africa as well.

However, given Sudan’s fragile and volatile political environment, Fatima’s honeymoon with politics could only be short-lived. She chose to join a political party whose secular and socialist agenda was controversial in the context of traditional and religious Sudan. Starting in 1965, SCP members struggled to stay in parliament after being depicted as apostates of Islam following an aggressive campaign led by religious political parties and the Muslim Brotherhood.

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From this time on, Fatima’s career and personal life suffered a series of crises and controversies.

The first crisis occurred when prominent members of the SWU defected and joined the military regime of Gafaar Nimeiri that came to power in May 1969. In the same fashion, the SCP split into two factions: those who wished to cooperate with the new government and those who stood against the military coup. Those who opposed the regime paid a heavy toll after radical left military officers unsuccessfully tried to overthrow Nimeiri in 1971.

Following the failed coup, the dissident officers and a number of SCP leaders were either executed or sent for long-term imprisonment. Among them, the SCP General Secretary, Abdulkhalig Mahjoub, and Fatima’s husband, Alshafi Ahmed Al-Sheikh, a trade unionist and member of the SCP central committee, were both brutally killed in July 1971. Fatima herself was put under house arrest for more than two years following the execution of her husband and the two organisations she was affiliated with, the SCP and SWU, were both outlawed.

These events, in my view, largely impacted Fatima’s personality and political views as a strong sense of anger and victimisation have since overshadowed her public engagement. The privileged and admired woman from Omdurman who engaged in politics under the influence of her father and two brothers, came to experience the violence of power mongers.

In 2007, I wrote an online article3 where I criticised Fatima’s legacy as a women’s rights advocate. I highlighted how her positions and conservative discourse clash with the feminist agenda. Fatima became vocal about enforcing women’s subordination, emphasising how women should dress and behave in public. She also resented addressing challenges related to women’s sexuality and reproductive rights.

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I also criticised in this article how she ignored the plurality and diversity of the Sudanese feminist movements. I remember attending one of her public lectures at Khartoum University in the early 1990s where she vehemently condemned and criminalised pregnancy outside of marriage and warned that she expected SWU members not to make such a mistake.

Many young women at the time reacted by publicly disapproving Fatima’s conservative and judgemental attitude. This example showed how she had lost touch with the younger generation and lost her legitimacy in the feminist arena.

Her position on the status of women in Islam was in fact more conservative than that of some of her male contemporaries, including Hassan Al-Turabi from the Muslim Brotherhood who in his early days challenged the traditional jurisprudence on women’s rights and equality, and Mahmoud Taha, the prominent reformer who suggested fundamental reform to the marriage contract and denounced polygamy.

This conservative stance on gender equality allowed her to gain recognition and support from male elites.

In an article commenting on Fatima’s speech delivered on International Women’s Day in 1980, Dr. Abduallhi Ibrahim, once a SCP member, praised Fatima’s conservative approach. In particular, he approved her ‘wisdom’ when she decided that the SWU campaign on the family law in the 1960s should only address the issue of the ‘House of Obedience’ – a jurisprudence construct that allows a man to hold his wife in a location of his choice to discipline her if she disobeys him. “Fatima found no objection to the practiced Sudan personal status laws other than the house of obedience. As for the rest of the articles, they are either approved and left intact by her,” he highlighted in his March 2011 article.4 Having said that, I realise that my analysis of Fatima’s legacy in 2007 ignored the circumstances under which

Fatima entered the political arena and the women’s rights movement. Fatima developed as a public figure under the complex shadow of traditional Islam and central Sudanese conservative values prevalent in Omdurman, the city of her birth. She also had to navigate a party torn between progressive political views and a traditional and religious constituency.

The SCP did not want to upset its electoral base and tactically chose to minimalise its engagement in gender justice and cultural issues while advocating for ambitious political reforms.

The SCP understood the strategic importance of recruiting women, but still had to face resistance from its members and criticism from its opponents. Accusations of immorality and promiscuity were systematically used to undermine the party’s male and female members. The SCP itself was a male dominated institution and many of its members thought that women could not claim the same ideological positions as their male counterparts in society. It is worth noting that, through the years, many female party members have spoken, though informally, of patterns of harassment, alienation and humiliation within the SCP. I believe that Fatima understood her environment and its constraints very well. As a politician, she was aware of the patriarchal powers surrounding her, even in her own party. I think that in some ways she chose to reconcile with the patriarchal system that contributed to her political rise and personal wellbeing. In my view, Fatima struggled to draw the line between her empathy with the Sudanese traditional values and her desire to position herself as an actor of change.

Like many other female nationalists of her time, Fatima assumed that change only happens through political power, forgetting that political power is shaped by the society that produces it.

“This is not the right time” was the typical answer Fatima used when asked by young women activists why the SWU did not address issues pertaining to women’s reproductive rights or sexual violence.

Embracing the position of many secular nationalist groups, Fatima assumed that gender equality was not a priority issue in the broader struggle for power and her organisations, SCP and SWU, voluntarily adopted a conservative stance on women’s rights.

Fatima’s position reminds me of the discussions in Sudan and Somalia on the active role of women in perpetuating female genital mutilation and infibulation. Women do not intend to repeat the cycle of suffering as much as they want to secure their daughters’ future by protecting their virginity, a prerequisite for marriage and social life. Similarly, Fatima tried to protect women and avoid clashes with patriarchy by limiting her claims to what was socially acceptable at the time. In the last decades of her life, Fatima grew closer to the conservatives and distanced herself from the progressive agenda that she initially fought for and based her legacy on.

I was in Khartoum when her funeral was organised in August 2017. From my office windows, I could see the flow of young men and women following the funeral procession while chanting slogans of liberation and resistance which recalled her 1960s legacy. In her death, just like in her life, Fatima brought together contradicting elements of Sudanese politics. Her funeral was well attended by men and women from the entire political spectrum from the traditional Islamists and representatives of Sudan’s current regime, to members of SCP, feminists and youth activists of all backgrounds.

Hala Alkarib

1

he Mahdist T Sudan, also known as the Sudanese Mahdiyya, was a religious and political movement launched in 1881

by Muammad AlMahdi against the Khedivate of Egypt, which had ruled the Sudan since 1820. The Mahdiyya state, founded in 1885, was disbanded in 1899 by AngloEgyptian forces.

2

he Gordon T Memorial College was an educational institution in Sudan. It was built between 1899 and 1902 as part of Lord Kitchener's wideranging educational reforms.

3

he article can T be found on the website of Sudan For All, http:// sudanforall.org/ forum/viewtopic. php?t=1955&post days=0&postorde r=asc&start=0&s id=0f3bfd4a4bb6 27e17449698f269 db531

4

bduallhi Ibrahim, A “Marxism and Women in Sudan” (

), Sudanile, March 2011, http:// www.sudanile. com/24844

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Women in the Thought of Mahmoud Mohammed Taha A Critical Approach With a background in the social sciences, Abdulkhalig El-Sir is a Sudanese writer, translator and researcher who lives and works in Australia. He is a freelance journalist with a particular focus on political Islam and progressive Islamic thought.

Reformist and revivalist schools of thought in Islam, including Salafism,1 which support the increased influence of Islamic values on the modern world as a response to Western and secular trends,2 all pay specific attention to the place of women in Muslim societies. This discourse on women, and its associated jurisprudence, have taken multiple forms depending on the changing intellectual positions and ideological views adopted by Islamic reformist and revivalist movements. This utmost consideration given to the issue of women in traditional Islamic jurisprudence is nothing but the reflection of the contemporary crisis faced by women in Muslim communities, be it at the level of thought, law, or ethics.

Mahmoud Mohammed Taha, founder of the Republican Brothers, a Sudanese political party and Islamic reformist movement created in 1945, did not lag behind in this regard. He gave the issue of women particular care and dedicated various parts of his many intellectual writings to the topic. This article attempts to provide a critical reading of the Republican Brothers’ contributions to the question of women’s reality in Islamic jurisprudence and law. It specifically provides an in-depth look into Taha’s book, The Reform of the Sharia and Personal Status Laws,3 published in 1979.

The importance of Taha’s book lies in that it breaks with many of the agreed upon parameters of jurisprudence on women’s rights in traditional Muslim legal systems. As is the case with much of Taha’s work, this publication continues to raise debate, dismay and even anger in Muslim societies. This is particularly true among those who do not differentiate between the Quran and human discretionary interpretation when looking at the principles and provisions of classical Islamic jurisprudence. This confusion constitutes one of the dilemmas of contemporary Islam and though this subject is crucial, it is beyond the scope of this article.

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This article primarily aims to question the idea revered in the Republican Brothers’ literature that Taha’s model – which advocates for a reform of Islamic Sharia Law 4 – is the best suited to achieve women’s liberation and gender equality thereby negating the need to borrow from Western thoughts and values.

This article intends to shed light on the extent to which Taha succeeded in developing an ideology that aligned with these substantial assertions.

The Historicity of Jurisprudential Provisions In his book The Reform of Sharia and Personal Status Laws, Taha highlights the historical dimension of the logic of power. According to him, rules are always imposed by the victorious powers to the point to which they become the norms governing human relations.

Slavery, in its widest sense, is a great example of these power dynamics. In many pre-Islamic societies, women were captured and kept as prisoners by warring parties.

This, in Taha’s view, was a form of slavery that adversely affected women’s subsequent social fate. In his opinion, the conditions under which Islam emerged prevented any action against “these horrendous sequences of events that took place in the pre-Islamic society. (...) and although it curbed some excesses (...) Islam was unable to get rid of all of them and to raise women to the level that it initially intended for them.”5 According to Taha, societies do not exist in a vacuum. They do not jump through time and space, but instead develop gradually and according to local contexts.

Based on this historical view of progress, Taha believes, for example, that Sharia permitted men to marry up to four wives because it was unreasonable to expect women to gain equal rights in the short term.6 He was convinced that curbing polygamy was contingent on the progress of humanity. Taha’s interpretation of Islam is based on the Quranic distinction between the

1

S alafism is a conservative reform movement within Sunni Islam which advocates for a return to the practices of more devout ancestors.

F rederick Denny and Ninian Smart, Atlas of the World’s Religions, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007).

3 In Arabic: 2

‫تطوير شريعة االحوال‬ ‫الشخصية‬

Drawing by Hussein Mirghani, Sudan

verses revealed to the Prophet Mohammed in Mecca (ayatul usul) and those revealed after his migration to Medina (ayatul furu’u). As highlighted in his 1967 book, The Second Message of Islam, the Meccan verses, infused with a spirit of freedom and equality, present Islam in its perfect form, while the Medinan verses, full of rules and threats, reflect the reality of the time in that city-state where “there was no law but the sword.”

The Medinan verses became the basis for Sharia, which according to Taha, was a temporary necessity meant to expire with the development of humanity and the emergence of a more egalitarian society guided by the Meccan verses.

Drawing on the historicity of the Medinan verses, Taha argues that the Quranic verse 4:34 – “Men are

the protectors and maintainers of women (…)” – establishing the guardianship of men over women, reflects the social norms of the time of the Revelation and is thus preferential. The preference, Taha explains, is a relative notion that changes with time and place.

Using the example of weapon ownership, Taha describes how individuals have no reason to carry weapons if they are protected by the rule of law. In this situation, abiding by the law is the preferred solution for protection. However, individuals might be forced to protect themselves from harm by others in an environment where government authority is weak.7 What Taha asserts is that whereas physical strength was the preferential form of relationship between men and women at the time of the Prophet, the situation will change once preference is given to the power of

4

S haria is the Islamic canonical law based on the teachings of the Quran and the traditions of the Prophet (Hadith and Sunna), prescribing both religious and secular duties and sometimes retributive penalties for law breaking.

5

M ahmoud Mohammed Taha, The Reform of Sharia and Personal Status Laws, 1979, 38.

6

aha, Reform of T Sharia, 39.

7

aha, Reform of T Sharia, 47.

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the mind over that of physical force. Women’s rights are therefore neither conflicting with or undervalued in Islam.8 Taha considers that the power of the mind gained precedence in Sudan with the emergence of modern education and the ability of women to achieve their academic aspirations, which in turn qualified them for the highest employment positions. This, in Taha’s mind, clearly proves that the logic of physical power as a preferential condition, stated in the Medinan verses, has been obliterated. The shift from physical strength to intellectual power requires, according to Taha, a transition from ‘jungle law’ to ‘human law’, where the vulnerable have rights stipulated in legislation, implemented by the courts and executed by the authorities. For Taha, the only religion that makes such a transition possible is Islam, with its capacity to reconcile between an individual’s aspiration for freedom and a group’s need for social justice. The vehicle through which this achievement occurs is that of the Sharia, democracy and socialism combined into a single apparatus.9 Women’s Place in Society Taha asserts that the human value of men and women lies at the root of their equality, and that this equality exists regardless of their physical and psychological differences, and of the social functions and domains in which each sex moves.10 He does not, however, recognise the value of women’s economic independence and does not list it as a condition for equality. Indeed, he believes that economic independence lies in Western cultural materialism, which only recognises individuals as working productive units, thus forcing women to acquire ‘masculine’ traits.11 Taha quotes the American sociologist Frank Lorimer who demonstrated that the hard labour performed by women in the Soviet Union

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caused an increase in abortions and lowered fertility rates. The ‘normal’ woman, according to Taha, is one who performs her fundamental function, that of marriage, procreation, and caring for her family in a happy home.12 Taha considers home to be the ideal place for women given the importance of families to society. A woman, however, should be in control; she should manage the house not as a subordinate but as a ‘queen.’ Running the household, in Taha’s view, should not lead to the Salafist logic of concealment which isolates women from public life. The truth of the saying that ‘a woman’s place is at home’ resides in the cooperation between men and women to create a happy household.

Taha describes access to education by women as an obligation imposed by the paramount importance of the home they manage, and sees nothing wrong with women’s paid employment as long as they are able to maintain a balance between their professional lives and household duties. He stresses, however, that women should avoid at all costs hard and violent jobs which should be reserved for men.13 Chastity also plays a substantial role in Taha’s view on relationships between the two sexes.

Quranic verse 4:34, positioning men as protectors and guardians who must be obeyed, is designed, according to Taha, to preserve women’s virginity as long as they cannot protect themselves. In his opinion, male guardianship of women should no longer apply when women reach self-imposed chastity, becoming responsible for themselves before God under the protection of the law.14 While Taha emphasises chastity as a core concept governing women’s interactions with men, he does not expect men to act based on the same principle and does not place similar restrictions on them.

Gender Equality in Taha’s Thought The concept of equality in Taha’s ideology is more rhetorical than philosophical. When it comes to women’s rights, Taha’s thought is dominated by idealism. His approach to the development and progress of Muslim societies is largely influenced by utopian ideals. On the issue of equality between the sexes, Taha downplays the complex sociocultural structures and power dynamics which often govern gender relationships in Muslim communities.

Furthermore, Taha ignores the fact that classical Islamic jurisprudence has shaped the existence, moral values and sense of belonging of Muslim communities.

Islamic jurisprudence has largely influenced the construction of the Muslim mindset and produced the socio-legal and political principles which form what is known as Islamic Sharia.

Despite categorically asserting the matter of equality between the sexes at a rhetorical level, Taha does not drastically depart from the assumptions of classical Islamic jurisprudence. While Taha does a great job presenting the progressive views governing the relationships between men and women in the Meccan verses and pointing out the historicity of gender inequalities, he does not stray far from the classical views in his conceptualisation of women’s prescribed social role.

He believes home to be the ideal place for women, with the only difference being their right to education so that they can manage their households in an effective manner. When dealing with the ‘unnatural’ situations which permit women to engage in paid work, Taha makes sure to impose restrictions. Women must be able to balance work with housekeeping, and work domains are limited to those that are not considered ‘hard labour’, a term he does not clearly define.

Even on the issue of guardianship, Taha’s position remains ambiguous. Taha initially ascribes verse 4:34 on male guardianship to a particular sociocultural context, arguing that guardianship is preferred until the logic of intellect overcomes that of physical strength. However, this reasoning is circumnavigated when Taha justifies male dominance using ahistorical causes, including women’s inability to protect their chastity.

Taha does not mask his moral preference for men over women, despite believing that it should not affect the equality of both sexes before the law. This sentiment is expressed clearly in the following passage: “Man’s position vis-à-vis God is slavery (…) and slavery is reactive. God’s position is active (…) God acts, the slave reacts (…) A wife comes from a man, and her position vis-à-vis him is the same as his position in relation to God. She is reactive, he is active (…) which in fact is the situation in sexual relationship between the sexes.”15 Taha’s thoughts on gender relations and equality bears no relevance to the complexity of the real world, including the social and political history of Muslim societies and their lived realities. Gender equality, according to Taha’s idealistic views, is dependent on the rise of the promised society guided by the Meccan verses of the Quran. This society, in Taha’s opinion, is a pure and ideal society where women will be safe. According to Taha’s thought, women might have to wait a long time for the ideal society to rescue them from the historical grip of the Medinan Sharia that has shaped the reality and mind of Muslims for centuries. Taha’s ideology based on the notion of historical progress, is unlikely to produce change, be it at the level of religious thought or social action.

Abdulkhalig El-Sir Translated from Arabic by Sam Berner

8

aha, Reform of T Sharia, 48

9

aha, Reform of T Sharia, 51.

10

aha, Reform of T Sharia, 54.

11

aha, Reform of T Sharia, 55.

12

aha, Reform of T Sharia, 55.

13

aha, Reform of T Sharia, 57.

14

aha, Reform of T Sharia, 63-64.

15

aha, Reform of T Sharia, 59.

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PEOPLE

When Women Take the Wheel Nasra's Journey to Becoming a Mechanic

Nasra was born and grew up in Beledweyne, the capital city of Hiran province in south-central Somalia.

The town is situated near the Ethiopian border, about 300 kilometres north of Mogadishu. She is the eldest daughter of a family of six siblings, including four girls and two boys. Nasra worked from an early age in a variety of jobs to support her family, as a farmer, a street vendor and later on as a gas station attendant.

Abdifatah Hassan Ali is a Somali human rights activist based in Mogadishu who acts as the Somalia Country Coordinator for the Strategic Initiative for Women in the Horn of Africa (SIHA). He is the co-founder of Witness Somalia, a local human rights monitoring and advocacy organisation.

In 2013, Nasra left her hometown to search for a job in Mogadishu. After a 10-day journey, she arrived in the capital city to stay with her uncle. Two years later, she moved to her aunt’s house, after her uncle repeatedly beat her as a form of discipline and punishment for disobedience. Finding a job also turned out to be more difficult than planned and Nasra remained unemployed for several months after setting foot in Mogadishu.

Photo of Nasra Haji Hussein

“I can do anything men can do. They are human beings and I am a human being. Just let me do the job and you will see how I do it.” Tenacity enabled 19-yearold Nasra Haji Hussein to push past social barriers to become Somalia’s first ever female mechanic. In Somalia’s patriarchal society, where gender roles are defined at an early age, where women are traditionally relegated to informal and low-paid jobs, and where employment is scarce, no other woman had ventured so far into what is often perceived as the world of men.

In April 2017, I attended a TEDx talk in Mogadishu where Nasra gave a moving speech about her extraordinary journey, a story that has since been widely covered in local and international media. I left the event impressed by the boldness and courage of this young woman who broke down stereotypes by working in a male dominated field. Seven months later, I met her in Mogadishu to find out why she chose to be an auto mechanic.

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For many youth, the job market has been decimated after decades of turmoil and political unrest have plunged Somalia into a deep economic crisis. According to the United Nations, 54% of Somalis aged 15 to 64 are unemployed. Youth aged 14 to 29 are particularly affected with an unemployment rate estimated at 67% – one of the highest rates in the world. Women are the most disadvantaged with an unemployment rate at 74% compared to 61% for men.1 Despite the obstacles, Nasra never gave up. One day, she woke up, prepared a meal for the family as usual, took a shower and left the house to walk in the nearby neighbourhoods. She went to a service garage and, without hesitation, entered the manager’s office. After greeting him and introducing herself, she told him that she wanted to work at his garage. Initially, the manager thought that she was mentally ill or just joking with him. He quickly realised she was serious.

“You know this is not a job for girls and you are not as tough as a boy to carry heavy equipment,” the manager told her. In Somalia, women are often

forced to work in menial positions and are confined to traditional activities such as cleaning and cooking.

Conservative men even believe that it is taboo for women to work outside the home. Additionally, in a context of widespread unemployment, priority is often given to men based on clan affiliations. In Somalia’s society, where the clan determines one’s identity and influence, male employers tend to hire men from their close clan circles and are reluctant to employ women.

Women’s capacity to serve the interests of the clan is seen as limited since they are likely to be married to a man from a different clan.

Nasra herself was discriminated against on several occasions based on her gender.

“They told me they cannot even find jobs for the male seekers, let alone the female ones. Some of them ridiculed me saying ‘why don’t you just get married? Why are you looking for a job anyway? Get married and serve your husband. Stop moving around,’” she recalled with anger.

“Are we just born to be housewives? Are women only meant to produce children for their husbands?” she asked. In Nasra’s mind, the answer was clear. She was determined to provide for herself and her parents without compromising her independence.

On the morning following her encounter with the garage manager, Nasra went to work. The manager had finally agreed to give her a chance. “I was desperate to take the job. I was ready to carry heavy equipment at all costs,” she recalled. “All the staff members were men; some young, some old. There were those who laughed at me when they saw me, those who verbally abused me for coming into the garage and those who called me their little sister. I went straightaway to the ones who considered me as their sister because I felt safe in their presence,” Nasra added.

“Gradually, after interacting with all my co-workers, I managed to win their hearts and convince them that I was part of the team, that I was just another employee hired by their boss. They have now accepted me as their little sister,” she said, holding her two hands over her mouth to hide a smile.

Not only was she initially shunned by her coworkers, she was also stigmatised by her community, neighbours and family members. “At first, I was disheartened, I was mocked, I was opposed by many including my own family members,” she told me.

“Being a mechanic had never crossed my mind, not even in my dreams. It is just the circumstances that led me to be who I am today,” she added.

One of the main challenges she initially faced was the fact that male customers did not want their cars to be fixed by a female mechanic. “When the manager would order me to fix a car, the owners, all of them men, would jump and start complaining, saying that they didn’t want me to play with their cars,” she recalled.

“I told them I can do it,” she added. Later on, Nasra managed to gain the trust of several customers after successfully repairing their cars. “I repair different types of cars including luxury ones, bullet proof cars and pickups. Sometimes I fix trucks when they are brought to the garage,” she mentioned with pride.

Nasra’s story is exceptional in the sense that it defies the status quo. Unemployment and poverty have compelled many young people of Nasra’s age to emigrate through perilous journeys across deserts and seas in search of a better life.

In 2016 alone, more than 400 Somali refugees drowned in the Mediterranean Sea, making that year one of the deadliest in our history.2 While many youth are willing to leave the country at any cost, Nasra, surprisingly, desires to stay.

“I have dreams, I have goals to achieve by the grace of Allah. I want to be a motivational speaker, A YouTuber,” she told me. “My story is not only a story about being a female mechanic. It’s a story about widening the limits of what women can do and can achieve. It’s a story about unlocking the potential of an entire female generation, which has been deprived of access to economic and employment opportunities.

I might be the first female mechanic in Somalia, but I believe there are many other girls out there who can do better than me, better than men. They just need to be empowered and inspired and that is what I think I am doing right now.”

Abdifatah Hassan Ali

1

“ Somalia Human Development Report 2012: Empowering youth for peace and development,” UNDP, 2012, http://www.undp. org/content/ undp/en/home/ librarypage/hdr/ Somalia-humandevelopmentreport-2012.html

2

S amuel Osborne, “Fears 400 refugees have drowned in Mediterranean after boats capsize,” Independent, April 18, 2016, http:// www.independent. co.uk/news/ world/europe/ more-than-400refugees-drownin-mediterraneanafter-boatscapsize-crossingfrom-egypt-toitaly-a6989046.html

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PEOPLE

Growing up as a Muslim Girl

Faridah Kyomuhangi is a Ugandan Human Rights Lawyer that has worked with both government and civil society. She is currently the Senior Programme Officer for Research and Training with the Human Rights Centre Uganda where she has been for the last nine years. Faridah has a Bachelor of Laws from Makerere University, Uganda and a Master of Laws in International Human Rights Law and Public Policy from University College Cork, Ireland.

1

2

L ower secondary school consists of four years of schooling at the end of which students undertake ordinary-level exams (i.e.

‘O-Level’ exams).

I n Uganda, students receive the Uganda Advanced Certificate of Education (UACE) or ‘A-Level’ when they finish the 2-year upper secondary school.

16

I grew up in a typical extended Muslim family in Rukungiri District in Western Uganda. I am the first born of eight children. My mother was my father’s second wife. She gave birth to six girls and two boys much to the dismay of my father who had married her, hoping to have boys rapidly. My mother’s experiences have greatly shaped who I have become. I feel privileged to have a mother who ensured that I stayed in school despite the many challenges. She recently told me that a prominent Muslim man asked for my hand in marriage when I had just completed my ‘O-Level’ in school.1 According to the common understanding of Islam in Uganda, a girl should be married off as soon as she reaches puberty.

My mother had to put up a spirited fight, saying that her daughter would not get married before she finishes school. She actually told the suitor’s delegation that she had already violated the Sharia, since her daughter had reached puberty way before her O-Level, and that it was now impossible to turn back.

Growing up, I was deeply loved and cared for by my parents who made sure that I attended the best schools in Rukungiri District. I spent most of my childhood in Western Uganda before I moved to Kampala to join Kawempe Muslim High School for my A-Level school studies.2 I started my education in a Muslim primary school, where I had the opportunity to study Islamic teachings and values. After a few years and at the request of my parents, I transferred to a Christian school that had a local reputation of academic excellence. As a Muslim, I became part of the minority but never felt discriminated against. This experience allowed me to learn about Christian principles and values while I deepened my understanding of Islam at home and the mosque, where I took darasa lessons (classes of Islamic teachings) during holidays.

When I was young, I felt that I was treated like any other child, but as I grew up and was exposed to different environments, I started to notice the glaring differences in the schooling I received. As part of my religious education, I was taught that I should fear Allah and always abide by his teachings, but often

Women in Islam, 2018

I had a much greater fear of my teachers. Like many other children, I was so scared of the repercussions of not understanding what I was taught that I could not actually focus on learning. Corporal punishment was common and the severity of the punishment depended on the gravity of the offence and the mood of the mwalimu (teacher). My experience in secondary school did not differ drastically from what I had gone through in primary school. Religious leaders tried to instil fear among the students who were reluctant to observe Islamic values. ‘The Sheikhs’ would threaten to beat the students who did not pray five times per day, a promise that they religiously delivered on.

From what we were taught, a good Muslim girl is one who is submissive and takes good care of her home and husband, not one who stands up and speaks out. This vision does not encourage Muslim girls to work hard and aspire for greater heights since their involvement in public life is meant to be limited.

The relationship between Muslim girls and elders is more of a culture of fear than respect and obedience. Elders make you feel that you are never good enough as a Muslim girl.

You will be criticised for the way you dress (if not in hijab), even if it does not mean anything about who you really are. You will need to think carefully about whom you are likely to meet before choosing your outfit for fear of being judged as a bad Muslim girl. The way girls are treated is even more unfair that those who enjoy moral authority are often not held to the same standards. I came to realise that some of the ‘godly’ men I feared and looked up to were in fact having affairs or marrying underage girls.

For a Muslim girl, dating or trying to find a partner is a significant challenge. Muslim men do not face the same restrictions as women and can marry someone from another faith more easily. Muslim girls thus have limited choices when it comes to finding a match.

Even though I was young, I still remember my father’s uncompromising reactions when my elder sister tried to bring home a non-Muslim man. I was determined never to suffer the same wrath even if it meant staying

single. For that reason, it took me a long time to find a partner but I eventually met my special one due to my persistence and patience. My sisters are still struggling to find Muslim partners. I tell them that the best thing they can do is to pray and be patient, although I understand their frustration.

To date, I can hardly trace any of the former pupils, boys and girls, from the Muslim primary school I attended. Most girls dropped out after primary school and got married. Some started smallscale businesses in town. When I reflect on it, I feel extremely lucky. My fellow pupils did not have the opportunity to continue and finish school like I did. I am very grateful to my parents who believed in the importance of education and encouraged me to work hard and to be independent. They were always supportive and it paid off. I performed well and was able to qualify for a government scholarship and pursue my dream of graduating from Makerere University3 with a Bachelor of Laws. Some might say that they defied Islamic teachings by raising a girl to be more than a housewife, but I am convinced that such support is what children need to become responsible adults and citizens.

When I compare my experiences at school, I feel that this climate of fear was particularly prevalent in Muslim schools. Students in the Christian primary school and secondary school I attended did not fear the chaplain to the same extent or were not beaten up as harshly for not attending a church service. Now that I am an independent adult, I keep thinking of the things that could have been done differently. I keep asking myself what if the mwalimu had been more thoughtful of the children he ‘terrorised’ in the name of teaching them religious values. Would they have become better men and women?

This is not to say that I resent Islamic values. I only resent the way religion is interpreted and its values enforced. Innocent boys and girls should be treated with respect, keeping in mind that they will grow up and shape the future world in which they live.

Being a mother now, I look forward to taking my children to schools including darasa where they will be taught Islamic values in a friendly and encouraging setting rather than a fearful environment

Muslim school girls in Uganda

They should be taught to understand Allah and be able to engage with religion rather than just dread the messengers. As a human rights defender today, I hope to contribute to ensuring that the dignity of Muslim children and women is respected and that they are inspired to aspire for great heights and full exploration and utilisation of their potential.

Faridah Kyomuhangi

3

Makerere University is the largest higher education institution in Uganda and one of the most prestigious universities in Africa.

Women in Islam, 2018

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PEOPLE

Painting to Heal How Female Ethiopian Domestic Workers Overcome Trauma Female domestic workers from Ethiopia and other African countries often face discrimination because of their gender, faith and skin color when working in predominantly Muslim communities in the Middle East and Gulf countries. For the majority community, religion and faith have become symbols of ethnic supremacy. Three young women who suffered traumatic experiences while looking for better livelihoods in these countries shared their stories with us, along with the artwork they produced on their journey of healing.

An estimated 170,000-180,000 Ethiopian women, seeking work and economic opportunities, depart their home each year. Among these women, 60-70% are irregular migrants.1 Ethiopian female domestic workers are particularly vulnerable to exploitation, neglect, physical and sexual abuse due to weak labour laws and the fact that many migrated and found employment through illegal means.2 A significant number of returnees deported back to Ethiopia experienced physical and mental trauma while working abroad, and are now suffering from health disorders.

In Ethiopia, the Good Samaritan Association (GSA) provides shelter and psychological support to female victims of trafficking and traumatised returnees. Since September 2017, GSA implements an art therapy programme developed in partnership with the artist Blaise Patrix.3 Art therapy is used to improve women’s physical and mental well-being by allowing them to express, share and understand their emotions through artistic means.

Born in Oromia, Ethiopia’s central regional state, Meron moved to Beirut, Lebanon after she dropped out of school in 2016. A broker from her hometown arranged her trip to the bustling Middle Eastern city, where she worked as a domestic worker for an elderly woman. For three months, Meron woke up at 4:00 am every morning, spending long hours cleaning and cooking, while her employer hit and verbally harassed her. She put up with the abuse until the Lebanese woman threw her out a window, breaking her leg. After coming back from the hospital, where the employer’s son brought her to surgically repair her broken leg, she reported the incident to her placement agency and was sent back to Addis Ababa. She never received the USD 200 monthly salary she had been promised when taking on the job. Meron, 19 years old, is currently struggling to find employment in Ethiopia.

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Makeda’s brother helped her to get a passport to go to Beirut. She was 18 years old when she arrived in this unknown city and started working as a domestic helper. She quickly came to regret her decision. Makeda was beaten with a stick by her employers on a regular basis. She was not allowed to eat from the same pots and plates and was regularly denied food. She felt scrutinised at all times and did not receive the agreed upon salary. After talking to a fellow Ethiopian woman working in the same building, she ran away to find help but was caught by a man from her employer’s family. After fighting him, she was arrested by the police and put in jail for two weeks before being sent back to Addis Ababa. Makeda, who is now 21 years old, is trying to move forward and has vowed never to go back to domestic work.

Zena heard from a girlfriend that she could earn decent money as a domestic worker in the Middle East and Gulf countries. With this hope in mind, she left school and reached out to a broker. Eight months later, she was sent to Beirut to perform domestic work for a monthly wage of approximately USD 100. Her expectations, however, rapidly soured. Zena was deprived of food and mistreated at the hands of her host family. She was forced to stay awake most of the night to meet the many demands of her employers. Her health quickly deteriorated and she became too sick to work and was sent back to Ethiopia. Zena is now slowly recovering and hoping to reintegrate into school as soon as possible.

Compiled by “Women in Islam” For anonymity, the interviewees’ real names were replaced by pseudonyms.

1

ecky Carter and B Brigitte Rohwerder, “Rapid Fragility and Migration Assessment for Ethiopia” GSDRC, University of Birmingham (February 2016), http://gsdrc.org/ wp-content/ uploads/2016/02/ Fragility_Migration_ Ethiopia.pdf

2

F assil Demissie, “Ethiopian Female Domestic Workers in the Middle East and Gulf States: An introduction,” Africa and Black Diaspora: An International Journal 11, no.1 (2018).

3

his programme T was implemented with the support of the Strategic Initiative for Women in the Horn of Africa (SIHA), Solidarité Internationale/ Anderlecht, and Association Interculturelle de Développement Artistique (AIDA).

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Anticlockwise

A Poem By Kishwar Naheed

Even if my eyes become the soles of your feet even so, the fear will not leave you that though I cannot see I can feel bodies and sentences like a fragrance.

Even if, for my own safety, I rub my nose in the dirt till it becomes invisible even so, this fear will not leave you that though I cannot smell I can still say something.

Even if my lips, singing praises of your godliness become dry and soulless even so, this fear will not leave you that though I cannot speak I can still walk.

Even after you have tied the chains of domesticity, shame and modesty around my feet even after you have paralysed me this fear will not leave you that even though I cannot walk I can still think.

Your fear of my being free, being alive and able to think might lead you, who knows, into what travails.

Born in 1940, Kishwar Naheed is a prolific and pioneering poet who has produced a bold, impressive, and innovative body of work over the past fifty years. Her first collection of poetry, Lab-i goya (The Speaking Lip), published in 1968, won the prestigious Adamjee Literary Award. In a field traditionally dominated by men, Naheed developed a unique and distinctively feminine voice, writing in Urdu on unconventional topics ranging from female sexuality to religion and politics.

Known for her activism, the poet, who also served as a civil servant for over 40 years, is considered by many in Pakistan and beyond as an icon of resistance and courage.

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Painting by Ipoot Joshua, Uganda

EQUALITY

Men in Charge?

Rethinking Authority in Muslim Legal Tradition In recent years, exciting new feminist scholarship has been challenging gender discrimination and male authority from within Islamic legal tradition. The book, Men in Charge? Rethinking Authority in Muslim Legal Tradition presents some important results of that research. In this article, Ziba Mir-Hosseini, its lead editor, reflects on how the theological fiction of male dominance became a legal reality whose main function is now to sustain gender inequality. She highlights the pressing need to bring feminism into conversation with tradition and build a new path towards gender equality in Muslim communities, one that respects people’s beliefs and identities while challenging religious and cultural dogmas.

Muslim Legal Tradition on Relations between Men and Women Muslim legal tradition does not treat men and women equally. At the root of this unequal treatment lies an ancient idea – men are strong, they protect and provide; women are weak, they obey and must be protected. This underlying premise is encapsulated in the two legal concepts of qiwamah, a husband’s authority over his wife, and wilayah, male guardianship of female family members.

As constructed in classical fiqh (Muslim jurisprudence) and reflected in current laws and practices, these concepts played, and continue to play, a central role in institutionalising and justifying gender inequality in Muslim contexts. Defenders of male authority frequently invoke Quranic verse 4:34, from which the classical jurists derived the term qiwamah, as their main textual evidence. It reads: Men are qawwamun (protector/maintainers) in relation to women, according to what God has favoured some over others and according to what they spend from their wealth. Righteous women are qanitat (obedient) guarding the unseen according to what God has guarded. Those [women] whose nushuz (rebellion) you fear, admonish them, and

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abandon them in bed, and adribuhunna (strike them). If they obey you, do not pursue a strategy against them. Indeed, God is Exalted, Great.

It is no exaggeration to say that the entire edifice of Muslim Family Law is built on the ways in which classical jurists understood this verse and translated it into legal rulings. To define relations between spouses in marriage, and notions of gender justice and equity, they used the four highlighted terms, focusing on the first part of the verse and the notion that men are women’s qawwamun, protectors and maintainers. The jurists established marriage as a contract that automatically places a wife under her husband’s authority and presumes an exchange: the wife’s obedience and submission (tamkin) in return for maintenance (nafaqah) by the husband. Further, the jurists ruled that male family members had wilayah, the right and duty to exercise guardianship over female members (e.g. fathers over daughters when entering marriage contracts). Such a conception of marriage and family relations, in modified form, continues to be the backbone of Muslim Family Law and practice.

In 2010, Musawah, a global movement for equality and justice in the Muslim family, began a multi-faceted research project to engage with these two concepts and rethink them from within the tradition. The first outcome of this project is Men in Charge? Rethinking Authority in Muslim Legal Tradition. It is an edited

collection of ten chapters that challenge male authority and gender discrimination from within the tradition of Muslim Family Law.

Its main thesis is that qiwamah and wilayah were mistakenly understood as divinely sanctioning men’s authority over women, with the result that they in time became the foundation of patriarchy within Muslim legal tradition.

The different chapters of the book provide alternative understandings of qiwamah and wilayah, by: drawing on Quranic concepts that are central to the theological principles guiding God-human relations; taking a holistic feminist approach that links Muslim tradition to modern theories of knowledge, justice and equality; and grounding women’s experiences in their lived realities.

The book shows that neither the term qiwamah nor the idea that men have authority over women exist in the Quran. The closely related term wilayah does occur in the Quran, in the sense of friendship and mutual support, but never as endorsing male authority over women, which is the interpretation of the term that is enshrined, alongside qiwamah, in juristic rulings on marriage.

In one book chapter, the Egyptian scholar Omaima Abou-Bakr shows how and through what processes the first sentence of the verse 4:34 – “men are qawwamun in relation to women, according to what God has favoured some over others and according to what they spend from their wealth” – was continually reinterpreted until it became a patriarchal construct.

She identifies four stages in this construction. In the first, the sentence was isolated from the rest of the

Quran and turned into “an independent and separate (trans-contextual) patriarchal construct.” This, she shows, was done by taking the term qawwamun out of its immediate context and transforming it into a grammatical masdar (a verbal noun or infinitive) of qiwamah. In the second stage, when the concept was consolidated, rational arguments and justifications were provided for hierarchal relations between men and women. In the third stage, qiwamah was expanded by linking it to the idea that men have an advantage over women, from the last phrase in Quran verse 2:228 – “But men have a darajah (degree) over them (women).” This phrase, part of a long passage on the theme of divorce, was again taken out of its immediate context and interpreted as further support for male superiority. Additionally, a selection of ahadith (record of the traditions or sayings of the Prophet Muhammad) was invoked to establish women’s duty of obedience.

The final stage came in the twentieth century with the modernist thinkers, who linked qiwamah with the theory of the naturalness of ‘Islamic law’ and the ideology of domesticity, using pseudo-psychological knowledge to argue for men’s and women’s different natures (fitrah).

In another book chapter, the Moroccan scholar of Quran, Asma Lamrabet, shows that, while in relation to marriage the term qawwamun appears only once in the Quran, other terms appear many times, such as ihsan (kindness, 2:229-230; 2:236-237), tashawur wa taradi (consultation and mutual consent, 2:233), ma‘ruf (that which is commonly known to be good, 2:228; 2:229–230; 2:231; 2:233; 2:236; 65:2), and rahmah wa muwadah (compassion and love, 30:21). In other Quranic verses (4:135 and 5:8) in which the terms qawwamun/qawwamin are mentioned, they speak of the obligation of both believing men and women to stand firmly for justice and fairness in both private and public domains.

Activist Dr. Ziba MirHosseini is a legal anthropologist, specialising in Islamic law, gender and development.

A professorial research associate at the Centre for Islamic and Middle Eastern Law, University of London, she is founding member of Musawah, a global movement for equality in Muslim family laws. Her work focuses on bringing Islamic and human rights frameworks together in order to lay the basis for egalitarian Muslim family laws.

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EQUALITY

What these and other chapters in the book clearly show is that male authority over women cannot be defended on religious grounds. It is a juristic construct and has no Quranic basis. Many verses speak of the essential equality of men and women in the eyes of God and the world. In other words, the problem is not with the text but with context, and with epistemologies, ways of knowing the text, as well as ways in which the text is used to sustain patriarchal and authoritarian structures.

A Critical Feminist Perspective: New Questions Men in Charge? addresses a gap in ongoing debates over family law reforms and approaches to women’s rights in Muslim contexts. On the one hand, a large majority of Muslim religious scholars are genderblind; they are ignorant of feminist theories and unaware of the importance of gender as a category of analysis. On the other hand, many women’s rights activists and campaigners in Muslim contexts, in line with mainstream feminism, want to work only within a human rights framework. They have for long avoided engagement with either Muslim legal tradition or religious arguments, which they consider to be counter-productive. These feminists, however, tend to overlook their heritage.

Feminism, in addition to being a consciousness, is an epistemological project, in the sense that it provokes us to examine how we know what we know about women and gender, in all branches of knowledge, including religious knowledge.

This not only sheds light on laws and practices that take their legitimacy from religion, it also enables a challenge, from within, to the patriarchy that is institutionalised in Muslim legal tradition.

One of the main objectives of the book is to bring insights from feminist theory and gender studies into

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the debates around Muslim Family Law, and to ask new questions. Why and how did verse 4:34, and no other verses in the Quran, become the foundation for the legal construction of marriage? Why is qiwamah still the basis of gender relations in the imagination of modern-day jurists and Muslims who resist and denounce the idea of equality in marriage as alien to Islam? How, and through what juristic processes, was men’s authority over women legitimated and translated into laws? What does male guardianship, derived from the concepts of qiwamah and wilayah, entail in practice? How can we Muslim women rethink and reconstruct these concepts in ways that reflect our own notions of justice?

The search for answers to these questions takes us to realms outside Muslim legal tradition, to human rights law, feminist legal theory, experiences of family law reform in other legal traditions, and the lived realities of today – when so many women are the providers and protectors of their families. This journey helps us to reveal the intimate links between patriarchy and despotism and to separate patriarchy from Islam’s sacred texts. Ideological dichotomies such as ‘secular’ versus ‘religious’ feminism, or ‘Islam’ versus ‘human rights’, are both false and arbitrary. Yet these dichotomies are commonly invoked to mask the real battleground, between despotic and democratic forces, to which Muslim women’s struggle for equality and dignity remain hostage.

Unmasking this reality entails two linked processes: recovering and reclaiming the ethical and egalitarian ethos in Islam’s sacred texts; and decoding and exposing the relation between the production of knowledge and practices of power. It is only then that we can aspire to real and meaningful change that can transform the deep structures that have shaped our religious, cultural and political realities.

Ziba Mir-Hosseini

A Fatwa against Sexual Violence

The Story of a Historic Congress of Female Islamic Scholars Mirjam Künkler and Eva Nisa, researchers with decades of expertise in Islamic authority and gender, dissect the outcomes of the first congress of female Islamic scholars held in Indonesia in April 2017. They examine the historic significance of the event based on content analysis of the documents produced by the congress, in addition to interviews conducted with women and male scholarly attendees.

Can women interpret Islamic law? This question would have been a ‘no-brainer’ to a Muslim from Damascus in the 12th century, when women served as renowned teachers of the Islamic tradition,1 and the opinions of women jurists2 on questions of Islamic law carried weight comparable to that of male jurists.

Yet, if one asks a Muslim today: “Have you ever asked a woman for an interpretation of Islamic law?,” the answer from Dakar to Dhaka, from Sarajevo to Cape Town, from Jakarta to Ann Arbor will usually be ‘no.’

Women are not asked to interpret Islamic law, and a few expect them to do so.

Very often, this is because women are not sufficiently trained for this work.3 If they are, they tend to be consulted only on so-called ‘women’s issues’ such as child rearing, a wife’s duties towards her husband and other family members, household organisation, and hygiene. In recent years, however, Muslims in different parts of the world have started to address gender imbalances in juristic expertise. In India, Turkey and Morocco, programs have been set up to train women as muftis (jurists who can issue fatwas or expert legal opinions). Judicial institutions in Malaysia4 and the Palestinian Authority5 have begun to hire female judges in their Sharia courts.

In a similar trend, Indonesian organisations recently joined forces to convene the Muslim world’s first congress of ulama perempuan (women Islamic scholars).6 This historic event, held in April 2017 in Cirebon, West Java, was nothing short of a breakthrough in terms of re-establishing the long-lost

Three young women ulama: Dr Ala'i Nadjib, Ning Ienas Tsuroiya, and Nyai Umadatul Baroroh

juristic authority of women to produce Islamic legal recommendations and rulings.

Women’s juristic authority7 was squarely on the agenda of the congress. Juristic authority in Islam can manifest itself in several ways including by leading prayer, reciting the Quran, delivering a sermon, or transmitting a hadith (a saying of the prophet). The pinnacle of this authority is the ability to interpret Islamic sources to make recommendations of behaviour in the here and now.

Dr. Mirjam Künkler is Senior Research Fellow at the Swedish Collegium for Advanced Study and author of Democracy and Islam in Indonesia (Columbia University Press, 2013).

She has recently published a special journal issue on female Islamic authority in Southeast Asia in the journal Asian Studies Review (Vol. 40, No 4, December 2016).

In most contemporary Muslim societies, this is exercised in two main ways. The first is by issuing fatwas. These are legal recommendations based typically on interpretations of the Quran and hadith (different sects in Islam regard different hadiths as authentic, and therefore the specific source material differs from sect to sect).

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Dr. Eva Nisa is a lecturer in religious studies at Victoria University of Wellington, New Zealand. She has a bachelor’s degree from Al-Azhar University in Cairo and a PhD from Australian National University.

Her research focuses on women in Islamic movements and types of Muslim marriage and divorce in Indonesian Islam.

A person trained to issue a fatwa is called a mufti, with the feminine form in Arabic muftiya. Fatwas are only recommendations. They are not binding but can carry great weight depending on the moral authority of the issuer. In some countries, policy makers take fatwas of leading Islamic authorities into account8 when, for example, considering reforms to family law, inheritance, Islamic finance or food and medicine regulations.

The second way juristic authority is exercised is by serving as a judge in an Islamic court. This requires deep engagement and expertise in interpreting religious sources. The needed erudition and experience to act as a judge can take decades of study and training to acquire.

In Indonesia, for instance, family courts for the Muslim majority apply Islamic law (non-Muslims are subject to civil family law). Since the 1950s, judges of Islamic law have been trained in the country’s Islamic state institutes. Although female judges were unheard of when the institutes first opened – and remain a minority – admission was not restricted to men. Starting in the 1960s, women also completed this advanced training and some were appointed judges in Indonesia’s Islamic courts.9 In 1970, Sudan also appointed women as judges in courts applying what is known as ‘non-codified’ Islamic law (under which judges must interpret original sources, as there is no codified text issued by the state, like a statute or book of law). However, it would take another 35 years before women would be appointed to Islamic courts in other countries. Malaysia did so in 2005, the Palestinian Authority in 2009, and Israel appointed the first woman judge to its Islamic courts in April 2017.10

Faced with the limited participation of women in the juristic process, the congress in Indonesia aimed to raise awareness about pioneering developments and strengthen local initiatives to promote women’s juristic authority in Islam

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Importantly, it showed that it is not only women who support this struggle. Male scholars, while a minority, were also among the speakers and attendees.

At the congress’s core was musyawarah keagamaan (religious deliberation) to formulate fatwas. In many Muslim countries, fatwas are associated with individual Islamic leaders, but Indonesia has a long tradition of fatwas11 issued by Islamic institutions known as ‘ fatwa commissions.’

The women ulama at the congress issued three fatwas.12 This in itself was historic, as fatwa issuing has long been monopolised by male clerics. There are, for example, only seven women ulama out of 67 members of the fatwa commission of Majelis Ulama Indonesia (MUI) – a prominent Islamic organisation set up by the government in the 1970s, which has become a prominent voice in Indonesia’s legislative process and stands for a number of anti-pluralist developments in recent years.

The first fatwa of the women’s congress focuses on sexual violence. It emphasises that such violence including within marriage (marital rape) is forbidden under Islamic law (haram). It also distinguishes zina (adultery and fornication) from rape, and stresses that victims must receive psychological, physical and social support – not punishment.

The second fatwa concerns child marriage and denounces the practice as harmful (mudarat) to society. The ulama’s accompanying commentary calls for raising the Indonesian legal marriage age for girls from 16 to 18 years. Importantly, as most child marriages are not registered with the state in the first place, the fatwa also reminds ordinary Muslims and imams that it is obligatory (wajib) to prevent them.

The third fatwa links environmental destruction and social inequality. It describes environmental degradation for economic gain as haram and asserts that it has, in recent decades, exacerbated economic

disparities in Indonesia with women being the most affected. It notes how drought, for example, adds to the burdens of rural women typically responsible for preparing food and fetching water.

lost juristic authority of women to produce Islamic legal recommendations and rulings.

The women ulama based their religious interpretations on four sources: verses of the Quran, hadith, aqwal ‘ulama (views of religious scholars), and the Indonesian constitution. They used a methodology called ‘unrestricted reasoning’ (istidlal), with stated aims to maximise maslaha (public interest) and reduce mudarat (harm) to arrive at rulings.

The present version is an adaptation of the original article that first appeared on the openDemocracy website.

Mirjam Künkler and Eva Nisa

The issuing of the three fatwas is of major significance. It shows that women ulama have the ability and the expertise in Islamic sources to formulate these recommendations The fatwas also demonstrate that the ulama perempuan do not restrict themselves to the Quran, hadith, and other classical Islamic texts. Like the best judges in any society, they not only follow precedents but also develop legal proficiency in diverse contemporary issues.

Indeed, Nur Rofi’ah, an expert in Quranic and gender studies who took part in the congress, told us that the participants produced more than fatwas, which usually consist of only a few pages of argumentation. The congress considered a larger range of sources during its deliberations, including evidence of conditions and challenges faced by women. It also produced far longer and more in-depth written explanations and legal opinions. Some Indonesian gender rights activists, and Indonesian fatwa committees themselves, use the term sikap keagamaan (religious views) for recommendations that come out of this complex deliberation process.

But whether one calls these fatwas or sikap keagamaan, their significance was clear – this congress was a historic step towards re-establishing the long-

1

I rene Schneider, Women in the Islamic World (Markus Wiener Publishers, 2012).

2

haled Abou El Fadl, “Legal and Jurisprudential Literature: 9th to 15th K Century,” in Encyclopedia of Women & Islamic Cultures, ed. Suad Joseph (Brill Publishers, 2009).

3

avid Kloos and Mirjam Künkler, “Studying Female Islamic Authority: D From Top-Down to Bottom-Up Modes of Certification,” Asian Studies Review 40 (2016): 479-490.

4

ik Noriani Nik Badlishah and Yasmin Masidi, “Women as Judges” N (Sisters in Islam, 2009), http://www.sistersinislam.org.my/files/ downloads/women_as_judges_final.pdf

5

awther Salam, “Palestine: First Females Islamic Judges Inaugurated K in Palestine,” Women Living Under Muslim Laws, February 18, 2009, http://www.wluml.org/node/5082

6

F or additional information, please see website of the congress, https:// kupi-cirebon.net

7

atana J. DeLong-Bas, The Oxford Encyclopedia of Islam and Women, N (Oxford University Press, 2013).

8

irjam Künkler and Roja Fazaeli, “The Life of Two Mujtahidahs: M Female Religious Authority in 20th Century Iran,” SSRN, July 12, 2010, https://ssrn.com/ abstract=1884209

9

E uis Nurlaelawati and Arskal Salim,“Gendering the Islamic Judiciary: Female Judges in the Religious Courts of Indonesia,” Journal of Islamic Studies 51, no. 2 (2013).

10

S arah Jacobs, “Why Orthodox Jews Tried and Failed to Block Israel’s First Woman Sharia Court Judge,” Haaretz, April 27, 2017, https:// www.haaretz.com/opinion/1.785991

11

ico J. G. Kaptein, “The Voice of the ww Ulamâ': Fatwas and N Religious Authority in Indonesia,” Archives de sciences sociales des religions, no. 125, (Jan- Mar 2004): 115-130.

12

F or additional information, please see website of the congress, https://kupi-cirebon.net/musyawarah-keagamaan/

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Under the Laws of Men Human rights defender and lawyer from Hargeisa Guleid Ahmed Jama analyses how and why Somaliland’s legal system often fails to protect and uphold the rights of women. Based on interviews conducted with legal experts and female plaintiffs and defendants, he reveals the many barriers hindering women’s access to justice in Somaliland, a territory caught between promises of modernity and clan-based traditions.

Guleid Ahmed Jama is a lawyer and founder of the Human Rights Centre (HRC), a human rights watch organisation in Somaliland.

After 30 years of independence, Somalia collapsed in 1991 as civil war engulfed the country and the military regime of Mohamed Siad Barre was forced from power.1 The Somali National Movement (SNM), drawing its main support from the Issaq clan of the northern regions, played a central role in the overthrow of the regime. In May 1991, the SNM, having secured control of the northwest regions, unilaterally seceded from Somalia to form the independent Republic of Somaliland.2 Though not internationally recognised, Somaliland is often described as an island of relative peace in contrast to South Central Somalia, mired in instability and violence. In the over two decades since its creation, Somaliland has gone a long way towards building peace and security by developing democratic institutions. Using a clan-based approached to democracy and building on local initiatives, Somaliland has succeeded in bringing relative harmony between competing clans. Yet, despite its apparent successes, Somaliland still faces a number of serious challenges in the areas of human and women’s rights, where gains are both limited and fragile.

Because of its unique status, Somaliland, which is not recognised as a state by the international community, cannot bear duties or claim rights under international law. According to its constitution, Somaliland remains, nonetheless, bound by the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and committed to acting “in conformity with the United Nations Charter and international law.” This pledge, unfortunately, bears little fruit as Somaliland fails in practice to bring its laws into line with international human rights standards. Similar to other sub-Saharan African countries, Somaliland’s legal framework is comprised of three disparate, yet overlapping legal systems – customary law, statutory law and Sharia law. Traditionally dominated by men, this hybrid and conflicting legal system contributes

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to perpetuating discrimination against women and obstructing their access to justice.

When Men Dictate the Law The unwritten but powerful Somali customary law, Xeer, is made by clan leaders or elders, selected for their assumed wisdom, courage, experience and knowledge to arbitrate disputes and deliver verdicts. The elders, Guurti, assigned to hear and decide cases, are exclusively men. Their decisions are legally binding and set precedents for similar subsequent cases. Every decision is therefore a law, passed down from generation to generation as oral tradition. British authorities attempted to limit the influence of Xeer during their rule (1884-1960) but chose not to replace it by colonial laws. Established in coastal towns and nearby strategic locations, the British administration relied on the collaboration of clan elders to extend and consolidate its power over the country. Maintaining Xeer, and, by extension, elders’ influence within the clan, was meant to secure their loyalty.

Today, Xeer remains the main source of law in Somaliland, in particular in rural and remote areas where government presence is scarce. The prevalence of Xeer has a significant influence on women’s access to justice, as customary law allows clan leaders to manipulate the rules to sway the internal dynamics of their own clan. Women’s concerns and needs are often judged secondary and subordinate to the interests of men. In contemporary Somaliland where parliament is mandated by the constitution to make laws on behalf of society, men also remain in control. The bicameral parliament, consisting of the House of Elders and the House of Representatives, has only one female politician out of 164 members total.

Painting by Galal Yousif, Sudan

When Men Enforce the Law Male dominance extends to all branches of law enforcement. Formal institutions, such as the police and judiciary, are largely composed of men, whose decisions and actions are influenced by ingrained gender stereotypes. Most female survivors of sexual and gender based violence (SGBV) are deterred from pressing charges by fear of stigma and discrimination.

When entering a police station, people are asked by male guards to specify the reason of their visit. This question is often enough to discourage SGBV victims from seeking redress.

Marital abuse, whether verbal or sexual, also goes unreported for the most part. Domestic violence, although criminalised in the penal code, is not dealt with as a crime by the police or prosecutor’s office.

In practice, authorities consider domestic violence as a justifiable action falling outside of their jurisdiction.

Most victims suffering severe beatings at the hands of their husbands do not even receive medical treatment.

The case of Aisha,3 a 30-year-old mother, epitomises the challenges faced by women. After being beaten by her husband, Aisha filed a complaint and appeared before the court with a bruised face and a missing tooth.

Her complaint, however, was denied without grounds according to her lawyer. Her case, unfortunately, is neither isolated nor unique. Faced with no alternative, women are often forced to stay with abusive husbands.

In addition to the discriminatory nature of the legal system, prolonged court proceedings also significantly

hinder women’s access to justice. A family case as simple as a child support dispute can take from a year to three years before it is finally settled. Sahra,4 a mother of six, sued her husband for child support in April 2016. To date, the case is still pending before the appeals court. “Women do not have anything to survive. They can wait months or years. But they still need to put something on the table. The legal system is not helping them at all,” said Ayan Hassan, a legal aid worker providing services to women who cannot afford to hire a lawyer. Discouraged by the lengthy hearings, women sometimes accept mediation or simply give in and cease pursuing their case.

1

ohamed Siad M Barre, former president of Somalia, held dictatorial rule over the country from October 1969, when he led a military coup against the elected government, until January 1991, when he was overthrown in a bloody civil war.

2

S omaliland is bordered by Djibouti to the west, Ethiopia to the south, and the Puntland region of Somalia to the east.

The territory has a 740 kilometres coastline with the majority lying along the Gulf of Aden.

3

F or anonymity, the interviewee’s real name has been replaced by a pseudonym.

4

Ibid.

5

here are four T Sunni school of thoughts, namely the Shafi, Hanbali, Hanafi and Maliki schools

6

S alafism is a conservative reform movement within Sunni Islam, which advocates a return to the practices of more devout ancestors.

When Bodies of Law Conflict Somaliland does not have a codified family law.

This vacuum is filled by Sharia law, which applies to family matters including marriage, divorce, inheritance, and child support and custody. Sharia law, however, is not written, and several Sunni schools of thought (madhhab) compete to impose their rules.5 Historically, the Shafi madhhab is the official school of jurisprudence in Somaliland but the growing influence of Wahhabism has reshuffled the religious landscape.6 Furthermore, with no written or clear guidelines, judges are given discretionary power to apply the jurisprudence and tasfir (exegetes of the Quran) of their choosing. “A same judge applies different madhhabs to cases of a similar nature,” said Mohamed Ahmed Abokor, a senior lawyer who leads a legal aid unit at the University of Hargeisa Legal Clinic. “You cannot predict a family case,” he added.

In the absence of a codified family law, ambiguities and loopholes leave space for arbitrary decisions often made at the expense of women’s rights.

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Interferences between Xeer and statutory law are also common in Somaliland. Clan leaders regularly intervene to solve cases outside of the court system. In the customary process of conflict resolution, female victims do not participate in the meetings where elders discuss the dispute and agree on a settlement. They are represented by male relatives. “It is not relevant whether a woman accepts [the settlement] or not,” said Ayan Hassan from the University of Hargeisa Legal Clinic. In addition, customary law does not ordain punishments; disputes are solved through the payment of financial compensations to the clan. Therefore, no matter how significant the fine imposed on his clan, the individual perpetrator goes unpunished and the victim does not receive the compensation directly.

Judges themselves sometimes explicitly request for the intervention of elders. In family cases, for example, judges often ask male members of the two parties to resolve the dispute through mediation. If an agreement is reached, the court will then certify the decision and issue a decree to enforce it.

When Men Resist Change

Most of the lawyers interviewed recounted that

men always favour other men in legal proceedings. “If a wife arrives a few minutes late to an appointment, the judge might get upset and take action. Husbands are not treated the same,” a female lawyer told me. “Women who complain are often assumed to be wrong,” she added. This bias is particularly visible in divorce cases. “It is enough for a man to say ‘I want my wife’ for the court to reject the wife’s request for divorce,” said Fardus Adam, a lawyer in Hargeisa. “There is no way a woman can divorce a man if he does not agree to it,” confirmed Abokor. Men, on the contrary, can easily repudiate women. Traditionally, men only need to pronounce, ‘I divorce you’ or any other equivalent statement for the divorce to be effective.

In a context marked by the rise of militant Islam, religious leaders and conservatives vehemently oppose the inclusion of women in courts, which could upset the status quo.

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Although there are female prosecutors, lawyers, and clerks, the Judiciary Commission is disinclined to appoint female judges. In 2011, the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) supported a judicial training programme for law graduates. Male trainees were appointed as judges whereas female trainees were denied the same opportunity and recruited as registrars (clerks). Neither the constitution nor the Judiciary Organization Act discriminates against women. The decision of the Judiciary Commission not to appoint qualified and trained female lawyers as judges is a clear reflection of the entrenched culture of discrimination within Somaliland’s institutions.

Conclusion The legal system in Somaliland, as currently designed and implemented, is meant to silence women whose interests are almost always subordinate to those of men. It perpetuates an out-dated system, which does not reflect the current socio-economic dynamics and lived realities of women in Somaliland. The blurry division between the three jurisdictions – Xeer, Sharia, and statutory law – contributes to creating a culture of impunity, with clan elders typically having a final say in each system. This situation is rendered even more complex by the growing influence of Wahhabism and militant Islam in Somaliland. Improving women’s access to justice necessitates the eradication of the structural, institutional and traditional mechanisms that perpetuate women’s discrimination and inequality in Somaliland’s society. The tireless work of committed lawyers is a first, but insufficient, prerequisite towards justice for all.

Guleid Ahmed Jama

Invoking Justice : A Film Review In Southern India, Marriage Can Become a Matter of Life or Death Murder, misogyny, mistreatment. The women in Deepa Dhanraj’s documentary Invoking Justice are laid bare and left vulnerable because of these three elements. The uniting beacon of hope is the Tamil Nadu Women’s Jamaat, a grassroots movement in Southern India that works tirelessly in the name of equality and resistance against a backdrop of normalised sexism.

Invoking Justice presents several accounts from women who all have suffered because of shortcomings of the law and a discriminatory judicial system. In the state of Tamil Nadu, cases of Muslim personal law are presided over by an all-Muslim, all-male council known as jamaat (congregation) that adjudicates on family matters using an arguably skewed interpretation of Sharia law. Divorces, marriages, custody – these all fall under the domain of the jamaat, an institution that perpetuates impunity and the structural exclusion of women from the public sphere.

But hope and strength are found in the creation of the Women’s Jamaat, which serves as an antithesis and foil for this wilful exclusion and oppression. Invoking Justice tells the story of Tamil Nadu Women’s Jamaat – which includes 12,000 women as members across Southern India – and its perseverance in the face of numerous obstructions. By the time the documentary Invoking Justice was made, the Women’s Jamaat had handled over 8,000 adjudications from cases involving dowry-related murders to domestic violence.

Intertwining a cohesive set of stories that are empowering, tragic, and sometimes contradictory, Invoking Justice explores the remit of the Women’s Jamaat and its expressions of subjugation, defiance, resilience, and hope. Deepa’s film traverses the deeper layers of gender and power dynamics to weave a dichotomous parable of struggle and victory. The film

delivers honest accounts of violence against women, but also celebrates how structural inequalities can be righted with time and will.

Women’s rights advocates and postgraduate students from SOAS University, London, Zahra Bajwa and Tashny Sukumaran share their views on the film.

Tashny: Firstly, I have to say that I was really struck by how the women mobilised by appropriating the structure of a jamaat – something exclusively dominated by men. Audre Lorde, the African American poet and feminist, says that the master’s tools cannot dismantle the master’s house, and Invoking Justice calls out to this – these women have made their own tools, ones that match the oppressor’s.

They aren’t trying to join the male jamaat or petition for representation within this flawed structure – instead, they make their own.

Zahra: Yes, what I really liked about this documentary was how the notion of transformative equality was effortlessly threaded along the storyline.

In the beginning, when Khanum, the founder of the Women’s Jamaat, describes how the organisation was created, she explains how the idea turned into action and how later that action evolved into a paradigm shift of empowerment. The story of Salma who denounces her abusive father is particularly powerful. It challenges the idea that women are subordinate and demonstrates how stereotypical beliefs and prejudices can be weeded out at a grassroots level.

Zahra Bajwa is currently pursuing a Master of Laws in Human Rights from SOAS, University of London. She previously worked as a research associate on labour law and human rights in Pakistan.

Tashny: Yes, and the three different stories being told alongside the narratives of the Women’s Jamaat

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Meeting of the Women’s Jamaat

leaders all end differently – the divorce, the dowryrelated domestic violence, the murder. We are taken from grief to hope to a sense of victory, all against a backdrop of looming violence.

Zahra: This violence is so ingrained in everyone’s minds. As a member of the Women’s Jamaat put it: “[Before joining the jamaat] I thought that it was normal for husbands and fathers to be violent.

I always thought they were allowed to do it.” The Women’s Jamaat serves as a vehicle for change, not just challenging the mechanisms in place that create inequality but also the mindsets behind them. It also creates a sense of solidarity among women.

Tashny: Yes, it is like the women made a resolution when joining the Women’s Jamaat : don’t let men keep us women apart. Divided we fall. I thought the scenes of women together, discussing cases, developing strategies and planning actions were particularly powerful. They showed that when there is a confrontation, the more women are present the more successful they are – there is a correlation.

Zahra: I agree. These scenes were even more striking in that the film visually highlights the exclusion of women from public places. There is this gender-specific negative space at certain points to underline that women are absent from decisionmaking. The images shot at the bazaar and the

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mosque where women are absent sharply contrast with the lively scenes of women debating within the Women’s Jamaat.

Tashny: Also, have you noticed how men feel threaten by the Women’s Jamaat? This was particularly obvious when a man asked the filmmaker to turn off her camera. He was so aggressive and vehement about it. It was almost like these men think that if nobody sees or hears about their behaviour, if there’s no witness, then it hasn’t happened and it doesn’t matter.

Zahra: Yes, I definitely felt that! Like there was so much denial and rationalising of abusive behaviour. It was no surprise to see the men threatening the women from the Women’s Jamaat, downplaying their efforts, and trying to undermine them. They even accused the women of being sex workers when they first opened an office and held meetings.

Tashny: It’s clear that men don’t want to share the power. They misuse Sharia teachings to maintain the status quo. A clear example of this is when a member of a male jamaat, Akbar, confesses that he writes down the mahr (amount given by the groom to the bride) in official records, but not the dowry amount (money, goods or estate that a woman brings to her husband or his family in marriage). This way, women cannot ask for the dowry to be returned in case of divorce.

Zahra: Yes, and you’re not even supposed to be taking a dowry, it’s un-Islamic.

Tashny: It’s also against the law in India. So, obviously there’s selectivity in place, which is not how any law should be practiced – Sharia or secular. Men’s jamaats sometimes hide behind Islamic law to protect their interests. This is clearly the case of Akbar who refuses to exhume the body of a murdered woman to conduct a second autopsy on the pretext that it is un-Islamic.

That’s something that should have been discussed by experts in Islamic jurisprudence, not just someone keen on preserving his power. It’s generally agreed that it’s not permissible to exhume a body, but what about the principle of darurah (necessity)? They could have applied a basic test – is there some evidence of foul play, is there new evidence that gives us cause to exhume the body, is exhumation a necessity? If darurah exists then the body can be exhumed to provide evidence. And corruption within the authorities makes it even more difficult for women to obtain justice – some communities rely so heavily on jamaats because the police are inept or uncaring or corrupt. The interactions with the police in this documentary would not be unfamiliar to many who work in human rights.

Zahra: The documentary does a great job of revealing the many challenges faced by the Women’s Jamaat but it also sheds light on its contradictions. Women are trapped: they are in a position of defence rather than offence. This enforces an underlying motif of conflict.

The Women’s Jamaat is challenging discriminatory norms by getting involved. It is torn between challenging the system and giving in to it to protect women on someone else’s terms. As an example, a member of the Women’s Jamaat states at one point that a mother should have paid the dowry as it could have saved her daughter from being murdered. By doing so, she indirectly condones the practice of dowry. There’s always a bit of a contradiction, stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea.

Tashny: And there’s a precariousness to this position – paying the dowry may have spared the daughter at that period, but what about when the money ran out? I definitively believe that the women are well intentioned, but also felt there was a lot of warring

emotions. In one of the Women’s Jamaat meetings, a woman complains about her husband sleeping with his brother’s widows. Female participants react with anger asking the woman why she doesn’t “pack him [the husband] off to these women [widows].” This suggestion ignores the fact that these women might be in equally dire straits. Sexism has so many layers to it in this context. Inasmuch as they are helping each other, there are women who perhaps cannot approach the Women’s Jamaat for whatever reason who are equally deserving of this aid. To be dismissive of these widows comes off as harsh.

Tashny Sukumaran is a Malaysian researcher and journalist with a focus on human trafficking, forced labour, and politics.

She is currently reading Human Rights Law at SOAS, University of London.

Zahra: The documentary is successful in peeling these layers apart, showing viewers what they have to delve into contextually.

Tashny: Yeah, and it really does a fantastic job of showing the complexity of women’s situations. Like when a Women’s Jamaat member explicitly says that she’s willing to face down all these abusive men, but doesn’t know how to talk to her own husband. There’s still this element of an internal and external conflict.

Zahra: You’re right, this conflicting dynamic is difficult to overcome. That’s why I am so impressed

by Salma, the young woman who comes out and says: “Yes, my father abused me.” This was just really powerful.

Tashny: Yes, I think that was a really important story to tell. One of hope. Because for so many women there is no way out: they’re murdered, forgotten. Or trapped within a structure that does not care. So, Invoking Justice isn’t just about the struggles the Women’s Jamaat faces, but also the journey of victim – an external perspective and construct – to survivor. There’s a very heartbreaking poignancy to the whole narrative. The fight is so multifaceted: practical aspects, case work, being familiar with Sharia law to point out how Muslim men are misinterpreting it to keep the patriarchal structures going. At the end of Invoking Justice you feel like the journey is just beginning. And that we all have to take part in the struggle.

Zahra Bajwa and Tashny Sukumaran

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Women’s Struggle for Equal Inheritance in Somaliland

1

2

F or anonymity, interviewees real names have been replaced by pseudonyms. aria B. Tungaraza, M “Women’s Human Rights in Somaliland,” NAGAAD (2010): 63.

3

ersonal P communication, Amina Hassan, lawyer and member of the East Africa Lawyers Association.

4

“Annual Human Rights Report Against Marginalized Groups,” NAGAAD (2010).

5

Mahr is a mandatory payment given in the form of money or other assets by the groom to the bride at the time of marriage. This payment legally becomes her property.

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Women selling milk in Hargeisa, Somaliland

“I was too ashamed to ask my brothers for my share of the inheritance,” Khadra,1 a 44-year-old mother of six living in Hargeisa, confessed. When Khadra’s father passed away 20 years ago, his assets – a house and a plot of land – were transferred to his sons. Khadra, who was the eldest daughter and who had provided for her siblings for years, did not claim her rights out of a fear of stigma. “People would have called me shameless if I had claimed my share against my own brothers,” she said.

In Somaliland, inheritance law is governed by Sharia law.2 According to the Quran (An-Nisa 4:7), “There is a share for men and a share for women, from that which is left by parents and those nearest related, whether the property be small or large – a legal share.” Although the Quran grants women inheritance rights, they are often ignored in practice. As summed up by Khadra, “Elders forget about Islamic Sharia when it comes to inheritance.”

Women in Islam, 2018

In many parts of Somaliland, customary law or xeer, the traditional form of justice implemented by clan elders, is preferred over Sharia. Xeer is used to resolve disputes between individuals and families with the overarching goal of preserving peaceful relations between clans. Under this system, women are not allowed to argue cases in front of the elders and must be represented by men. This requirement is particularly problematic in cases of inheritance given that the dispute often involves male relatives.

In addition, it is often challenging for women to bypass the clan elders, whose influence extends to the statutory system. Disputes are usually brought to the statutory court as a last resort when the elders have failed to settle the conflict through traditional means.

Judges often follow the recommendations of the elders and refuse to hear a case before customary remedies have been exhausted.3

Denial of inheritance rights to women differs from region to region due to cultural specificities.

Depending on the region and what is considered the most valuable asset, women are forbidden to inherit land, camels or farms.4 For example, in the northeastern region of Sanaag, women are denied the right to inherit land with beeyo (frankincense) trees, whose dried sap has been a valued commodity for centuries.

Female heirs are seen as a threat to the family-land continuity and ultimately the clan’s wealth.

A son will keep the land securely within the family and the clan while a daughter will take the assets with her when she marries a man from another clan.

Based on this logic, male members of the clan have a strong interest in restricting women’s access to inheritance in order to protect the clan’s properties.

Hence, valuable assets are almost systematically transferred to men, even in the absence of male heirs. If a father has no sons, his assets will go to his nephews or closest male relatives.

Not only are daughters deprived of inheritance but widows as well. When a woman loses her husband, she is often forced to marry his brother. This practice allows the family of the deceased husband to remain in control of the mahr5 or bride price paid to the wife upon marriage, and more importantly of the assets of the late husband. If the widow refuses to marry the brother, she is often forced out of the family home and denied any property.

This is what happened to Awo, a 39-year-old woman from Hargeisa. Talking about the relatives of her late husband, “They didn’t want me to be independent and manage my own property,” she said. Awo used to own a house and a small business with her husband before he died of a heart failure five years ago.

After her husband passed away, his family asked Awo to marry his younger brother. Awo initially refused, telling her in-laws that she was not ready to marry someone else right away. They came back two years later ordering her to marry the brother or leave the house and her three children. “They came when they heard gossip that I was going to marry the man of my choice,” Awo recalled.

Awo resisted and brought the case before the court.

“I had to choose between being a maid in my own house or start a new life with the person of my choice,” she said.

Following the advice of the elders, the court granted Awo the custody of the children, but deprived her of the assets that she had acquired with her husband.

Awo had to start again from scratch but has no regrets. “I am glad I went to court and got custody of my children. I only needed them, not the money,” she said. She opened a new business to provide for her three children and has not remarried yet, although she is hoping to find a new husband in the future.

If Awo’s story is a powerful example of the resilience and determination of women, it also reflects the many challenges they face and the limitations of the legal system to protect the rights of women. In the end, Awo had to give up her share of inheritance in order to be able to choose whom to marry.

Many women, unlike Awo, do not even put up a fight that they see as hopeless. “I have never seen a woman being granted the property she was claiming before the court,” Khadra said. “As for me, I can only wait to get my reward at the Qiyama (judgement day),” she concluded.

Yousef Timacade grew up in Ethiopia where his family fled in 1988 after the civil war broke out in Somalia.

He returned to Hargeisa, Somaliland, in 2009 and worked for the organisation Action Network for Disabled People. He is pursuing a master’s in Executive Management and Business Administration at Abaarso Tech University and currently works for the Strategic Initiative for Women in the Horn of Africa as an Outreach Officer in Somaliland.

Yousef Timacade

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Memories of War and the Bodies of Eritrean Women Fighters In this essay, Sondra Hale explores the representation of women’s bodies in times of war, with a focus on Muslim women ex-fighters. Based on interviews conducted in the 1990s, she analyses the experiences of female combatants who served in the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) during the 30-year war for Independence from Ethiopia (1961-1991). Hale examines changes in socio-cultural and gender norms during the war and its aftermath. She highlights the challenges faced by female fighters in the post-war era which has been marked by a resurgence of traditional values within Eritrean society.

Dr. Sondra Hale is Professor Emerita of Anthropology and Gender Studies at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA), and co-founder of the Journal of Middle East Women’s Studies. Her academic work, based on decades of fieldwork in Sudan and Eritrea, is enriched by a deep sense of activism.

The representation of Muslim women’s bodies in times of war, conflict, and armed struggles for liberation is a complex subject, often neglected by academics and researchers. Eritrea, where Muslim women entered the struggle earlier than their Christian counterparts1 and suffered the highest casualties, is no exception in this regard.2 Conflicts often change the way women think of their own bodies. For example, I was struck by an exchange I had with one of the Eritrean Muslim women combatants that I interviewed. When asked about sexual violence against female fighters, she responded that Muslim women kept their bodies “in reserve,” and confided that her greatest fear during combat was being captured and raped. “It is better to be killed. Death is kinder to a Muslim woman’s body than rape.”

Eritrean society – approximately half Orthodox Christian and half Muslim – is highly conservative with regard to women’s bodies, sexuality and the cultural positioning of women. For women to participate in combat, to live with men in bunkers, and to think of themselves ‘like men’ for the purposes of combat, was a striking departure from the norm of gender relations in pre-war Eritrean society.

When women entered the combat arena of war, the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF)3, later the ruling party, had to make a rapid switch from representing women as fragile, moral, pure and in need of protection to depicting female fighters of the

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war of liberation as strong and brave women who were equal to men in every way.

Female fighters’ bodies took on a different meaning. Their bodies had lost their sacred and profane signifiers. At least ten women I interviewed said that they ‘became men’ when they entered the field. Women’s bodies had become desexualised and neutralised, enabling men and women to develop new notions of privacy while living in the same bunkers.

During the war and a few years after, the icon of the brave woman fighter became the norm. Female fighters were systematically portrayed as strong, statuesque, liberated women, sporting an afro and wearing khaki pants and leather jackets. By contrast, the image of female fighters whose bodies had been mutilated, scarred, disabled, tortured, or sexually violated were hidden and only suggested when State ideology required the use of a ‘fragile’ representation of women’s bodies.

During the second, even bloodier war with Ethiopia (1998-2000), some 20% of the combat force of the Eritrean military was comprised of women. However, in March 2000, rumours spread that captured women were being raped. Consequently, it was announced that Eritrean female soldiers would leave the frontlines – i.e. combat – ostensibly to be transferred to training programmes.4 In my view, withdrawing women from combat after such successes during the first war reflected

Women fighters with the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front celebrate a victory in their long war for independence from Ethiopia.

Photo by DAN CONNELL

ideas about the sanctity of women’s bodies, which had begun to filter back into national consciousness.

Women's bodies were, again, to be protected, hidden, secluded, segregated, feminised and, as my Muslim respondent above said, withdrawn and “kept in reserve.” Women were again exalted as mothers and protectors and socialisers of traditional mores.

Women's seemingly ‘free bodies’ in the war zone were again constrained.

This seemed like a setback. After all, an integral part of the ideology and platform of the secular Eritrean ruling party was to build a newly gender emancipated population among the fighters. During the liberation struggle, the national discourse developed by the EPLF represented women as full participants in the military struggle – not as substitutes, but as full-fledged citizens of revolutionary Eritrea.

Practice closely followed this ideology. Close to the end of the first war, women comprised more than 30% of the fighting force and had served in all capacities, as

"active organisers, teachers and administrators, as well as mechanics, electricians, electronic engineers, watch repairers, tailors, barefoot doctors and village health workers."5 This is not the usual history of militaries where women have been used selectively, and mostly in jobs seen as extensions of their domestic labour.6 By most accounts, women experienced a high degree of emancipation while in the liberated zones – getting an education (academic, political, and military), learning new skills, and coming into a new identity.7 It is, nonetheless, easier to build the kind of camaraderie in the bunkers that might look like egalitarianism than in a civilian ‘democracy,’ where daily life may feel less empowering for women.

The transition between the end of the armed struggle and the entry into civilian life revealed many changes in the ways in which women warrior’s bodies have been configured and reconfigured to serve the State.

The bodies of women warriors had to meld into the national myths about the indispensability of Eritrean

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women in the struggle for liberation. In everyday practice, however, women's bodies had to return to a central reproductive role.

In 1994, 1996, and 1999 I interviewed more than 35 women from the EPLF and asked them to narrate their experiences as fighters, and stories about returning to civilian life. During my first visit in 1994, I observed many scarred and disabled female fighters. However, by the time I returned in 1996 most of the disabled fighters, primarily the amputees, had disappeared from public spaces. Many were withdrawn into their homes, tucked into the bosom of their families.

It seemed clear that by 1996, many Eritreans did not want to be reminded of the horrors of war and the toll that the war took on women's bodies in particular. So, the bodies of disabled female fighters, a large portion of whom were Muslim, all but disappeared from Asmara, the capital of Eritrea.

The EPLF and its extension, the governmentcontrolled media, avoided sensationalism about the fate of women fighters and other women caught in the struggle against Ethiopia. I tried without success during my visits, to ascertain the numbers of women who were killed in the war(s), but there are no public figures on these disabled, mutilated, tortured, raped, or deceased women.

If one wanted to engage in voyeurism about Eritrean women and torture, you would have to look to memoirs or fictionalised accounts by outsiders, such as Thomas Keneally. Keneally, an EPLF enthusiast, had travelled with fighters and lived for a time in the field.

In his novel, Towards Asmara, Keneally details the annihilated body of a Muslim woman who, for him, stands in for the suffering of all Eritreans: She had suffered electric shocks. She had been stretched across a stone, four-cornered and immutable, with ropes. They had destroyed her womb that way. She could not have children and so she considered herself a woman more in a political sense, said Masihi,8 than any other. All her teeth

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had been pulled, and all her nails. There were burns everywhere on her body…They trussed her, her legs bent up her back, her arms behind her, wrists to ankles. They stood on her neck to do it. Trampling her… They hurled her …down the stairwell.9 In this passage, Keneally spoke the unspeakable about women's bodies. Silence about women’s violated bodies remains the rule. No one I interviewed told me about the torture of women in any graphic detail. No one even told about his or her own wounds. I gave a lecture once on the liberation movement to an English language class for demobilised female fighters who were disabled from the war. These women, half of whom were Muslim, did not display or discuss their wounded bodies.

The silence that surrounded women, in particular, with regard to their experiences of violence and the invisibility of disabled, scarred, and traumatized women, serves to underline a number of Eritrean attitudes about women's bodies. The unspoken view seems to be that it is a national shame that women could not be protected from these war atrocities at the same time that their courage and commitment are part of the national allegory.

One Eritrean woman fighter's narrative serves as a segue from a discussion of the traumas of war to the post-war problems. She described her life during combat in this way: In the field they [the EPLF] took care of us. No one dared hurt us or abuse us in any way. Only the party could discipline us. When we got sick we were taken care of; we could go to school if we had not had a chance before we entered the field. The men were our comrades; they did not dare do anything that was not respectful.

This feeling of camaraderie and emancipation, however, faded with the end of the struggle and women had to, yet again, conform to traditional gender norms. As the Muslim combatant explained in the same interview:

I am a Muslim and I married a Christian. When I got back into the society [became a civilian], my family forced me to divorce my husband and marry a Muslim. This man, my cousin, had not been a fighter so he did not know the … [she uses an expression that means ‘code of combat’] and so he did not forgive me for marrying a Christian. He treated me like dirt. He turned me into a servant in my own house. I have left him because he hit me, but I have nowhere to go.

The law says that I can get a divorce, but the religious authorities will not let us.

It is a sense of abandon and seclusion that then prevailed amongst female fighters as they were left alone to face new health and economic struggles. As described by the same interviewee: I am staying with a friend now; she is a fighter like me. I have no income because there are no jobs.

My husband got the custody of our one child. I was wounded in the war. A bullet went through my leg.

I got good treatment in the field, but I need more.

I do not have the full use of my leg. Although I am classified as a disabled fighter and given some benefits, they are not the benefits I need most.

I need a job, rights to my child. I need physical therapy and some help, some counselling for my problems. I have nightmares about my friend who had her face blown off, right in front of me. I see her every night…

As another testimony seems to indicate, it may well be in the area of sexuality where the greatest stresses among ex-fighters emerge. One Muslim woman told me: In the field my husband treated my body as if it was almost sacred. When we were in combat, he treated me like everyone else. But when we were close [intimate] with each other, he was different. I had some wounds and he used to touch them and look at me with admiration. Since we have come home he does not want to look at me anymore when we have sex and he is a bit rough. I am embarrassed to tell you these things, but you asked.

In Eritrea, war is part of the national myth about self-sacrifice, self-sufficiency, liberation, freedom, and morality. An important aspect of the national myth changed, however, between the period of the protracted war and the entrance into civilian life of demobilised fighters.

What often awaits women who return from military service is enormous pressure on them to cloak their bodies in traditional norms and contribute to an image of a return to normal life, a familiar pattern in liberation struggles. In post-war situations the State needs the labour of women, but it needs to channel it into appropriate labour (i.e. for the ‘common good’).

For women, among other expectations, this takes the form of upholding the moral fabric of the society, no matter how traditional these views may be. The State, again, has taken control of women's bodies.

Sondra Hale

1

large number of Muslim women joined the Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF), the leading A independence movement in Eritrea during the 1960s and 1970s.

2

F or additional information, please see: Sondra Hale, "The Soldier and the State: Post-Liberation Women: The Case of Eritrea," in Frontline Feminisms: Women, War, and Resistance, eds. Marguerite R. Waller and Jennifer Rycenga (New York: Routledge, 2000), 349-370; and "'Liberated, But Not Free': Women in Post-War Reconstruction," in Aftermath: Women in Post-War Reconstruction, eds.

Sheila Meintjes, Anu Pillay, and Meredith Turshen (New York: Zed Press, 2002).

3

he Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) was formed in 1970 out of breakaway groups who T splintered from the ELF. After achieving independence in 1991, it transformed into the People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ).

4

F or additional information, please see: "Eritrean Government Takes Women Soldiers from Frontlines," Channel Africa, March 11, 2000; and "Eritrean Women Soldiers Leave Frontline, but are Ready to Return," Agence France Presse, March 11, 2000. It may well be, however, that it is the fear of their capture that propelled the decision to remove women from combat. See also: "Eritrean POWs, including Women, Wait for War's End," Dehai News Online, June 29, 1999, http:// www.oocities.org/~dagmawi/NewsJun99/Jun30_Horn-of-Africa_News.html

5

Jenny Matthews, Women and War (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 2003), 41

6

ynthia Enloe, Does Khaki Become You? The Militarization of Women's Lives (Boston: South End C Press, 1983).

7

he only full study of women warriors to emerge during the war is: Amrit Wilson, Women and T the Eritrean Revolution: The Challenge Road (Trenton, New Jersey: The Red Sea Press, 1991). For more updated information, see Chapter 8: Lyda Favali and Roy Pateman, Blood, Land, and Sex: Legal and Political Pluralism in Eritrea (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2003).

8

This is a name of one of the characters in the novel.

9

Thomas Keneally, Towards Asmara (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1989), 314-316.

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The New Jackpot When Corporations Capitalise on Muslim Women Hijab, Nike aims to serve today’s pioneers as well as inspire even more women and girls in the [Middle East] region who still face barriers and limited access to sport.”

Nike is not the first corporation to venture into socalled ‘modest’ or ‘Islamic’ fashion. In recent years, major clothing retailers, including H&M, Uniqlo, Mango and Dolce & Gabbana, have developed modestwear collections targeted to Muslim customers.

Hijab-wearing models, such as Mariah Idrissi1 and Halima Aden, 2 have made their appearances on international catwalks, advertising billboards and glossy magazines, defying the beauty standards of the global fashion industry.

What used to be a rare occurrence has thus become commonplace with Muslim fashion icons regularly making the headlines in mainstream media. This increased visibility of Muslim women and the dissemination of ‘positive’ images of the hijab feel particularly timely, as a mood of hostility and suspicion runs through segments of Western society. In a context dominated by repeated terrorist attacks, fear of migrants in Europe and the U.S. president’s travel ban, the hijab-wearing woman is too often regarded as the symbol and embodiment of Islam, and, by extension, as a potential threat.

Illustration by Anne-Laure Pierrelot, France

“If you have a body, you’re an athlete,” assures the major sportswear manufacturer Nike to Muslim women in its marketing campaign for a highperformance hijab. One can read on the company’s website that, “By providing Muslim athletes with the most ground-breaking products, like the Nike Pro

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It is therefore not surprising that many consumers and public figures enthusiastically welcome these initiatives as a step in the right direction towards greater inclusion and diversity in sport, fashion and beyond. This general feeling is captured by Hussam Ayloush, an executive director at the Council on American-Islamic Relations, in his comments on Nike’s Pro Hijab campaign: “Regardless of the values driving this new product, it is always a welcomed move when corporations and media normalise the presence of Islam and Muslims in our world and especially in the United States.”3

At a time when Islamophobia pervades public opinion, these campaigns offer, at least in appearance, an alternative narrative on Muslim women, by depicting them as independent and strong-minded individuals.

They help deconstruct the entrenched western view of the hijab as a sign of oppression, insisting on Muslim women’s capacity to choose their dress and reclaim their body and femininity. “I believe fashion is one of the outlets in which we can start that cultural shift in today’s society to normalise the hijab in America and other parts of the West, so as to break down stereotypes and demystify misconceptions,” said Anniesia Hasibuan, an Indonesian designer of modest fashion.4 Although laudable in some respects, these campaigns, unfortunately, remain filled with stereotypes. The generalisation of ‘Islamic fashion’ is problematic in itself as it contributes to negating the diversity of dress in the Muslim world, by focusing mainly on the hijab and abaya5 collections. As described by the Egyptian artist and activist, Deena Mohamed: “There is no such thing as Muslim clothing. Muslims wear all sorts of different clothes, and it varies by country and culture.”6 These advertising campaigns by multinational corporations more generally reflect a poor understanding of Muslim women’s realities. Nike’s commercial, for example, begins with a woman nervously adjusting her veil before going for a run in an empty street, while a female voice narrates in Saudi dialect: “What will they say about you? Maybe they’ll say you exceed all expectations.” Although inspiring, this commercial depicts a scenario unrealistic for many Saudi and Muslim women. “This is not the true representation of Arab Muslim women. We do not wear a hijab and go running in the streets, shame on Nike,” posted Nada Sahimi on the company’s Instagram page.7 Indeed, there are many examples of cultures and societies where women have been significantly restricted in their athletic pursuits. In Saudi Arabia, physical education was prohibited for women and girls in public schools until July 2017. Sports infrastructure

for women is almost off-limits, with all stadiums, sports clubs, trainers, and referees limited exclusively to men. The regular practice of sports by women, in a country where they were allowed into the national stadium as spectators for the first time in September 2017, seems more like a distant possibility than a reality. It is not, therefore, the sudden availability of a quick-dry hijab that will allow women to participate in athletic activities.

Not only are they far from the everyday realities, these campaigns also tend to patronise Muslim women, as if they had been waiting for the help and support of Western companies to stand up and perform in all areas of life. Nike did not empower Muslim female athletes, as the company’s campaign seems to indicate. Muslim women, against all odds, have always participated in professional sports, working their way through with boldness, determination and perseverance.

In the same way, designers and entrepreneurs in the Arab world have long catered to the needs of Muslim women. Smaller companies, often run by women, have created and designed modest clothing lines for decades. Collections from major companies such as Nike and H&M convey the idea that even ‘Muslim fashion’ belongs to and is dominated by Western corporate power. “There are currently designers that create world-class collections [in the Muslim world], but it’s the Western brands that take the credit,” Hulya Aslan, a consultant for Islamic fashion brands in Turkey, laments.8

Behind the well-rounded sales pitch, what is at stake, in the end, is not the holistic empowerment of Muslim women but their expanding purchasing power.

In 2015, the business magazine Fortune described Muslim women as the “next big untapped fashion market.”9 The position of women within Islamic society does not matter as much as their capacity to impact global economy. As Vali Nasr, an IranianAmerican academic specialised in the Middle East, puts it, “The great battle for the soul of the Muslim world will be fought not over religion but over market capitalism.”10

1

ariah Idrissi is a M British MoroccanPakistani model and the world’s first model to wear a hijab on a highprofile fashion campaign for the multinational retailer H&M.

2

alima Aden is an H American model and the first hijabwearing model to walk international runways and be signed by a major modelling agency.

3

icole Spector, N “Nike’s Hijab Prompts Backlash, Boycott – and Praise,” NBC News, March 14, 2017, https:// www.nbcnews. com/business/ consumer/nikes-hijab-promptsbacklash-boycottpraise-n733171

4

E lizabeth Paton, “Asserting a Muslim Fashion Identity,” New York Times, November 1, 2016, https:// www.nytimes. com/2016/11/03/ fashion/islamicfashion-voguearabia.html

5

loose-fitting fullA length robe worn by some Muslim women.

6

rachi Gupta, P “What 5 Muslim Women Think about Dolce & Gabbana’s New Hijab Line,” Cosmopolitan, January 22, 2016, http://www. cosmopolitan.com/ style-beauty/news/ a52535/muslimwomen-respondto-dolce-andgabbana-hijabi-line/

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According to the Global Islamic Economic Report 2016/2017, Muslims spent US $251 billion, or 11% of total global expenditure, on fashion in 2015. Fortyfour billion alone was spent by women purchasing modest apparel. By 2021, Muslim spending on clothing is estimated to grow by over 7%, to reach US $368 billion. With such impressive figures, it is no wonder that international brands are rushing to seize the opportunity and capture market shares.

7

eline Aswad, C “Women in Sports Ad Strikes Nerve in Arab World,” Reuters, February 23, 2017, http:// www.reuters. com/article/usarab-women-nike/ women-in-sportsad-strikes-nervein-arab-worldidUSKBN1620I7

8

idem Tali, “How D Western Brands Get Fashion for Muslim Women All Wrong,” Vice, March 17, 2016, https://broadly. vice.com/en_us/ article/xyeb9d/howwestern-brands-getfashion-for-muslimwomen-all-wrong

9

olly Petrilla, “The M Next Big Untapped Fashion Market: Muslim Women,” Fortune, July 15, 2015, http://fortune. com/2015/07/15/ muslim-womenfashion/

10

11

42

F aegheh Shirazi, “How the Hijab became a Global Fashion Industry,” Quartz, May 10, 2017, https:// qz.com/979243/ how-the-hijabbecame-a-globalfashion-industry/ J ohan Fisher, The Halal Frontier: Muslim Consumers in a Globalized Market (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011).

This trend, of course, is not limited to the fashion industry. Recent years have witnessed a multiplication of halal (permissible) products and services, categorised as respectful of the values and principles of Islam. Halal certifications have flourished in sectors as diverse as food and beverage, pharmaceuticals and cosmetics, media and recreation, and travel.

Western-based multinationals, once again, have been quick to jump on the bandwagon. The food industry paved the way with large fast food companies, such as McDonalds, KFC, and Subway adding halal items to their menu, and Nestlé developing halal production processes to attract Muslim customers.

World-leading cosmetics companies such as Unilever and L’Oréal followed suit, heavily investing in products and campaigns to gain the loyalty of middleclass Muslim women.

While halal is being increasingly recognised by multinational companies as a significant new market, it is also used by Muslim conservatives to identify different groups of people as ‘moral’ or ‘deviant’ communities.11 The consumption habits of Muslim women are particularly scrutinised, as radical Islamic groups criminalise women’s behaviour in an attempt to assert their authority.

Fatwas are now being issued to regulate whether women should wear make-up, use perfume, or even pluck their eyebrows.

Multinational companies have been more than happy to respond to the ‘new demand’ created by the increasing number of prohibitions targeted toward women. Several beauty and cosmetic brands, for example, designed a nail polish which they claim to be halal or ‘breathable’ after religious leaders argued that

Women in Islam, 2018

it was essential that the water reach the surface of the nail for the ablutions before prayer to be valid.

This convergence of interests between Muslim conservatives and big corporations is worrisome as it might lead to further restrictions on women’s freedoms, presented under the guise of increased consumption opportunities.

As shown once again by these examples, initiatives by corporations targeting Muslim women are mainly opportunistic and profit-driven. The new visibility of Muslim women does not necessarily reflect greater interest in or understanding of their realities, challenges and aspirations. The representation of Muslim women in the West remains articulated around stereotyped patterns with women being alternatively treated as security threats or market opportunities.

Muslim women are not one-dimensional as often portrayed in media and marketing campaigns. They are not aspiring terrorists, oppressed human beings, or empowered fashionistas. They are a collection of individuals with complex and diverse experiences, with common and conflicting goals, making their own way in a world that insists on putting them in a box.

Hence, we must stop imposing onto Muslim women our own expectations and limitations, and refrain from shaping their images in an attempt to serve our own economic, political and security interests.

Nike’s campaign will not fool us; empowerment does not only come from new consumption opportunities but rather when Muslim women are given the agency and freedom to construct their own images of themselves.

Célia Hitzges

Célia Hitzges is the Editorial Coordinator of Women in Islam and an avid advocate for women’s rights. Born in France, Célia currently works as an independent consultant based in the Caribbean.

The Fiction of ‘Back Home’ Among the Canadian Darfur Diaspora In February 2003, Sudan’s westernmost region of Darfur began to make the international headlines following reports indicating that serious human rights violations and atrocities were taking place in the area.

Images of burning villages and stories of looting, mass murder and rape of women and girls spread across the world, while thousands of people fled their homes, triggering a major refugee crisis. Since the beginning of the conflict, more than two million people have sought refuge in urban centres across Sudan and in neighbouring countries.

Though Darfur refugees were forced to leave most of their physical belongings behind, they did not start their lives from scratch; they carried vivid memories with them to their new homes. These are not frozen images of past events, nor are they individual recollections of strictly personal significance. Darfur refugees, like most forcibly displaced persons, carried with them what have been increasingly referred to as ‘social or collective memories.’

Groups which have experienced traumatic events caused by war, conflict or famine, to name only a few, often strive to rebuild or recreate their lost ‘materiality’ by preserving their identity as an ‘intact’ or ‘coherent’ whole. Under these circumstances, memories serve to create and recreate meanings that support the existence of the group. The collective memories embraced by displaced communities become the ultimate blueprint for the rebirth of the group as a united and coherent entity in a new location. As accurately described by anthropologist Liisa Malkki, “the construction of a [group’s] past is a construction of history of a particular kind; it is one that claims moral attachments to specific territories, motherlands or homelands and posits time-honoured links between people, polity, and territory.”1

The creation of collective memories, or memorialisation, is therefore a process of both remembering and forgetting, whereby ‘the past’ becomes ‘raw material’ open for unlimited interpretations.

According to this logic, “the future is certain - only the past is unpredictable.”2 Narration and storytelling are used by the group to construct and pass on this selective reading of the past. As a result, both the group and its narrated past are rendered fictional, being the products of an imaginary construct. This process, although complex, allows the group to overcome traumatic events, regroup in a timely fashion and face contemporary challenges and demands. Collective memory therefore “serves the purpose of facilitating change in society – even revolution – by masking that change in the guise of continuity.”3

Mohamed Elfaki is a Sudanese writer living in Canada and a PhD candidate at McMaster University, Department of Anthropology.

Distorted reminiscences of Darfur and life ‘back home’ are shared among the diaspora in myriad ways.

People’s personal and collective stories melt into a ‘grand narrative’ about Darfur and its devastation.

It does not matter anymore if diaspora members have themselves experienced the war and atrocities directly, or through intergenerational transmission.

All members have a shared ‘history’ that transcends the current moment and acts as a ‘continuum’ holding the group together.

In this context, Darfur is no longer a complex and multi-faceted territory, where people with diverse socio-cultural background coexist – it is one single entity. ‘Home’ is no longer a diversified place delimited by forces of geography and history, but an imaginary, unified body.

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"Grain" (360 x 251 cm) – mixed technique and photo-luminescent pigments on linen canvas – from the series "Clandestins," Blaise Patrix, 2013/15

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In fact, the Darfuri identity has come into life against the backdrop of the crisis. It is the product of long years of negligence, deprivation and marginalisation, marked by the looting and embezzlement of Darfuri human and natural resources by Sudan’s central government.

In Canada, the emergence of a sense of common identity among the Darfur diaspora coincided with the escalation of the conflict in the 1990s, when government troops and its allied militia, the Janjaweed, launched their first attacks in central Darfur. This sentiment materialised in the creation of the Darfur Association of Canada, established in Toronto in 1999, with the objective of addressing and preventing the atrocities happening in Darfur.4 To consolidate their fictionalised identity, diaspora groups rely on, among other things, the perpetuation of local languages and traditional gender roles. On the one hand, the various Darfuri cultural groups – of which the diaspora is no exception – increasingly and consciously use their local language in communication with one another irrespective of the setting. 5 Local language thus becomes a social and cultural identification marker that also signifies the ‘missing purity’ imagined and yearned for by the group.

On the other hand, the burden of translating the idealised image of ‘back home’ into a tangible reality rests mostly on women’s shoulders, while men’s contribution is rather ‘theoretical.’

Women, who represent the ‘collective body’ of the group, are expected to embody the fictional ‘purity’ of the ‘lost paradise.’ As such, they are forced to conform to the ideals and values of the group, such as chastity and modesty.

Women who do not fit into the mould are often scorned, stigmatised and isolated by the group, whose expectations contribute to hindering women’s ability to integrate into their new socio-economic and cultural environment.

Ironically, the same logic applies in Darfur where rape and sexual violence against women and girls are used as a means to compromise the integrity and coherence of the attacked community. Women’s bodies, in periods of war and in times of peace, are the symbol and embodiment of a group’s honour and identity.

To maintain the connection with ‘home’, diaspora communities also tend to reproduce the same traditional household structure. Despite the fact that most Darfuri women in the diaspora are involved in the local economy as wage and salary workers, they still perform most of the household work, including cooking, cleaning and child rearing.

Food is also regarded as a means to preserve the group’s identity. Darfuri communities in Canada continue to prepare and eat asida, a very common porridge from ‘back home.’ The special dukhun or sorghum flour, from which it is made, is imported directly from Sudan, or replaced by whole-wheat flour when not available. Meals, composed of local dishes, are usually shared with Darfuri relatives, neighbours or visiting friends. Darfuri crafts, made of wood, leather or palm leaves, can also be found in most households, creating a sense of common belonging among the diaspora community.

As shown by these examples, ‘back home’ does not merely refer to nostalgic moments one recalls from now and then. It is the essence that sustains the group’s identity and gives the community assurance and certainty. As such, ‘back home’ is nothing but a necessary burden one yearns to maintain and keep alive. This burden, however, often weighs more heavily on women, as the group expects them to live up to the ideals of an imaginary and distant world.

Mohamed Elfaki

1

L iisa H. Malkki, Purity and Exile: Violence, Memory, and National Cosmology Among Hutu Refugees in Tanzania (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2005), 1.

2

icolas Argenti and N Katharina Schramm, Remembering Violence: Anthropological Perspectives on Intergenerational Transmission (New York: Berghahn Books, 2010), 9.

3

albwach quoted H in Argenti and Schramm, Remembering Violence, 5.

4

he author was T one of the founding members of Darfur Association of Canada.

5

efore the eruption B of the current devastation in the region, using one’s language in the presence of foreigners who do not speak the language was viewed as very rude behaviour.

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Wanted Women: Reflections on the Lives of Ayaan Hirsi Ali and Aafia Siddiqui A book by Deborah Scroggins Published in 2012, Deborah Scroggins’ book, Wanted Women,1 delves into the stories of two women and their opposing perspectives on militant Islam. Scroggins is a well-known American journalist and the author of the acclaimed book, Emma’s War,2 an account of the tragic life of Emma McCune, the late wife of South Sudanese rebel leader Riek Machar.

Intrigued by the journeys of influential women, Scroggins uses journalistic research to narrate and construct the stories of these reallife women.

and its affiliated groups in the US before fleeing to Pakistan and then Afghanistan.

Relying on her extensive knowledge of Sudan and first-hand experience as a journalist in the country, Scroggins provides in Emma’s War a meticulous look at the brutal and volatile politics in the region.

In Wanted Women, the author courageously reflects on the complexity of Islamic ideologies and their ramifications on society, and more specifically on women. Both Pakistan and Somalia, the countries of origin of the two female characters in the book, are struggling with the rise of militant Islamic-based ideologies that have evolved to the point of defining social identities, influencing national politics and laws, and reshaping social norms and gender relations.

As described by Scroggins, Ayaan and Aafia “were both in their early 30s. They were both fiercely intelligent.

They both came from politically ambitious families.

They had both been tossed about among Africa, Asia, Europe and the United States ever since childhood.

They shared a kind of warrior mentality. Both prized fearlessness. They were both rebels.”

Wanted Women is a unique and noteworthy book that profiles two women whose life and legacy were determined by their relationship to religion and the expression of their beliefs. The book highlights the lives of Ayaan Hirsi Ali, the Somali activist and author of the famous book Infidel3 in which she narrates her life experience and the journey that led her to abandon her Islamic faith, and Aafia Siddiqui, the Pakistani scientist born into a prestigious and traditional family who graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in the United States (US) and later voluntarily joined and collaborated with Al-Qaeda

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Both women emerged as known figures in the mid-1990s because of their controversial public positions on Islam.

Their lives mirror the dilemma faced by generations of men and women living in diaspora and Muslim-majority countries.

Both Ayaan’s and Aafia’s engagement also reflects the conflicting reaction of Muslim societies to the failed projects of post-colonial states in the Middle East, North Africa and the Horn of Africa. Many communities in these countries have lost faith in the exploitative and repressive regimes that emerged after independence. With no viable political project, many people have withdrawn into what they know, can relate to and consider a safe place – they went back to their religion and faith. This situation has given political Islam a strong grip and legitimacy, as it became the alternative resistance project across the Muslim world. However, the ambition of political Islamists is nothing but to rule and control. Their ideology is based on hate and exclusion and bears no relation to reality, being mostly reliant on a poor interpretation of history that ignores the context and circumstances of the past.

Ayaan and Aafia embody the two extremes created by this situation. On the one hand, Ayaan openly denounced the Islamic traditions and uprooted herself from her Somali heritage. She built her identity as an outsider who fled the hell of Islam to find shelter in the heaven of the West. Aafia, on the other hand, was caught up by a dogmatic and brutal ideology that glorifies and romanticises an ancient and imaginary past.

As outlined in Scroggins’ book, the reaction by western lobbying and propaganda institutions to both women was also extreme. While Ayaan was glorified and rewarded for breaking up with the Islamic faith and becoming an icon of the fight against Islam, Aafia paid a heavy price for identifying with the militant version of Islam that sought to liberate Muslims of western influence. She is currently serving an 86-year sentence following a 2010 conviction for attempted murder of FBI agents, US soldiers and interpreters in Ghazni, Afghanistan while she was being interrogated for alleged ties to terrorist groups, including Al-Qaeda.

Scroggins’ book alternates between the two women’s tales in parallel narratives depicting Ayaan’s and Aafia’s journeys from childhood to the present. The book speaks to the upbringing of both women in a fascinating way. Scroggins is particularly successful in walking the reader through the lives of the two women while building a strong story and analysis of the ongoing ideological ‘war on terror.’ The reader, regardless of what she or he thinks of the author’s analysis, can only admire and enjoy Scroggins’ detailed body of research and her ability to capture transitional life moments which have shaped the identity and actions of both characters.

Wanted Women on Ayaan Hirsi Ali Scroggins is surely challenging the heroic narrative and the sincerity of Ayaan Hirsi Ali in her book Infidel.

She questions on many occasions the way Ayaan tells and refers to her life story, highlighting her complicity with American think tanks known for holding ideological grievances towards Muslims. Despite this criticism, it is fair, in my view, to recognise that Ayaan was audacious in navigating the powerful American institutions capitalising on her story and reputation.

The uniqueness of Ayaan’s position lies, in my opinion, in the fact that she, as a Somali woman adopting this stance, knowingly or unknowingly exposed herself to the judgment and persecution of her peers and her community. This represents a heavy burden for someone whose background is rooted in a society of collective consciousness.

Ayaan has built her reputation by exposing the violence and exploitation of women under the pretext of Islam in Muslim societies. There is nothing new here; women have been fighting religious oppression for centuries. Though Ayaan’s narrative is not an invention, it is only half the truth.

Ayaan’s discourse always falls short, limiting itself to stating incidents without going beyond the surface. In particular, she does not reflect on the origin and the construct of militant Islam, nor does she question the politics behind it.

In a similar manner, Scroggins turns a blind eye to the responsibility of the American state apparatus in the development of militant Islam, perceived today as the biggest enemy of the US.

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I strongly believe that Ayaan should be held accountable for her simplistic, generic statements and her ties to political institutions that are themselves affiliated with religious groups such as the American Jewish Committee (AJC), an American Jewish advocacy organisation. However, I think that she should also be recognised for her courage. In Wanted Women, Scroggins meticulously emphasises Ayaan’s expediency and seeks to expose this side of her personality, which, in my view, undermines her depiction of Ayaan’s life.

Wanted Women on Aafia Siddiqui Scroggins’ book navigates Aafia Siddiqui’s upbringing, family life and stay in the US thoroughly.

Aafia’s story is a perfect example of the current patterns of socialisation and education of girls in Muslim elite families in many parts of the world.

These patterns are typically characterised by a dichotomy between preserving Islamic traditions and pushing girls to acquire a westernised education for power and status.

1

eborah Scroggins, D Wanted Women: Faith, Lies, and the War on Terror: The Lives of Ayaan Hirsi Ali and Aafia Siddiqui (New York: Harper Collins, 2012).

2

eborah Scroggins, D Emma’s War: A True Story (New York: Vintage Books, 2004).

While following Aafia, Scroggins reflects on the complex relations between the Pakistani government during the presidency of Pervez Musharraf and militant organisations such as Al-Qaeda. She highlights the conflicting position of the Pakistani military and security apparatus, torn between preserving the alliance with the US and influencing the agenda of militant Islamists.

3

yaan Hirsi Ali, A Infidel (New York: Atria Paperback, 2007).

Although Scroggins provides an interesting and consistent narrative of Aafia’s life prior to her

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involvement with Al-Qaeda and other Islamist factions, she struggles with unveiling the character traits and push factors that have driven her towards Islamic militancy. The book, however, does a great job of identifying transition points in Aafia’s life, including her rebellious approach towards marriage and motherhood, that have shaped her identity.

Scroggins shows how Aafia challenged the agenda of traditional Islamic institutions that advocate for women to return to and stay at home. Wanted Women speaks to Aafia’s political ambition and eagerness to engage in an imaginary jihad (holy war) under the presumption of religious supremacy. The book underlines her idealistic and naive approach toward jihad and the extent to which she blindly and willingly accepted an ideology that undermined her existence and struggle for emancipation.

Only a decade after Aafia’s recruitment into militant groups, waves of young women have joined Islamist organisations. Militant groups such as the Islamic State (or Daesh) continue to capitalise on Aafia’s story and imprisonment to attract young women to their cause.

Wanted Women is a fascinating book and a must read. It is informative, riveting, and well written and researched. It reflects the current polarisation of the world through the stance, choices and contradictions of two women.

Hala Alkarib

Tribute to My Grandfather An Unconventional Sudanese Muslim Man In this essay, Shahinaz Sabeel, a young Sudanese woman who grew up between Sudan, Canada and Uganda, recounts her relationship with her grandfather, an unconventional man and important male figure in her life. Shahinaz narrates how her grandfather fought to maintain his Sudanese identity and remained true to his values at a time when Sudan’s social and cultural identities were disrupted by the rise of militant Islam.

My grandfather, Yassin, and I had an interesting relationship. Although I was not fortunate enough to spend more time with him, since he passed away when I was a teenager, I remember him from my childhood as a vibrant man who expected the best for each and every member of his family, including me.

Yassin was the head of a large and loud household.

Every morning, he would call me to fetch him his wooden cane before heading to the souk in downtown Khartoum. He used to sell a variety of dry goods, basically anything he could get his hands on in bulk, from cigarettes to bags of rice. To his great regret, he stopped working around his 80th birthday as his declining health forced him to retire. My grandfather was someone constantly on the move who hated to see people idle around him. Coming back from the souk, he would always bring something home for us, whether it was a bag of fresh oranges, chocolate, or sugar. He took his role as a breadwinner seriously even after his five children, including my mother, were all financially independent. My grandfather always made a point of providing for himself and deeply resented the idea that he might need to be looked after or cared for.

Yassin witnessed years of turmoil in Sudan’s recent history – from the early days of independence to the

Drawing by HUSSEIN MIRGHANI, Sudan

military regime of Jafaar Nimeiri and the steady rise of political Islam.

While reflecting on his life, I realise that he had to fight hard to maintain his freedom in a country that was profoundly changing. He stood firm on his principles when repressive militant Islam permeated Sudanese society.

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Shahinaz Sabeel is a writer of poetry and short fiction.

She currently resides in Canada where she is enrolled as a history and political science student at Brock University.

Sabeel has been posting her works online since 2014 at: http://justasudanese-poet. blog-spot.com.

I realise now how lonely he must have felt and truly appreciate his resilience and fighting spirit. My grandfather expressed his religiosity as a Sudanese man, proud of his heritage and culture. Looking back, I am amazed that a man with such a humble background, a farmer and later a bulk goods salesman who never left Sudan, acquired such an emancipated personality. My grandfather always refused to be coopted or intimidated by anyone, especially religious militants. He made sure that his family experienced the same freedom.

True to his values, my grandfather allowed me to govern my own future by treating me not as an extension of himself but as an autonomous individual.

Yassin was exceptional as a Sudanese man in that he did not impose his will and desires on others. He was a well-wishing spectator more than a commander and even at his most intrusive, he would only question my intent, not my abilities.

In a society that still harbours resentment towards the upward mobility of women, this was unusual behaviour, one that was greatly appreciated by the young me who wanted to be free to make childish mud castles, collect rocks, ride bikes, and read dinosaur books.

My grandfather was also, to some extent, a man of his time. Most Sudanese men from his generation seemed to be guided by a similar approach to tribal ethics. They magnified the idea of a communal haven in which freedom had nothing to do with individual liberties, but simply referred to one’s ability to help their people. Only a man who could provide not only for himself but also for those around him was considered truly free.

My grandfather was one of these men who prided themselves on supporting their households and communities; men who treated all children as their own, and who raised boys to do the same.

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In today’s world where society’s values have shifted over the years, my grandfather’s views might seem idealistic at best. The rise of a more individualistic society, however, never discouraged my grandfather from what seemed to be his ultimate goal – to help, build, uplift and enfranchise his family, his community, and his friends.

However, I must admit that, in spite of his charisma and generosity, I resented my grandfather greatly as a child. At the time, I could not comprehend all the dynamics at play. I was like a fish out of water when coming to Sudan and could only observe with surprise how family members were interacting with each other.

I could not understand why older members always went about giving orders and stating facts in such a rigid and dictatorial manor. Certainly, the young were loved, spoiled and admired but many were also burdened with the aspirations and expectations of extended family members. Older relatives often felt entitled to make life-changing decisions on your behalf without consulting you first. However, as I grew older, I had no choice but to accept the dramatic and loud way my relatives communicated their feelings. This was part of family tradition, I assumed!

While visiting and living in Sudan, I also came to realise that expectations were different for boys and girls.

Sudan, while being a place in which men enjoy an almost limitless degree of freedom, is also a country where women seek the shadows for refuge from the male gaze. It is a place where unhealthy gender relations are cultivated and passed off as traditionalism.

In this context, my grandfather was one of the only Sudanese men who interacted with me regularly without posing a threat to my personal freedom or stifling my character into an acceptable mould. He was critical but accepting of who I was, helping me to build self-confidence. Even when I felt that I was

lagging behind my hard-working peers, his words and smile cheered me up. My grandfather always reminded me of the triviality of life and taught me that the best way to influence others is to lead by example. He saw no reason why one should force him or herself down a path that was not theirs to walk.

For him, being free meant being true to yourself. This lesson, as well as many others Yassin taught me, still resonates with me today.

I particularly like to remember another story that happened during Eid. As with most Sudanese families, Eid was always a very important day in our household.

My grandfather would go to the market, pick out a lamb healthy enough to feed our bursting household of nine, and shove it into the backseat of my uncle’s car. I recall the first time I went with him to choose the lamb for slaughter. As a child, I was slightly scared by the idea of being involved in the choosing of the animal to be killed. I watched as my grandfather was going around inquisitively stroking the lambs and checking their teeth and fur. I noticed that he had an eye on a particularly plump one. He took my hand and placed it on the back of the lamb so that I could pet it and asked me if we should bring it home. I inspected the animal further and noticed it was a female. I do not know why but I suddenly began shouting and protesting, demanding that my grandfather find another lamb that was not a female. This story does not suggest in any way that females ought to be spared and males ought to be killed, but, as a I child, all I cared about was that this creature in front of me, as a female, possessed a fragment of my own essence. My grandfather, to my surprise, immediately agreed despite the teasing of my uncle who was laughing at me.

This story might seem trivial but is in fact revealing of relations in Sudanese society.

The expression of complex emotional issues is disregarded at all levels of society, especially within familial contexts. Attempts by women to express their feelings and opinions are often met with ridicule and distaste.

The reaction of my grandfather, who took my distress into account, was, in this context, unusual. His understanding and the fact that he regularly made me feel that my opinions were not subsidiary, surely contributed to building my confidence as a young girl. All I ever really wanted was to be heard and taken seriously.

When most people lose a loved one, they look back at the wonderful memories they may have shared with that person. When my grandfather died I could not help but think about his mistakes and what he could have done differently. My grandfather was by no means perfect. He was not perfect as a grandfather, father, or even as a man, but as a human being he was a rare gem in a sea of gravel. He was not particularly wealthy and did not leave us with a bank account full of money or a significant plot of land. Nevertheless, he managed, somehow, to gift all of us with the same resiliency and lust for life. He found his riches in his friends, in his family, in his attitude, in his adventures, and above all in an unapologetic acceptance of who he was at any given moment.

My grandfather vigorously battled any looming shame that thought to penetrate his soul. His attitude, almost narcissistic at times, was rendered necessary by the circumstances. One had to be self-centred to resist the forces that were plunging the country into militancy and isolation. His strength and courage are now guiding my life. My grandfather gave me the will to fight for myself and for my freedoms, and above all, taught me that there is no need to stifle the aspirations of others – selffulfilment is already challenging enough. He was a man formed under pressure, and one of the very few to blossom in a country that tends to silence diversity. Thank you, grandpa, for fighting for your freedoms while giving us all the strength to seek our own. You will be missed.

Shahinaz Sabeel

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The Taming of the Shrew Born into a conservative middle-class Sudanese family, I have always been perceived as a rebel, or at least an outsider. I rebelled against my family’s expectations of what a ‘good girl’ does and doesn’t do from an early age. I used to question social norms and discuss religion, politics and ethics to the point that my father made a list of topics that shouldn’t be debated, claiming that a conclusion could not be reached from those discussions.

I refused to serve my elder brothers tea at the age of 12, and stopped coming back home before sunset when I became a university student, once again going against the norm. My disobedience led to many family disputes throughout my teenage years and into my early 20s.

As a feminist, I learnt from an early age that there are two things I should not compromise: my economic independence and ownership over my body.

Yosra Akasha, is a Sudanese blogger and activist.

She writes about human rights and social issues in Sudan with a focus on advocating women’s rights, peace and the rights of displaced persons.

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Shakespeare’s misogynistic 16th century play, The Taming of the Shrew, is a lived reality for Sudan’s 21st century women, myself included.

In the play, Katherina, who refuses to be courted by Petruchio, is tortured psychologically and physically until she eventually subjugates herself to him and becomes an obedient bride. As a reward for her obedience, her father, who was desperate to find her a suitor, grants her the biggest share of his wealth at the expense of her two sisters.

I am 31 years old and, at the age of 27, was the last to get married among my sisters. I was also the only woman in my extended family to pursue politics from a leftist perspective. At the age of 23, I shifted my career from community pharmacy to civil society activism with a strong focus on feminism and women’s rights. I turned away from my second class honours degree from the University of Khartoum and started to look for courses on feminism, human rights and political economy.

Women in Islam, 2018

When I was 25 years old, I met the love of my life and we got married two years later. He is, in my view, the only genuine male feminist I have ever met. I have grown up intellectually and emotionally since knowing him. I learnt from him how to be kind and sensitive to others, how to manage my anger and frustrations, and how to solve disagreements without losing my temper.

After we got married, we rented a small house in the south of Khartoum. Our home was open to everyone. It was a place in which we welcomed our friends and fellow activists and went into heated political and intellectual debates that continued for days. One year after our marriage, I received a scholarship to study in the UK. I could not turn down the opportunity. I left Sudan and my beloved husband, not knowing that things would change for me forever within a couple of months.

While I was away, I received photos from my husband.

I noticed that he had lost significant weight and looked unhealthy. I shared with him easy recipes, stressing the

fact that he needed to learn how to cook healthy food.

I assumed that he was not eating well because he didn’t know how to cook properly. A few months later, and after his health deteriorated significantly, my husband was diagnosed with third stage colon cancer.

My husband’s sickness was a turning point in my life. In addition to my grief, pain and fear of loss, others started to look at my husband, and by extension my support system, as being weak. This time coincided with attempts by many individuals from my family and professional circles to tame my disobedience.

It is a well-known fact to me that disobedient or rebellious women are the first to get assaulted in times of war, even by their own communities. By denying them protection from the enemy and sometimes violating their bodies and belongings, communities punish them for not conforming to their norms and ideals. However, I couldn’t imagine that I would undergo a similar experience in peace time.

My husband was a freelance trainer and speech therapist and I was a student living with a scholarship that paid minimum wage. We had little money and no health insurance to cover the cost of his treatment.

We relied on extended family support and our friends’ contributions for at least the first six months of his illness. Cancer treatment facilities are almost nonexistent in Sudan. My husband’s family therefore arranged his treatment to take place in Dubai. A week after his diagnosis, both of us relocated to the United Arab Emirates and my brother-in-law, who lived there, hosted us. Less than a month later, my in-laws also moved to Dubai.

It didn’t take me long to realise that I was not welcomed by some of my in-laws. The fact that I was involved in the treatment process made the men from

my husband’s family very uncomfortable. According to their ideals, a woman must always take the back seat, regardless of her relationship with the patient. It does not matter if she is a mother, a wife or a sister, and could bring valuable knowledge to the process. My disagreements with patriarchal authority mounted, but I knew I had to be strong since I was engaged in a life-and-death battle to save my husband. Among the many disputes, we argued about who should be listed as the next-of-kin on the hospital forms. It was obvious for them that, as a woman, I could not claim this right.

My appearance and attitude were also unwelcomed.

The moment I arrived from the UK, my in-laws asked me if I was eating halal food there. Then I received lengthy speeches about respecting the country’s conservative culture and trying not to make the police suspect that I am a hooker. One day, I was walking with my husband to the car park after he underwent a colonoscopy. He was feeling drowsy so, I let him support himself on my shoulder as I held his waist with my arm. My brother-in-law, who was driving the car, got angry and told us to stop displaying affection in public because the police could arrest us. This was only one of the many incidents that occurred before we were able to move out from the family’s house a few months later.

Health practitioners and security guards at the hospital showed the same disrespect towards me.

One day, while I was accompanying my husband to his chemotherapy session, a Sudanese security guard had the nerve to stop me and ask that I wear decent clothes. He told me that if I came next time wearing this indecent outfit I would not be allowed to enter.

Another time, we had to rush to the emergency room because my husband’s nose was bleeding heavily.

While we were in the waiting area, a security guard

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asked me to step away from him and wait in the women’s waiting room. In other instances, when he had to sleep at the hospital, I was asked to leave him alone because only men can accompany a male patient.

Each time I refused to leave and told them to call the police to get me out of the ward.

For some people in the activist community and beyond, my husband’s illness was an opportunity to ask me for sexual favours or begin an affair with me. Some tried to convince me that their propositions were noble acts, meant to keep me strong and sexually satisfied. In a deviant case, a politician, who did not understand that ‘no’ actually means ‘no,’ tried to attack me. Those were people my husband knew; some of them pretended to be his friends. Those acts of sexual harassment and the attempted rape were driven by three assumptions.

The first assumption is that, since I am a feminist, I am sexually liberated and I sleep with everyone. The second assumption is that I don’t have a sexual life with my husband anymore because of his sickness.

The third assumption is that, whatever happens, if I accept those offers or reject them, I will not say a word. It was evident to them that I was not strong enough to get into public shaming fights and that I would spare no effort to prevent my husband from enduring any additional stress.

My husband’s illness came shortly after I launched a series of blog posts named ‘The Feminist Police.’

The purpose of those posts was to reveal sexism and misogyny in Sudanese opposition discourse. Some posts went viral but were also met with a backlash against feminism in general and myself in particular.

On the night before my husband was to undergo major surgery, a journalist wrote a public post on his Facebook account asking: What do feminists do when their husbands die? Do they get married for a

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second time? He commented later that he would not want his wife to move on and remarry if he was to die.

I was deeply saddened to know that people who do not know me personally are eager to go as far as they can to cause me harm in every way possible. I felt disgusted by this man who thought that the only way for a woman to get away from marriage is to be widowed.

My husband’s illness showed me how important it is to be economically independent and to stay in control of my body at all times. I had to withdraw from many battles in order to win the big war – preserving my dignity and my family wellness. I understand that, as an independent and educated working woman, I have the privilege to resist male authority, but many women in my surroundings have no choice other than being obedient and living up to patriarchal ideals.

Now I understand the price of dissidence and I have no regret in paying it. Over the past three years, I have made it through thanks to the unconditional emotional and economic support I have received from family, friends and some of my in-laws. To all the Petruchios trying to tame the shrew in me, I say your efforts to domesticate my spirit have failed. I am ready to face tougher times.

Yosra Akasha

Painting by Roney Ogwang, Uganda

‘He Was the Love of My Life’ Why Women Marry into Boko Haram Since it began its military campaign against the Nigerian government in 2009, the Islamist terrorist group Boko Haram has kidnapped hundreds of girls. But some young women join the group voluntarily, raising questions about how to help them when they come back home.

Four years ago, Aisha Mamman was studying for a diploma in accounting when Boko Haram attacked her town, Bama, in northeastern Nigeria. Now she is a 25-year-old mother and the ex-wife of a Boko Haram commander.

Since the militant group began its campaign of violence against the Nigerian government in 2009, Boko Haram has kidnapped hundreds of young women and girls,1 subjecting them to sexual assault, forcing them to work as slaves and making them

participate in violence, including suicide attacks.2 But Mamman’s experience is different – she is one of a number of young women who have chosen to marry men they know are members of the terrorist group.

Mamman met her husband when he gave her and her family shelter as they fled toward the Cameroonian border. “He liked me, so he took pity on us,” she says.

When her parents continued on to Maiduguri, the capital of Borno state, she chose to stay with him as his fourth wife.

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“I fell in love with him and he was treating me well.

So when he asked me, I married him.”

1

2

3

4

ausi Segun and M Samer Muscati, “‘Those Terrible Weeks in Their Camp’: Boko Haram Violence against Women and Girls in Northeast Nigeria,” Human Rights Watch, October 27, 2014, https:// www.hrw.org/ report/2014/10/27/ those-terribleweeks-their-camp/ boko-haramviolence-againstwomen-and-girls “ Nigeria: Women and the Boko Haram Insurgency,” International Crisis Group, Report 242, December 5, 2016, https://www. crisisgroup.org/ africa/west-africa/ nigeria/nigeriawomen-and-bokoharam-insurgency “ Buhari: Last Boko Haram base taken in Sambisa Forest,” Al Jazeera and News Agencies, December 24, 2016, http:// www.aljazeera. com/news/2016/12/ buhari-boko-harambase-retakensambisa-forest-´ 161224125809113. html F or more information, please consult the Neem Foundation website, http://www.neem foundation.org.ng/ who-we-are/aboutneem

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They lived together for three years in Sambisa Forest, a Boko Haram stronghold in Borno state, until the area was taken back by government forces in 2016.3 Mamman was taken to a government facility in Maiduguri, where she and 60 other former militant wives are going through a deradicalisation program run by the Neem Foundation.4 She still speaks wistfully about her life with her husband.

“He was very good to me. I miss him … [he was] the love of my life,” she says. “But there’s no point missing him because I know I will never get to see him.”

In recent years, news reports have highlighted the plight of girls taken hostage by Boko Haram, in particular the 276 girls from one school in Chibok town. The kidnapping sparked a global social media campaign, #BringBackOurGirls, with public support from public figures like Beyoncé and Michelle Obama. Little attention has been given to girls like Mamman, who join Boko Haram voluntarily but are often still victims of psychological, physical and sexual abuse. Those who work with women released or rescued from the group say stories like Mamman’s raise questions for the Nigerian government, NGOs and civil society groups about how these women become radicalised, and what should happen to them when they come home.

Clinical psychologist Dr. Fatima Akilu, the director of Neem Foundation, says women join Boko Haram for complex reasons, but often they’re lured by the promise of a better life. “[Boko Haram fighters] come to their villages [with] a lot of money, swagger and respect. They were like romantic characters for these women,” says Akilu. “The girls marry them mostly because they feel that these men can economically empower them.”

Women in Islam, 2018

As wives of commanders, they enjoy a life of privilege and relative power, commanding other captives – usually young women and girls – who “wait on them hand and foot,” says Akilu. Women can even choose to get divorced from their husbands if they don’t feel they are being treated well enough.

“These women come from a very traditional, patriarchal society where their voices are not heard, and suddenly they have a lot of decision-making power and authority. They have a much better life than the other women in their community,” says Akilu. “A lot of young girls actually aspire to marry Boko Haram fighters.”

Once they are embedded in the group, the women come to accept the routine killings and acts of terrorism and can also become actively involved in them. Akilu compares the experience to joining a cult or a gang.

“They don’t see that there is anything wrong with what the young men are doing. When you’re part of a group, you come to normalise the things that you would otherwise condemn. There is a kind of fracturing that happens psychologically and emotionally,” she says.

Some of the women in the Neem Foundation’s deradicalisation program were told to kill their parents as a condition for joining the group. Others helped assemble improvised explosive devices. All of them witnessed atrocities and regular beheadings.

Mamman says she saw the killing of prisoners so often she just “got used to it.” Now, she says, she sees them dying over and over in her mind, like a video playing on repeat.

Some of her female friends opted to become suicide bombers, as did one of her husband’s ex-wives.

“She wanted to please Allah and get safe passage to paradise,” Mamman says.

In the Neem Foundation program, the women receive psychological counselling and religious ‘reeducation’ from an imam. The imam tries to break down the beliefs the group passed on to the girls that justify killing and other acts of violence, supposedly in the name of Islam. The counselling sessions help girls and women come to terms with the atrocities they have witnessed or taken part in and find ways to feel positive about the future.

“The hope is these girls don’t go back to the group, but we don’t know what will happen when they’re back out in society,” says Akilu.

“Someone can fall into a belief system quickly, but it’s hard to get them out of it.”

The goal of the program is for the girls to re-join their communities so they can resume some semblance of normal life. However, communities are not always willing to accept them, whether they joined Boko Haram by choice or not. A recent report by International Alert5 highlighted the double victimisation faced by girls abducted by Boko Haram, as well as their children, who are often the product of rape and are seen as carrying the ‘bad blood’ of their fathers.

Huawa Mele, a 13-year-old girl in the program who was forcibly married to a Boko Haram fighter, says “life had no meaning” after she was freed because she thought she would never be able to live among her community again.

organisation works with, but resources are limited.

With 2 million people displaced by the fighting, the Borno state government is struggling to provide the basic protection and services these women need.

In some cases, women and girls who have rescued or released are detained by Nigeria’s terrorism police, sometimes in inhumane dangerous conditions, which further hampers chances of recovery.6

been antiand their

Akilu says her organisation works with the government and supports its anti-terrorism activities but points out that interrogating women and girls who have experienced extreme trauma can be counterproductive. She says there needs to be greater understanding of the reasons women and girls are drawn to militant groups in the first place, to stop others from following the same path.

“This is very long-term work. It needs to happen at many levels. We’re hoping that while we’re doing this work on the ground, these higher levels will also fall into place,” she says.

For now, organisations like the Neem Foundation are the only resource available to former Boko Haram wives. Even though she misses her old life with her husband, Mamman can see the positive difference the program is making. “Despite other people stigmatising us, they took us in. They have changed our lives,” she says.

5

imairis Toogood, K “‘Bad Blood’: Perceptions of Children Born of Conflict-related Sexual Violence and Women and Girls Associated with Boko Haram in northeast Nigeria,” International Alert, February 2016, http://www. international-alert. org/publications/badblood

6

“ Children Dying in Nigeria Military Detention: Amnesty,” Al Jazeera, May 11, 2016, http:// www.aljazeera. com/news/2016/05/ nigeria-childrenmilitary-detentionamnesty-160511065 132576.html

Odharnait Ansbro

“The people think we joined Boko Haram by choice. Some of us were thinking of not going back [to our families]. We thought about committing suicide,” she says.

The Neem Foundation is currently putting to-gether teams of psychologists, religious leaders and therapists to help communities reintegrate the young women the

Odharnait Ansbro, has worked as a freelance writer and educator in both the NGO and private sector.

Most recently she assisted UNICEF on the development of their peacebuilding programming and created the first national study on the impact of a training program for Lebanese public school teachers, designed to help them to deal with the traumatic effects of conflict on their refugee students.

This article has been republished with permission from News Deeply, which originally featured the story on its website on 6 January 2017.

The original article can be found at: https://www.newsdeeply.com/ womenandgirls/articles/2017/03/06/love-life-women-marry-boko-haram.

For important news about gender issues in the developing world, you can sign up to the Women and Girls email list.

Women in Islam, 2018

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PHOTO STORY

Looking Back to Move Ahead When Women Take the Stage

Born in 1935, Shamis Abokar, better known by her stage name Guduudo Carwo, was the first woman to join the music industry in Somalia. Recruited by Radio Hargeisa, she performed her first song in 1952. At the time, women were not allowed to sing in public or on the radio therefore Shamis had to use a pseudonym, Guduudo Carwo, in order to protect her identity. As time went by, her music gained in popularity and after a few years she was able to perform in public without fear of social stigma. Guduudo Carwo passed away in 2017. She will be remembered by the Somali people as a defender of peace and hooyada hablaha fanaaniinta somaliyeed (the mother of Somali female artists).

Profile by Ayaan Khalif Mohamed, Blogger and Activist Shamis Abokar

Halimo Khalif Omar, known as Magool (i.e. flower), was born in the late 1940s in Somalia and died in 2004 in the Netherlands. She began singing at a young age and was among the first female singers in Somalia. Dubbed the Queen of Voice, she was a star among the celebrated Somali music band Waaberi. Magool sang pan-African and liberation songs both during colonialism and after Somalia’s independence. One of her most popular songs was Afrikay Hurudooy (Oh Sleeping Africa). In this song, Magool describes the suffering of African people under colonial rule. She was a uniting and beloved voice among both young and the older generations.

Profile by Guleid Ahmed Jama, Lawyer and Human Rights Activist

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Halimo Khalif Omar

Hamda Abdi Ahmed Kinaal is a young and talented Somali singer, lyricist and melodist. Based in Hargeisa, Somaliland, Hamda began her career in 2010 when she joined the band Horn Star (Xidigaha Geeska). She is an inspirational symbol and a leading figure within contemporary Somali music. In Somalia, song writing and creating melodies are often viewed as a man’s job, but Hamda challenges these gender stereotypes by showcasing her talent. In an environment of growing extremism, Hamda’s music is a symbol of hope for the revival of Somali music.

Profile by Guleid Ahmed Jama, Lawyer and Human Rights Activist Hamda Abdi Ahmed Kinaal

Khadija Mohamed and Zeinab Khalifa started singing together as part of the The Melody Dewitt band in the 1960s. The band was distinct in that they used traditional melody and songs to create modern popular music. Zeinab originates from Darfur while Khadija was born in Kordofan, two regions in Western Sudan with strong musical traditions. The Melody Dewitt performed until the mid1980s, traveling across Sudan throughout their career.

Profile by Women in Islam The Melody Dewitt, Sudan Archives Centre

Tahia Zaroug is a pioneering Sudanese actress whose repertoire includes theatre, cinema and television. Her work is considered a classic in Sudan’s theatre culture.

Tahia opened the door for other women to pursue acting careers and contributed to breaking stereotypes against female performers in Sudan.

She retired from the stage in the 1990s after more than three decades of a successful career.

Tahia Zaroug, Sudan Theatre Research and Information Centre

Profile by Women in Islam

Mouna Mahmoud is a Sudanese theatre actress famous for her role in The Abandonment written by playwright Safar Al-Jafa. The play received considerable success and toured across major cities in Sudan from the mid- to the late 1970s.

Profile by Women in Islam

Mouna Mahmoud, Sudan Theatre Research and Information Centre

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The Public and the Private

The Fatwa Discourse Women at the Mercy of Religious Legal Opinions Alsir Alsayed is a Sudanese theatre critic, radio presenter and writer for several daily newspapers. He currently works as Department Director and Radio Programmes Producer for the Sudan National Broadcasting Corporation.

In recent years, hundreds of fatwas targeted at women have been issued in order to regulate when they are allowed to leave home, what they must wear, how they should adorn themselves, etc. Many of these legal opinions given by muftis (legal scholars) use the hypothesis of temptation as a justification. Temptation is described as a natural and innate instinct that women have been endowed with more than men. This instinct would ignite whenever a woman is in the presence of a man who is not her mahram.1 That is, whenever a woman is outside the protective confines of her father’s or husband’s house. Her religiosity or devoutness, no matter how profound, does not intercede here in her interest; nor does her good upbringing or maturity.

This article aims to reflect on a fatwa that deals with women travelling alone without the company of a mahram. It delves into the way the fatwa discourse is structured and highlights the role fatwas play in the lives of individuals and the society as a whole.

The Fatwa: A Firmly Established Islamic Tradition Fatwas have been produced throughout Muslim history.

They constitute a necessary, creative intellectual practice and the only tool that gives Muslims the opportunity to be consistent with religion as aspects of their daily life keep changing in ways that are not clearly addressed by the Quran or the Sunnah. As such, fatwas are courageous and innovative acts helping Muslims to face contemporary life challenges.

For this reason, Islamic scholars have surrounded the issuing of fatwas with many restrictions and rules.

It is reported, for example, that Imam Malik 2, aware of his incapacity to respond to all enquires, once replied, “I don’t know” to 32 of the 48 issues he had been asked about. Both Ibn Masoud and Ibn Abbas, the companions of the Prophet, also said that only a madman would issue fatwas about everything he is asked about.

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The Growing Influence of Fatwas on Individuals and Society Fatwas in contemporary Muslim societies marked by the rise of proselytising institutions and powerful Islamic movements, have become a mechanism of social isolation and political and cultural categorisation.

They have moved from being mere statements of opinion that can be challenged, to being “God’s rules.”

According to this definition, the authors of fatwas are taking upon themselves the role of a prophet, as if they were the only ones who could tell, through divine revelation, what God has ordained. This leads to a number of abuses including the issuing of ridiculous fatwas such as the one on apostasy or breastfeeding of male adults.3 This evolution in the use of fatwas has been encouraged by many factors, including huge progress in communications. Internet increases the speed with which information travels and makes it nearly impossible to have oversight or control over what is being published. Another factor is the stardom status achieved by some of the proselytisers who are expected to produce fatwas on a regular basis. There is also a general lack of religious understanding among Muslims, coupled with an increasingly changing environment, that raises many questions on religion and its practice. The lack of freedom and social justice in many Muslim countries is also part of the problem as it enables a culture of imitation and limits the space for critical thinking.

The prevalence of a traditionalist, conservative approach in the majority of bodies that produce religious knowledge has led to the publication of a plethora of fatwa-specific books by institutions and individuals such as Sheikh Ibn Baz4 or Sheikh Ibn al Uthaymeen.5 The fragmentation of contemporary Islamic thought has permitted the fatwas to become the main source of information about Islam and its relationship to everyday

1

A mahram is a family member with whom marriage or sexual intercourse would be considered haram (illegal) in Islam.

2

I mam Malik, born in Medina in the 8th century, is a Muslim jurist and theologian who played an important role in formulating early Islamic legal doctrines.

3

I n 2007, Dr. Izzat Atiya of Egypt's alAzhar University issued a decree allowing women to breastfeed their male colleagues at work.

4

S heikh Ibn Baz was the grand Mufti (from 1993) and the head of the Council of Islamic Scholars (from 1962) in Saudi Arabia until his death in 1999.

5

S heikh Ibn al Uthaymeen (19252001) was an influential cleric within the Salafist movement.

6

" Fatwa on Women's Travel Without a Mahram” in Council Fatwas, 5 (n.d.): 142-148, Islamic Fiqh Council of Sudan (in Arabic).

Cartoon by Rayah Ombaddi, Sudan. Sheikh writing women's fatwas.

life. There are now fatwas justifying dogma, giving direction on how to interact in society or worship, themselves further subdivided into legal opinions about science, entertainment, clothing and adornment, weddings and celebrations, etc.

Recently, a new fatwa branch has made its appearance: the “women’s fatwas” with a few books published under the heading. These daily prescriptions focusing on women have removed the religion’s inherent tolerance, openness and humanism and converted it to a catalogue of do’s and don’ts. They have obscured Islam’s holistic view of existence, humanity, nature and history. As such, fatwas have become a threat to social peace and mutual understanding in Muslim societies.

A Fatwa Preventing Women from Traveling Without a Mahram “It is not permissible for a Muslim woman to travel without a mahram.” This fatwa was issued by the Islamic Fiqh Council of Sudan, a body affiliated with the government, and published in the first volume of

Council Fatwas.6 This fatwa, which is not dated, is cosigned by Sheikh Mohammed Ibrahim Mohammed, head of the Jurisprudence of Family, and Sheikh Dr. Ahmed Khalid Babikr, the Council’s Secretary General. The fatwa is designed, according to its authors, to provide guidance on the prescription of ‘safe company’ for women.

The council refers to several narratives about the Prophet to support its conclusion that women are not allowed to travel alone without exceptions. The analysis of the council’s reasoning, however, reveals a number of flaws. The quoted narratives do not agree on the period that is not permissible for a woman to travel without a mahram. In some of the narratives, the party to the ban is indicated as a “Muslim woman” while in others it is a definitive “no woman.” In one of the narratives, the mahram is described as a “father, son, husband or brother” while there is no such limiting definition in the rest. This fatwa is, in my opinion, a good example of how original narratives are used by muftis to form the basis of legal prescriptions that do not take the current context into consideration.

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The Public and the Private

The Mufti’s Position In the case of this fatwa, it is clear that the muftis, whether wilfully or otherwise, ignored the position of the enquirer. They turned a blind eye on the specific context and the conditions that have led the enquirer to seek guidance on the position of women and their ability to travel. Nowadays, women travel for education, work, medical treatment, or tourism and use fast, reliable and safe travel means. They work in various positions and are active in politics, culture, and society. Sudanese women have access to

legal protections; freedom of travel is granted by law to all citizens regardless of gender. The Constitution of Sudan allows women to run for presidency and parliament and to hold government positions. This is the context to which the muftis paid scarcely any attention when issuing their fatwa, relying instead on traditional jurisprudence.

It is obvious when analysing the fatwa that the reason for the ban is travel in itself. The council justifies its decision using a quote from Ibn Hajar Alhaithami7: “a woman is not permitted to travel without a mahram

Closed hand: fatwa. Open hand: Constitution.

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even if for a short distance, even if it was safe, even to carry out a religious obligation such as the umrah [pilgrimage to Mecca], and even in the company of other women.” The muftis formed their opinion referring to the interpretation of classical Muslim jurists, but did not carry out their own interpretation based on the contingencies and conditions of their times and the current situation of women.

In addition, they missed the point that the crux of the problem lies in the presence or absence of the mahram and not in the travel itself. What is at stake here is whether women should be allowed to travel without a mahram or not. According to the council, the only possible answer is ‘no,’ as women need direct protection from potential hazards and indirect protection from sexual temptation. This opinion is based on an underlying assumption, namely ‘the ultimate female infirmity.’ As stated by the muftis: “The reason behind this ban is that women are prone to seduction, and their being alone is the reason for prohibition, because Satan finds a way in her lack of company to seduce her.”8 Therefore, it is the presence of the mahram that prevents Satan from engaging in his vile acts, not the woman’s faith or attitude.

This interpretation clearly ignores the Quranic verses stating that women can be part of the group immune to Satan’s seductions. In a conversation with God, Satan says, “by your might, I will surely mislead them all, except, among them, Your chosen servants” (Saad: 8283). The ‘chosen servants’, in my opinion, also include women, as shown by verse 33:35 (Al-Ahzab) which puts men and women on an equal footing: “Indeed, the Muslim men and Muslim women, the believing men and believing women, the obedient men and obedient women, the truthful men and truthful women, the patient men and patient women, the humble men and humble women, the charitable men and charitable women, the fasting men and fasting women, the men who guard their private parts and the women who do so, and the men who remember Allah often and

the women who do so – for them Allah has prepared forgiveness and a great reward.”

Moreover, the muftis sidestepped a number of key questions by relying on traditional jurisprudence only.

For example, how do we define the Land of Apostasy and the Land of Islam today? More importantly, they did not consider the impact their fatwa would have on modern day Muslim women, and therefore on Muslim societies in general. It makes no sense, for example, to have a female politician or teacher traveling under the guardianship of her underage son, so that he can protect her from Satan’s deceit. It also seems ridiculous to think that a traveling woman would need ‘safe company’ when airports are now fully secured and protected.

Conclusion The fatwa preventing women from traveling without a mahram contradicts the principles of the Sudanese Constitution and violates women’s human rights. The Islamic Fiqh Council failed to look at the religion and its purpose in a holistic manner. As Imam al-Shatibi9 says, “agreement has been reached that prescribing the impossible, or causing hardship or embarrassment, is forbidden to the legislator.”10 This principle was clearly ignored by the council.

The muftis did not take into consideration the fact that travel is a modern demand on women imposed by individual and societal necessities, and that much benefit is accrued from it both for the country and its people. They did not consider women to be responsible humans, knowledgeable and capable of protecting themselves. The question therefore remains as to what is the aim of this fatwa that cannot be conformed with, nor implemented, other than attempting to reaffirm male authority in a changing environment.

Alsir Alsayed Translated from Arabic by Sam Berner

7

I bn Hajar Alhaithami (1503-1566) is a theologian, specialised in Islamic Jurisprudence and well known as a prolific writer of the Shafi’i school.

8

“ Fatwa on Women’s Travel,” 145.

9

bu Ishaq alA Shatibi (720-790 A.H./1320/1388 A.D.) was an Andalusian Sunni Islamic legal scholar following the Maliki school of thought.

10

min Hassan A Omar, Islamists and the State: Discussions on Sharia, Constitutionalism and the Civil State (Khartoum: Khartoum Journalism and Publishing Council, 2013), 193.

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The Public and the Private

Cycling on the Road to Equality An Interview with Enass Muzamil, Founder of the Sudanese Female Cyclists Initiative Although women have been driving cars in Sudan since the 1950s, social norms still prevent them from cycling. With the rise of political Islam in the country, women have increasingly been excluded from public spaces as the list of “indecent” or “morally unacceptable” behaviours and attire continues to grow. A few Sudanese women, however, are reclaiming the busy streets of Khartoum and other Sudanese cities by riding bicycles thereby breaking the norms and traditions of Sudan’s conservative society. Enass Muzamil, a 29-year-old woman who studied at Khartoum University and currently works for UN Environment, is the founder of the Sudanese Female Cyclists Initiative. In an interview with Women in Islam, Muzamil tells us about the origins, challenges and future of the female cyclist movement she began.

bike lanes beside the roads. Every morning, hundreds of adults and children cycle to work and school, regardless of weather conditions. During a second visit to Holland, I started cycling myself. I went to a course designed for immigrant women to learn how to ride a bicycle. It took some women months to learn how to cycle, but I picked it up very fast, probably because I used to ride a bike during my childhood.

How did you come up with the idea of starting a cycling club?

You mentioned that you were riding a bicycle as a child, why did you stop?

It all started in 2013 when I travelled to Holland for professional purposes. As soon as I left the airport, I saw so many people on bikes – men, children and also women. Holland has a biking culture. There are bicycles parked everywhere in the streets and special

As a little girl, I had a beautiful red bicycle. I loved it and was very proud of it. But when I was 12 years old, the bike was taken away from me. It was considered inappropriate for a teenage girl to ride a bike. I was very angry and felt it was unfair. It made me painfully aware of the difference in treatment between boys and girls in Sudan’s society. My cherished bike was given to a cousin, who did not look after it. I remember that when we visited him a few months later, I saw the bicycle lying around in a poor condition and felt sad.

While in Holland, I started thinking about cycling opportunities in Sudan. Bikes are a great means of transportation in overpopulated urban environments like Khartoum. It is cheap, does not take up a lot of space, and does not pollute the environment or make noise. It is also a great way for women to improve their health and move short distances.

How did you translate your idea for a female cyclist initiative into reality?

When I came back to Khartoum, after my trip to Holland, I bought myself a bicycle. It was challenging, since ladies’ bikes are not easily accessible in Sudan. Once purchased, I took the bicycle together with my sister and little nephew to the Green Yard, the biggest park in the city.

Through my work in Holland for Radio Netherlands Worldwide, I had become acquainted with online advocacy. So, I established a Facebook page titled

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‘Sudanese Female Cyclist Initiative’ and posted a few pictures of female friends and myself on the bike. The response was beyond all our expectations. In a few days, the page received more than a thousand likes and reached three thousand likes a few weeks later.

Through the page, we started to organise weekly meetings at the Green Yard. Sometimes more than 150 women would turn up. At this time, we had only three bicycles and had to take turns to teach each other how to cycle.

Reactions to your initiative on Facebook were positive. What were the reactions of the media and the general public?

Generally, our initiative was welcomed by the public.

From the beginning, we received a lot of attention from local and international media, including Al-Jazeera, Al-Arabiya, MBC and the BBC. Numerous articles about us were published in Sudanese newspapers and I was asked to participate in national TV talk shows on women in sports. We also received lots of support from Sudanese public figures, artists, football players, women activists, etc.

But in the parks and streets of Khartoum where we practise biking, reactions are mixed. People are often surprised to see young ladies on bicycles. Sometimes, reactions are negative and we are verbally harassed.

Can you talk about the forms of harassment you usually experience?

Most negative comments come from men, but some women are also very critical. We try to ignore them.

It is natural and understandable since we are doing something new that goes against the norm. Change needs time. In just a few months, people have already got used to see women cycling in the park. And it’s not all negative. We also get a lot of encouragement from people giving us a 'thumbs up' and all kinds of help and advice. Some women even stop their cars to ask how they can contact us to join!

How do you explain the success of the initiative?

Part of the success comes from the fact that we are catering for a need among young middle-class women in Khartoum. The club offers women the opportunity

to meet outside and in public, and while verbal harassment cannot be prevented completely, women feel protected cycling together in a group. Young women like to do sports, but almost all the sports activities in Khartoum are indoor and usually quite expensive.

The women who have joined the initiative are also enthusiastic about bringing a positive contribution to society. We do not only cycle, we also organise events to raise awareness about the environment and encourage people to take responsibility so that we can all enjoy clean, green and safe public spaces. In our philosophy, solving environmental issues starts with each and everyone’s commitment to protecting her or his direct environment.

I think the secret of our success is that we are promoting women’s rights and environmental protection in a constructive way that does not offend the cultural sensitivities of most Sudanese people. We are not opposing Sudanese culture. We feel that we are representing it, by being simple and taking care of our environment.

What are your plans for the future?

We are an independent association surviving on the donations from members. At the moment, however, a lack of adequate funding is inhibiting our expansion.

Through the Dutch embassy, the Dutch organization “Give a Bike” donated five brand new bicycles to our cause. But we need more bikes, a clubhouse to store them, and perhaps also a few part-time professionals hired to train our members and organise activities.

Despite the challenges, we feel optimistic as the number of women joining the club grows every day!

Compiled by WOMEN IN ISLAM

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perspectives

The Impact of Dogma on Scientific Progress “People do not kill each other only for material benefit but also for reasons of dogma. Nothing is more dangerous than the certainty that one is right… At the end of the twentieth century, it should be clear to each of us that no single system will ever explain the world in all its aspects and detail. The scientific approach has helped to destroy the idea of an intangible and eternal truth. This is not the least of its claims to fame.”1

Faouzia Farida Charfi is a Tunisian physicist and professor at the University of Tunis. She served as Secretary of State for Higher Education in 2011 and is the author of several books published

by Odile Jacob, including Science Under the Veil (2013) and Sacred Questions (2017).

In the text cited above that would become famous – The Possible and the Actual – François Jacob, Nobel Prize-winner of medicine, captures with great accuracy the essence of science. He reminds us that science, as opposed to dogma, refuses all definitive truths and only progresses through experimentation, contradiction, perseverance and intellectual courage, a quality shared by the intellectuals who have marked our history.

Indeed, daring scientists, throughout time, have put their reputation and lives on the line to challenge established representations. Among the most famous is Galileo, who was sentenced to life imprisonment for his theories supporting a sun-centered solar system.

Giordano Bruno2, another astronomer, was burned alive for his theory of the infinite universe. Hypatia, a remarkable female mathematician and philosopher, whose thought was seen as ‘pagan’ at a time of religious conflict, was violently murdered in Alexandria by fanatic Christians in the 4th century AD. As shown by these examples, scientific progress is not a given. It requires intellectual freedom, which can only thrive in democratic societies where all citizens, men and women alike, are seen and treated as equal.

“Achieving intellectual freedom is a proactive process, which involves rejecting dogma and intellectual stagnation by continuously and constructively questioning the articulation between tradition and modernity”

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In a world where science informs global decisionmaking, African countries cannot afford to lag behind.

The scientific gap between developed countries and what is termed ‘the Global South’ must be reduced if African countries are to have the tools to influence the decisions that are being made on the future of the planet. Water resource management, renewable energies, climate change, and sustainable development are among the many issues currently debated in national and international fora that will impact generations to come.

African countries must therefore transition from being mere observers to becoming active producers of science and technology. This transition implies a change of mindset. Knowledge should not be regarded as a commodity, an easily accessible and consumable product, but as a shared endeavor reflecting the rich intellectual heritage of humanity. It is only through this approach that we can build a knowledge society, in which information is produced, processed, transformed, disseminated and used to generate and apply knowledge for the benefit of all.3 For that purpose, African countries must counter all forms of religious extremism spreading throughout the continent. If science rests on critical thinking, certainty is the signature of fundamentalists, who, regardless of their origin, share a common hatred for the autonomy of science. Religious fundamentalists tend to have the same backward-looking vision of science. They claim to hold the truth, seek to impose their own interpretation of sacred texts, and silence those who fight for freedom of conscience and religion.

Painting by AHMED ABUSHARIAA, Sudan.

Islamic fundamentalists, in particular, have developed a new discourse on science, asserting that major scientific discoveries were anticipated and described in the sacred texts. Using a pseudo-scientific approach, they claim that most scientific theories stem from the Quran. Unfortunately, their rhetoric is proliferating on the Internet and on TV, finding resonance with many young Muslims.

Today, science is everywhere, being at the root of the communication technologies – mobile phones, computers, etc. – that we are using every day. Young Muslims, like any other youth, are regular consumers of these sophisticated products of modern science.

However, in a science-driven world, technological development can be perceived as a tool of domination from the developed countries, and more particularly from the West. By considering the Quran as the source of all knowledge, including science, Islamists are providing an empowering narrative, that gives young Muslims the reassuring illusion to be fully part and in control of today’s world. Consequently, a growing number of students in Tunisia and beyond experience difficulties navigating between science and belief. Distrust towards science is rapidly increasing in the Muslim world as religious dogma affects youth understanding of scientific theories.4

It is nonetheless important to highlight that the manipulation of Holy Scriptures is not unique to Islamic fundamentalism. Hindu extremists, for example, consider that modern scientific theories, from Newton’s mechanics to quantum physics, are developed in the Vedas, their sacred texts. The ideological collusion between religious fundamentalisms is also reflected in the visceral rejection of Darwin’s theory of evolution by both Evangelical Protestant and Muslim fundamentalists.5 This growing aversion against Darwin’s theory in the Muslim world is even more surprising given that the issue of biological evolution has been studied by a number of prominent Muslim thinkers. It is only in the 1970s, with the rise of political Islam, that the issue has become controversial.

One should not underestimate the impact of religious dogma and the determination of these pseudo-science and anti-science proponents to shape our children’s minds. Religious fundamentalists are actively advocating for the removal of Darwin’s theory from textbooks, aiming to influence the wider society through education. The legal battles fought in the United States since the emblematic Scopes Monkey Trial6 in 1925 reveals the dedication and financial capacity of Christian fundamentalist movements, committed to imposing their own vision of science – the so-called

1

F rançois Jacob, The Possible and the Actual, (Pantheon books: New York, 1982).

2

iordano Bruno G (1548-1600) is an Italian philosopher, astronomer, mathematician, and occultist whose theories anticipated modern science.

3

J erôme Bindé, Towards Knowledge Societies (UNESCO Publishing, 2005).

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4

F aouzia Farida Charfi, La Science Voilée, (Odile Jacob, 2013), chap.

3.

5

Ibid. Chap. 4 and 5.

6

he Scopes T Monkey Trial is an American legal case in which a substitute high school teacher was charged with violating the State of Tennessee’s Butler Act, which had made it unlawful to teach human evolution in state-funded schools.

7

Creation science T is an effort to present the account of Creation, as given in the Book of Genesis, as literal scientific truth.

8

I ntelligent design is the theory that matter, the various forms of life, and the world were created by the purposeful action of an intelligent agent.

9

Parliamentary Assembly, “The Dangers of Creationism in Education,” Committee on Culture, Science and Education (Council of Europe, 2007).

10

11

68

ahar Haddad, T Imra’atuna fi’charai wal mujtama (“Notre femme dans la charia et la société”), Tunis, a-Dar attounissiyya li’l nachr; trad.

Notre femme, la législation islamique et la société, (ed.

Maison tunisienne de l’édition: Tunis, 1978) Ibid.

‘creation science’7 or ‘intelligent design.’8 European countries are not spared this ‘creationist offensive’ either, as documented by the Council of Europe in a report urging member states to oppose the teaching of creationism as a scientific discipline.9

departure from universal values such as gender equality and human dignity. As Muslims, we need to reclaim our freedom of thought, the right to question the world around us and to participate in the production of scientific knowledge.

It is a priority for modern defenders of scientific inquiry to counter the discourse of religious fundamentalists and to speak with a loud and united voice. We must stand up to denounce the dangers of a dogmatic approach to explaining the natural world.

This is particularly true for women who have been historically excluded from scientific spheres. To flourish, science needs to mobilise the energy and intellectual resources of both women and men. In this regard, one can draw from to the work of the great Tunisian reformer, Tahar Haddad, who proposed an interpretation of the Quran taking into account the evolution of society.10

"It is our responsibility to call for a clear separation between the theological and scientific frameworks in order to preserve science as a vector of knowledge ".

Building a knowledgeable society is part of the challenge if scientific and technological development are to become drivers of global progress.

The Muslim world, in particular, needs to liberate itself from religious dogma in order to influence key decisions regarding the future of the planet. It needs to give rise to a new generation of female and male scientists capable of critical analysis. To do so, it is, in my opinion, necessary to rethink our relation to religion and to reaffirm our attachment to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

This declaration enshrines the common values of humanity transcending national and cultural boundaries. Reaffirming our attachment to human rights is the starting point for allowing a critical reading of Islamic sacred texts. Our understanding of Islam must be guided by the fact that the Quran encompasses both lessons of universal scope and context-specific messages that need to be regularly revisited based on current circumstances.

Hence, we should not let fundamentalists distort our understanding of religion nor encourage discrimination in the name of cultural relativism. Religious and cultural specificities should not be used to justify the

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In his book, published in 1929, “Our Woman, Islamic Law and Society”, Haddad argues not only for the emancipation of women but also for their legal equality.

He advocates for a school system focused on the transfer of general knowledge of religion and history. He also defends the rights of girls to education, an education that must include the teaching of ‘exact sciences’: Duty calls us today more than ever to remove women from the obscurantism of centuries past and to consider them as living members and equal partners in our lives. I see them advancing on the path of knowledge and education, making the necessary sacrifices, that is the price of our salvation and our freedom.

Investing in education for all is the best response to the retrograde ideas of religious fundamentalists. Our education system should promote critical thinking and equality between men and women. It should be based on a culture of liberty, tolerance and peace instead of discrimination and violence. We must educate our children as citizens aware of the challenges of the world and committed to building the future of humanity. This is the foundation of global progress.

Faouzia Farida Charfi

Faith, Love, Emancipation Why Kenyan Women Join Al-Shabaab

The Somalia-based Islamist armed group Al-Shabaab is putting significant effort into recruiting women.

Researcher Fathima Azmiya Badurdeen investigates the recruitment dynamics of women and girls into Al-Shabaab in the coastal region of Kenya. Badurdeen analyses why Kenyan women join the ranks of the Islamist group and questions the notion of ‘voluntary recruitment.’1

Media reports in Kenya portray women and girls joining Al-Shabaab in various ways. Some depict them as ‘jihadi brides’ driven by the desire to marry Islamist combatants.2 Others insist on the diverse roles played by women within the group as combatants, recruiters, spies, or providers of financial and logistical support.

A few articles also highlight their involvement in masterminding terrorist attacks and forming terrorist cells.3 The direct participation of women in Al-Shabaab’s violent acts became particularly visible in 2016 when three female combatants attacked Mombasa’s Central Police Station, an incident that forced the state security apparatus to consider the role of women as potential suicide bombers.4 While the roles and recruitment of women and girls into Al-Shabaab are well reported in media accounts, there is a dearth of data deriving from rigorous research. This article intends to bridge this knowledge gap by providing insight into the recruitment pathways and motivations leading women to join extremist groups.

They emphasise the role of women and girls as defenders of the religion, highlighting their duty as mothers and wives to assist their husbands, sons and male relatives in carrying out their religious obligations with regards to the holy war (jihad). Historical insights and stories about the Prophet’s wives and other influential Muslim women are used to strengthen the recruiters’ narratives supporting the involvement of women in violent extremism.5

Recruitment of women and girls into Al-Shabaab can be either voluntary or involuntary. Voluntary recruits decide or express their willingness to join terrorist networks out of spiritual, personal or financial motivations. In contrast, involuntary recruits unknowingly fall prey to the Al-Shabaab network through promises of employment, marriage, education or other opportunities. In cases of involuntary recruitment, deceptive strategies or abductions are used to convince or force women and girls to join the movement. Depending on the situation, women and girls can oscillate between the two extremes of voluntariness and involuntariness.

In exploitative jihadi discourses, hijrah is referred to as the duty of every ‘true’ Muslim to leave nonIslamic lands and go to what is considered as a land for Muslims. The idea incites volunteers to go to areas where jihadists aim to establish Sharia (Islamic law) or an Islamic State. When reflecting on their motivations, women who volunteered for Al-Shabaab refer to hijrah more often than jihad. Hijrah plays a prominent role in mobilising women as it supports the idea promoted by many Islamists that women should not be authorized to fight but instead engage in jihad by supporting the efforts of male jihadists.

As explained by one interviewee, women are expected to contribute to Al-Shabaab’s efforts by supporting men in their attempt to build an Islamic State. This supporting role includes motivating men to join the cause and migrating with family alongside the combatants in order to preserve the unity of the Muslim ummah (community). As with other violent Islamist movements, Al-Shabaab uses fallacious arguments in order to recruit new members, exploiting the religious notions of ‘defender of the faith’ and hijrah (migration).6

“Recruiters usually encourage the participation of women and girls in extremist acts using theological and ideological justifications based on distorted interpretations of Islamic traditions within a cultural context.”

Fathima Azmiya Badurdeen is researcher in the Department of Social Sciences, Technical University of Mombasa, Kenya.

For some female recruits, being regarded as ‘defenders of the faith’ gave meaning to their lives. This is the case of Amina7 who joined Al-Shabaab with the hope of being rewarded in the hereafter. She

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1

2

3

his article is T based on two sets of primary data collected

by Badurdeen: 1) ethnographic field research for a PhD dissertation (December 2015 to June 2017), and 2) research focused on women returnees or defectors of Al-Shabaab (May 2017 to November 2017). The author conducted several interviews with female returnees, family members of female recruits, youth and women’s leaders, and community mobilisers.

J oackim Bwana and Willis Oketch, “State: Jihadi Brides Have Links with ISIS,” Standard Digital, May 7, 2015, https://www. standardmedia. co.ke/ article/2000161310/ state-jihadi-brideshave-links-withisisaccessed%20 20.02.2018.

Stewart Whittingham, “White Widow Samantha Lewthwaite has killed 400 people in reign of terror against the west,” Mirror, May 17, 2015, https://www. mirror.co.uk/news/ world-news/whitewidow-samanthalewthwaitehas-5714810

believed that her life prior to joining the armed group was mainly centred on worldly pleasures. She wanted to serve God and meet her religious obligations and was convinced by a recruiter that the ideology of AlShabaab was the reflection of the ‘true religion.’ By joining Al-Shabaab, she felt that she was defending the Muslim ummah and fulfilling her duty towards God. Marriage is also a major factor leading to the recruitment of women and girls into Al-Shabaab. Four scenarios are commonly observed. First, a woman is looking forward to marrying a man known for his religiosity not realising that he has already or will later on pledge allegiance to Al-Shabaab. Second, women are sometimes forced to marry a man because of social pressure. As explained by one interviewee, men often expect to marry young girls. When a woman passes the age of 23 or 24, she is often not in a position to choose a husband. These women fall prey to prospective grooms affiliated with Al-Shabaab. Third, some women and girls are lured into the fantasy of marrying a wealthy man. In many cases, they fall victims to Al-Shabaab recruiters disguised as rich men with citizenship or jobs in the Middle East or Europe. Fourth, some parents give their daughter’s hand in marriage without appropriate checks on the groom’s background. Parents are sometimes tempted by the mahr (dowry) offered to them or misled by the religiosity of the groom.

Once married to men affiliated with Al-Shabaab, women often find themselves entrapped. As described by a female leader, “Husbands have the ability to convince their wives to join Al-Shabaab using twisted interpretations of religious texts and traditions. They pretend that, according to religion, a wife must always follow and be loyal to her husband.” Naima, for example, explained that she joined Al-Shabaab because she wanted to keep her family together and did not want her husband to leave her. She joined the Islamist group voluntarily but based on the idea that it was her duty to maintain a positive relationship with her husband.

“Al-Shabaab recruiters also target women impacted by counter-terrorism activities. Violent raids, arbitrary arrests, forced disappearances and extrajudicial killings

by Kenyan security forces have become commonplace and are feeding resentment against the State”.

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Women who have lost a loved one – a father, a husband, or a son – are more easily convinced to join Al-Shabaab.

In some cases, women independently decide to vent their anger and seek revenge against the State by joining extremist groups. Most women, however, volunteer themselves to Al-Shabaab after being brainwashed and indoctrinated by recruiters instrumentalising their desire for revenge. If some women consent to join the group, it is nonetheless essential to question the limits of autonomous decision-making when analysing the patterns of recruitment.

Peer influence and pressure also drive women and girls to embrace extremist ideologies and causes.

The ‘sisterhood concept’ promoted by Al-Shabaab’s propaganda encourages women-to-women support in times of hardship and is used to lure vulnerable members within friendship networks into the AlShabaab cause. Online friendship networks and virtual sisterhood groups are influential in creating a sense of common belonging and facilitating the recruitment of women and girls.

Financial lure or distress is also a push factor for the recruitment of new members. A number of women join Al-Shabaab believing that it will help them fulfil their daily needs, uplift their families, or just allow them a comfortable life. Women involved in a family dispute or going through a personal crisis are also particularly vulnerable to falling into the hands of extremist groups.

Al-Shabaab, like other extremist movements, provides women who feel neglected or rejected by their family with a sentiment of hope and belonging as well as a sense of freedom and empowerment. Muneera, for example, said that she joined Al-Shabaab in order to earn an income, become independent and show her husband who left her that she is capable of providing for herself. Similarly, Lilian described her motive to join the group as seeking revenge from her parents who had neglected her. These examples support the view of the Canadian academic Mia Bloom who emphasises that women engage in violent extremism mainly due to personal reasons rather than ideological ones.8 The above cases are examples of women and girls joining extremist organisations of their own will.

However, this voluntary nature is subjected to critique

As explained above, some women volunteered to join Al-Shabaab as they considered the values of their husbands above their own values and opinions.

In these cases, they may be considered autonomous.9

Painting by IBRAHIM SAYED, Sudan.

where the autonomy of women and girls is restricted and influenced by socio-cultural factors. It is arguable that the capacity of women and girls to make free and independent decisions is constrained by the patriarchal nature of society and that autonomy is incompatible with excessive deference. Indeed, excessive deference or subservience implies that the choices and preferences of women are in fact driven by others – in this case men.

“However, it is impossible to negate the fact that some women may be willing to subordinate themselves or would prefer deference to another situation ”.

As highlighted by Jayne Huckerby, Clinical Professor of Law at Duke University, it is essential to challenge the common belief that women only participate in violent extremism because of their blind obedience to men.10 Women are drawn to groups like Al-Shabaab by many different forces including inequality, alienation and the appeal of the cause. Some women voluntarily decide to embrace the goals of violent extremist groups. In particular, women may look to extremist organisations to escape traditional gender roles and access positions of power and leadership that they could not otherwise attend in conservative societies. These women who undergo structural violence in their communities look to find belongingness in a group that purports to strive toward women’s empowerment. Joining AlShabaab becomes a way for women to liberate themselves from the subjugated positions they are restricted to in their families and communities.

This phenomenon should be taken seriously as it could have disastrous consequences. Women and girls could find themselves doing anything to advance the goals of Al-Shabaab or other terrorist groups under the pretext of false emancipation. It is urgent to deconstruct the ‘false emancipation’ narrative promoted by extremist groups such as Al-Shabaab using a feminist lens in order to provide women with real prospects of liberation.

FATHIMA AZMIYA BADURDEEN

4

“ Female bombers killed in foiled terror attack on Mombasa Central Police Station,” Capital News, September 11, 2016, https://www. capitalfm.co.ke/ news/2016/09/ female-bomberskilled-foiled-attackmombasa-centralpolice-station/

5

ersonal P communication, Youth Leader, Male, Mombasa, May 7, 2017.

6

raditionally, hijrah T is associated with the migration of the Prophet Mohammed when he undertook his journey from Mecca with his companions due to the prevailing hostile context in Mecca. They travelled to a welcoming ummah (community) in Medina.

7

J Pseudonyms are used to maintain the anonymity of the interviewees.

8

ia Bloom, M Women and Terrorism: Bombshell (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011).

9

ndrea Westlund, A “Selflessness and Responsibility for Self: Is Deference Compatible with Autonomy?,” Philosophical Review 112 (2003): 37-77.

10

J ane Huckerby, “When Women Become Terrorists,” The New York Times, January 21, 2015, https:// www.nytimes. com/2015/01/22/ opinion/whenwomen-becometerrorists.html

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Women and Islam in Contemporary Indonesia In this article, Dr. Dina Afrianty analyses how both global and local Islamic voices are being increasingly channelled into democratic politics. In a context where Indonesian women are underrepresented in politics, she highlights the need to lead the battle for equality on several fronts by influencing both political processes and the forms in which Islam is expressed in public forums.

Dr. Dina Afrianty is a Research Fellow at La Trobe Law School at La Trobe University, Melbourne. Her research focuses on gender and politics, Islamic education, international relations, and disability rights in Muslim societies.

She is also affiliated with Syarif Hidayatullah State Islamic University (UIN) in Jakarta. She is the author of Women and Sharia Law in Northern Indonesia: Local Women’s NGOs and the Reform of Islamic Law in Aceh, published by Routledge in 2015.

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Today’s Indonesia is going through challenging times as the country observes the resurgence of public Islam.

In the world’s largest Muslim-majority country, Islam has become the main frame of reference for Indonesian society to reflect upon socio-cultural and political issues. When Indonesia embarked on its democratic reform in 1998, Muslim feminists and female activists had high hopes that gender equality, freedom of choice and tolerance would become the key principles driving Indonesia’s development. Women were indeed at the forefront of the reform movement and paid a heavy toll as mass rapes accompanied the demise of President Suharto’s regime.1 With the establishment of the National Commission on the Elimination of Violence against Women in 1998, or Komnas Perempuan, followed by the creation of national and sub-national women’s organisations, many thought that gender equality was finally within reach.

This development is the result of a combination of factors. First, the failure of western democracy and economic capitalism to promote social justice and equality in Indonesia. This has largely been perceived as contributing to the marginalisation of Muslims. Many Indonesians believe that corruption and social ills are the by-products of western culture. This development can also be seen as a response by Indonesian Muslims to the rise of Islamophobia that has spread worldwide with the public focus on Islamic terrorism. It is important to note, however, that religious identity has always been a part of Indonesia’s public domain, with Islam playing a central role in building social cohesion among the population. This strong connection with Islam justifies, in the eyes of the Islamists, the need for an Islamist State.

This conviction is reflected in the many constitutional attempts made by the Islamists to entrench Islam as the State ideology.2

Democracy and the Rise of Political Islam

Today, an increasing number of Indonesian Muslims wish to express their religiosity in public and appear comfortable not only with religiously themed consumption, but also with faith-based public policy and laws. Although this trend is consistent with a global increase in public piety, it also reflects the growing influence of Wahhabism, a major Islamic revivalist movement which originated in Saudi Arabia.

The emergence of radical Islamic organisations such as Laskar Jihad, Majelis Mujahidin and the Islamic political party of Social Justice (or PKS) has been heavily influenced by the spread of Wahhabism. According to the Indonesian Muslim scholar, Noorhaidi Hasan, these organisations differentiate themselves from earlier Indonesian Muslim institutions by their “strict

Democracy implies providing equal opportunities to all political and religious groups, including conservative ones, to engage with, influence and shape public discourse and policy. The transition period from the authoritarian regime of Suharto to consolidated democracy witnessed the multiplication of political actors with liberal, leftist, right-wing and socially conservative platforms opposing each other in the public arena. After two decades of democratisation, one can only note the growing influence of conservatism and the gradual encroachment of religion into Indonesia’s legislative and judicial sectors.

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by a growing number of women who agree with the idea that their duty is to stay home to serve their husbands and nurture their children.

Indonesia’s Muslim Feminist Movement

adherence to extreme puritanism, manifested in their appearance and in the enforcement of religious observance.”3 Muslim feminists, women’s rights and civil society activists denounce the rise of political Islam as a threat to equality and justice, as political and conservative religious groups propagate interpretations of Islam meant to subordinate and confine women to the domestic sphere.

In recent years, populist religious preachers and Islamists have carried out a series of campaigns advocating for polygamy, the veiling of women, female genital mutilation and child marriage. Beyond the noticeable rise in veiling, there has also been recent controversy surrounding the use of social media platforms to promote polygamy. A smartphone application was launched in 2017 enabling married men to seek out additional wives in disregard of State laws regulating access to polygamy (Marriage Law No.1/1974). These campaigns, much to the concern of Indonesian moderate Muslims, have been well received

The increasing acceptance of conservative Islam is regarded as a setback by Muslim feminists and moderate Muslims who have been fighting against a number of traditional and conservative religious practices (including polygamy and women’s seclusion) since the early years of Indonesia’s independence movement.4 Faced with this challenge, Indonesian Muslim feminists have adopted an approach similar to the strategy implemented by Islamic feminist movements in the Middle East and North Africa. This approach consists in rereading and reinterpreting Islamic teachings in a way that challenges the misogynistic and patriarchal understanding of Islam as promoted by conservative religious leaders.

This effort started in the early 1990s and was championed by moderate Muslim scholars who had graduated from State Islamic higher educational institutions as well as Western and Middle Eastern Universities. While inspired by literature on Islamic feminism by Fatima Mernissi, Amina Wadud, Ziba Mir-Hosseini or Asghar Ali-Engineer, Indonesia’s feminist movement also engaged with local traditions to advance the rights of women. In relation to face veiling, for example, Muslim feminists argue that the practice, coming from the Middle East, is more an expression of culture than an Islamic teaching. They highlight that most female Muslim leaders during the colonial period wore only a modest shawl to cover their hair. Similarly, they point out that women have historically played an important role as public leaders in several parts of the country, including the Islamic Province of Aceh.

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Despite some success, Indonesian Muslim feminists today are struggling to counter the discourse of political and religious actors who are promoting Islam as a political ideology capable of solving all socioeconomic, legal and political ills in society. Women have unfortunately become the first targets of political Islam’s proponents. Misogynistic and patriarchal political campaigns run by Islamists are endangering the progress made towards gender equality and women’s rights in Indonesia.

1

eneral Suharto G was president of Indonesia from 1967 to 1998.

His authoritarian regime was characterised by centralised control, repression of opposition and widespread corruption.

2

rskal Salim, A Challenging the Secular State: The Islamization of Law in Modern Indonesia (Hawaii University Press, 2008).

3

oorhaidi Hasan, N “Faith and Politics: The Rise of the Laskar Jihad in the Era of Transition in Indonesia,” Indonesia, no. 73 (April 2002): 145169.

4

he Proclamation T of Indonesian Independence was adopted on 17 August 1945. The declaration marked the start of the Indonesian National Revolution, a diplomatic and armed resistance against Dutch forces, until the latter officially acknowledged the independence of Indonesia in 1949.

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Contemporary Challenges Faced by Indonesian Muslim Women As Indonesia enters into a more conservative phase, recent incidents have shed light on the many challenges faced by women. Stories of women being caned for allegedly committing adultery or zina in Aceh, no longer trigger public outcry. Caning as a form of punishment is now seen as being consistent with Islam and therefore socially acceptable. Only a few people condemn the practice as the result of a misogynistic and patriarchal interpretation of Islam. A woman in Aceh, for example, was recently sentenced to one hundred lashes for Khalwat or being in close proximity with a man who was not her husband. Under the 2014 Islamic Criminal Code (Qanun), Khalwat is punishable by one hundred lashes, a significant increase from the ten lashes provided for in the previous Qanun dated from 2003. In addition, caning must be conducted in front of a mosque after the Friday prayer. Making the punishment public is seen as a way to discourage others from breaking Islamic law.

Supporters of political Islam in Aceh are adamant that the implementation of Sharia Law is based on the rights granted by the central government to the Acehnese to live according to Islamic principles. Any criticism from Muslim feminists, civil society and human rights activists, in particular at the national level, is therefore rejected and considered baseless.

Women in Islam, 2018

Another incident recently caused public outrage when a religious court judge from North Sumatra argued in a book and in interviews with national media that the way to respond to the increased rate of divorce, was to require women to undergo virginity tests prior to marriage.5 His assumption was that divorces are driven by the lack of commitment to the sacred institution of marriage and that couples often decide to get married based on lust only. This judge, unfortunately, is not the first public official to let his religious convictions influence his views of public interest and order.

In 2015, eight judges from the Constitutional Court decided to reject an application for judicial review made by health professionals and civil society activists to increase the marriage age for girls from 16 to 18.6 Petitioners presented scientific information about the health and psychological hazards associated with marriage and pregnancy of girls aged 16. They insisted on the non-compliance of the current marriage age with a number of national laws including the laws on Education, Human Rights, Child Protection, Employment, Health and even the Indonesian Constitution.

Rather than following the recommendations from health practitioners, the judges rendered their decision based on the opinions of Muslim-based organisations such as Muhammadiyah, Nahdhatul Ulama7 and the National Ulama Council (or MUI), a quasi-government institution. These organisations argued that marriage must be practiced according to ‘religious beliefs.’

Consistent with such arguments, the judges asserted that Islam is not concerned with a minimum marrying age but with what is known as aqil baligh (puberty or adulthood). A girl is considered an adult when she is sound of mind and able to distinguish between ‘bad and good,’ a stage that girls of 16 have already reached according to the court.

Painting by AHMED ABUSHARIAA, Sudan.

Another argument made by the judges was that the world is currently seeing an acceleration of carnal urges among youths as a result of various factors such as improved access to technology and information. These urges, according to the judges, should be channelled through lawful marriage in accordance with religious teachings so that no children are born out of wedlock.

to embrace new strategies and engage with women involved in faith-based institutions. These women might be able to influence the development of Islamic doctrine by those affiliated with Islamic political parties or the two largest Muslim-based organisations in Indonesia, Muhammadiyah and Nahdhatul Ulama.

What is the Future of Indonesian Muslim Women?

Information and communications technology have enabled Indonesian women to get acquainted with other Muslim cultures and forms of religiosity. They have been exposed to both Islamic feminism and militant Islam. The main challenge for Indonesian women is now to find their own path, one that advances women’s rights while being respectful of Indonesian culture.

Given this background, Indonesian moderate Muslims need to respond by reconsidering the place of Islam in Indonesia’s modern State. The examples above demonstrate exactly how restrictive understandings of Islam, many of them inspired by global Islamism, have slowly, yet successful, penetrated into Indonesia’s public institutions.

In spite of the progress made over the past three decades, the contemporary women’s movement needs

dr. dina afrianty

5

he Proclamation T of Indonesian Independence was adopted on 17 August 1945. The declaration marked the start of the Indonesian National Revolution, a diplomatic and armed resistance against Dutch forces, until the latter officially acknowledged the independence of Indonesia in 1949.

6

elly Buchanan, K “Indonesia: Court Rejects Two Challenges to Marriage Act,” Library of Congress, June 25, 2015, http://www.loc.gov/ law/foreign-news/ article/indonesiacourt-rejects-twochallenges-tomarriage-act/

7

Muhammadiyah and Nahdhatul Ulama are Indonesia’s two largest Muslim organisations.

Muhammadiyah was established in 1912 followed by Nahdhatul Ulama in 1926. While Muhammadiyah is considered as a modern and puritan Muslim organisation, Nahdhatul Ulama is seen as more traditional. Both organisations play significant roles in Indonesia’s socio-economic and political development.

American anthropologist Robert Hefner asserts that the two organisations have played a considerable role in promoting democracy in Indonesia.

For additional information, please see: Robert Hefner, Civil Islam: Muslims and Democratization in Indonesia (Princeton University Press, 2000).

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Smash the Patriarchy: Allies and Surrogates Tagreed S. Z. Abdin is a mother, architect and blogger from Sudan. Outraged by injustice and inspired by humanity, her work has been published in Al Monitor and Pambazuka News.

You can find more of her writing at taggysudan. blogspot.com.

In a region that remains wary of feminism, and where religious figures use the term ‘secularism’ interchangeably with ‘atheism’ and ‘communism,’ declaring war on the patriarchy does not sit well with many people.

The social media posts that I share with the hashtag #SmashThePatriarchy tend to underperform (so to speak) compared to other news or anecdotes I post on the same platforms.

Almost 90% of my Facebook friends know me personally, while my modest Twitter following consists, mostly, of complete strangers. Both groups respond to my posts, however, with the same indifference. I consider this an indication that whether people are similar to me or markedly different, ‘smashing the patriarchy’ does not seem to have a lot of support.

Is the slogan too ambiguous? Do I need to spell out that I am calling for the removal of systems that do not serve women (at best) and actively oppress them (at worst)? Should I qualify that this is not an attack on men in general, but on the legal and social frameworks that favour them?

Perhaps the slogan is too dramatic? I wonder. Would people be more open to a gradual erosion of the patriarchy, rather than a call for violent destruction?

Should we call for a gentle chipping away at the edges of a system that subjugates women to the power and desire of men and hope for more ‘freedoms’ and the eventual emergence of stronger allies?

Of course not.

In Sudan, under the current regime, patriarchy holds society in a death grip. The days when Sudan could boast about female voting rights and political representation are long gone. There have been no such leaps and strides in recent years.

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As a matter of fact, modern times have found women disproportionately affected by curtailed freedoms and regional conflicts. The cycle of oppression is working against them as oppressed men look for someone else to exploit to reclaim a sense of control.

The recipient of this ‘oppression cascade’ or ‘double oppression,’ is more often than not, a minority – very often a female. This ‘oppression-by-proxy’ is not confined to men’s immediate circle of family and society. Malicious laws such as the so called Public Order Law allow any man to declare himself ‘offended’ by the appearance of any female. He can file a police complaint, and depending on how the subjective application of the law goes, in worst case scenarios, the female in question can be fined, jailed or flogged. In best case scenarios, she will waste her time, in a blatant power play of degradation.

Despite these violations to women’s dignity, I do not see these laws or the current regime as the most dangerous components of Sudanese patriarchy. There is something much more ominous at work here – those surrogates who have hopped on to the bandwagon of oppression to validate their feelings of ‘superiority.’ We have all come across one of them, one of the bitter, the disenfranchised, the uneducated or the misguided devotees.

Although scenarios differ, the pattern remains the same. Behind Sudanese men spouting declarations of qiwama (male superiority) – those that self-identify as ‘Arabs’ declaring themselves superior to ‘negroes,’ and the affluent clutching their God-given rizq (‘provision’: the fortune that God provides) that dare not be challenged – lies the same logic and the same danger. Vague religious references are being used to lend authority to this oppression. Challenging this unrestrained supremacy

Painting by HUSSEIN MIRGHANI, Sudan

means challenging the State, challenging Religion, challenging Allah.

tear down ‘immoral liberals’ on their own, without even a pretense of logic or demonstration of counter arguments.

“How dare you? Are you a secularist heathen?,” one can hear when questioning authority. The communication breakdown usually happens with lightning speed. Surrogates don’t trouble themselves with civil discourse, debate, or citations of scientific or objective theological studies. Rational thinking is not required when disproving ‘outrageous claims’ or tackling ‘malicious interpretations’ that are only created to spread fitna (unrest) under the guise of ‘progressiveness.’

The surrogates will stop at nothing. Online, they will seek the social media profiles of these ‘nonconformist liberals’ and sift through any information they can find to latch onto a point of attack – from the obvious “Why aren’t you in the kitchen?” to comments about physical appearance. Married women will find their spouses condemned for ‘not doing their job’ of keeping them muzzled, while single women will be dismissed as spiteful spinsters.

Thanks to the surrogates, the government doesn’t even have to show up anymore. They are effective enough to

Offline, the surrogates are just as emboldened and any challenge to the patriarchy will not be entertained. I find myself more upset with the female surrogates than

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the males. I understand that men will cling to power, regardless of how unsustainable it is for the larger society.

They can be blind to facts and oblivious of ‘the Other,’ displaying a lack of empathy not specific to gender.

However, I cannot fathom the women who prop up this system that holds them down.

Of course, this is not specific to Sudan. A familiar rally cry of the right wing – “I am not a feminist” – is gaining resonance throughout the world. The significance, however, differs in Sudan, where curtailing feminism in an already oppressed populace, is a precarious status quo to maintain. I tell myself women have their reasons.

Still, there is hope. The feminist movement in Sudan refuses, against all odds, to wither and disappear, and new allies join the fight in solidarity.

When women are silenced, we need our male allies to speak for us.

These allies are vocal men that raise their voices to openly declare that women are human, women are strong, and women are complete. Some are proud youth that attribute their success, their wellbeing, and their lives, to the strong women around them. Some are older men and proud fathers, recalling a time when things were different and they did not have to worry about their daughters as much. Others are simple men, cognisant of our shared humanity; empathic men that acknowledge that the patriarchal system is unjust; and wise men that understand that society can only flourish with the steady guidance of empowered women.

This is not a personal opinion or pseudo-science but a foundation for a better world. The United Nations states in its Sustainable Development Goals that, “Gender equality is not only a fundamental human right, but a necessary foundation for a peaceful, prosperous and sustainable world.” Movements such as #MoreWomenMorePeace are sprouting up all over the globe as recognition of women’s role in building lasting peace increases.

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Despite men’s growing support, a number of obstacles are left to overcome. In Sudan, feminism, equality and secularism are often dismissed as Western constructs designed to culturally colonise gullible societies. Traded barbs and pretended contradictions between Islamic and Western feminism are inflated and used to underline the rift between ‘them’ and ‘us.’ Patriarchal forces try hard to convince us that these ideologies – feminism and gender equality – are ‘not for us,’ while bigotry, misogyny, and tribalism flourish unchecked.

The movement #SmashThePatriarchy is needed for us to advance as a society. We must #SmashThePatriarchy for development, growth, equality and justice.

We need everyone to understand that ‘feminism’ is not a bad word, and gender equality is not equivalent to misandry.

We need to challenge the archaic policies and ideologies that are holding us down and must call out to beneficiaries and surrogates while seeking the tools to raise us up, such as education, awareness and progressive policies. Empowered women work towards developing communities and creating social bonds. Their contribution is essential to the sustainable growth of our societies – Sudanese, African, and Islamic societies alike.

As Muslims, we are taught the 99 names of Allah at a very young age. Of these names, Al-Hakam (The Impartial Judge), Al-Adl (The Embodiment of Justice), and Al-Haqq (The Embodiment of Truth) strengthen my faith in a Just God, validating this struggle for justice and equality. My belief in Islam frames this as a devout undertaking and not just a fashionable trend, a noble cause, or mindless resistance.

I hope to see transformation during my lifetime. I hope to see a society that dismantles the patriarchy to create an environment of inclusion, peace, and sustainable development. I will thus continue my unpopular hashtag #SmashThePatriarchy until we live in a world that no longer needs my battle cry.

Tagreed S. Z. Abdin

A Way Forward

Reviving Female Scholarship in Islam From an Islamic perspective, a scholar is someone with traditional Islamic knowledge, including advanced skillsets in particular Islamic sciences. Additionally, the scholar strives to uphold the values and morals central to their faith. The definition is gender neutral. It always has been.

If we consider Islamic scholarship from a Western perspective, a contextualised understanding of Islam is essential. This means that Islam is understood and applied in the context of the society in which we live, on an individual and communal level. Therefore, the Islamic scholar is also equipped with an awareness, an understanding and a sense of belonging to the broader society.

Feda Abdo is a teacher of Islamic sciences for various institutions in Sydney and the Communications Manager for the Muslim Women Association, an Australian not-for-profit organisation.

The Islamic scholar becomes a catalyst for positive change and benefit in society. This is based on the Prophetic saying: "The best of you are those who are most beneficial to one another."1 Again, no distinction is made based on race, age or gender.

Illustration by IBRAHIM SAYED, Sudan

Islamic scholarship is perceived as being the domain of men. But knowledge, of course, knows no gender. This is not a revolutionary concept.

It is imperative that Muslim women revive the legacy of female Islamic scholarship – particularly in a modern, Western, context.

Knowledge is the key to scholarship. Scholarship is not defined by one's gender. It is not defined by one's race or culture. Scholarship is defined by one's knowledge, skills and expertise.

Scholarship becomes a means to an end. And that end is a harmonious society, where people respect one another and are confident in who they are. They are not all the same, and this difference is acknowledged and celebrated. In Islam, sound knowledge and understanding is not something which restricts.

Knowledge is that which liberates. This is why it is critical to have men and women within society that are fulfilling these scholarly roles.

There is no doubt that Islam is most often perceived as a male-centric religion. That it is understood, taught and transmitted by men. However, this perception runs contrary to the history of Islamic scholarship. Some of the greatest scholars of Islam were females

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Starting from Aisha bint Abu Bakr, the wife of the Prophet Mohammed, who is considered to be one of the greatest authorities and a teacher to some of the greatest scholars Islam has ever produced – male and female.

Women in positions of scholarship is not a new concept. We can list numerous examples here. From Aisha bint Abu Bakr through to the generation after her, with Amrah bint Abdur Rahman2 who was considered among the greatest scholars of her time. The Caliph of that period himself, Umar bin Abdul Aziz3, would advise his people, men and women, that if they wanted to learn prophetic traditions, then they should go to Amrah. And one cannot discuss female scholarship in Islam without mentioning Fatima al Fihri, who founded the world's first, and longest running, university during the ninth century in Fez, Morocco.

This is what men and women were achieving in the history of Islam. They were building institutions that ensured equal access to education for all. Facilities that were founded on the fundamental tenets of freedom and equality in Islam.

1

l-Mu’jam al-Awsaṭ A 5937.

2

mrah bint Abdur A Rahman was a pupil of Aisha bint Abu Bakr, the Prophet’s wife, and an influential jurist and hadith specialist.

3

mar bin Abdul U Aziz was born in 682/683 in Medina, Arabia (now Saudi Arabia) and died in February 720, near Aleppo, Syria.

4

S unan Ibn Mājah 224.

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There was never an issue in Islamic history with men being taught by women. The seeker of knowledge would strive to attain it from the best sources he or she could access. Women would teach in mosques, educational institutions, from their homes, or wherever it was possible to disseminate knowledge.

The unique value that women bring to scholarship is noted within the history of Islam, and is apparent in the numerous examples we have of female Muslim scholars throughout history.

Women need to be represented. This applies to all aspects of society, including scholarship, as demonstrated through the Prophetic saying: "Seeking knowledge is an obligation on every Muslim."4 There

Women in Islam, 2018

is no distinction made based on race, gender, age, or social standing.

Women around the world today are campaigning for equality of representation. For Muslim women, this will only be achieved if we are able to revive the legacy of Islamic female scholarship that once flourished. It is time to go back to our traditional roots and own our Islam. We need to be proud of our Islam. Religious scholarship is not just the domain of men. And looking back through Islamic history gives us an accurate depiction of why it is essential for women to be actively engaged in scholarship.

When you have confident, empowered women whose abilities and skills are based on sound knowledge, that is when you are setting up society for success. We need to empower women to take ownership of their Islam and inspire them to believe that they can achieve this without compromising any part of their identity. The empowering of Muslim women to assert their Islamic identity and excel in Islamic knowledge only serves to enhance the society in which we live.

feda abdo

This article was originally published online on 23 February 2018 by the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC).

DOSSIER: WOMEN'S SEXUALITY IN ISLAM Between Obsession and Taboo

Painting by Sara Mekki Ahmed Women in Islam, 2018

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dossier: Women's Sexuality in Islam Between Obsession and Taboo

Afghanistan: The Taboo of Sexual Rejection An IWPR reporter, Naqiba Barakzai has received widespread acclaim for her investigative report on the sexual frustration of women whose husbands take more wives.

Barakzai spent more than ten months working on the groundbreaking piece, facing abuse and even death threats during the course of her work.

Zarmina, 36, lives in Herat, the regional capital of western Afghanistan, with her husband Juma Gul, a driver, and his second wife. "I got married to Juma Gul 17 years ago, but after six years he married another girl," she said. Ever since then, her husband has refused to have sex with her. "It's so hard to feel like a widow even though your husband is still alive," she said. "It's so hard for me to express how I feel."

For more than a decade, Zarmina said that she had felt unloved and sexually frustrated. "Whenever I wanted to be intimate with my husband and approached him only to be rejected, I would go and kiss the holy Quran and ask Allah for patience and forgiveness, because there was no way I could leave my house and satisfy my desires by having sex with another man."

To make matters worse, she shares a small house with Juma Gul and his second wife, and their rooms are directly opposite each other. In Islam, it is obligatory to wash one's entire body after having intercourse, and Zarmina said that it was obvious her husband and his second wife enjoyed an active sex life. "The worst part of my life that I've suffered over the last 11 years is to wake up in the morning and see my husband's second wife taking a bath after having had sex the previous night with my husband."

Under Islamic law, a man can take up to four wives but is supposed to treat them all equally. In practice, the first wife is often rejected when her husband remarries.

Although openly discussing such intimate matters is taboo in Afghanistan's conservative society, the Institute for War and Peace Reporting (IWPR) spoke to a number of women in the western city of Herat who said that their husband's second marriage had ruined their lives. As well as bitterly resenting years of being refused physical intimacy with their husband,

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Illustration by HANNA BARCZYK

some said that they had been denied the chance to have more children.

Most Islamic scholars agree that it is forbidden for husbands to forgo sex for more than four months, and Sharia law allows a wife to seek a divorce if her husband is unable to satisfy her physical needs. "Satisfying sexual desire is one of the two main purposes of marriage in Islam," said Abdul Wahid Asimi, the director of Herat's department of haj and religious affairs. "When a man deprives his wife of sexual intercourse, he will have to answer to Allah for his actions." He added, "If a woman complains that her husband has refused to have sex with

her, the court has the right to order their separation."

But social pressure and the fear of public disgrace mean that few women pursue this course of action.

Nafisa, 40, lives in the Naw Abad neighbourhood of Herat and has been married to Abdul Qayum for 25 years. "I got married when I was 15, but after the birth of my third baby my husband married again. He has not had sex with me for the last 19 years," she said.

"Some nights when I wanted to be close to my husband, I prepared his bed in my room, but he was with his second wife. I would call to him from my room to spend the night with me, but he would just insult me."

Nafisa said that her husband began mistreating her and even beat her. After five years of this, he sent her to live in her brother's house in the Safi Abad area of Herat.

"During these 15 years, Abdul Qayum never visited my brother's house to see me and he never tried to be intimate with me," she continued, adding that he had also refused to support her financially.

Nafisa now washes clothes, takes in sewing and does shifts at a pistachio processing factory to earn enough to feed and clothe her children. Asked why she remained married, Nafisa replied, "I didn't divorce my husband because I am a Muslim woman and the separation of a wife from her husband is considered a great disgrace and shame."

Mahbooba Jamshedi, director of Herat's department of women's affairs, said that men refusing to sleep with their wives was a widespread complaint.

"Women come to my office and ask me, 'how are we supposed to satisfy our desires if our husbands will not have sexual intercourse with us?'"

Maari Maihandyar, a prosecutor dealing with gender violence in Herat's Attorney General's Office, agreed that it was a problem, albeit one that women found it hard to talk about. "Due to the fact that our society is dominated by conservative traditions, it's shameful for women to complain that they have been deprived of sexual intercourse," she said. "Women register their cases as violence," Maihandyar continued, "When we investigate, we sometimes find out that the real reason is that their husbands refuse to have sex with them."

Abdul Qadir Rahimi, head of the regional office of the Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission (AIHRC), said, "It's so sad that so many women don't understand Islamic law and so think that their husbands have the right to deprive them of sex.

Many women in Herat have the misconception that since Islam has permitted men to have many wives, men therefore also have the right to deprive their first and second wives of sexual intercourse after their third and fourth marriages."

Second or third wives often put pressure on their husbands to reject their first wife."There is a famous saying in Herat which says that a young wife is always envious; therefore, I don't want my husband to have sex with his first wife," said Somaya, 30, who married Dawood when she was just 12-years-old.

Somaya, who lives in the 6th district of Herat, said that she was indeed intensely jealous of her husband's first wife, adding that it was common amongst her community for men to have three or four wives. "It has been 18 years since I married Dawood, but I don't think that I have ever permitted my husband to have intercourse with Noor Bibi, his first wife."

Abdul Bari, head of criminal investigations at Herat Police Headquarters, said that the problem was widespread. "Many men who have multiple wives violate their rights by refusing to sleep with them,"

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he said, noting that it was impossible to get a clear understanding of the issue as so few women made formal complaints to the police."Herat is a province which is dominated by deep-rooted customs and cultures, so people rarely come to the police with such cases," he said, adding that when such complaints were made they were passed on to community councils for arbitration."The police respect local tribal customs, so we don't order the judicial authorities to intervene in such cases."

However, IWPR spoke to one woman who decided to take legal action in an attempt to put pressure on her husband to be intimate with her. Speaking to IWPR after she had filed her complaint in the police station, the 30-year-old woman, a resident of the Bakar Abad area of Herat, asked to remain anonymous.

"Ten years ago I got married to my husband, a police officer," she said. "Two years ago, my husband got married for the second time and since the time of that marriage he has not had sex with me. In my letter of complaint, I wrote that for two years I had asked my husband to have sexual intercourse with me, but he that not only rejected my request but also beat me." She said that although Islam gave her the option of ending her marriage, she feared that might only make her life worse. "Due to fact that my parents don't want me to, I cannot divorce my husband."

Immediately after this interview, the IWPR reporter witnessed the woman's husband confronting her and threatening to shoot her dead if she returned to his house."You have insulted and embarrassed me in front of my colleagues by complaining that I have deprived you of sex," he shouted.

But most women simply suffer in silence, feeling powerless to change their situation.

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Syed Bibi, a resident of Guzar Baraman in Herat, married her husband Ahmad when she was 18-yearsold. Now 44, she said that her husband had little interest in a woman of her age.

"Ahmad went to Iran 14-years-ago and got married for a second time to an Iranian girl," she said. "After this second marriage, he used to come to Herat just for 10 or 12 days each summer. When Ahmad stayed in Herat, he had sex with me just once or twice." Syed Bibi continued, "Every year I asked him to come to Herat at least once every two months so we could be intimate; however, it never happened."

Last year, Ahmed divorced his Iranian wife and treated Syed Bibi kindlier during his annual summer visit. "But after a few days after he got to Herat, he made a third marriage, to a 24-year-old girl who was one of our neighbours," she said, adding that her life had become even worse since this latest union.

The three of them shared a house, with Syed Bibi's room just opposite that of her husband and his third wife. She said that she could hear all their romantic talk and that it was unbearably humiliating when it was clear the two were having sex with each other.

"Since my husband's third marriage, he has not had sex with me even once," Syed Bibi said. "My husband blames me because I am too old and he has made it clear that he wants to live with his 24-year-old wife."

Syed Bibi said that she was too ashamed to file for divorce, afraid of bringing disgrace upon herself and her family. She added, "I will never forgive my husband for not fulfilling his responsibilities as my husband for so many years."

naqiba barakzai This article has been republished with permission from the Institute for War and Peace Reporting (IWPR), which originally featured the story on its website, www.iwpr.net, on 23 January 2017.

Women’s Burden

Prosecution of Adultery in Sudan

Criminalisation of sexual activity in Sudanese modern legislation is linked closely to the dogmatic, patriarchal mentality that permeates the legal system in the country.

Extramarital coitus was criminalised for the first time in the Sudanese Penal Act of 1983. Known at that time as the ‘September Laws,’ these were issued by the former Sudanese President Gaafar Nimeiri when he imposed so-called ‘Islamic Sharia’ throughout the country and appointed himself as an imam over the Muslims.

A number of political activists, especially within Political Islam movements, helped in formulating and implementing these laws, the most prominent among them being the late Dr. Hassan Al-Turabi 1 who was then the attorney general and leader of the Mithaq Front2 and who later headed the National Islamic Front (NIF).

Following NIF’s takeover of power in 1989,3 the regime issued the 1991 Criminal Act that was, in its essence, a copy of the 1983 legislation. The act, in addition to public order laws,4 defined a range of offences relating to what is generally understood as the maintenance of ‘public order.’ It encompassed a set of ambiguous and vaguely worded provisions, focused on the criminalisation of women’s behaviour and activities ranging from working outside the home to dancing in the presence of men.

The perusal of current Sudanese legislation manifestly demonstrates a closeminded, patriarchal approach to issues pertaining to sexuality. This is particularly obvious when analysing the methods of proof stipulated by law for the offence of adultery. The 1991 Criminal Act defines adultery as having intercourse without lawful bondage, regardless of consent and section 62 of the 1994 Evidence Act provides for four ways to prove the offence of adultery: (a) an express confession before the court; (b) the testimony of four adult male eyewitnesses; (c) undoubted pregnancy of an unmarried woman; and (d) rejection by the wife of a condemnation oath (lian)5 made by her husband.

It is clear that the four evidentiary means provided for in the law are designed to criminalise women, who are given almost no opportunity to defend themselves. Two of these means are clearly aimed at ensuring women’s conviction – the pregnancy as an evidence of adultery,

and the right of the husband to accuse his wife of adultery without evidence other than his own conviction. This particular right is a weapon a man can use whenever it suits him, whether to allege adultery or to disown a child. The adoption of these two evidentiary means by the Sudanese legislative body is a clear reflection of its ideological orientation, aimed, in principle, at placing women under male guardianship. The objective behind the law is clear – cementing the system of male guardianship in an attempt to control women’s lives.

Despite the legislation’s attempt to control women, laws have failed in practice to limit their movement or their presence in public life There are multiple reasons for the failure of these laws, first and foremost among them being the fact that they bear no relation to the demands and developments of everyday reality. Sudanese women are involved in formal and informal work and are major contributors to the local and national economy. Women travel everywhere on their own, defying the legal provisions meant to restrict their movement and therefore rendering these laws meaningless. Women in Sudan have already powered forward in terms of their legal rights, and it would be very difficult to place them back in a mould of historically obsolete social and cultural norms.

The emphasis on male guardianship in Sudanese law seems particularly absurd, since women can travel to other Muslim countries, such as Egypt or Tunisia, and get married without the presence of a guardian. Indeed, those two countries do not consider guardianship as a pre-requisite for the validity of a marriage contract.

Unlike Sudan, many other Muslim-majority countries allow inter-faith marriages and do not consider religion a cause for divesting women of their right to choose whom to marry.

A clear example of this conflicting legal situation is the case of The Government of Sudan v. Mariam Yahia Ibrahim and Daniel Wani Bisesou, in which Mrs.

Osman Mubarak is a lawyer and legal researcher.

He studied law at the University of Khartoum and obtained his Masters from Essex University in the UK. His interests lie in women rights, religious freedoms and Islamic tradition.

He was a member of the defence team in a number of public opinion cases, such as the case of Mariam Yahia Ibrahim.

1

r. Hassan D Abdallah AlTurabi (1932-2016) is a prominent politician, founder of the modern Islamist movement in Sudan, and controversial religious scholar.

2

he Mithaq T Front is the Sudanese branch of the Muslim Brotherhood.

3

I n 1989, the National Islamic Front, the Sudanese Islamist party founded by Hassan Al-Turabi, organised a coup d’état and overthrew the multiparty system that had been in power since 1985.

4

he public order T laws are state level laws which have been adopted by state legislative bodies or issued by state governor decree. They are intended to govern matters considered essential to public order at the local level.

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5

I n Islamic law, lian is an oath that enables the husband to accuse his wife of adultery without legal proof and without becoming liable to the punishment prescribed for this (the punishment for accusing someone of adultery without evidence is 80 lashes). It also gives him the option to deny paternity of the child if the wife is pregnant (Joseph Schacht, “Lian” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, Brill online: 2013).

6

rticle 62 of the A 1994 Evidence Act contradicts section 136 of the 1991 Criminal Procedure Act stating that the court must first hear the prosecution case followed by that of the defence. It is also in conflict with Article 141(2) of the same act stipulating that a criminal case shall be dropped if the prosecution does not provide sufficient evidence against the accused.

7

I bn Hazm (9941064) is a Muslim litterateur, historian, jurist, and theologian of Islamic Spain, famed for his literary productivity, breadth of learning, and mastery of the Arabic language.

8

he Maliki School T is one of the four major schools of Islamic jurisprudence within Sunni Islam.

It was founded by Malik Ibn Anas in the 8th century.

A distinguishing feature of the Maliki School is its reliance on the practice of the Companions in Medina as a source of law.

9

Mujtahid is a A person accepted as an original authority in Islamic law. Such authorities continue to be recognized in the Shia tradition, but Sunni Muslims accord this status only to the great lawmakers of early Islam.

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Ibrahim was brought to trial and charged with the breach of Section 126 of the 1991 Criminal Code (apostasy) and Section 146 of the same code (adultery). According to Section 145(3): “A marriage which by consensus is ruled void shall not be deemed to be a lawful bond.” Mrs. Ibrahim, who was considered a Muslim by the court and whose husband was Christian, was found guilty of adultery given that she was pregnant from a marriage unrecognised under Sudanese law. Although higher jurisdictions overturned the primary court’s decision and Mrs. Ibrahim’s marriage was finally acknowledged, this case remains an example for how pregnancy can be used to find a woman guilty of adultery even if she considers herself to be lawfully married.

A number of other cases demonstrate how using pregnancy as proof of adultery is problematic. Among those are the cases of women displaced due to natural disasters, conflict and famine and whose husbands are forced to migrate in search of income, leaving their pregnant wives and/or children behind. It also applies to refugee women, as clearly shown in the case, widely shared on social media, of the Ethiopian young woman who was gang raped in 2014. It came to light that she was pregnant a few months prior to the rape incident, the fact which led the prosecutor to charge her in a separate case as being extramaritally pregnant. The charge came despite her defence that she was married in Ethiopia and escaped to Sudan as a migrant worker.

In cases of adultery, contrary to common jurisprudence, accusing men get the benefit of the doubt, while the accused woman bears the burden of proof. According to Article 62 of the 1994 Evidence Act, accusation of adultery needs no further evidence than proof of pregnancy.6 Once pregnancy has been proven, it is thus the duty of the accused woman to provide evidence of lawful matrimony, something difficult to do when the whereabouts of the husband are unknown.

This represents a serious burden for women, as most marriages in the countryside in both Sudan and other African countries do not involve formal documentation issued by the state.

Women in Islam, 2018

Throughout the evolution of the Islamic tradition, various exits were made available to avoid criminalising women, promote justice, and take into account the complexity of sexual issues.

Ibn Hazm,7 the Spanish Muslim scholar, for example, insisted on differentiating between couples that were alien to the community and those who were known to it. If they were aliens and no one could identify them, there was no blame on them and they should not be apprehended, even in the presence of evidence of sexual congress. They would not need to provide proof of marriage. The Sudanese legislature, however, chose the most stringent legal option by adopting the prescripts of the Maliki School,8 the most conservative Muslim school of thought, which enjoins couples to provide evidence of marriage regardless of their origin.

Today’s world produces scenarios that the traditional religious scholars would not have imagined, existing as they did in very different historico-cultural conditions. The need for reform has become evident to a number of activists within the Sudanese legal profession, given the difficulties encountered in implementing the law. For example, Abdel Rahman Sharfi, former Chief Justice of the Supreme Court and current Chair of the Constitutional Court, has urged the legislators to refrain from using pregnancy and the accused wife’s rejection of the condemnation oath as evidence of adultery.

The criminalisation of sexuality in Sudanese law is often presented as being in line with Islam. It is based, however, on Islamic jurisprudence dating back to the era of Mujtahid Imams,9 when Islamic law was first codified. It does not take into consideration the vast difference between the historical, social, economic and cultural conditions which produced that jurisprudence and the objective conditions of today’s Sudanese society.

The consecration of this jurisprudence has led to a massive imbalance in Sudanese legislation which has alienated itself from contemporary societal issues and has proven to be unsuccessful in establishing justice.

The current legislation has placed Sudanese women and society in a quandary. The country takes the form of a modern state, where women play an increasing socioeconomic role, while the legal system clings to out-dated provisions that consider pregnancy as an evidence of adultery and calls for flogging and stoning as a punishment for the offence.

osman mubarak

Translated from Arabic by Sam Berner

OPEN LETTER

The Shame is Ours Bidur Fath Elrahman Ahmed is a third-year law student at the University of Khartoum. She is also an activist and a member of the Sudaniyat Association, a group concerned with women’s issues, including those experienced by female university students.

To all parents and young people, I would like to share with you my story as a young woman facing the complexities of sexual harassment in Sudan. I have come to believe through my difficult experiences that this issue is very complex and forms part and parcel of the pervasive violence experienced by women of all ages in Sudan.

My name is Bidur. I am 21 years old and am a third-year law student at the University of Khartoum. My troubles started in my childhood just as I was about to start high school. My friends and I began experiencing verbal harassment and, in a few cases, attempts of physical assault by men in public spaces, be it on the way to school, or on public transport.

Although Sudanese women have been able to advance their rights and can now access almost equal work and education opportunities, they are still experiencing widespread sexual abuse. Ironically, it seems that the more women are in public spaces, the more violent their harassment and the bolder their harassers.

Despite the progress and increased contribution of women to public life, the laws and customs of my country have been complicit in perpetuating oppression against women by portraying harassment as something normal.

Even more so, it is the female victims of harassment who are often blamed for the crimes committed by men.

When I enrolled in the Faculty of Law in 2014, I was introduced to several international charters involved in women and children’s rights. This made me optimistic and self-confident as I imagined in my (then) naivety, that I was safe from harassment within an academic institution that both teaches and respects values such as equality.

How great therefore was my surprise when I discovered that the university is merely an extension of the street, and that the harassment against women occurring publicly also takes place – privately – within the university.

Dear readers, I would like to share with you my painful experience with one of my law professors at the University of Khartoum. From the moment he entered the class, the lecturer in question had a strange habit of expelling female students (but not male students) from his lecture. His excuses were always absurd and subjective, and invariably by the end of the lecture, he would declare loudly, “tell the expelled students to come to my office and inform them that if they fail to do so they are barred from attending the next lecture."

One day in class I was sitting alone at the back of the hall when he suddenly and without reasons pointed at me and said, "Shut up, you, sitting in the back." I responded that I was not talking. He told me to leave the class, which I did. After the lecture, I met my colleagues who informed me that the lecturer asked me to meet him in his office. I went, but he wasn’t there. At the next lecture, he walked in directly behind me and said, "You leave the class because you didn't come to meet me, and unless you do so, I won’t let you attend my lectures." Having been told by one of my colleagues that he assaults girls in his office, I decided that I would never go there.

Before the end-of-the-year exams, the professor issued a written announcement stating that any student who did not attend three of his lectures would be banned from sitting the exams. I had no option but to meet him.

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I waited in front of the classroom door for him to come out and ran after him to protest being banned from the exam, reminding him that it was he who prevented me from attending his lectures. He then turned around to me and, without any warning, placed his hand on my shoulder. I quickly pulled his hand away telling him that he was a lecturer and I was his student. I explained my position. He looked at me and didn't respond, however, when I attended his next lecture he didn't tell me to leave the classroom.

At the end of my first year, we had to submit our research papers for that lecturer’s course. Without even looking at my paper, he refused to accept it, and said my work was incomplete. No matter how I amended the paper, he would turn it around in his hands and tell me it was not acceptable. On the day of the final exam, I went to the Registrar’s office to finalise fee payment before entering the exam. The Registrar told me that the lecturer decided to bar me from the exam. I was so terrified that I called my father to come help me talk to the Registrar about this unusual turn of events. Thirty minutes into the exam, and before my father arrived, I was allowed to enter the exam. When I finished, I found that my father had arrived and was complaining about my suspension. I was subsequently given the right to re-sit the exam again.

Before the end results came out, I found my name together with eleven female and one male colleague on the college board, announcing that we needed to attend an oral examination with the lecturer to improve our results. At that exam nothing problematic happened to me, but around seven of my female colleagues spoke after it about the lecturer harassing them. They said they kept quiet for fear of failing the exam.

In 2018, I took another oral exam with the same lecturer as a second-year student. As I was entering his office, the lecturer ordered me to leave my purse and my phone outside, which I did. He then asked me to close the door and began to ask questions as I sat facing him. All was going normally, and I answered all the questions.

However, when it came time to do a case analysis, he told me to go to the other side of the office and stand in front of him while he was asking questions. I stood where he pointed, and he started questioning me. Less than a minute into it, he started putting his hand on my body. Every time he did this, I pushed his hand away and tried to concentrate on answering his questions. Finally, I had enough and loudly warned him that he was my lecturer and I his student. He scolded me, saying that he was trying to help me, and he continued the exam. I thought that after my decisive action he would never again dare to engage in any improper behaviour. But a few minutes later, he suddenly stood up and went towards his bookshelf as if he was looking for a book. When he came back to sit in his place, suddenly I found him pressing up against me. I got confused and initially thought the space was too narrow for him to pass, so I made way for him. However, he followed me and attempted to press his body to mine again.

Dear readers, In that moment I couldn't help myself. I was so disgusted that I pushed him hard until he almost fell. Strangely enough, he did not react to my shove. Instead, he calmly tidied his clothing and sat back in his chair asking me to continue the exam. I initially refused and told him that I couldn’t bring myself to look at him and that I wanted to leave immediately. He argued with me repeating that my grade was poor, and he did not want to fail me. I told him I didn't want to pass in this disgusting way and preferred to fail. He went quiet and did not bother me again until the exam was over.

The entire episode lasted for about an hour and ten minutes, and when I got out of his office I was in a state of anger and shock. I searched for any of my lecturers to talk to about what happened, but didn't find anyone. I went to the dean's office but there was no one there because it was late. I was so upset and furious that I could not even cry. I met my friends and told them what happened.

I spent the night thinking and discussing with my friends. I decided that I had to lodge a formal complaint with the rector of the university. I became even angrier when I learned that some of the first-year female students had been harassed by the same lecturer. This increased my determination to officially complain, and we agreed to lodge a collective complaint with the signatures of all the students who had been harassed by this lecturer.

However, a number of my colleagues withdrew from joining the complaint against him in fear of his authority

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and that of the university administration or of their families who might refuse to believe them (or even accuse them of being responsible) for what had happened. Ultimately, five of us ended up complaining about the lecturer in January 2018.

Because of our complaint, a disciplinary board was set up in February, and the lecturer was suspended for a full semester and denied access to the school until the investigation was completed. The committee has been in progress for almost six months now since the complaint was filed. The first committee was made up of three professors. It was an active and fair committee whose members listened to us with understanding and without judging. However, the lecturer challenged that committee claiming they were not impartial. A second committee was subsequently formed of six members, which is against the rule that says that the number of members in any such committee must be odd (e.g. five or seven). The second committee has hence practised multiple forms of moral blackmail against those of us who filed the complaint and attempts to portray us as responsible for crimes committed by the lecturer.

We told our families of the devious methods of the second committee, and of the veiled threats that we are experiencing. Our families have addressed the committee directly and demanded a clear and prompt decision, telling the university administration that unless a fair and satisfactory decision is reached, we will take the matter to court.

Dear readers, I feel I have aged a lot during this period. I have learnt things that would have never crossed my mind regarding Sudanese society’s negative attitude towards women. I came to experience how women can be condemned simply because they report sexual abuse, demand that these abuses stop, and that their perpetrators are penalised. Unfortunately, most families in Sudan prefer to live in denial about the harassment of women and refuse to face the fact that many are harassed at school and in the workplace.

I have also learned during this time that the university’s administration was well aware of the abusive behaviour of this lecturer, who left the university in 2006 for the same reasons. He came back, however, seven years later, as a result of societal and institutional complicity in normalising harassment and protecting the perpetrators.

I don't know what the future holds for me, what the decision of the committee will be, and whether this lecturer will be allowed to teach again. I am personally determined, however, to follow through with the case to the very end. I will continue to do my best to achieve justice and to resist sexual harassment against women in Sudan. What happened to me has given me the strength to move forward and the determination to expose harassment and harassers regardless of their social standing, age or economic status. Sexual harassment is a criminal act aimed at putting down and degrading women and it must be resisted.

Regards,

Bidur Fath Elrahman Ahmed Bidur Fath Elrahman Ahmed Translated from Arabic by Sam Berner

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Illustration by HANNA BARCZYK

Condemned for Being a Mother Ayaan Khalif Mohamed, born and raised in Kenya, is a blogger and activist who has been living in Somalia since 2014. Passionate about women’s rights and girl child education, she currently works for an NGO based in Somalia that advocates for peace and human rights.

What were you wearing? Where were you? What time was it? Did you smile at him? Those are some of the common questions asked of female rape survivors when they speak out. Those are the questions, Anab,1 a 17-year-old Somali girl, heard when her parents found out that she had been raped. In Somalia, like in many other countries, blame is often put on the victims as if they had voluntarily put themselves at risk and it was their duty to protect themselves from assault.

Anab was raped when she was 13, an age at which she did not know anything about sexuality or pregnancy.

As she narrates, “I used to take my father’s goats for grazing every day. I would sit in the shade or play with my fellow girls while keeping an eye on the goats. That particular day, no one was around. No one was there to stop him from taking advantage of my innocence and lack of knowledge in that matter.”

Thirteen-year-old Anab was passing time drawing something on the ground when a man approached her.

“He sat beside me and handed me twenty thousand Somali shillings,2 which at that time seemed like a lot of money to me. As a child, I didn’t know anything about money and never had anything close to the amount he was giving me,” she recalls with a shaky voice.

“Then he started touching me,” she says in a whisper.

“I still vividly remember. He told me, ‘we are going to do things together but don’t tell anyone. Let it be our little secret and I will let you keep the money.’” For a

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13-year-old, having money to spend was an exciting thought, and Anab saw no reason at the time why she should reject the offer from the man she used to address as “uncle.”

“How was I supposed to know that he was going to abuse me? If only someone had told me that, by accepting that money, I was actually giving away my pride as a woman, my dignity and my virginity, then I would have thrown that money in his face and run away as far as possible,” she laments. “At that moment, all I knew was that it was painful and that every time I would try to make a sound, he would put his hand on my mouth. He finally left after he was done and repeatedly reminded me not to say a word to anyone,” she added.

Sexual violence is pervasive in Somalia and Anab’s case is far from an isolated incident.

Deep-rooted gender inequalities and decades of conflict have left women and girls particularly vulnerable to sexual violence and have destroyed the State institutions that are supposed to protect those most at risk.

Fear of rape by armed gangs, security forces, and relatives is an everyday fact of life for many Somali women. Sexual violence has become largely normalised.

After she was raped, Anab walked home and told her mother that she was feeling pain between her legs. “I didn’t mention anything about what actually happened.

Perhaps I didn’t see it as a big deal. My mother gave me warm water to take a bath, saying that the pain was probably caused by my daily walks to the grazing field. After a few days, things went back to normal as if nothing happened,” she remembers.

However, a few months later, Anab started feeling sick and weak. She complained about having something moving inside her stomach. “My father thought that I was suffering from intestinal worms. He slaughtered a sheep for me thinking that the meat would help me get rid of the worms but nothing changed,” she recounts.

Anab had never been educated about sex and had no idea that she was pregnant until her mother, who is blind, accidentally found out. She felt the baby kick while putting her hand on Anab’s stomach. “At first my mother didn’t say anything to me because she was unsure of it, but a midwife in our village confirmed her worst fear,” she says.

Sex is taboo and therefore not openly discussed in Somalia. It is seen as something that only “adults” should know about. If one inquires about it, the answer is always the same, “you will find out on your wedding night.

Most girls of Anab’s age have no basic understanding of sexuality and reproduction. Additionally, more and more Somali teenagers turn to the Internet to find information about sex. They are increasingly exposed to pornography and develop, as a result, misconceptions about sexuality.

Anab’s life turned to what she describes as “hell” from the day her parents realised that she was pregnant. She was beaten by her father on a daily basis and asked to reveal the name of the father of the wecel (bastard child) she was carrying. Anab was particularly confused as she could not comprehend why and how she had gotten pregnant. After days of beatings and food deprivation, her father forced her to take poison in an attempt to kill the unborn child, which he said would bring nothing but shame to his family.

Women who give birth outside of marriage are shunned in Somalia’s traditional society and are

often rejected by their relatives. An unwed mother’s pregnancy is seen as bringing disgrace on the entire family. In most cases, it does not matter whether the pregnancy was the result of a consensual sexual relationship, or rape. In a country where unmarried mothers are regarded as sinners and prostitutes, most women are forced to run away from their homes. Some end up homeless; others abandon their child or go to the extent of committing suicide to avoid humiliation, isolation and stigmatisation.

In the case of Anab, she ran away after she was forced to ingest the poison. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I went to seek refuge from my aunt who lived in a nearby town. She turned out to be my saviour. With her help, I managed to understand what was happening and I remembered that horrible day that led to the terrible situation I was in,” she recalls.

When the truth finally came out – the fact that Anab had been raped by her own uncle – she did not receive the support she was expecting from her parents. They decided to keep a low profile in order to avoid public shame. “They wanted to avoid the double stigma, one being my rape and the other being the fact that the rapist was my own uncle,” she says with sorrow.

Anab did give birth to her child who now suffers from the consequences of the poison she was forced to ingest while pregnant. “After giving birth nothing changed for me. In fact, I would say it got worse because I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed every time I was outside the house. People were pointing fingers at me and I felt isolated. At some point, I even thought of abandoning my child for I felt like he was responsible for my misfortune. But thanks to my aunt, I didn’t. No child should suffer for the actions of someone else,” she says.

Anab was married off to a man old enough to be her father. Despite the tragic turn her life has taken, Anab still considers herself as lucky: “I am happy because most girls who have been raped or had a child outside of marriage don’t get the chance to get married and have a decent life. I count myself among the lucky ones and I am glad that my son gets the chance to have someone he can call ‘father’ since his real father has refused to take responsibility.”

As shown by Anab’s tragic story, a woman’s “luck” in Somalia is unfortunately a very relative concept.

ayaan khalif mohamed

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Child Marriage Reform in Sudan Religious Counter-Mobilisation Liv Tønnessen is Research Director at Chr. Michelsen Institute (CMI), Bergen, Norway. She is a political scientist researching women, politics and Islam in the Middle East and Northern Africa and has published international peer reviewed articles with publishers like Duke University Press, Routledge, Brill, Oxford University Press, Palgrave Macmillan, and Taylor Francis.

Tønnessen has specialized in Sudanese politics for more than a decade. She has conducted extensive fieldwork in the country in addition to lecturing at Ahfad University for Women in Omdurman, Sudan.

Each year, 15 million girls are married before the age of 18 and Sudan has one of the highest rates of child marriage among African countries.1 In Sudan, 10.7% of women aged 15 to 49 are married before the age of 15, and 38% are wed before the age of 18.2 While approximately two-thirds of African countries have legislated a minimum age of marriage at or above 18 for both sexes, government actors in Sudan have recently put the issue on their legislative agenda. The Sudanese government’s attempt to set the minimum age of marriage at 18 years has prompted counter-mobilisation by religious conservatives saying the practice of child marriage is sanctioned by Sharia. It has also received criticism from the women’s movement in Sudan claiming that this reform is insufficient to legally protect girls.3

1991 Muslim Family Law: Legalising Child Marriage in the Name of Sharia The Muslim Family Law of 1991 made child marriage legal and encouraged its practice. Conservative Islamists, Salafists, and some religious scholars argue that child marriage prevents illicit sexual relations.4 Sex before marriage is forbidden in Islam, and since girls develop sexual urges at puberty, they claim, early marriage is the Islamic solution to deal with the risk of fornication. From an Islamist point of view, the sexual chaos (fitna) of modern-day societies can be traced back to the abandonment of child marriage in the West.

Child marriage ensures that sexual relations happen only within marriage. According to them, puberty or sexual maturity is the appropriate age of marriage. To support their claim, they point to a hadith,5 reporting the Prophet Muhammad’s betrothal to Aisha when she was six-years-old. Evidence suggests that He did not consummate the marriage until she was at least nineyears-old and had reached puberty.

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There are critical contradictions between the Muslim Family Law, on the one hand, and the National Child Act (2010), the 2005 Constitution ,6 and the Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) on the other hand.7 The National Child Act stipulates that, in accordance with the CRC, childhood ends and adulthood begins at the age of 18. Within Muslim Family Law, however, the age of marriage is ‘maturity.’ While the 1991 law stipulates that both parties have to consent to marriage, it also requires the marriage of a mature woman to be validated by a male guardian (wali). Further, it explicitly allows the male guardian to contract a ‘discriminating [minor]’ in marriage in cases of an ‘overriding interest’ and with the permission of the judge. Here, the law does set a specific age, providing that ‘discrimination is achieved at the age of ten’ and thus effectively making 10 the minimum age at which a person can be contracted in marriage.8

Prospects for Government Reform: Minimum Age of Marriage at 18 The National Child Act of 2010 was the first step in the process of raising the minimum age of marriage in Sudan. It defined childhood as extending to the age of 18, a significant milestone and one that was highly controversial given that in Islamic jurisprudence (fiqh), the age of marriage is traditionally set at puberty. In Islamic legal terminology, bulugh refers to a person who has reached maturity or puberty. For a girl, bulugh is attained when she begins menstruating or at earliest when she reaches the age of nine.

Islamist reformers who pushed for setting 18 years as the threshold for adulthood believe that this position does not contradict either Islam or the 2005 Constitution. Rather, they rely on a more progressive Islamic interpretation of maturity to argue that the legal reform conforms to Sharia, to the bill of rights in the Constitution, and to the CRC. In all Sunni law schools, to acquire legal capacity and to be able to enter

minimum age of marriage in the 2010 Child Act, because it was regarded as too controversial. However, as the Child Act does include provisions protecting children against all forms of discrimination in article 5(c), reformers argued that the practice of child marriage is covered.

Moreover, the National Child Act takes precedence over all other laws. For example, article 3 states that “the provisions of this Act shall prevail over any other provision in any other law, upon inconsistency Painting by HUSSEIN MIRGHANI, Sudan thereof, to the extent of removing such inconsistency.” In the views of contracts, a person must attain a condition called rushd, reformers, this meant that a reform of the 1991 Muslim or the intellectual maturity to handle one’s own property Family Law would follow as a natural second step, and affairs.9 According to Islamist reformists, bulugh setting 18, established as the age of adulthood under (puberty/sexual maturity) without rushd (intellectual the Child Act, as the minimum age of marriage. If child maturity) does not create the legal capacity to enter into marriage is considered a form of discrimination, it a marriage contract. Further, they are advocating that the clearly contradicts the 2010 Child Act. The reformers minimum age of marriage, taking both bulugh and rushd thus attempted to slip child marriage reform in through into consideration, should be set at 18. In an interview, the back door in hopes that counter-mobilising actors Amira al-Fadil, reform advocate and former Minister of would not take notice.

Welfare and Social Security, explained their reasoning: However, the reform process became much more Eighteen years as a minimum age for marriage does problematic than government reformers anticipated. not contradict Sharia law. Muslim scholars have Once embedded within the context of family law given us a fatwa10 that supports 18 as a minimum reform and women’s rights – rather than children’s age of marriage. […] Bulugh is an Islamic term that rights – child marriage quickly became controversial refers to a person who has reached maturity and and contested. It prompted counter-mobilisation by has full responsibilities under the law. But maturity conservatives within and outside of the ruling Islamist in Islam should not go hand in hand with physical party, but also extensive critique from the women’s signs of puberty (sexual maturity), but rather movement. intellectual maturity. And there is no reason why Counter-Mobilisation from Religious Conservatives intellectual maturity cannot be set at 18 years.11 According to interviews with government reformers, it was an outspoken strategy not to explicitly include a

Conservatives were indeed quick to oppose any changes to child marriage when government reformists

1

hild marriage is C any formal marriage or informal union where one or both parties are under 18 years of age.

2

S amia El Nagar, Sharifa Bamkar and LivTønnessen, “Girls, Child Marriage, and Education in Red Sea State, Sudan: Perspectives on Girl’s Freedom to Choose,” Sudan Report, (2017).

3

his article builds T on interview data collected during several periods of fieldwork in Sudan from 2008 to 2017.

4

I nterview with Abdul-Jalil Sheikh al-Karuri, imam of Ash-Shahid mosque and member of the Religious Scholars Committee (a religious clerical body in Sudan that has issued fatwas endorsing child marriage), November 21, 2013.

5

adith in the Sahih H al-Bukhari and Sahih Muslim collections.

6

F or additional information, please see the nondiscrimination gender equality clauses Articles 31 and 32(1).

7

S udan ratified the Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) in 1990 and its two optional protocols in 2005, but is among one of the few countries in the world that have neither signed nor ratified the Convention on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW).

8

F or additional information, please see the nondiscrimination gender equality clauses Articles 31 and 32(1).

9

.J. Adams, C “Maturity,” in Encyclopaedia of the Qur’a ̄n, ed. Jane Dammen McAuliffe (Leiden: Brill, 2017).

10

he legal opinion T or learned interpretation that a qualified jurist can give on issues pertaining to Islamic law.

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11

I nterview with Amira al-Fadil, former Minister of Welfare and Social Security, June 25, 2013.

12

I nterview with Dafallah Hassabo, November 20, 2013.

13

Hassabo, interview.

14

“ NGO Decries Endorsement of Girl Child Marriage

by Sudan’s Statecontrolled Clerics,” Sudan Tribune, October 22, 2012, http://www. sudantribune. com/spip. php?article44301

15

eem Abbas, “Time R to Let Sudan’s Girls Be Girls, Not Brides,” Inter Press Service, July 10, 2013, http:// www.ipsnews. net/2013/07/timeto-let-sudans-girlsbe-girls-not-brides/

16

alghis Badri and B Akolda M. Tier, Law Reform in Sudan: Collection of Workshop Papers (Omdurman, Sudan: Ahfad University for Women, 2008).

17

“ Report of the Conference on Sudanese Personal Law,” and “Towards Gender Justice in Sudan: Proposed Family Law,” Sudanese Organization for Research and Development (Khartoum: SORD, 2012).

18

19

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uhammad K. M Masud, “Gender Equality and the Doctrine of Wilaya,” in Gender and Equality in Muslim Family Law: Justice and Ethics in the Islamic Legal Tradition, ed. Lena Larsen, Ziba MirHosseini, Christian Moe and Kari Vogt (Tauris, 2013): 130.

I nterview with Asha el-Karib, May 25, 2011.

started to challenge their interpretation of Sharia. The counter-mobilisation effort included public statements in the media and in parliament by both politicians and religious scholars, as well as litigation. Among the most active opponents was the conservative bloc within the ruling National Congress Party headed by former Member of Parliament Dafallah Hassabo, who has strong ties to the Salafist movement.12 In his opinion, “according to Islam, a girl can give consent to marriage at puberty.”13 He and his followers attempted, among other actions, to side-line government reformers in parliamentary debates and the media. In particular, Amira al-Fadil was accused of blindly following a Western agenda and of becoming, in the process, a secularist, a term with negative connotations in the Sudanese context.

Religious authorities, including one of Sudan’s prominent clerical councils, also quickly mobilised against child marriage reform.14 For example, the chair of the Religious Scholars Committee, Mohamed Osman Salih, publicly endorsed girl marriage and is reported to have stated that “Islam encourages youth to marry to save them from perversion or any dangers of being single, to make them happy, and to preserve reproduction.”15 Despite the efforts of the reformers, the opposition to raising the legal age of marriage to 18 remains strong, with conservative actors even demanding that the 2010 National Child Act be invalidated.

Critique from the Women’s Movement

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While Sudanese women activists support raising the minimum age of marriage to 18, they argue that it should be embedded within a comprehensive reform of the Muslim Family Law of 1991. One of the leading NGOs active in the campaign for legal reform is the Sudanese Organization for Research and Development (SORD), which is part of the global campaign Girls Not Brides. In the view of women activists, child marriage is violence against women as defined by the Declaration on the Elimination of Violence Against Women (1993), and comprehensive family law reform is key to its eradication. Women activists initiated debate on the discriminatory aspects of the Muslim Family Law in the early 2000s.16 Several years ago, SORD drafted an alternative family law, known as the Adila Law, aimed at promoting gender equality in support of women’s civil rights.17 Women activists claim that several aspects related to marriage law need revision. They insist that merely raising the minimum age of marriage, as the Islamist reformers are proposing, will have little effect in itself as long as the Muslim Family Law stipulates that a male guardian has the authority to contract both adult women and minor girls in marriage. Unless a woman can contract herself in marriage, genuine consent will never be attained. Further, Muslim Family Law does not allow for the ‘option of puberty’ (khiyar al-bulugh), common in Hanafi fiqh.18 If it did, a girl who had reached maturity could reject the marriage contracted on her behalf while she was a minor. In the opinion of Asha el-Karib, the leader of SORD, “the crucial point concerning child marriage is to get rid of wilaya, the male guardianship.”19 Although women activists have welcomed the government’s move to legislate 18 as the minimum age of marriage, they remain critical of the reform claiming that it will have little or no effect unless male guardianship in marriage is abolished.

Liv Tønnessen

Women’s Sexuality in Islam An Unjustified Taboo

“In the Arab world, sex is the opposite of sport. Everyone talks about football but hardly anyone plays it. But sex – everyone is doing it, but nobody wants to talk about it.”

An Egyptian doctor, quoted by Shereen el-Feki in her ground-breaking book Sex and the Citadel, sums up one of the greatest unspoken social problems in the Middle East. 1 El-Feki spent years researching sexuality in the Arab world, asking the questions that few people dare to put into words. Even since the Arab Spring, which opened up discussions of human rights throughout the region, the question of sexual rights – and women’s sexuality in particular – remains taboo.

While men are allowed a certain degree of sexual freedom and expression, female sexuality is seen as dangerous: women are subject to all kinds of social control, from legislation on women’s dress in some countries to everyday policing of behaviour from family and wider society.

In some areas, the practice of female genital mutilation is justified as necessary to control women’s sexual desires. On a more everyday level, people have few reliable authorities to turn to with questions about sex; conversation on the subject is limited to a framework of chastity, reproduction, and admonitions against anything considered haram. Even within the context of marriage, couples often feel too ashamed to have open, honest conversations about what they want in the bedroom.

But this puritanism is relatively recent, as is the idea that religion is only compatible with sexual ignorance and prudery. For centuries Islamic culture celebrated sexuality, and classical Arabic manuscripts are filled with joyful descriptions of eroticism and sexual pleasure.2 Many of these were written by religious scholars like

Jalal al-Din al-Suyuti, a 15th century Sufi scholar and prolific writer, and include explicit discussion of sexual techniques as well as the emotional and spiritual dimensions of love-making. El-Feki argues that from the perspective of these classical scholars, “lacklustre sex is positively unIslamic.”

Unlike much contemporary pornography, medieval Arabic texts celebrated mutual enjoyment, with as much emphasis placed on female pleasure as male.

Sexual pleasure is discussed both in terms of health and of romantic love, with benefits for mind, body and soul.

Readers are encouraged to practice a sophisticated form of sex, to study how to give the beloved pleasure, and to enjoy it as a means of deepening the love between a couple. Love and sex are treated as interdependent – and why should an expression of love be seen as shameful? Writing on the subject was certainly not considered ‘dirty’ or offensive to religion. On the contrary, medieval erotic works wrote of sex as one of the gifts of God, a cause for delight rather than shame.

Kate Kingsford is a writer and researcher, focusing on gender issues in the Middle East and East Africa. Her PhD thesis explored women’s identities and social change in urban Zanzibar.

The classical Arab scholars saw female desire as natural and beautiful rather than something that needed to be repressed.

In Ali Ibn Nasr al-Katib’s “Encyclopaedia of Pleasure” (Jawami al-ladhdha), written in Baghdad in the late 10th century, women’s pleasure takes a central role.3 Sex is far more than simply a necessary part of reproduction, but an art form that begins with courtship – love letters, affectionate conversation, and romance – and continues with extensive foreplay. According to Ibn Nasr, simultaneous orgasm is the best way to “assure love and mutual affection”, so men should learn how to satisfy a woman’s desires in order to ensure happiness in marriage. After making love, a husband is encouraged to spend time kissing and talking to his wife to make sure she feels relaxed and appreciated.

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Painting by SALAH IBRAHIM, Sudan

Sheikh al-Nafzawi’s 15th century “The Perfumed Garden” (al-Rawd al-Atir) is another exuberant compendium of sexual advice and stories, as explicit and wide-ranging as the Kama Sutra, with entire chapters listing euphemisms for male and female genitalia: “the impudent one”, “the glutton”, “the biter”, and many more. While Europeans of the time would have been appalled, within the Arab world mutually enjoyable sex was considered one of the pleasures of civilisation and not a source of shame.

What changed? And why is this still so difficult to talk about? A few centuries after al-Nafzawi wrote “The Perfumed Garden”, the political power and cultural influence of the Arab world were in decline.

During the same period Arab societies grew more conservative, particularly when it came to attitudes towards sex. But today it may be time to challenge some of these taboos. As el-Feki argues in Sex and the Citadel, a return to openness in discussions of sexuality and to the joie de vivre that characterises classical texts is a central element of positive social change. As so many of the social norms that limit women’s freedom of expression are based on the perception of female

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sexuality as dangerous, it is an essential step towards women’s rights.

But there are still some spaces where a positive attitude towards female sexuality in an Islamic context remains part of local culture. Despite the taboo around any open discussion of sexuality, in some Muslim societies it is incorporated into social traditions and the idea that sex is something to be celebrated and enjoyed remains very much alive. One example is Zanzibar, on the Swahili coast of East Africa, where the practice of singo – an evening of massage, sexual instruction, and female bonding – is part of women’s cultural practices surrounding marriage. Unlike the erotic manuscripts of the Abbasid empire and the Middle Ages, singo is rooted in local tradition and oral culture. Yet it is an expression of the same symbiosis of religion and sexuality, sensual pleasure and marital love.

The kungwi – an older woman who takes the role of sexual educator – is a respected figure. She is considered an expert in the art of the successful marriage and therefore, to a certain extent, a religious authority.4 Unmarried women are expected to be sexually

inexperienced and ignorant of such matters, but after marriage the wife is considered largely responsible for the couple’s sex life, both when it comes to satisfying her husband and in understanding her own pleasure. A few days before the marriage, the kungwi and a group of female relatives spend an evening with the bride – a ritual transition from one state to another, where she is initiated into the world of sexuality and also into the fellowship of mature women. It confirms her social identity, both as a wife and as a Muslim woman.

As the kungwi teaches the bride about sex, she frames her instruction in the language of Islamic tradition, emphasising the hadith that “marriage is half of religion”.5 And within marriage, the sexual relationship is something to be enjoyed. In another hadith, the Prophet is reported to have said, “Let none of you come upon his wife like an animal, and let there be an emissary between them”.6 This ‘emissary’, he explained, is “a kiss and sweet words.” Religious devotion is thus interwoven with an appreciation of sensuality, seduction, and mutual pleasure.

As part of her education in how to be a good Muslim wife, the bride learns to create an erotic atmosphere by dressing elegantly, perfuming herself with ylang-ylang oil, wearing beads around her waist, and scenting the bedroom with incense and jasmine flowers. She is taught to respect her husband and to give him pleasure, but also to find pleasure herself. The singo often has the atmosphere of a party, where the other women sing, dance, and tell jokes full of sexual innuendo; female sexuality is a source of joy, something to be celebrated.

Singo evenings reflect the spirit of classical Arabic texts on sexuality in their sense of delight, the mixture of romantic seduction with earthy humour, and the acceptance that women have the right to express their desire. This does not mean that Swahili society encourages positive expression of female sexuality in

other spheres, whether in terms of dress, behaviour, or open conversation – far from it. But the continuation of this ritual gives at least one opportunity for women to express themselves as sexual beings, whether or not this is reflected in the bedroom after the wedding.

1

S hereen el-Feki, Sex in the Citadel (London: Vintage, 2013).

2

any of these M texts were written during the Abbasid Caliphate (750-1258 CE) – the golden age of classical Arabic scholarship – or in the next few centuries of the medieval period until around the late 15th century.

Cultural practices that celebrate female sexuality within an Islamic framework, like the bride’s singo in Zanzibar, have always been part of social traditions.

Accepting women’s sexuality and creating space for couples to enjoy better sex lives is nothing new in Arab and Muslim cultures, but something that can be reclaimed.

Opening up the space for free and open discussion of sexuality in the Muslim world is vital for freedom of speech, for women’s rights, and for healthier personal relationships.

This does not mean abandoning ideas about morality, nor is it a rejection of either culture or religion.

Websites like al-Hubb Thaqafa7 are creating online platforms for young people to discuss issues related to sexuality in a culturally sensitive context, where they can ask questions and find accurate and nonjudgemental answers. As the taboos around talking about sex are challenged, perhaps it will be possible to return to the spirit of the classical Muslim scholars who delighted in the joys and variety of sexual experience, from The Encyclopaedia of Pleasure to The Perfumed Garden.

kate kingsford

3

ernilla Myrne, P “Pleasing the Beloved: Sex and True Love in a Medieval Arabic Erotic Compendium” in The Beloved in Middle Eastern Literatures, eds.

Alireza Korangy, Hanadi al-Samman, and Michael Beard (London: IB Tauris, 2018).

4

atrina Daly K Thompson, “How to be a Good Muslim Wife: Women's Performance of Islamic Authority during Swahili Weddings”, Journal of Religion in Africa 41 (2011): 427-448.

5

l-Tirmidhi, hadith A 3096.

6

S hereen el-Feki, Sex and the Citadel.

7

l-Hubb Thaqafa A offers young people an online space where they can engage with issues relating to love, sex, and relationships, and find clear information about sexual health and rights in the Arabic language. Read more at www. lmarabic.com

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dossier: Women's Sexuality in Islam Between Obsession and Taboo

Unwed Mothers Do Not Belong Here Safia Alseddig is a Sudanese journalist. She graduated with a Bachelors of Arts from the University of Khartoum in 2008, majoring in Media and French. In 2015, Safia obtained a postgraduate diploma in Journalism, and is currently completing her Masters in Media and Journalism at the University of Khartoum.

She writes original articles for a number of Sudanese newspapers.

“Sudanese society is intolerant of unwed mothers and young women who are at age of fertility but choose to adopt. I do not encourage women in a society as distorted as ours to become mothers [out of wedlock], and even if a pregnancy occurs it is better to abort, so that the child does not have to face social stigma and the mother legal humiliation in the form of flogging or stoning.”

This opinion, collected by female activists in a survey published on Facebook, is indicative of the experiences and challenges faced by unwed mothers in Sudan.

Tragic accounts of women being killed, abused or sidelined for giving birth outside of marriage are commonly heard in Sudan. A friend of mine told me the horrendous story of a 30-year-old woman murdered by her family.

After hearing loud noise coming from her neighbour’s house one night, my friend was told the next morning that the daughter had died and that her family had decided to bury her without holding a wake or performing customary prayers and rituals. It was not long before the secret came out, as neighbours discovered that the sound they had heard was that of the deceased woman being bashed multiple times against the floor. Her family, finding out that she was pregnant from an extra-marital affair, had decided to bury her and her child without a wake as was the custom in ancient times. As much as the people from the community were pained by the incident, they still considered it a natural response and colluded with the murder by keeping silent.

This story is a painful reminder of the religious, social and cultural constraints faced by unwed mothers in central and northern Sudan. Even women and girls who become pregnant as a result of rape, experience discrimination.

Nowadays, more and more women wish to adopt or have children without the complications of marital commitment. These women, whether or not they chose to become mothers out of wedlock, are faced with a grim future in a society governed by conservative norms.

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Painting by NUSRELDIN ELDOUMA, Sudan

Some resort to harsh and dangerous solutions to adjust their situation to the expectations of society, and to avoid disgrace and social and legal criminalisation.

The Dilemma of Unwed Mothers: Abortion or Stigma “I did not know how to prevent pregnancies, nor had the capabilities to do so, but I was not willing to live without sexual relationships,” said Hawa, a 50-year-old woman living in a small village in central Sudan. Hawa has undergone numerous abortions in her lifetime, disposing of the foetuses in irrigation canals and rubbish dumps or burying them in deserted areas. She says that she wanted to have children but that the men she was involved with all refused to acknowledge their paternity or to legalise their relationship with her.

“The society does not accept me the way I am, and no one wants to marry me. On the other hand, I am barred from having children outside of wedlock so like for many other women in the same situation,

The young woman did not find it in her heart to leave the newborn alone in the hospital and so stayed caring for him initially for a few days, which soon became weeks. When no relatives showed up, she asked the police if she could adopt the child officially. The police provided her with the documentation, bypassing any routine foster care procedures, and she took the child home with her. On telling her family about her decision to adopt and how she found the child, they told her she had to choose between staying at home with them or keeping the child. Fortunately, she had just found work and had some savings. This helped her decide to leave home and, with the help of friends, she rented a house on the sparsely populated outskirts of the city so as to avoid being questioned about the identity of the child’s father. Still, she was harassed many times, even by male colleagues at work who believed she was an unwed mother.

the easiest solution is to get rid of the foetus, or the newborn, instead of having to face the family and society. I would not be able to provide my child with health services, care and education since he would be denied an identity. How could I tell my child that he or she has no father? As a result, I am now 50 and my chance to be a mother has been forfeited,” Hawa said.

Adoption: The Struggle of Single Women Aisha1 has a different story. She was returning late one night from a social occasion when she came across of large group of people. A newborn child wrapped in a piece of cloth had been found in a very bad condition. She volunteered to take the child and, accompanied by the police, travelled to the nearest hospital where the child was found to have a severe infection and minimal chance of survival. In most such cases the child dies because hospitals do not provide enough care to unaccompanied children, firstly because of the absence of parents and secondly because no one pays the hospital fees.

“Everyone found it very difficult to understand that I chose to adopt this child as an adult person who is aware of her choices. They cannot understand that I am free to adopt as many children as I choose as long as I am financially capable of bringing them up on my own.

I faced a lot of problems and questions from my son when he started to grow up, wanting to know who his father was. His peers at the kindergarten called him ‘the son of a woman’, meaning he has no father. I do not have answers to my son’s questions. I just tell him that his dad died. I had a lot of difficulty in registering him for his national ID, as the government does not recognise adoption and they refused to give him my surname.

After a lot of trouble, I got him registered under the name of an imaginary father just to guarantee his right to education and health care.”

A Discriminatory Legal Framework on Adoption According to a social worker employed by a care facility for abandoned children, most mothers do not want to give their children up, yet are forced to do so by societal

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and familial pressure. “I recollect a girl in one of the care facilities who received regular visits from a woman. This woman would take her on outings to parks and to her home, bring her clothes, perfumes, jewellery and fruits.

When the girl turned 15, we discovered that the woman was her natural mother, but she refused to acknowledge her for fear of being stigmatised,” she remembered.

“Many young women want to adopt a child but they don’t necessarily want to marry,” she added. However, according to social norms, it is still unacceptable for young, unmarried women to adopt a child, while elderly, unwed women who are no longer healthy enough to physically take care of newborn babies are allowed to do so. This comes from the fact that adoption in Sudan is seen as a solution to infertility and not as an act of humanity.

Today, reality is nonetheless catching up with Sudanese society. Many women and men have negative views about the institution of marriage, and yet many women still want to become mothers. Though on the rise, adoption remains challenging. Contrary to men, unwed women are barred by law to register children under their names. This creates a series of social and administrative problems affecting the life of the adopted persons who are beset by an identity crisis and constant social stigma.

Health Hazards and Withholding of Services According to one doctor, unwed women are often denied access to quality health services, specifically at birthing.

They either have to lie and convince the medical staff that the child’s father is absent or tell the truth and bear the consequences. There is a prevalent norm in state hospitals that doctors deliver unwed mothers both naturally and through a caesarean without anaesthetics and at the expense of the safety of the mother and the child. This painful practice is seen as a punishment that will prevent women from repeating this shameful act – getting pregnant outside marriage.

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In addition, doctors often refuse to carry out the delivery without the presence of the police to establish a woman’s illegal pregnancy in the police records. This is to ensure that the mother can be legally pursued and punished for adultery.

In the opinion of the interviewed doctor, this is caused by Sudanese society’s obsession with virginity and honour.

A Social Problem with Religious Origins Dr. Mohammed Yusuf Ahmed Almustafa, a sociology professor at the University of Khartoum, believes that the problems faced by unwed mothers have their source in the specific interpretations of Islam in central Sudan societies. According to him, non-Muslims do not incriminate unwed mothers and deal with the issue in a pragmatic manner. The phenomenon of unwed mothers is increasing globally and the law in Sudan needs, in his opinion, to address it objectively. “What we see in Sudan is the systematic denial of paternity by the father if the child is born outside of wedlock, and at the same time a legal barrier to allowing the mother to keep the child.

In many instances, the mothers return to adopt their natural children, but the legislation does not permit these mothers to grant their children citizenship. Instead, it forces both the mother and the child to adopt fake names,” Dr. Almustafa said.

“We cannot look at the issue of unwed mothers without also looking at the social upbringing of the children born of these relationships,” he added.

According to him, it is necessary for Sudanese society to legally accept unwed mothers and provide them with institutional support so that their status can be regulated, and also so that the fathers are made responsible for the welfare of their children. This is, in his view, the condition for the emergence of a balanced and proactive new generation.

Alternate Solutions to Criminalisation

A Needed Revision of Religious Texts

According to Pr. Gumaa Kunda Komy from the Centre for Peace and Development at the University of Bahri, “the secrecy that surrounds unwed mothers in Sudan prevents the country from reaching a solution.” He believes that Sudan, as a society and a state, cannot continue to ignore the social transformation that is happening in the country. In his opinion, punishing women for having children outside of wedlock places the responsibility of childbearing on women alone, as if men took no part in the process. It also reflects the attempt to control women’s sexuality and bodies.

The traditional Islamic response to adultery and pregnancy outside of wedlock is criminalisation. A married woman who commits adultery is punished to death by stoning, while an unmarried woman is flogged one hundred lashes. Children born from illegitimate relations are perceived as a threat to society that must be eliminated. This position is criticised by some of the religious scholars.

However, and as highlighted by Pr. Komy, Sudanese culture is not monolithic; it is multicultural and polyideological. Although legally prohibited, procreation outside of marriage is permitted by some cultures.

Many of the Nuba Mountain tribes, for example, accept single mothers and ascribe paternity to the grandfather or the maternal uncle if the father does not want to recognise the child. Even among the tribes that have converted to Islam, there are no recorded incidences of unwed mothers being killed or forced to abort.

According to Pr. Komy, these harmful practices are mainly happening in northern and central Sudan where it is often more acceptable to get rid of the foetus or newborn rather than giving the mother the right to care for her child.

“Among the Sudanese tribes of African origin, the issue of pregnancy outside of wedlock is dealt with pragmatically, because it is a social issue, and not that of individuals. Society as a whole is responsible for bringing up and protecting newborn children.

Pregnancies outside of wedlock are called kasr bait (breaking-in) and the father is required to acknowledge the child and pay a fine. This money goes to the mother’s brother and her family. In my opinion, these are open-minded and realistic solutions in comparison to what happens to unwed women in the central Sudan societies,” Pr. Komy said.

According to a reforming Sufi Sheikh, "Islam considers pre-marital sex to be a sin, but it is, like procreation, a human instinct. Why do we punish an instinct by murder, which in itself is forbidden in Islam?"

“Procreation outside of wedlock is something traditionalist Islamic scholars prefer not to talk about, dealing with it instead in inhuman and sometimes criminal ways by disposing of the children and separating them from their mothers. It is the religious scholars’ duty to align religious texts with the everyday lived reality of the believers. And the religious texts allow for this; they do not prohibit from thinking and modernising,” he added. As highlighted by the Sheikh, it is time to face reality and stop the criminalisation of unwed mothers.

safia alseddig

Translated from Arabic by Sam Berner

This is a pseudonym. Some of the persons interviewed for this article preferred to stay anonymous.

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“The topics addressed in Volume 3 of Women in Islam are diverse and informative.

The journal takes you from one fascinating issue to another in a very smooth way. I was particularly interested in the interview of the novelist Leila Aboulela, who was my classmate at Khartoum University, and how she courageously explores the issue of religion and identity in her books. Women in Islam exposes the bitter realities of women in different contexts and the perpetuation of forms of exploitation and humiliation in the name of religion and culture.

Despite the challenges, SIHA must continue to highlight the concerns and issues faced by women in relation to Islam.” Manal Abdel Haleem, Women’s Rights Activist, Sudan

“Women in Islam brings together a rich scholarship of feminist issues in Islam across regions. The best feature of this journal is the platform that it provides to the voices of Muslim women on the topic of women’s rights in Islam. It is a very good read for those who wish to indulge in an intersectional and interdisciplinary understanding of feminist issues within the religion and its traditions.” Sugandha Parmar, Feminist Researcher, UK SIHA Journal Issue 03/2017

“As someone born and bred in a multi-faith and multi-cultural environment in the Horn of Africa, I have witnessed the many challenges faced by women in our predominantly patriarchal and Abrahamic societies. I strongly believe that the majority of women in the region are still in the ‘margins of the marginalised’ despite their huge contribution to our centuries-old civilisation. For supporters of the women’s cause like me, Women in Islam is a progressive, forwardlooking and home-grown resource of knowledge and inspiration which serves a variety of audiences in Africa and beyond. So well done SIHA team!” Dr. Zeremariam Fre Werie, NGO Activist, Pastoral and Environmental Network in the Horn of Africa (PENHA) Founder, Poet, and Lecturer at the Development Planning Unit, University College London (UCL), UK

“Women, when talked about in the context of Islam, are frequently portrayed as oppressed, deserving pity or intervention to liberate them from their predicament. What is often missing in pertinent discourses is the agency of those talked about, and, with it, representation of their voices. The journal Women in Islam sets a welcome and liberating counterpoint. It invites the reader to learn more about the lived realities of women, their struggles, achievements, and lives at particular moments and places in a broader, evolving history.” Dr. Lutz Oette, Director of the Centre for Human Rights Law, SOAS, University of London

“Feminist movements have penetrated Muslim societies and are now a tangible reality that must be reckoned with. SIHA’s magazine, Women in Islam, presents a great example of discussion about Muslim women’s issues. It opens to its readers a new vista for positive thinking about renewal in Islam and the reclamation of women’s rights which were taken away in the name of religion. Women in Islam stands out in its examination of all issues pertaining to women: social, economic, religious, legal, cultural and artistic. In addition, it provides a space for women to share with other women their own life experiences courageously and confidently for mutual benefit.” Hawa James, Women’s Rights Activist, Sudan

"As someone who has worked in or on Sudan since 1975, I think Women in Islam does a wonderful and desperately needed job in presenting some of the voices of the 'voiceless'. Here, that means women, as well as men concerned about gender and Islamic issues, whose voices are hard for the world to hear amid the cacophony of Islamists, Islamophobes and a widespread misunderstanding of what real life is like for women in Muslim societies. Thank you for broadening and deepening our understanding. It would be great if the journal could reach an even wider audience: it has so much of importance to say!" Gill Lusk, Journalist specialising in the Sudans.

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Criminalisation of Women in Sudan: A Need for Fundamental Reform

“Women in Islam opens doors to many opinions and voices that do not perceive religion as a source of inequity and exposes a lot of false customs and traditions. I appreciate the effort it invests in clarifying women’s struggle across time and space, lifting the veil off many issues that for so long have remained obscure and hidden. All that I wrote here reflects my personal opinion. Awaiting more!” Howeida Abdel Lateef Mohammed, Reader of Women in Islam, Sudan

“An exceptional publication in terms of contents and presentation, this magazine steadfastly confronts one of the thorniest issues in Muslim societies, that of women, in a progressive manner. It does so in the shadow of the obscurantist backsliding that is ravaging our region, almost returning it to medieval ignorance. The struggle for enlightenment is a continual and difficult marathon that requires patience, will and determination. The magazine takes upon itself an enormous task which deserves to be supported and commended as it represents a valuable addition to knowledge and enlightenment.”

We are interested Nasser El-Sirr, Reader in your opinion! of Women in Islam, On social media: Sudan

The frequent arrests, detention, trial and punishment of women under Sudan’s public order regime, ostensibly designed to protect morality, are key features of the criminal justice system. Focusing on Khartoum State, this report highlights the personal experiences of women caught in the arbitrary application of the public order laws with an emphasis on alcohol brewers and sellers, human rights defenders, female students and migrant women.

Caught Between Poverty and Trauma

Hundreds of women and girls from Ethiopia migrate as domestic labourers to Arab Gulf countries and the Middle East through both legal and hidden means. This report highlights the human rights violations experienced by trafficked migrant workers and examines the psychological, physical, economical and social consequences of trafficking on female returnees.

Women Do not Belong Under the Acacia Tree

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This report discusses Somali society’s current trend towards urbanisation and urban migration. This shift has had a massive impact, both negatively and positively, on women and gender relations within Somali society.This report specifically focuses on female street vendors in the semi-independent territory of Somaliland. Research conducted for this report is part of SIHA’s on-going endeavours to reach out to urban poor women working in the informal sector in the Horn of Africa in order to bring them into the heart of the women’s rights movements in their respective countries and territories.

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Issue No. 4, 2018

A journal published by:

SIHA is a regional Network

SIHA, a regional network born

operating since 1995 with a membership of over 80 women’s civil society organisations in the Horn of Africa – including Djibouti, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Somalia, Somaliland, South Sudan, Sudan and Uganda.

and nurtured inside the Horn of Africa, benefits from strong grassroots support and connections to local, regional and international advocacy platforms in order to realise its vision.

Our vision is that all women and girls in the Horn of Africa should have the right to live in a peaceful, just environment and to exercise their equal rights as human beings.

Accordingly, Muslim women are entitled to their spirituality, their beliefs and their understanding of their religion and their cultures.

SIHA implements capacity building programs to grass roots civil society, provides direct support for women in conflict and post conflict situations and promotes women human rights through advocacy and campaigning activities.

Interweaving academia and activism, SIHA publications – handbooks, manuals, booklets, research papers and journals – are sources of knowledge, practical ideas and tools for respective programming and projects to professionals, activists, human right defenders, donors and policy makers.

As SIHA we believe that the power of women rights activists and defenders in the Horn of Africa is standing high against political repression, fundamentalism and restraining traditions.