تدوينتي: مذكرات منقبة سابقة في ذا ديلي بيست


Saudi Activist Manal Al-Sharif on Why She Removed the Veil

One of Saudi Arabia’s preeminent activists, who led the right-to-drive movement, describes her decision to take off the niqab.
No piece of cloth throughout history has sparked more controversy as the veil. Many Muslim women are forced to wear it daily. The hijab has a spectrum, of course, from its most radical embodiments, the niqab, which covers the entire face, to loose fitting headscarves.

Saudi Arabia comes come second only to Iran in using the power of the stick (the Committee for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice or the religious police) to impose a particular form and color of hejab on all our women. And when I say all our women, I mean all: Saudi and non-Saudi, Muslim and non-Muslim alike.

The sheer size of the country means that each and every region of Saudi Arabia contains a great diversity of cultures, dialects and religious sects. Until the seventies, women here were free to wear almost whatever they wanted. Bedouin women wore bright clothes and burqas, the parting of their hair and their kohl-lined eyes left exposed. The women of the city donned their abayas, the fabric drawn in around their waists. The Arab women wore their colored hejabs, and the non-Muslim women dressed modestly and without a veil.

The women in my father’s village, Tarfa, to the north-west of Mecca, wore bright clothes with pink and white scarves wrapped around their heads and necks. Like the Bedouins, they left their faces and the parting of their hair exposed.

This all changed when the state-supported wave of religious fanaticism struck our society. The black abaya and facial covering was imposed on all female government employees, and on schools and universities. And the black hejab was imposed on all non-Saudi women, regardless of their religion or creed. It was unthinkable to see a woman in my hometown, Mecca, who did not wear the niqab; revealing your face was a social taboo and was haram in the eyes of religion. Leaflets were widely distributed during that era saying that facial covering was what separated the Muslim woman from the infidel. The fanaticism spread even to children: even before I took off my niqab for good, a ten-year-old-girl next to me on a plane called me an “infidel” when I lifted my veil to eat a meal.

One leaflets distributed during the period of Islamic awakening read:

“My Muslim sister; today, you face a relentless and cunning war waged by the enemies of Islam with the purpose of reaching you and removing you from your impenetrable fortress. One of the things that these enemies of Islam are trying to discredit and eliminate is the hejab. Some of them even said that the situation in the East would not be righted until the hejab had been raised from the woman’s face and used to cover the Koran!”

This same ideology was exported out of Saudi Arabia by the power of the petrodollar. I remember the days of the Bosnian war (1992—1995), when Saudi Arabia sent convoys of aid to those besieged in Sarajevo. The people in charge of the convoys distributed the hejab to the besieged women along with the cartons of food.

It came to the point where the only acceptable interpretation of Islamic hejab in Saudi was for woman to shroud her face and body completely in black. Though, to anyone from outside our borders, one Saudi woman appeared utterly indistinguishable from the next, Saudis developed a unique ability to recognize the woman who languished in the blackness. My father knew me apart from the dozens of other girls outside the school or university walls; he never mixed me up with another girl. Similarly, we never failed to recognize our relatives or friends if we came across them in the mall or mosque.

We developed a great sensitivity to the characteristics and attributes of those around us: their voices, the way they arranged their niqab, their eyes, their gait, and even the type of abaya and handbag and shoe they wore. And young men developed a sense for the age of a girl and her physique, purely from the way she walked.

After that came the nineties, which brought with it satellite channels, and after that the turn of the millennium, which heralded the evolution of new forms of communication: the internet and smart phones. At last we had access to views that challenged the status quo—the single opinion that had so long been presented to us as the only correct choice. It was the only one, we were told, which follows the way of the Prophet and truly represents Islam. Our conservative society began to posit questions and raise doubts about things that had—by the power of religion and with the blessing of the state—been so long imposed on us as givens.

One of the first things to be questioned was the narrow Wahhabi interpretation of hejab, but for me personally, that didn’t make the matter any easier. When I decided to remove the niqab in 2002, I faced a bitter war with my family and society. My mother wore the niqab during the period of the Islamic awakening, and though she relinquished it on our travels outside Saudi, she opposed the fact that I had taken it off at home. The reason was social, not religious: “My daughter, no one will marry you if you show your face!”

If the people I passed on the streets of Mecca knew me to be a Saudi, I’d face harsh and disapproving looks. One day I was performing tawaf, and the observer—whose job was to regulate the movements of people around the Kaaba—berated me loudly about my lack of niqab every time I passed him. “Cover your face, woman!” he shouted. The third time, I used my finger to indicate the people around me: “All these women with uncovered faces; are they disobedient too? Or is it only me that’s sinning, because I am Saudi?” I completed the rest of my circuits without hearing another word.

Though I didn’t wear the niqab in the street or in my place of work, I had to borrow a friend’s niqab to enter the courtroom, since women were not allowed to enter government facilities—courts in particular—with their faces uncovered. I was forced to bring two male “identity verifiers” to assert who I was, despite the fact that I carried my ID card with me.

While the uncovering of women’s faces might have been the biggest change to happen to Saudi society, it wasn’t the only one women dared to make. A group of girls in Jeddah began to wear colored abayas; soon, robes in grey, navy blue and dark brown could be seen in the city’s abaya shops. When these same colors began to appear in Riyadh, the religious police launched a campaign of confiscating them from the shops. “If this was their reaction to brown and grey,” I wondered, “how would they react to the sight of pink or red?” I wanted to try it out.

I went to the shop I usually dealt with and asked if they could make me a colorful abaya, but the owner flatly refused: “If a colored abaya was seen in my shop, I would be questioned and harassed by the men of the religious police!” But my friends pointed me to one of the shops that was happy to custom-make colorful designs and deliver them to its customers out of sight of the religious police.

The other change was in the symbolism of the abaya—its significance was no longer of a religious and social nature only. Rather, it came to be treated wholly as a fashion item, with trends that came and went over time just as with any other item of clothing. We saw the emergence of fashion designers who specialized in creating abayas. They held fashion shows to promote their latest lines.

Depending on the fame of the designer, the quality of the fabric and the materials used in the embroidery, the prices could be as high as tens of thousands of riyals apiece. Different types of abaya emerged for different occasions: the abaya intended for work or for going to the mall was characterized by its practicality, and the abayas for special occasions were characterized by their embroidery and luxurious design. There were even abayas for winter and summer.

In spite of all these changes, the force of the state continued to impose the black abaya in public. Advocates claimed that it helped to preserve virtue and to affirm the application of Sharia law. What they conveniently overlooked was that the imposition of a certain type of dress on one section of the population was a precedent that had never before been set in the whole of the country’s history. The form and color of clothes had long been left to the society to decide for themselves, and the authorities had cared little about how it looked as long as it was decent.

The imposition of the black abaya is unnatural: it represents nothing but an obstruction on normal life and on the natural evolution that occurs in people’s manner and form of dress, something that has occurred throughout history on the basis of people’s needs and changing circumstances.

Manal al Sharif was arrested for driving in Saudi Arabia and is one of the Kingdom’s most famous women’s rights activists

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مذكرات منقبة سابقاً

ماهو الشيء الذي تلبسه المرأة المسلمة طوال حياتها،  وتلبسه المرأة الغربية يوم زفافها، ينظر له الغرب أنه قمع للمرأة، وينظر له الشرق أنه حفظ للمرأة؟ هو أكثر قطعة ملابس أثارت جدلاً على مر التاريخ، لدرجة أن منعتها حكومات وفرضتها أخرى؟ نعم، إنه الحجاب بأي شكل كان، من أكثره تشدداً متمثلاً في (النقاب والبرقع) حتى أكثره انفتاحاً متمثلاً في الملابس المحتشمة للنساء بدون غطاء الرأس. هذا المقال ليس محاولة لشرح تاريخ الحجاب وعرض للمجموعات الدينية التي مازالت تفرض شكلاً معينا للباس على نساءها، من يهودية ومسلمة وحتى بعض الطوائف المسيحية الأرثودوكسية. هو فقط عرض بسيط لتطور الحجاب في وطني السعودية، البلد الثاني (بعد ايران) الذي يفرض بقوة عصا (هيئة الأمر بالمعروف والنهي عن المنكر) شكلاً ولوناً معيناً للحجاب على جميع النساء، سعوديات وغير سعوديات، مسلمات وغير مسلمات. وعندما أذكر (عصا الهيئة) فأنا أعني أنه فعلاً لا يوجد قانون سعودي مكتوب يحدد هيئة ولون الحجاب.


السعودية بسبب اتساع مساحتها تحتوي على تنوع كبير من الثقافات واللهجات والمذاهب الإسلامية لكل منطقة من مناطقها. حتى السبعينات الميلادية لم يكن هناك فرض لشكل معين لملابس النساء، تجد النساء البدويات بملابسهن الزاهية وبراقعهن التي تظهر مقدمة شعر الرأس والعيون المكحلة، ونساء المدينة بعباءة (اللف) التي يلففنها حول الخصر، والنساء العربيات بحجابهن الملون، والنساء غير المسلمات بملابس محتشمة لكن بدون حجاب. أذكر النساء في قرية أبي (الطرفاء) الواقعة شمال  غرب مدينة مكة بملابسهن الزاهية وشراشفهن الوردية والبيضاء التي يلففنها حول الوجه، بدون تغطيته، مظهرات مقدمة شعر الرأس. حتى ضربت موجة التشدد الديني مجتمعنا، ودعمتها مؤسسات الدولة، فتم فرض عباءة الرأس السوداء وغطاء الوجه على جميع موظفات الحكومة، وجميع المدراس والجامعات. وفرض الحجاب الأسود على غير السعوديات بغض النظر عن دينهن ومذهبهن. في تلك الفترة كان من المستحيل في مسقط رأسي (مكة) أن ترى أي امرأة سعودية غير منقبة، كان كشف الوجه من التابوهات الإجتماعية والمحرمات الدينية. حتى أن مطويات الوعظ الديني التي انتشرت في تلك الفترة كانت تؤصِّل لفكرة أن غطاء الوجه هو ما يفرق المسلمة عن الكافرة. وقد وُجهت في فترة من حياتي عندما كنت منقبة بإتهام (الكفر) من طفلة في العاشرة من عمرها كانت تجلس بجانبي في الطائرة عندما رفعت نقابي لتناول وجبة الطعام.


تقول مقدمة احدى مطويات فترة الصحوة والتي تدعو للحجاب وتحذر من تركه:

“هدية للمرأة المسلمة

أختي المسلمة إنك اليوم تواجهين حرباً شعواء ماكرة، يشنها أعداء الإسلام بغرض الوصول إليك وإخراجك من حصنك الحصين، حتى قال بعضهم (علينا أن نكسب المرأة ففي أي يوم مدَّت إلينا يديها فُزنا بالحرام وتبدد جيش المنتصرين للدين) وقال آخر: (كأس وغانية تفعلان في تحطيم الأمة المحمدية أكثر مما يفعله ألف مدفع، فأغرقوها في حب المادة والشهوات). فكوني حذرة أختي المسلمة ولاتنخدعي بما يثيرونه من شبهات وشكوك وبما يرفعونه من شعارات. ومن المسائل التي يحاول أعداء الإسلام التشكيك فيها والقضاء عليها (مسألة الحجاب) حتى قال بعضهم: (لا تستقيم حالة الشرق مالم يُرفع الحجاب عن وجه المرأة ويغطى به القرآن)”

وتم تصدير نفس الفكر لخارج السعودية بدولارات النفط. أرجع بالذاكرة لأيام الحرب البوسنية عندما سيّرت السعودية قافلات إغاثة للمحاصرين في سراييفو كان المسؤولون على هذه القوافل يوزعون الحجاب على النساء مع كراتين الغذاء.


أصبح الحجاب الإسلامي في السعودية لا يصح إلا بغطاء الوجه والجسم بالكامل بالسواد، وعلى الرغم من أن النساء يبدين متطابقات تماماً لأي شخص من خارج السعودية، لكن السعوديين استطاعوا تطوير فراسة من نوع فريد جداً للتعرف على المرأة التي تقبع داخل ذلك السواد. كان أبي يعرفني من بين العشرات من الطالبات الواقفات خارج أسوار المدرسة أو الجامعة، ولم يخطئني يوماً مع فتاة أخرى، كما نتعرف على قريباتنا أو صديقاتنا إذا صادفنا إحداهن في السوق أو المسجد. تصبح لدينا حساسية كبيرة للصفات الأخرى كالصوت، طريقة لبس النقاب، العينين، المشية، وحتى نوع العباءة وحقيبة اليد والحذاء. ويجد الشباب طريقة للتعرف على سن الفتاة وقوامها من مشيتها فقط.


ثم جاءت فترة التسعينات الميلادية بقنواتها الفضائية وتلتها الألفية الثالثة بتطور وسائل التواصل من انترنت وهواتف نقالة، وتوفرت الخيارات أمامنا لقراءة الأقوال المغايرة للرأي الواحد الذي طالما تم تقديمه لنا على أنه وحده الذي يتبع منهاج النبوة ويمثل الإسلام الصحيح. وبدأ المجتمع المحافظ بطبعه بطرح التساؤلات والشكوك حول أمور تم فرضها كمُسلَّمات على الجميع بقوة الدين وبمباركة الدولة، وكان من أوائل هذه الأمور الحجاب بتفسيره الوهابي الضيق، لكن الأمر لم يكن بتلك السهولة. عندما قررت التوقف عن ارتداء النقاب في عام ٢٠٠٢، واجهت حرباً باردة مع عائلتي ومع المجتمع، إرتدت أمي النقاب في فترة الصحوة ومع ذلك لا ترتديه في سفرنا خارج السعودية، لكنها رفضت حقيقة أن ابنتها اختارت ألا ترتدي النقاب في السعودية والسبب كان اجتماعياً وليس دينياً (لن تتزوجي يا ابنتي إذا كشفتي وجهك). في مكة كانت النظرات المستهجنة تلاحقني إذا عرفوا في المكان أنني سعودية. كنت أؤدي الطواف في أحد الأيام، وكان المراقب الذي ينظم حركة الطائفين في صحن الحرم ينصحني بصوت عالي كلما مررت عليه وأنا أطوف (غطي وجهك يا مرة)، في المرة الثالثة نظرت إليه مباشرة وأشرت بأصابعي حولي (وكل هاتين المسلمات الطائفات وهن كاشفات هل هن عاصيات؟ أم كوني سعودية فقط؟)، توقف الشيخ عن نصحي في بقية الأشواط. وعلى الرغم أنني لا أرتدي النقاب في الشارع ومكان عملي، لكن كان علي استعارة نقاب صديقتي لدخول المحكمة، حيث لا يسمح للنساء بدخول المصالح الحكومية وخصوصاً المحاكم وهن كاشفات، وكان علي احضار معرفين ذكرين أحدهما أخي لتعريفي أمام القاضي على الرغم من وجود بطاقة الهوية معي.


قد يكون التغيير بكشف الوجه هو الأكبر الذي مر به المجتمع السعودي، لكن ذلك ليس التغيير الوحيد الذي تجرأت النساء على فعله مع الحجاب. بدأت مجموعة من فتيات (جدة) بفكرة ارتداء عباءات ذات ألوان مغايرة للون الأسود، فظهرت العباءات ذات الألوان الرمادية والكحلية والبني الغامق في جدة، وعندما ظهرت نفس الألوان في الرياض قامت الهيئة بشن حملة صادرت فيها العباءات الملونة من محلات العباءات، ولا أعرف كيف ستتعامل الهيئة مع العباءات زاهية الألوان إذا ظهرت. ولأجرب ذلك طلبت من المحل الذي أتعامل معه أن يفصل لي عباءة ملونة لكن صاحب المحل رفض بشدة: (إذا شوهدت عباءة ملونة في المحل سأتعرض للمسائلة والمضايقة من قبل رجال الهيئة)، لكن صديقاتي دللني على أحد المحلات التي تقبل تفصيل عباءات ملونة ويتم تسليمها للزبونة بالخفاء. التغيير الآخر كان في رمزية العباءة، فلم تعد مقتصرة على المعنى الديني أو الاجتماعي فقط، بل أصبحت العباءة تعامل كالأزياء تماماً، تظهر trends وتختفي كل فترة. وظهرت مصممات أزياء متخصصات في تصميم العباءات فقط ، يقمن عروض أزياء لعرض آخر التصاميم وتصل أسعار العباءات لعشرات الآلاف حسب شهرة المصممة ونوعية القماش والمواد المستخدمة في تطريز العباءة.  ظهرت أيضاً أنواع مختلفة للعباءات حسب كل مناسبة، عباءة للدوام تتميز بكونها عملية، وعباءة للسوق، وعباءة للمناسبات وتتميز بكونها مطرزة وفخمة، وحتى عباءات شتوية وصيفية.


وعلى الرغم من كل هذه التغييرات التي ذكرتها، تظل العباءة السوداء مفروضة بقوة الدولة. يقول المدافعون أن في ذلك حفظ للفضيلة وتأكيد على تطبيق الشريعة الإسلامية، لكنهم نسوا أن في فرض شكل معين من اللباس على فئة من الجتمع ماهو إلا سابقة لم تحدث في تاريخ الأمة الإسلامية، فلطالما كان شكل اللباس ولونه متروكاً للمجتمع الإسلامي مع البقاء على الحشمة بشكل عام. لذلك أجد فرض العباءة السوداء ماهو إلا تعطيل لسنة الحياة واعاقة للتطور الطبيعي الذي يحدث في طريقة وشكل اللباس التي طالما حدثت حسب حاجة الناس وتغير الظروف.

Bananas & Monkeys


In El Madrigal stadium and during Barcelona’s game against Villarreal in the Spanish Liga, Barcelona was ahead by a score of 3/2, dark skinned Brazilian player Daniel Alves was getting ready for a corner kick when a Villarreal fan threw a banana at him.

Danny’s reaction was utterly simple; he picked up the banana, took a bite, threw away the rest of it and continued playing. But for the Sports scene worldwide, that bite didn’t go by that simply, and unleashed bottled up anger and resentment against racism in sports.

Alves’ banana coincided with another incident in the US; a leaked phone call between Donald Sterling, owner of the NBA team Los Angeles Clippers, and his girlfriend. Sterling was asking her not to appear in public with colored athletes, including NBA legend Magic Johnson

As I’m writing this from Rio de Janeiro, I was able to personally feel the Brazilians’ anger at this insult. Famous Brazilian football player, Neymar, appeared on TV eating a banana to show his support for his colleague, and launching the “Somos todos macacos” or “We’re all monkeys” campaign. The campaign gained enormous support, nationwide and worldwide, and even Brazilian president Dilma Rousseff participated, as well as many celebrities worldwide. Daniel Alves appeared on the cover of Veja, the most prominent magazine in Brazil, giving the “banana gesture”, which means (I don’t care) or (go to hell).

The Villarreal fan who threw the infamous banana was arrested, and turned out to be an employee of Villarreal. He was fired and banned from working for the club for life, and may even face up to three years of jail time for promoting racism. Donald Sterling faces a 2.5 million-dollar-fine, the largest ever in the history of sports in the US, as well as pressure from the NBA and other team owners, which will inevitably force him to sell the L.A. Clippers.

The same week the world has shown zero tolerance for racism in the international sports scene, there was a similar incidence back home. After the Saudi team Al-Ahly was defeated in the final match of the King’s Cup, Ahly player and Saudi national team captain, Tayseer Al-Jassem, a Shiite, was the victim of racist attack from Ahly fans.

Tayseer Al-Jassem walked out of the field in tears, and his brother stated that he might not continue playing for Ahly, and would play in the Qatari league instead. Tayseer is one of the most prominent Saudi football players, and is well known for his good morals and discipline. Al-Jassem has been a target for racist attacks for while now, as I noticed from his twitter account, which he quite abandoned since October 2012, because of the depressing racial comments following his every tweet.

A radical anti-Shiite channel, broadcast from Saudi Arabia, Al-Wessal, aired an episode called “Agents of Iran”, during which Sheikh Ghazi Al-Fareeqa launched an attack on Tayseer Al-Jassem, saying: “It’s shocking for me to see a leading Shiite football player amongst his fans, who curses our Mother Aisha, but instead cheer for him. As for me, I trust more in the faith of a drug dealer who refuses to curse our mother Aisha -than him- And the fans, even if they don’t fulfill God’s every order, are good, faithful Sunnis”.

The channel still broadcasts, our national newspapers didn’t run the sectarian statements, and no reaction was to be heard from Al-Ahly management against their racist fans, and not even an apology to their captain was issued. There was no formal, or even informal, reaction from the General Presidency for Youth Welfare.

Up till now, we don’t have a law in Saudi that incriminates racism, not even in sport. Yet there’s a hope; Saudis on Twitter started a group of hashtags that apologize to Tayseer Al-Jassem and denounce racism, most famous was (We’re all Tayseer).

One tweep wrote: “Tayseer’s foot is more useful to this country than your wasted brain cells, and his shoe is cleaner than your vile tongues”.


This hashtag is still active, and it has forced Al-Wessal channel to tweet in defense, apologizing to Tayseer.

Ironically, though, one of its tweets says: “Wessal’s main goal is to attract and convert the general Shiite population, saving them from hell. Badmouthing one of them means destruction for the channel and its message”. Typical the epitome of pride and monopolizing the truth.


My only comment here is to remind you of a story that happened in Munich last May. One of Bayern Munich Muslim players made a formal request for the club management, asking to appoint a room for prayer. The club responded by largely financing the establishment of a large mosque in its headquarters. It’s sad to compare the state of tolerance the world sports scene, to our own near-sightedness, at the heart of the Islamic world.

The renowned Palestinian Muslim scholar Sheikh Adnan Ibrahim said once, in his speech “The Fiqh of Criminals”, or the Criminal Islamic jurisprudence:

“May Allah avenge us from those sheikhs and clerics who spread hatred amongst Muslims, and plant spite in our hearts against the whole world, calling them heretics, infidels and enemies of Allah. We now deny Allah’s blessings; you live there, in Western countries, enjoy your peace, eat off their tax-payers’ money, and then the first chance you get, you go: (I’ll kill & butcher them). What religion is this? What fiqh? It’s the fiqh of criminals. Those are people who lost their humanity in the name of religion. Whose religion is this? Genghis Khan’s? It’s definitely not the religion of the Holy Qur’an that says; (And we have not sent you, [O Muhammad], except as a mercy to the whole world). What’s this craziness we live in? O’ Allah, we denounce them, for they’ve wronged themselves, their religion, and prophet Muhammad”.

Living Two Lives

Every time I leave the country, as I stand before the passport control officer in his usual military attire, I hold my breath on two accounts. My first fear is that a travel ban – an oft-received punishment by people like me, human rights advocates – will see me sent directly back home again.

My second is that my father, my assigned male guardian according to Saudi law, decides to revoke the travel permission he granted me. I can envision my father doing this either out of fear for my own safety or else as a response to the ongoing pressure he receives from people around him or from our al Sharif tribe. It’s strange the way that other countries punish activism with exile, yet in Saudi it’s the other way around: those who protest the system are doomed with internal exile! There is a well-known saying timidly mumbled by Saudis amongst themselves:

“The best place in Saudi is the airport through which I leave the country”.

The moment the passport control officer stamps my passport, an indescribable feeling rushes through my veins. The cage door is open; I’m a free bird once again. But how can one’s own country be a punishment in and of itself?

I could list tens of reasons, but personally I find that the agony of living in duplicity tops them all. The saying I quoted above reveals a lot about the forced duplicitous nature of the Saudi people’s existence: adhering to the the abnormally extreme societal and religious restraints imposed on them on the one hand, and living a normal life – or the life they want to live – on the other.

What follows is a list of just a few examples of duplicity in modern-day Saudi Arabia:

1- Although cinemas are banned in Saudi by law/fatwa, there are more than 170 cinemas in Saudi Arabia. All of them are located in residential compounds that Saudis cannot enter. Now add to that the huge Mega and Virgin stores that sell movies on DVDs, not to mention the fact that most prominent satellite Arab channels are owned and run by Saudi money.

2- Although alcohol is also banned in Saudi, it’s not difficult to find local alcohol dealers who will deliver whatever your heart desires to the privacy of your own home.

3- There are more than 10 million non-Saudis living in Saudi. Everyone knows that they come from different religions (Christianity, Hinduism, etc.) but when it comes to official numbers, Saudi authorities insist that the Saudi Arabia’s population is 100% Muslim.

4- Saudi law bans women from traveling without a Mahram (a male relative that woman cannot marry). But a woman can travel without a Mahram as long as if her “guardian in charge” gives his written permission! Similarly, when it comes to the issue of women driving, fatwas ban women from being alone with a non-mahram even if he is her cousin or brother-in-law. Yet, it is entirely expected that she will use a non-mahram driver.

As a Saudi woman, I am forced to live double the duplicity just to survive. When I got a job offer from Saudi Aramco back in 2002, my family had to guard the fact that their daughter worked in a mixed environment and that I lived alone 850 miles away from the “surveillance” of any male guardian.

Saudi Aramco was the first company in the Kingdom to have men and women work together in the same office space. According to the previous Saudi labor Law, a mixed work environment was prohibited. The new labor law that was passed in 2005 (3 years after I joined Aramco) annulled that particular regulation. It also annulled the rule that required women to have a male guardian’s permission in order to work; nevertheless, most employers in Saudi still require it. I remember the first thing a friend said to me when she found out that I worked in a mixed environment: “You will never get married”. The irony: I married a Saudi co-worker, whom I later divorced.

Hypocrisy is also very useful when dealing with impractical and sometimes absurd laws. Take the Ministry of Higher Education as an example. There are now over 27,500 female students participating in the King Abdullah international scholarship program. My elder sister, a doctor, was one of them, until they stopped her scholarship benefits two years ago. The reason? She was not accompanied by a male family member while studying abroad. Ministry of Higher Education official statistics show that half of applicants to the program are females, but the number who are actually eligible is reduced dramatically by their inability or unwillingness to comply with this bizarre requirement, which authorities argue is based on Islamic fatwa. Those who have basic knowledge of Sharia (Islamic law) know that only one of the four Sunna scholars considers a Mahram (companion) to be a mandatory requirement for a female traveling abroad. So a male companion while residing in another country is not required!

Female students come up with creative workarounds to be able to study abroad. Some marry (on paper) just for the sake of having a male companion, and when they travel abroad, each of the marital partners leads their own life until the program is finished. Other female students take the male companion for the first few weeks to finish the paperwork and show a face at the Cultural Attaché office.

When I was detained in 2011 and sent to jail for being a woman driving a car, I met Hana, a 26-year-old woman who was waiting for more than a year for her male guardian to bail her out. Even when a Saudi woman prisoner has served her sentence, she cannot be released until her appointed male guardian has bailed her out. I brought Hana’s issue to the jail warden’s attention. He told me he was aware of her problem, a common one when the girl’s family is ashamed by her and refuse to accept her back, and that he was in the process of finding her a husband to bail her out! I couldn’t believe my ears!

Officials say that they are applying Sharia laws, while clerics say that they are protecting customs and traditions. At the same time, society enshrines customs and traditions, while laws codify them. It is all becoming a big mishmash where you have no clue who is responsible and who is to blame for the enforced living of a double life or for Saudi’s attempts to build an Islamic Utopia on behalf of the whole Muslim world, even when a large number of us are just pretending rather than genuinely believing in it. I once read a funny comment on this polemic situation: “Saudi authorities solve the world’s problems with money, and Saudi problems with fatwas”.

Hypocrisy in the Saudi system extends from officials to its religious establishment, with a knock-on effect in its society.. The infamous Saudi cleric Al Arifi, who happens to be the most followed Arab on Twitter, is the perfect embodiment of the religious establishment’s dilemma: it must strike a balance between preserving its grip on the Saudi society, which it does through rigid interpretation and intolerance to difference, such as the Shia’a, whilst simultaneously gaining acceptance from an international community that does not welcome displays of intolerance. Al Arifi is known for tweeting opinions of hate against the Shia’a in the Middle East, and encouraging Saudi youth to go for jihad in Syria against the infidel Alawi. Surprisingly, however, all those views were overturned on his last visit to London. The headlines about his visit went something like this: “Al Arifi calls Sunna and Shia’a to unite and renounce differences”!!

Living a double life creates so much pressure on those forced to do so., You get a sense of this when reading Saudi tweets, the only podium where we can voice our views. The tweets usually revolve around three things:

1- Harsh criticism of one another and extreme curiosity about others’ personal lives. People show off the superiority of their own faith by questioning the conduct of others..

2- Harsh attacks against Shia’a and anyone who is different. If you are different, then you are our enemy, even if your opinion is the only thing that is different about you.

3- Harsh attacks on anyone who dares to question clerics or challenge a status quo.

Surprisingly, Saudis who live abroad seldom tweet about such issues! Or if they do, at least not in such harsh way. Maybe because they are relieved from the daily pressure we face within Saudi that causes everyone to get on your nerves as a result of the slightest interaction.

I have always wondered how to end the agony of living two lives, following two standards, being two-faced… It has to start with the people in power; here I mean the government and the religious establishment, and I am witnessing some progress. The government uses religion to control people, but when religion tries to control the government, things don’t go so smoothly. When the religious establishment tried to stop women from being part of the Shura Council in September 2011, for example, the government completely ignored their demands.

It was a big debate in Saudi, probably the second biggest after the debate on women driving. The same religious establishment that is known for resisting almost every new thing that arrives in Saudi ends up making heavy use of that thing almost every time. TV, radio, women’s education, satellite dishes, internet, camera phones and social media, to name a few. The excuse is always that they are using it for a good cause. But the truth is that people obey at the start and boycott, then with time, you find everyone using what was initially declared haram.

I see more and more Saudis, especially the young ones, stand up for what they believe in, even if it earns them a great deal of criticism and attacks. I see them challenge the once-unchallengeable, mostly when they come back from abroad and start realising the comparisons. For me it’s a baby step, but this is how babies learn to walk! One day, when my daughter makes decisions about her major in school, whether or not to wear hijab, the husband she wishes to marry, the movie she wants to watch in the cinema, I will know she will not feel what I feel every time I leave Saudi. Because she will be as true to herself there as she is anywhere else in the world!

Published April 18, 2014

When will Saudi women drive?

Every time I meet someone from outside Saudi Arabia, the conversation always ends in the same question: “How long do you think it will be before women in Saudi are allowed to drive?”

I wish I had a simple answer for this issue, which should, by basic human rights, be much less complex than it is. But before I address this, I will answer another common question: “Why don’t – or rather can’t – women drive in Saudi Arabia?”

In fact, the Saudi government has never issued a royal decree stipulating the ban, nor even imposed a system. (In Saudi Arabia, there are systems rather than laws: from a religious point of view, laws are considered to be in violation of Shari’ah, because they come from a human perspective).

The ban is merely based on the Ministry of Interior, which was issued in 1990 in response to the first women’s movement demanding the right to drive. The decree, which forbids women to drive on Saudi Arabian territory, did not specify a punishment.

It was reasserted by the Ministry on October 25, 2013, one day before the date on which Saudi women had chosen to launch a third driving campaign which is still held on a monthly basis.

As represented in statements given by the new Interior Minister Mohamed bin Naif and his father who was the former Interior Minister, Naif bin Abdulaziz, both insist that the Interior Ministry is an executive and not a legislative body, that it is not responsible for the ban.

If we examine the Basic System of Governance, which corresponds to something like a constitution in the rest of the world, Article 8 states “governance in Saudi Arabia is to be conducted on the basis of justice, equality and consultation in accordance with Shari’ah”. And if we look at the Saudi system relating to traffic, we do not find any provision or stipulation preventing women from obtaining a driving licence.

These are the only two sources we have to consider in connection with this issue. The statement released by the Ministry of Interior in 1990 is rendered null and void by the fact that it was not based on the governing system.

But on the occasions that I and many others have tried to obtain a driver’s licence from the traffic department, we have been surprised, upon entering our identification numbers into the relevant system, to find an error message appearing on the screen: “The ID number entered belongs to a woman, it is not possible for a woman to obtain a driving licence”.

When I raised the issue with the administrative court in November 2011, wishing to make a case against the General Directorate of Traffic, and pointing out the lack of legal ban preventing a licence being issued to me, my case was referred to a special committee at the Ministry of Interior. In other words, to the very party I wished to prosecute.

When you hear the words “special committee” in Saudi Arabia, you know your case has been relegated to oblivion. And this has remained my fate until today.

We can conclude from all this that the Interior Minister is the executive body as well as being the issuer of the ban and the body that upholds it, which contradicts the statements made by both the Saudi Interior Ministers.

Now, a review of some of the reasons people give for the ban. Firstly, financial: influential families control the visa market for drivers. If they allowed women to drive, these families would lose huge financial returns from a market in which official figures indicate the existence of around a million drivers and which unofficial numbers suggest could contain as many as two million.

And secondly, a fatwa issued by Sheikh Abdulaziz bin Baz, issued concurrently with the Ministry of Interior’s 1990 decree and forbidding driving based on the Islamic principle of prohibiting that which might eventually lead to sin.

The justifications cited by the prohibition fatwa are nothing more than suppositions about what will happen to society if women are allowed to drive.

This has led to a situation in which denying women the right to drive, something which has no basis in the Muslim law, has taken precedence over prohibiting women to be alone with a non-Mahram male (which is prohibited in Shari’ah), as the woman inevitably must be chauffeured around.

In my opinion, the real reason is much simpler than all this. If a woman had asserted their right to drive since the day cars arrived in Saudi Arabia, it would by now be a routine matter and we would be dealing with none of the current clamour and uproar.

This is the reason that Bedouin women and women from the countryside drive comfortably outside of the city without being subject to hindrance or criticism. The banning of women from driving in the city is a result of the system of state that has been systemically imposed upon it; women in Saudi Arabia are considered minors under the law until the day that they die.

We will return now to the question that, in recent times, has become an ever more frequent topic of discussion: when will women in Saudi Arabia be able to drive? Many assume that the issue of allowing women to drive will be resolved with a royal decree, as happened with the appointment of 30 women in the Shura council in September 2011.

This decision, which was followed closely by many parties interested in the Saudi state of affairs, represented an attempt to improve the image of Saudi Arabia after a scandal involving an imprisoned woman driver garnered widespread attention.

But those who know anything about the distribution of power in Saudi Arabia know that there are several different competing parties within the royal family, each with its own ideologies and interests.

They also recognise that King Abdullah does not have the powers required to issue such a decree, and that the subject of women driving is entirely in the hands of the Interior Minister Mohammed bin Naif; the King has no authority when it comes to this department.

Will a positive decision be issued by the Ministry of Interior? That seems improbable. More than 24 years after the first attempt to abolish the women’s driving ban, there seems not to have been a single breakthrough; there are no driving schools for women, nor any female traffic police.

Saudi police are still intent on stopping any woman who dares to drive, booking her car and summoning her guardian-in-charge to sign a pledge not to allow her to do so.

The authorities, in effect, show no leniency towards women drivers, as we who were demanding the right to drive hoped they might have done. The authorities also worry that responding to demands to allow women to drive will damage the prestige of the state and open the door to other popular demands for social and perhaps political change.

When will women be able to drive? We must recognise that the Bedouin woman never ceased –since the horse and donkey were replaced with the car, or the side-dagger with a rifle – to use new inventions to ease her life and affairs. Whether in the farmlands or the desert of Saudi Arabia, not one of her fellow men dared to doubt her chastity, her morals or her religious belief.

Meanwhile, the woman of the city has willingly parted with her rights and allowed everyone to compromise them, or else to use them for political gain or as a red herring to distract people from more salient issues.

In my opinion, freedom is a personal decision, not a political one. When the Saudi woman realises this fact, she will get in her car and drive it as many times as it takes for it to become a common sight, forcing the authorities to regulate the phenomenon rather than prosecute it.

And when she learns that rights are seized rather than granted, she will recognise how to eliminate the male dominion that has been imposed on her and cast her as a minor her whole life.


Karama Has No Walls

Despite the disappointment which I felt – and which I’m confident was felt by every Arab who followed the Oscars this year – when not one, but three Arab films were beaten to the prize for “Best Foreign Film” by Italian film The Great Beauty, the consolation was that the themes explored by the trio revolved around the Arab struggle for freedom and dignity.

This gives an idea of the far-reaching nature of the Arab voice that has inspired the rest of the world through its continuous struggle; and through this voice, the world continues to bear witness to one of the most important eras in recent history.

The film Omar by Palestinian director Hany Abu Assad addresses the issue of Palestinian sufferings under the Israeli occupation and explores the complexities of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

The film Karama Has No Walls by Yemeni director Sarah Ishaq was about the Friday of Dignity massacre that sparked the Yemeni revolution and ended 33 years of dictatorial rule. And last but not least, The Square by Egyptian filmmaker Jehane Noujaim documented the two years following the January 25 Revolution in Egypt.

I’ll pause for a little while at The Square, since my frequent visits to Egypt before and after the January 25 Revolution, along with my knowledge of a number of young revolutionaries who lit the fuse of revolution three years ago and ended up mostly in prison, have led me to feel a certain connection to Egypt: emotionally, mentally, and even in a revolutionary sense.

I will tell the story of these revolutionaries as embodied by one man, Omar Hazek, a poet and novelist from the Egyptian city of Alexandria, who spent his thirty-sixth birthday – the 31st of January this year – behind bars. Omar is neither a thug nor a corrupt official, a thief nor a criminal. He is simply a man who had dreamed since a young age of being released from the claws of dictatorship and lifting his head, if for only once in his life, to live in dignity.

I met him in 2012, when I visited Egypt to attend the conference “Change Your World” organised by Yahoo. Full of pride, he told me how he and his comrades had, after a bitter struggle, toppled the dictatorship that had relentlessly suppressed and humiliated them for decades.

He told me of how, after the torture-to-death incident involving his fellow Alexandrian, Khaled Said, they staged a protest: standing and looking toward the sea without a word, they announced their rejection of the injustice with their silence.

“We were a handful of young people, numbering not more than a few dozen,” he told me. Whether they went out in the cold of winter or the heat of summer, “Not one person believed us. We were exposed to ridicule from passers-by; we dealt with the frustration of our classmates and colleagues and the worry of our families. But we went out every day; we were prepared no longer to feel like victims of lifelong suffering, but like tigers, ready for martyrdom and sacrifice.”

“Weren’t you scared?” I asked him. “Was demonstrating allowed where you were?”

“Who said that demonstrating was allowed?” he replied. “We had lived under emergency law for decades. Because of the emergency law, we lost young people like Khaled Said.”

“But when the chance arrived for you and your friends to reap what you had sown, why didn’t you take it? I mean, why haven’t you founded a party for the revolutionaries and stood in elections?”

“It’s not that simple a matter. I’m a writer and proof-reader; I have my job at the library of Alexandria, and among the rest of the youth that led the revolution, we have a doctor, an engineer, an artist […] We all have jobs, and we have no interest or experience in politics. We started the revolution to end the dictatorship and corruption and enslavement which has humiliated us our whole lives, and afterwards we intended to return to normality; we had no political organisation or leadership, nor any funding for a political fight.”

A year after this conversation, Omar succeeded in toppling a second regime – that of the Muslim Brotherhood. We had a second conversation.

“We went from hearing slogans of ‘Down, down with military rule!’ to chants of ‘Come and help us, Sisi!’”How did that happen?” I asked Omar, recalling the memorable day of June 30, 2013. “Didn’t military interference represent a second disaster and a return to what we were fighting in the first place?”

“The Brotherhood left us no other option,” Omar replied. “They rode the wave of the revolution that we started and reaped its benefits for themselves. They began to consolidate power and carry out the orders of the morshid (supreme leader of the MB) rather than working to build a nation which brought all strata of society together instead of pushing them further apart. The Brotherhood and the military: each is dirtier than the other, and after the army’s intervention, we now have a long road ahead of us.”

Omar has represented his country in many international forums; he has won numerous awards as well as participating in the Arab poetry talent competition Amir Alshu’ara contest, which is judged annually on Abu Dhabi television.

He says he fought the rampant corruption occurring in the Library of Alexandria – his place of work – and was subjected to trial for exposing it.

He was also a weekly writer in the newspaper al-Dustoor (The Constitution). Omar was arrested on December 3, 2013 in a demonstration condemning the initial verdict against the killers of Khaled Said, whose death galvanized the youths in late 2010 and eventually helped spark the January 25 Revolution.

Omar was sentenced to two years in jail and a fine of fifty thousand Egyptian pounds, and wrote his first novel I Don’t Like This City whilst incarcerated. Omar and his comrades are victims of the law on demonstrations, and they represent nothing but a continued revolution, undeterred by walls.

Their official crime is that they breached the recently enacted law on demonstrations, but unofficially, they possess weapons of mass destruction: the mind, the pen and their dignity.

Published Monday March 24, 2014


The Muslim Atheist

The American newspaper Washington Post published a study by the WIN/Gallup Association WIN/GIA (not the same Gallup Institute that is famous in Washington) about ratios of atheism in the world. 

The study, which was conducted in 2012 across 40 countries, stated that the number of atheists in Saudi Arabia has now reached 5% of the total population. This puts it on the same level as some European countries, as well as making it the first country in the Islamic world to see such figures emerge.

According to the study, 75% of Saudis are religious and 19% non-religious, the latter figure exceeding the numbers of self-identified non-religious citizens in the secular Muslim countries of Tunisia and Turkey.

Saudi writers, thinkers and religious clerics received the study with a great deal of scepticism and disbelief, penning articles about the credibility of the WIN/GIA Association and its work and questioning whether the study might have come from Pakistan or Egypt.

Unsurprisingly, all of their writings concluded with a rejection of the study’s facts and an assertion that the percentage of practicing Muslims in Saudi Arabia stands at 100%.

Anyone who writes otherwise, they contested, is either delusional or spiteful.  One writer went so far as to claim that “the study’s aim was to increase the number of ideological delinquents in Saudi and create centres of convergence for them, perhaps even a ministry”.

Another maintained that there are secret bodies and organizations being funded to promote atheistic ideology in the country as part of a foreign agenda and the traditional conspiracy theory.

Some, however, swam against the tide of accepted opinion and openly admitted the existence of atheists in the Arab world, especially in hardline Islamic states.  One such person was the Saudi writer Najeeb al-Zamil, who responded to an article on the subject by prominent Saudi cleric Sheikh Ayed Al-Qarni during one of his interviews.

In the article, entitled ‘The Winds of Atheism Are Blowing Over the Country’, the Sheikh accused foreign bodies for the promotion of atheism in his homeland.

Najeeb Al-Zamil’s response: “If Sheikh Ayed thinks that the winds of atheism emanate from abroad, he is obviously in need of discussing the issue further.  Here, we are saturated by preaching. The amount of preaching we receive in Saudi Arabia is far surplus to requirements; it happens in any place, in schools and on any occasion. Young people are exposed to a superfluous dose of it, and it is carried out in a forthright and unfavourable manner.  Anything that increases beyond the degree to which it should will eventually turn against itself, and the historical Kharijite sect are an example of this: nowadays they are terrorists and militants, they have religion in excess.

“It has been proven repeatedly throughout history that instances of religious excess cause many of the world’s problems; the wars in Ireland and the Balkans are just two examples of this.  The second problem is that religion is divorced from any kind of logical thought; questioning and skepticism are not allowed to be part of the belief-forming process, and this is when problems arise: when religion disrupts thinking.  In Islam, a person’s mind is what drives him or her and guides them to belief.  Science without religion is crippled, religion without science is blind.”

But why does atheism exist in the Muslim Arab world? And if it exists, why don’t we see or hear about it?  The website Your Middle East published an interview with a Saudi atheist who went by the nickname of Jaber, and I have quoted some of his thoughts here:

I found some religious teachings and rules didn’t make any sense. So, I started asking questions about small things like why music is Haram (forbidden) or why women have to cover their faces. Then I started reading about the way Islam scripts and Hadith were gathered … I had a group of people and we would discuss books in regular meetings…After a while I came to believe that the whole of religion is nothing but man’s invention to fight reality and impose order.

If someone declared that s/he was a non-believer, regardless of whether the government took action or not, s/he would be cut off by his/her family, s/he would be fired from his/her own job, people everywhere would talk about him/her and warn others about him/her. It would be highly likely that people would hurt him/her physically, perhaps murder atheists altogether.”

If we continue to deny reality and threaten atheists with ostracism and even death, this makes it impossible to find solutions and open channels of dialogue with those who have lost their faith.

There have been some attempts at solutions by cultural elites and Islamist thinkers like Saudi scholar and researcher Abdullah Hamid al-Din, who arranged lectures and seminars with himself and a number of other scholars and researchers at Jusoor or Bridges bookshop, Jeddah.

The aim of these lectures and discussions was to open the subject of religion up to young people by allaying their doubts and fears and by addressing the issues that concerned them.  Due to the fact that education by dictation and the disabling of minds prevails in the Muslim world today, young people are forced to conceal their questions or ultimately to become atheists.

These seminars were widely opposed and were accused of promoting atheism amongst young people, since they opened the door to questions and acknowledged the doubt that was felt by many but which they hadn’t previously been allowed to express.

The hardline Islamist Khadher Sanad commented the following about Jusoor Bookshop seminars in a series of tweets published by the site Said al-Fowa’ed:

“In the city of Jeddah, there was a bookshop and a cafe called Jusoor. It was a hotbed for the dissemination of deviant ideas, held lectures and seminars, and attracted young people of both sexes.  The lectures at the cafe and bookshop Jusoor exceeded all reasonable and logical limits; they were gathering boys and girls to discuss religion and God and to criticize religious heritage.  Many parents were hit by the emergence of a wave of skepticism in God and in his messages and books; it was the fashion to adopt thoughts and beliefs that go against the norm.  That was Jusooor.”

The Saudi religious police raided Bridges cafe and arrested Abdullah Hamid al-Din, and even managed to have a formal order issued for the closure of the library, since Khadher Sanad tweeted that it had “become a hotbed for atheists and sceptics in God.”

Sheikh al-Ghazali said once: “Half of the sins from the spread of disbelief in the world will be borne by religious men. They are the reason God is hated by people, because of the terrible manner of their actions and speech.” I couldn’t agree more.

Published March 15, 2014


Are Arab Muslims Ready for Democracy?

The frustration experienced by peoples in the Muslim-majority Arab world during the fateful period of the Arab Spring, which has brought about consecutive failed democratic experiments and instability in the Arab Spring countries, has forced some to lament its occurrence and even to call for the return of dictatorial regimes.

Moreover, it has fortified the presence of surviving dictatorships and provided them with a degree of popularity and legitimacy based purely on the principle that “what we know is better than what we don’t.” 

This period of time has indeed divided advocates of totalitarian regimes into two parties. The first believes that nothing can work with the Arab peoples but a repressive rule of iron and fire. Such a rule is deemed most suitable in light of an Arab culture which, according to their view, believes in the absolute rule of a person or party and that any objection to this rule is tantamount to sedition or rebellion.  The other party justifies the importance of continuing dictatorial rule and the delaying of democratic efforts by saying that the Arab peoples are not yet ready, having decades of education and preparation ahead of them before they are ready to commit to democracy with full awareness of political practice and rights. 

And until that day comes, guardianship must be imposed on the choices of the Muslims in the Arab world and other Arabs of different religions, as occurred during the June 30 demonstrations in Egypt.

Indeed, the beliefs of the second group are attested to by the philosophy of Winston Churchill himself, who famously stated that, “The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter.”

The sentiment of this view is reflected in the situation of major global players such as Brazil.  Although the political system there is constitutional republican, it is nevertheless mired in corruption and nepotism.  Observers allocate much of the blame to poor state education and lack of public awareness, which keeps the majority of Brazilians in complete ignorance of the political process and leads repeatedly to the election of allegedly corrupt candidates. 

And let us not forget that a majority of voters in Brazil are living below the poverty line, which makes it within political interest to keep them this way.  But this hypothesis does not always hold true; consider, for example, a state with an elected government like Italy, which has a parliamentary system. Italy has a strong education system and the general public enjoy a sophisticated level of political awareness, but the country is still rife with corruption.

During a press conference on human rights, a reporter from the U.S. magazine Newsweek asked me if I thought that democracy would bring fanatical Islamists to power in the countries of the Arab Spring, and I knew immediately that the question was not genuine, nor did he wish to hear my true opinion. 

American foreign policy is of the view that the peoples of the Third World are politically not mature enough to understand the true meaning of the word democracy, and that it would cause chaos if they were given the opportunity to choose who governs them.

However, I told him my opinion, which did not align with what he wanted to hear: “Democracy will bring whomever the people choose, even if that person is a fanatic, and those who brought him to a seat of power will remove him from it if he abuses that power.  The people will get it wrong and regret their choices later.  But aren’t these trials of the early years an essential part of democracy – the right of peoples to take a chance, re-test, and learn from their mistakes until they understand the lesson?”

People who lived through centuries of oppression and crushed dignity will not truly realise the meaning of freedom in its broadest and most absolute sense until they have paid the requisite price and expended the necessary time and effort.  The recipe for a successful democracy begins with recognising the lack of justice in dictatorial regimes and the fact that a progressive democratic transformation will not happen overnight, nor will power someday be ceded in favour of the people.

After that comes education of the public regarding freedom, social justice and civil rights.  But the most important thing is that we experience democracy today, not after years of educating the public and raising their awareness, as some would have it.  The more we delay the induction of democracy, the more opportunities we will waste to learn and fix the errors that will inevitably be made.

Finally, we will need a lot of patience and a lot of time – let’s not forget that the French Revolution took 90 years to achieve its goals.

Published on IslamistGate.com February 26, 2014


ترجمة مقال منال الشريف في نيويورك تايمز كاملة مع الروابط

رأيت إغلاق الباب على الكذابين والمحرضين ونشر المقال كاملاً مترجماً مع الروابط

 المقال قائم على سرد الحقائق كما نشرتها الصحف المحلية والعالمية بعيداً عن فرض رأي الكاتب

تحجيم دور الشرطة الدينية في السعودية

في واقعة ترددت أصداؤها في جميع أنحاء المملكة العربية السعودية، توفي أخوان سعوديان يدعيان سعود وناصر القوس؛ والذين تتراوح أعمارهما بين 22 و24 عاماً، في الخريف الماضي بعد مطاردة نتج عنها سقوط سيارتهما من فوق أحد الجسور في الرياض على يد أفراد من هيئة الأمر بالمعروف والنهي عن المنكر في المملكة العربية السعودية، حيث طارد رجال الهيئة الشابين اعتراضاً على تشغيلهما لأغاني وطنية بصوت عالي على مذياع السيارة، ثم قاموا بصدم السيارة ثلاث مرات ما تسبب في سقوطها من أعلى الجسر، حيث توفي أحدهما على الفور وتوفي شقيقه لاحقاً.

تسببت اللقطات التي التقطها ونشرها أحد المارة للحادث الذي وقع في سبتمبر باستخدام هاتفه الذكي في غضب شعبي عارم. وفي محاولة للتخفيف من التداعيات، استخدم  الشيخ عبد اللطيف بن عبد العزيز آل الشيخ الإعلام للرد على الحادثة، حيث صرح لقناة العربية الإخبارية: “الحقيقة هي أن المطاردة قد حدثت”، وأدان آل الشيخ الحادث وقال أن التحقيقات مازالت جارية.

لطالما تم اعتبار انتقاد الهيئة من التابوهات في المملكة العربية السعودية (بالاضافة الى أي انتقاد للملك عبد الله)، والتي يُعرف رجالها أيضا بالمطوعين، تُعد الهيئة حالياً واحدة من أهم القضايا اثارة للجدل في المملكة العربية السعودية. واليوم، يواجه الشيخ آل الشيخ انتقادات من المجتمع، بالاضافة الى تفاقم النزاع الداخلي.

ومن جانبها، تشعر الحكومة بالقلق من تضييق الخناق على المطوعين خوفاً من حدوث ردة فعل عكسية من المتشددين، لذلك تبقي على شعرة معاوية بين كل من الهيئة والعامة التي يتزايد حنقها. في حين أن تفكيك الهيئة هو أمر غير واقعي، تفتح هذه الفترة الحرجة نافذة مناسبة للسعوديين، من خلال الاستمرار في التعبير عن الرفض والحنق، فمن الممكن أن يكون ذلك سبباً وجيهاً للحكومة في الرياض لإلزام الهيئة بالتقيد باللوائح الموجودة بالفعل، مع كبح جماح الهيئة تدريجياً.

تم تأسيس الهيئة عام 1940 لفرض تنفيذ أحكام الشريعة الإسلامية. في العام 1979، زادت قوة الهيئة، وذلك بعد أن استولى المتعصبين دينيا على المسجد الحرام في مكة المكرمة وشجبوا العائلة المالكة وطالبو بقيادة جديدة. وبعد فك الحصار الذي دام لأسبوعين، تم اعطاء رجال الدين الكثير من التمويل ومطلق الحرية لتنظيم الأخلاق. واليوم، يقوم قرابة 4000 من المطوعين بدوريات مستمرة في الشوارع، وذلك لفرض قواعد اللبس وتنفيذ الفصل الصارم بين الرجال والنساء، ومراعاة اقامة الصلوات في أوقاتها والسلوكيات الأخرى التي تقع تحت نطاق الدين الاسلامي والأخلاقيات العامة. على سبيل المثال، منع النساء من قيادة المركبات.

ورغم أن الهيئة تم تقبلها في بادئ الأمر من قبل المجتمع السعودي ذو الطابع الديني المحافظ، إلا أن سلسلة من الحوادث عكرت صفو علاقة الهيئة بالمجتمع. في عام 2002، لقيت 15 فتاة مصرعها في حريق شب باحدى المدارس بمكة المكرمة، حيث منعهن رجال الهيئة من الفرار بحجة أن الطالبات لا يرتدين ثياباً ساترة بالشكل اللازم. وفي العام 2007، اقتحم أكثر من عشرة من رجال الهيئة منزل احدى الأسر في الرياض،  وانهالو بالضرب على شاب ذي 28 عاماً بصورة أدت الى وفاته، وذلك بعد اتهامه بحيازة الكحول. فجرت وفاة الشاب غضب المجتمع السعودي، وتم رفع دعوى قضائية، في خطوة أولى لاتخاذ خطوات قانونية تجاه الهيئة. تم اسقاط التهم في وقت لاحق، إلا أن الدعوى ساعدت في فتح باب الانتقادات، بما في ذلك في الإعلام.

واليوم، وصل الرأي العام السعودي عن الهيئة إلى أدنى مستوياته. تعاظم الاستياء خاصة بعد أن رفع الملك عبدالله ميزانية الهيئة الى 390 مليون دولار. ومع انتشار الهواتف الذكية، أصبح من الأسهل نشر الأدلة عن تجاوزات الهيئة، وأصبح من الصعب على الهيئة اخفاء الأدلة. وعلى الرغم من ذلك، فإن معظم القضايا التي يتم رفعها ضد الهيئة تنتهي إما بالبراءة أو اسقاط التهم، ولا تؤثر على الهيئة. واليوم، يبدو أن الصدع الداخلي في اتساع. يتعرض آل الشيخ للانتقاد بصورة متزايدة من قبل أعضاء الهيئة الأكثر تحفظاً، متهمين أياه بالتحرر والتغريب.

وبعد توليه منصبه بفترة وجيزة في العام 2012، قاد آل الشيخ سلسلة من الإصلاحات التي تهدف الى تنظيم عمل رجال الهيئة. لم يعد مسموحاً للمتطوعين الانضمام إلى الدوريات، تم منع مصادرة الهواتف وغيرها من الأغراض الشخصية، تم اقامة ورش عمل لتدريب رجال الهيئة على كيفية التعامل مع العامة بالحسنى، كما منع قبول التبرعات من الجهات الخاصة. من أهم الإصلاحات التي قام بها آل الشيخ هو فرض الحظر على مطاردة السيارات -إلا إن الحادث الذي وقع في سبتمبر الماضي أكد أنه قد تم تجاهل أوامره.

اعترف آل الشيخ أن أحد المقربين منه قد قام بتسجيل مكالماته لاستخدامها ضده، وذلك خلال احدى المقابلات المثيرة للجدل مع قناة روتانا –احدى القنوات السعودية- في شهر أكتوبر الماضي. تم إعلان تلك المقابلة على شاشات التلفاز بعد أيام من نشر خبر يفيد بحدوث محاولة لاغتيال آل الشيخ في محاولة لدهسة بالسيارة، وأشارت أصابع الإتهام لجماعة الإخوان المسلمين.

قد لا يكون آل الشيخ قادراً على تحجيم دور رجال الهيئة، إلا أنه توجد دلائل على أن وسائل التواصل الاجتماعي قد تساعد في مواجهة النظام القمعي للهيئة. أحبط المجتمع السعودي عدة محاولات سابقة لفرض قيود على استخدام الهواتف والإنترنت، بما في ذلك الحظر الذي حاولت السلطات فرضه على الهواتف المزودة بكاميرات (ما زال الحظر مفروضاً في الأماكن المخصصة للنساء فقط). تحتل المملكة العربية السعودية المرتبة الثالثة عالمياً في استخدام الهواتف الذكية. وعلى الرغم من اللوائح الصارمة على نشاط المواطنين على الانترنت، إلا أن السعوديين هم من بين أكبر الشعوب استخداماً لتويتر في العالم العربي، كما يُقدر عدد مستخدمي فيس بوك في المملكة العربية السعودية عام 2012 بحوالي 4.9 مليون مستخدم.

في شهر أكتوبر الماضي، قامت امرأة في القصيم، والتي تعتبر المنطقة الأكثر محافظة في المملكة العربية السعودية، بالرد على أحد أعضاء الهيئة الذي طالبها بتغطية وجهها بالكامل (رغم ارتدائها للثام يكشف عينيها فقط)، حيث ردت عليه قائلة  (لا تستفزن، أتظن أننا لا نعرف ديننا، نحن نعرف ديننا ومتسترين قبلكم، وغطاء الوجه ليس واجباً على المرأة). فجر ذلك الفيديو الذي لا يتجاوز 42 ثانية وسائل الاعلام الاجتماعية في المملكة العربية السعودية. استخدام وسم #لاتستفزن نشر المستخدم رسائل الدعم لها عبر تويتر، منتقدين رجل الهيئة الذي وبّخ امرأة محتشمة أمام أطفالها. كان ذلك الحراك أمراً جديداً في مجتمع يلقي باللوم على المرأة في أي نزاع تكون هي الطرف الآخر فيه.

سلط رد فعلها الضوء على الرؤية الحالية للكثيرين بأن رجال الهيئة هم جهة تسعى الى فرض رؤيتهم الضيقة للدين على المرأة السعودية. كما تجدر الاشارة الى رفض المرأة لتعريف رجل الهيئة للحجاب الشرعي. فبعد أن كنا نسمع من طرف واحد ولا نتمكن من التساؤل إذا كان هناك أقوال أخرى في أمورنا الدينية، الانترنت والشبكات الاجتماعية التي حاربها التيار الديني بشدة في بدايتها، فتحت الباب على مصراعيه لمعرفة الرأي الآخر.

لا يمكن إضعاف الهيئة التي يتجاوز عمرها 75 عاماً بين عشية وضحاها، والأشخاص أمثال الشيخ آل الشيخ الذين يحاولون تنظيم عملها يخاطرون بإثارة رد فعل عنيف. ولكن، وبمساعدة وسائل التواصل الاجتماعي، بدأت أساسات هذا التشدد بالتصدع. وقد يكون الحنق العام تجاه الهيئة هو الدافع الذي تحتاج إليه الحكومة لإضعاف وربما حتى تفكيك هيئة الأمر بالمعروف والنهي عن المنكر.

Rein In the Saudi Religious Police – My piece in NY Times

DUBAI, United Arab Emirates — In an incident that has reverberated throughout Saudi Arabia, two brothers, Saud and Nasser al-Qaws, aged 22 and 24, died last fall after their car was forced off a Riyadh bridge by members of Saudi Arabia’s religious police. The officers, members of the Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice, allegedly objected to the patriotic songs the brothers were playing on the car stereo. They pursued the men at high speed, ramming their car three times before finally pushing it off the bridge. One of the young men was killed immediately; his brother died shortly thereafter.

Cellphone footage of the incident in September, captured by a passerby and posted online, caused a public outcry. Attempting to mitigate the fallout, Sheikh Abdul Latif bin Abdul Aziz al-Sheikh, head of the religious police, went on a public relations offensive. “The truth is that the pursuit took place,” he told Al Arabiya TV. He condemned the incident and said an investigation was underway.

Long considered one of the country’s taboo subjects (along with any criticism of King Abdullah), the commission, also known as the mutaween, is now one of Saudi Arabia’s most controversial issues. Tapped to lead the force in 2012, Mr. Sheikh today finds himself facing both scathing public attacks and worsening internal conflict.

The government, for its part, is wary of clamping down on the mutaween for fear of inciting a conservative backlash and is walking a fine line between the religious police and an increasingly angry populace. While dismantling of the force is unrealistic, this delicate moment opens a window of opportunity for Saudis. By continuing to voice anger and disapproval, the public may provide Riyadh with the leverage it needs to demand police adherence to regulations already in place, and slowly weaken the commission’s influence.

The commission was formed in 1940 to enforce the implementation of Shariah, or Islamic law. It began its rise to prominence in 1979, after religious fanatics seized the Grand Mosque in Mecca, denounced the royal family and called for new leadership. In the aftermath of the bloody two-week siege, Saudi clerics were given plenty of funding and a free hand to regulate morality.

Today some 4,000 members of the mutaween patrol the streets, enforcing dress codes, the strict separation of men and women, the observance of daily prayers and other behavior that it considers to fall under the purview of Islam. Women, for example, are forbidden to drive.

Although the force was initially embraced by Saudis, who are still predominantly religious and conservative, a series of incidents has increasingly soured public attitudes toward it. In 2002 in Mecca, 15 girls died in a school fire, prevented from fleeing by mutaween who claimed the students were inappropriately covered. In 2007, a dozen mutaween entered a Riyadh family’s home and fatally beat a 28-year-old man whom they suspected of illegally possessing alcohol. The man’s death outraged Saudis, and a lawsuit was brought, one of the first instances of legal action against the force. The charges were subsequently dropped, but the suit helped open the door to criticism, including by the press.

Today, Saudi opinion of the commission is at an all-time low. Resentment grew last year when King Abdullah increased the force’s budget to $390 million. The spread of smartphones has made it easier to disseminate evidence of police overreach, and it is now more difficult for the force to sweep accusations under the carpet. Despite this, the fact that most cases brought against the commission still end in acquittals or dropped charges has done little to endear the religious police to Saudis.

Now, internal fault lines seem to be widening as well. Mr. Sheikh is increasingly coming under attack by the force’s more conservative members for being too liberal and too Westernized.

Shortly after taking over in 2012, Mr. Sheikh spearheaded a series of reforms aimed at bringing the mutaween in line. Volunteers were no longer allowed to join mutaween patrols; the confiscation of phones and other personal belongings was forbidden; workshops were introduced to teach mutaween how to deal with the public; the police could no longer receive funds from private businesses. Chief among Mr. Sheikh’s reforms was a ban on car chases — but the incident last September made it painfully clear that his orders were being ignored.

In a controversial October interview with Rotana, a Saudi TV channel, Mr. Sheikh admitted that one of his most trusted confidants had recorded their conversations for use against him. The interview appeared soon after reports surfaced in the press of an attempt to murder Mr. Sheikh in a hit-and-run, allegedly ordered by the Muslim Brotherhood.

Mr. Sheikh may not be able to rein in the mutaween, but there are signs that social media may be helping to counter the commission’s repressive regime. Saudis have thwarted several attempts to restrict phone and Internet use over the years, including a 2004 ban on camera phones (still forbidden in areas reserved for women only). The country’s current smartphone use is the third highest in the world. Despite strict regulations on Internet activity, Saudis are among the largest adopters of Twitter in the Arab world; 4.9 million Saudis were on Facebook as of early 2012.

Last October, a woman in Qassim, considered Saudi Arabia’s most conservative region, lashed out at a member of the religious police who demanded that she cover her entire face (she was wearing a veil that left her eyes exposed). “Don’t provoke me!” the woman retorted. “Do you think we don’t know our own religion? We know our religion, and covered up before you even existed. The full facial cover is not forced upon a woman!” A 42-second video of her response blew up on Saudi social media. Using the hashtag #Don’tProvoke, people tweeted messages of support, criticizing the officer for berating a modestly dressed woman, and for doing so in front of her children. The public outpouring was a rarity in a country where, when it comes to confrontations between men and women, it is generally accepted that women are to blame.

Her response highlighted the perception that the commission is an intrusive body that seeks to impose a narrow vision of religion on Saudi women. Equally noteworthy was her rejection of the officer’s definition of appropriate veiling practice. After years of relying on the teachings of a single religious authority, the websites and social networks the mutaween have fought so hard to repress have facilitated the spread of alternative views.

A nearly 75-year-old police force can’t be disempowered overnight, and those like Mr. Sheikh who attempt to liberalize it risk fomenting a dangerous backlash. But, aided by social media, the doctrinal foundations of the religious establishment are finally beginning to crack. A broad-based, grass-roots show of anger against the mutaween may be the push the government needs to finally weaken and perhaps eventually dismantle the religious police.

Manal al-Sharif, a women’s rights advocate from Saudi Arabia, began a campaign in 2011 to let Saudi women drive.