But over in Alexandria, a
soft-spoken teenage girl offered a far more unsettling challenge to the
powers that be. Hebat Allah Mahmoud, a young karate enthusiast, was
refused a place in her school's tournament photo because, she claimed,
she does not cover her hair with a hijab.
Her teacher denied such
charges of discrimination. Hebat Allah, however was unwilling to take
this lying down. Instead, she took to YouTube, in a video in which she tearfully lambasted authorities
for willful blindness and narrow-mindedness. Did they not know, she
asked, that most of the girls put on the hijab at school but took it off
once they left the premises? And she criticized teachers'
interpretation of Islam, for insisting that the hijab was religiously
mandated and that those who did not wear it were less worthy than those
who covered. "We should have equal rights as stressed by the Prophet,"
she told the camera.
Hebat Allah's challenge
to the one size-fits-all vision of Islam presented by Egypt's now ruling
religious conservatives shifted to the international stage this week.
At the United Nations, governments and NGOs from around the world have
been negotiating a document on the elimination of violence against
women, under the umbrella of the Commission on the Status of Women. The
final text, hammered out after weeks of hard negotiation, reiterates the rights of women to lead their lives free of violence, coercion and discrimination.
This hysterical response
to any attempt to promote gender, sexual and reproductive rights, at the
United Nations and on the ground in the Arab world, is nothing new; the
Mubarak regime was just as intransigent on many of these points. And
I've come across it time and again in the past five years I've spent
traveling across the Arab region, talking to men and women about sex:
what they do, what they don't, what they think and why. Sexuality might
seem a strange focus in these tumultuous political times. It is, in
fact, a powerful lens with which to study a society because it offers a
view, not just into intimate life, but also of the bigger picture:
politics and economics, religion and tradition, gender and generations
that shape sexual attitudes and behaviors. If you really want to know a
people, start by looking inside their bedrooms.
In today's Arab world,
the only socially-accepted context for sex is heterosexual,
family-sanctioned, religiously-approved, state-registered marriage—a
social citadel. Anything else is "forbidden", or "shameful" or
"impolite." The fact that large segments of the population in most
countries are having hard time fitting inside the fortress -- especially
the legions of young people, who can't find jobs and therefore can't
afford to marry -- is widely recognized, but there is also widespread
resistance to any alternative.
The upshot of this
refusal to grapple with the changing realities of sexual and personal
life in the Arab world can be seen in statistics: spiraling rates of HIV
and other sexually-transmitted infections, a rising tide of sexual
violence, on the street and in the home, and the thriving business of
clandestine abortion. And I've heard it in the stories of desperate
housewives, dissatisfied husbands, conflicted youth, hard-pressed sex
workers and many others whom I've met along the way
For all our constraints,
the Arab world is neither hopeless, nor helpless, when it comes to sex.
There are innovators from across the region who are trying to tackle
the taboos, break the silence and deal with the fall out, be it getting
sexuality education in schools or providing sexual and reproductive
health services for young people, or tackling sexual violence, or trying
to find space in society for those cross social norms, unwed mothers or
men and women in same-sex relations among them. Nor are these projects
simply carbon copies of efforts elsewhere in the world; the reason they
are taking root is because they are adapted to the region, and work
along the grain of religion and culture.
Now Islamic
conservatives argue otherwise. Too often, they say to tackle such
matters is "un-Islamic" and a sell-out to the West. But this is simply
not the case. Arab and Islamic culture has a long history of talking
about sex, in its all its problems and pleasures, for men and women --
and that includes Prophet Mohammed himself. There is precious little in
"Playboy," "Cosmopolitan," "The Joy of Sex," or any other taboo-busting
work of the sexual revo¬lution and beyond that Arabic literature -- much
of it written by Islamic scholars -- didn't touch on over a mil¬lennium
ago.
On a wide variety of
gender and sexual issues -- be it contraception or abortion or even the
incendiary topic of homosexuality -- there are alternative
interpretations in Islam. It's not just Arab human rights activists at
the UN who have been making this point in recent days; Egypt's teenage
karate dissident argues much the same. Those who seek to control society
through religion -- in any culture -- discourage such independent
thinking and diversity of opinion. But with the new climate of freedom
of expression emerging in Egypt, and elsewhere in the Arab region,
millions now feel emboldened to challenge these dictates. Politics,
religion and sex are the three "red lines" of the Arab world: subjects
you're not supposed to tackle in word or deed. But just as people in
countries across the region are busy contesting received wisdoms in
politics, and are starting to challenge the role of religion in public
policy, I hope they will start asking the same hard questions of sexual
life.
The "slippery slope"
logic reflected in the Muslim Brotherhood's statement remains all too
common in across the region. It's the fear that any move toward greater
personal freedom -- especially sexual freedom -- will lead to a
free-for-all and a violation of Islamic principles. But this reflects a
fundamental lack of trust in the citizenry, which is a feature of
dictatorship, not the hallmark of democracy. If Egypt's Muslim
Brotherhood wants to walk the talk of freedom and justice, dignity and
equality, that means giving people information and resources and
trusting them to use it responsibly -- in and out of the bedroom.
Achieving these goals in personal life is important to realizing them in
public life, and vice versa: the political and sexual are natural
bedfellows.
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