By ELIZABETH DONGER

April 9, 2011

At some point, every conversation about women’s empowerment and combating female oppression will come back to the need for education. The University of Jordan hosts the country’s future politicians and decision-makers and I was ...]]>

Photo: University of Jordan, Amman, flickr.com.

By ELIZABETH DONGER

April 9, 2011

At some point, every conversation about women’s empowerment and combating female oppression will come back to the need for education. The University of Jordan hosts the country’s future politicians and decision-makers and I was curious about the kind of education available there on women’s issues. The UJ Women’s Studies Center was founded in 2006 by Rula Quawas, who is happily also my current professor for Contemporary Arab Women Writers. Both Rula and the class have blown me away; Rula is fiercely intelligent and uncompromising in her feminism. Educated both in Jordan and America, she was the first to introduce and teach feminist courses in the English department at UJ and was awarded the Meritorious Honor Award for Leadership and Dedication to the empowerment of Jordanian women by HRH Princess Basma in 2009. I sat down with her before class to pick her brains on feminism at UJ. Each question unleashed a stream of passionate outrage and criticism; I got the impression Rula had precious few outlets to vent her frustration with the administration. The following interview has been edited for clarity.

Elizabeth Donger: When did you first self-identify as a feminist?

Rula Quawas: I believe it started when I was 20, doing my MA at University of Jordan. However, I always knew in the back of my mind that I wanted to write about women. Feminism is something that you drink and you eat every day; for me it was a given. I was the first one at the university to do my MA on feminism. Then, by the way, I started to brag about it.

ED: You went on to do a PhD in American Literature and Feminism. After you returned to UJ, did the opinion that people held of you change because you were educated in America?

RQ: Of course! They told me this. I came back and I could see that I had to do a lot of things, to make a few changes but they did not like it one bit. The head of the English department at the time, professor Lewis Mukattas, brought me into his office and he said: “You have to change the way you behave, your attitude, your ideas. You’re too American.” This was ridiculous; I am an Arab to the backbone. But I have to tell you that I love the USA because they gave me very a good education and told me how to think. Not like the education I received here, which was a matter of spoon-feeding.

ED: And did you tone it down?

RQ: No! Even in the classroom my teaching wasn’t toned down. I talked about sexuality… I mentioned a few things in the class and many didn’t like it so they went and they reported me to the dean. Then he brought me in and he said, “Rula, you have to take extra care because if you are going to be tenured this is going to affect you adversely.” I said, “You know what, I’m a good teacher, and you cannot take that away from me.” I tried, honestly, to tone it down at times. But when you are too excited and you see the young people. I thought that I was going to make a difference.

ED: You extended the Women’s Studies MA into its own department, the Women’s Studies Center, in 2006. How did that development come about?

RQ: Well they asked me to be the one to found the center. I was prepped for it; they sent me to York in England to attend courses on women’s studies. But, again, the jokes…you wouldn’t believe it: “why do we need a center?” “This is not within our culture.” “You have been given your own rights.” However, HRH Princess Basma was the one who wanted us to start the center and she supports us. So, although they criticize, they cannot over-criticize, if you know what I mean? She is there and everybody knows.

ED: What are the strengths and weaknesses of gender studies at UJ?

RQ: I do not think that we teach women’s studies or gender studies as a discipline here at UJ. The teachers are not equipped to teach it. We do not currently have a professor with a PhD in women’s studies! We have only one lovely young woman, currently studying in Canada and she will be back within three years. The current director of the center comes from the faculty of law. She has no clue what women’s studies is all about and she has no passion for it. But she is a good administrator. Sometimes they use a good administrator with no background. You need to have both.

ED: Do the women’s studies classes at UJ mostly cover Arab feminist thinkers or do they also cover the western canon?

RQ: It is a problem that the students who sign up have lousy English. Unfortunately, we do not have texts written on the Arabic language on women’s studies, they are all written in the English language. Translating texts is very expensive, so we end up depending on texts written by UNIFEM. Imagine! For an MA teacher to depend on a flimsy study conducted by UNIFEM. This is a reference! Not a primary text.

ED: Are there any texts on feminist theory written in Arabic that you would want to give to your students?

RQ: There is not a single one that I can rely on. We have some studies in the Arabic language but the researchers are not very good. It is not like Judith Butler. We don’t have any “big names” for feminism in the Arabic countries.

ED: Does the Women’s Studies Center provide an environment for students at UJ to identify as feminists?

RQ: (she laughs) Are you kidding me? Even the teachers who teach the classes are not feminists. It is hard here for people to acknowledge that they are feminists. You see that, in their minds, you are then against religion. It’s as simple as that. Imagine, the president of the university, Khaled A. Al-Karaki, once told me, “Rula, do we need to have a center? I don’t think so.” I tell you, it’s because of the political will that we exist. It’s because of HRH Princess Basma. Had she not been involved…

ED: So do you think that the academic community at UJ respects the Women’s Studies Center?

RQ: (another chuckle of laughter) I remember that a while ago the head of the English department, another one, Dr. Saleh M. Salman – and I am telling you names because such things really happen – told me in his office: “everybody says that you don’t even have a PhD, because it is on American feminism.” Do you know what, I feel sorry for them. In my head I said, “What is your PhD? It’s on linguistics! You are a linguist and you think that’s a big deal?!”

ED: What changes do you think need to be made to the classes and department to combat these issues?

RQ: First, we need to qualify teachers, send them abroad to do their PhDs on women’s or gender studies and then come back. We also need to promote women’s studies. We need to engage the NGOs…we need to engage the knowers with the doers. At the moment we are isolated. We need a course in the department called “internship”, where you go and work with an NGO to understand what is really happening on the ground. We need to revisit the curriculums course plans. We need to do something about the lack of texts, to get some funding, to get translators. We also must have – and his also the president did not allow – an “introduction to women’s studies” course for the freshman, for those that are interested.

At this point our conversation was interrupted by the start of our Contemporary Arab Women Writers class. Rula quickly piled into my bag an assortment of leaflets and information packs about the Jordanian National Women’s Commission, grassroots women’s initiatives in Jordan and reports on women’s involvement in the private sector. She then marched down the corridor to the seminar room.

Eliz­a­beth is a junior in Yale Col­lege. She is a staff writer for Broad Recog­ni­tion.

February 23, 2011

In colloquial Jordanian Arabic, otherwise known as Ammiyah, the “k” sound found in formal Arabic is pronounced as a hard “g” by men and as a soft “a” by women. My professor told me that ...]]>

Photo: The Black Iris

By ELIZABETH DONGER

February 23, 2011

In colloquial Jordanian Arabic, otherwise known as Ammiyah, the “k” sound found in formal Arabic is pronounced as a hard “g” by men and as a soft “a” by women. My professor told me that this was because women like to sound delicate and “pleasing.” My subsequent, pointed use of the “g” sound seemed only to confuse people. Separation of male and female roles is inherent to Jordanian society and as a feminist these discrepancies often appear to me as sexist in nature. I have continually had to remind myself that making a distinction of kind between male and female roles is different to making a distinction of quality and importance. Even though I may not like it, Jordanian women do not see use of the soft “a” as reinforcing the idea that women should always strive to be fragile, defenseless and “pleasing” to men.

Western feminists no longer see straightforward equality with men as their singular goal; this assumes that women’s needs and natures are identical to those of the men whose liberties set the standard for progress. However, there is a point at which a difference in standards, in attitudes, becomes discrimination. The reality is that this happens all too often in Jordan. In the short time that I have spent in Jordan, my host mother’s sister has been forced to give up custody of her daughter to her divorced husband after he refused to pay her childcare and she began to sink financially. My Arabic teacher told me that she includes sentences in quizzes that involve men beating their wives as “this is the way things are in Jordan.” The policeman taking my fingerprints for my visa extension unabashedly groped my boobs and then laughed about it to the other officers. I could go on.

Over the past seven weeks, male and female Jordanians have been coming together in protest, marching and shouting with one voice, to show their solidarity with the pro-democracy movements taking place throughout the region. Both sexes regularly protest together throughout the country to show their support for Palestine or to demonstrate against current economic hardships. These Jordanian women have voices. However, no matter whom I asked or what I typed into Google, I could not find a recent instance of women in the Hashemite Kingdom collectively raising their voices for women’s sake.

Women’s issues in Jordan are mainly tackled from above by government institutions established to enable the “empowerment” of women: The Jordanian Princess Basma Women’s Resource Centre (PBWRC), Jordanian National Committee for Women (JNCW) and General Federation of Jordanian Women (GFJW). These are all wonderful organizations, however, all they can do is create the space for individual women to empower themselves, to challenge stereotypes and actively fight against discriminatory social attitudes. Recent efforts to train women in Jordan as effective political agents have only resulted in filling government seats with female bodies; women in politics are still marginalized. Women ultimately need to take responsibility for their own empowerment and demand the social change that they deserve.

All the Jordanian women I have spoken to about women’s rights in this country responded enthusiastically and positively. 21-year old Zaina, a student at University of Jordan told me that: “Jordanian men are good. Women in this country can go to university and have jobs. We are lucky. Look at all these women!” She gestured to the masses of (nearly all hijabi) females swarming around us by the cafeteria. Zaina later told me that she “must wear the hijab at University because my father likes me to.”

After DKE’s misogynistic chants this fall, the Yale Daily News told us that at Yale, “most of [women’s] battles are already won: All of us agree on gender equality.” Thus we are shamed into silence, into believing that the achievements of our fore-sisters are enough and that to continue to fight unresolved battles is unreasonably or greedy. The same problem exists for Jordanian women today. It is time that these women get angry and remind the male population they do indeed see the line between difference and discrimination.

Elizabeth is a junior in Yale College.  She is a staff writer for Broad Recognition.

January 16, 2011

As a Religious Studies major specializing in Islamic Studies, I spend a great deal of my time discussing, writing and thinking about Muslim women. Last semester, after finishing my hundredth assigned reading on the meaning ...]]> By ELIZABETH DONGER

January 16, 2011

As a Religious Studies major specializing in Islamic Studies, I spend a great deal of my time discussing, writing and thinking about Muslim women. Last semester, after finishing my hundredth assigned reading on the meaning of the veil, I realized that the women in this debate had disappeared; this wasn’t about Muslim women as individuals, their freedoms or beliefs. The discourse on the veil has been co-opted by politics, swept up as ammunition in a mudslinging contest between East and West: Look how poorly the Muslims treat their women –the Middle East is backward! Even if these women think they are exercising autonomy by veiling, they are really still oppressed by a patriarchal society that dictates their choices –the Middle East is backward! So, after many months of frustration, I decided that the only way I could meaningfully discuss these individuals in my own work was to go and live with them. My flight from London Heathrow to Amman, Jordan, is booked for January 31.

Jordan has made substantive moves in recent years towards realizing women’s rights. It has the highest rate of female education in the whole of the Middle East; adult (fifteen years or older) education of women currently stands at 85%.[1] A quota has recently been legislated that reserves one parliamentary seat for women in each electoral district, a measure that the parliament hopes to remove once women are being elected above the already required percentage. In addition, women’s participation in the labor market reached 14.7 percent in 2007, up from only 2.6 percent in 1990.

However, much remains to be done. The Personal Status Laws that govern women’s marriage, divorce, inheritance and custody rights remain a source of legitimacy for discriminatory social attitudes. Jordanian women still face the challenge of rampant domestic violence and although they legally enjoy equality on issues such as their freedom of movement, health care, education, political participation, and employment, social attitudes (especially in rural areas) continue to prevent women from exercising these rights.

I do not believe that the Qur’an, or Islam, is inherently or irrevocably patriarchal. On the contrary, when compared to the Bible, the Islamic holy text seems positively progressive. As is unfortunately so often the case, those seeking to legitimize their own discriminatory views have hijacked the power and authority of religion, lending these views the perceived authority of tradition. The Qur’an does not order the stoning of adulterous women, nor does it mandate that women wear the burqa. It does not forbid women from working or give men the absolute right to multiple wives. Those feminists who raise their eyebrows when told that Islam can indeed be an empowering creed for women ought to question their sources of authority.

There is no “answer” to the perceived dilemma of the Muslim woman. As in all countries, the realities and freedoms experienced by women are widely varied and often dictated by socio-economic status. My experience as a study abroad student living in an affluent area of Amman and attending its most progressive university, the University of Jordan, will necessarily limit my vision of the female Jordanian; I make no claims on universal truth. I hope to use this blog to write portraits of some of the women I meet in Jordan, to introduce some Jordanian feminist writers and individuals, and to challenge some of my own preconceptions about Muslim women. In an environment where the archetypal, oppressed Muslim female dominates the media, this reassessment is something all western feminists can afford to do.

[1] Arab Human Development Report 2005, p. 80

Elizabeth Donger is a junior in Yale College.  She is a staff writer for Broad Recognition.

By ELIZABETH DONGER

September 15, 2010

Female genital cutting (FGC) is defined broadly by The WHO as “procedures that intentionally alter or injure female genital organs for non-medical reasons.” However, the term FGC covers a range of practices that ...]]>

By ELIZABETH DONGER

September 15, 2010

Female genital cutting (FGC) is defined broadly by The WHO as “procedures that intentionally alter or injure female genital organs for non-medical reasons.” However, the term FGC covers a range of practices that have different consequences and varying motivations, ranging from infibulation (the excision of all of the external genitalia and stitching/narrowing of the vaginal opening) to clitoridectomy (removal of the clitoris). FGC is mostly carried out on young girls and teenagers; the procedure has no medical benefits and a vast range of potential risks. Although the U.S. enacted a law in 1997 that “makes criminal any nonmedical procedure performed on the genitals” of a girl in the United States, the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services estimated that, in that same year, over 168,000 girls and women living in the U.S. had been or were at risk of being subjected to FGC. Immigrant populations from (mainly African) countries where FGC is practiced have grown in America since 1997 and we can assume that the problem has accordingly escalated. There have been no prosecutions of FGC to date under U.S. federal law.

In May 2010, the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) suggested that a doctor could perform a symbolic “nick” on girls from these cultures. This procedure would be constructed to fulfill the ceremonial coming of age purpose of FGC; it would have no medical risks, “as benign as getting a girl’s ears pierced.” Dr. Friedman Ross from the AAP said that the committee members “oppose all types of female genital cutting that impose risks or physical or psychological harm.” This proposal was widely and thoroughly condemned by advocacy groups and the general public. Indeed, the criticism was such that the AAP redacted this suggestion only days after tabling it. The AAP took pains to emphasize that it “is totally opposed to all forms of female genital cutting, both here in the U.S. and anywhere else in the world.”

This argument that FGC should be opposed in all its manifestations has traditionally been the most prominent reason for rejecting any medicalisation of FGC, including a ‘nick’. The implication here is that the legalization of one form of FGC will inevitably confer the air of permissibility upon the broader practice. Georganne Chapin, executive director of an NGO called Intact America, argued that the nick should not be permitted as: “we don’t let people have slavery a little bit because they’re going to do it anyway, or beat their wives a little bit because they’re going to do it anyway.” However, infibulation and the nick procedure are not of the same type in the way that slavery and “a little bit” of slavery are; the ‘nick’ procedure could not conceivably be termed as “mutilation”. If it were, the approximately 55% of the American male population who are circumcised at birth have also been mutilated. It is for this reason that I have avoided the term “female genital mutilation,” not all forms of the procedure are mutilating. In addition, it prejudices the debate by implying the intention to do damage, potentially alienating members of practicing communities. The idea that legalization of the nick procedure will inevitably lead to further incidence of more severe forms of FGC, the slippery slope argument, is also misleading. The procedure would instead provide a safer alternative for those who take issue with the harmful nature of FGC.

The feminist objection to FGC is that the procedure is motivated by the desire to oppress women through the destruction of their sexuality. It is often used as a means of ensuring that a woman is a virgin when married, while destroying sex as a pleasurable act for her. It also increases male pleasure during intercourse. Although these are all sound arguments, they do not apply in the case of the nick. A feminist might then argue that the desire for the nick procedure stems from a tradition inherently heteronormative and therefore any participation is in compliance with its vision of male dominance. In response to this argument, a comparison to female genital cosmetic surgery (FGCS) is useful. FGCS is a newly developed set of surgeries carried out on the female genitalia, thousands of which are performed on American women every year. FGCS includes processes such as labia reduction, vaginal tightening, clitoral unhooding and ‘G-Spot’ collagen injections, which all have the general aim of aesthetically ‘beautifying’ women’s genitals. A 2005 study by Virginia Braun argues that women increasingly attend to genital appearance because of oral sex, skimpy bikinis, Brazilian waxing, hypersexualized fashion advertising, and internet pornography. The sexual benefits of the procedure are highly dubious, mainly because FGCS companies are unwilling to subject their work to empirical assessment. These procedures serve to reinforce normative heterosexuality and promote a generic and synthetic model of the female body and of sex.

Although these surgical alterations of female genitalia may sound like they would fall under the criminal definition of “mutilation”, U.S. law decrees that operations “necessary to the health of the person on whom it is performed” are legal. Although FGCS has no proven health benefits, surgeons avoid the long arm of the law by citing the emotional sickness of their patients in absence of the perfect vagina. This suggests that Western women can freely consent to such surgeries and conform to particular standards regardless of existing societal pressures, while African women do not or should not have this agency; an assumption that is undoubtedly discriminatory.

To deny an adult woman the right to choose this non-harmful ritual procedure would be hypocritical in the light of current policies regarding FGCS. The immediate rejection of any medicalised version of FGC as shown by politicians, doctors and the public comes in part from fear of facing the problem at all. Statistics on the prevalence of FGC in America are extremely hard to come by; public awareness is worryingly low. Legalizing a ritual nick would publically recognize the reality that FGC does occur on American soil, shattering the illusion that such a thing does not happen in a developed country. Even the AAP externalizes the problem, arguing that the alternative to a legal nick procedure is that parents “may take their daughters back to their home countries, where the procedure may be more extensive cutting and may even be done without anesthesia, with unsterilized knives or even glass.” The AAP does not acknowledge that when families do not have the financial means to send their children abroad to undergo FGC, the procedure happens domestically.

The medicalisation of FGC is not without its problems; the element of choice is key. The fact that FGC is most often performed on girls too young to give informed consent to the procedure means that any medicalisation of FGC ought to only be available to those over the age of 18. However, this would still leave girls younger than 18 vulnerable to the procedure; FGC is usually performed on girls between the ages of 4 and 8. However, making the procedure available to girls younger than 18 would not be legally plausible and so this step should be part of a broader effort to combat FGC in America. Although many excellent organizations are devoted to combating FGC, such as Amirah’s Voice, there is a distinct lack of intra-stakeholder dialogue and most organizations work in isolation of each other. The government should play a part in centralizing efforts, using existing networks to expand educational programs that reach at-risk girls, adults and doctors. It is also important that current legislation is enforced in some capacity. Although the criminalization of FGC itself is problematic, as it is most often performed by those who think that what they are doing is necessary for the social, economic and cultural wellbeing of the child, a law is only empty rhetoric if not enforced.

Allowing a non-harmful version of FGC to be performed on consenting, informed adults would be a huge step towards confronting our own cultural hypocrisy and also eliminating dangerous FGC operations performed in subversive and unprofessional circumstances. This procedure would not serve to sanction or support any form of FGC that is brutal or dangerous. The AAP was wrong remove the possibility of such a procedure being realized. The public needs to seriously engage with the diversity and complexity of this cultural tradition and evaluate its varying moral and practical implications. As a feminist, it is easy to automatically and repeatedly say “no” to FGC. However, when examined more closely, the practice requires a more nuanced response.

Elizabeth Donger is a junior in Yale College.

May 19, 2010

Senior Iranian cleric Hojatoleslam Kazim Sadeghi declared last month during a Friday sermon in Tehran that “women who do not dress modestly … lead young men astray, corrupt their chastity and spread adultery in society, which consequently increases ...]]>

Photo: opensalon.com

By ELIZABETH DONGER

May 19, 2010

Senior Iranian cleric Hojatoleslam Kazim Sadeghi declared last month during a Friday sermon in Tehran that “women who do not dress modestly … lead young men astray, corrupt their chastity and spread adultery in society, which consequently increases earthquakes.” The fact that seismologists have been predicting an imminent catastrophic earthquake in Tehran for some time makes the statement all the more dangerous. Sadeghi’s words were widely reported by a range of western media outlets; however, the most provocative reporting came from a young blogger in Indiana.

Jennifer McCreight, a self-described “liberal, geeky, perverted atheist feminist trapped in Indiana,” responded to Sadeghi’s words on her blog, Blag Hag. She suggested that women should test the cleric’s ridiculous statement by collectively wearing “the most cleavage-showing shirt [they own]…the one usually reserved for a night on the town,” to see if an earthquake would result. She dubbed the experiment: the “boobquake.” This post was picked up by the wider media and the idea quickly spiraled; the boobquake was covered by CNN and Blag Hag received almost a million unique visits and thousands of emails over a few days. On April 26, over 100,000 women, recruited through Facebook and Twitter, participated in the boobquake experiment. The scantily-clad women did not affect the statistical frequency of earthquakes.

Jennifer McCreight claims that “the majority of people – including earthquake researchers, feminists, and many Iranians – thanked me for this exercise in skepticism.” Although the exercise was, according to McCreight, “light-hearted mockery,” the reasons why this exercise was perceived as amusing are more serious: Jennifer McCreight is pointing out the absurdity of Sadeghi’s belief that earthquakes can be caused by women’s clothing (or lack thereof). However, McCreight is also pointing out the absurdity of Sadeghi’s insistence that women be dressed “modestly.” She responds to this reasoning with an act of defiance: “cleavage-showing” tops and “immodest” attire.

The boobquake is an exhibition of the western ‘liberated’ woman’s ability to choose to wear whatever she likes, which automatically establishes the oppressed Muslim woman, who is forced (by men such as Sadeghi) to wear “modest” clothing, as the antithesis to this. This overlooks the fact that some Muslim women who dress modestly do indeed choose to dress this way. Foreign audiences are not always in the position to decide whether these women are oppressed; the belief that no Muslim women can rise above social pressure to dress in a certain way, but western women can, is misguided. Further enraging, McCreight places this commentary within the context of “light-hearted mockery” which is far from ideal. Half-hearted mockery of men who use their authority to control female behavior and perpetuate discriminatory norms does not chastise them but rather is only a benefit to our own sense of superiority. The dichotomy of the Western/Muslim woman established by the boobquake doubly overlooks the complexity of ‘cultural’ female Muslim dress and also lacks an appreciation for the danger and impact of Sadeghi’s attitude towards women.

The boobquake assumes that our right to dress provocatively is a sign of our liberation. It pits immodesty against modesty, establishing women with the liberty to choose immodesty as the opposite to those who do not. Western women’s choice to wear revealing clothes is, ostensibly, freely made. However, our belief that these clothes “look good” is the direct result of a male-created paradigm of beauty. The male desire to see female flesh and men’s perceived right to observe our bodies create our shared standards for female beauty. This is a classic example of patriarchy embedded so deep in our consciousnesses that we do not pause question it. I do not know what feminists thanked McCreight for her experiment but they clearly need a talking to. McCreight wrote in the Guardian that, “As a scientist and a skeptic, I firmly believe that we should test claims people make, especially when they’re ridiculous.” Jennifer McCreight is a self-identified feminist and the boobquake experiment is not only pointing out Sadeghi’s questionable science; it inevitably makes a (questionable) statement about Islamic women, modesty and female liberty.

Elizabeth Donger is a sophomore in Yale College. She is a staff writer for Broad Recognition.