The Arab revolutions are not only shaking the
structure of tyranny to the core – they are shattering many of the myths
about the Arab region that have been accumulating for decades. Topping
the list of dominant myths are those of Arab women as caged in, silenced
and invisible. Yet these are not the types of women that have emerged
out of Tunisia, Egypt or even ultra-conservative Yemen in the last few
weeks and months.
Not only did women actively participate in the
protest movements raging in those countries, they have assumed
leadership roles as well. They organised demonstrations and pickets,
mobilised fellow citizens and eloquently expressed their demands and
aspirations for democratic change.
Like Esraa Abdel Fattah, Nawara Negm and Tawakul
Karman, the majority of the women are in their twenties and thirties.
Yet there were also inspiring cases of senior activists as well: Saida
Saadouni, a woman in her seventies from Tunisia, draped the national
flag around her shoulders and partook in the Kasbah protests which
succeeded in toppling M. Ghannouchi’s provisional government. Having
protested for two weeks, she breathed a unique revolutionary spirit into
the thousands who congregated around her to hear her fiery speeches. “I
resisted French occupation. I resisted the dictatorships of Bourguiba
and Ben Ali. I will not rest until our revolution meets its ends, for
your sakes, my sons and daughters, not for mine,” said Saadouni.
Whether on the virtual battlefields of the Internet
or the physical protests in the streets, women have been proving
themselves as real incubators of leadership. This is part of a wider
phenomenon characteristic of these revolutions: The open politics of the
street have bred and matured future leaders. They are grown organically
in the field rather than being imposed upon from above by political
organisations, religious groups or gender roles.
Another stereotype being dismantled in action is the
association of the Islamic headscarf with passivity, submissiveness and
segregation. Among this new generation of prominent Arab women, the
majority choose to wear the hijab. Urbanised and educated, they are no
less confident or charismatic than their unveiled sisters. They are an
expression of the complex interplay of Muslim culture, with processes of
modernisation and globalisation being the hallmark of contemporary Arab
society.
This new model of home-grown women leaders, born out
of revolutionary struggle, represents a challenge to two narratives
which, though different in detail, are similar in reference to the myth
of Arab cultural singularity; they both dismiss Arab women as inert
creatures devoid of willpower.
The first narrative – which is dominant in
conservative Muslim circles – sentences women to a life of childbearing
and rearing; women are to live in the narrow confines of their homes at
the mercy of their husbands and male relatives. Their presence must
revolve around notions of sexual purity and family honour; reductionist
interpretations of religion are looked upon for justification.
The other view is espoused by Euro-American
neo-liberals, who view Arab and Muslim women through the narrow prism of
the Taliban model: Miserable objects of pity in need of benevolent
intervention from intellectuals, politicians or even the military. Arab
women await deliverance from the dark cage of veiling to a promised
garden of enlightenment.
Arab women are rebelling against both models: They
are seizing the reigns of their own destinies by liberating themselves
as they liberate their societies from dictatorship. The model of
emancipation they are shaping with their own hands is one defined by
their own needs, choices and priorities – not anyone else’s.
Although there may be resistance to this process of
emancipation, Tahrir Square and Kasbah are now part of the psyche and
formative culture of Arab women. Indeed they have finally given voice to
long-silenced yearnings for liberation from authoritarianism – both
political and patriarchal.