Six Years In: The Uprisings Will Be Gendered

Six Years In: The Uprisings Will Be Gendered

Six Years In: The Uprisings Will Be Gendered

By : Maya Mikdashi

The past several years have brought into focus dominant ways that sexual and bodily rights are framed, gendered, and politicized in the Middle East in mainstream western media. These can be grouped under three loose themes, each of which deserves further study and each of which emerges from a particular, though intertwined, history: The first gendered theme is the equation of gender or gendered analysis with women and/or sexual and gender minorities. Second, both mainstream media and intersected political parties and politicians have cynically deployed the fate of women and sexual minorities to emphasize the relative protections of secular and securitized authoritarianism and the possible—Islamist—dangers of democratization and further uprisings. The third gendered frame we can identify are the moral and sex panics that various regimes and governments have used to further entrench the security state and conservative politics (whether Islamist or military or secular). 

Taken together, these three gendered frames aid in the production and maintenance of a discursive separation between political and sexual or gendered violence. This separation of violence into “political violence” on the one hand, and “sexual violence” and “gender violence” on the other, is pronounced in much mainstream coverage of the ongoing wars in Syria and Yemen. This coverage often frames the large scale prevalence and political economy of sexual and gendered violence during wartime as a “humanitarian” crisis or concern, one that is ancillary to or natural and an inevitable result of prolonged war and political violence. This framing suggests that sexual and gendered violence do not require a political solution in and of themselves, but rather, exclusively therapy or counseling for the victims and processes of rehabilitation once the “conflict” ends. Here, “political violence”—whether sectarian, ideological, secular, or Islamist, is gendered male. 

The following pages will provide an overview of these gendered frames and ask what work they do in the world. The aim is not so much to understand the ways that gender has been analyzed writ large in mainstream coverage of the region, but rather what work sex and gender do in and to our analysis of political upheaval, whether those upheavals are (now) thought of as revolutionary, counterrevolutionary, or a civil war. This article is a brief return to an article I wrote in 2012, in the heyday of the Arab Uprisings for Jadaliyya, titled “The Uprisings Will be Gendered.” Much has changed since 2012, including the reinvigoration of authoritarianism across the region and indeed, a global shift to the right, and devastating (and ongoing) international wars in Libya, Syria, Iraq, and Yemen. The analytic frames we use for understanding the region, however, have proven to be more resistant to change.

Selective Deployment of Gendered Analyses


In much public intellectual and journalistic production gendered analysis is confined to work that is specifically about female or LGBTQ identified persons. This limited understanding of, and public interest in, “gender” is not unique to the study of the Middle East, despite a growing body of academic literature on gender and masculinity in the region, including work by GhannamAmar, and Aciksoz. Such selective framing obscures the fact that gender and the processes of gendering are experiences and technologies of power that operate, though differently, on and through bodies in all social landscapes and communities. Across the region and indeed in every region there are multiple feminisms, as well as multiple LGBTQ groups, with often chafing local, regional, and international politics. Yet rarely has the diversity of feminist and LGBTQ actors, practices, and groupings (institutional or not) been reflected in public intellectual or journalistic work in the period of the Arab Uprisings. More broadly, often LGBTQ movements and feminist movements are grouped together within one overarching gendered analysis. Such grouping assumes that feminist and LGBTQ groups are inherently allied. Lebanon, where mainstream LGBTQ nongovernmental organizations had a highly contentious and public split with alternative feminist movements and individuals over issues of sexual harassment, sexism, and the privileging of male queer experiences, shows us the gendered elisions in these assumptions.

Gender, as both an analytic and as a topic, cannot be disarticulated from the broader field of activist or intellectual/academic knowledge production. When we reproduce the false tropes of the ungendered body, ungendered politics, the unclassed body, and unclassed politics, we reaffirm the positioning of normative male political practices as “unmarked” and universal— leaving little room for articulations of gender, sex, and sexuality beyond the scope of limiting binaries. Gender is not an analytic lens that can be withheld and deployed according to genitalia and/or sexual practices of the people being studied. Such disarticulation hampers our ability to study and analyze social and political transformations that have reshaped the region since 2011.

The Particular Dangers of Islamism  


A second prevailing mode of framing, gendering, and politicizing gender and feminism in the Middle East and North Africa is often expressed through discourses on the precarity of women’s rights in an increasingly religiously conservative region and, to a lesser extent, LGBTQI rights. These concerns are crucial in an age of ISIS and Al-Nusra, but feminists might ask where this concern for gendered rights was previous to this latest round of religious and repressive politicization. For example, "women's rights" in Egypt and Tunisia have been twinned with the type of state feminism advocated by their respective former first ladies, a cynical use of gender rights by authoritarian regimes that Western allies branded “reformers.” This is not to obscure the Islamist movements and regimes’ violence and oppression, but to place them side by side with violent and oppressive secular or military movements and regimes in our feminist analysis. All those that speak in the language of “public morality,” or who degrade and regulate rights to bodily integrity are deeply invested in maintaining or expanding unequal gender and sex systems. This includes state and political actors who ban the hijab, legislate that everyone must wear the hijab, or restrict access to family planning, women’s health, and protection from sexual harassment and/or assault. The increased use of torture and brutalization in the War on Terror has also left an indelible mark on the feminist concept of bodily integrity. 

The transnational increase in the regulation of sexual and bodily rights is a global phenomenon that we see clearly, for example, in the United States under Trump, Turkey under Erdogan, Egypt under Sisi, and Raqqa under ISIS.  Given the variety of actors legislating, regulating, and eroding bodily and sexual rights—from neoliberal cuts to public and women’s health to the relaxing of laws and practices to do with torture— the highlighting of Islamists and their threats to bodily and sexual rights stands out. This selective fear of Islamists rests on familiar assumptions about the intolerant nature of Islam and cannot be disentangled from the ideological, material, and economic infrastructure of the International War on Terror and its local franchises. Thus the victory of Islamists in Egypt's elections caused anxiety among international feminists, gender activists, international human rights organizations, and powerful international politicians. Thus far, however, the regime of Abdel Fattah al Sisi has proven itself an enemy of gendered or sexual rights and has in fact buttressed a nationalist ideology that emphasizes patriarchal masculine heteronormativity as the ideal citizen type. Despite the continuation and intensification of sexual and gendered oppression between the policies of the Muslim Brotherhood and the Sisi regime, international outcry has been muted on this front. The attention we give to gender rights should not be episodic or reliant on the identity of the oppressor. Gender and sexual equality and justice, and the state of bodily integrity and rights should be a focus of progressive politics no matter who is in power and no matter the ideology that drives the erosion of these rights: whether neoliberal, Islamist, or authoritarian. 

Moral Panics, Sex Panics 


The third frame we can employ to understand dominant discourses related to the uprisings are the uses of gendered and sexed violence to discredit protests and revolutionaries, and as a tactic of political violence in times of revolution or of war. The Mubarak regime, the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF), the Muslim Brothers, and now, Sisi, have used sexual violence to discourage and discredit Egyptian protestors and revolutionaries. Female protestors and activists have been subjected to “virginity tests,” vicious beatings, and charges of immorality (Seikaly 2013). In fact, everywhere there has been an uprising across the region, the regime in question has propagated a discourse of immorality among male and female protestors. In Yemen, security forces actively discouraged women from joining protests by targeting them for repression. In Bahrain, a cry for “public morality” was thrown against men and women fighting to overthrow a repressive monarchy. In turn, the spectacle of Egyptian security forces publicly beating and dragging a woman down a street is a warning to others. It is forcefully implied that women and men should stay at home and away from the impunity with which (secular and non-secular) security forces can violate a protestor’s body. We can also think of the Cologne New Years Eve public assaults, and the spectacle of the assaults, as a sex panic. This sex panic licensed various racialized and securitized and gendered discourses and affects, which in turn obscured the structural problem of anemic rape and sexual harassment laws and enforcement in Germany—a problem feminists in Germany have been calling attention to for decades. 

Clampdowns on sexual and gendered “others” are often a sign of increased securitization and an attempt to gain popular support for increased state power through the spectacle of the “moral panic,” as Paul Amar has argued. As Scott Long has written regarding the Sisi regime’s persecution of queer and men who have sex with men in Egypt, it is often vulnerable populations that provide the platform and initial legitimacy for the perfecting of repressive technologies that are mainly used to crush political dissent more broadly. Egyptian, Lebanese, and Iraqi security agents have used popular apps such as Grindr or Whatsapp to entrap suspected LGBTQ individuals—a harbinger of the ways that social media and technology will be publicly synonymous with securitization and surveillance in the near future (it already is, but thus far the publicity of internet surveillance has been episodic and directly related to the targets of that surveillance—queers, revolutionaries, opposition movements).

In 2017, the Egyptian state used a rock concert by the popular Lebanese band Mashrou' Leila to further ramp up and publicize an ongoing state “crackdown” on Egyptians accused of being LGBTQ. This incident raised a key point: moral panics, and the state’s protection of the public from “immorality” are meant to circulate widely and publicly. The fact that the Egyptian state can and will continue to arrest and abuse citizens despite international condemnation, sparked by the spectacle of the arrest of Mashrou’ Leila fans (one of whom was “accused” of waving a rainbow flag), is an advertisement for the authoritarian paternalism of the Sisi regime. This is true also for highly public and sensationalized attacks on female bodily integrity and sexual expression in Sisi’s Egypt. In Turkey, President Erdogan has also used gendered and sexed discourse and policing to gain legitimacy for the increasing authoritarianism of the Turkish state. In the name of “security,” Erdogan’s regime has attacked, dispersed, censored, arrested and threatened anti-AKP political dissent, pro-Kurdish activism and resistance, and feminist, LGBTQ, trans marches, protests, and activists.

Authoritarianism continues to be reinvigorated across the post-uprising region under the guise of security—indeed in the world, as shown in recent electoral cycles in Europe, the United States, and India. As such, it is incumbent on us to analyze both the development and deployment of repressive technologies to police sexual, racial, gendered, and classed populations and the moral and gendered discourses that often scaffold calls for public security, morality, and cultural or religious authenticity. Such an approach is critical to our ability to analyze international and regional trends in authoritarian securitization and its moving, and expanding targets.

The Bifurcation Between Gendered and Political Violence 


There are dominant analytic frames that have been used to discuss “gender” and feminism in the era of both authoritarian securitization and popular uprisings: first, gender is deployed as an analytic when writing about female-identified persons and sexual/gender minorities, but not when writing about normative male-identified people. Second, gender and feminism have been cynically deployed to discuss the rise of Islamism and the dangers to come with the fall of (secular) authoritarian regimes. Third, authoritarian regimes have used accusations of public immorality, “sex panics,” and the public good, to increase securitization. All three of these frames are highly selective and politicized. All three play a role in producing a discursive separation between political violence and sexual or gendered violence, a framework within which sexual or gendered violence happens to women and sexual minorities while political violence happens to men (by men usually). In Egypt, it is this bifurcation of the “social” from the “political” that has allowed Mubarakists, officers, Sisiists, and Brothers, along with their regional and international allies, to set the terms of struggles for gender equality. Those terms—gender quotas for parliament and cabinet, family laws, and birth control—are silent on the dire need of structural political and economic change, nor do they draw attention to the gendering of men within a patriarchal power structure. It is these false dichotomies between gender and politics, between the economic, the political, the cultural, and between “gender” and heteronormative men that will continue to impede the possibility of transformative change in the region. The separation of gendered violence from political violence has perhaps reached its tragic apex in Syria—a war where rape, the brutal enforcement of strict sex and gender codes, sexual assault, the slow death that comes with the lack of education and healthcare and basic wellbeing to women, and highly coordinated and international sex trafficking—are often analyzed as separate from the mass displacements, killings, and maiming of millions of Syrian citizens and residents. In this framing, sexual and gendered violence are thus the province of women’s rights, rehabilitation, and physical and mental health—but not of political or economic justice. But in any political resolution to the wars Yemen and Syria—political resolution meaning a re-envisioning of the countries’ political and social contracts—gender relations should and must play a role as it is a critical vector in the constitution of social and political contracts (Pateman 1988).

In today’s global security state it is not possible to write the political without writing about the body; the body itself is both a medium and the primary target of modern politics and state intervention. Since 2010 the uprisings and counter-uprisings—the consolidation of authoritarian power—unfolding at the surface of so many beaten, broken, triumphant and depressed human bodies—have again shown this. One cannot approach politics or revolution without a focus on the body. But also, and just as importantly, one cannot conceptualize the body without thinking through sexual difference, gender, race, citizenship status, and class. We need political intifadas and uprisings. We also need conceptual and analytic intifadas.

[An earlier version of this essay was published in German in KriseRevolte und Krieg in der arabischen Welt, edited by Helmut Kreiger and Magda Seewald (2017)]

______________________________

References

Nadje Al-Ali, "Revolutionary Processes in Egypt," Feminist Review 106 (2014): 122-128.

Nadje Al-Ali, "Gendering the Arab Spring 1." Middle East Journal of Culture and Communication 5.1 (2012): 26-31. 

Paul Amar, The Security Archipelago: Human-Security States, Sexuality Politics, and the End of Neoliberalism (Duke University Press, 2013). 

Scott Long, "Cairo, and Our Comprador Gay Movements: A Talk", https://paper-bird.net/2016/06/22/cairo-comprador-gay-movements/, accessed 1 December 2016.

Maya Mikdashi, "The Uprisings Will Be Genderedm" Jadaliyya, 2012.

Sherene Seikaly. "The Meaning of Revolution: On Samira Ibrahim," Jadaliyya, 28 January 2013.

 

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In the Shadow of Malala: The West’s Unsaved Others

Malala Yousafzai has made a number of headlines in the past few weeks: Nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize, addressing the UN on the occasion of “Malala Day” dedicated to youth education, meeting with the Obamas in the Oval Office, chatting with Queen Elizabeth at Buckingham Palace, speaking at the World Bank’s “International Day of the Girl,” and receiving the honorary Canadian citizenship. In case you missed it, even The Daily Show’s Jon Stewart declared his wish to adopt her.

Many have written about Malala’s fame. Journalist Assed Baig argued that Western journalists and politicians have used Malala to appease their white man’s burden, to hide their sins in Afghanistan and Iraq, and to divert attention from the Western-caused suffering of many in the region. In a recent piece on Al-Jazeera, Murtaza Hussain compared Malala to nine-year-old Pakistani girl Nabila Rehman who came to Washington D.C. to testify before Congress about the drone attack that killed her grandmother last year. Only five out of 430 representatives came to hear Nabila’s story. For Hussain, Malala Politicians and pundits used Malala as the human face of the American-led War on Terror, on behalf of whom “the United States and its allies can say they have been unleashing such incredible bloodshed.” Nabila, on the other hand, had become, “simply another one of the millions of nameless, faceless people who have had their lives destroyed over the past decade of American wars.”

By shedding light on the suffering, past and present, of people in the Middle East, such critical interventions expose Western political propaganda’s use of Malala. But who are Malala’s others? For she has many. And they are not just those in the Middle East, but in the heart of the West itself. Certainly, Malala’s near-canonization diverts attention from the chaos and injustice of the War on Terror in the region. But what about those black, brown, and white poor bodies, in the West, that remain in Malala’s shadow?

Malala rose to international fame following a failed assassination attempt by the Taliban on 9 October, 2012. Taliban gunmen shot her in the head and neck as she was returning home on a school bus in the Swat district of Pakistan. The attack received worldwide media coverage and prompted condemnations from President Obama, US Secretary of State Hilary Clinton, and British Foreign Secretary William Hague. Days after the attack, Malala was flown to the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham for surgery and rehabilitation. Former First Lady Laura Bush wrote a Washington Post op-ed comparing Malala to Holocaust diarist Anne Frank. Angelina Jolie donated 200,000 dollars to the Malala Fund. The young girl received the Simone De Beauvoir Award (previously given to Ayaan Hirsi Ali). Foreign Policy voted her among the top one hundred global thinkers in 2012. Time magazine listed Malala among the one hundred most influential people in the world in 2013. She had also made it to the magazine’s shortlist of Person of the Year in 2012. At sixteen, Malala has already published her first autobiography, I am Malala, and has her portrait commissioned for the National Gallery in London.

As the French magazine Le Point put it, Malala had become “an enterprise,” one that is run by the world’s largest independently owned public relations firm, Edelman. The multimillion dollar firm had allegedly dispatched five employees to assist Malala and her family, pro bono, in managing the media interest in her campaign. McKinsey, the renowned American global management consulting firm, is also involved in the campaign, handling the Malala Fund for the education of girls.

Of course, Malala is a modern-day heroine, and a great model to many. She was shot by the Taliban for speaking up against their ban on girls’ education, most famously in a 2009 series of blog posts commissioned by BBC’s Urdu service website. But Malala’s message of girls’ right to education cannot but be eclipsed by her larger-than-life persona that Western states, international organizations, public figures, and public relations firms have manufactured. This essay is not about Malala, the person, as much as it is about her international circulation as an icon. It is not about Malala’s deeds, unquestionably noble, but about Western politicians and media figures’ fascination with this young girl.

The history behind Western media narratives about Muslim women’s plight is by now all too familiar. As Lila Abu Lughod has shown, in the context of the post 9/11 War on Terror, Western political projects, including the United States War on Afghanistan, justify themselves by purporting to liberate and save women. Decades earlier, Frantz Fanon wrote about France’s project to colonize Algeria by unveiling/civilizing its women. Laura Bush’s unwavering commitment to brown women attests to the tenacity of the narrative. In fact, the former First Lady explicitly framed her Washington Post op-ed, “A Girl’s Courage Challenges Us to Act,” as a follow-up to her first presidential radio address. During that address in November 2001, Laura Bush justified the invasion of Afghanistan in the name of the liberation of its women, claiming that “the fight against terrorism is also a fight for the rights and dignity of women.” Bush ends her most recent op-ed with the following words: “Today, for Malala and the many girls like her, we need not and cannot wait. We must improve their world.” Plus ça change…Eleven years after the invasion of Afghanistan, Bush is still bent on saving Muslim women. Eleven years after asking her initial question, “Do Muslim Women Really Need Saving?” Abu Lughod is still trying to explain why, in fact, they do not.

Activists, artists, and intellectuals have repeatedly challenged everyone from Bush to the bare breasted women of FEMEN in their imperative to liberate Muslim women by speaking on their behalf. One recent example is thisbeautifully-executed Muslim superhero cartoon. Third world feminists have powerfully formulated these critiques for decades. But there is something peculiar about Malala that cannot be explained only by exposing the fetish of saving the brown woman. The critique must move further into the underbelly of this affective excess, to recuperate those other brown women that the “we” of Laura Bush does not want to save Otherwise, the analysis remains politically incomplete and critically lopsided, further reproducing the fixation on brown women “over there.” There is something about this sixteen-year-old amassing award after award and prize after prize that says much more about the West than it does about Malala, Pakistani girls, or the right to universal education.

This painful story “over here” is particularly poignant given the collapse of public education in the United States. The US president commends Malala on her “inspiring and passionate work on behalf of girls education in Pakistan" just as twelve-year-old Laporshia Massey died because the government did not find it necessary to pay a full-time nurse at her under-funded Philadelphia school. To be sure, no one will award Laporshia a Nobel Peace Prize. She is not Pakistani, not a Middle Eastern Muslim girl shot in the head by the Taliban. No one will send Laporshia a helicopter to fly her to a hospital. She is just a poor black girl from Philly. She suffocates quietly in her classroom. She is told “there’s no nurse, just be calm.” She is ordered to wait even as Laura Bush implores, “we need not and cannot wait. We must improve their world.” The world that must be saved is far away over there; ours is doing just fine. In his meeting with Malala, president Obama signed a proclamation to mark Friday as the “International Day of the Girl.” The proclamation reads: "on every continent, there are girls who will go on to change the world in ways we can only imagine, if only we allow them the freedom to dream." Young girls from American public high schools are pleading with their government to build schools, not prisons. They are dreaming out loud, but who is listening?

Muslim girls’ right to education must also be brought into relief in France, which bans Muslim girls donning the headscarf—the one Malala wears—from attending public schools. Many believed that the 2004 law, which instituted a ban on “conspicuous signs” of religious affiliations in French state schools, was specifically targeting Muslim girls wearing headscarves, and through them, the country’s Muslim minority. The secular republic ostensibly banned the headscarf to safeguard France’s laïcité. But many intellectuals and public figures couched the ban in a rhetoric of gender equality whereby the secular law saves women from the tyranny of their religious communities. Lest we forget, the headscarf controversy itself dates back to 1989, as Joan Scott shows in The Politics of the Veil, when three French Muslim girls (of Moroccan origin) who refused to remove their headscarves were expelled from their Middle School in the Parisian suburb of Creil. Canada will not grant them honorary citizenship, but the King of Morocco himself will intervene to convince them to remove their headscarf when entering a classroom. But, as Scott shows, in a clear demonstration of their personal conviction, they continued to wear the hijab in the school’s hallways and courtyards. Their struggle did not go down in history as a story of Muslim girls’ fight for equal education. Nor did that of fifteen-year-old Cennet Doganay (of Turkish origin) who shaved her head to be able to attend class. Following the ban in 2004, Doganay tried to substitute a beret and a bandana for her headscarf, “but they still refused to let her into class." The BBC, who reported her story, did not ask her to blog about her experience.

There is something about Malala, and it is not the white savior complex,” or not only that. It is the erasures that are enacted by her global circulation as an iconic brown, Muslim girl. Malala screens from view the Laporshias and Cennets in our midst. There is something about her hypervisible presence that further enacts a symbolic violence against the poor, black, and brown bodies, in our midst in Europe and the United States. These bodies are constantly erased from public, undeserving as they are of collective “white” middle-class attention and care. These bodies are ordered to enact their own self-erasure: by being quite, not blogging about injustice; by hiding their difference, not flaunting their scarves; by accommodating dominant social values, not subverting them. Would a million prizes for Malala wash away the hefty price of an American or European education?

Yes, Philadelphia may not be the Swat Valley, but one has to wonder, given the history of mass school shootings in the United States that have taken the lives of American children and teenagers. The Pakistani government, following Malala’s shooting, ratified the Right to Education Bill; the United States has yet to pass a law on gun control. Yes, the girls of Creil were not shot in the head. But the comparison is not meant to suggest similarity. The juxtaposition of these differently-situated young brown female bodies is necessary if we are to grasp the connections between the injustices they face. Mapping these connections does not equalize experiences; it reveals how education is a common discursive thread, differently-deployed, across these stories. It forces us to contemplate the terms of “girls’ right to education,” of which Malala has become the poster child. It impels us to specify the subject of these rights, and to identify those whose exclusion is masked in the process.

Exclusion is universal; it is historical and contextual. In Jim Crow America, black girls were not allowed in public (white) schools. In Taliban-dominated Swat Valley, girls are not allowed in public (boy) schools. In republican France, veiled girls are not allowed in public (secular) schools. In many places around the world, from Philadelphia to Santiago, poor girls (and boys) are not allowed public schools altogether. Schools are places where the exclusionary logics of racism, republican secularism, Islamism, and neoliberalism, as different as they may be, become manifest. Schools are the locus where such exclusions are enacted, learnt and normalized. Schools are where children become versed in the grammar of national culture. They are where “others” are taught that they are unwelcome into the fold of the nation, society, and community.

Exclusion is not a Taliban-created exception. It is all around us. And there is something about Malala, as a poster child for girls’ right to education that is meant to make us think otherwise. There is something about an internationally-endorsed, officially-supported, generously-funded, Nobel-prize nominated, and branded campaign for education, starring a brown Muslim girl, that sharply contrasts with recent student protests in QuebecChile,France, the United StatesSpain, and the United Kingdom (among other places). There is something deeply wrong when gender is deployed as the sole source of inequality that must be addressed (albeit in far-away places). There is something deeply wrong when transnational state feminism displaces class inequalities, deeply felt in the languishing state of public education, onto the body of a Taliban-shot sixteen-year-old girl. Such a displacement undermines Malala’s just cause against religiously-inflected social injustice by making it exceptional, by severing its links to global demands for equal and free education. If feminism is not to be co-opted by a neoliberal discourse, as Nancy Fraser recently argued, we must be aware of the fetishization of gender inequality that makes moot all other inequalities.

Western governments have used the figure of the victimized brown woman in the past to justify overseas action, intervention, expansion. Here, they are also using it to whitewash and legitimate the withdrawal of the state from the public domain. As if this child’s small body, stretched and overblown by awards and honors, is supposed to hide the ever-shrinking state; as if Malala’s inflated body will cast a large enough shadow over the growing pool of bodies the state has abandoned.