"Friends of the Muttawa"

I heard from a friend yesterday, as she went shopping at the Al-Rashid mall in Al-Khobar, that she saw a group of young men, in short thobes and with long beards, standing by a bus-stop awaiting buses that brought in female passengers. Sure enough, a bus stopped and let out the women riding in it -- who 'happened' to be mostly, if not all, expatriates -- and started harassing the women and preaching to them, in the usual raised-voice-but-eyes-to-the-ground manner, to cover up. My friend then said that the women who came down were already in abayya -- the black cloak that covers women from their shoulders to the ground, which they wear when they go out in public. These men were telling them to cover their hair.

 

A few things struck me about this, which my friend also provided details for: the men had approached an area where mostly expatriate women would disembark, as most Saudi women do not use buses, and so they were most likely not Muslim: i.e. there should be no legal problem with their attire if they are already wearing the abayya. A second thing that struck me was that these men, who functioned as members of the Commission of the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice in preaching at these women, did not have a policeman with them, as members of the PVPV are required to. This means that they were not, formally, members of the PVPV. I then found out that a group of 'volunteers' exist who perform their same function, and that they call themselves "Friends of the Muttawa."

 

That such a group actually exists astounds me. It is bad enough that the actual PVPV exists: with rules as strict as theirs and their offensive methods, hardly anyone gets a chance to develop their own set of morals and 'rights' and 'wrongs.' Overall, that the 'morality police' exist makes people under their 'jurisdiction' less moral!

 

So these 'friends of the muttawa,' then? Sounds like just a group of men with extra time on their hands and the need to have some sense of authority, so they have chosen to go around telling women what to wear. I'm really not impressed.

Return to the blogosphere... and 'Saudi'

I haven't posted anything in a long, long time. My apologies. There is a long series of events that prevented me from devoting much time to blogging at first, and then, after it all cleared up, blogging was 'out of my system' and I had to remind myself that I had this outlet.

Anyway, I hope this won't be happening again. Or, if it does, I'll announce my absence before hand. In my very meager defense, I had no idea that the absence would be this long.

Having said that, so much has happened since I last posted it seems pointless to try and play 'catch-up.' I got email after email in my inbox with different issues... from the case of the 8-year-old girl's marriage to a man decades older than her holding in court to the increased Sunni-Shia tensions and the anger of the Shiite population. Today, I even got an email about a Syrian woman literally thrown out of her home by her Saudi husband, who had secretly divorced her, and that she now lives with her 3 sons in a furnished apartment, awaiting an appeal. In the meantime, her ex-husband is arranging to be married to a 'woman from Asia.'

As all these things happen, and I'm sure there are more that I haven't heard about, it gets me thinking: I'm one of the several thousand Saudis who returned from university abroad recently (in my case, 2 years ago... which I still consider 'recently'). In other words, I'm in that group of Saudis that I see frequently referred to in the printed press and in blogs as the 'wave' of Saudis who, after studying and living abroad for several years, will surely come back and want to bring change with them.

This was my thought, too, as a student. During my senior year, I was both nervous and excited at coming back. I wanted to come back, even though I had the option of continuing my education abroad and extending my time in a more comfortable lifestyle. I was nervous because of all the challenges, constraints and obstacles that I knew would face me coming back, and excited at the possibility that all these brought. The possibility of change, that dawn comes after the darkest hour of the night, etc.

And in a country like ours, Saudi Arabia, there really is A LOT of possibility, mainly because there is a lot of room for improvement. And it excited me to be a part of that.

However, despite all my preparations... being back is harder than I thought. It probably always is that way: you prepare yourself for something and find that it wasn't quite the way you thought it would be -- there's always a stone, or two, that you left unturned.

I won't get carried away with that, because that's an endless (and nearly useless) topic. But there is something about being back that, although I had anticipated, I have failed miserably in handling. That disappointment is that, despite the multitudes of other just-back Saudi students, I have failed at reaching them.

That is to say, we are all dispersed, and this poses an extra challenge. I can't meet with my fellow like-minded Saudis, discuss our frustrations together, work as a group... there is nothing organized about the Saudi students coming back. I know the few that were with me in university, and a few of my highschool friends who went abroad too, although there weren't that many -- at least not Saudis. In total, in my two years back, I know and have met around ... 10 Saudis who studied abroad and recently came back, including myself.

And, while we don't meet together as a group or anything (imagine it, a club: 'Returned Saudis' !!), it's safe to say there is a generally mutual feeling of frustration, hoplessness and of giving-up. Most of us don't speak-up (whether in actions or words) because it is just so uncommon, and discouraged, around here for one to stick out, and those of us who do (or try) are muffled by the crowds. Our topics of conversation have changed from exciting ideas and possibilities and inspiring one another to managing our expectations, controlling our frustrations and just generally 'getting by.'

It saddens me to say it. It really does. But just like there is a group of moderate Saudis, of Saudis who believe in rights... etc, who remain silent out of fear or just as a way of conforming and 'fitting in' (the never-ending quest!), it frightens me to think that this 'wave' of Saudis that are expected to bring hope, change and new things to the country will do just that, in response to an environment that isn't so happy to welcome them.

This blog is really my attempt to break out of that and to give myself something to hope for. If nowhere else, than at least with myself: that I won't get too comfortable and complacent, too hopeless, too tired to keep up the struggle I feel we owe it to the Saudis who didn't get our opportunities, and couldn't see how things could, someday, be.

Uneven movement...

It has generally been my concern that with Saudi Arabia, as with many countries that try to develop and change from the status quo, these steps are taken unevenly. Legislation and government decrees that are uneven aside, many people may not be up for reform. This would suggest that it is too soon for certains steps, whereas for other segments of society, it would be moving too slowly.



This is a pretty universal problem, I think, and one that is usually made more confusing when different authorities (for lack of a better word) aren't quite on the same footing. Disagreement, I believe, is healthy and natural, and is part of being diverse, which Saudi Arabian clearly is. These two articles that I'm about to post clearly indicate just how wide the range of opinions is on what 'should be' ...



Hardline Saudi clerics urge TV ban on women, music



Saudi rights group criticize religious police



In the first article, a group of Saudi clerics urged Abedlaziz Al-Khoja, the newly appointed information minister, to ban women from appear on TV and music. They believe that reforms should be made towards more conservatism and rigidity in the country, and are eager to influence and encourage the new minister to take steps that they feel the previous one never should have in allowing women to appear on television.

The second article is in a totally different direction altogether, where Saudi rights groups, which have been given more room by the government in recent years, criticize the religious police, which are also under government authority.

I believe that debate and disagreement can be healthy if it is done correctly and a multitude of different views learn to coexist together. But it takes a system, and a society, that can handle disagreement for it to be healthy. Is this what is happening, though? I'm not sure...

Social experiment on discrimination in the US

Alright, so I know I should be posting about other things (that I hope I will get to), but I came across this video and thought I should share it... I know it's more about being American than it is about being Arab or Muslim, but it's still an interesting peice and really worth the watch.

First see this one, to explain a little bit...



And then this one...

The passion for those who defended her (note that both the clerk and the mutahajiba are actors) really moved me...

Riyadh book fair

I am really truly saddened that I won't be able to make it this week to Riyadh's Book Fair. I know this now, Thursday evening, when the book fair finishes Friday. I just get so excited, thinking about what it is that people are reading... What they are writing... Who is reading and who is writing... And, especially, to feel that there ARE people doing both, makes me feel tremendously excited, and relieved.

After reading this article, I'm even more sorry that I can't make it. It is true, more and more people are writing books, and while many may not be Dickens or Najib Mahfouz, there is a sense that everybody has a story to tell, and that they can tell it (and it will be heard).

'Trashy novels' or not, I think it is great that more and more people are writing. I read the Girls of Riyadh, which the article says started the fad of 'anyone writing a book,' and while it isn't classical literature, it definitely moved people and inspired them. Isn't that enough of a qualification for it to command some respect and place in the Saudi literary movement?

And I think it should be encouraged, that people writing about their experiences or the experiences of those around them has a whole load of benefits. Sure, the 'quality' of the writing may not be up-to-par with the classical Saudi writers: their thoughts may not be as developed, nor their characters or conflicts. Many may just choose subjects or stories that would shock the reader, and find that to be the appeal and point. However, that they are picking up a pen or typing on a keyboard shows that the literary scene is changing in Saudi Arabia: it is not longer meant for just a small, esoteric group of people -- generally, those who were upper-middle class, who could afford education and had time to follow entire literary and thought movements. This current trend appeals to more people, with many different circumstances and backgrounds, and it is creating a sort of 'dialogue' that didn't exist before about everyday issues in KSA -- and involving more people in that dialogue.

I personally think this is great. And whether this will last or not, I can't tell, but at the very least it's a form of transparency in the country and 'civil community,' and, if nothing else, it would have opened more people to reading the classical writers than before.

Freedom of the press?!

Just received this in a forward that I'd like to share...

Al-Hayat and Al-Madina (p. 36) reported that the Shoura Council has denied access to several journalists because they "failed to comply" with what the council wants published. Al-Hayat (pg.1&12) noted that its reporter Riyadh Al-Musalim was denied access to the council because he published a feature that said in part that new Shoura members were attended by servants bearing coffee.

My commentary: We know there isn't much 'Freedom of the press' or 'Freedom of speech' in KSA, but this really just goes to show you one thing: where the limits are, and when you are clearly crossing a line, is anybody's guess. That lack of transparency about what policy is, even, is really dangerous — and unfair.

A story of corporal punishment

I took advantage of a rare fifteen minutes to myself (that coincided with Blogger working!) to read this article on the Arab News website about the need to prohibit corporal punishment for children.

The article is breif, considering the breadth of the topic (it's possible that more has been published on it since the call to ban corporal punishment came as part of the ISPCAN conference on Child Protection) and only touches lightly on what is a very serious issue. I'm disturbed by this quote: "Adults should know the mental and physical agony of children who receive bodily punishment in the presence of others" as it suggests that physical abuse done in private is O.K., and it doesn't recognize that verbal abuse is abuse, too.

Anyway, it's a serious issue and one that deserves an extended peice on it. However, I want to discuss my personal experience with corporal punishment at school and whatever light that might shed on children and their perception of their rights.

We were first-graders, and I had just moved into the school. It was my first experience in a Saudi private school, as I had spent my previous school-years in the States while my parents completed their studies. My Arabic wasn't the best, and I was reluctant to join this school with it's all-Arabic curriculum. However, I was told that it was amongst the best schools around and that the First Grade teacher knew of my challenges with the language and was compassionate.

The classroom itself was horribly dull: two black-boards, one infront of us and one behind us, our desks, that formed an incomplete square, with the missing side being the one at the front of the class, and the teacher's desk. By her desk there were two rulers: one short one, about 60 centimeters long, and one much longer one. She used these in the morning to draw lines on the board that she could write on, but was more creative in their uses afterwards.

It was quite typical, actually, for the teacher to use one of the rulers to tap at a word on the board and, when frustrated, tap at the student's shoulder. It was never fun, and it's regularity didn't make it any easier to take. It never, ever felt usual.

However, there was a much more advanced type of punishment that the teacher reserved for one girl: Ashwag. She sat next to me, as we were seated by height, and was particularly nervous. I imagine that we were all frightened and nervous about the prospect of getting hit by a ruler: it stung and would leave a mark for days. And it was humiliating. But Ashwag didn't know how to keep her nervousness in, and when it came her turn to read-out a word or answer a question, she stuttered.

I don't recall how often this happened, but after a few stutters, the teacher would shout at Ashwag to get out of her seat and go to the center of the incomplete square, and told her to kneel. She then would beat her with the ruler on her back. The first few times, Ashwag would yelp or wail, and then she would just cry. The teacher would then have her go back to her seat and continue with the lesson as if nothing had happened, as if Ashwag wasn't crying and as if she hadn't beat her infront of a classroom full of six-year olds, and that Ashwag wasn't one herself.

On one occasion, I remember the teacher had even told Ashwag to strip her vest and shirt infront of us, and beat her on her bare back. I'll never forget the red markings that appeared, one after the other, on Ashwag's back, or the horribly painful look on her face as she cried and still received them. Every time that she came back to sit down was horrible, too: she'd continue to cry, and the teacher would continue with the 'lesson,' and we would follow suite. As if nothing had happened.

It fills me with shame, now, to think of how we let those incidents affect our relationship with Ashwag. We didn't play often with her -- I have more memories of her sitting on her own, eating her lunch, than of her joining us to play tag. I felt bad for her, and so would sometimes ask her to play with us, but was always, always releived when she'd decline. I didn't want to interact with her much, I imagine that not many of the other girls did either, but for me it was a clear perception that I didn't want whatever it was that she 'had' that made her get that special attention to rub off on me. I didn't want it to spread to me. So even when she offered to share lunches with me, as we sat next to each other, I would share mine but never eat from hers. She had the kind of germs that made you get beat up. We made it her fault.

Unlike most of what you would hear about kids who get abused or witness it, we told our parents. We told adults in school, we told whoever would pretend to listen. Nobody believed us. Or if they did, they didn't do anything. My parents thought I was having difficulty adjusting to the new school and was looking for a way out of the school that I hated. The teacher was also incredibly nice to our parents, and to anybody outside of the classroom. We eventually finished with First Grade, all of us anxious, nervous and guilty wrecks, and Ashwag never came back for Second Grade. I saw her once in a car a few years later, in what looked like pajammas. I heard she was homeschooled.

As for the teacher, she was kicked out of the school five years later. We were told she was caught mid-beating when the principal came in, but I can't confirm it. In any case, that is at least 5 more classes of traumatized children, and 5 more potential stories like Ashwag's.