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Women, the State, and Political Liberalization: Middle Eastern and North African Experiences
Laurie A. Brand
1998
8. Citoyennes à Part Entière?
When asked in which Arab or Islamic country women’s legal status is most advanced, Arab women are virtually unanimous in naming Tunisia. The discussion of women’s rights in this chapter makes clear that such an evaluation is to a large extent true, thanks primarily to the promulgation of the Code du Statut Personnel (CSP) in 1956. However, the process by which Tunisian women have secured and maintained their rights has less to do with a broad-based and activist women’s movement (which has never existed) than to decisions from above intended to promote a socioeconomic program or consolidate control. In Tunisia a clear program on and for women has long been an explicit part of state policy.
A Brief History of the Women’s Movement
The first women’s organization formally established in Tunisia was the Union Musulmane des Femmes de Tunisie (UMFT), established in 1936 and primarily concerned with women’s education. (While It was followed by the establishment of a women’s section in the Association des Jeunes Musulmans in 1944 and by the Club de la Jeune Fille Tunisienne in 1954, the UMFT has remained the most important of the three.) Its members, although of a religious orientation, shared many of the ideas of the famous Islamic jurist and reformer Tahar Haddad. His book, Notre Femme dans la Loi et dans la Société, which appeared in 1930, was the first Tunisian tract to deal seriously with the renewal of Islamic law and, in particular, to call for the abolition of polygamy and for the institution of judicial divorce.
The next major women’s organization to emerge was the Union des Femmes de Tunisie (UFT) (and subsequently the affiliated Union des Jeunes Filles de Tunisie), founded by women from the Tunisian Communist Party (PCT), who placed more emphasis on social issues and labor organizing. The membership, including most of the leadership, especially outside of Tunis, was largely European. 1 However, as time passed, the PCT took on an increasingly nationalist cast. As a result many of the French women left, so that the UFT membership became increasingly Tunisian. At the same time, the UFT further developed its social program and then moved on to support the victims of the anti-colonial struggle. Its numerous activities notwithstanding, its presence and work remained marginal due to the class background of its members and the ethnicity of its founders. 2
The national movement devoted no attention to women’s issues nor did it carry out a serious examination of the condition of women until late in its development. 3 As in other anti-colonial struggles, to the extent that “the woman question” was considered, it was viewed by many as better postponed until after liberation. If anything, men of various ideological stripes sought to control the women’s groups. (According to testimony, Bourguiba attended most of the UMFT meetings to coordinate national resistance.) 4 Once independence was achieved, however, the new state began the process of harnessing popular activity. A new women’s organization, the UNFT (Union Nationale des Femmes de Tunisie), was established in 1958 through a fusion of the women’s cells of Bourguiba’s Neo-Destour party and the UMFT. Yet Bechira Ben Mrad, the woman who had served as president of the UMFT for twenty years, was in effect pushed out, humiliated by being offered an undistinguished place in the new union. Similarly, between 1956 and 1959, UFT activities, contacts, and demonstrations diminished. Authorizations for activities were not granted, and the police controlled even the least action. UFT leaders were arrested and interrogated, and, in some cases, their passports were taken away.
The UFT members were then faced with the dilemma of whether to integrate into the UNFT or to boycott it. In the euphoric atmosphere following the liberation, the hopes people had for the new Tunisian state created a reconciliation in the context of a common national project. This spirit led many women to join the UNFT. In general, however, they were quickly disappointed by the rigidity of the organization and its decisionmaking structure. 5 The UFT applied in vain to register with the post-independence government, although it managed to continue its activities until about 1963. One of its last battles was over securing the franchise for Tunisian women. 6 By the early 1960s, the UFT (as well as the PCT) were closed.
Concomitant with the early process of unifying women’s activity within one structure was Bourguiba’s promulgation of a series of laws, most part of the CSP, aimed at upgrading women’s status. It should be stressed that his policies on women were but one part of a broader strategy by which he sought to set Tunisia on the road to “modernization.” Bourguiba came to refer to himself (and others to him) as the Liberator of Tunisian Women, proclaiming proudly that he had spared Tunisian women from having to join these battles themselves. However, by freeing them from subjection to a range of archaic practices, he established his own tutelage over them. Women’s subordination to Bourguiba was clear in his behavior at the UNFT congresses, which he opened with speeches containing his directives, all of which subsequently were incorporated into the union’s action plans. 7
The UNFT was only one of the constituent structures of Bourguiba’s one-party state, a monolithic entity that attempted, through a series of these subordinate institutions, to channel (and control) popular political participation. Most fundamentally, membership in the UNFT required prior membership in the PSD. Beyond that, the most basic UNFT structure was that of sections, with local and regional delegations respectively above them. The UNFT also had a youth branch, al-Shabibah al-Tunisiyyah, membership in which was open to those 14&-;25, but which had virtually no appeal among university-age women. A national council brought the UNFT regional delegates together for periodic meetings, but the union was capped by an executive committee, each member of which headed a functional committee such as administration, finance, or rules. Regional and local delegates were not so much elected from the base as selected by the leadership. Likewise, all activities were determined by directives from above. This heavy centralization of activity and top-down approach to decisionmaking meant that the UNFT was controlled by a small group of women who were also PSD faithful, close to the president. 8 The union’s president was regularly a member of the National Assembly and, later, of the Political Bureau of the PSD.
While the UNFT regularly underlined the areas in which women still lagged behind men or suffered discrimination, the union almost never initiated proposals for concrete changes. Its primary task was to implement state policy. Thus, it must be seen as complicit in endorsing the policies regarding and the pressures upon Tunisian women. 9 Some of its more notable campaigns came in the 1960s against visits and offerings to marabouts (saints), and against the increase in dowry levels, both of which were considered contrary to the socialist goals of post-independence Tunisia. 10 There was also a major literacy campaign in the 1960s and, beginning in 1973, a campaign to address the condition of rural women. 11
The UNFT was also the state’s designated mechanism to engender awareness among women of Bourguiba’s projects and expectations. 12 The primary goal of state policy (and, therefore, the UNFT’s approach) toward women was to achieve a “proper balance” between women’s efficient participation in the economic life of the country and a healthy and harmonious family life. 13 In Bourguiba’s view, the maintenance of the strength of the family (traditional family) unit was key to social harmony, and a basis of progress. Education was central and work outside the home was also fundamental, but were not to interfere with a woman’s primary role in the home. 14 The rights she had been given were to enable her better to fulfill her responsibilities toward her family and by extension toward society and the state.
Even bearing in mind the negative aspects of this kind of state feminism, one should not underestimate the importance of the reforms Bourguiba introduced. In the mid-1990s, most Arab/Muslim women continue to be exposed to the problems that Bourguiba’s reforms of forty years ago addressed, especially the questions of judicial review of divorce and polygamy. Had other Arab or Islamic states followed suit by issuing similar reforms, the perception may not have been the same. But they did not, and whatever one may say today about Bourguiba’s goals or the need for additional reforms of the CSP, a number of Bourguiba’s reforms have had a very positive long-term impact.
Nevertheless, admiration for Bourguiba did not necessarily translate into joining the UNFT; indeed, women tended to join for reasons related to ambition—belonging to the party and the union could only be viewed positively by the relevant powers—or because of the services the union offered. A typical UNFT member was a woman of middle class or more modest means. (Upper class Tunisian women generally had little desire to be involved in political work.) 15 Hence, the tie between the UNFT and its “troupes” was largely based on clientelism, established in the framework of assistance campaigns among poor women who generally saw the union as little more than a department charged with popular assistance. 16 Chater’s 1992 study provides a sample of opinions of the UNFT. Women’s evaluations range from charging the union with complete absence from meaningful social work, to admitting to having joined it because it facilitated job-related contacts with local authorities. 17 In addition, however, one of the negative consequences of the UNFT’s devotion to the party and the state’s program of modernization was that the leadership, who were themselves in effect dictated to by the state, then projected their own lack of power onto those who were less empowered than they. If one reads the charters adopted at the first three UNFT congresses, one has the sense that the union was addressing itself to handicapped and immature youngsters in whom it had to instill an awareness of obligations. 18 Having said that, there is no question of the reach of the UNFT. Its offices were to be found throughout the country. According to official statistics (which should be viewed with some skepticism) from some 13,881 in 1960, its ranks grew to 38,821 in 1969, fell to 26,008 in 1972, but climbed to 57,000 in 1980 and 70,000 in 1984. 19
The union did pass through several distinct phases, and it is worth reviewing them briefly. In 1970, under its president since 1958, Radhia Haddad (a niece of the president’s and his choice to run the union), the UNFT initiated a campaign to introduce additional changes into the CSP. Haddad, although neither feminist nor revolutionary, nonetheless saw room for ameliorating the CSP. Yet, despite her close relationship to the president, he quickly quashed her efforts. And this was only the beginning of Bourguiba’s problems with Haddad, for in 1971, she was among those members of the liberal wing of the PSD who opposed him on the question of his designation (rather than party election) of the members of the PSD’s political bureau. The defeat of this liberalizing attempt within the party meant her ouster from it and, as a result, the termination of her term as president of the UNFT on March 8, 1972. More serious, her passport was withdrawn, her parliamentary immunity was lifted, and she was prosecuted, fined, and given a suspended sentence. 20
After a brief interregnum, in 1973 Fathia Mzali, PSD party activist and wife of then Minister of Education Muhammad Mzali, became UNFT president, a post she held until 1986. A woman of great energy as well as ambition, respected by some, resented by others, 21 Mzali developed the organization into her own fiefdom. Although different accounts credit both Haddad and Mzali for attempts at invigorating the union—Haddad in 1970 and Mzali beginning in 1975— 22 in 1978, Mzali admitted that the union had at least one major problem: “We still do not know if the UNFT is supposed to be primarily involved in politics or economics, if it is supposed to defend the rights of women or if it should devote itself solely to social work.” 23
During her tenure, especially after the energizing effect of the 1975 UN Conference on Women, Mzali did make a number of suggestions for policy initiatives. In general terms, the union began to call upon women to become more involved. UNFT activists also participated in discussions of the sixth development plan, with the goal of introducing into it a plan of action dedicated to women. The union then began to show greater and greater interest in organizing national, regional, and international seminars and meetings as well as in publishing studies on the condition of Tunisian women. 24
It also launched discussions aimed at securing more governmental leadership positions for UNFT activists. For example, in 1979, in order to increase female representation in parliament, the UNFT proposed an amendment to the electoral law to provide for a quota of seats for women. In 1982 Mzali recommended that a ministry be created to take charge of the “women question.” 25 In 1983, in an attempt to attract women to whom the UNFT had not generally appealed (intellectuals), Mzali announced the founding of what were called rabitat (leagues, alliances, in French). Each rabitah focused on a particular profession, such as legal careers, education, and the like, and one did not need to be a member of the UNFT or the PSD to join. While not overwhelming successes, they did serve to capture the imagination and interest of some intelligent and energetic women.
In November 1983, Bourguiba named Mzali to the cabinet: she was the first woman to serve as a minister, and was charged with founding and developing a completely new ministry, that of the Family and the Promotion of Women. However, Mzali did not step down as head of the UNFT following her cabinet appointment, and the whole incident only further underlined the lack of separation among the state, party, and national organizations. Her appointment as minister, not surprisingly, did nothing to invigorate the UNFT. If anything, it led to further stagnation as she became more and more involved in activities outside it.
In the meantime, however, the beginnings of an independent women’s grouping had already begun to take root. Generally educators and intellectuals of a leftist bent, these women began to meet in small but growing sessions in late 1978. Because they coalesced during the first liberalization period, the story of their development is one of the cases considered in the next chapter.
Women in Tunisian Law
The discussion below divides the development of Tunisian women’s status into several stages: the institution of the CSP in 1956 along with several other pieces of early legislation; the revision of the CSP in 1981; and the revision of the CSP and other legislation related to women in 1993. These sections review and analyze the actual revisions. The next chapter analyzes the changes of 1981 and 1993 against the backdrop of their relationship to the liberalization process.
As noted above, Tunisia is best known for the CSP promulgated beginning on August 13, 1956, which came to be celebrated as Women’s Day in the republic. Originally applicable only to Muslims, it was extended to all Tunisians the following month, thereby putting an end to religious jurisdiction over certain legal matters. In the first place, the Code set a minimum marriage age for men and women: 20 and 17 years respectively. Below these ages, special authorization is needed from the court. Second is the stipulation that a woman cannot be married except with her consent, thus ending the right of a woman’s guardian/tutor to force her to marry against her will. In addition, a woman who has reached the age of majority, 17 years, need not have a guardian represent her at her marriage. Previously, a woman was a minor until married (no matter at what age that occurred) and had to have a male guardian represent her at the writing of her marriage contract. Perhaps most notable, polygamy is forbidden and is punishable by a fine and imprisonment, according to the CSP.
Just as important, divorce, which in some Islamic countries can (or at least at the time could be) accomplished by a simple formula of repudiation (with or without the woman’s knowledge), was made more difficult as the CSP made divorce a matter to be administered by the courts. According to the CSP, a divorce cannot be granted until there have been attempts at reconciliation. Moreover, there are three kinds of divorce: by mutual consent; divorce for cause, which can be demanded by either partner, and for reasons specified in the CSP (which are not equal for men and women, although there is a great degree of judicial discretion); and divorce abusif—for which one need not give reasons specified in law and for which both partners have the same right to file. Nonetheless, some judges continue to have difficulty accepting the idea that a woman may initiate a divorce and, therefore, in practice, it remains more difficult for a woman than a man to do so. 26
The Code also gave women full legal capacity in the realm of contracts, something they had not had before. Nonetheless, two of these articles were in contradiction with other laws: article 803 which forbids a married woman to engage her services without her husband’s permission and permits him to void a contract; and article 1481, which restricts a woman’s disposition of her belongings. Perhaps the most objectionable part of the CSP in the view of women activists was that the husband was required to pay a dowry to the woman and take care of her material needs in exchange for her duty to manage the house obediently and submissively. There are also unequal requirements regarding cohabitation: the woman is required to live with her husband, but the husband is obliged only to provide material support. 27 Nevertheless, the positive elements of the CSP should be clear. Through these changes, a woman was given greater sovereignty over herself and her future, and the institution of the family was strengthened by removing from a woman’s concerns the threat that her husband might take another wife or divorce her unilaterally.
Another revolutionary part of Tunisian law affecting women concerns the state’s support for voluntary family planning. A family planning program was instituted in 1961, and the importation and selling of contraceptives was legalized. Moreover, having large families was discouraged by the termination of family allocations for children born after the fourth child. Beginning in 1970 a “contraception prize” was awarded each year to the governorate that had converted the largest number of women to contraceptive use. From a level of 7.7 children in 1966, the fertility level dropped to 5.8 in 1975 and 3.34 in 1991, the lowest in the Islamic world. By 1990, 55 percent of women were using contraceptives. 28 Even more revolutionary, and again setting Tunisia well apart from other Arab and Islamic countries, abortion was legalized (with certain conditions) in 1965 and was made completely legal in 1973 at the same time that the National Office of Family Planning, charged with increasing the diffusion of contraceptives, was created.
Education was another key part of Bourguiba’s modernizing program. Women in Tunisia have the right to an education, even if school texts continue to depict women in negative or traditional ways. The proportion of girls in primary education facilities was 51 percent in 1975 (with boys at 77 percent) and 82 percent in 1994 (versus 88 percent for boys). As for enrollment in secondary school, the proportions were 32.4 percent in 1975 and 47.2 percent in 1993. The main problem continues to be dropout rates for girls in the 10–14 age group, especially in rural areas. In 1966, illiteracy stood at 53.9 percent among males and 82.4 percent among females. In 1989, the rates had dropped to 26.4 percent and 48.3 percent, respectively. 29
The right to work has also been critical. 30 The proportion of women in the active (formal) workforce jumped from 6.2 percent in 1966 to 19.5 percent in 1989 (having reached a high of 21.7 percent in 1984). Despite the rise in percentages, however, unemployment among women has also grown markedly, from 11 percent in 1984 to 20.9 percent in 1989. In terms of sectors, women are concentrated in agriculture (as seasonal, day, or family workers), administration and services, and industrial manufacturing establishments (especially textiles and leather). 31 According to the law, women have the right to work without discrimination in access or salary, except in the cases of certain jobs which are off-limits as a way of “protecting” them. (This protection, however, as we have seen in the cases of Jordan and Morocco, puts women in a category of physically and morally inferior beings.) Women’s rights to maternity leave also have positive and negative aspects, for while the law protects their jobs, it also stresses their role as mothers and, at least implicitly, casts aspersions on the seriousness or importance of their participation in the work force. The law continues implicitly to support the idea that women are expected to carry out their work functions in a way that does not interfere with their primary duties, those of wife and mother. 32
As for other legislation, although in principle the marriage of a Tunisian woman with a non-Muslim is not forbidden, in practice it is, and in this respect Tunisian practice conforms to that of other Arab states. The problem may be overcome by the man’s conversion; however, while this was once a mere formality, it has become more difficult with the imposition of a probationary stage during which the potential convert must take an exam to test his knowledge of Islam. Discrimination is also clear in the realm of nationality law. It is much easier for the wife of Tunisian man to become Tunisian than for the husband of a Tunisian woman to do so. In addition, and not surprisingly, before the 1993 amendments to the CSP, a Tunisian woman could not give her nationality to her children, unless they were born in Tunisia of a non-Tunisian father or if the father was unknown. A child born abroad had to wait until s/he came of age and then make a special request. If there was no opposition, nationality was granted by presidential decree. 33
In the case of the criminal code regarding adultery, a man who catches his wife in the act and murders her (or her partner) is subject to only five years of prison. There is no similar provision for a wife who finds her husband in such a situation and acts in the same way. In 1968 the law was changed to make both partners equally liable to be prosecuted for adultery. Prior to this, only the woman could be prosecuted. 34
In the field of entitlements, both working men and women have a right to social security. However, if both spouses are eligible, the family allocation is given to the father. As for retirement, since 1988, women who have three children under the age of 20 or one child with a severe handicap have the right to pension on demand. Prior to that, the law stipulated that women with three children under the age of 15 could benefit from a proportional pension if they had 15 years of service, with the retirement pension delayed until the age of 50. Again, while perhaps a positive change in one sense, as Chamari argues, all of these “laws of protection,” considered as positive discriminatory measures, have served to create a category of problematic workers, costly for the employers, one consequence of which are recruitment policies that discriminate against women. 35
Inheritance, one of the most sensitive areas of law because of the clarity regarding it in the shari‘a, is an area left largely untouched by the CSP. It did, nonetheless, include one important change for women: if the deceased has no living male children, then the female children, not the paternal uncles, receive the entire inheritance. Bourguiba clearly wanted to move farther on this issue. In 1974, saying that he had one last goal to achieve before considering his mission complete, the president attempted to change the shari‘a-based inheritance law according to which a daughter receives one-half the share her brother does. But the opposition he encountered was so great, including within the party and among his own entourage, that he relented. 36
Finally, in the realm of political rights, since 1957 Tunisia women have had the right to vote, just as they enjoy the right to run for election at all levels of government. Indeed, the Tunisian constitution defines all citizens as equal, although it does not specifically bar discrimination on the basis of sex. Tunisian women have pushed for such a change, but the response has always been at best silence: for the state to proclaim explicitly that men and women are equal before the law would call into question the clear definition of different roles for the two sexes that is both implicit and explicit in Islamic law. This is a battle that the Tunisian authorities appear uninterested in joining. Moreover, average Tunisian women, unpoliticized and nonfeminist, are most concerned with their gains in the areas of education, work and contraception.
It should be stressed, in conclusion, that no matter how advanced legislation may be, it is valuable only insofar as it is applied. Tunisian women have been fortunate to live under a set of legal codes that have promoted a number of rights that women elsewhere in the Arab and Islamic world still do not enjoy. Nonetheless, the law is applied in the context of a social system underpinned by a family structure in which women continue to be viewed and treated as unequal or dependent. This de facto inferior status is the basis of much of the discriminatory treatment they continue to suffer. 37
Changes in the CSP: 1981
In November 1980, having learned of the difficult financial situation of some widowed and divorced women, and apparently moved by their stories, Bourguiba called for the first time for a review of the CSP with an eye to making it more equitable, especially in the area of divorce. 38 After study over a period of months by a group of jurists and other specialists, recommendations were made, and in February 1981 the CSP was revised. Several important changes in the area of divorce were introduced. For example, the new provisions gave women the choice between two different systems of compensation: a single payment determined by a judge or a single payment followed by monthly installments based on the woman’s previous standard of living. Second, a system resembling that of community property was introduced to respond to the fact that while more and more women were working outside the home and contributing to the costs of running and furnishing the home, they were often left with nothing at the time of the divorce since immovable property was traditionally registered in the name of the man. While progressive in orientation, both these new provisions triggered criticism as being too favorable to women. In addition, because of existing prejudices, judges have made clear their dislike for the second compensation option 39 and, therefore, generally have not imposed a level of alimony payments that would enable a woman to take care of herself. Some argued that the problem lay, not with the provisions of the existing law, but with judicial interpretation. Therefore, rather than changing the law into one that in effect crystallized the characterization of women as weak or as victims, a campaign should have been initiated to change judges’ attitudes. 40 In any event, despite Bourguiba’s good intentions, divorce continues to place a heavy economic burden on women. 41
Another important change concerned the question of guardianship over children in the case of divorce. Prior to 1981, guardianship was shared by the ex-spouses, whereas the new law gave primacy to the best interest of the child. This has generally meant that the mother is named guardian; but she may lose this status if she remarries, a provision that does not apply to the father. This law also required the ex-wife to choose a place of residence near the ex-husband or else lose her guardianship, thus limiting her freedom of movement. 42
The Changes of 1993 43
The political background to the introduction of the most recent set of CSP changes will be discussed in more detail in the next chapter. Here only a brief summary of the content of the changes is necessary. In early 1992, Ben ‘Ali assembled a commission to review women’s legal status. It submitted its report on August 13, Tunisia’s Women’s Day, and the changes were finally entered into law in 1993. Among the new provisions were the following. As concerned gifts exchanged by an engaged couple, the principle of reciprocity was introduced, so that in the event of the termination of the engagement, each has the right to have his/her presents returned. The same is true in the case of the dissolution of a marriage before its consummation. The idea of reciprocity was further developed in the section on spousal obligations. While the code continues to call the husband the head of the household, the language requiring a wife to obey her husband was replaced with the principle of mutual assistance in running the household, and educating and raising children. The code also added the requirement that a minor’s mother and not just his/her tutor consent in order for him/her to marry. The amendments further stipulated the establishment of a new fund to guarantee a food allowance to divorced women and their children. And, in the field of nationality, a Tunisian woman married to a non-Tunisian now has the right to give her child (born outside Tunisia) Tunisian nationality if the father is in agreement.
In the case of the Labor Law, in which special conditions for salary had been set applying to both women and children (and thus placing them in the same category), the reference to women was removed. In addition, violation of the principle of nondiscrimination in employment was made subject to punishment. In the penal code, a husband who murders his wife after catching her in the act of adultery no longer benefits from special considerations limiting his punishment to five years. On the other hand, in the case of assault, a new provision was added to the effect that if the guilty party is a relative (ascendant) or spouse of the victim, the victim’s withdrawal of the complaint terminates the prosecution/case. Such possibilities often work against women, as family pressure can be brought to bear to force women (or minors) to withdraw suits against older or more powerful (generally male) relatives.
Finally, less striking and earlier in Ben ‘Ali’s presidency, in the realm of education, in 1989 the école de base (6 to 16 years) was instituted, along with a number of social measures intended to reduce inequality in education, especially in rural areas, and to force parents to put their children in school. As a result, women’s presence in all three levels of education has increased. This reform also changed some of the curricular programs and instruction manuals in which new values (liberty, equality, citizenship, responsibility) as well as a more positive image of women were presented. 44
In sum, there is no question that the introduction of the CSP in 1956 has had a deep and positive impact on the status of Tunisian women. The provisions regarding divorce and polygamy are the two most important ones and those most often cited by Tunisian women as having made a difference in their sense of rights and empowerment. So have the state’s emphasis on education for women and upon the right to work outside the home (if within limits), two other aspects of Bourguiba’s (and Ben ‘Ali’s) policies. Having said that, the basic “package” of women’s rights came as a result of initiatives from above. Hence, there is a sense that the president is both liberator and the guarantor of women’s rights. The fact that the policies did not come in response to broad or systematic organizing from within women’s ranks has three serious implications. The first is that Tunisian women have not, by and large, felt responsible for fighting for their rights and hence many simply take them for granted (or at least they did until the Islamist challenge of the late 1980s). The second is that because the rights were granted without struggle and because the state has itself worked to circumscribe civil society organizing, women’s rights and status are subject to the changing considerations of the leadership. Third, there is a feeling among many Tunisians, men and women, that women have already received all their rights and that there is little or nothing left to fight for. Thus, while the CSP has clearly empowered women within certain spheres, the continuing dependence upon the good will or interests of the state undermines this liberation in a broader sense. Average Tunisian women are not concerned with pushing the boundaries of the political/civil empowerment; they seem more interested in the social and economic rights they have already gained.
The Role of External Funders
Before turning to the case examples of relations between Tunisian women and the state in the next chapter, we conclude here with an examination of the role of external funders. Foreign aid and development institutions have been involved in a variety of Tunisian programs, including projects dealing with women, for many years. Projects dealing with rural women, women and development, and women and the environment, although important, are not a central concern of this study. We are interested here in determining which agencies have played a role in supporting projects that may have enabled women and women’s organizations to take advantage of political openings through pushing for changes in laws or in expanding the realm of their activities. A number of foreign institutions, both governmental and nongovernmental, have been in a position to play such a role. An attempt was made to cover some of the institutions that were examined in Morocco and Jordan, in order to put the extent of activity in context. While some of these organizations (USAID, Friedrich Naumann) were active in Tunisia during the period of the first liberalization, the focus by such organizations on women’s rights and political participation, and in particular their emphasis on supporting NGO’s developed only during the second liberalization period. Notable in their absence here are summaries of activities of a variety of UN organizations—FAO, UNDP,UNFPA, and UNICEF—that played a significant role in helping Tunisian women’s groups to prepare for the Beijing conference, whether through assisting in information dissemination, networking, organizing pre-conference activities, or funding participation. They are not included here because, outside the pre-Beijing activity, they have generally not been involved in funding activities that may be viewed as political or activist in nature.
USAID: Although USAID had long had a presence in Tunisia and was in fact involved in supporting family planning efforts in earlier decades, in the 1990s the focus of its work in the women sector shifted. Tunisia was one of the countries designated by USAID as a DII country in 1991. The funding for this initiative was initially appropriated for three years and was then renewed for a fourth. Several interviewees expressed concerns about the aims, coherence, or appropriateness of the programs’ component projects, but that is properly the subject of a broader critique. One thrust of the program was to aid women’s NGO’s in the target countries.
USAID was well-acquainted with the UNFT and indeed had previous experience with some of its top people, such as Faiza Kefi (who became president in 1993), from her time at the Ministry of Planning. They also regarded the UNFT as the most important player among the women’s organizations. 45 In the early 1990s, the UNFT was in search of additional funding and went to AID for possible support. However, the DII required working with NGOs. The UNFT had recently changed its relationship with the PSD-turned RCD from one of complete subsumption to that of having “privileged ties.” The opportunity to obtain funding from USAID led the UNFT to put together the required documentation to be officially classified as an NGO. Once that had been accomplished, it was then eligible for AID monies. Indeed, AID became the UNFT’s most important funder. 46
Among the first projects for which it received AID support was an updated Guide Juridique for Tunisian women (an earlier version of which AID had funded in the 1980s). In 1992, AID provided the funding for studies including an opinion poll on women’s status and a project monitoring women’s image in the media. The results of both of these studies were included in an impressive volume published by the UNFT in 1995 entitled L’image de la Femme dans la Société Tunisienne. AID also sponsored three seminars on “Democracy and Environment,” each of which brought together women municipal counselors, UNFT members, and independent women from particular regions. AID also funded an extensive documentation program for UNFT to enable it to organize and classify its archives. 47
The most high-profile and ambitious project aimed at awareness-raising among women in preparation for the 1995 municipal elections. The first part of the project involved was the production and broadcast of television commercials, or public service announcements, which linked women’s role in the home to their civic role and which encouraged both men and women to vote. The second part involved twenty regional conferences throughout the country on three different topics: women and the city; being a candidate; and voting for women. 48
As part of the Beijing-related activities, AID provided funding to Rihana, a network of ten women’s NGOs working on coordinated participation in the UN conference. AID support enabled Rihana representatives to attend the preparatory conference in Dakkar in November 1994, as well as a number of meetings in Tunisia to educate people regarding the Plan of Action and the position of Tunisian NGOs on it. AID also enabled Rihana to produce a video on its member organizations, two posters, and a brochure on women’s associations in Tunisia, all for Beijing, and it financed five Rihana members’ trips to Beijing. 49
Finally, AID funded two publications by the impressive CREDIF (Centre de Recherche, Etudes, Documentation, et Information sur la Femme), a research center founded by the state: The Legal Status of Tunisian Women: 1993 Reforms and La Femme Tunisienne en Chiffres. However, in summer 1995 AID closed its country operations in Tunisia. It is not clear which organization(s), if any, will step in to fill the gap.
Amideast: 50 One of the requirements attached to some of the AID DII funds mentioned above was that the money be channeled through an American NGO, if possible. As the only American NGO operating in Tunisia, therefore, Amideast found itself in the middle of this initiative. Since one of the foci was women’s rights, Amideast consulted with a women’s study group, Association des Femmes Tunisiennes pour la Recherche sur le Développement (AFTURD, see next chapter) about producing brochures on various aspects of women’s rights—in marriage, work, and divorce. It appears that the project was almost complete when the 1993 changes in the CSP were announced, and the brochures had to be changed. At the time of this research (fall 1995), the project funding had been exhausted, but the brochure had not yet been produced.
As for other activities, Amideast organized a six-country forum in Amman in 1994 aimed at increasing women’s involvement in the political process and in establishing transnational networking. The Tunis office selected and sponsored three women to participate in the meeting: one from AFTURD, one from the independent women’s union ATFD (Association Tunisienne des Femmes Démocrates), and another, a parliamentarian from the Bizerte UNFT cell. The project seemed successful, but foundered on the question of post-conference networking. Tunisia still did not enjoy an extensive computer presence, and the Internet, access to which was highly restricted, was viewed with suspicion, not just by the government, but by many average Tunisians as well. Hence, the most efficient method of remaining in regular contact was not available to Tunisian women.
Part of the DII also targeted human rights. Apparently without knowing about the availability of such funds, the LTDH approached the United States Information Service in spring 1995 with a proposal for funding the purchase of a variety of basic infrastructure that its office lacked: phone, bookshelves, chairs, a photocopy machine, a fax, brochures, even rent. It also requested funds to produce a video on human rights. The decision regarding the proposal was made by the embassy democracy working group, which did appropriate some funds for a brochure, for a cassette on human rights for children, and for a video on human rights for adults, but the equipment requests were turned down. Instead nearly half the funds (some $80,000) were designated to send a group of LTDH members to the United States for a special International Visitor program. As an organization under siege by the state and one that relies on members’ contributions to remain open, the LTDH was reportedly less than enthused about the allocation decision.
friedrich naumann stiftung: 51 This development organization associated with the German Social Democratic Party has been active in Tunisia since the mid-1960s. Its primary activities in the country in the 1990s have been with women and the media. In the case of women, its primary partner is CREDIF. In the case of the media, its partner is also governmental, the Centre Africain pour le Perfectionnement des Journalistes Communicateurs. While in recent years Naumann has funded some activities of the Association Tunisienne des Femmes Démocrates (ATFD) in general it has not chosen to work with NGOs.
The fact that Naumann, which has a policy preference for working with NGOs, has most often chosen governmental partners in Tunisia, is explained by several factors. One is the absorptive and administrative capacities of the NGOs. Often they are too small and have few concrete ideas about what they want to accomplish. Government organizations, on the other hand, at least in Tunisia, know what they want and are capable of absorbing the assistance. Just as important is the question of the political climate. One event Naumann had scheduled with the ATFD was not held because the hotel canceled the room, presumably owing to state pressures. Such things happen periodically in Tunisia, especially to those NGOs which try to sponsor activities of a political nature.
Agence Canadienne du Développement Internationale (ACDI): 52
The Canadians do not have any projects that deal specifically with women; however, since 1991 Canadian development policy has attempted to ensure that women are adequately represented among those served by its projects. The ACDI does not have any directly political programs nor any dealing with human rights. It was their evaluation at the time of this research that the atmosphere in the country was not appropriate for such activities. They do have a long history with the ATFD and have financed the ATFD’s violence hotline and violence advice center. They also funded the participation of one ATFD member in the Beijing conference. However, their most important or showpiece funding project is CREDIF, which was slated for renewal in 1996. This money is part of a bilateral Tunisian-Canadian agreement that specifies CREDIF as the recipient, but allows the research organization a great deal of flexibility in its use of the money.
Evaluation
There is no question that Tunisia in some ways offers a very fertile climate for external support of women’s activities. But the question is, which women’s activities and to what end? There is little problem promoting women in development projects: the state has constructed its image as enlightened (if respectful of tradition) and developmentalist. The problem arises when one tries to formulate programs that would further empower women. This is a project that the Tunisian state has, with only brief intervals, appropriated to itself. It has defined the parameters of citizenship and of women’s contribution. As Tunisian society moved into the second half of the 1990s, the realm for the exercise of meaningful citizenship—by men or women—had perhaps never been smaller. In such an atmosphere, it is virtually impossible for external funders to play a significant role in supporting women’s efforts to shape the state’s agenda toward them, or toward anything else, for that matter. An activist, repressive state leaves little or no room for such activity.
Through the brief review above, one cannot but be struck by the lack of any meaningful political opening in the country and the degree to which this has constrained, if not straitjacketed, the activities of this selection of aid agencies. The contrast with the possibilities for involvement in Morocco or Jordan should be striking. Human rights education and women’s consciousness raising regarding their legal rights have been possible only on the margins in Tunisia of the 1990s. In Morocco and Jordan such programs were in effect the precursors of greater state flexibility on and civil society involvement in these issues. Not so in Tunisia.
One of the problems, clearly, is the weakness of NGOs. Although theoretically they are supposed to be more flexible than government organizations, on the other hand, particularly in developing world contexts, they suffer from institutional and personnel weaknesses (they may in fact be only one or a handful of people). This is a particular problem in a country like Tunisia, which for so long insisted upon a monopoly on “civil society activity” by state corporatist formations such as the UNFT. The preexisting weakness on the one hand, combined with the continuing authoritarian nature of the regime on the other, make it very difficult for NGOs with anything resembling a political program (like the ATFD) to grow stronger.
Some organizations are established simply because funding is available for a particular purpose and because organizations, such as the European Union, will give money only to NGOs. They are not really grassroots organizations in the traditional sense, arising from local initiative and need, and, therefore, may have only short existences. More dangerous than the fly-by-night phenomenon, however, is the growth of governmental NGOs, reminiscent of the RONGOs in Jordan: organizations that are closely affiliated with the government in terms of funding or personnel, but that carry out the kinds of grassroots activities associated with NGOs. 53 Indeed, the emergence of organizations such as CREDIF or the reclassification of others such as the UNFT as an NGO are only two Tunisian examples of what is a much broader phenomenon in states in which the appearance and the “financial attraction” power of an NGO is created against the backdrop of little or no desire on the part of the state to relinquish power.
Finally, while donors clearly prefer working with some of the NGOs, beyond the question of absorptive capacity is the question of reach. It is undeniable that if one wants to reach a large number of Tunisian women, the organization that has the structure and cadres in place is the UNFT. Indeed, some women argue that like it or not, these are the women who count, the ones who will make a difference if, indeed, anyone can. One finds women who have joined the UNFT or decided to work with it precisely for this reason: the only way change can come in the present atmosphere is by working with the government. By trying to work outside, one is doomed to marginality at best, suppression at worst. This applies to external funders as well, who generally are not interested in spending their money on projects of highly limited impact. Of course, there are those who argue that by working with an organization as closely associated with the state as is the UNFT, the external funder is really hurting women and that it is better to stay outside or stay away. 54 The jury remains out and the debate will continue over whether by funding projects that strengthen an organization like the UNFT, the foreign aid agencies may in fact be laying the foundations for a future empowerment of women or are in fact helping to further consolidate and reinforce an authoritarian regime—a direct contradiction of their espoused goal of promoting civil and human rights.
Endnotes
Note 1: Ilhem Marzouki, Le Mouvement des Femmes en Tunisie au XXème siècle (Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, 1993), pp. 89, 96–97 (hereafter cited as Marzouki), and 108. This section relies heavily on Marzouki’s work because it is the most comprehensive. The only other full treatment of which I am aware, and which I cite on several occasions below (as Daoud), is that of Zakya Daoud, Féminisme et Politique au Maghreb (Casablanca: Editions Eddif, 1993). Unfortunately, I have discovered a number of errors in this work of Daoud’s, leading me to a more cautious use of it. Back.
Note 2: Marzouki, p. 139. Back.
Note 6: Ibid. p. 139–140. Back.
Note 8: Samya El-Mechal, “Femmes et Pouvoir en Tunisie,” Les Temps Modernes, no. 436 (November 1982), p. 983. Back.
Note 10: Marzouki, p. 189. Back.
Note 12: Marzouki, p. 187. Back.
Note 15: Susan E. Waltz, “Another View of Feminine Networks: Tunisian Women and the Development of Political Efficacy,” International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 22 (1990), pp. 30–31. Back.
Note 16: Marzouki, p. 205. Back.
Note 17: Souad Chater, Les Emancipées du Harem: regard sur la femme tunisienne (Tunis: Editions La Presse, 1992), pp. 173–78. Back.
Note 18: Marzouki, p. 170. Back.
Note 19: Ibid. pp. 201–2. Back.
Note 21: This was clear in my interviews, a full decade after Fathia Mzali’s political demise. Back.
Note 22: Daoud, p. 69; Marzouki, p. 183. Back.
Note 23: Marzouki, p. 186. My translation. Back.
Note 24: Ibid., pp. 184 and 192. Back.
Note 26: Mounira Charrad, “Repudiation versus Divorce: Responses to State Policy in Tunisia,” (hereafter cited as Charrard) in Esther N. Chow and Catherine W. Berheide (eds.), Women, The Family and Policy: A Global Perspective (Albany: SUNY Press, 1994), pp. 56, 59, 65–66. Back.
Note 27: Alia Cherif Chamari, La Femme et La Loi en Tunisie (Casablanca: Editions Le Fennec, 1991), (hereafter cited as Chamari) pp. 45, 47, 52–53. Back.
Note 28: CREDIF, Femmes de Tunisie: Situation et perspectives (Tunis: SIMPACT, 1994), p. 15. Back.
Note 29: Ibid. pp. 64, 74, 77. Back.
Note 30: Marzouki, p. 249. Back.
Note 31: CREDIF, pp. 134, 137, 144–148. Back.
Note 33: Chamari, p. 117. Back.
Note 34: Ibid., pp. 47, 120–21. Back.
Note 35: CREDIF, pp. 103–104. Back.
Note 36: Sophie Bessis and Souhayr Belhassan, Femmes du Maghreb: l’enjeu (Casablanca: Editions Eddif, 1992), p. 101. Back.
Note 38: For a full discussion of the issues involved in the 1981 CSP changes, see the next chapter. Back.
Note 39: Chamari, pp. 67–68. Back.
Note 40: See the interventions of lawyer Fathia Bahri in “Amendement du code du statut personnel,” Le Maghreb, April 11, 1981, p. 37. Back.
Note 41: Charrad, p. 60. Back.
Note 42: Chamari, p. 70. Back.
Note 43: This section is taken largely from the pamphlet by CREDIF for the Ministry for Women and the Family entitled, “The Legal Status of Women: 1993 Reforms.” Back.
Note 44: Jeune Afrique, July 13, 1995. Back.
Note 45: Interview with David Painter, AID, Bureau of Urban Development, in Tunis, October 12, 1995. Back.
Note 46: Interview with Radhia Riza, former vice-president of the UNFT, in Tunis, November 9, 1995. Back.
Note 47: UNFT, “Rapport Général sur les Projets Financés dans le cadre du programme de coopération avec USAID, 1995.” Back.
Note 48: Ibid. It is interesting, and probably instructive, that in the UNFT’s journal’s article on these activities, no mention was made of USAID funding. See Femme, March–April 1995. Back.
Note 49: “Rapport sur les activités du Reseau Rihana, 95,” September 27, 1995. Back.
Note 50: This section is based on my interview with Jim Coffman, Director, Amideast, Tunis, in Tunis, November 8, 1995. Back.
Note 51: This section is based on my interview with Gabriele Noack-Spaeth, permanent representative of the Friedrich Naumann Foundation, in Tunis, November 10, 1995. Back.
Note 52: This section is based on my interview with Rym Ben Halima, coordinator, ACDI, in Tunis, November 10, 1995. Back.
Note 53: Noack-Spaeth interview. Back.
Note 54: Coffman interview. Back.
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