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Women, the State, and Political Liberalization: Middle Eastern and North African Experiences
Laurie A. Brand
1998
Introduction
In 1989, the eyes of the world were fixed on Eastern Europe as the Berlin wall came down, and new leaderships promising greater political economic freedoms gradually took the reins of power. The events in Eastern Europe have been the most recent, and most striking, in what has been called the third wave 1 of transitions from authoritarianism, which began in the 1970s in southern Europe and Latin America. 2 Less noted in the press, but no less significant, by 1989 similar developments had also begun to unfold south and east of the Mediterranean. The first in a series of dramatic developments 3 was the ouster of Tunisia’s President Bourguiba in November 1987, followed a month later by the beginning of the Palestinian intifada. Subsequently, a number of Arab regimes, incapable of coping with growing problems of debt, unemployment, and corruption began to give way to successor regimes (or leaderships) that promised economic reforms and greater political freedom.
Although the number of works dealing with Middle East/North Africa (MENA) cases is quite small, a plethora of literature has been produced on the transitions elsewhere. Such issues as timing and sequences of changes, the relationship between economic and political reforms during the transitions, and proper construction of new institutions so as to underpin or reinforce the desired democratic outcome have all been explored. 4 While this literature has examined the pitfalls and the problems, few works fall outside a framework implicitly assuming a relatively—if not equally—positive political outcome for all, with the possible exception of the oppressors of the previous regimes.
Yet history has shown that periods of regime change can be perilous times, even when the change is in the direction of politically more liberal systems. The discourse and many of the actions of the new or “reformed” regimes do promise greater respect for human and civil rights. However, political liberalizations, like other forms of regime or political change, must be understood as having the potential to produce not only winners, but also losers: sectors that are, in one way or another, hurt by or in the course of the transformation. If one moves from the general studies of political transitions to those that focus on or at least consider women, the cases begin to resemble those of the literature on economic transitions, for they document a range of ways in which political transitions may pose dangers. Such phenomena as the drop in the number of women legislators in local and national assemblies, changes in labor laws or their implementation at women’s expense, and attempts to restrict women’s reproductive rights have accompanied most of the “democratic” transitions unfolding in Eastern Europe. In the MENA region, developments in a number of the countries that embarked on liberalization paths also constituted threats to women’s status, and in some cases, such as Algeria, their lives.
Evidence of potential or real threats to women inherent in regime change is abundant. If one takes revolutions, the most extreme form of regime change, one finds for example that the French Revolution, while producing the famous “Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen” in August 1789, omitted any reference to the rights of women. Indeed, women’s revolutionary activity apparently led the men of the revolution to conclude that the female masses were a force capable of disrupting the state, and eventually to draw “a dividing line between the public and private spheres which women were not allowed to cross.” The Napoleonic Civil Code finally inscribed women’s inferior status into law. 5 More recently, the Iranian revolution’s negative impact on various aspects of women’s status, particularly during the Khomeini years, has been widely discussed, 6 while the Taliban’s successes in Afghanistan have led to the banning of education for women and girls and women’s dismissal from all but a handful of jobs. National liberation struggles offer some similar lessons. Women have participated as fighters, bomb&-;carriers and leafleteers, only to find, when the dust has settled, that they are to return to their homes, often governed by personal status codes and other laws that are more repressive that those to which they were subject under the colonial regime. 7
Political liberalizations, although less thorough–going processes than other forms of regime change, including fuller democratic transitions, nonetheless, by definition open the political stage to the free(r) activity of a perhaps unprecedented range of political actors. As Przeworski has argued, they lower “the costs—real or anticipated—of individual expression and collective action.” 8 However, such processes are bound by no law of nature or politics to produce only liberal groups of actors. Indeed, the crises that trigger the decisions to liberalize (or, in more extreme cases, that undermine the regime) unleash a range of actors, some of them espousing ideologies that seek to regain some of the (often putative) glory or security of the past. Changes in regime bases or in the political system more broadly often call into question or threaten some of the political system’s basic underlying structures. One common response among national political actors to such threats has been to seek to secure the home front, the family. Constructed in terms of protecting the nation, its values, and its youth, their programs are often directed at reinforcing a woman’s traditional role through such means as encouraging her withdrawal from the work force, implementing pro–natalist population policies, and even launching morality campaigns of various sorts which seek to limit women’s “exposure” in the public space outside the home.
At the same time, in all but the most carefully managed political liberalizations (those initiated well before pressures from below force more drastic changes), the processes unfold in an atmosphere of regime uncertainty regarding its strength vis–à–vis other political actors. The leadership must determine what the balance of political–economic forces is and how best to respond to it so as to reinforce its position. The search for new allies that may result involves a process of negotiating or bargaining between the leadership/regime and various political actors over programs and goals. 9 During this period, a range of policies may be open to reconsideration, depending upon the political landscape and the nature of the actor(s) with which the power holders may seek to ally.
Hence, explaining the outcome, 10 for both the leadership and various societal sectors, requires first identifying the leadership’s/regime’s natural allies, given the domestic balance of sociopolitical and economic forces. It also involves determining the issues on which those in power are willing to compromise and the issues which, for the leadership, are above negotiation. Given the preeminent position and power of men in the state/regime and the fact that the transitions often trigger the emergence of parties espousing policies of a defensive, reactionary nature, it is not surprising that “women’s issues,” so defined by women or the state, may be among the first that the parties to the new political balance seek to use/exploit in political bargaining. 11
Clarifying Terminology
I use a number of basic terms in this study. Political liberalization refers to an opening up of the political system in such a way that: more freedom of personal and media expression is allowed; greater numbers and diversity of nongovernmental actors are permitted to operate while those already in existence may expand their field of activities; state coercion in the form of arbitrary arrests, disappearances, and torture are reined in as a new discourse of respect for human rights is adopted; and parliamentary elections are held in an atmosphere that permits freer (if not completely free) competition by a variety of actors representing various parts of the political spectrum. For better or for worse, it is a concept concerned with civil and political, but not generally distributional (economic), rights.
The concept of women’s status is more problematic, for it is used in a variety of ways by different authors and has different meanings depending upon context. 12 Because I decided to focus in this study on the national level, changes in women’s rights to organize as well as their formal legal status seemed to be key, observable indicators. I pay special attention to such issues as: right and access to contraception and abortion; right and access to education; equality in labor, pension, and criminal legislation; protection against harassment and violence; and role in the so–called public sphere, whether in the labor market or in political life. I have also sought to examine rights not only as they exist according to the law, but also as they are implemented, for there are often wide gaps between text and practice.
It is important to note here that what I consider to be changes constituting progress for women may be viewed quite differently by others, especially some politically, religiously, and/or socially conservative groups, regardless of region. For such groups, for example, expanding women’s reproductive rights through providing increased access to birth control, equalizing women’s access to divorce, or what this analysis would regard as expanding women’s rights to participate in the public arena may well be viewed as indications of decline or moral decay. There is little realm for reconciling these two views, and I am willing to admit to a normative bias in my selection of indicators of improvement or deterioration in women’s status. It should be noted, however, that all of the indicators noted above are discussed by important constituent organizations of women’s movements in the countries examined. I do not, therefore, feel the approach used here can be labeled simply as “western” and dismissed as inauthentic.
Nevertheless, this is not just a question of what may be called a secularist or nonreligious bias in addressing these issues. The approach also involves a certain elite bias. By this I mean that it has been clear from my own field research over the years as well as from the literature produced by others, that class and region make a difference in how women construct and order their priorities regarding the need for change in their status. For many women, ensuring access to basic services or upgrading the quality of those services would make major contributions to their status. Among what are likely to be the primary concerns of a majority of women are: clean running water in or closer to the home, reliable nearby medical services, improved educational facilities, better working conditions and wages (whether they are concerned that this apply equally to men and women will vary), and more job opportunities, so that overall family economic circumstances improve and young women can stay in school longer.
These are also the concerns that Maxine Molyneux referred to in drawing the distinction between practical and strategic gender interests. Practical gender interests are those that are apparent from the objective conditions women work in and the roles they fill in the gender division of labor. Such interests usually arise in response to an immediate need. They would include such things as easier access to clean water, medical services, adequate housing and nutrition. Strategic gender interests, on the other hand, are those often termed feminist. They are derived “from the analysis of women’s subordination and from the formulation of an alternative, more satisfactory set of arrangements to those which exist.” Such interests include “removal of institutionalized forms of discrimination, the attainment of political equality, the establishment of freedom of choice over childbearing, and the adoption of adequate measures against male violence and control over women. 13
It may be useful to think of the practical–strategic gender interests in less dichotomous terms. For example, working women’s demands for greater access to childcare facilities or to longer maternity leaves, although they help mitigate certain inequalities, do not necessarily challenge existing structures that oppress women. They may well be understood by many women as partially alleviating a burden which they nonetheless believe is principally theirs to bear. Likewise, while many women may not analyze domestic violence as a structure of oppression, addressing such violence and other forms of abuse may well resonate with women who would not otherwise define themselves as feminists. The point is that while is it important to keep Molyneux’s distinction in mind, it should not be overdrawn. Having said that, it does seem clear that it is generally only a part of the elite, broadly defined—middle to upper class women, generally living in urban areas—that is involved in addressing strategic gender concerns, the issues I have chosen to emphasize.
A study of the fate of such concerns during political liberalization requires a focus on the national level. While such an approach clearly has its drawbacks, the rationale for it is clear, for it is at this level that existing laws are amended and new laws are introduced. As Joseph has argued, “[t]he nation–state . . . remains a site of strategic importance to women, as well as minority groups. It is here where these groups gain or lose crucial legal and political protections against other political communities, patriarchies, and religious and secular non–democratic forces. Often women have nowhere other than the state to turn for protection from domestic violence, familial coercion, disriminatory practices . . .” 14
The next term to clarify is the state. It is used here to refer to the network of institutions and relations that exercise governing authority over a particular territory. It is understood to be a complex, not a unitary actor, in which economic, political, and social interests constantly vie for influence on a playing field far from level. Depending upon environmental factors, elements of ethnicity, region, class, and gender may work for or against particular actors or concerns. Because the state is the site of contestations, to survive it must be capable of adaptation and redefinition. Indeed, as will be clear from the case studies that follow, the task of qualifying a state (or a particular leadership) as “women friendly” for example, is by no means a simple proposition. A state or leadership that opens the way to women’s participation in the formal labor force or ensures women’s rights to contraception is the same set of personalities, relations, and institutions that is the ultimate guardian of structures that oppress women or block reform in other areas. 15
Finally, I have striven to avoid the use of modern and Westernized, while, on the other side of the implicit dichotomy (with which I have also done continuous, if not always successful, battle), I have preferred “conservative,” to “traditional.” “Conservative” is certainly less value–laden, at least in general political discourse. However, perhaps more important, the label “traditional” poses several problems. In societies undergoing rapid and disorienting change, “tradition” may be constructed by the state leadership or oppositional groups to consist of those practices and the values they deem necessary to counter dislocating pressures. Thus, what comes to be canonized as “tradition” is as much a result of political/social selection as natural evolution. Indeed, an emphasis on particular aspects of “tradition” and the ignoring of others can in fact pave the way to “a return” to a radical future; that is, a transformative program the outcome of which bears little resemblance to the past that its proponents often invoke. Hence, to avoid legitimating certain groups’ attempts to define what constitutes “tradition” I have tried to avoid this term. 16
The Nature of Political Liberalization
The reasons behind the move to liberalize vary from extreme economic crisis and strong pressures from below (Algeria), to a leadership’s desire to maintain power by introducing reforms as a means of preempting the development of more substantial demands for change (Jordan). In addition, external forces, such as defeat in war in the case of Argentina, may exert pressures which, coupled with domestic considerations, may constitute an additional catalyst to liberalize. Political liberalization may involve a regime change (that is, a change in both head of state as well as the ruling group) or simply a relinquishment of some power, but the retention of ultimate say by the same ruling group—an outcome generally referred to as a managed liberalization. They may be more gradual, evolutionary processes or be triggered by a single shock. Liberalizations may also be seen as falling along a continuum extending from a limited opening (“decompression,” as happened at the beginning of the Brazilian transformation) to a more stark or sudden shift toward democratization, involving real changes in the state, as was the case in several Eastern European countries. Political liberalization does not equal democracy nor does it necessarily lead to it, regardless of the content of state discourse or the promises of the ruling group. Numerous examples across the developing world as well as in Eastern Europe indicate that transitions may stagnate (Romania, until the 1996 elections) or even be reversed (Tunisia).
The reach of the political liberalization will also vary. That is, different sectors will experience the opening to different degrees. Certainly, the more thoroughgoing the liberalization, the closer it comes to a democratic transition, the more likely its impact will be felt by broad sectors of the population. However, as noted above, there are also more limited, or managed liberalizations. In such cases, there is little question that the urban, educated population is most directly affected by the reforms that are introduced; the rural and/or illiterate are much less likely to feel the impact of, for example, greater freedom of the press.
On perhaps the most basic level, political liberalizations involve a move along the subject–citizen spectrum: that is, away from a situation in which men and women are excluded from effective participation and have no means to hold the government accountable (subjectness), toward a system of more meaningful participation and more transparency or accountability in government (citizenness). In authoritarian regimes, the degree to which rights and responsibilities between ruler and ruled are mutual is limited at best. Although one may carry a certain nationality and have the right to vote in elections, the relationship to the government is more often that of subject than citizen. 17 Within this framework, of course, the degree of citizenness or subjectness may be affected by a variety of factors. That is, regardless of where a government falls along the subject–citizen spectrum in its treatment of nationals, there is often further legal and social discrimination based on ethnicity, gender, class, or region of origin. 18 Moreover, as numerous analysts have pointed out, the concept of citizen itself is gendered, constructed in such a way that in virtually all societies women can never be as fully citizen as men. (Military service has long been a means of distinguishing relative citizenness in many societies.) 19 In addition, however, much theorizing about citizenship has taken place in a Western context, which is characterized by an individualism not found in other regions of the world. Joseph has noted that in a Middle East context, for example, such an understanding fails to take account of the numerous states in which subnational group identities and ethnicities in fact structure certain aspects of citizenship. 20 Thus, the term citizenship is used here with the understanding that the bases of its construction and application vary considerably.
Women and Political Liberalization
A wealth of micro–level, country cases and broader theoretical work has been produced on the gendered nature of the state and its policies. Nevertheless, it should be instructive that women as a subject is absent from the general literature on democratic transitions. 21 This is likely due to the continuing allergy that mainstream political science has to gender, for it seems to have no parallel problem discussing labor, the business community, the military, ethnic groups, and other sectors. Even in the literature that has examined the fate of women during transitions, the work has primarily been on the impact of the economic transition and focused overwhelmingly on women in Eastern Europe. 22 The body of literature that does seek to understand where women fit into the political transitions is either largely descriptive or, in the case of Latin America, interested in showing the role women actually played in the transition and/or in theorizing about the changing feminist component in women’s movements during or after liberalizations. 23
In the literature dealing with the MENA area, much work has been done on women on issues related to nationalism and national struggles, citizenship, patriarchy, and the gendered nature of the state, as well as a range of socioeconomic issues. However, only the work of Mervet Hatem addresses directly the central concern of this work—women and political liberalizations—if from a different perspective. Before examining her conclusions, however, it is useful to review some of the insights from the literature on related topics in the MENA area.
A number of works address the question of women’s relationship to the state during times of crisis or regime change (if not liberalization). For example, Afaf Marsot demonstrates in a study of late eighteenth–century Egypt that a combination of decentralized and chaotic government in Egypt created a socioeconomic “space” that allowed elite women a freedom of action that one generally associates with the twentieth century. 24 She demonstrates that domestic economic and political developments allowed women to acquire property independent of males, and that their consequent power and wealth actually engendered support for them among the state religious authorities (ulama). Also using Egypt as a case, Margot Badran has charted the role of (largely elite) women of the Egyptian feminist movement during the period of the nationalist struggle against the British in the first half of the twentieth century. She shows how women advanced the nationalist cause while working within the parameters of Islam. 25 Again, this consideration of women’s activities and fates during a period of challenge and uncertainty (if not real regime change) demonstrates the possibilities for women’s taking advantage of and pushing for further opening of spaces for more meaningful participation.
Julie Peteet has focused on a case involving much greater displacement and disjuncture: that of the Palestinians. 26 Her work on women in Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon demonstrates how gender relations are reconstructed and renegotiated during, not a period of regime change, but a national liberation struggle carried on outside the homeland and over an extended period of time. She looks at changes in gender and national consciousness, increasing possibilities for women’s activities outside the home, including involvement in the resistance itself, as well as the structure of power relations within the resistance organizations. Her work highlights both the possibilities for, as well as the continuing limits to, altering gender relations during periods of extreme political flux and in the absence of a central state authority.
Another relevant theme that runs through much of the work on women in the Middle East is that of the post–independence regimes’ use of the so–called woman question as part of their program to restructure the bases of political relations and to lay the foundation for more “modern” societies by breaking the power of certain traditionalist groups. 27 From Turkey and Tunisia—the most extreme cases of attempts to secularize society—to less “revolutionary” but nonetheless critical programs of change in the so–called republican regimes in Egypt, Iraq, and Syria and finally to the socialist program advocated by the Marxists of the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen, one may observe various forms of what has been called “state feminism.” 28
State feminism involves policies directed from (as well as generally formulated at) the state leadership level, which aim at mobilizing or channeling women’s (re)productive capabilities and coopting them into support for the state through such programs as raising literacy levels, increasing access to the labor market, establishing state–sponsored women’s organizations, generally along the lines of the single–party model, and the like. In the cases of Turkey and Tunisia, these attempts were accompanied by the outlawing of certain practices sanctioned by religion, such as polygamy. That many women benefitted from these programs is not in question. That many women were squeezed between the demands of state feminism and of continuing conservative societal practices is also apparent. What needs to be understood, however, is the degree to which state feminist programs were not an end in themselves, but rather served as part of broader state–building and/or regime consolidation processes. Women were instruments or tools, and their “liberation” was part of a larger project of reinforcing control within a series of states that continued to be dominated by what are generically referred to as patriarchal structures. 29
Let us then turn to Hatem’s work. In a case study of Egypt, she examines what she terms “the post–1976 neo–liberal system” and its impact on women. She describes the period as one of controlled liberalization that came in response to serious economic and political crises. While admitting that the extent of the political liberalism has been quite limited—one major reason why it was not chosen for consideration in this study—in large part because of the exclusion of Islamists, she notes that “most analysts do not question the gendered accomplishments of the state, because of the belief that secular–liberal regimes . . . are generally favorable to women.” 30 Hatem then proceeds to examine and compare the secular discourse of the state with that of the Islamists during this period. She concludes that, despite changes favorable to women in several laws (apportioning additional seats to women in the parliament and introducing some reforms in the personal status law regarding divorce), the practical import of the changes was minimal and that the discourse of the state and that the Islamists, in fact, converged on a number of points, thus leaving the definition of women’s status based in conservative notions of domesticity and gender difference. The broader conclusion of this work is that while there may be differences on some policy points, in their the basic understanding of women and their role, the Islamists and the liberals do not differ substantially, and hence one should not look for liberalizing regimes to be “women friendly.”
In a comparative piece examining the experiences of women in Egypt, the Sudan, and Tunisia, Hatem takes the argument a step further and states clearly at the beginning that “[p]olitical liberalization in the Arab world has been characterized by state ambivalence toward women.” 31 While one may question on empirical grounds her contention that Egypt “began the regional move toward liberalization” in 1976, nonetheless the argument regarding ambivalence is an important one. She sets the stage for the treatment of her three cases by reminding the reader of the feminist debate regarding how, in the West, “liberal” societies have provided new bases for gender inequity, rather than promoting full rights for women. Through brief examinations of the three country cases she concludes that both authoritarian and liberal states are willing to use gender for their own ends. She argues that the “loosening of the state’s grip on the gender agenda” in Egypt and the Sudan and the reassertion of state feminism by the Tunisian regime proved to be mixed blessings. In Egypt and the Sudan, reliance on the state was replaced by reliance on outside forces, while in Tunisia the state’s use of women in the conflict with Islamists set the women up for possible future backlash.
Hatem’s work is the first to point out that so–called liberalizing regimes in the MENA area do not necessarily offer hopeful prospects for women. While the carefully controlled and quite limited liberalizations she examines, especially those of Egypt and the Sudan, cannot be characterized as transitions or regime changes, they are nonetheless consistent with the argument above that periods of political flux, even in an apparently more open direction, may not hold out the opportunities for women that the term liberalization generally brings to mind.
Hatem’s point regarding the dubious opportunities that liberalizations offer women is central to the study at hand. However, this study then departs in several ways from the works of Hatem and the other authors noted above. In the first place, it is first and foremost a study about political transitions, what triggers them, but especially how they unfold. Within that framework, it is concerned with the way that women and women’s issues are dealt with and play a role in the transitions. It accepts Hatem’s argument that the state may well pursue policies of a contradictory nature, but it then seeks to explain the reasons behind the leaderships’ choices and the outcomes. To argue that states are gendered, which this analysis does not dispute, in such a way that promotes men’s interests (certainly far from a single or coherent set of policies) is a critical starting point, but it does not, in and of itself, explain the differing impact of political transitions on women. Obviously, a broad range of factors shape women’s status at any given time and, theoretically, a number of different approaches could have been selected to study women’s fate during transitions. This study has used a detailed analysis of three case studies to examine the interactions among various actors political actors—the state, political parties, women’s organizations, and the like—to try to explain outcomes during liberalization periods.
Given the limited literature on the liberalizations and on women’s place in them in the MENA region, the discussion will now turn to a brief exploration of some of the lessons that emerge from the more extensive literature on liberalizations in Latin America and Eastern Europe. The intention is to draw inferences from these regions’ experiences which may serve as guides to the in–depth exploration of the MENA cases in the chapters that follow.
Lessons From Eastern Europe and Latin America
The most striking element in Eastern Europe—and what may render it incomparable to other regions in the eyes of some analysts—is the extent of concomitant political and economic transformation. The turmoil and displacement that have accompanied the transformations in Eastern Europe have no real parallel, as these states have moved from communist authoritarian structures on the political front and from command economy arrangements on the economic front at virtually the same time. A primary focus of many works on the transitions has been the crises triggered by the economic transitions. 32 For example, studies have documented marked increases in female unemployment as a result of the dismantling of the state sector, in which women were traditionally overrepresented. This problem has been exacerbated by societal mores which give preference to male employment, particularly in times of economic crisis. Added to the steep rise in unemployment has been the collapse of a number of the social welfare programs of the former communist states—especially in the fields of child care and health. At the same time, prices have risen and shortages have meant even more time spent securing daily supplies—all problems which tend to be borne or “absorbed” by females.
The work that has been done on the political fate of women in these countries has generally consisted of reevaluations of the socialist record. 33 One of the most common themes is that of women’s “triple burden” under the communists: work outside the home, work inside the home, and child–rearing. While the right to work outside the home is generally viewed in the West as basic, for a large number of women living under the communist regimes in Eastern Europe it was hardly seen as liberating. Since work outside the home was performed in the context of an official discourse that downgraded the value of women’s burdensome tasks in the home, the idea of liberation defined as involving the right to work outside the home is unappealing to many women in post–communist societies. Just as important, in many women’s minds, problems on the job were not seen to be caused by male supervisors, but rather by the state, which was the employer and regulator. 34 Hence, Eastern European women do not tend to view their exploitation as based in gender inequalities. They consider the issue of equality between the sexes as secondary, easily preceded by issues of housing, education, job market access (not generally evaluated in gendered terms), and the like.
Under the communist regimes, any form of political activism had to take place through organizations that were extensions of the state. 35 Since official women’s organizations were intended to channel or control women’s activism rather than voice grassroots concerns, they inspired little interest among average women. Given the official control and the effective depoliticization of women that communist state policies achieved, there was no organized involvement of women as women in the events which brought down the regimes. Moreover, when these regimes crumbled, the legitimacy of the official women’s organizations’ crumbled with them. In the immediate aftermath of the fall of the communist regimes—that is, well before the more recent wave of nostalgia for the social safety net and order of the pre–1989 period—any activity around issues that had been supported by the communists was anathema to most. As a result, independent women’s organizations were few, and their whole raison d’être appeared suspect—a discredited remnant of an earlier era.
Similarly, women’s largely symbolic (as opposed to effective or powerful) representation under the communist regimes served to further delegitimize their post–1989 participation in national or local politics. Seen as mere instruments of the state, women who occupied prominent places in public life under the communists did little to build societal confidence in their ability to play meaningful political roles. The discrediting of the communist states has also affected the way that state social legislation and social welfare provisions have been regarded, including proclamations of commitment to women’s liberation and equality. At least initially, virtually all socialist policies were viewed as illegitimate, regardless of their positive elements. 36 Finally, of course, is the continuing demobilization that derives from women’s lingering fear of “the political” because of their experiences under the previous regimes. Hence, it should not be surprising that women’s post–1989 interest in politics or in a women’s movement, both of which are associated with the bitter experiences of the past, is quite limited.
Despite these significant similarities among the Eastern European cases, when one moves to the realm of abortion and reproductive rights, the experiences diverge markedly. While this is only one issue area, it is central in the struggle over who controls women, and hence is an indicator of broader trends regarding women’s rights and status. Societal and regime response to the abortion issue in particular can be used to highlight some of the important differences in power configurations or relations in the transitional regimes.
In Romania, for example, a shortage of skilled labor in the 1960s as an intensive drive for modernization or industrialization began, led to a greater focus on women’s reproductive role. An antiabortion law was passed in 1966, only to be further tightened by 1986 when Ceaucescu proclaimed the fetus “the socialist property of the whole society,” and those women who sought to avoid pregnancies “deserters.” Self–induced abortions were punishable by prison sentences and job promotions were linked to women’s political obedience, so that unmarried or divorced women could expect not to be promoted. In the 1980s, the legal age of marriage was reduced to 15, and any woman not married by age 25 had to pay a 5 percent tax. Similarly, married couples without children were subject to a higher tax rate. 37
In comparing the unfolding of the transitions, it is also critical to note that, unlike what transpired elsewhere, the fall of the Ceaucescu regime was swift and bloody, not a gradual process in which the regime gradually retreated and negotiated with contenders for power. In Timosoara, where the revolution began, doctors began performing abortions free of charge just after the town declared itself a free zone. One week later, one of the first decrees of the new provisional government, the self–appointed National Salvation Front, was that of absolute freedom of abortion. This reportedly invested the Front with tremendous popularity as it sought to fill the void left by the exit of Ceaucescu. 38 The intrusiveness and brutality of the previous regime’s population policy had been so great that no forces dared to seek to maintain the ban on abortion in the wake of the revolution. It was loathed and discredited along with its author and implementer. Appealing to a reimposition of a ban, whether by the Church or any other group, was virtually unthinkable in the immediate post–Ceaucescu era.
Poland is a polar opposite case, and here it appears that it was the relationship between the two forces that helped bring down the communist government—Solidarity and the Catholic Church, the two most powerful civil society actors prior to and during the transition—that largely explains the outcome.
The elections of June 1989 in Poland were the first free elections in Eastern Europe, and at the time, Poland had a relatively liberal abortion law. To reinforce its position and to pay the Church back for its support over the years, Solidarity adopted the Church’s anti–abortion position in the 1989 elections—without consulting its female members. Solidarity’s 1981 program had not called for banning abortion. It had merely expressed the hope that improving economic conditions would lead to the end of the need to terminate pregnancies. However, by March 1990, it had endorsed a total ban on abortions, irrespective of economic or health considerations, although the women’s section within the union expressed a dissenting opinion. In the spring of 1991, the women’s section was dissolved, and the male leadership did not consult the women before endorsing a Senate draft bill banning abortion. 39 Solidarity’s position owed not only to its alliance with the Catholic Church and the sexism of the union’s male members, but also to the fact that, while women had constituted 50 percent of the union’s ranks, they had not filled leadership positions. Indeed, although there had been a mass participation of women in the strike committees in Gdansk in 1980 and in the creation of cells of the then–nascent Solidarity, women’s representation among activists and executives actually dropped thereafter. 40
Although surveys indicated substantial support among the Polish population for women’s access to abortion, if with some conditions, the moral authority of the Church, reinforced by its long–standing resistance to communist rule made it very difficult for politicians and journalists to take an openly pro–choice (anti–Church) position. 41 Perhaps just as important, the Church and its supporters were advocating a position that was diametrically opposed to that of the former regime, a fact which must have attracted some support that had little to do with beliefs about abortion per se, and more to do with a broad rejection of the communists. The outcome was the passage in 1991 of a highly restrictive abortion law.
In late March 1992, a group of deputies submitted a bill almost identical to the previous restrictive law, while the women’s parliamentary committee submitted one that was much more liberal. Women’s presence in the parliament (Sejm) was one problem, as their numbers had declined from a high of 23 percent (1980–85) to only 9 percent in the elections of fall 1991. There was also an absence of grassroots women’s movements to take a stand and organize support for continued abortion rights, although the launching of the debate served as a catalyst for the emergence of a small number of groups to protect women’s rights. The Communist party women’s organizations had developed their own elites, but given the legacy of the past, they were hardly in a position to put themselves forward as representatives of Polish women. 42
In March 1993, a new and even more restrictive abortion law came into force. However, the tide was about to turn, for the elections of September 1993 removed from power the parties connected with the economic shock that had accompanied the market transformation and brought in their place a coalition of the Democratic Left Alliance and the Peasant Party, both clearly tied to the former communist regime. The Poles appeared simply to want a more human face to and pace of economic transformation. At the same time, however, some analysts argued that the voters sought through the election to humble the Church. Its “moves to consolidate its power—introducing religious instruction into schools, banning abortion—antagonized a growing number of people, particularly Polish women.” None of the three parties openly connected with the policy of the Church succeeded in having its candidates elected in 1993. The institution’s arrogance along with its close ties to Solidarity, whose former leadership and its inheritors were associated with the hated and disruptive economic reforms, led to the Church’s partial discrediting. By 1996, the realignment of forces in the Sejm led to the passage of a new, and less restrictive, abortion law. 43
The case of Russia falls somewhere in the middle. Perestroika had first opened the way to a surge of “traditional values” among a significant sector of the population, both male and female. This seems only to have increased as the Soviet Union finally crumbled and Russia and the other inheritor states continued the process of political and economic restructuring. Part of what accompanied these developments was the unleashing of a number of socially and politically conservative groups which, in the case of Russia, espoused a nationalism with a strong conservative religious component. The gender dimension in these developments was clear, as economic conditions led these groups to call for women’s retreat from the workforce and for a greater focus on family. 44
In addition, some voices were raised to limit women’s access to abortion. In 1992, there was an attempt by a combination of “new–fangled democrats and old–style conservatives” concerned with the falling birthrate in the country to undermine Russia’s liberal abortion law. The opponents of abortion rights had (and have) powerful allies in the Russian Orthodox Church and were supported by allies from abroad, especially U.S. anti–choice groups. 45 At the time of this writing, no changes had been introduced into the law. However, these groups’ lack of success has not been the result of lobbying by activist women inside or outside government: the introduction of quasi–competitive elections in Russia involved the dismantling of the system of quotas for women’s representation and hence led to a decline in the proportion of female deputies from 33 to 16 percent. 46 Indeed, despite the emergence of some new women’s groups, since 1991 women’s activism has steeply declined. 47 Part of the explanation for the failure of efforts to change the abortion law lies in the role of the Orthodox Church and its relationship to the previous regime. While the Church is certainly a force to be reckoned with in Russia, it did not play the same role in supporting dissidents or in helping to bring down the regime as did the Catholic Church in Poland. In fact it is generally regarded as having been complicit with the communists. Thus, although popular, at the time of the transition it did not enjoy the same legitimacy as its Polish counterpart. However, if one thinks of the previous two cases, it appears that the nature of the transition and the leadership it has produced are also key elements. First, the transition has been more gradual, certainly far more so than in Romania. Second, those who have come to power, primary among them Boris Yeltsin, are former communists turned “democrats,” not members of a former anti–communist or opposition party. They owed nothing to the power of the Church and hence were not in a position to have to respond to its priorities. This does not mean that their position on the issues cannot change—indeed, as time passes the leadership seems increasingly interested in cozying up to the Church 48 —but it does give them greater freedom of maneuver on this front. Hence, although the Church and others have raised the abortion issue since the beginning of the transition, their place in the constellation of political forces in the country along with an apparently deeply ingrained belief in the right to abortion inherited from the Soviet period has meant that such challenges have so far come to naught.
Turning to Latin America, one finds tremendous differences in women’s participation in and experiences with the transitions. What is striking in contrast to the Eastern European cases is the apparent gains women were able to achieve in several countries, at least during the early period of democratic reconsolidation. Growing economic problems and a population increasingly resistant to continuing brutalization from the military or the state played major roles in forcing these transition. In the case of Argentina, one must add an external element, the 1982 defeat in the Falklands–Malvinas war. Also critical, the transitions were gradual. Indeed, even in the case of Argentina, which represents the most precipitous return of an elected government, it was not until December 1983, a year and a half after the Malvinas debacle, that the civilian Alfonsín administration was installed. Just as crucial, the transitions resulted in clear changes at the top—the ouster of the existing group and the installation of new administrations representing a different political program and form of governance. Thus one is dealing with new regimes that were formed in opposition to, not as a way of shoring up, their predecessors. As a result, distancing one’s self from the previous powerholders and defining one’s political program in opposition to them was of critical importance. We will return to this point and its direct relationship to women’s fate below.
Similar to the experiences in Eastern Europe, in Latin America the role of the Church is crucial to understanding the outcomes. In the case of Brazil, in the 1960s and 1970s, the Catholic Church gradually turned away from the military and toward the poor, and progressive sectors of the institution served as a critical “organizational umbrella for the opposition.” Association with the Church accorded the opposition both a kind of moral legitimacy and a form of protection of which a number of women’s organizations or women’s auxiliaries of other organizations were able to take advantage. While it is true that the religious hierarchy and some of the clergy remained hostile to feminist demands, “nonetheless, the politicization of gender within Church–linked community women’s groups provided nascent Brazilian feminism with an extensive mass base unparalleled in most Latin American countries.” 49
In the case of Chile, the Church also provided a kind of support base for the beginning of opposition to the regime, although not to the same extent that it did in Brazil. Assistance generally took the form of aid to those who grouped together to locate disappeared loved ones. The Church also instituted an umbrella organization (The Academy of Christian Humanism) to provide a safe space for alternative research centers, political expression, and the articulation of dissent. 50 This was particularly important in Chile, since it gave legitimacy to the concerns expressed by human rights activists in an atmosphere in which the military regime claimed to be protecting Chilean society from subversion and defending “Christian and Occidental” values. The support of the Church for the human rights activists made it far more difficult for the military to repress them than would have otherwise been the case. 51 The case of Argentina, on the other hand, is quite different, for there the Catholic Church chose to ignore, if not justify, the atrocities of the regime. 52
Turning to the role of women’s organizations, in Chile, for example, with the exception of groups that Augusto Pinochet had established and placed under the leadership of his wife, the major women’s organizations were not associated with the state. To the contrary, they sprang to life as a form of protest against state policies and in defense, at least initially, of their families. In all three of these countries, the participation of women in protest activities of various sorts clearly placed women’s organizations on the political map of anti–regime activism. Some of these groups (most notably the Madres de la Plaza in Argentina) initially aimed at making the state accountable for their “disappeared” family members. Others were concerned with declining standards of living resulting from economic crises, while still others, especially in the gradual Brazilian transition, pushed for changes in state social and economic policy to benefit women. The fact that they had played such high profile and mobilizational roles meant that these organizations could not be quickly or easily dismissed by the successor regimes.
A final factor that no doubt gave the women’s groups’ demands more weight as the transitions unfolded was that the traditional image of a woman as sainted mother and wife, keeper of hearth and home, and repository of society’s values was part of the discourse of the military authoritarian regimes. This sexism had two major implications for women and the coming transitions. In the first place, it in effect blinded the political leaderships of the authoritarian regimes to the political (as opposed to humanitarian or social) character of women’s organizing. This no doubt gave women a margin of freedom that other groups did not enjoy. Second, the close association of this discourse with the military regimes meant that when they were forced from power, their approach was discredited with them. This parallels what happened in Eastern Europe, except that given the politics of the ousted regime, the outcome for women in the former communist countries was a retrenchment of rights, not new openings. In these Latin American cases, however, it meant the opening of a greater political space for women’s participation and for the expression of those of their demands that challenged existing structures.
These factors—women’s prominent participation in bringing down the regime, the support they received from the Church (in Brazil and to a lesser extent in Chile), and the discrediting of the conservative social discourse as a result of its close association with the previous regimes—appear to be of critical importance in explaining the outcomes. First, they meant that the largely male–run political parties needed or would naturally seek to attract the highly visible and mobilized sector that women had become. Second, except in Argentina, women had allies (even if they parted ways when it came to issues like abortion) among what is often the most important bastion of social conservatism outside the state—the religious establishment. Third, the discourse that advocated a reversal of their rights belonged to the program of the discredited regimes. Explaining the outcome as deriving solely from the fact that women had played a notable role in the transitions is insufficient, especially given women’s prior historical experiences with national liberation movements. More likely, the mobilized power women’s organizations had already demonstrated and therefore had to offer political actors at a time of regime consolidation was too important to be ignored, given the political battles that were being fought to gain electoral advantage.
The result was that in Brazil, for example, when Jose Sarney, the first civilian president in 21 years, took office in 1985, a number of important positive developments for women followed. A National Council on Women’s Rights was created within the Ministry of Justice and a number of activist women, feminists and others, were able to secure a majority of seats on it. From 1985 to 1988 this council intervened in favor of women’s rights in areas ranging from agrarian and educational reform to the media. In conjunction with other women, lobbying by this council led to the inclusion of important women’s agenda items in the new constitution. 53
In the case of Chile, shortly after the plebiscite that said “no” to Pinochet, the National Coalition of Women for Democracy was formed to mobilize women and take their agenda to the national political arena for the 1989 elections. As a result, the successful candidate, Patricio Aylwin, made women a key constituency to which he addressed his presidential appeal. Although the results of the elections did not lead to immediate gains, in May 1990 President Aylwin did present legislation to create the SERNAM, the National Women’s Service. In the early period after its creation, it undertook numerous networking, informational, and legislative initiatives aimed at improving women’s status. While there have been numerous criticisms of SERNAM, and it has not maintained its early dynamism, it nonetheless represents an important achievement. Chile has also seen legislative changes to reform the divorce and labor laws as they apply to women, to reintroduce therapeutic abortion (outlawed under Pinochet), and to address domestic violence. 54
In Argentina, during the campaign of 1983, in what was expected to be a close battle, women’s voting power was recognized and the winner, Raul Alfonsín, “not only raised heretofore dormant demands, but also used women–sensitive language to the point that his closing campaign speech openly criticized machismo.” As democratic consolidation proceeded, the record was mixed; for example, there was a debate over the so–called “quota law,” an attempt to mandate that 30 percent of the electoral candidates be women. Although the law was finally approved in November 1991, it has never been enforced. On the more positive side of the ledger, under Alfonsín, among a host of institutional developments, a National Women’s Agency in the Ministry of Social Action was established, which in turn created a Women’s Health and Development Program. In 1986 restrictions on the distribution and use of contraceptives were lifted and the issue of domestic violence, once taboo, was brought out into the open. 55
To sum up, women in these Latin American countries played visible roles in bringing down the authoritarian regimes and, given the nature of the transition (regime change which discredited the conservatives), and the constellation of political forces, women were able to take advantage of the transition to push for greater consideration of their demands. While the victories have undeniably not been as great as the women had been hoped, and some of the institutions that were established have lost their dynamism or have been coopted over time, women have nevertheless realized some important gains, if within the bounds of a patriarchal state.
The Question of Cross–Regional Comparison
My juxtaposition of the experiences of women from three major world regions will no doubt trouble some. For those partisans of cultural explanations, who argue that culture is the driving force in history, the idea of comparing women from three different regions and certainly more than three cultures must seem at very least unsound. Indeed, deriving possible explanations from one region and seeking to confirm or disconfirm their relevance in another may appear heretical, especially when it comes to women, since they always seem to be part of the realm of culture in a way that men are not. Another form of gendering.
Nonetheless, as someone who believes strongly that in–depth study of societies’ histories, language(s), and religion(s) are critical to understanding them, I remain unpersuaded that an explanation that works in one society cannot also work elsewhere. At the same time, there is no implicit assumption here. My desire to explore whether apparent lessons from Latin American and Eastern European cases (researched and constructed by specialists on and from these areas) might be replicated in the MENA region derives neither from a belief that culture does not matter nor that women or states are the same all over. Rather, it proceeded from a curiousity about what seemed on the surface to be common patterns—a conclusion that would fly in the face of cultural explanations. I approached this study with the idea that comparability of experiences across regions is an empirical question, which I posed from the position of an agnostic. I will admit, however, to a distaste for the idea of so–called Middle Eastern exceptionalism, 56 and I find it both distressing and disappointing that in comparative studies of women and liberalization, or of questions of economic and political development more broadly, it is always Latin American and Eastern European cases, or Latin American and East Asian cases, that are juxtaposed. Are they inherently more comparable? I remain unconvinced.
The second charge that may be raised is that by daring to compare across regions I am essentializing women, assuming that there must be something unchanging and fixed about them that is reinforced by the suggestion that they can be examined across contexts. (The implication is that comparing women within regions does not—at least necessarily—constitute a similar essentializing exercise.) Such a contention must be countered on several grounds. In the first place, world regions as we have come to know them are constructed entities. For example, taking the existing regional divisions as given, if one writes a study comparing some aspect of Turkey and Bulgaria, or Morocco and Spain, the study is considered cross–regional; however, if it is a comparison of Morocco and Turkey, it is not. This is, quite frankly, absurd. The importance of what is in effect geographic location should not be overemphasized. Second, if one wants to take the essentialist charge based on the grounds of broad comparison to its logical extreme, any suggestion of comparison, within or across regions, could be open to the charge of essentializing something or other—the state, women, the economy, the military, and so on. At the same time, it would seem that the tendency to essentialize is just as likely to operate implicitly among those who refuse to push intellectual inquiry beyond the boundaries of our inherited, constructed regions, because such an approach implies that there is something innately (and, implicitly, unchangingly) unifying within them.
A comparative project, like other forms of research, is one which at the most basic level seeks to increase our understanding. There is nothing inherent in it which suggests that by comparing women’s experiences across regions at one point in time that the author assumes generalizability of the findings across all time and space. If similarities should be found, they imply neither exact replicas nor a conclusion of unchanging essence. If we cannot engage legitimately in such exercises, then we should simply discard all attempts at theorizing and just stick to strict description of individual events. That does represent one, nonmainstream approach; but it is it not one with which I am comfortable. I began the reading for this project not knowing where it would lead. What I found in the Eastern European and Latin American cases were what appeared to be a number of similar factors at work. My curiosity led me to ask whether comparable forces and processes might be at work in the Middle East and North Africa. My attempts at finding answers lie ahead.
Methodology and Structure of This Study
The brief examination of the Eastern European and Latin American experiences suggested that a number of factors may play a role in determining how women, women’s issues, and women’s organizations will fare during the early stages of political liberalizations:
the nature of the transition (shock or gradual; initiated from above or forced from below);
the strength and role(s) of preexisting women’s organizations;
women’s role in pushing for the transition;
the relationship between the previous regime and new regime (complete change or modifications of various elements);
the relationship between the ancien régime and conservative forces, particularly the religious establishment;
and the balance of political forces as the transition unfolds.
The chapters that follow provide a structured and in–depth examination of the interaction among the state, various political actors, and women activists/organizations during periods of liberalization in three countries: Morocco, Jordan, and Tunisia. The case selection was made based on a number of factors related to both the subject under study and the realities of field research. In the first instance, the selection of three MENA countries was a function of my regional and linguistic expertise and of the gap in coverage of such countries in the literature. When the study was initially conceived, I could have selected a number of countries on the grounds of their having experienced a period of political liberalization. I ruled out Algeria on the grounds of the danger of conducting field research there. I excluded Egypt because, while it has had its liberal or liberalizing periods, none has been terribly broad or sustained and the recent situation can hardly be described as liberal. My decision to explore the role of external factors, including the international climate regarding women’s rights, also led to the exclusion of Egypt on the grounds that the brief liberal experiment did not extend into the late 1980s, the period that served as the basis for case selection. While one could also say that Tunisia’s liberalization was also short and that the current situation is hardly liberal, the leadership change did come in the late 1980s, and the enthusiasm that the initial period following Bourguiba’s departure generated among scholars regarding the possibilities for the emergence of real pluralism seemed to render it a case worth studying. As for Kuwait, the liberalization has been quite limited; Kuwaiti women still have not received the right to vote. Finally, Yemen plunged into civil war in the summer of 1994, the period during which I made my final decision.
For each of the three case countries, there are three chapters: The first chapter in each case country section examines the domestic context, explores the impact of external factors on domestic politics, and details the unfolding of the liberalization. This chapter is intended to provide the reader with the background necessary to understand the reasons behind the liberalization as well as the actors and interests involved. The second chapter in each section offers an overview of the development of organized women’s activities and/or national women’s movements, followed by an examination of the legal status of women and of changes in laws since the beginning of the liberalization. The second chapters conclude with a discussion of the role of external funders in supporting women’s groups. There seems little question that forces at work outside the countries—broader processes of liberalization, emphases on human and women’s rights, the availability of funding for the development of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), the hegemony of neoliberal economic models—may all exert pressures for adaptation and change. In this way, along with the section on external influences on domestic policy in the first chapter, the international dimension is examined.
The final chapter in each case section evaluates a number of “critical junctures” in the interaction between women and the state, or between women as political actors on a national level and other actors on the political stage. These junctures are intended to serve as windows on the broader reality of the relationship among the state, women, women’s organizations, and the spectrum of other national political actors. Such an approach aims at illustrating two things: first, the possibilities and constraints that women as public or political actors may face during the liberalization; and second, the way that women’s organizations and concerns fit into the broader picture of the struggle or bargaining over power that unfolds during these periods. These critical junctures were my selection, but made after extensive background preparation and in consultation with local analysts and activists.
Other foci could have been used to explore the question of women’s fate during transitions. Most of these, however, are problematic for one reason or another. For example, some may question the failure to analyze in greater depth statistics in such areas as education, literacy, employment, access to health care, and the like. The reasons are the following. First, while abundant, the accuracy of such numbers is often questionable. Just as important, simply providing statistics on what happens in these areas during the periods under examination says little (without much more information) about the impact of the political transition itself, since the numbers for any given year are generally the result of economic, social, health, and other policies that have been in place for some time. Determining what was attributable to policies initiated during the transition would have been quite problematic.
Sources
For all three countries, I consulted a variety of sources: The background work on the domestic context and the stories of the liberalization relied chiefly on secondary source material in English, French, and Arabic (although the chapter on Jordan required extensive newspaper archival work as well). The same was true for the sections on the women’s movements and on women’s legal status prior to liberalization. However, the remaining sections were constructed based on information gathered through interviews (with women and human rights activists, university professors, government officials, and international aid and embassy officials), primary source material gathered from the institutions involved, from newspaper archives, and from participant–observation. The interviews were conducted in Arabic in Jordan and in Arabic or French in North Africa, and generally took place in people’s offices or homes. In all but one case, I was the sole interviewer, but in several cases the interviews involved discussions with two women at a time. At no time did I use a tape recorder: I took written notes during the sessions and wrote summaries immediately thereafter. The vast majority of meetings I arranged myself; in a few cases in Morocco and Tunisia I was assisted by others in setting up interviews.
Several Final Words
The selection of topic and form of presentation of this study is not meant to imply that periods of political liberalization suddenly lead to the state’s recognition of the importance of women. The vast literature on the state shows that it has long had an interest in women—in managing and controlling them—the lack of an explicit policy or institutional structure not withstanding. Indeed, lack of an articulated policy in fact constitutes a policy. Therefore, women’s apparent invisibility in the political process (at least on the national and often the municipal and communal levels) in MENA countries should by no means be mistaken for lack of state interest. Indeed, the long period of women’s absence from formal public politics in some countries as well as their relatively greater prominence in others may be traced in large part to deliberate policies by the state and by groups or institutions allied with it. In some states, for reasons of domestic economic, political, or social structure, ideology of the ruling group, and/or state legitimacy, women have been continually excluded and attempts to carve out a greater role opposed. (Kuwait and Saudi Arabia fit this model to different degrees.) In others, the same combination of factors has led to the adoption of state feminism, policies that give women more rights and in effect adopt aspects of their “cause” as part of regime’s program. (Tunisia, Syria, Egypt, and Iraq serve as examples). The point to bear in mind is that in both sets of cases, despite periodic attempts by women’s organizations to redefine the boundaries or raise new issues, the state generally prevailed in marginalizing or excluding those demands that challenged its interests.
Another point also deserves clarification. No pretense is made here of having presented or even of having tried to present the reality of all women in the three countries under study. As noted earlier in this chapter, I made a decision early on to study how some “women’s issues” are dealt with by the leadership and by a range of formal and informal political actors during periods of political liberalization. While this study does strive to give the reader a sense of the tremendous variety of organizations and activities that have flowered among women, the focus here is on the national political battlefield. It is at this level that the decision to liberalize is taken and managed. It is also at this level that it is easiest to catalogue state (and other political actor) intent.
The focus in this work on the national level has meant, by necessity, a focus on urban, middle– to upper–middle class women, those who, by virtue of education, resources, and other factors, have direct access to or are most directly affected by national politics. The fact that this study is concerned with the state or national level of politics is not meant to imply that politics of particular relevance to women is limited to this level. To the contrary, power relations and their implications pervade all levels and aspects of life, from the circle of presidential or monarchical advisers through the various levels and hierarchies within the bureaucracy, to the market, and to the level of the family. Change affecting or affected by women can be accomplished at any of these levels, and the process is understood to be interactive.
Some may also argue that the issues on which this study focuses—demands for changing laws and practices that affect women’s human, political, civil, social and economic rights—are of little practical concern to women beyond a rather limited urban elite. The point is well–taken. It is most certainly the case that a woman in rural Morocco will be more concerned with the fact that she has to walk five kilometers three times a day to draw water than with national–level discussions of a woman’s right to conclude a business contract without her husband’s permission. Nevertheless, the undemocratic and seemingly inaccessible political structures and processes that have failed to ensure women’s rights in the business realm are often the same as those that have left that rural woman illiterate and deprived of basic services. Hence, although the effect may be indirect and, particularly in more limited liberalizations, far less tangible to the poorer or rural sectors of society, greater accountability of the political system affects all citizens in one way or another, rural or urban, rich or poor, male or female.
It is to explaining how women are affected by liberalizations in these three MENA countries, and why, that the discussion now turns.
Endnotes
Note 1: From Samuel J. Huntington’s title, The Third Wave: Democracy in the Late 20th Century (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991). Back.
Note 2: This is huge literature. See, for example, Guillermo O’ Donnell and Philippe C. Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions about Uncertain Democracies (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986); John Higley and Richard Gunther (eds.), Elites and Democratic Consolidation in Latin America and Southern Europe (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992); George A. Lopez and Michael Stohl (eds.), Liberalization and Redemocratization in Latin America (New York: Greenwood Press, 1987); Richard Gunther, P. Nikiforos Diamandouros, and Hans Jurgen Puhie, The Politics of Democratic Consolidation: Southern Europe in Comparative Perspective (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995); Jorge I. Dominguez and Abraham F. Lowenthal (eds.), Constructing Democratic Governance: Latin America and the Caribbean in the 1990s–Themes and Issues (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996); Scott Mainwaring, Guillero O’Donnell, and J. Samuel Valenzuela (eds.), Issues in Democratic Consolidation: The New South American Democracies in Comparative Perspective (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1992). Back.
Note 3: The emphasis must be placed on dramatic, for as the case studies will show, each of the MENA countries under examination, as well as others not examined in detail–notably Egypt–witnessed periods of slight loosening of political control or of opening well before the wave of the late 1980s. Back.
Note 4: This is also a huge literature. See, for example, Luiz Carlos Bresser Pereira, Jose Maria Maravall, and Adam Przeworski, Economic Reforms in New Democracies: A Social Democratic Approach (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993); Adam Przeworski, Democracy and the Market: Political and Economic Reforms in Eastern Europe and Latin America (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991); Edward Friedman, The Politics of Democratization: Generalizing the East Asian Experiences (Boulder: Westview, 1994); Arendt Lijphart and Carlos H. Waisman (eds.), Institutional Design in New Democracies: Eastern Europe and Latin America (Boulder: Westview, 1996); Constantine Menges (ed.), Transitions from Communism in Russia and Eastern Europe: Analysis and Perspectives (Landham, MD: University Press of America, 1994); Daniel N. Nelson After Authoritarianism: Democracy or Disorder (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1995); Joan Nelson (ed.), A Precarious Balance (San Francisco: ICS Press, 1994); George Pridham, Eric Herring, and George Sanford (eds.), Building Democracy: The International Dimension of Democratization in Eastern Europe (New York: St. Martin’s, 1994). Back.
Note 5: Christine Fauré, Democracy Without Women: Feminism and the Rise of Liberal Individualism in France (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991), p. 120. Back.
Note 6: See for example, Valentine Moghadam (ed.), Modernizing Women: Gender and Social Change in the Middle East (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1993), chapter 6. Back.
Note 7: Algeria is one of the most notorious cases. See, for example, Boutheina Cheriet, “Gender, Civil Society and Citizenship in Algeria,” Middle East Report, no. 198 (Jan.–March 1996): 22–26; Marnia Lazreg, The Eloquence of Silence: Algerian Women in Question (New York: Routledge, 1994); and Djamiila Amrane, Les Femmes Algériennes dans la Guerre (Paris: Plon, 1991). For a discussion of Palestinian women’s concerns with this issue see Rita Giacaman, Islah Jad, and Penny Johnson, “For the Common Good? Gender and Social Citizenship in Palestine,” Middle East Report, no. 198 (Jan.–March 1996): 11–16. Back.
Note 8: O’Donnell and Schmitter, Transitions, p. 7. Back.
Note 9: This process has generally been discussed in the framework of “pacts,” Ibid., pp. 37–47. See also Michael G. Burton and John Higley, “Elite Settlements,” American Sociological Review 52 (3): 299–301. Back.
Note 10: There is a problem, of course, in talking about “outcomes” in such situations, since in the case of liberalization we are clearly talking about a process, a moving train. The interest in this study, has been in the earliest stage in the liberalization, in which the most serious problems of regime consolidation and legitimation arise. Admittedly, such phases are not always easy to delineate. Back.
Note 11: For a discussion of the convergence of Islamist and secular programs for women in Egypt see Mervet Hatem, “Egyptian Discourses on Gender and Political Liberalization: Do Secularist and Islamist Views Really Differ?” Middle East Journal 48 (4) (Autumn 1994): 661–676. Back.
Note 12: Maxine Molyneux discusses the difficulties involved in defining and generalizing about what constitutes “women’s interests, in “Mobilization without Emancipation? Women’s Interests, the State and Revolution in Nicaragua,” Feminist Studies 11 (2) (Summer 1995): 231–232. Back.
Note 13: Ibid., p. 232–233. Back.
Note 14: Su‘ad Joseph, “Gender and Citizenship in Middle Eastern States,” Middle East Report, no. 198 (January–March 1996), p. 4. Back.
Note 15: The contrasting views of the role of the state can clearly be seen in the different schools addressing questions of economic development. Traditionally, structuralist schools saw a clear and necessary positive role for state intervention to achieve both industrial development and social welfare goals. On the other end of the spectrum, neo–liberals regard state involvement as a source of inefficiencies and rent–seeking behavior. See, for example, John Brohman, “Economism and Critical Silences in Development Studies: A Theoretical Critique of Neoliberalism,” Third World Quarterly 16 (2) (June 1995): 297–318. Back.
Note 16: I am grateful to Greg White for encouraging me to clarify this point. Back.
Note 17: See Hicham Ben Abdallah al–Alaoui, “Etre Citoyen dans le Monde Arabe,” Le Monde Diplomatique, July 1995, p. 11. Back.
Note 18: See Carol Pateman, The Sexual Contract (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1988). I have applied Pateman’s analysis to Jordan in “Women and the State in Jordan: Inclusion or Exclusion” in John Esposito and Yvonne Haddad (eds.), Islam, Gender and Social Change (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), pp. 100–123. Back.
Note 19: See Pateman, The Sexual Contract and Joseph, “Gender and Citizenship,” pp. 7–9. Back.
Note 20: See Floya Anthias and Nira Yuval–Davis, “Introduction,” in Anthias and Yuval–Davis (eds.), Woman–Nation–State (London: Macmillan, 1989), pp. 6–7. Back.
Note 21: O’ Donnell and Schmitter, Transitions. In O’Donnell’s p. 57 listing of sectors or groups that played a role in the transitions, he does not mention women at all. Back.
Note 22: Most notable are: Valentine M. Moghadam (ed.), Democratic Reform and the Position of Women in Transitional Economies (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993); Nanette Funk and Magda Mueller (eds.), Gender Politics and Post–Communism (New York: Routledge, 1993); and Shirin Rai, Hilary Pilkington, and Annie Phizacklea (eds.), Women in the Face of Change: The Soviet Union, Eastern Europe and China (New York: Routledge, 1992). The latter two books do provide some coverage of the political aspects of the transition. Back.
Note 23: See Jane S. Jaquette (ed.), The Women’s Movement in Latin America: Participation and Democracy, 2nd ed.(Boulder: Westview, 1994); Sarah A. Radcliff and Sallie Westwood (eds.), Viva: Women and Popular Protest in Latin America (New York: Routledge, 1993). See also Georgina Waylen, “Women and Democratization: Conceptualizing Gender Relations in Transition Politics,” World Politics 46, (3) (April 1994): 327–354. Back.
Note 24: Afaf Marsot, Women and Men in Late Eighteenth–Century Egypt (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1995). Back.
Note 25: Margot Badran, Feminists, Islam and Nation: Gender and the Making of Modern Egypt (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995). Back.
Note 26: Julie M. Peteet, Gender in Crisis: Women and the Palestinian Resistance Movement (New York: Columbia University Press, 1991). Back.
Note 27: See the contributions in Deniz Kandiyoti (ed.), Women, Islam and the State (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1991). Back.
Note 28: Mervet Hatem has defined state feminism (under the regime of Gamal ‘Abd al–Nasir in Egypt) as “ambitious state programs that introduce important changes in the reproductive and productive roles of women,” as quoted in As‘ad AbuKhalil, “Toward the Study of Women and Politics in the Arab World: The Debate and the Reality,” Feminist Issues 13 (1) (spring 1993): 17. Back.
Note 29: As Deniz Kandiyoti has argued “Of all the concepts generated by contemporary feminist theory patriarchy is probably the most overused and, in some respects, the most undertheorized” (p. 274). She notes that radical feminists have applied it to virtually any form or instance of male domination, while socialist feminists have focused on the relationships between patriarchy and class under capitalism. Kandiyoti offers a more nuanced approach, arguing that women “strategize within a set of concrete constraints that reveal and define the blueprint of” what she terms “patriarchal bargains” in a given society. These “bargains” will vary according to class, caste, and ethnicity. “They influence both the potential for and specific forms of women’s active or passive resistance in the face of their oppression” (p. 275). See, D. Kandiyoti, “Bargaining with Patriarchy,” Gender & Society 2 (3) (September 1988): 274–290. Back.
Note 30: Mervet Hatem, “Egyptian Discourses on Gender and Political Liberalization: Do Secularist and Islamist Views Really Differ?” Middle East Journal 48 (4) (Autumn 1994): 661. Back.
Note 31: Mervet Hatem, “Political Liberalization, Gender, and the State,” in Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble (eds.), Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World 1 (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1995), p. 187. Back.
Note 32: See for example, Moghadam (ed.), Democratic Reform; Funk and Mueller (eds.), Gender Politics; Rai, Pilkington and Phizacklea (eds.), Women in the Face of Change; Nahid Aslanbeigui, Steven Pressman, and Gale Summerfield, Women in the Age of Economic Transformation: Gender Impact of Reforms in Post–Socialist and Developing Countries (New York: Routledge, 1994); Chris Corrin (ed.), Superwoman and the Double Burden: Women’s Experience of Change in Central and Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Union (Toronto: Second Story Press, 1992). Back.
Note 33: See Funk and Mueller (eds.), Gender Politics; Jane Jaquette, The Women’s Movement; Barbara Einhorn, Cinderella Goes to Market: Citizenship,. Gender and Women’s Movements in East Central Europe (London: Verso, 1993); Marilyn Rueschmeyer (ed.), Women in the Politics of Postcommunist Eastern Europe (London: M. E. Sharpe, 1994); “Women and Political Transitions in South America and Eastern and Central Europe: The Prospects for Democracy,” (Los Angeles: The International and Public Affairs Center, Occidental College, working paper, 1992). Back.
Note 34: Renata Siemienska, “Women and Social Movements in Poland,” Women & Politics 6 (4) (winter 1986): 24. Back.
Note 36: Barbara Einhorn, “Democratization and Women’s Movements in Central and Eastern Europe: Concepts of Women’s Rights,” in Moghadam (ed.), Democratic Reform, p. 48. Back.
Note 37: Doina Pasca Harsanyi, “Women in Romania,” in Funk and Mueller (eds.), Gender Politics, pp. 48. Back.
Note 39: Siemienska, “Women and Social Movements in Poland,” pp. 29, 30 and 32. Back.
Note 40: Ewa Hause, Barbara Heyns, and Jane Mansbridge, “Feminism in the Interstices of Politics and Culture: Poland in Transition,” in Funk and Mueller (eds.), pp. 262–63. Back.
Note 41: Mal\orzata Fuszara, “Abortion and the Formation of the Public Sphere in Poland,” in Funk and Mueller (eds.), p. 243. Back.
Note 42: Ibid., pp. 249, 251. Back.
Note 43: The law was finally liberalized again in August 1996. LA Times, August 31, 1996. For the background to the shift see Daniel Singer, “Of Lobsters and Poles,” The Nation, December 20, 1993, p. 765. Back.
Note 44: Anastasia Posadskaya, Changes in Gender Discourses and Policies in the Former Soviet Union,” in Moghadem (ed.), Democratic Reform, p. 164. Back.
Note 45: Katrina vanden Heuvel, “Right–to–Lifers Hit Russia,” The Nation, November 1, 1993, pp. 489–492. Back.
Note 46: Gail Warshofsky Lapidus, “Gender and Restructuring: The Impact of Perestroika and its Aftermath on Soviet Women,” in Moghadam (ed.), Democratic Reform, pp. 154–55. Back.
Note 47: Elizabeth Waters, “Finding a Voice: The Emergence of a Women’s Movement,” in Funk and Mueller (eds.), p. 300. Back.
Note 48: See “Russia’s Church: A Material Calling,” LA Times, September 4, 1997. Back.
Note 49: Sonia Alvarez, “The (Trans)formation of Feminism(s) and Gender Politics in Democratizing Brazil, in Jaquette (ed.), The Women’s Movement, pp. 15–16. Back.
Note 50: Patricia M. Churchryk, “From Dictatorship to Democracy: The Women’s Movement in Chile,”” in Jaquette (ed.), The Women’s Movement, p. 77. Back.
Note 51: O’Donnell and Schmitter, Transitions, p. 52. Back.
Note 52: Maria del Carmen Feijoo with Marcela Maria Alejandra Nari, “Women and Democracy in Argentina,” in Jaquette (ed.), The Women’s Movement, p. 117. Back.
Note 53: Alvarez, “Democratizing Brazil,” pp. 41–43. Back.
Note 54: Churchryk, “The Women’s Movement in Chile,” pp. 79, 86, 88–89. Back.
Note 55: Feijoo with Nari, “Women and Democracy in Argentina,” pp. 117, 121–122, and 126. Back.
Note 56: For a discussion of the question of Middle Eastern or Arab exceptionalism see Ghassan Salameh, “Introduction: Where are the Democrats?,” and John Waterbury, “Democracy Without Democrats,” in Ghassan Salame (ed.), Democracy Without Democrats: The Renewal of Politics in the Muslim World (New York: I. B. Tauris, 1994). See also Fred Halliday, Islam and the Myth of Confrontation: Religion and Politics in the Middle East (New York: I. B. Tauris, 1996) and Olivier Roy, The Failure of Political Islam (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1994). Back.
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