Once upon a time, in a busy shop In the land of tribes and ancient civilization A little girl sat watching… in silent resignation Grown-up women with shrouds of black Hidden and silent… in isolation With a “no-trespassing” look They wandered around in simulation When a single woman appeared, suddenly, in the shop The little girl felt a sudden sensation Yes, the woman wore the black alright… Yet, she walked with determination Not cautious, fearful, or covered-up The woman moved as a distinct population She seemed to own the world She was … such an inspiration… ………………………………………………………………………………. Yes, we are in a constant fear of social backlash But the power of words defeats organizations The little girl recalls the single woman in black… Whenever she feels a hesitation… Beautiful and powerful in her own way… A woman, who defeats stagnation… We will not be deprived We are a different generation…. And if countries can be flipped over and start anew In search of liberation We, too, the women in black Can exceed our own expectations… From Woman in Black by Hala al-Dosari, Saudi writer and women's rights activist
Loujain al-Hathloul
Our story starts one evening in 2017. It has been noted that, “on the evening of September 26, 2017, 28-year-old Loujain al-Hathloul sat at home in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, eyeing her smartphone. A stream of notifications cascaded down the screen as her social media feeds erupted with messages of shock, joy, and speculation. Moments before, an ordinary Tuesday had turned historic: King Salman al-Saud took to state-run television to issue a stunning royal decree: Saudi women, at long last, would be granted the right to drive”.
Loujain al-Hathloul was one of those championing the cause of women being permitted to drive, but she would pay a high price for her courage and determination. Just weeks before the law was changed in 2018, she was arrested and while the Saudi authorities claim it was not connected to the change in the law, the timing does look like an enormous coincidence.
Following her arrest her family states that she was held incommunicado for three months and “was subjected to electric shocks, whippings, and sexual harassment. They also allege that she was offered freedom if she agreed to say she was not tortured.”
In December 2020, it was noted that a terrorism tribunal had “found Ms Hathloul guilty of “inciting change to the basic ruling regime” and “serving a foreign agenda inside the kingdom by using the internet with the objective of damaging public order””. In other words, Loujain had used the internet to campaign for more equal treatment of women, and to criticise her government, something you may have done at some time or other.
Two months later, Loujain was released on bail, while she appealed a five year sentence, but Amnesty International reported on 10 March 2021, following, what was described as a deeply unfair trial, that Saudi Arabia’s Specialized Criminal Court had upheld her conviction. By way of response. Amnesty International’s Deputy Director for the Middle East and North Africa, Lynn Maalouf was reported as saying: “Today’s verdict is just the latest demonstration of Saudi Arabia’s intent to continue crushing all forms of dissent inside the country. By failing to quash Loujain al-Hathloul’s conviction, the Saudi Arabian authorities have clearly demonstrated that they consider peaceful activism a crime and consider activists to be traitors or spies. Loujain al-Hathloul is a brave human rights defender, she should be celebrated for her peaceful activism in the country – not branded a criminal.”
Although Loujain had been released, she was still stuck with a grossly unfair conviction – and a five-year travel ban.
Women as second-class citizens; the Guardianship System
On International Women’s Day, 8 March 2022, the Personal Status Law (PSL) was passed in Saudi Arabia. Prior to that, the male-dominated judiciary system in Saudi Arabia had been free to interpret Sharia Law in relation to family matters as they saw fit. This appeared to be a step forward for women’s rights in Saudi Arabia. However, Amnesty International argued at the time that “in reality … the law codifies many of the informal yet widespread problematic practices inherent in the male guardianship system and entrenches a system of gender-based discrimination in most aspects of family life, including in marriage, divorce, and child custody.”
Indeed, under the PSL, a woman’s life is dominated by the influence of the male guardian. It is only men who can be legal guardians, while women unlike men, must have the consent of a male legal guardian to get married and for the marriage contract to be validated. Women do have some safeguards within the law, which seek to protect a woman from being forced into marriage, such as the prohibition of a legal guardian’s agreement to a woman’s marriage without her consent and the requirement of proof of consent of both the man and woman and. However, it does not provide any clarity on how ‘consent’ should be obtained, or even what it means.
Not only does a woman have to have a male guardian; she also cannot choose her guardian. Instead, this is decided by law with a ranking system of male guardians, starting with the father, then the grandfather and so on. If a woman’s legal guardian rejects any marriage that she might want to take, “that guardianship is transferred to the court, which is another male-dominated entity, to ‘take charge of marrying the woman.'” This means that women’s agency is further diminished, while men’s control over them increases.
If the couple separate, then the mother automatically gets custody of the children. However, “the father is designated as the child’s legal guardian without due consideration of the best interests of the child.”
Once the father has become the legal guardian then he has far more power over the upbringing of the child. This creates a further risk as it can mean that fathers may use the broad powers of their legal guardianship to take away the limited rights that a woman has over her child. Under Article 126 (1), for example, the mother’s custody can be terminated by the male guardian, if she marries a man unrelated to the child. As a result of this, divorced women with children are often deterred from re-marrying as this would put them at risk of potentially losing their children, as they would have to prove that the marriage is in the “interest” of the child. As pointed out above, what this means in practice is not defined in the law. By way of contrast, the PSL does not restrict a father’s guardianship over his child based on his marriage status.
There is one other way that the PSL discriminates against women. It has been noted that, “the law also discriminates against women in matters of marriage by allowing a Muslim woman to only marry a Muslim man, but allowing a Muslim man to marry a Christian, Jewish or Muslim woman. Under international law, this differentiation impairs a woman’s right to freely choose her spouse. Additionally, the PSL codifies stereotypical gender roles which are discriminatory against women by requiring wives to “obey in righteousness” and cancelling a woman’s right under the law to financial maintenance by her husband if she “refuses herself to her husband…without a legitimate reason.” Here too, the PSL fails to provide a definition for a “legitimate reason.””
Women are also controlled through what they can and cannot wear, although this is arguably more subtle than in other countries, such as Iran. There is no law forcing women to wear a hijab or head covering, but as has been noted, there are strong social pressures to wear the hijab as itis seen as a symbol of piety and modesty and it is strongly encouraged. It is also said that, “in some cases, women who do not wear the hijab may even be harassed or assaulted.”
It is clear then, that the Personal Status Law, passed four years ago has not ushered in an enlightened new period for women’s rights in Saudi Arabia. Far from it. The law has been written in such a way that the vague sections can be interpreted in ways which reinforce the highly patriarchal nature of Saudi society. Nor has allowing women to walk around with their heads uncovered really brought them the freedom to do it.
We have already seen what happened to Loujain al-Sahloul. What can happen to women today who protest injustices, including the guardianship system and what can happen if they want to wear what they want?
Manahel al-Otaibi
Manahel al-Otaibi, 29, a Saudi fitness instructor, wanted to live what she saw as a normal life. On 1 May this year, it was reported that she had been sentenced to 11 years in prison. The charges against her were in two groups.
Firstly, she was charged with peacefully expressing her views online, including calling on social media for an end to Saudi Arabia’s male guardianship system, Secondly she was charged with publishing videos of herself wearing “indecent clothes”, and going to the shops while wearing clothes other than an abaya (a traditional dress, like that mentioned in the poem) In practice this meant videos of Manahel wearing western gym and fitness style clothing, such as t-shirts and tracksuit bottoms.
Amazingly, this resulted in Manahel being found guilty of “terrorist offences” under articles 43 and 44 of the kingdom’s draconian Counter-Terrorism Law, criminalizing “any person who creates, launches, or uses a website or a program on a computer or on an electronic device … or to publish information on the manufacture of incendiary devices, explosives, or any other devices used in terrorist crimes“, as well as “any person who, by any means, broadcasts or publishes news, statements, false or malicious rumours, or the like for committing a terrorist crime”. To add insult to injury it was also reported that her family did not have any access to the evidence presented against her, or indeed to her court documents.
Second-class citizens
And Loujain al-Sahloul? She continues to be branded as a criminal and banned from travelling outside Saudi Arabia, her ongoing punishment for wanting women in Saudi Arabia to be allowed to drive all those years ago.
Let there be no doubts that women are very much second-class citizens in Saudi Arabia. Many of the most important decisions in their lives are taken by male guardians, while there are huge restrictions on what a woman can do and wear.
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