Anissa Daoudi

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So natural is the impulse to narrate, so inevitable is the form of narrative for any report of the way things really happened, that narrativity could appear problematical only in a culture in which it was absent – absent or, as in some domains …programmatically refused.

Hayden White (1980), “The Value of Narrativity in the Representation of Reality”

 

“Truth for anyone is a very complex thing. For a writer, what you leave out says as much as those things you include. What lies beyond the margin of the text? The photographer frames the shot; writers frame their world. Mrs Winterson objected to what I had put in, but it seemed to me that what I had left out was the story’s silent twin. There are so many things that we can’t say, because they are too painful. We hope that the things we can say will soothe the rest, or appease it in some way. Stories are compensatory. The world is unfair, unjust, unknowable, out of control. When we tell a story we exercise control, but in such a way as to leave a gap, an opening. It is a version, but never the final one. And perhaps we hope that the silences will be heard by someone else, and the story can continue, can be retold. When we write we offer the silence as much as the story. Words are the part of silence that can be spoken. Mrs Winterson would have preferred it if I had been silent.

Do you remember the story of Philomel who is raped and then has her tongue ripped out by the rapist so that she can never tell? I believe in fiction and the power of stories because that way we speak in tongues. We are not silenced. All of us, when in deep trauma, find we hesitate, we stammer; there are long pauses in our speech. The thing is stuck. We get our language back through the language of others. We can turn to the poem. We can open the book. Somebody has been there for us and deep-dived the words. I needed words because unhappy families are conspiracies of silence. The one who breaks the silence is never forgiven. He or she has to learn to forgive him or herself.”

Jeanette Winterson (2011), Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?

Narrating and Translating Sexual Violence in the Middle East and North Africa is the overarching theme of this Special Issue, which is guided by the natural impulse, to borrow White’s words, to narrate and translate knowing into telling[1].  Culturally, telling stories of violence has been linked to power struggles and therefore, not all stories could be told, particularly in authoritarian regimes.   Telling stories is an act of power around who is telling what and to whom? (Foucault, 1977).   By telling stories of what really happened, the aim is certainly not to reproduce violence, but to give a voice to the silenced Arab women to tell their stories in order to counter narrate the hegemonic discourse(s) in relation to sexual violence at wartime in the MENA region.  The contributors of this special issue; being a combination of academics from different disciplines, activists and feminists from the region and literary writers; are aware of the importance of telling stories that challenge the existing discourses and uncover layers of distortion with a view to the present and the future.   Telling is equally important what is being left out, having an eye for details, framing stores in a specific style and genre, using precise language are also as important.  Telling “When we tell a story we exercise control, but in such a way as to leave a gap, an opening” as Jeanette Winterson argues.  She adds that our story is “a version but never the final one”, yet an important addition to the clusters of stories that form discourse(s).  This act of telling or writing is what constructs and produces particular versions of the world.  As Baker (2006: 28) puts it “personal stories that we tell ourselves about our place in the world and our own personal history”.  By positioning Arab women in the world, we (contributors of this volume) are, as Foucault puts, placing ourselves in the power of network (1978) and agree with   Foucault’s idea of power “we must cease once and for all to describe the effect of power in negative terms, it ‘excludes, it ‘represses’, it ‘sensors’, it ‘abstracts’, it ‘masks’, it ‘conceals’.  In fact power produces; it produces reality; it produces domains of objects and rituals of the truth” (Foucault, 1977: 194).

This Special Issue seeks to make three valuable and original contributions.  To begin with, it is the first time the subject of rape at wartime, a topic considered as taboo, is discussed openly in relation to the MENA region by activists, academics and literary writers from the region in three languages; namely French, Arabic and English.  As our theoretical framework is based on the importance of translation as a way of challenging established discourses (Apter, 2013), it became crucial that this unique project has to appear in the three working languages of the MENA region to make information available to scholars, activists, policy makers, students locally and globally, as we believe that sexual violence in wartime is a global phenomenon.  The second originality of the papers of this issue is about the content it reveals for the first time, especially in relation to Algeria, where there is the Amnesty Law that stands as a barrier against truth.   This special issue is a call for justice and a clear rejection to the Amnesty Law (2005).  More importantly, the third point is related to the fight against silencing women and for empowering them to narrate their stories in order to write a complete version of history.   By so doing, women are not only putting the records straight, but also helping other women (locally, regionally and globally) to advance in their just fight against patriarchy, injustice and inequality and not re-invent the wheel.

For this Special Issue, I turn to the past to understand the present and aim to take part in shaping the future.  In other words, asking the same question as Turshen’s (2002)
what happened to Algerian women who were once active during the War of Liberation become passive in the Civil War?  She starts her article with two quotes: one referring to Mudjahidats describing a site where they planted bombs during the War of Liberation and another referring to an Algerian woman, captured by Islamists during the civil war, where she was used as a slave for sexual and other domestic jobs for ‘the Amir’ (terrorist).  The two images seem two centuries apart.  The question is indirectly asking the Mudjahidats (female war veterans) about their contributions towards the ‘grand narratives’ of the Algerian War.  It is in a way holding them responsible for not telling their stories, for not becoming role models for the coming Algerian generations and for not being agents for change in the same way they acted during the Liberation War.  This project aspires to uncover ‘layers of distortions/constructions’ to use Tamboukou’s terms (2013), not only about what did the Mudjahidats not say, but also why and how did their silencing happen.  By so doing, the eyes are not only on the past but rather, on the present and future of Algerian women.  In the following section, analysis of the reasons and the ways the silencing happened will be provided.

I.       Gendering Violence in Algeria: the Role of Language

Algeria, known as the country of The Three Djamilas, an Arabic name, meaning ‘beautiful’ referring to three Algerian women war veterans called (Djamila Bouheird, Djamila Boupasha and Djamila Bouazza), standing for the fighting against the coloniser during the liberation war (1954-1962).  While this metaphor ‘the Three Djamilas’ has been used and abused in the whole Arab culture, Algerian women’s contribution to the War of Liberation is present in the Algerian collective memory.  The abuse starts, as (Mehta, 2014: 48) states with the image related creation of the “land-female body equation, reducing women to abstract symbols of nation without citizenship rights”.  This motherland, as (McMillin, 2007) appears all too frequently in nationalist rhetoric.   It is the same hegemonic strategy that excludes women from taking an active part in the nation building process.  In fact, the metaphor of the land can be analysed closer based on the principle of the ‘conceptual metaphor theory’, by Lackoff and Johnson, 1980, in which the target domain is related to the image of ‘cultivation’, ‘strength’ and ‘security’.   This metaphor leaves no room for negative association with al mudjahidats (female war veterans).   However, in framing the Djamilas as ‘French’ educated ‘elite’ Algerian ‘Muslim’ girls, the ‘abuse’, to use Thomas’s word ‘cultural violence’ becomes clearer, particularly with the Algerian Arabicisation movement in post-independence in the 1970s, where the same ‘French’ educated women were sent back to the private sphere because they did not master ‘Standard Arabic’, the official language according to the Algerian constitution.  History was written by Arabophone Algerian men, leaving no room for women to narrate or archive their stories.  In 1974, Ministry of Mudjahideen (the Ministry of Veterans Affairs) reported that 11,000 Algerian women had fought for the liberation (about 3% of all fighters); Amrane Minne (1993) thinks this is a serious underestimation of women’s participation. She adds that of this number, 22% were urban and 78% came from rural areas; these percentages mirror exactly the rate of urbanization in Algeria at that time.  The Mudjahidats battle was not with the colonizer only, but was also to free women from ignorance and servitude.  Urban educated women joined the rebel forces and went to the villages where they taught illiterate peasant women, the reasons for their independence struggle. Studies reveal that after independence, many faced rejections from their societies and could not reintegrate, some for being raped, others because they had frequented men).  From those who managed to find jobs, some were forced by their husbands to return to their traditional jobs.   Assia Djebbar’s film La Nouba des femmes du Mont Chenoua (1978) is a representation of colonialism as well as her own women’s culture.  In this film, Djebbar stresses the importance of history and memory and asks questions about: whose history is Algeria’s? Who speaks it and to whom?  And in what language?  The exclusion of French educated Algerian women was not limited to Mudjahidats but also included a generation of Algerians educated in French; even decades after independence (see Chapter One).  The following section will provide an analysis of what it felt like living as a woman in the 1990s, known as the ‘Black Decade’ in Algeria.

II.       Memories of Algerian Women in the 1990s

The civil war has been described as one of the most brutal periods in independent Algeria.  It has been estimated that more than 200,000 people were killed and thousands “brutally wounded, displaced, abducted and sexually violated, according to the Amnesty International Report of 1996” (Mehta, 2014: 69).   Independent Algeria experienced nothing other than a one party repressive regime, where corruption, unemployment, nepotism, gender discrimination, and minority segregation were commonplace.  In the 1980’s, the country was ready for an explosion of some sorts.  The crisis was felt economically, politically, and socially and people took to the streets in what is known as ‘the bread riots’ on October the 5^th 1988.  The uprising started off peacefully but soon the military brutally crushed the protestors.   The Islamists capitalised on the tensions and started to present themselves as the rescuers of the country.  They wanted to be seen as the ones to reinvent Algerian identity, which for them was still Francophone.  As Zahia Salhi (2010) argues, the military became more militarised and the Islamists engaged in armed struggle, and as a result the country was dragged into one of the most horrific moments of its history.  Civilians were the ultimate victims, particularly women.  In fact, Salhi believes that women became a deliberate target for the Islamic fundamentalists as early as the 1970s.  She explains how the discriminatory provision of the Family Code exacerbated and legitimized violence against women and made it difficult for them to deal with the consequences of widespread human rights abuses (2010). Marnia Lazreg calls 1984^[2] “the year of the rupture between women and their government and women and the radical questioning of the state’s legitimacy”.

Dalila Lamarene Djerbal describes the situation:

Physical violence on a large scale, then murders of women who do not respect the dress code or rules of conduct; assassination of female citizens charged with supporting  the authorities(le pouvoir) or women related to the members of the security services; the obligation for women and families to support the armed groups and beginnings of rape through forced marriages,  the multiplication of kidnappings, rape in the guise of what is known as zawāj mut’a^[3], abductions of women, segregation, collective rape, torture, murder and mutilation of the entire territory.^[4]

The quote above captures the physical violence exercised against Algerian women, which undoubtedly left psychological scars.  It summarizes the different pretexts under which women were targeted.   The first is related to women in the public sphere and to ‘respectable’ dress code and conduct.  The concept of hijab^[5] started to circulate in the mid-1970s and the beginning of the 80s, brought by Arab teachers who came to the country under the Arabisation movement and who had links with the Muslim Brotherhood movements.  Their aim was the Islamisation of Algeria which according to them was still Francophone.   A large number of Algerian women were forced to wear the hijab (the veil) and those who refused to do so receive death threats and in some cases were killed and used as examples to terrorize other women.   A Fatwa^[6] legalising the kidnapping and temporary marriage of women was issued, in a very similar way to how Yazidi women are treated under ISIS rule today.  According to Islamists, hijab^[7] is what distinguishes a Muslim woman from a non-Muslim one.  It is also what sets the limits between the private and public spheres.  All these strict rules justified the physical violence and the killing of women who refused to abide by the religious rule.  The first victim was the famous case of Katia Bengana, a 17 year old high school girl in Blida, who had been warned but told her mother: “even if one day I will be assassinated, I will never wear hijab against my will.   If I must wear something, it will be the traditional dress of Kabylia, rather than the imported hijab they want to force on us” (Turshen, 2002: 898).   Katia’s statement shows how defiant she was, even though, she suspected that she would be killed for her strong views.  Additionally, her Kabyle identity was more important to her.  She refers to hijab as an ideology imported and forced on Algerians from the Arabian Peninsula in reference to the Wahhabi^[8] ideology.  This sentiment was shared by a large number of Algerians who claim that their Algerian Islam, under which they were brought up, had its own particularities and that they did not need lessons about Islam from any other source.

Twenty years later, her sister writes a post on Facebook and says: “I cry, I rage against these veiled women who think they are free while they are muzzled.  Katia is a girl who decided for herself, not bend to the macho obscurantism of the Islamists.  How many Katia(s) do we so that one day these women can finally be free? Katia should be viewed as a symbol of struggle against the medieval spirits. She was courageous and and was ready to go all the way for her convictions, a free woman, a real Tamazight as was the Queen of the Aures, an example of strength and intelligence”^[9] (26.01.17).  At the Birmingham University Conference, October 2014 on ‘Narrating and Translating Sexual Violence in the MENA Region: the role of Language’, Mrs Wassyla Tamzali, referred to Katia’s case and stressed that she should not be remembered as Berber, instead, she should be celebrated as an Algerian woman (see article by Mrs. Tamzali in this issue).  She adds that by dividing citizens as Berbers and Arabs, Algerians fall into the colonial ideology of ‘divide and rule’.  Katia was not killed because she was Berber, but because she refused ‘political Islam’.  For Tamzali, talking on behalf of Katia is crucial and making Katia’s voice heard is just as important.  She chose to make Katia’s case a national issue because she is aware that there are more women like Katia in Algeria.   Recent reports from areas in Iraq and Syria, under ISIS control, show how women are still subjected to similar circumstances of rape, killing and sex slavery.   Thus, Tamzali’s call is of global significance and is a result of her years of working for the United Nations, dealing with the plight of Women in Bosnia.

The second issue in Lamarene’s quote relates to the targeting of female citizens “charged with supporting the authorities (le pouvoir) or women related to the members of the security services”.  This category of women includes a large segment of the Algerian population, who are wives, sisters or mothers of men working for the security services, police force, army, called by the fundamentalists the ‘tyrants’ – in Arabic taghut^[10]’.  The latter is a word from classical Arabic that takes us immediately to the usages of the word in the distant past.  The word is mentioned in the Quran (Surat al Nahl/the Bee)^[11].  In this case the ‘tyrant’ or the ruler is referred to as ‘evil’. The eradication of evil thus becomes a duty for the believer.  This conceptual metaphor can be used to explain the process by which the extermination of the non-believer becomes normalised.   Using the image of the taghut evokes various images that are directly related to Qur’an and also to the pre-Islamic period where people worshipped other forms of gods, something that differentiates the believer from the non-believer.  It recalls the image of the ‘evil’ and the ‘unjust ruler’.  The two concepts are sufficient, according to, for example, the grand Mufti (preacher) of Saudi Arabia^[12] to justify the death penalty.

Other concepts started to appear in Algerian society at this time: Dalila Lamarene Djerbal refers to Zawāj al Mut’a, a term introduced by Islamists referring to a form of temporary marriage practised by some Shi’i Muslims in the Middle East but not in North Africa.   This is unknown in Algeria, where the majority of the population are Sunnis.  Other forms of marriage also appeared with the rise of Islamism, such as zawāj al misāyr (again a temporary form of marriage accepted in the Sunni sect of Wahhabism).  Other forms of attack on women’s bodies under different terminologies started to make their way into Algerian society.  Fadhila Al Farouq’s novel, refers to the word rape in Arabic and places it in inverted commas “الاغتصاب” /al ightisāb/ as a controversial term.  Yet, she explicitly explains its etymological roots to Classical Arabic.  By so doing, Al Farouq implicitly attacks the religious institution for using ‘Islamic concepts’ as symbolic capital (see Chapter One).

Djerbal’s quote captures the atrocities Algerian women went through during the ‘Black Decade’.  Violence was both real and symbolic against civilians, particularly women who, as indicated by Djerbal, were collectively raped, tortured and murdered in the most dramatic ways (see below the discussion on the killing of female teachers in the western part of Algeria). In the 1990s, ordinary women in Algeria took to the streets to denounce the violent discourses against them.  In 1994, the Armed Islamic Group (GIA) called for a boycott of schools.  However, in spite of numerous school burnings and murders of teachers, women still brought their children to classes in acts of defiance. Violence grew as it met resistance from government and citizens, including women.  The terrorists “stepped up their activities, establishing roadblocks and killing everyone ambushed in this way” (Turshen, 2002: 897).  Other acts directed against women included the issuing of the fatwa    legalising the killing of girls and women who did not wear the hijab.  Another fatwa legalised the kidnapping and temporary marriage of women.  According to the FIS, hijab is what distinguishes a Muslim from a non-Muslim woman.  It is also what puts the limits between the private and public spheres.  All these edicts justified the killing of women who refused to abide by the religious rules.   The next section will shed light on Algerian women’s organisations and their fight against what was happening.

III.       The Role of Women’s Organisations in Algeria in the Black Decade: Resilience

 Algerian women were subjugated to the worst kinds of violence way before the civil war.  In public discourses by the Islamic party (FIS[13]), some women like feminists were portrayed as non-believers, westerners, immoral and therefore, there was an urgent need to bring them back to their traditional roles.  They, according to the FIS, were occupying jobs that were supposed to be for men.  Unemployed men favoured this particular discourse at the time where the economic crisis hit the country due to corruption; fall in prices of oil in a country that relied primarily on natural resources.  Algeria became more and more hostile to the presence of women in the public sphere.  Feminists were harassed, prevented from doing their jobs and even not allowed to live without a male relative (like brother, husband, son, what is called mahram. The 1984 Law, (as explained in Chapter One), did not help either.  In fact, it institutionalised violence and discrimination against women.  Ait Hamou (2004, 117); one the founding members of Réseau Wassyla argues that the Algerian government co-opted the conservatives, and later, Muslim fundamentalists, to protect their interests and stay in power. Various governments have made compromises and sacrificed women’s rights to keep peace with the fundamentalists[14] .  For example, in 1989, “conservatives within the FLN[15] colluded with Islamists to introduce measures against the emancipation of women, for instance more religious education in primary schools; making sports not compulsory for girls; and so on” (ibid).  In other words, the complicity of the FLN, in the educational system in Algeria has always been going on for years.

Globally, when women were facing violence on a daily basis, the whole world turned a blind on what was going on.  It is, as Ait-Hamou argues, “since 11 September, the world, and particularly, the United State, seems to have suddenly realised that Muslim fundamentalism, in its extreme form of terrorism, is a real threat”.  She adds “many of us cannot help feeling bitter about such an attitude, for we fought fundamentalism and terrorism in isolation, with our bare hands for a good number of years, while fundamentalists who committed the most atrocious crimes in our countries were getting support from the same governments that are now dictating to the rest of the world how to ‘fight terrorism”.   This feeling of bitterness about being left alone with no support at all neither from their fellow Arabs nor form the rest of the world is what women and men repeat now when asked about why they did not join the so called ‘Arab Spring’.  Another striking issue that Ait-Hamou refers to is the Amnesty Law of 1999, which is to date criticised by most feminist organisations.

The aim of the Amnesty Law was to bring closure to the Algerian Civil War by offering an amnesty for most violence committed in it. The referendum on it was held on September 29, 2005, and it was implemented as law on February 28, 2006.  Critics, however call it a denial of truth and justice to the victims of the abuses and their families.  One example of the voices against the Amnesty Law is Cherifa Keddar, the founder of Djazairouna Association, created on October 17, 1996, following the assassination of her sister and brother after a targeted attack on her family, including their mother by Islamists.   Cherifa united with the survivors of terrorism to give them a voice that denounces the Amnesty Law and asks for justice.   Bennoune gives detailed information about the work of this organization in this issue.

Feminist organisations were fighting against fundamentalism, based on theocracy and patriarchy, as the source violence.  They all believed that the early 1980s was the start of fundamentalism in Algeria.  They agree that the Friday Sermons diffused on loudspeakers[16], focusing on women bodies, describing them as immoral for wearing for example, lipstick or going out unveiled.  University campuses were also attacked and the authorities kept a low profile.  In June 1989, a group of fundamentalists set fire in public to a house that belonged to a divorced woman, who lived with her children.  Her three children were burnt to death.  Women’s groups denounced the crime and organized the first demonstration in the streets of Algiers.  Silence complicity from the State helped Islamism to rise.  In years 1992-1993, thousands of men and women were killed and the country lived in terror.  The first woman to be murdered was Karima Belhadj, secretary in the General Office of National Security[17].  Women organisations in Algeria had little choice.  They had to strategically survive the atrocities, some wore the veil to avoid confrontations others, resisted that.  One needs to look at the Algerian society now to realise that more than help of women are veiled.  Women’s rights activists had a national strategy to combat fundamentalism by producing counter-discourse, on many occasions, they occupied the street, carrying photos of those who were killed, at a time when people were terrified.  The first public meeting was in 1993 organised by the Gathering of Algerian Democratic Women (RAFD), using mock tribunal against terrorism (Ait-Hamou, ibid).  Women’s rights organisations also denounced the American and European discourses, under the name of democracy, that the Islamists were victims, by contributing to international debates using foreign media channels and participating at international conferences. They established many women’s associations like SOS Femmes en Detresse, RAFD and RACHDA continue to combat for women’s right and for providing counter-discourse to fundamentalism.

The history of violence on Algerian women by jihadist groups some 20 years ago now, as Bennoune argues in this issue, the way it happened, the way it was overlooked, the way in which victims were overlooked, neglected and forgotten-should spark outrage globally, as this violence on issue is not on Algerian women only but it is a global issue and understanding it, gives insights into understanding ISIS today.  Bennoune’s essay, in this issue, addresses rape in Algeria in the ‘Black Decade’ and provides a true picture of what Algeria during the Civil war was like.  She scrutinizes the ways rape was narrated by interviewing survivors, which is to date not an easy task under the Amnesty Law.  Her expertise in Law and her fieldwork research on the theme of rape in Algeria and in other parts of the Muslim world contributes to the interdisciplinary nature of this issue.   Her essay shows her knowledge of Algeria inside out and her sharp analysis of the events.

To complement Benoune’s article, Daoudi, stresses on the cultural production of the 1990s in Algeria.  Her article entitled ‘Untranslatability of Algeria’ challenges Apter’s (2013) concept of untranslatability and presents it not as a homogenous entity but a multiple notion.  Translation as a means of disturbing discourses (Apter, 2013) is the basis of the arguments about gender roles and contribution to colonial and postcolonial Algeria.  It helps dismantling the narratives that were written by men and bring out the silenced discourses.  Through close analysis of the various gender discourses on violence in Algeria, this article shows the manipulations of discourses about Algerian women during colonial and postcolonial Algeria.  It also discusses the role of Algerian writers in giving a voice to their voiceless compatriots to help archive their history and to construct their social memory and collective.  In addition, it emphasizes the roles of language and translation in the construction of a constantly changing Algeria with an emphasis on the Civil War 1990s.

A specialist in Gender and Islamic Studies, Amel Grami, who worked with Jihadi women in the MENA region brings out an understudied area, I find myself attentive to a number of related themes such as ‘al sabi’ and ‘jihad al-nikah’, on which Grami has published extensively.  ‘Jihad al-nikah’, in particular has been a very controversial issue in Tunisia after the Arab Spring.  Grami argues that official statements from the Tunisian Home Office declared that indeed there are groups of young Tunisian women who travelled to Syria with the purpose of ‘Jihad al-nikah’.  She brings to lights different narratives about sexual violence in Tunisia.  The purpose of narrating these stories is not to study the past but to try to understand it in the present, for example, in understanding Yazidi women’s rape in the MENA region (see article by Grami in this Special Issue).

Algerian women’s fight against silence and fundamentalism was not restricted to women’s rights activists on the ground.  Other women; writers fought their pens.  Djebar, as a pioneer among the generation that lived colonialism and Mokadem are the core of the essay written by Imen Cozzo in this issue.  She believes that Algerian women’s silence might be an involuntary social, cultural and ideological act of resistance, a way to bury the atrocious truth and to seal it into a forgotten tomb, she says.  Silence was imposed by a colonial reality and continues to be enforced by a postcolonial tradition and society. After independence, many Algerian writers use the same coloniser’s language to resist their assimilation into a backward process or the fight over “outer” and “inner” spaces.[18] Therefore, Cozzo argues that silence becomes a political act through which women subvert the oppressors’ discourse, by retaining their secret world/word.

Violence in the 1990s in Algerian films namely: Rachida, The Harem of Madame Osmane, and Barakat!  Is what Rym Quartsi discusses in her article.  She looks at films as another medium through which Algerian directors communicated their trauma and pain of the Black Decade.   In her essay, she explores the relationship between gender, violence and language.   The Black decade is the period when most artists fled the country after receiving death threats.  This led to the dismantling of the film industry and the films that were produced were done outside Algeria by external funding.

In a comparative study, Bedjaoui recalls the ‘Black Decade’ through the work of the two Francophone female writers Assia Djebar and Maisa Bey.  The novels studied, centres on the violence of religious fanaticism that terrified the Algerian society in the 1990s.  Similarly, Tamzali writes a letter to katia Benghena, the girl who defied the Islamists and refused to wear the veil.  Tamzali warns of the division of the Algerian society into Berber, Arab, Francophone and Aarbophone.  She reminds us Katia is an Algerian woman and not just a Berber. In describing how it was living in Algeria during the Black decade, she says: “the country was plunging into civil war, neighbours and brothers killing each other. The pain and the fear overpowered the gaze of our mothers and our lives headed towards barbarism to the sound of heavy boots and the cries of “Allahu Akbar”. Death spread in every corner and the stench of gloomy clouds filled the air.”  Finally, a selection of literary texts by Fadhila Al Farouq and Inam Bioud is presented in the three languages.  Al Farouq is the first Algerian writer, who chose to fight with her pen, risking her life, to document cases of rape in the 1990s.  Bioud’s poem fills our heart with sadness and reminds us of the atrocities of the “Black decade.”

IV.       Conclusion

Violence in the recent years has intensified, or at least the advancement in Information Technology made it look intensified.  This is to say that violence has always existed but people did not necessarily hear about it and surely did not used to see it happen live.  The Internet has facilitated the movement of information, for example, the picture of the Egyptian woman in her bra who was dragged by the Egyptian police officer in Tahrir Square went viral on social media and became known as the ‘the blue bra event’.  Other events in the Arab region ‘the so-called Arab Spring/revolution’ are characterised by interesting reactions about the role of women in the fight for freedom, varying from stories about the Egyptian government subjecting female participants to ‘virginity tests’, to horrific stories about collective rape in Tahrir Square (Cairo), to calls by a preacher for sexual holy war in what is known as jihad al nikah (which is basically offering sexual services to comfort fighters against the Syrian regime), using a terminology from Classical Arabic to refer to the wholly war in the new context.  All of these stories and many more are narrated and in some cases used and abused to legitimise violent reactions.  They are also part of history, which is constructed through narrativation of layers of complex intertwined stories.  Homi Bhabha, says “tell stories that create the web of history, and change direction of its flow” (cited in Gana and Härting, 2008: 5).  This same view is also shared by Mona Baker who argues that narratives construct realities.   It is this line of thought that drive us (female academics from the region), writers, film directors… etc. to publish this issue, aiming to dismantle official narratives and give voice to the silenced narratives of the 1990s.  By so doing, we are not voicing narratives from the other who can be geographically distant but we narrate violence as a global phenomenon, as an ethical issue and more importantly as a continuous search for the truth.  Below is Tahar Djaout’s slogan that captures the spirit of this Special Issue.

Silence means death

If you speak out, they kill you.

If you keep silent, they kill you.

So, speak out and die

Tahar Djaout

[1] See Hayden White’s etymological definition of both words ‘knowing and telling’ in his article “the Value of Narrativity in the Representation of Reality” in Critical Inquiry, Volume 7, No 1 (Autumn, 1980) 5-27

[2] 1984 was the year when Algeria made changes to the constitution.  “The Family Code of 1984 makes it a legal duty for Algerian women to obey their husbands, and respect and serve them, their parents, and relatives (Article 39). It institutionalised polygamy and made it the right of men to take up to four wives (Article 8).  Women cannot arrange their own marriage contracts unless represented by a matrimonial guardian (Article 11), and they have no right to apply for divorce.  While a man needs only to desire a divorce to get one, it is made a most difficult, if not impossible, thing to be obtained by women” (Salhi, 2003: 30). http://www.artsrn.ualberta.ca/amcdouga/Hist247/winter_2011/resources/Algerian%20Women%20and%20the%20’family%20code’.pdf

[3] Zawāj mut’a, also known as Nikāḥ al-mutʿah (Arabic: زواج المتعة‎‎, literally “temporary marriage”), is a type of marriage permitted in Twelver Shia Islam, where the duration of the marriage and the dowry must be specified and agreed upon in advance.  The researcher as well as feminists consider this marriage and its equivalent in the Sunni sect  (zawāj al misyār) as forms of religiously sanctioned prostitution.

[4] All translations are by the author.

[5] Hijab: consists of wearing a scarf that hides the hair and neck as well as a full length robe.

[6] Fatwa is a religious commandment based on scholarly legal decision.

[7] For more information about the veil, see Marnia Lazreg’s book Questioning the Veil:
Open Letters to Muslim Women (2011).

[8] Wahhabi, in Arabic / al-Wahhābiya(h). Wahhabism is named after an eighteenth-century preacher and scholar, Muhammad ibn Abd al-Wahhab (1703–1792).  It is a religious movement or branch of Sunni Islam, which started in Saudi Arabia.  It is an extremely conservative form of Islam.  For more information, see: David Commins (2006) book: Wahhabism and Saudi Arabia (I. B. Taurus).

[9] See, https://www.facebook.com/Chkovein/?hc_ref=SEARCH

[10] Taghut: an unjust ruler who does not follow God’s rules.

[11]

وَلَقَدْ بَعَثْنَا فِي كُلِّ أُمَّةٍ رَّسُولًا أَنِ اعْبُدُوا اللَّهَ وَاجْتَنِبُوا الطَّاغُوتَ ۖ فَمِنْهُم مَّنْ هَدَى اللَّهُ وَمِنْهُم مَّنْ حَقَّتْ عَلَيْهِ الضَّلَالَةُ فَسِيرُوا فِي الْأَرْضِ فَانظُرُوا كَيْفَ كَانَ عَاقِبَةُ الْمُكَذِّبِينَ

 “For We assuredly sent amongst every People a messenger, (with the Command), “Serve Allah, and eschew Evil”: of the People were some whom Allah guided, and some on whom error became inevitably (established). So travel through the earth, and see what was the end of those who denied (the Truth)”.

[12] In a question-and-answer programme, Al Fuzan (the grand Mufti of Saudi Arabia) was asked about whether or not the taghut is a kafir, i.e., non-believer.  The Mufti replied:

 “أنه مخير بين أن يحكم بما أنزل الله أو يحكم بغيره، أو أن الحكم بغير ما أنزل الله جائز، فهذا يعتبر طاغوتًا وهو كافر بالله عز وجل.”‏”.‏

In English: “He (the taghut) is asked to rule using God’s words, but if he decides to disobey God’s words/rules, he then is a non-believer in God the gracious”.  The ultimate ruler here is God and his obedience is fundamental in Islam.

[13] FIS: Front Islamique du Salut (Islamic Party)

[14] Ait Hammou, ‘Women’s Struggle against Muslim Fundamentalism in Algeria: Strategies or a Lesson for Survival?’ p. 118.

[15] FLN: Front de Liberation National

[16] For more information on how loudspeakers were used, see film: Bab el Oued City https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2jKITX62qCM 

[17] For more information, see Ait Hamou’s article: Ait-Hamou_FundamentalismAlgeria.pdf

[18] Amel Grami, “Narrating rape in the Mena region: the role of language”, (Conference: University of Birmingham, School of Arts and Music, Department of Modern Languages, Arabic Section, UK, 10 /10/ 2014.

المقدمة:

سرديات وترجمات العنف الجنسي في الحروب في منطقة الشرق الأوسط وشمال افريقي

أنيسة داودي

English | Français

“طبيعيٌ هو ذلك الدافع القويُ للسرد ولا مفرّ من شكل السرد الذي توصف فيه الأشياء كما وقعت فعلا, فقد ُتمثل تلك السرديات اشكالا فقط في الثقافة التي تغيب فيها تلك السردياتّ أوفي بعض المجالات تكون مرفوضة كليا أو لاسباب برغماتيكية”    

هايدن وايت (1980) “قيمة السردية في تمثيل الواقع”

” الحقيقة بالنسبة لكل واحد منا هي شيء معقد. فهي للكاتب ما يتركه ولا يقوله يعادل تماما ما يذكره و يدرجه.  فماذا يكمن وراء هوامش النص؟  فالمصور يؤطر للقطته و الكُتاب يؤطرون لعوالمهم. والسيدة وينترسون عارضت ما وضعته و لكن ما تركته هو توأم الجزء الصامت. هناك أشياء لا نستطيع البوح بها لأنها مؤلمة. فنتمنى أنّ الأشياء التي نستطيع افشاءها تُسكّنُ الآلام الباقية و تجعلها مقبولة نوعما. فالقصص والسرديات اجبارية. والعالم غير منصف ولا يوجد سبيل لمعرفته وهوأمر خارج عن إرادتنا.  فعندما نسرد قصة فاننا نمارس رقابة, غير أننا نقوم بذلك كأن نترك ثغرات. فما يكون ذلك إلاّ نسخة وغيرأنها ليست النسخة الأخيرة. فنتمنى أن يُسمع الصمت من طرف شخص آخر حتى يتسنى للقصة أن تستمر و أن يُعاد سردها. وعندما نكتب فنحن نقدم الصمت كما نقدم القصة. فالكلمات هي جزء من الصمت المنطوق.

فتمنت السيدة ونترسون أن التزم الصمت.

هل تذكرون قصة فيلومال التي تمّ إغتصابها و بعدها إنتزع المغتصب لسانها حتى لا تستطيع أن تحكي ما جرى لها. أنا أؤمن أنّ للخيال قوة و هي التي من خلالها نتكلم و نحكي بألسنة.  فلن نكون ملزمين بالصمت. فكلنا عندما نكون في حالة صدمة شديدة فإننا نتردد ونتعلثم ونتوقف لأوقات طويلة في كلامنا. عندها فقط نستطيع أن نرجع للقصيدة. نستطيع أن نفتح الكتاب. لكي نجد أن هناك شخص ما قام بالغطس العميق في الكلمات من أجلنا. حينها نحتاج الى الكلمات لأن العائلات التعيسة ماهي إلاّ مؤامرات صمت.  فمن يكسر الصمت لا يُنسى أبدا ولذلك يجب أن يتعلم من يكسر الصمت أن يسامح نفسه”.

جيننات وينترسون (2001).

“َلِمَّا تكن سعيدا وبإمكانك أن تكون عاديا”

المقدمة

“سرد العنف الجنسي وترجماته في الشرق الأوسط وشمال إفريقيا” هوالموضوع العام لهذا العدد الخاص. و ما قادنا اليه هو اندفاعنا الطبيعي, مستعيرين كلمات وايت, لسرد و ترجمة ما نعلم [1]إلى مشروع الكتابة عن الموضوع. فعادة ما ارتبط ثقافيا سرد قصص العنف بصراع القوى لذلك نجد أنّ ليست كل القصص تُحكى خاصة اذا كان الأمر يتعلق بقوى و أنظمة استبدادية. فما سردُ القصص الاّ استعمال للسلطة من”طرف من وماذا ولمن تُسردُ القصص؟ (فوكو, 1977). فعندما نسرد قصصا عمّا حدث فعلا, فيكون هدفنا ليس إعادة انتاج العنف ولكنه إعطاء صوت للنساء اللواتي تمّ إسكاتهن ومنعهن من سرد قصصهن لنقض الخطاب السائد المهيمن خاصة عن العنف الجنسي في الحروب في منطقة الشرق الأوسط و شمال إفريقيا.

إنّ المشاركات في كتابة هذا العدد و هنّ من خلفيات علمية مختلفة بين ناشطات حقوقيات وأكاديميات وكاتبات من المنطقة يعلمن جيدا قيمة سرديات النساء في خلخلة وزعزعة الخطابات الراسخة وفي إزالة طبقات من التشويه والتحريف و الهدف المرجو هو تغيير الحاضر والمستقبل. وتكمن أهمية السرد في الاهتمام والإلمام بالتفاصيل وتأطيرالقصص في قوالب خاصة ولغة تُعنى ليس بالمحتوى فقط بل أيضا بما نتركه أو نتغاضى عنه. كما تُؤمن مجموعة المشاركات [2]في هذا العدد بمقولة جيينات أننا “عندما نسرد قصة ما فاننا نمارس سلطة ما, بطريقة تترك ثغرة أو فتحة ما, علما أنّ نسختنا لن تكون النسخة الأخيرة”. ولكنها تبقى نسخة مهمة لابُدّ منها, تضاف إلى مجموعة القصص التي بدورها تشكل الخطاب. فهذا الفعل, أي فعل السرد والكتابة هو ما يبني وينتج نُسخا وصيغا من وعن العالم. فكما تذكر بيكر أنّ القصص الشخصية التي نسردها لأنفسنا عن مكانتنا في العالم وعن تاريخنا الشخصي هي ما يُموقعنا في المجتمع. وهذا بالفعل ما تدركه مجموعة المشاركات. فكما يقول فوكو عن قيمة موقعة أنفسنا في أماكن القوة والاتصالات “يجب أن نتوقف الآن وإلى الأبد عن وصف القوة بكلمات سلبية لأنها تستثني وتقمع وتراقب وتغطي وتضع قناعا وحجابا. في الواقع القوة تُنتج الواقع وتخلق مواضيعا وطقوسا للحقيقة” (فوكو ، 1977 : 194).

نحاول في هذا العدد الخاص أن نقدم ثلاثة إسهامات مُهمة ومُتميزة. فهذه أول مرة يعالج موضوع الإغتصاب في الحروب في منطقة تعتبره موضوعا من التابوهات و تقع ترجمته الى اللغاث الثلاثة الُمُتعارف عليها في المنطقة: العربية, الفرنسية والانجليزية. والهدف من ذلك نشر التوعية. كما أنها المرأة الأولى التي تجتمع فيها ناشطات حقوقيات, كاتبات وأكادميات من المنطقة بالتعاون معا في مشروع لا يضع قيودا للمعرفة. أما من ناحية الاطار النظري للمشروع, فننطلق من أهمية الترجمة كطريقة لقلب الموازين وتحدّي الخطابات الموجودة (أبتر, 2013), ولذلك وجدنا أنه من الضروري أن تُنشر هذه القالات بالغات الثلاث لكي تصل لصُناع القرار والناشطين والطلبة محليا وعالميا لأننا نؤمن أنّ موضوع العنف الجنسي في الحروب ظاهرة عالمية. أما الميزة الثانية لهذا العدد فهي تسرد مادة مهمة ونادرة عن العشرية السوداء في الجزائرخاصة وأنّ قانون العفو أو السلم العام يقف عائقا أمام كل من يحاول التعرض للحقيقة في تلك الفترة. فيُعتبر هذا العدد بمثابة نداء صريح للمطالبة بالعدالة ورفض صريح لقانون المصالحة. ولذلك فالهدف الثالث من هذا العدد هو كسر صمت النساء والعمل على تمكينهن من سرد قصصهن بغرض كتابة تاريخهن. فهن بذلك لا يضعنّ  النقط على الحروف فقط بل يساعدن على تصحيح مسارهن محليا ودوليا ويمضيّن قدما نحو محاربة الأبوية والظلم وعدم المساواة.

كما نأمل من هذا العدد أن نعود الى الماضي لنفهم الحاضر ونشارك في بناء مستقبل زاهر لابنائنا. و هذا يُحيلنا الى سؤال طرحته تُورشن في سنة 2002 في مقالها عن حال النساء الجزائريات  حيث تقول: “ماذا حلّ بالنساء الجزائريات اللواتي كنّا ناشطات في حرب التحرير حتى يصبحن بهذه السلبية في الحرب الأهلية؟” فتبدأ مقالها بوصف صورتين متناقضتين: واحدة تُرجعنا إلى المجاهدات وهنّ يضعن القنابل في إشارة إلى دورهن العظيم في الثورة والذي لم يكن يقتصر على الطبابة و الطبخ بل تعداه إلى القتال جنبا إلى جنب مع المجاهدين.  أما الصورة الثانية فهي لامرأة جزائرية أسيرة من قبل “المجاهدين” الاسلاميين إبان الحرب الأهلية في فترة التسعينيات, وظيفتها الأساسية هي تقديم خدمات جنسية ومنزلية للأمير أي جارية.  تقول تورشن كأنّ الصورتين من قرنين مختلفين. و هذا يدعونا إلى أن نسأل سؤالا غير مباشر: هل المسؤول عمّا وصلنا إليه هوغياب دورالمجاهدات في فترة الاستقلال وعدم مشاركتهن في كتابة تاريخهن؟ فهل أنّ عدم مشاركتهن في بناء دولتهن المستقلة أدى إلى غياب القدوة التي يحتذى بها من الأجيال التي تلت الاستقلال؟  فهذا ما نأمل الاجابة عنه من خلال بعض المقالات في هذا العدد خاصة بالنسبة إلى الطريقة التي تمّ إسكاتهن بها. وهنا نقول إنّ أعيننا ليست على الماضي فقط بل على حاضر ومستقبل النساء الجزائريات. ففي الجزء التالي نتعرض لطرق الإسكات التي استعملت ضدّ النساء.

جنسانية العنف في الجزائر: دور اللغة

الجزائر, بلد الجميلات الثلاثة: جميلة بوحيدر, جميلة بوباشا وجميلة بوعزة. بلد الجميلات اللواتي قاتلن المستعمر بشراسة. فرغم أن هذه الاستعارة “بلد الجميلات” التي تمّ إستخدامها وإستغلالها في الثقافة العربية راسخة في المخيال الجمعي على أنها الحقيقة ولا أحد يستطيع أن يُغالي أو ينكر ذلك. واننا إستعملنا كلمة استغلال الأيقونات الجزائريات لكي نُبيّن ما تشيرإليه مهنا‏(2014 : 48) “إنّ معادلة الأرض-جسد المرأة والتي تتقلص المرأة فيها إلى مجرد رموز مجرّدة خاوية من المحتوى لوصف أُمّةٍ من غير حقوق مواطنة” فنحن نعلم جميعا أنّ رمز “الوطن الأم” يمر علينا مرارْا و تكرارْا خاصة في الخطابات القومية مكلين (2007). فنجد نفس إستراتيجيات السيطرة التي تستبعد النساء من مواقع القرارومن المشاركة في بناء الدولة. ولوأمعنّا النظر في إستعارة الأرض وحللّناها وفقا لنظرية الاستعارة المفاهمية لآكوف وجونسون (1980) و التي يكون فيها المجال الهدف مرتبط بصورة مثلا الزراعة, الخصوبة, القوة والأمان لوجدنا أنّ الاستعارة لا تترك مجالاْ لأيّ صورة سلبية قد ترتبط بصفة المجاهدات. غيرأنّ هذه الصورة تغيّرت خاصة في الفترة الأولى من الإستقلال عندما تمّ تأطير الجميلات على أنهن “ينتمين إلى نخبة النساء المسلمات صاحبات الثقافة الفرنسية أوعلى الأقل “المُفرنسات” كما كان يُطلق عليهن.  من هنا بدأ الاستغلال وعملية الابعاد أوالعنف الثقافي ضدّ مجاهداتنا خاصة في فترة التعريب التي تلت الاستقلال. كان إبعاد فرنسيات الثقافة يعني رجوعهنّ إلى أدوارهنّ التقليدية أي إرجاعهن إلى المجال الخاص لأنهنّ ببساطة لا يتقنّ اللغة الفصحى التي من المفروض أن تُستعمل في المؤسسات والمحافل الرسمية. اللغة العربية الفصحى هي اللغة الرسمية حسب الدستور الجزائري وبالتالي فمن كتب التاريخ هم الرجال وبالتحديد الفئة المُعرّبة. وهذا الأسلوب هو واحد من بين الأساليب التي تعرضنا لها في هذه المقدمة والذي يُبين أنّ المجال لم يكن متاحا للمجاهدات كي يدونّ أرشيفهنّ.     

فقد ذكرت وزارة المجاهدين سنة 1974  أنّ  11,000 جزائرية شاركن في حرب التحرير وهذا يعني %3 من إجمالي المجاهدين وهو ما جعل المجاهدة دانيال جميلة عمران تُصرّح أنّ هذا نقص في التقدير. وأنّ من ذلك الرقم نجد % 22 كنّ من المدن و % 78 من المناطق الريفية. وهذا الرقم يعكس تماما نسبة التمدن في الجزائر ذلك الوقت. فبالتالي لم تكن معركة المجاهدات ضد المستعمر فقط بل تعدتها الى العمل على تحرير المرأة الجزائرية من الجهل والعبودية. فلم تكن مشاركة النساء المتعلمات الوقوف مع الثوار فقط بل العمل الميداني في القرى والمداشر لتوعية النساء بضرورة الكفاح من أجل الإستقلال. غير أنّ هناك دراسات تذكر أنّ بعض المجاهدات واجهنّ الرفض من عائلتهنّ إمّا بسبب تعرضهنّ للإغتصاب أولمخالطتهن الرجال. والنسبة القليلة التي حصلت على وظائف تمّ ارغامهنّ على ترك العمل والرجوع إلى الأدوار التقليدية. وما فيلم أسيا جبار”نوبة نساء الشنوة” إلاّ تمثيل للإستعمار وللثقافة السائدة في بلاد الكاتبة. ففي هذا الفيلم تِؤكد جبار على أهمية التاريخ والذاكرة وتتساءل: لمن هو تاريخ الجزائر؟ من يتكلم عنه؟ ولمن؟ وبأي لغة؟ فهي تذكرنا أنّ عملية الإبعاد لم تكن للمجاهدات بل طالت جيلا بأكمله, جيلا لم يتعلم سوى اللغة المتاحة له أنذاك وهي الفرنسية. غيرأننا في هذا العدد نريد توسيع المجال لنتناول فترة الحرب الأهلية أوما يسمى بالعشرية السوداء في الجزائر للتعرف على  وضع المرأة الجزائرية أنذاك .

ذاكرة المرأة الجزائرية إبان الحرب الأهلية

وُصِفت الحرب الأهليّة بأنها واحدة من أكثر الفترات وحشيّة منذ استقلال الجزائر.  وتشير التقديرات إلى أن أكثر من200,000 شخص قُتلوا وأن الآلاف “أصيبوا بجروح وحشيّة، وشُرّدوا، واختِطفوا، وانتُهِكوا جنسياً، وفقاً لتقرير منظّمة العفو الدولية لعام 1996” (ميهتا ، 2014:69). و حتى لا نتصورأنّ العشرية السوداء كان سببها فترة التسعينيات, نقول أنّ الأسباب الغير مباشرة بدأت قبل ذلك بكثير. عرفت الجزائر فترات مُنيرة في تاريخها غير أنها تغيرت بسبب نظامها القمعي المتمثل في الحزب الواحد,  حيث أصبح الفساد والبطالة والمحسوبية والتمييز بين الجنسين والفصل بين الأقليّات أمراً شائعاً. وفي الثمنينيات 1980 كان البلد مستعداً لانفجار من نوع آخر. وكانت الازمة محسوسةٌ اقتصادياً وسياسياً واجتماعياً وخرج الناس إلى الشوارع في ما يعرف ب “مظاهرات أكتوبر” في الخامس من تشرين الأول/أكتوبر 1988. وبدأت الانتفاضة بالطرق السلمية ولكن سرعان ما سحق الجيش المتظاهرين بوحشيّة. واستفاد الاسلاميّون من التوترات فبدؤوا في تقديم أنفسهم على أنهم منقذو البلاد. وكانوا يريدون أن يُنظرَ إليهم على أنهم من أعادَ الهويّة الجزائريّة التي لا تزال بالنسبة لهم تابعة لفرنسا. وكما تقول زاهية صالحي[3] (2010) فإن العسكريين أصبحوا أكثرَ عسكرةً، وانخرط الاسلاميّون في صراعٍ مسلحٍ، ونتيجة لذلك جُرّت البلاد إلى واحدة من أفظع لحظات تاريخها. فالمدنيون هم الضحايا في نهاية المطاف ولا سيما النّساء. في الواقع تعتقد صالحي أن المرأة أصبحت هدفاً متعمداً للأصوليين الإسلاميين منذ السبعينيات. وتشرح صالحي كيف أدى الحكم التمييزي في قانون الأسرة إلى تفاقم العنف ضد المرأة وأضفى الشّرعية عليه، وجعل من الصّعب عليها معالجة عواقب الانتهاكات الواسعة النطاق لحقوق الإنسان (2010). وتُسمي مارنيا لزرق سنة [4]1984 بأنها “سنة قطع العلاقة بين النّساء وحكومتهن وبين المرأة والسؤال الجذري حول شرعية الدولة”.

تَصفُ دليلة لمارين جربال ما يميز الوضع فتقول: 

“العنف الجسدي على نطاق واسع ثم قتل النّساء اللواتي لا يحترمن الزّي أو قواعد السلوك واغتيال المواطنات المكلفات بدعم السلطات أو النّساء اللواتي لهن صلة بأفراد الأجهزة الأمنية وإلزام النّساء والأُسَر بدعم الجماعات المسلحة وبدء الإغتصاب من خلال الزواج القسري وتضاعف عملياًت الاختطاف والإغتصاب تحت ستار ما يعرف باسم زواج المتعة واختطاف النّساء والتميز ضدّهن والإغتصاب الجماعي والتعذيب والقتل وتشويه كامل الإقليم”.

ويعكس الاقتباس المذكور أعلاه العنف البدني الذي يُمارس ضد المرأة الجزائريّة مما يترك بلا شك ندوباً نفسية. وهو يلخّص الذرائع المختلفة التي تستهدف المرأة. الأول يتعلق بالمرأة في المجال العام و”احترام” اللباس والسلوك. وقد بدأ مفهوم الحجاب[5] في منتصف السبعينات وبداية الثمانينيات من القرن العشرين جلبه المعلّمون العرب الذين جاؤوا إلى البلاد في ظل حركة التّعريب والذين لهم صلات بحركات الإخوان المسلمين. وكان هدفهم هو إعادة تعاليم الإسلام إلى الجزائر التي كانت لا تزال ناطقه بالفرنسية. واضطر عدد كبير من النّساء الجزائريات إلى ارتداء الحجاب وأولئك اللاتي رفضن القيام بذلك تلقّينَ تهديدات بالقتل، وفي بعض الحالات قُتلنَ واستُخدمنَ كمثال لإرهاب نساء أخريات. وأُصدرتْ فتوى[6] تُضفِى الطابع القانوني على اختطاف النّساء وزواجهنّ المؤقت بطريقة مشابهة جداً لكيفية معاملة النّساء اليزيديات تحت حكم داعش اليوم. ووفقاً لما ذكره الاسلاميّون فان الحجاب هو ما يميز المرأة المسلمة عن غير المسلمة. وهو أيضا ما يحدد الحدود بين المجالَين الخاص والعام. وكل هذه القواعد الصارمة تبرّرُ العنف البدنيّ وقتلَ النّساء اللاتي يرفضن التقيد بالحكم الدّيني. وكانت الضحيّة الأولى هي حالة كاتيا بن قنّة الشهيرة وهي فتاة في المدرسة الثانوية تبلغ من العمر 17 عاماً، وقد تمّ تحذيرها ولكنّها أخبرت والدتها قائلة: “حتى لو يغتالونني بعد يوم لن ارتديَ الحجاب دون رغبتي. وإذا كان لا بد لي من ارتداء شيء ما فانه سيكون اللباس التقليدي القبائلي بدلاً من الحجاب المستورد الذي يريدونَ أن يجبروننا عليه” (تورشين 2002:898). ويُوضح بيان كاتيا مدى التحدّي الذي كانت عليه رغم أنها شكّتْ في أنها ستُقتل من أجل آرائها القوية.  بالإضافة إلى ذلك كانت هويتها القبائلية الأمازيغية أكثر أهميةً بالنسبة لها. وهي تشير إلى الحجاب كأيديولوجية مستورده تُفرض على الجزائريين من شبه الجزيرة العربيّة في أشارة إلى الأيديولوجية الوهابية[7]. وهذا الشعور يشاطره عدد كبير من الجزائريين الذين يدَّعون أن الإسلام الجزائري الذي ترعرعوا عليه له خصوصياته وأنهم لا يحتاجون إلى دروس في الإسلام من أي مصدر آخر.

بعد عشرين عاماً، تكتب شقيقتها على الفيسبوك: “أنا ابكي وأغضب من تلك النّساء المحجبات اللاتي يعتقدن أنهن حرّات في حين أنهنّ مسلوبات الحريّة. كاتيا فتاه اتخذت قرارها بنفسها ولم تنحن للإسلاميين القتلة الظلاميين. كم نحتاج من كاتيا لكي تتحرر النّساء يوماً ما؟  وينبغي أن يُنظر إلى كاتيا كرمز للنضال ضدّ عقول العصور الوسطى. كانت شُجاعة وكانت مستعدة للمضي في طريقها وعلى قناعاتها امراًة حرة أمازيغية فعلاً كما كانت ملكة الأوريس مثال على القوة والذكاء “[8] (26.01.17). في مؤتمر جامعة برمنغهام أكتوبر 2014 حول “السرد وترجمة العنف الجنسي في منطقة الشرق الأوسط وشمال أفريقيا: دور اللغة” أشارت السيدة وسيلة تامزالي إلى قضية كاتيا وأكدّت أنه لا ينبغي أن نتذكرها أنها أمازيغية. وبدلاً من ذلك ينبغي الاحتفاء بها كأمراًة جزائرية. وتضيف أنه بتقسيم المواطنين الى أمازيغ وعرب فان الجزائريين يسقطون في الأيديولوجية الاستعمارية المتمثلة في ‘ فرق تسد ‘. لم تُقتل كاتيا لأنها كانت أمازيغية ولكن لأنها رفضت ‘الإسلام السياسي’. بالنسبة لتامزالي فان الحديث بالنيابة عن كاتيا أمر بالغ الأهمية ويجعل صوت كاتيا مسموعاً بنفس القدر من الأهمية. واختارت أن تجعل قضية كاتيا قضية وطنية لأنها تدرك أن هناك عدداً كبيرمن النّساء مثل كاتيا في الجزائر. وتُبين التقارير الأخيرة الواردة من مناطق في العراق وسوريا تحت سيطرة التنظيم الإسلامي كيف أنّ المرأة لا تزال تتعرض لظروف مماثلة من الإغتصاب والقتل والاسترقاق الجنسي.   ومن ثمّ فانّ دعوة تامزالي لها أهمية عالمية وهي نتيجة لسنوات عملها في الأمم المتحدة حيث تعاملت مع محنة المرأة في البوسنة.

وتتعلق المسألة الثانية من اقتباس لامارين باستهداف المواطنات “المتهمات بدعم السلطات أو النّساء اللائي لهنّ صلة بأفراد الأجهزة الأمنية”. وتشمل هذه الفئة من النّساء شريحة كبيرة من السُّكان الجزائريين وهنّ زوجات أو أخوات أو أمهات رجال يعملون في أجهزة الأمن وقوات الشرطة والجيش ويطلق عليها الأصوليون إسم “الطغاة” أو الطاغوت[9]. وهذه الأخيرة هي كلمة من العربيّة الكلاسيكية تأخذنا مباشرة إلى إستخدام الكلمة في الماضي البعيد. والكلمة مذكورة في القران الكريم (سورة النحل)[10]. في هذه الحالة يُشار إلى ‘ الطاغية ‘ أو الحاكم بأنه ‘الشر’ وهكذا يصبح القضاء على الشر واجباً على المؤمن.  ويمكن استخدام هذه الاستعارة المفاهيمية لشرح العملية التي تصبح بموجبها إبادة الضغاة أوالكفار غير المؤمنين أمراً مباحاً. إنّ استخدام صورة طاغوت تثير صور مختلفة ترتبط ارتباطاً مباشراً بالقرآن وأيضا بفترة ما قبل الإسلام حيث كان الناس يعبدون أشكالاً أخرى من الآلهة، وهو ما يميز المؤمن عن غير المؤمن ويشير إلى صورة ‘الشر’ و ‘الحاكم الظالم’  والمفهومان كافيان على سبيل المثال للمفتي الكبير (الواعظ) في المملكة العربيّة السعودية[11] لتبرير عقوبة الإعدام.

وهناك مفاهيم أخرى بدأت تظهر في المجتمع الجزائري في ذلك الوقت: تشير دليلة لامارين جربال إلى “زواج المتعة[12]” وهو مصطلح قدّمه الاسلاميّون ويشير إلى شكلٍ من أشكال الزواج المؤقت الذي يمارسه بعض المسلمين الشيعة في الشرق الأوسط ولكن ليس في شمال أفريقيا، وهو غير معروف في الجزائر حيث غالبية السُّكان من السنّة.  كما ظهرت أشكالٌ أخرى من الزواج مع ظهور الإسلاموية مثل زواج المسيار (وهو شكل آخر مؤقت للزواج مقبول في الطائفة السنية الوهابية). وبدأت أشكال أخرى من الاعتداء على الجمعيات النسائية تتسرب في إطار مصطلحات مختلفة إلى المجتمع الجزائري. و نستدل برواية فضيلة الفاروق تاء الخجل حين تشير الى كلمة “الإغتصاب”  في اللغة العربيّة وتضعها بين معقفين باعتبارها مصطلحاً مثيراً للجدل ومع ذلك فإنها تشرح بوضوح جذورها الخاصة في اللغة العربيّة الكلاسيكية وبذلك تقوم الفاروق ضمنياً بمهاجمة المؤسسة الدّينية لاستخدامها “المفاهيم الإسلامية” كرصيد رمزي (انظر الفصل الثاني لداودي في هذا الملف).

كما يُسلط اقتباس جربال الضوء على الفظائع التي مرّت بها المرأة الجزائريّة خلال “العشرية السوداء”. فكان العنف حقيقياً ورمزياً ضد المدنيين، لا سيما النّساء اللواتي تعرضنَ للاغتصاب والتعذيب والقتل بصورة جماعية، كما أشارت جربال (انظر المناقشة المتعلّقة بقتل المعلّمات في الجزء الغربي من الجزائر في الفصل الثاني). وفي التسعينات خرجت النّساء العاديات في الجزائر إلى الشوارع للتنديد بالعنف ضدهنّ. وفي عام 1994 دعت الجماعة الإسلامية المسلحة إلى مقاطعة المدارس، ومع ذلك وبالرغم من العديد من عملياًت إحراق المدارس وقتل المدرسين، فان النّساء بَقينَ يجلبن أطفالهن إلى الصفوف كتحدٍ، وازداد العنف لأنه قُوبل بمقاومة من الحكومة والمواطنين بمن فيهم النّساء وقام الإرهابيون “بتصعيد أنشطتهم وإقامة حواجز على الطرق وقتل كل من يقف في طريقهم” (تورشين 2002:897). ومن بين الأفعال الأخرى الموجهة ضد المرأة إصدار الفتوى، أي تشريع قتل الفتيات والنّساء اللاتي لا يرتدينَ الحجاب. وهناك فتوى أخرى تشرّع اختطاف النّساء وتزويجهنّ زواجاً مؤقتاً ووفقاً لما ذكره الاسلاميّون فانّ الحجاب هو ما يميز المرأة المسلمة عن غير المسلمة وهو أيضا ما يحدد الحدود بين المجاَلين الخاص والعام، وكل هذه القواعد الصارمة تبرر العنف البدني وقتل النّساء اللاتي يرفضن التقيد بالحكم الدّيني وسيسلط الجزء التالي من هذه المقدمة الضوء على المنظمات النسائية الجزائريّة وعلى مكافحتها لما يحدث.[13]

دور المنظمات النسائية في الجزائر في العشرية السوداء: مقاومة

أُخضعت المرأة الجزائريّة لأسوء أنواع العنف قبل الحرب الأهليّة. ففي الخطابات العامة الصادرة عن الحزب الإسلامي[14] (FIS) كانت بعض النّساء المطالبات بالمساواة يُصورنَ على أنهنّ غير مؤمنات وغربيات وعديمات الأخلاق وكان هناك حاجة ملحة لإعادتهنّ إلى أدوارهنّ التقليدية حيث كنّ وفقاَ للجبهة الإسلامية للإنقاذ يشغلن وظائف كان من المفترض أن تكون للرجال. وقد لقي هذا الخطاب قبولا من الرجال العاطلين عن العمل بالذات في الوقت الذي ضربت فيه الازمة الاقتصادية البلد بسبب الفساد وانخفضت أسعار النفط في بلد يعتمد أساسا على الموارد الطبيعية. وأصبحت الجزائر أكثر عداء لوجود المرأة في المجال العام وقد تعرضت النّساء المطالبات بالمساواة للمضايقة ومُنعن من القيام بإعمالهن بالإضافة إلى عدم السماح لهن بالعيش بدون الأقارب القريبين (مثل الأخ والزوج والابن وما يسمي بالمحرم). ولم يساعد وجود قانون عام 1984 أيضا (كما وضحنا في الفصل الثاني) حيث يضفي هذا القانون الصبغة المؤسسية على العنف والتمييز ضد المرأة.  فتقول آيت حمو (2004: 117)[15]، أحد الأعضاء المؤسسين لشبكة وسيلة، أنّ الحكومة الجزائريّة اختارت المحافظين وبعد ذلك الأصوليين الإسلاميين لحماية مصالحهم والبقاء في السلطة. وقد قدمت حكومات مختلفة تنازلات وتضحيات لحقوق المرأة في سبيل الحفاظ على السلام مع الأصوليين. فعلى سبيل المثال في عام 1989 تواطأ المحافظون داخل جبهة التحرير الوطنية ([FLN[16]) مع الأصوليين لاتخاذ تدابير ضد تحرير المرأة. ومن ذلك على سبيل المثال، زيادة التعلىم الدّيني في المدارس الابتدائية وجعل الرياضة غير إلزامية للبنات وهلم جرا (نفس المرجع السابق). فبعبارة أخرى كان تواطؤ جبهة التحرير الوطنية في النظام التعليمي في الجزائر مستمراً منذ سنوات.

أما على الصعيد العالمي فعندما كانت النّساء الجزائريات يواجهن العنف  يومياً فان العالم بأسره غضّ البصر عما يجري، وكما تقول الأستاذة آيت حمو “منذ 11 أيلول/سبتمبر: يبدو أنّ العالم ولا سيما الولايات المتحدة قد أدركت فجأة أنّ الأصولية الإسلامية في شكلها المتطرف، تشكل تهديداً حقيقياً”. وتضيف أنّ “الكثيرين منا لا يسعهم  الاّ الشعور بالمرارة إزاء مثل هذا الموقف لأننا حاربنا الأصولية والإرهاب بمفردنا بأيدينا وبدون سلاح لعدة سنوات في حين حصل الأصوليون الذين ارتكبوا أكثر الجرائم فظاعة في بلداننا على الدعم من نفس الحكومات التي تملي الآن على بقية العالم كيفية “محاربة الإرهاب”. هذا الشعور بالمرارة حيال شعورنا إننا تُركنا لوحدنا دون دعم على الإطلاق لا من أصدقائنا العرب ولا من بقية العالم هو ما يكرره النّساء والرجال الآن عندما يُسألون عن سبب عدم انضمامهم إلى ما يسمى “الربيع العربي”. وثمة مسألة أخرى مثيرة للقلق تشير إليها آيت حمو وهي قانون العفو لعام 1999 الذي تنتقده معظم المنظمات النسائية حتى الآن.

وكان الهدف من قانون العفو هو الانتهاء من الحرب الأهليّة الجزائريّة بتقديم عفو عن معظم الجرائم المرتكبة، وقد أجريَ الاستفتاء عليه في 29 أيلول/سبتمبر 2005 وتمّ تنفيذه بوصفه قانونا في 28 شباط/فبراير 2006، غير أن النقاد يَسِمونه بإنكار الحقيقة والعدالة لضحايا الارهاب وأسرهم.  و مثال على الأصوات ضد قانون العفو هي شريفة خضار، رئيسة و مُؤسسة جمعية جزائرنا، والتي أُنشئت في 17 أكتوبر / تشرين الأول 1996 بعد إغتيال شقيقتها وشقيقها في الهجوم الذي إسهتدف عائلتها بما في ذلك والدتهم من قبل الإسلاميين، وإتحدت شريفة مع الناجيات والناجين من الإرهاب لمنحهم صوتا يُدين قانون العفو ويطلب العدالة. وفي هذا الملف تقدم “بنون” معلومات مفصلة في الفصل الأول عن عمل هذه المنظّمة في هذه المسألة.

وكانت المنظمات النسائية تقاتل ضد الأصولية المبنية على الثيوقراطية “الحكومة الدّينية” والنزعة الذكورية باعتبارها مصدر العنف، حيث أعربت جميع هذه المنظمات عن اعتقادها بان أوائل الثمانينات كانت بداية الأصولية في الجزائر. وهم يوافقون على أن خُطب الجمعة التي كانت تصدح على مكبرات الصوت[17] وتركز على أجساد النّساء بوصفهنّ بأنهنّ فاسقات لوضعهنّ مثلا أحمر الشفاه أو لخروجهن بدون حجاب. كما هُوجمت الجامعات. ولكنها قُوبلت بإجراءات ضعيفة  من طرف السلطات. وفي حزيران/ يونيه 1989 أضرمت مجموعة من الأصوليين النار أمام العامة في منزل لأمراًة مطلقة تعيش مع أطفالها وقد أُحرقَ أطفالها الثلاثة حتى الموت. ونددت الجماعات النسائية بالجريمة ونظمت أول مظاهرة في شوارع الجزائر. وساعد الصمت وتواطؤ الدولة الإسلاميين على التمادي في أعمال العنف. ففي سنوات 1992-1993 قُتل آلافٌ من الرجال والنّساء وعاش البلد في رعب وكانت أول أمراًة تقتل هي كريمة بلحاج سكرتيرة أمين المكتب العام للأمن الوطني[18]. وكانت خيارات المنظمات النسائية في الجزائر محدودة فكان عليهن أن ينجون من الفظائع بأية وسيلة. فكان بعضهن يرتدين الحجاب لتجنب المواجهات في حين قاومت أخريات ذلك. ويحتاج المرء فقط إلى أن ينظر إلى المجتمع الجزائري الآن ليدرك أنّ أكثر من نصف النّساء محجبات.  ولدى الناشطات في مجال حقوق المرأة استراتيجية وطنية لمكافحة الأصولية عن طريق الخطابات المضادة في مناسبات عديدة، فكن يخرجن للشارع ويحملن صور من قتلوا في وقت كان فيه الناس مذعورين. وكان الاجتماع العام الأول في عام 1993 الذي نظمه تجمع المرأة الديمقراطية الجزائريّة واستخدمت المحكمة الصورية ضد الإرهاب (آيت حمو – المرجع نفسه). كما نددت منظمات حقوق المرأة بالخطابات الأمريكية والأوروبيّة تحت اسم الديمقراطية بأن الإسلاميين كانوا ضحايا من خلال المساهمة في المناقشات الدولية باستخدام القنوات الإعلامية الأجنبية والمشاركة في المؤتمرات الدولية.

وأنشأت النّساء العديد من الجمعيات النسائية مثل (SOS) و نساء في خطر ( Femmes en Detresse ) وتكتل القوى الديمقراطية ( RAFD ) و (RACHDA  )  حيث تَواصلَ الكفاح من أجل حقوق المرأة وتقديم الخطاب المضاد للتطرف.

إنّ تاريخ العنف الذي تعرضت له المرأة الجزائريّة من طرف الجماعات الجهادية قبل نحو 20 عاماً ،كما تقول بنون في هذا الموضوع، والطريقة التي حدث بها والتي تمّ التغاضي عنها وتجاهل الضحايا وإهمالهم ونسيانهم، يجب أن تثير الغضب والاستياء على الصعيد العالمي، لأن هذا العنف في القضية ليس مسلّط على المرأة الجزائريّة فقط بل هو قضية عالمية وفهمها يقدم رؤىً حول فهم داعش اليوم. وتتناول مقالة بنون في هذه المسألة الإغتصاب في الجزائر في “العشرية السوداء” حيث تقدم صورة حقيقية لما كانت عليه الجزائر خلال الحرب الأهليّة، وتُدقق في الطرق التي سُرد بها الإغتصاب وذلك بإجراء مقابلات مع الناجيات والناجيين وهو أمر لا يسهل القيام به حتى الآن بموجب قانون العفو. وتسهم خبرتها في القانون وبحوثها في العمل الميداني بشأن موضوع الإغتصاب في الجزائر وفي أجزاء أخرى من العالم الإسلامي في الطابع المتداخل لهذه المسألة. ويظهر مقالها معرفتها بالجزائر من الداخل والخارج وتحليلها العميق للأحداث.

ولاستكمال مقالة بنون, تشدّد داودي على الإنتاج الثقافي في التسعينات في الجزائر في مقالها المعنون ” لا ترجمانية الجزائر في “العشرية السوداء” يضع مفهوم عدم إمكانية الترجمة ويقدمها ليس فقط  ككيان متجانس بل كمفهوم متعدد. إن الترجمة كوسيلة للخطابات المثيرة للقلق (أبتر, 2013) هي أساس الحجج حول أدوار الجنسين ومساهمة في الجزائر قبل وبعد الاستعمار. وهو يساعد على تفكيك الروايات التي كتبها الرجال ويساعد على إخراج الخطابات المقموعة.  من خلال التحليل الدقيق لمختلف الخطابات المتعلّقة بالجنسانية وحول العنف في الجزائر، توضح هذه المقالة التلاعب في الخطابات حول المرأة الجزائريّة خلال الفترة الاستعمارية وما بعد الاستعمارية في الجزائر، ويناقش أيضا دور الكتّاب الجزائريين في إسماع صوت مواطنيهم الذين لا صوت لهم للمساعدة في أرشفة تاريخهم وبناء ذاكرتهم الاجتماعية والجماعية. بالإضافة إلى ذلك فإنها تؤكد على أدوار اللغة والترجمة في بناء الجزائر المتغيرة باستمرار مع التركيز على الحرب الأهليّة عام 1990.

وتبرز أمال قرامي المتخصصة في الدراسات الجنسانية والإسلامية والتي عملت مع النّساء الجهاديات في منطقة الشرق الأوسط وشمال أفريقيا مجالاً لم يدرس من قبل. فتقول أجد نفسي متوقفةً أمام عدد من المواضيع ذات الصّلة مثل “السبي” و “جهاد النكاح” وهي التي كتبت على الموضوع بغزارة و بعمق. كما تضيف أنّ “جهاد النكاح” على وجه الخصوص قضية مثيرة للجدل في تونس بعد الربيع العربي. وتقول قرامي إنّ التصريحات الرسمية الصادرة عن وزارة الداخلية التونسية أعلنت أن هناك بالفعل مجموعات من النّساء التونسيات اللواتي سافرن إلى سوريا بهدف “جهاد النكاح”. وهي تجلب للأضواء مختلف الروايات المتعلّقة بالعنف الجنسي في تونس والغرض من سرد هذه القصص ليس دراسة الماضي وإنما محاولة فهمه في الوقت الحاضر على سبيل المثال في فهم اغتصاب النّساء اليزيديات في منطقة الشرق الأوسط (انظر المادة التي أعدّتها قرامي في هذا الملف الخاص).

ولا تقتصر مكافحة المرأة الجزائريّة ضدّ الصمت والأصولية على الناشطين في مجال حقوق المرأة على أرض الواقع.  فهناك نساء أخريات وكتّاب حاربوا بأقلامهم، وتأتي آسيا جبار بوصفها رائدة في الجيل الذي عايش الاستعمار ومليكة مقدم في جوهر المقال الذي كتبته أيمان كوزو في هذا العدد.  وتعتقد أنّ صمت المرأة الجزائريّة قد يكون عملا اجتماعياً وثقافياً وأيديولوجياً غير طوعي وهو وسيلة لدفن الحقيقة الفظيعة في قبر منسي.  فالصمت فرضه الواقع الاستعماري ولا يزال ينفذ بواسطة تقليد ما بعد الاستعمار والمجتمع. استخدم العديد من الكتاب الجزائريين بعد الاستقلال لغة المستعمر نفسه لمقاومة استيعابهم في عملية إدماج أو القتال على مساحات خارجية وداخلية[19] لذلك توضح كوزو بأنّ الصمت يصبح عملاً سياسياً تقوم المرأة من خلاله بتخريب خطاب الظالمين من خلال الإبقاء على عالمهم السري.

أما العنف في التسعينات فيما يخص الانتاج السينمائي فهذا ما ناقشته ريم ورتسي في مقالها حيث اختارت الأفلام الثلاثة التالية: ‏ رشيدة، حريم مدام عثمان، وبركات!  فهي تنظر إلى الأفلام كوسيلة أخرى يُعبر من خلالها المخرجون الجزائرون عن صدمتهم وآلامهم في العشرية السوداء. وفي مقالها تستكشف العلاقة بين الجنسين والعنف واللغة. فتُذكرنا بأنّ العشرية السوداء هي الفترة التي فرّ خلالها معظم الفنانين من البلاد بعد تلقيهم تهديدات بالقتل ممّا أدى إلى تفكيك صناعه الأفلام.   علما بأن الأفلام التي أنتجت خارج الجزائر كانت عن طريق التمويل الخارجي.

وفي دراسة مقارنة تشير بجاوي إلى “العشرية السوداء ” من خلال عمل كاتبتين ناطقتين بالفرنسية وهما آسيا جبار وميساء باي وقد درست الروايات التي تدورحول عنف التعصب الدّيني الذي أفزع المجتمع الجزائري في التسعينات. الروايات الي اختارتها بجاوي هي: تحت شجرة الياسمين في الليل (2004)[20]لميساء باي وهران لغة ميتة لأسيا جبار. ومن خلال قراءتها للروايتن تصف بجاوي العنف المسلط على النساء في الجزائر.

الخاتمة

إزداد العنف في السنوات الأخيرة أوعلى الأقل جعله التقدم في تكنولوجيا المعلومات يبدو كذلك. هذا يعني أن العنف كان قائماً دائماً ولكن الناس لم يسمعوا بالضرورة عن هذا الموضوع وبالتأكيد لم يعتادوا على رؤية ذلك مباشرة. وقد يسرت شبكة الإنترنت حركة المعلومات. على سبيل المثال فإنّ صورة المرأة المصرية التي جُرّت بواسطة ضابط الشرطة المصري حمالة صدرها فقط في ميدان التحرير أصبحت مشهورة على وسائل التواصل الاجتماعية وعرفت باسم “حدث حمالة الصدر الزرقاء”. وتتسم الأحداث الأخرى في المنطقة العربيّة التي يطلق عليها الربيع العربي أوالثورة بردود فعل مثيره للاهتمام خاصة في موضوع دور المرأة في الكفاح من أجل الحريّة وتتفاوت من قصص عن الحكومة المصرية التي تخضع المشاركات لاختبارات البكارة إلى قصص مروعة عن الإغتصاب الجماعي في ميدان التحرير (القاهرة) لدعوات واعظ للحرب الجنسيّة المقدسة في ما يعرف باسم جهاد النكاح (الذي يقدم أساسا خدمات جنسية لمقاتلي ضد النظام السوري) واستخدام مصطلحات من اللغة العربيّة الكلاسيكية للأشارة إلى الحرب المقدسة في السّياق الجديد. رويت جميع هذه القصص والكثير منها وفي بعض الحالات استخدمت وأسيء استخدامها لإضفاء الشّرعية على ردود فعل عنيفة وهي أيضا جزء من التاريخ الذي يتم بناؤه من خلال رواية طبقات من قصص معقدة متشابكة. فيقول هومي بابا: “أن عملية خلق أوإنشاء أخبار قد ينشئ شبكة من التاريخ وقد يُغير اتجاه تدفقها” (ورد في مقال غانا و هارتينغ 2008:5). وهذا الرأي نفسه تشاطره أيضا منى بيكر التي توضح أنّ الروايات هي التي تبني الواقع. هذا هو خط الفكر الذي يدفعنا (أكاديميات من المنطقة) وكاتبات ومخرجات أفلام .. الخ. لنشر هذه القضية التي تهدف إلى تفكيك السرديات الرسمية وإعطاء صوت للسرديات الصامتة في التسعينيات. وبقيامنا بذلك لا نعبر عن سرديات ما يسمى بالآخر الذي يمكن أن يكون بعيداً جغرافيا ولكننا نروي العنف كظاهرة عالمية وكقضية أخلاقية والأهم من ذلك البحث المستمر عن الحقيقة.  وفيما يلي شعار الطاهر جعوط الذي عبّر روح هذه القضية الخاصة.

الصمت يعني الموت

إذا تكلمت فإنهم يقتلونك.

إذا التزمت الصمت فإنهم يقتلونك.

لذا تكلم ومُت

[1] See Hayden White’s etymological definition of both words ‘knowing and telling’ in his article “the Value of Narrativity in the Representation of Reality” in Critical Inquiry, Volume 7, No 1 (Autumn, 1980) 5-27.

[2] Salhi, Z. (2013). Gender and Violence in Islamic Societies: Patriarchy, Islamism and Politics in the Middle East and North Africa. IBTauris.

[3] للمزيد من المعلومات عن العنف ضد النساء في الشرق الأوسط و شمال افريقيا, ارجع/ي الى كتاب:

[4]. كان عام 1984 العام الذي أدخلت فيه الجزائر تغييرات على الدستور. “قانون الأسرة لعام 1984 يجعل من واجب المرأة الجزائريّة طاعة أزواجهن واحترامهم وخدمتهم وخدمة أولياء أمورهن وأقاربهن (المادة 39 . (وهو يضفي الصبغة المؤسسية على تعدد الزوجات ويجعل من حق الرجل أن يتزوج أربع زوجات (المادة 8 .( ولا يمكن للمرأة أن تنظم عقد زواجها إلا إذا كان يمثلها ولي أمر الزوجية (المادة 11)، ولا يحق لها التقدم بطلب الطلاق. في حين أن الرجل يحتاج فقط إلى الرغبة في الطلاق للحصول عليه وجعل من الصعب إن لم يكن مستحيلا أن تحصل المرأة على نفس الشيء ” (صالحي 2003:30( .

http://www.artsrn.ualberta.ca/amcdouga/Hist247/winter_2011/resources/Algerian%20Women%20and%20the%20’family%20code’.pdf

[5]  الحجاب: يتكون من ارتداء وشاح يخفي الشعر والرقبة فضلا عن ثوب على كامل الجسم.

[6]  والفتوى هي وصية دينية تستند إلى قرار قانوني علمي.

[7]  الوهابية : سميت الوهابية استنادا إلى واعظ وباحث في القرن الثامن عشر، محمد بن عبد الوهاب (1703-1792). وهي حركه دينيه أو فرع من الإسلام السني بدا في المملكة العربية السعودية. انه شكل محافظ للغاية من الإسلام. لمزيد من المعلومات ، راجع: كتاب ديفيد كومينز (2006) : الوهابية والمملكة العربية السعودية (I. B. Taurus).

[8]  انظر:   https://www.facebook.com/Chkovein/?hc

[9]  الطاغوت: هو الحاكم الظالم الذي لا يتبع قواعد الله.

[10]  وَلَقَدْ بَعَثْنَا فِي كُلِّ أُمَّةٍ رَّسُولًا أَنِ اعْبُدُوا اللَّهَ وَاجْتَنِبُوا الطَّاغُوتَ ۖ فَمِنْهُم مَّنْ هَدَى اللَّهُ وَمِنْهُم مَّنْ حَقَّتْ عليه الضَّلَالَةُ فَسِيرُوا فِي الْأَرْضِ فَانظُرُوا كَيْفَ كَانَ عَاقِبَةُ الْمُكَذِّبِينَ.

[11]  وفي برنامج للأسئلة والأجوبة ، سئل الفوزان (المفتي الكبير للمملكة العربية السعودية) عما إذا كانت الطاغوت كافره، أي غير مؤمنه. وأجاب المفتي: “أنه مخير بين أن يحكم بما أنزل الله أو يحكم بغيره، أو أن الحكم بغير ما أنزل الله جائز، فهذا يعتبر طاغوتًا وهو كافر بالله عز وجل.”‏

[12] زواج المتعة، حرفيا “زواج مؤقت” وهو نوع من الزواج المسموح به في الإسلام الشيعي ألاثني عشري حيث يجب تحديد مدة الزواج والمهر والاتفاق عليها مسبقا. وتعتبر الباحثة وكذلك النّساء هذا الزواج وما يماثله في الطائفة السنية (زواج المسيار) بمثابة أشكال من البغاء الذي يعاقب عليه دينيا.

[13]  لمزيد من المعلومات حول الحجاب، انظر كتاب مارنيا لزرق استجواب الحجاب: رسائل مفتوحة إلى النّساء المسلمات (2011).

[14]  الجبهة الإسلامية: للانقاذ: حزب إسلامي

[15] التحالف النسائي ضد الأصولية الإسلامية في الجزائر: استراتيجيات أو دروس للبقاء ؟ “ص 118.

[16]  جبهة التحرير الإسلامية.

[17]  لمزيد من المعلومات حول كيف استخدامت مكبرات الصوت ، انظر الفيلم:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2jKITX62qCM

[18]  لمزيد من المعلومات، انظر مقالة أيت حمو: URAit-Hamou_FundamentalismAlgeria.pdf

[19]  أمال قرامي، “رواية الإغتصاب في منطقة منطقة الشرق الأوسط وشمال أفريقيا: دور اللغة”، (المؤتمر: جامعة برمنغهام، كليه الآداب والموسيقي، قسم اللغات الحديثة، الفرع العربي، المملكة البريطانية ، 10/10/2014.

[20] Maïssa Bey, Sous le jasmin, la nuit (La Tour d’Aigues: Éditions de l’Aube, 2004).

إشراف

د. أنيسة داودي

المشاركات

كريمة بنون, المقررة الخاصة للأمم المتحدة في مجال الحقوق الثقافية, أستاذة القانون الدولي بجامعة كاليفورنيا ديفس, الولايات المتحدة

أمال قرامي, أستاذة في الدراسات الجندرية, جامعة منوبة, تونس

مريم بجاوي, أستاذة في الترجمة, مستشارة في وزارة التعليم العالي, ‏ الجزائر

SOAS إيمان كوزو عياري, محاضرة في مدرسة الدراسات الشرقية

ريم وارتسي, طالبة دكتوراه, جامعة كينقس, لندن. بريطانيا

سحر النعاس, باحثة مستقلة متخصصة في دراسات الجندر.اكستر. بريطانيا

فضيلة الفاروق, كاتبة و اعلامية جزائري, مقيمة في بيروت. لبنان

إنعام بيوض, أستاذة في الترجمة, مدريرة معهد الترجمة العالي في الجزائر

كلمة شكر

لم يكن لهذا المشروع أن يرى النور لولا الجهود التي بذلتها المُشاركات في هذا العدد اللاتي آمنّ بالمشروع و بأهدافه. و نخص بالشكر البوفسور رونالد جودي, الأستاذ في جامعة بيتسبرغ الأمريكية على تشجيعاته وتعاونه معنا منذ بداية المشروع وعلى قناعته بضروري للتواصل بين الأكادميين في الشرق و في الغرب. كما يرى أن تغيير أي خطاب ما في يحتاج الى تظافر جهود النساء و الرجال معا, فلا يقتصر الخطاب النسوي على النساء فقط بل هو مسؤولية مجتمع بأكمله.  كما لا يفوتني أن أشكر الأستاذة زاهية والأستاذة مرنيا لزرق وهما من أسس لكتابات العنف ضد النساء في الجزائر,على تشجيعهما وإمانهما بالمشروع.  أشكر دور كاتباتنا الجزائريات الللاتي سخرنّ أقلامهن لاعطاء أصوات لنساء بلادهن وأخص بالذكر فضيلة الفاروق وإنعام بيوض.

كما أنوّه بالمساهمة القيمة للمترجمين من الانجليزية الى العربية: د. مؤمن صالح, د. نرمين النفرة, وليد صبحي, د. غادة عرب وهشام مهرة ونورة الرشيد. ومن الانجليزية الى الفرنسية: د. وفاء بجاوي على ترجمتها لمقال د. داودي  وريم وارتسي على ترجمتها لباقي المقالات الى الفرنسية. كما أشكر وليد بوغيمة على مراجعته للنصوص بالعربية و د. ليندا نوال تباني و د. ايمان داودي على مراجعتهما لمقالات بالفرنسية. 

أوّد تثمين مساهمة الفنان الجزائري السيد دوني مارتينز الذي وجد من واجبه كفنان وكرفيق لجاووت و للكثير من المثقفين الذين اغتيلوا في الفترة الدموية أن يشاركنا ويشارك كل الجزائريات احساسهن بالفقدان. شارك معنا بالصورللوحاته والتي نتشرف بنشرها في هذا العدد. كما أشكر المصوّرو المخرج السيد محمد لمين بسكر على الصور التي أفادنا بها و على كل المساعدات اللوجستية.

و أخيرا لا يسعني إلاّ أن أشكر مؤسسة ليفرهيوم على دعمها ومساعدتها في المشروع وجامعة برمنجهام على رعايتها و احتضانها لمؤتمر”سرديات و ترجمات العنف الجنسي ضدّ النساء في منطقة الشرق الأوسط و شمال افريقيا.

Anissa Daoudi

English | العربية

Si naturelle est l’impulsion de la narration, si inévitable est la forme de récit qui rapporte la manière dont les choses se passent réellement, que la narrativité ne paraît problématique que dans une culture où elle était absente, absente ou, comme dans certains cas absente … par refus programmé.

Hayden White (1980), “La valeur de la narrativité dans la représentation de la réalité”.

 

“La vérité pour quiconque est une chose très complexe. Pour un écrivain, ce que vous dites en dit autant que les choses que vous incluez. Qu’est-ce qui est au dela de la marge du texte? Le photographe encadre sa photo; les écrivains encadrent leur monde. Mme Winterson s’est opposée à ce que j’avais mis, mais il me semblait que ce que j’avais laissé de côté était le jumeau silencieux de l’histoire. Il y a tellement de choses que nous ne pouvons dire, car elles sont trop pénibles. Nous espérons que les choses que nous pouvons dire apaiseront le reste ou l’apaiseront d’une façon ou d’une autre. Les histoires sont compensatoires. Le monde est inéquitable, injuste, impénétrable, hors de contrôle. Lorsque nous racontons une histoire, nous exerçons le contrôle, mais de manière à laisser un écart, une ouverture. C’est une version mais jamais la dernière. Et peut-être nous espérons que les silences seront entendus par quelqu’un d’autre, et l’histoire peut continuer, on peut la raconter. Lorsque nous écrivons, nous offrons le silence autant que l’histoire. Les mots sont la partie du silence qui peut être prononcée. Mme Winterson l’aurait préféré si j’avais été silencieux.

Vous souvenez-vous de l’histoire de Philomel qui a été violée et ensuite sa langue fut arrachée par le violeur pour qu’elle ne puisse jamais le dire? Je crois à la fiction et au pouvoir des histoires parce que de cette façon, nous parlons en langues. Nous ne sommes pas réduits au silence. Nous tous, lors d’un traumatisme profond, nous hésitons, nous balbutions; il y a de longues pauses dans notre discours. La chose est bloquée. Nous retrouvons notre langue dans la langue des autres. Nous pouvons nous tourner vers le poème. Nous pouvons ouvrir le livre. Quelqu’un a été là pour nous et s’est plongé dans les mots. J’avais besoin de mots parce que les familles malheureuses sont des conspiratieurs de silence. Celui qui brise le silence n’est jamais pardonné. Il ou elle doit apprendre à se pardonner. “

Jeanette Winterson (2011), Pourquoi être heureux lorsque vous pourriez être normal? 

Narrer et traduire la violence sexuelle au Moyen-Orient et en Afrique du Nord est le thème principal de cette édition spéciale, qui est guidée par l’impulsion, pour emprunter les mots de White, de narrer et traduire le savoir en dire. Culturellement, dire les histoires de violence a été intimement lié à des luttes de pouvoir; toutes les histoires ne peuvant être racontées, particulièrement sous les régimes autoritaires. Dire des histoires est un acte de pouvoir qui s’articule autour de qui dit quoi et à qui? (Foucault, 1977). En racontant et en disant les histoires de ce qui s’est réellement passé, le but n’est certainement pas de reproduire la violence, mais de donner la parole aux femmes arabes silencieuses pour raconter leurs histoires afin de contrer les discours hégémoniques sur la violence sexuelle en temps de guerre dans la région du Moyen Orient et l’Afrique du Nord (MENA). Les contributeurs de ce numéro spécial sont des universitaires de différentes disciplines, activistes et féministes de la région et des écrivains; ils sont conscients de l’importance de dire des histoires qui remettent en question les discours existants et dévoilent les couches distordues du discours en vue d’éclairer le présent mais également le futur. Dire est également importan : ce qui a été laissé de côté, avoir un œil pour les détails, cadrer les histoires dans un style et un genre spécifiques, en utilisant un langage précis choses tout aussi importantes. Dire de la manière dont l’affirme Jeanette Winterson «Lorsque nous racontons une histoire, nous exerçons le contrôle, mais de manière à laisser un écart, une ouverture», elle ajoute que notre histoire est «une version mais jamais la dernière», elle est une addition importante aux grappes d’histoires qui forment le(s) discours (s). Cet acte de dire ou d’écrire est ce qui construit et produit des versions particulières du monde comme le dit Baker (2006: 28):«des histoires personnelles que nous nous racontons sur notre place dans le monde et notre propre histoire personnelle». En positionnant les femmes arabes dans le monde, nous (les contributeurs de ce volume) nous sommes places dans un réseau de pouvoir, comme Foucault le définit (1978) et nous sommes d’accord avec l’idée de pouvoir de Foucault “Il faut cesser une fois pour toutes de décrire l’effet du pouvoir en termes négatifs, il exclut, il «réprime», il «détecte», il «résume», il «masque», il «dissimule». En fait, le pouvoir produit;il produit la réalité; Elle produit des domaines d’objets et des rituels de la vérité ” (Foucault, 1977: 194).

Ce Numéro Spécial est une contribution originale autour de trois axes. Pour commencer, c’est la première fois que le sujet du viol en temps de guerre, un sujet considéré comme tabou, est discuté ouvertement par rapport à la région MENA par des militants, des universitaires et des écrivains littéraires de la region et cela en trois langues: français, arabe et anglais. Comme notre cadre théorique est basé sur l’importance de la traduction comme moyen de défier les discours établis (Apter, 2013), il est devenu crucial que ce projet unique apparaisse dans les trois langues de travail de la région MENA pour mettre l’information à la disposition des chercheurs, des militants, des décideurs, des étudiants au niveau local et mondial, car nous pensons que la violence sexuelle en temps de guerre est un phénomène mondial. La deuxième originalité des articles porte sur le contenu qu’il révèle pour la première fois, en particulier en ce qui concerne l’Algérie, où la Loi d’Amnistie constitue une barrière contre la vérité. Cette édition spéciale est un appel à la justice et un clair rejet de la Loi d’Amnistie (2005). Le troisième point, et le plus crucial, est de lutter contre le silence des femmes et leur permettre de raconter leurs histoires afin d’écrire une version complète de l’histoire. En faisant cela, les femmes ne font pas que régler leurs comptes, mais aussi aident d’autres femmes (localement, régionalement et globalement) à avancer dans leur juste lutte contre le patriarcat, l’injustice et l’inégalité et de ne pas réinventer la roue.

Pour ce Numéro Spécial, je me tourne vers le passé pour comprendre le présent et contribuer à l’avenir. En d’autres termes, poser la même question que Turshen (2002), qu’est-il arrivé aux femmes algériennes qui étaient autrefois actives pendant la guerre de libération et sont devenues passives durant la guerre civile? Turshen commence son article par deux citations: l’une qui se réfère aux Mudjahidats décrivant un endroit où elles ont planté des bombes pendant la guerre de Libération et une autre citation qui se réfère à une femme algérienne, capturée par des islamistes pendant la guerre civile, utilisée comme esclave sexuelle et pour d’autres emplois domestiques pour «l’Amir» (le terroriste). Ces deux images semblent à des siècles d’intervalle. La question est de demander, de façon indirecte, aux Mudjahidats (combatantes pendant la guerre Libération) quelle a été leur contribution aux «grands récits» de la guerre d’Algérie. Il est question, d’une certaine manière de les tenir responsables de ne pas dire leurs histoires, de ne pas être devenues des modèles pour les générations algériennes à venir, et de ne pas avoir été les moteurs du changement comme lorsqu’elle le furent durant la guerre de Libération. Ce projet aspire à découvrir des “couches de distorsions/constructions” pour utiliser les termes de Tamboukou (2013), non seulement sur ce que les Mudjahidats n’ont pas dit, mais aussi pourquoi et comment leur silence a eu lieu. Ce faisant, le regard ne se pose pas seulement sur le passé, mais plutôt sur le présent et le futur des femmes algériennes. Dans la section suivante, l’analyse des raisons et des manières dont ce silence est arrivé s’est produit.

I.         Genrer la violence en Algérie: le rôle du langage

L’Algérie est connue sous le nom des Trois Djamilas, un nom arabe signifiant «beau» se référant à trois vétérantes de la guerre d’Algérie (1954-1962) appelées Djamila Bouheird, Djamila Boupasha et Djamila Bouazza, qui sont soulvées contre le colonisateur. Alors que cette métaphore des «Trois Djamilas» a été utilisée et abusée dans toute la culture arabe, la contribution des femmes algériennes à la Guerre de Libération est présente dans la mémoire collective algérienne. L’abus commence dès lors que, comme le souligne (Mehta, 2014: 48), l’image créée est ‘l’equation de la terre et du corps de la femme, réduisant les femmes aux symboles abstraits de la nation sans droits de citoyenneté. Cette terre-mère apparaît trop souvent dans la rhétorique nationaliste (McMillin, 2007). C’est la même stratégie hégémonique qui empêche les femmes de participer activement au processus de la construction de la nation. De ce fait, la métaphore de la terre peut être analysée plus étroitement selon le principe de la «théorie de la métaphore conceptuelle», par Lackoff et Johnson, 1980, dans laquelle le domaine cible est lié à l’image de ‘cultivation’, ‘force’ et ‘sécurité’. Cette métaphore ne laisse aucune place à une association négative avec les mudjahidats. Cependant, en définissant les Djamilas comme des filles «musulmanes» algériennes «françaises» éduquées, les «abus», pour utiliser le mot «violence culturelle» de Thomas, deviennent plus clairs, en particulier avec le mouvement d’arabisation algérienne après l’indépendance dans les années 1970. Où les mêmes femmes «françaises» ont été renvoyées dans la sphère privée parce qu’elles ne maîtrisaient pas «l’arabe standard», la langue officielle selon la constitution algérienne. L’histoire a été écrite par des hommes algériens, ne laissant aucune place aux femmes pour narrer ou archiver leurs histoires. En 1974, le ministère de Mudjahideen (ministère des Anciens Combattants) a signalé que 11 000 femmes algériennes avaient lutté pour la libération (environ 3% de tous les combattants); Amrane Minne (1993) pense que c’est une sérieuse sous-estimation de la participation des femmes. Elle ajoute que de ce nombre, 22% étaient urbaines et 78% proviennent de zones rurales; ces pourcentages reflètent exactement le taux d’urbanisation en Algérie à cette période. La bataille des Mudjahidats n’était pas seulement contre le colonisateur, mais aussi de libérer les femmes de l’ignorance et de la servitude. Les femmes instruites urbaines se sont jointes aux forces rebelles et sont allées dans les villages où elles ont enseigné, à des paysans analphabètes, les raisons de leur lutte pour l’indépendance. Des études révèlent qu’après l’indépendance, beaucoup ont été confrontées à des rejets de la société et n’ont pu y être réintégrées car certaines ont été violées, ou parce qu’elles avaient fréquenté des hommes. Parmi celles qui ont réussi à trouver un emploi, certaines ont été obligées par leurs maris de revenir à des emplois plus traditionnels. Le film La Nouba des femmes du Mont Chenoua d’Assia Djebar (1978) est une représentation du colonialisme ainsi que de la culture féminine. Dans ce film, Djebar souligne l’importance de l’histoire et de la mémoire et pose des questions suivantes: à qui appartient l’histoire de l’Algérie ? Qui la raconte et à qui? Et dans quelle langue? L’exclusion des femmes algériennes instruites en français ne se limita pas aux Mudjahidats, mais comprenait aussi une génération d’Algériennes éduquées en français; et cela même des décennies après l’indépendance (voir le chapitre premier). La section suivante fournira une analyse de ce que l’on ressentait lorsque l’on était une femme dans les années 1990, une periode connue sous le nom de «décennie noire» en Algérie.

 II.         Souvenirs des femmes algériennes durant les années 1990

La guerre civile a été décrite comme l’une des périodes les plus brutales dans l’Algérie indépendante. On estime que plus de 200 000 personnes ont été tuées et des milliers de personnes «brutalement blessées, déplacées, enlevées et violées sexuellement, selon le rapport d’Amnesty International de 1996» (Mehta, 2014: 69). L’Algérie indépendante n’a pas connu autre chose que le régime répressif d’un seul parti, où la corruption, le chômage, le népotisme, la discrimination fondée sur le genre et la ségrégation des minorités étaient monnaie courante. Dans les années 1980, le pays était prêt à exploser. La crise s’est sentie économiquement, politiquement, socialement et les gens sont descendus dans la rue dans ce que l’on appelle les «émeutes du pain» du 5 octobre 1988. Le soulèvement a commencé pacifiquement, mais sitôt les militaires ont brutalement écrasé les manifestants. Les islamistes ont capitalisé sur ces tensions et ont commencé à se présenter en tant que sauveteurs du pays. Ils voulaient être considérés comme ceux qui allaeint réinventer l’identité algérienne, qui était selon eux encore francophone. Comme l’affirme Zahia Salhi (2010), les militaires sont devenus plus militarisés et les islamistes se sont engagés dans la lutte armée et, par conséquent, le pays a été entraîné dans l’un des moments les plus horribles de son histoire. Les civils étaient les ultimes victimes, en particulier les femmes. En fait, Salhi croit que les femmes sont devenues une cible délibérée pour les fondamentalistes islamiques dès les années 1970. Elle explique comment la disposition discriminatoire du Code de la famille a exacerbé et légitimé la violence à l’égard des femmes et a rendu difficile pour ells de faire face aux conséquences des violations abusives des droits de l’homme (2010). Marnia Lazreg nomme l’année 1984 “l’année de la rupture entre les femmes et leur gouvernement et le questionnement radical de la légitimité de l’Etat par les femmes”.

Dalila Lamarene Djerbal décrit la situation:

La violence physique à grande échelle, puis les meurtres de femmes qui ne respectent pas le code vestimentaire ou les règles de conduite; l’assassinat de femmes citoyennes chargées de soutenir les autorités ou les femmes liées aux membres des services de sécurité; l’obligation pour les femmes et les familles de soutenir les groupes armés et les débuts du viol par des mariages forcés, la multiplication des enlèvements, le viol sous le couvert de ce qu’on appelle zawāj mut’a, les enlèvements de femmes, la ségrégation, le viol collectif, la torture, le meurtre et la mutilation de l’ensemble du territoire.

La citation ci-dessus illustre la violence physique exercée contre les femmes algériennes, ce qui a sans aucun doute laissé des cicatrices psychologiques. Elle résume les différents prétextes sous lesquels les femmes étaient ciblées. Le premier concerne les femmes dans la sphère publique et le code vestimentaire et la conduite «respectable». Le concept du hijab (le voile) a commencé à circuler au milieu des années 1970 et au début des années 80, importé par des professeurs arabes qui sont venus dans le pays lors du mouvement d’arabisation, et qui avaient des liens avec les mouvements des Frères musulmans. Leur but était l’islamisation de l’Algérie qui selon eux était encore francophone. Un grand nombre de femmes algériennes ont été forcées de porter le hijab et celles qui ont refusé de le faire ont reçu des menaces de mort et, dans certains cas, ont été tuées, utilisées comme exemples pour terroriser d’autres femmes. Une Fatwa légalisant l’enlèvement et le mariage temporaire des femmes a été publiée, de manière très similaire à la façon dont les femmes Yazidi sont traitées selon la règle d’ISIS aujourd’hui. Selon les islamistes, le hijab est ce qui distingue une femme musulmane d’une femme non-musulmane. C’est aussi ce qui établit les limites entre les sphères privée et publique. Toutes ces strictes règles justifiaient la violence physique et le meurtre de femmes qui refusaient de respecter la règle religieuse. La première victime fut le célèbre cas de Katia Bengana, une jeune fille de 17 ans de Blida, qui avait été mise en garde, mais a dit à sa mère: “même si un jour je suis assassinée, je ne porterai jamais de hijab contre ma volonté. Si je dois porter quelque chose, ce sera la robe traditionnelle de la Kabylie plutôt que le hijab importé qu’ils veulent nous forcer”(Turshen, 2002: 898). La déclaration de Katia montre combien elle était provocante, même si elle soupçonnait qu’elle serait tuée pour ses idées bien arrêtées. De plus, son identité kabyle était plus importante pour elle. Elle se réfère au hijab comme une idéologie importée de la péninsule arabique en référence à l’idéologie Wahhabi, et et forcée sur les Algériennes. Ce sentiment a été partagé par un grand nombre d’Algériennes qui affirment que leur islam algérien, sous lequel elles ont été élevés, avait ses propres particularités et qu’elles n’avaient pas besoin d’enseignements sur l’islam provenant d’ailleurs.

Vingt ans plus tard, sa sœur écrit un article sur Facebook et dit: “Je pleure, je rage contre ces femmes voilées qui pensent qu’elles sont libres pendant qu’elles sont muselées. Katia est une fille qui a décidé pour elle-même, ne pas se pencher vers l’obscurantisme machiste des islamistes. Combien de Katia(s) nous faut-il pour qu’un jour ces femmes puissent enfin être libres? Katia devrait être considérée comme un symbole de la lutte contre les esprits médiévaux. Elle était courageuse et était prête à aller jusqu’au bout de ses convictions, une femme libre, une vrai Tamazight comme l’était la Reine des Aurès, un exemple de force et d’intelligence”(26.01.17). Lors de la conférence tenue à l’Université de Birmingham, en octobre 2014 sur «la Narration et la traduction de la violence sexuelle dans la région MENA: le rôle du langage», Mme. Wassyla Tamzali, a parlé du cas de Katia et a souligné que l’on ne devait pas se souvenir d’elle comme étant berbère, elle devrait être célébrée en tant que femme algérienne. Elle ajoute qu’en divisant les citoyens en berbères et en arabes, les Algériens entrent dans l’idéologie coloniale de «diviser pour mieux régner». Katia n’a pas été tuée parce qu’elle était berbère, mais parce qu’elle a refusé l’islam politique. Pour Tamzali, parler au nom de Katia est crucial et faire entendre la voix de Katia est tout aussi important. Elle a choisi de rendre le cas de Katia un problème national car elle est consciente qu’il y a plus de femmes comme Katia en Algérie. Les récents rapports provenant de zones d’Irak et de Syrie, sous contrôle ISIS, montrent comment les femmes sont encore soumises à des circonstances similaires de viol, de meurtre et d’esclavage sexuel. Ainsi, l’appel de Tamzali est d’une importance mondiale et est le résultat de ses années de travail pour les Nations Unies, lorsqu’elle etait en charge du sort des femmes en Bosnie.

Le second point dans la citation de Lamarene concerne le ciblage de citoyennes «chargées de soutenir les autorités (le pouvoir) ou les femmes liées aux membres des services de sécurité». Cette catégorie de femmes comprend un large segment de la population algérienne, qui sont des épouses, des sœurs ou des mères d’hommes travaillant pour les services de sécurité, la force de police, l’armée, appelés par les fondamentalistes les «tyrans», taghut en arabe. Ce mot de l’arabe classique nous renvoie aux usages de ce mot dans un passé lointain. Le mot est mentionné dans le Coran (surat al Nahl /L’Abeille). Dans ce cas, le «tyran» ou le souverain, dirigeant, désigne le ‘mal’. L’éradication du mal devient ainsi un devoir pour le croyant. Cette métaphore conceptuelle peut être utilisée pour expliquer le processus par lequel l’extermination du non-croyant s’est normalisée. L’utilisation de l’image du taghut évoque diverses images directement liées au Coran et aussi à la période pré-islamique où les gens adoraient d’autres formes de dieux, ce qui différenciait le croyant du non-croyant. Le terme rappelle l’image du “mal” et du “dirigeant injuste”. Ces deux concepts sont suffisants, par exemple, pour le grand Mufti de l’Arabie Saoudite pour justifier la peine de mort.

Actuellement, d’autres concepts ont commencé à apparaître dans la société algérienne: Dalila Lamarene Djerbal se réfère à Zawāj al Mut’a, un terme introduit par les islamistes nommant une forme de mariage temporaire pratiqué par certains musulmans chiites au Moyen-Orient mais pas en Afrique du Nord; inconnu en Algérie, où la majorité de la population est sunnite. D’autres formes de mariage sont également apparues avec la montée de l’islamisme, comme zawāj al misāyr (encore une forme temporaire de mariage acceptée dans la secte sunnite du wahhabisme). D’autres formes d’attaque contre les corps des femmes ont commencé à pénétrer la société algérienne et cela sous différentes terminologies Le roman de Fadhila Al Farouq se réfère au mot de viol en arabe et le place entre des virgules inversées ” الاغتصاب “/al ightisāb/comme un terme controversé. Pourtant, elle explique explicitement ses racines étymologiques liées à l’arabe classique. En faisant cela, Al Farouq attaque implicitement l’institution religieuse pour l’utilisation des «concepts islamiques» les transformant en capital symbolique (voir le chapitre premier).

La citation de Djerbal capture les atrocités que les femmes algériennes ont traversées pendant la «décennie noire». La violence était à la fois réelle et symbolique contre les civils, en particulier les femmes qui, comme a indiqué Djerbal, ont été violées, torturées et assassinées collectivement de la manière la plus dramatique (voir ci-dessous la discussion sur le meurtre de femmes dans la partie oueste de l’Algérie). Dans les années 1990, d’ordinaires Algériennes sont descendues dans la rue pour dénoncer les discours violents prononcés contre elles. En 1994, le Groupe islamique armé (GIA) a appelé à un boycott des écoles. Cependant, en dépit de nombreuses écoles brûleées et des meurtres d’enseignants, les femmes ont néanmoins, par défi, accompgné leurs enfants à l’école. La violence a augmenté au fur et à mesure de la résistance du gouvernement et des citoyens, y compris les femmes. Les terroristes “ont intensifié leurs activités, établissant des barrages routiers et tuant de cette manière lors d’embuscades “ (Turshen, 2002: 897). D’autres actes dirigés contre les femmes comprenaient la délivrance de la fatwa légalisant le meurtre de filles et de femmes qui ne portaient pas le hijab. Une autre fatwa a légalisé l’enlèvement et le mariage temporaire des femmes. Selon le FIS, le hijab est ce qui distingue une musulman d’une f non-musulmane. C’est aussi ce qui délimite les sphères privées et publiques. Tous ces édits justifiaient le meurtre de femmes qui refusaient de respecter les règles religieuses. La prochaine section met en lumière les organisations de femmes algériennes et leur lutte contre ce qui se passe.

III.         Le rôle des organisations de femmes en Algérie dans la décennie noire: résilience

Les femmes algériennes étaient soumises aux pires types de violence bien avant la guerre civile. Dans les discours publics du Parti islamique (FIS), certaines femmes, les féministes par exemple, ont été représentées comme non croyantes, occidentales, immorales et, par conséquent, il était urgent de les ramener à leurs rôles traditionnels. Elles occupaient, selon la FIS, des emplois censés être pour des hommes. Ce discours particulier a été favorisé par les hommes au chômage au moment où la crise économique a frappé le pays en raison de la corruption, de la chute des prix du pétrole dans un pays qui s’appuyait principalement sur les ressources naturelles. L’Algérie est devenu de plus en plus hostile à la présence de femmes dans la sphère publique. Les féministes ont été harcelées, empêchées de faire leur travail et même pas autorisées à vivre sans un parent masculin (comme un frère, un mari, un fils, ce qu’on appelle mahram). La loi de 1984 (comme expliquée au chapitre premier) n’a pas aidé non plus. En fait, cette loi a institutionnalisé la violence et la discrimination à l’égard des femmes. Ait Hamou (2004, 117), l’un des membres fondateurs du Réseau Wassyla soutient que le gouvernement algérien a coopté les conservateurs et plus tard les fondamentalistes musulmans pour protéger leurs intérêts et rester au pouvoir. De nombreux gouvernements ont compromis et ont sacrifié les droits des femmes pour maintenir la paix avec les fondamentalistes. Par exemple, en 1989, «les conservateurs du FLN ont colludé avec les islamistes pour introduire des mesures contre l’émancipation de la femme, par exemple une éducation plus religieuse dans les écoles primaires; le sport non obligatoires pour les filles, et ainsi de suite “(ibid). En d’autres termes, la complicité du FLN, dans le système éducatif en Algérie, dure depuis de nombreuses années.

À l’échelle globale, lorsque les femmes faisaient quotidiennement face à la violence, le monde entier restait aveugle à qui se passait. Selon Ait-Hamou, «depuis le 11 septembre, le monde et, en particulier, les États-Unis, semble soudain se rendre compte que l’intégrisme musulman, dans sa forme extrême de terrorisme, est une menace réelle”. Elle ajoute que “beaucoup d’entre nous ne peuvent que se sentir amères face à une telle attitude, car nous avons combattu le fondamentalisme et le terrorisme isolément, à mains nues pendant de nombreuses années, alors que les fondamentalistes qui ont commis les crimes les plus atroces dans nos pays ont été soutenus par les mêmes gouvernements qui dictent aujourd’hui au reste du monde comment “combattre le terrorisme””. Ce sentiment d’amertume, d’être laissées seules, sans soutien ni de le part de leurs compatriotes Arabes, ni du reste du monde, c’est ce que les femmes et les hommes répètent maintenant lorsqu’on leur demande pourquoi ils ne se sont pas joints au soi-disant «Printemps arabe». Une autre question prégnante à laquelle Ait-Hamou fait référence est la loi d’amnistie de 1999, qui est à ce jour critiquée par la plupart des organisations féministes.

Le but de la loi d’amnistie était de mettre fin à la guerre civile algérienne en proposant une amnistie pour la plupart des violences commises. Le référendum a eu lieu le 29 septembre 2005, et il a été mis en œuvre en tant que loi le 28 février 2006. Les critiques, cependant, le qualifient de déni de vérité et de justice pour les victimes des abus et pour leurs familles. Un exemple de voix qui se sont élevées contre la loi d’amnistie est Cherifa Keddar, fondatrice de l’Association Djazairouna, créée le 17 octobre 1996, à la suite de l’assassinat de sa soeur et de son frère après une attaque ciblée contre sa famille, y compris de leur mère par les islamistes. Cherifa s’est unie aux survivants du terrorisme pour leur donner une voix qui dénonce la loi d’amnistie et demander justice. Bennoune fournit des informations détaillées sur le travail de cette organisation dans ce numéro.

Les organisations féministes luttaient contre le fondamentalisme, basé sur la théocratie et le patriarcat, et à l’origine de la violence. Elles ont toutes perçu que le début des années 1980 marquait le début du fondamentalisme en Algérie. Elles conviennent que les sermons du vendredi diffusés sur les haut-parleurs, se concentrant sur les corps féminins, les décrivant comme immorales en ce qui concerne par exemple le port du rouge à lèvres ou le fait de sortir non voilée. Les campus universitaires ont également été attaqués et les autorités ont fait profil bas. En juin 1989, un groupe d’intégristes a mis le feu en public dans une maison qui appartenait à une femme divorcée, qui vivait avec ses enfants. Ses trois enfants ont été brûlés jusqu’à la mort. Les groupes de femmes ont dénoncé ce crime et ont organisé la première manifestation dans les rues d’Alger. La complicité silencieuse de l’État a aidé la croissance de l’islamisme. Dans les années 1992-1993, des milliers d’hommes et de femmes ont été tués et le pays a vécu dans la terreur. La première femme assassinée fut Karima Belhadj, secrétaire à l’Office général de la sécurité nationale. Les organisations de femmes en Algérie ont eu peu de choix. Elles devaient survivre stratégiquement aux atrocités, certainse portaient le voile pour éviter les affrontements d’autres résistèrent à cela. Il faut maintenant regarder la société algérienne pour se rendre compte que plus la moitié des femmes est voilée. Les militantes des droits de la femme adoptèrent une stratégie nationale pour lutter contre l’intégrisme en produisant des contre-discours, ells ont occupé la rue à plusieurs reprises portant des photos de ceux qui ont été tués, alors que le reste de la population était terriffiée. La première réunion publique a été organisée en 1993 par le rassemblement des femmes démocrates algériennes (RAFD), a mis en scène un tribunal contre le terrorisme (Ait-Hamou, ibid). Les organisations de défense des droits de la femme ont également dénoncé les discours américains et européens qui sous le nom de la démocratie, ont désigneé les islamistes commes victims. Ces organisations ont également contribué aux débats internationaux par voie de chaines de presse étrangères et en participant à des conférences internationales. Elles ont créé de nombreuses associations de femmes comme SOS Femmes en Détresse, RAFD et RACHDA qui continuent à lutter pour le droit des femmes et à produire un contre-discours face au fondamentalisme.

L’histoire de la violence que les femmes algériennes ont subi de la part des groupes djihadistes il y a de cela 20 ans maintenant, la façon dont cela s’est passé, la façon dont ceal a été négligé, la façon dont les victimes ont été négligées, négligées et oubliées – devrait provoquer une indignation mondiale comme le souligne Bennoune dans ce numéro. Car cette violence ne concerne pas que les femmes algériennes, mais est un problème mondial et comprendre cette violence permet d’apprhender les violences d’ISIS aujourd’hui. L’essai de Bennoune, dans ce numéro, traite du viol en Algérie durant la «décennie noire» et est une image fidèle de ce qu’était l’Algérie pendant la guerre civile. Bennoune scrute les façons dont le viol a été narré en interviewant des survivants, tâche difficile en vertu de la loi d’amnistie. Son expertise en droit et sa recherche sur le terrain sur le thème du viol en Algérie et dans d’autres parties du monde musulman contribuent au caractère interdisciplinaire de cet essai et des questions qu’ils pose. Son essai montre sa connaissance de l’Algérie de l’intérieur et de son analyse pertinente des éveénements.

Pour compléter l’article de Benoune, Daoudi souligne la production culturelle des années 1990 en Algérie. Son article intitulé «L’intraduisibilité de l’Algérie» conteste le concept de “non traduisance” d’Apter (2013) et le présente non comme une entité homogène mais comme une notion multiple. La traduction comme outil de  discours dérangeant (Apter, 2013) est à la base des vues sur les rôles sexuels et contribute aux récits de l’Algérie coloniale et postcoloniale. La traduction aide à démanteler les récits qui ont été écrits par des hommes et à mettre en évidence des discours passés sous silence. Grâce à une analyse approfondie des divers discours de genre sur la violence en Algérie, cet article montre les manipulations de discours à propos des femmes algériennes au cours de l’Algérie coloniale et postcoloniale. Cet article traite également du rôle des écrivains algériens qui donnent une voix à leurs compatriotes sans voix pour aider à archiver leur histoire et à construire leur mémoire sociale et collective. En outre, cet article souligne les rôles du langage et de la traduction dans la construction d’une Algérie en constante évolution en mettant en perspective les années 1990, années de la guerre civile.

Spcialiste en études du genre et d’études islamiques, Amel Grami, qui a travaillé avec des femmes jihadistes dans la région MENA, met en perspective des thèmes peu étudiés et connexes tels que ‘al sabi’ et ‘jihad al-nikah’, sujets que Grami a largement étudiés et publié. «Jihad al-nikah», en particulier, fut un sujet de controverse en Tunisie après le printemps arabe. Grami rappelle les déclarations officielles du ministère de l’Intérieur tunsies selon lequel il existe des groupes de jeunes tunisiennes qui se sont rendues en Syrie dans le but de «Jihad al-nikah». Grami met en exergue d’autres récits sur la violence sexuelle en Tunisie. Le but de la narration de ces histoires n’est pas d’étudier le passé mais d’essayer de comprendre le présent, de comprendre par exemple le viol des femmes Yazidi dans la région MENA (voir l’article de Grami dans ce numéro spécial).

La lutter contre l’intégrisme et le silence des femmes algériennes n’a pas été le seul fait des activistes des droits des femmes sur le terrain. Les écrivains ont également combattu avec leurs stylos. Djebar, en tant que pionnière de la génération qui a vécu le colonialisme et Mokadem, sont le noyau de l’essai écrit par Imen Cozzo dans ce numéro. Cozzo suggère que le silence des femmes algériennes pourrait être interprété comme un acte social involontaire, un acte culturel et idéologique de résistance, un moyen d’enterrer la vérité atroce et de la sceller dans une tombe oubliée. Le silence a été imposé par une réalité coloniale et continue d’être appliqué par une tradition et une société postcoloniales. Après l’indépendance, de nombreux écrivains algériens ont utilisé la langue même du colonisateur pour résister à leur assimilation, et cela dans un processus inverse, dans une lutte entre les espaces “extérieurs” et “intérieurs”. Par conséquent, Cozzo soutient que le silence devient un acte politique par lequel les femmes subissent le discours des oppresseurs, en conservant leur monde/ mot secret.

La violence dans les années 1990 dans les films algériens: Rachida, Le Harem de Madame Osmane et Barakat! sont les thèmes que Rym Quartsi discute dans son article. Elle analyse les films comme un autre moyen par lequel les réalisateurs algériens ont communiqué le traumatisme et la douleur de la décennie noire. Dans son essai, elle explore la relation entre genre, violence et langage. La décennie noire est la période où la plupart des artistes ont fui le pays après avoir reçu des menaces de mort. Cela a entraîné le démantèlement de l’industrie cinématographique et les films produits ont été réalisés en dehors de l’Algérie ou avec un financement externe.

Dans une étude comparative, Bedjaoui rappelle la «décennie noire» par le travail des deux écrivaines francophones Assia Djebar et Maisa Bey. Les romans étudiés, se concentrent sur la violence du fanatisme religieux qui a terrifié la société algérienne dans les années 1990. De même, Tamzali écrit une lettre à katia Benghena, la fille qui a défié les islamistes et a refusé de porter le voile. Tamzali met en garde contre la division de la société algérienne en berbère, arabe, francophone et arabophone. Elle nous rappelle que Katia est une femme algérienne et n’est pas seulement une femme berbère. En décrivant la manierre dont l’on vivait en Algérie pendant la décennie noire, Tamzali déclare: “le pays était plongé dans la guerre civile, des voisins et des frères se tuant. La douleur et la peur ont dominé le regard de nos mères et nos vies se dirigeaient vers la barbarie au son des lourdes bottes et des cris de “Allahu Akbar”. La mort s’est répandue dans tous les coins et la puanteur de sombres nuages ​​a rempli l’air”. Enfin, une sélection de textes littéraires de Fadhila Al Farouq et d’Inam Bioud sont présentés dans les trois langues. Al Farouq est la première écrivaine algérienne, qui a choisi de se battre avec sa plume au péril de sa vie, afin de documenter des cas de viol dans les années 1990. Le poème de Bioud remplit notre cœur de tristesse et nous rappelle les atrocités de la «décennie noire».

IV.         Conclusion

La violence au cours des dernières années s’est intensifiée, ou du moins l’intensification des technologies de l’information l’a fait apparaitre comme étant intensifeée. C’est dire que la violence a toujours existé, mais les gens n’entendent pas nécessairement parler de cela et n’ont absolument pas l’habitude de la voir en direct. L’Internet a facilité le mouvement de l’information, par exemple, l’image de la femme égyptienne dans son soutien-gorge qui a été traînée par l’agent de police égyptien à la place Tahrir est devenue virale sur les médias sociaux et est devenu  «l’événement du soutien-gorge bleu». D’autres événements dans la région arabe «le soi-disant Printemps Arabe / révolution» sont caractérisés par des réactions intéressantes sur le rôle des femmes dans la lutte pour la liberté, divers histoires ont émergeé : femmes soumises par le gouvernement égyptien soumis à des «tests de virginité», et d’autres histoires terribles de viol collectif sur la place Tahrir (Le Caire), aux appels d’un prédicateur de la guerre sainte sexuelle  connue sou le nom de ‘djihad al nikah’ (qui offre essentiellement des services sexuels pour conforter les combattants qui se battent contre le régime syrien), en utilisant une terminologie de l’arabe classique pour se référer à la guerre sainte dans ce nouveau contexte. Toutes ces histoires et beaucoup d’autres sont racontées et, dans certains cas, utilisées et abusées pour légitimer les réactions violentes. Elles font également partie de l’histoire, qui est construite à travers la récitation de couches d’histoires complexes entrelacées. Homi Bhabha, déclare que «raconte des histoires qui créent le réseau de l’histoire et change la direction de son écoulement» (cité dans Gana et Härting, 2008: 5). Cette opinion est également partagée par Mona Baker qui soutient que les récits construisent des réalités. C’est cette ligne de pensée qui nous anime, universitaires de la region, , écrivains, réalisateurs de cinéma, etc, en publiant ce numéro spécial visant à démanteler les récits officiels et donner une voix aux récits restés sous silence des années 1990. En faisant cela, nous ne parlons pas des récits de l’autre qui peuvent être géographiquement éloignés, mais nous racontons la violence comme un phénomène mondial, en tant que problème éthique et surtout comme une recherche continue de la vérité. Les mots de Tahar Djaout reflètent l’esprit de ce numéro spécial.

Le silence, c’est la mort,

Et toi, si tu parles tu meurs,

Si tu te tais tu meurs,

Alors, parle et meurs!

Tahar Djaout

Remerciments

Le projet actuel n’aurait pas vu le jour sans le travail acharné des femmes qui y croyaient et qui croyaient en ses buts. Je remercie particulièrement le professeur R.A. Judy de l’Université de Pittsburgh pour sa collaboration et son soutien dès le début du projet, et pour sa croyance en la nécessité d’un échange entre les chercheurs de l’Occident et du monde Arabe. Il est convaincu que tout changement de discours nécessite les efforts des hommes et des femmes à la fois, puisque le discours féministe ne devrait pas être limité aux femmes et devrait être la responsabilité de la société dans son ensemble.  Ma gratitude va au professeur Zahia Salhi et au professeur Marnia Lazreg, deux figures fondatrices de la recherche sur la violence contre les femmes en Algérie, pour leur soutien et leur foi dans le projet.  Je remercie toutes ces écrivaines algériennes, en particulier Fadhila Al Farouk et Inam Bayoud, qui ont consacré leurs écrits à donner la parole aux femmes algériennes.

Mes remerciements vont en particulier aux traductrices et traducteurs qui ont consacre du temps et des efforts pour traduire ce projet.  Vers l’Arabe, je cite: Dr. Muman Al Khaldy, Dr. Nermeen Al Nafra, Waleed Al Subhi, Dr. Ghada Arab, Hisham Muhra, and Moura Al Rasheed.   Vers le Français: Dr. Wafa Bejaoui et surtout je remercie Rym Ourtsi pour sa traduction de la plupart des articles.   Je remercie egalement Walid Boughnima pour sa revision des textes en Arabe et Dr. Lynda Nawal Tebanni et Dr. Imen Daoudi pour les textes en Français.

Je voudrais reconnaître et valoriser la contribution de M. Denis Martinez qui a estimé qu’il était de son devoir, en tant qu’artiste et ami de Tahar Djaout et de nombreux intellectuels assassinés pendant la période sanglante, de partager avec nous et avec les femmes algériennes le sentiment de perte. Il a gracieusement offerts des images de ses peintures pour accompagner la présente cette publication. Le photographe et réalisateur Mohamed Lamin Bisker a pris les photos et contribué à la logistique: je lui dois mes remerciements. Enfin, je voudrais exprimer ma gratitude au Leverhulme Trust pour son soutien au projet, et à l’Université de Birmingham pour avoir accueilli l’atelier «récits et traductions de la violence sexuelle contre les femmes dans la région MENA».

Sahar Mediha Al-Naas

English | العربية

Les femmes en Libye sont aujourd’hui confrontées à de nombreux défis qui entravent leur participation et leur représentation politique et civile. La néo-patriarchie, la guerre et le conflit fournissent un terrain propice  pour la violence sexiste et la violence sexuelle qui se prolongent dans les suites post-conflit (Al-Ali, 2014, Jurasz, 2013). Six ans après le soulèvement,  la situation actuelle indique que la Libye se dirige vers la déformation de l’État (Rolf Schwarz, 2004), les droits des femmes libyennes sont à la limite de l’effondrement. Les liens institutionnels entre l’état et la religion, renforcés par l’instabilité et la violence depuis 2011 et démontrés dans le discours de Libération de Mustafa Abdul Jalil, ont un impact dévastateur sur les femmes. Un tel impact se reflète dans la rechute systématique des droits des femmes sous une forme religieuse. En outre, la néo-patriarchie renforce et maintient les valeurs patriarcales qui placent les femmes dans une position subordonnée, créant ainsi des systèmes d’oppression à travers des liens institutionnels religieux et de parenté. Dans un tel système, les femmes, leurs corps et leurs comportements sexuels sont souvent considérés comme les marqueurs de l’identité religieuse et culturelle de l’État. Une telle structure a existé dans la période avant Gaddafi et a été conservée et renforcée par Gaddafi à des fins politiques.

Dans cet article, j’explore la corrélation entre les différents aspects de la structure de l’État qui caractérisent un état néo-patriarcal et ses liens institutionnels avec la religion et la parenté, la position des femmes libyennes, leur participation politique et civique et leur représentation et l’effondrement rapide de leurs droits Depuis 2011. Je prétends que l’appropriation de la religion, de la parenté et du patriarcat par l’État néo-patriarcal joue un rôle important dans la régression des droits des femmes libyennes. Je mettrai l’accent  sur les liens institutionnels entre l’état et la religion ainsi que  l’impact de ceux-ci sur les droits des femmes, dans le contexte des conflits et un état néo-patriarcal; Je discuterai la violence sexuelle comme une arme de guerre, le lien entre la militarisation de la masculinité et la structure néo patriarcal qui a servi au fondement de la violence sexiste à travers la subjectivation des femmes et le renforcement de la hiérarchie du genre. Je vais aussi souligner la participation des femmes libyennes au soulèvement contre Gaddafi en 2011 et montrer le lien entre l’exclusion des femmes et la nature de l’insurrection en tant que lutte armée contre le pouvoir et les ressources dans un contexte néo-patriarcal.  Je vais explorer comment les femmes libyennes –  à travers leur participation et représentation civiles et politiques – ont pu  construire un discours féministe,  poser un agenda féministe sur la table politique et surmonter l’obstacle de la «priorité de sécurité».

Néo-patriarchie

Définition

La néo-patriarchie est la forme moderne du système patriarcal dans la modernisation qui est limitée à certains aspects bureaucratiques de l’État.  La société néo-patriarcale, Sharabi la décrit comme étant : « l’hybride, les structures traditionnelles et semi-rationnelles et de la conscience ». Sharabi identifie deux types de sociétés néo-patriarcales : conservatrice  et progressiste. Les deux partagent l’élément central psychologique qui est la domination du père (patriarche) Que ce soit le père de la nation ou le père  de la famille, et dont les relations avec la nation ou l’enfant sont verticales.   Les  relations hiérarchisées du pouvoir ” médiés consensus par la force et la contrainte.” (Sharabi, 1988).

Néo-patriarchie et Modernité

Un facteur crucial dans la formation de la modernité est l’autonomie transformative du capitalisme et l’industrialisation, selon les  révolutionnaires, comme  Marx, qui aspire à l’élimination de la division des classes sociales, et crée des relations sociales horizontales qui constituent le fondement de la démocratie.  Dans la région MENA, le capitalisme était ni autonome, ni révolutionnaire à forme de modernité.  En outre, l’absence de véritable industrialisation et de capitalisme indépendant ainsi que  la relation subalterne asymétrique entre l’Occident comme la puissance coloniale de la domination et la région colonisée caractérisent  la formation des Etats Néo-patriarcaux à l’époque postcoloniale, que Sharabi décrit comme : « le mariage de l’impérialisme et le patriarcat ».

États Néo-patriarcaux dans la région MENA

Sharabi a affirmé que la formation des États Néo-patriarcaux dans la région MENA a été façonnée par la rencontre avec la modernité occidentale, au début du XXe siècle.  La modernité occidentale a été fondée sur l’effacement de l’ancien système de la tradition et le patriarcat en Europe, provoquée par l’industrialisation et le capitalisme.  Le capitalisme autonome, dans l’analyse de Marx, l’émergence de la bourgeoisie comme un facteur révolutionnaire, construit de nouvelles relations sociales horizontales qui ont marqué la formation de la modernité Européenne.  La nouvelle société moderne est régie par l’humeur laïque et scientifique de la pensée qui a remplacé la structure religieuse de directeur allégorique spirituelle caractéristique des Feudales Européens pré-modernes.  Certains chercheurs soutiennent que la modernité est  un phénomène uniquement  européen.  Cette notion est fondée sur les discours essentialistes dichotomiques qui divise le monde à l’Europe  « Civilisée » et  les autre   *Barbares*.  Dans ce discours, des facteurs historiques, géopolitiques et socio-économiques cruciaux sont obscurcies.

Néo-patriarchie en Libye

L’état  Néo-patriarcal tire sa légitimité de la possession du pouvoir (Sharabi, 1988), dans le cas où le pouvoir a cessée  ou a été donnée. Dans le cas de la région MENA, le pouvoir et la survie de l’état  Néo-patriarcal s’appuie fortement sur les facteurs internes et externes. 

Facteurs externes

Dans la région du MENA post-coloniale et au cours de la période de la guerre froide, la survie des États s’est fondée sur leurs liens avec les deux superpuissances et a été façonnée par la compétition entre eux.  Par exemple,  l’Egypte (sous la domination de Jamal Abdel ‎Nasser), l’Algérie, la Syrie, l’ex-Yémen du Sud et la Libye avaient des liens étroits avec ‎l’ancienne Union soviétique qui leur fournissaient de l’aide et du soutien ‎technologique, militaire et politique. D’autre part, l’Arabie saoudite, la Jordanie, le ‎Maroc,l’ Egypte (post-Nasser) et les  autre pays du Golfe rentiers qui  avaient  des liens avec ‎les États-Unis et l’Europe occidentale; des pays ayant fourni leur aide économique (dans le cas des États non-rentier), militaire, technologique et un soutien politique.  ‎ Ainsi, aucun des États MENA pourrait être décrit comme un État moderne et ce  pour leur dépendance des superpuissances pour la survie, par conséquent, les étapes essentielles et les éléments de formation de l’État étaient absents dans le cas de la région MENA. Van Creveld (1999) montre qu’en Europe occidentale, la formation de l’État a été façonnée par la guerre et la préparation de la guerre qui a joué un rôle central et essentiel.  En outre, plusieurs chercheurs ont montré que le processus de préparation à la guerre implique l’extraction efficace des ressources à travers un mécanisme bureaucratique, administratif et institutionnel nécessaire à l’édification de l’État, qui fait que les droits politiques et les droits de représentation au sein du gouvernement font dorénavant partie intégrante de la citoyenneté qui comprenait des payeurs de taxes de différentes classes sociales et pas seulement le monarque ou les élites dirigeantes. Dans ce contexte, la notion de nationalisme et de  citoyenneté ont formé et façonné l’identité et la force de l’État, dans lequel l’individu est citoyen, avec les droits et devoirs et pas un sujet avec des obligations contraignantes et sans droits, comme dans le cas de la région du MENA.

La formation d’État postcolonial au MENA, comme beaucoup de chercheurs  l’affirment, est façonnée par le  Rentierism.  Ce dernier a un effet profond sur de l’État et « ses politiques étrangères, les droits de l’homme politique ou les aspects de la succession politique ».  Ce qui  crée une citoyenneté hiérarchique, dans laquelle, la  richesse et le pouvoir politique sont centralisées et accessibles exclusivement aux  élites dirigeantes, ce qui marginalise les autres.  Cette structure politique autoritaire domine la scène politique dans la région du MENA postcoloniale.  En Libye, à titre d’exemple, des rentiers Néo patriarcaux et autoritaires sont les relations étrangères de Kadhafi avec l’ex-Union soviétique.  Non seulement les Etas Unis et d’autre pays Européen, comme l’Italie, l’Allemagne et France lui ont fourni de l’aide militaire, mais ont joué un rôle crucial dans la referment du pétrole, sa production, son transport et son commerce. Ainsi, ils lui ont  permis  d’accumuler du capital qui est crucial pour sa persistance  au pouvoir pendant quatre décennies  avec une poigne de fer.  Kadhafi a utilisé les revenus pétroliers, non pas pour  construire des infrastructures de la Libye ou des institutions publiques comme l’éducation, la santé et le bien-être du peuple, mais il a fait créer des institutions de sécurité d’État avec la seule tâche de protéger son régime et d’assurer sa survie au pouvoir. L’effroyable bilan et la politique des droits de l’homme sous le régime de Kadhafi, sont bien que connus par la communauté internationale, mais tout était largement ignorés. Les relations de Kadhafi avec les compagnies pétrolières ont été la clé de son pouvoir ; Kadhafi a exigé de gros bonus et  des modalités de contrat strict. Il a aussi exigé une grosse  part des revenus et a menacé d’arrêter la production si les compagnies pétrolières refuseraient. Un bon nombre des grands champs de pétrole étaient gérés par des petites entreprises, afin de pouvoir manipuler au moment de négocier les termes du contrat et pour briser la mainmise des grandes compagnies pétrolières.  La Libye est devenue le premier pays en développement pour garantir une part de la majorité des revenus de sa propre production de pétrole. Pour restaurer la relation rompue avec les Etats-Unis, Kadhafi a utilisé son pouvoir pour faire pression sur les compagnies pétrolières américaines pour influencer la politique Américaine. Après le renversement de Kadhafi en 2011, les détenteurs du pouvoir libyen sont incapables d’obtenir un contrôle total sur les revenus pétroliers. Ce qui  est devenu l’un des principaux facteurs qui ont façonné le conflit en Libye.

Facteurs internes 

La religion, les traditions, les liens familiaux  et le tribalisme sont des facteurs internes sur lesquelles l’état  Neo patriarcal s’appuie pour survivre ou pour confronter les défis. La définition de Sharabi de Neo patriarchie englobe plusieurs formes de régimes politiques dans le Moyen-Orient et l’Afrique du Nord. Par exemple : la Libye (jusqu’en 2011), l’Algérie,l’ Irak (jusqu’en 2003), la Syrie et l’ancien Yémen du Sud sont des socialistes autoritaires ; L’Iran et  le Soudan sont des islamistes radicaux ; l’Arabie saoudite et le  Maroc sont patriarcaux-conservateurs ; la Tunisie, l’Egypte et la  Turquie sont autoritaires en voie de privatisation. Tous ces États partagent l’influence culturelle et religieuse globale sur le Code personnel qui est profondément ancré dans les valeurs patriarcales. Et beaucoup partagent l’influence profonde de la parenté et de la culture tribale dans la vie sociale. En outre, les droits des femmes sont souvent compromis et utilisés comme une monnaie d’échange par l’État Néo- patriarcal pour consolider son pouvoir ;  les corps des femmes et leur conduite sont à l’état de surveillance et de contrôle pour maintenir l’ordre social. Le pouvoir possédait par  Gaddafi comme  chef d’Etat, dominant les deux sphères privée et publique par le biais de sa manipulation et du contrôle tribal total, des liens de parenté et des  institutions religieuses. Sous son règne, les revenus pétroliers ont été monopolisés pour tenir compte ‎de l’intérêt politique de son régime.‎ En outre, l’absence de suffisamment des services publics et les taux de salaire bas, ont pousser  les libyens à se sentir  privés et appauvries et ce qui explique leur  retour vers la structure sociale primaire de tribu, de parenté, de religion et de famille pour la survie et la sécurité. Cependant, Gaddafi a manipulé les pouvoirs des institutions religieuses pour conserver son pouvoir, en donnant à  des tribus spécifiques des pouvoirs et en démoralisant d’autres afin de garantir la fidélité grâce à sa stratégie de récompense et de punition. En outre, après avoir déclaré la charia comme la seule constitution et après ‎avoir introduit la loi ‘Hudud’ en 1972, la dynamique de Gaddafi avec ‎l’establishment religieux ont assisté à un grand virage après la déclaration de ‎Florence de 1976 dans laquelle il dépouille  le clergé religieux de son immunité ‎et son pouvoir et il a lancé une campagne contre eux.‎ Cependant, le code de la famille libyen reste fortement influencé par la Loi de ‎la charia, comme un aspect des liens institutionnels entre l’Etat et la religion.‎ L’introduction de la charia de Hudud selon la loi en 1970 a marqué le début ‎de la forme de radicaux islamistes de Neo-patriarchie. Gaddafi a utilisé un discours conservateur religieux pour servir sa ‎revendication du « Imam des musulmans », une position de pouvoir ultime.‎

Le Néo-patriarcat et l’identité de l’État

L’état et la structure néo-patriarcale, hérités du régime de Kadhafi, caractérisent la Libye post-Kadhafi. La montée de l’Islam politique associée a des valeurs patriarcales profondément enracinées limite la participation politique et civile et la représentation des femmes libyennes. L’état et la structure néo patriarcale en Libye, pendant et après Kadhafi, l’appropriation du religieux, du discours tribal et culturel qui sert à conserver le pouvoir ont créé une dynamique selon laquelle tout progrès ou bien régression dans la position des femmes dans les législations est décidée par son impact politique sur ceux qui détiennent le pouvoir  dans les états neo patriarcaux. Mustafa Abdul-Jalil, le chef du Conseil provisoire (2011-2012) a fait une déclaration controversée le 23 octobre 2011, en ce qui concerne la levée de toutes les restrictions juridiques sur la polygamie. Sa déclaration est une indication des liens institutionnels entre l’Etat et la religion, caractéristiques de l’état  neo-patriarcal, qui auraient une incidence sur les droits des femmes en Libye dans l’ère post-Kadhafi. Comme dans d’autres situations, le contrôle  à  la fois discursif et physique sur le corps de la femme est crucial dans la lutte pour le  pouvoir (Al-Ali et Pratt 2009:93). En effet, la discipline des femmes et de leurs corps est instrumentalisée par les deux acteurs, étatique et non-étatique pour  affirmer la nouvelle identité islamique de l’Etat libyen et pour afficher leurs qualifications islamiques pour une  légitimité politique dans la nouvelle Libye. Les corps des femmes et leurs conduites sont utilisés comme marqueurs de la nouvelle Libye par l’ancienne Libye.

Neo-patriarcat et pouvoir politique en Libye

La relation intime entre la religion et l’État est évidente dans l’histoire libyenne depuis la monarchie Sanussi (1949-1969), (Martin, 1986; Sammut, 1994; Takeyh, 2000).  L’identité Islamique constituait la légitimité politique de tous les acteurs ‎politiques et façonnait la culture politique dans l’état d’Afrique du Nord ‎(Brown, 1973; Pargeter, 2012;)avant et après le renversement de 2011 de Gaddafi. L’état  Neo patriarcal tire sa légitimité de la possession du pouvoir (Sharabi, 1988), ainsi, les discours culturels, tribaux, religieux ou traditionnels peuvent être manipulés pour tenir compte de l’intérêt politique de la force au pouvoir. Dans ce contexte, la personne ordinaire est un sujet pas un citoyen, exclus de l’arène politique et le processus décisionnel. Par conséquent, pour sa survie,  il cherche la sécurité de structures sociales primaires : famille, tribu, secte religieuse. En outre, parmi les aspects caractéristiques des États  Neo patriarcaux, il y’a  le renforcement des valeurs patriarcales et des structures sociales par le système juridique paralysant, façonné par la tribu, la parenté et les discours religieux de la suprématie masculine.  Ainsi, les corps des femmes et leur conduite sont mis en état de surveillance et un contrôle sous couverture  religieuse et culturelle de la famille, la communauté ou l’honneur de la société.  En Libye, Kadhafi, comme  chef de l’Etat  Neo patriarcal, possédait le pouvoir ultime et dominait les deux les sphères privée et publique à travers sa manipulation et son contrôle tribal total, contrôle aussi de la parenté, des institutions religieuses et des ressources naturelles. En outre, les politiques d’ouverture (Sammut, 1994 ; Takeyh, 2000 ; Ashour, 2011) adoptés par Gaddafi pour sa  survie, sous la pression internationale après dix ans de sanctions et d’isolement, a offert une bonne occasion à la diffusion du discours de la renaissance islamique conservateur en Libye. Gaddafi a permis le retour des dissidents de l’Islam politiques d’exil et a relâché leurs prisonniers comme décision stratégique afin de maintenir son pouvoir après l’accord de 2008 entre Saif Al-Islam et le group libyen Islamique Armé (Islamic Fighting Group (LIFG), dans lequel, (LIFG) a dénoncé la violence et le Jihad armé en retour de la liberté contre les poursuites. Ces discours conservateurs  sont devenus fermement ancré dans les mosquées depuis l’accord de 2008, en mettant l’accent sur la reconstruction des mœurs sociales et des normes. Comme le mouvement de la mosquée en Égypte, le discours de la renaissance ‎Islamique visant à remplacer l’Islam modéré du grand public avec une forme ‎conservatrice de l’Islam fortement dépendant Islamique orthodoxe ‎d’enseignement comme un cadre de référence. (Mahmood, 2005 ; Ahmed, ‎‎2011 ; El-Kholy, 2002).‎  Ces discours placent  les femmes dans une position très subalterne dans la société et renforcent  les valeurs patriarcales. 

Les femmes et l’état Neo-patriarcal

 L’état Néo-patriarcale renforce et maintient les valeurs patriarcales et l’hiérarchie entre les sexes par le biais de ses liens institutionnels avec la religion, les liens de parenté et les  droits coutumiers (Charrad, 2001).     Malgré cela et malgré  les expressions traditionnels qui mettent les femmes dans une position subordonnée,  beaucoup de femmes dans la région du MENA ont accès à l’éducation et l’emploi. En outre, les liens institutionnels entre l’État neo-patriarcal et la religion sont ‎dissuasifs des positions et des droits des femmes.  Dans les pays à majorité ‎musulmane, l’impact des liens institutionnels entre l’Etat et la religion sur les ‎droits des femmes sont mesurés par la légitimité politique de la religion.‎ Par ailleurs, la charia en tant que concept est vague et peut être interprétée dans une multitude de façons ; l’utilisation de la charia comme la seule source de législation dans le code de la famille donne à l’Etat le pouvoir d’exercer une puissance  sur les femmes, leur corps et leur sexualité sous une couverture religieuse (Hosseini, 1996 ; 2006 ; 2009 ; Hariz & Hosseini, 2010). Les liens de parenté et les relations  entre les sexes façonnent la Loi de la charia, comme l’explique Charrad : « L’aspect le plus explicite du droit de la famille Islamique concerne les relations entre les sexes. Le Droit de la famille Islamique place les femmes dans un statut subalterne en donnant pouvoir sur les femmes aux hommes comme mari et comme parent mâle. »  Le système de tutelle, mis encore en œuvre dans certains pays à majorité musulmane, donne au tuteur de sexe masculin  le droit et le pouvoir de contrôler les femmes, droit de contrôle de leur sexualité, droit de reproduction ainsi que  des choix importants dans leur vie. Sous le régime de Gaddafi, l’accès à l’éducation et l’emploi était illimité pour les femmes.  Cependant, dans le domaine du droit de la famille et leur statut personnel, elles  ne pouvaient pas profiter  d’un bon nombre de leurs droits, même après la réforme introduite dans l’article 10 de la Loi de 1984, ou un mâle gardien n’a aucun pouvoir de refuser le mariage d’une femme de 20 ans, ou de l’article 21 de la charte verte (Refworld, 2011). dans le mariage forcé qui est interdit, le mariage peut être légalement mené par le tuteur de sexe masculin même  l’absence  de la mariée. En ce qui concerne l’entrée et la dissolution du mariage, les femmes n’ont pas ‎les mêmes droits que les hommes, surtout les droits économiques et surtout ‎n’ont pas les même droits et obligations comme citoyens égaux.‎ En tant que citoyens, les femmes n’ont pas les droits fondamentaux comme le droit de transmettre leur nationalité à leurs enfants et le droit de se remarier sans perdre la garde des enfants. Ces deux lois, qui sont  le droit de tutelle et le droit interdisant aux femmes de transmettre leur nationalité à leurs enfants, démontrent comment Gaddafi a renforcé des valeurs patriarcales, comme autorité masculine et  patrilinéaire. Malgré cela, la tutelle masculine a été restreinte par l’âge et parle  consentement, il laisse un grand espace pour la manipulation et expose les femmes et les filles à diverses formes de violations. Les femmes n’étaient pas protégées contre la violence fondée sur le sexe et ‎n’avaient pas les mêmes droits que leurs homologues masculins.‎

Représentation politique des femmes en Post-Gaddafi

Dans la première élection parlementaire en Libye en 2012, les femmes ont acquis plus de 16 % de tous les sièges dans le Congrès National général (GNC). C’était sans précédent dans l’histoire Libyenne.  Cependant, la représentation politique des femmes a été façonnée par la lutte de pouvoir entre des groupes rivaux, ce qui présentait un défi aux femmes dans le GNC. Le GNC a été divisé entre les deux forces politiques : les frères musulmans et leur alias des députés indépendants, beaucoup d’entre eux sont des anciens membres de LIFG, d’une part, et d’une autre avec la Coalition de la partie (CNF) des Forces nationales.  Les intimidations  et les menaces ont été utilisées par les membres masculins contre les  femmes pour les faire dans le GNC.  La représentation politique des femmes est normalement de lutter  pour défendre  leurs  besoins (Celis et Childs, 2011, p. 3). Par ailleurs, les questions féminines  n’étaient pas discutées ou débattues dans le GNC ou des sous-comités ; dans le GNC, il y a 15 sous-comités ; chaque sous-Comité traite un domaine législatif, et toutes sont attribuées aux différents ministères. Cependant, il n’y a aucun sous-comité pour la femme ; une femme est alloué à la Sous-commission des droits de l’homme. Ce sous-comité a 8 femmes sur ses 15 membres. Aucune des questions clées concernant les femmes n’a  été  traitée ou suggérée par les 8 femmes pour en discuter ; Parmi les principales questions telles que : la violence domestique, la violence sexuelle contre les femmes et les filles, le droit de la famille discriminatoire, l’enlèvement des femmes activistes ou le désavantage économique des femmes, ont été discutées ni soulevées.  Le sous-comité avait traité avec d’autres fichiers tels qu’une compensation pour les blessés des révolutionnaires combattants, les familles des martyrs et des cas de torture dans les prisons des groupes armés. La plupart des membres de la GNC que j’ai interrogé sur l’absence d’intérêt des femmes dans leur sous-comité des droits de l’homme ont blâmé la société civile pour ne pas communiquer leurs questions féministes et leur besoins. En revanche, les associations féministes et les organisations se plaignent de l’accès limité au GNC et elles ont indiqué que leur suggestion d’observateur des sièges à la GNC a été refusée.

Cent pour cent des femmes membres du parti des frères musulmans partagent les mêmes croyances au sujet de la position des femmes par rapport à la relation de pouvoir entre les sexes dans le GNC libyen. En outre, dans les pays gouvernés par des partis islamiques,  les femmes avec un sens du féminisme sont exclues de l’arène politique. Par exemple, les femmes membres du Parlement Egyptien au cours de la règle de Mourci étaient celles  des frères Musulmans partis et étaient connus pour leurs déclarations antiféministes et misogynes, comme la déclaration d’ Aza Al-Garf contre l’égalité des sexes et CEDAW (Mahatit Masr, 2012 ; Al Balad News, 2012).  Les 21femmes  membres du NFC  du GNC libyen que j’ai interviewé entre 2012 et 2013 montrent une diversité.  Il ya celles qui sont totalement contre l’égalité des sexes et qui donnent l’exemple Soudanais et Somaliens qui  refusent le CEDAW, et d’autres qui pensent le contraire et qui appuient toutes les conventions des Nations Unies sur les droits des femmes. Cela montre la diversité des opinions politiques et idéologique dans le même parti.     Dans les questions liées aux femmes et l’égalité des sexes, les membres féminins de MB dans le GNC suivent  strictement la politique de leur parti, donc, leur représentation politique a été façonnée par leur affiliation à leur parti.

Toutefois, les membres féminins du FCN n’affichent pas un seul discours concernant les questions relatives aux femmes ; leurs stands sur les mêmes questions étaient différents et en contradiction dans certains cas. Dans l’ensemble, la performance féminine dans le GNC est admirable, gardant à l’esprit les défis qu’elles rencontrent.  Les femmes dans le GNC ont plus de courage pour défier des questions controversées telles que la torture dans les prison, le conflit entre des milices armées qui sont inculpes dans des cas de mort de civils, le vote pour la loi de l’isolement.  Il  convient de mentionner le fait que le seul membre de la GNC libyen qui a refusé l’allocation de logement 45 Dinar libyen était Fariha Albrqawi, une femme membre de Derna.

La Constitution de gendre

De plus, les femmes en Libye font face à des discriminations constitutionnelles et institutionnelles.    Le 24 décembre 2014, le 63e anniversaire de l’indépendance de la Libye, l’ACD a publié la première ébauche de la nouvelle constitution. Le projet reflète et le neo patriarcal (Sharabi, 1988) qui est la nature de l’État et la faible représentation des femmes dans l’ADC ; des questions telles que la citoyenneté, la  violence et l’égalité ont été négligées, marginalisées ou totalement ignorées dans le projet. L’article 8 (1  2) stipule que la charia est la seule source de la législation et l’État est obligé de promulguer des lois qui empêchent la diffusion des doctrines contraires à l’Islam (cdalibya, 2014), en tenant compte que de nombreuses forces conservatrices en Libye qui voient que les conventions du UN veuillent éliminer toutes les formes de discrimination à l’égard des femmes contre l’Islam.  L’ article 32 affirme  que l’État est chargé de soutenir et de parrainer le droit de maternité et les droits d’enfance, et d’assurer l’équilibre   pour la femme qui travaille, entre sa famille  et ses tâches. En  d’autres termes, les responsabilités professionnelles féminines sont étudiées  pour ne pas outrepasser leur famille et leur responsabilité maternelle .comme l’a soutenu Deniz Kaniyoti : « la participation des femmes dans la sphère publique a été restreinte par les limites du comportement féminin culturellement accepté,  et qui est une pression exercée sur les femmes pour exprimer leurs intérêts dans les conditions fixées par le discours nationaliste» (1996 : 6). Dans le cas de femmes libyennes, les termes sont fixés par l’état  Neo patriarcal et en forme de discours religieux. Toutefois, dans le dernier projet, publié le 16 avril 2017, l’article 32 a été supprimé ; en outre, l’article 50 stipule que : « l’État est obligé et est engagé à soutenir et parrainer les  femmes, adopter des lois pour les protéger, améliorer leur statut dans la société et éliminer la culture négative et les normes sociales qui portent atteinte à leur dignité, interdisant la discrimination à leur égard et  garantissant  leur droit à la représentation aux élections et à leur  offrir des possibilités dans tous les domaines, en guise  pour soutenir leurs droits acquis ».

 Liberte de movement

L’article 14 de la déclaration constitutionnelle provisoire pour l’année 2011 : « l’Etat garantit la liberté d’opinion et la liberté de l’expression individuelle et collective, la liberté de recherche scientifique,  la liberté de communication,  la liberté de la presse et des médias, l’impression et les  éditions, la libre circulation, la liberté de réunion et de manifestation pacifique, qui ne sont pas  contraire à la Loi. ». La circulation libre  des femmes libyennes a été contestée en février 2017, quand le gouverneur militaire d’ Albaida, une petite ville dans le nord-est de la Libye, le général Abdul Razek al-Nadori, a publié une loi interdisant aux femmes de moins de 60 ans de voyager sans tuteur de sexe masculin (muhram). L’utilisation du terme religieux tels que (Muhram) donne la Loi sur la légitimité religieuse et la puissance. Le général  al-Nadori dans une interview à la télévision Libyenne  sur la raison de la délivrance de l’acte, il a déclaré que c’est une question de sécurité nationale et a affirmé que de nombreuses jeunes femmes libyennes recevaient des invitations d’organisations internationales à participer à des conférences et ateliers et pouvaint être recrutées par des agences internationales comme des espions. Le général Al-Nadori  a du  reporter l’application de la loi en raison de la vaste campagne contre lui.  Ceci illustre comment les droits de la femme sont affaiblis par des liens institutionnels entre la religion et l’État et comment l’appropriation de l’état et de la religion sert comme un outil politique pour les femmes témoins.  Les guerres et la militarisation de la masculinité renforcent les rôles de genre traditionnel et patriarcal ainsi que  l’identité et la subjectivation de la femme. Pendant la révolution du 17 février 2011 et  malgré la participation cruciale des femmes dans la révolution, le viol comme arme de guerre a été féminisée par l’accent mis sur les femmes victimes de viol, en conséquence, elles ont été dépeintes comme faibles et vulnérables, étant  victimes de violences sexuelles et ayant besoin de « protection des masculine » (Young, 2003) par le militant mâle libyen.  L’agression masculine militarisée, caractéristique de la révolution libyenne, crée et renforce la bipolarisation des identités de genre : les protecteurs mâles masculins, forts et agressifs contre la victime féminine, faible, femelle. Le genre de la subjectivité et la déshumanisation de la femme victime, souvent de formes entre les sexes des relations en période de post-conflit (Mama, 2014).  La hiérarchie entre les sexes a été renforcée par la montée d’un discours religieux conservateur et ses liens institutionnels de l’état  neo patriarcal. La déclaration controversée de Mustafa Abdul-Jalil en 2011 et l’interdiction de voyage par le gouverneur militaire en février 2017, les deux reflètent la conception sexiste d’un État dans lequel les femmes sont systématiquement appropriées, objectivées et exclues de l’espace publique. Cette subjectivation de femmes libyennes a ses racines dans la structure Neo patriarcale de l’État libyen et ses liens institutionnels avec le discours religieux tout au long de l’histoire postcoloniale de la Libye.

La Violence sexuelle et l’exclusion des femmes : la nouvelle Libye  (Etat de gendre)

Les six mois de combats en 2011 en Libye pour renverser un des dictateurs les plus brutaux dans la région a été marqué par la violence sexuelle. Les violences sexuelles systématiques, qui sont à vrai dire commises  par les forces de Gaddafi pendant les combats de 2011, ont été politiquement instrumentalisées pour forcer la chute du régime de Gaddafi. La preuve de la violence sexuelle de masse systématique était rare ; Néanmoins, le déploiement du viol comme moyen de guerre de Gaddafi a été porté à l’attention de la Cour pénale internationale (CPI) par Luis Moreno-Ocampo, le procureur en chef, en juin 2011, quand il a déclaré qu’il y avait des preuves que Gaddafi avait ordonné ses soldats pour violer des femmes. Le 27 juin 2011, un mandat d’arrêt contre Gaddafi a été délivré par la ICC.

Cela a joué un rôle important  à mettre fin au  régime de Gaddafi, et à  renforcer son isolement et   aussi encouragé les tribus et les villes  libyennesà changer d’allégeance.  Luis Moreno-Ocampo, dans un rapport présenté au Conseil de sécurité des Nations Unies (CSNU) en novembre 2011, a déclaré que « en Libye, le viol est considéré comme un des crimes les plus graves, qui touchent non seulement la victime, mais aussi la famille et la communauté et peut déclencher une violence fondée sur l’honneur» (Wueger, 2012).  Toutefois, l’ampleur des violences sexuelles durant le conflit demeure inconnu et le mystère qui entoure les faits et les mythes des viols en Libye ont été presque impossible à résoudre, en raison du conflit armé en cours, le manque de sécurité et de la culture de la honte associé aux  viols en Libye ; la peur de dissuader beaucoup de femmes et d’hommes à signaler  de tels crimes ou de demander de  l’aide et du  soutien que dont ils ont désespérément besoin. Néanmoins, certains cas de viols commis par les forces de Gaddafi ont été documentés et des enregistrements audiovisuels de viol, utilisé par les forces de Kadhafi pour semer la terreur parmi les communautés et les tribus, ont été trouvés par les  rebels  de Gaddafi.  Toutefois, la violence sexuelle et l’exclusion des femmes libyennes n’a pas connu  fin après le renversement de Gaddafi, au contraire, se venger des attaques contre des villes réputées qui ont soutenu Gaddafi, tels que Tawirgha, Bin Waleed et Almshashia, ont donné lieu à l’ arrestation arbitraire de centaines ou même des milliers de personnes, dont la plupart sont encore dans les centres de détention à travers le pays.  La concentration la plus élevée des détenus liés au conflit d’environ 2700, y compris les femmes, est à certaines  installations à Misrata, avec aucun gouvernement contrôle, où la torture, le viol et la  mort sont Prétendument commis. (HRW, 2014).

Dans la Libye Post-Gaddafi, la violence contre les femmes a augmenté et a pris différentes formes. De plus, les femmes ont  perdu leurs  peu de droits, qu’elles ont acquis pendant  le règne  de Gaddafi. Les femmes libyennes aujourd’hui ne bénéficient pas des mêmes droits constitutionnels  que les hommes, ni de la même citoyenneté.   En outre, les femmes activistes et politiciennes font face à une campagne systématique de peur d’assassinats et de déplacements forcés pour les réduire en silence. Plusieurs facteurs ont joué un rôle différent dans l’exclusion des femmes, tels que la hausse du discours religieux conservateur, la propagation des milices armées et l’éparpillement au pouvoir et des ressources entre les différents centres de pouvoir qui a créé le chaos et l’instabilité qui  a marqué le soulèvement libyen. Cette instabilité a eu un impact sur les femmes, en particulier les militantes et les politiciennes. En conséquence, la vie des femmes libyennes, leur sécurité, leur dignité, leur liberté et de nombreux autres droits constitutionnels, sont compromis et poussés dans la marge à cause du discours de « priorité de la stabilité ».

Le viol comme arme de guerre en 2011 

Dans les sociétés patriarcales, les femmes sont les porteurs et les marqueurs de l’identité culturelle, religieuse et collective authentique de la nation ou de la Communauté (Kandiyoti, 1991 a ; 1991 ; 1992 ; 1998) et les reproductrices de la nation (Yuval Davis 1997).  Leurs corps et leurs droits de reproduction sont contrôlés et appropriée par la communauté et l’État et perçus comme propriété communale.  Leur sexualité et le comportement sexuel devient le marqueur de l’honneur communal.   Dans ce discours, les femmes violées portent l’étiquète comme marchandise variée, besoin d’être corrigées ou « fixe».  En décembre 2011, j’ai rencontré une jeune femme libyenne qui a été arrêtée par l’armé de Gaddafi et détenue pendant des semaines avant qu’elle fut libérée par les rebelles en Août 2011 après la libération de Tripoli.  Elle m’a dit qu’elle n’a pas été violée, mais parce qu’elle est apparue sur TV et a parlé de son expérience dans la prison de Gaddafi, où elle a été torturée, les gens ont supposé qu’elle avait été violée. Elle ajoute qu’elle a été bombardée par des appels téléphoniques des organisations de la société civile dans le but de la convaincre de se marier avec  un amputé « frère » pour rétablir son honneur et celui de sa famille. Elle a décrit comment ils ont utilisé des intimidations et des menaces pour la forcer à accepter  le mariage.  Elle prétend qu’ils ont mis une pression intense sur elle et sur les filles célibataires violées à accepter un tel mariage et ils ont utilisé des menaces dans de nombreux cas.  Ils disent qu’ils veulent  protéger les femmes, surtout celles qui ont été violées pour qu’elles ne soient pas mal vues après avoir perdu leur virginité. De nombreux cas de viols signalés pendant les six mois de guerre et les histoires de pilules et de Viagra qui ont été trouvés avec les militants  de Gaddafi, répartis à l’échelle mondiale.  La honte  et la stigmatisation dissuadée de nombreux hommes, des femmes et des filles de dénoncent  le viol.  Human Rights Watch a documenté 10 cas de viols apparents et l’agression sexuelle des hommes et des femmes par les forces de Gaddafi.  Tous ces cas montrent la brutalité extrême du viol lorsqu’il est utilisé comme une arme de guerre. (HRW, 2011).

La menace de viol a été utilisée pour semer la terreur pour empêcher les villes de se joindre à la révolution et les forcer à changer d’allégeance.  Jusqu’à aujourd’hui, pas un seul cas de viol n’a été porté à la Cour en Libye depuis 2011.  Par ailleurs, le 2 mai, le Conseil National de transition (CNT) a adopté la Loi 38 de 2012 dans laquelle, l’article quatre exempte les rebelles de la révolution du 17 février 2011 de toute responsabilité pénale ou juridique pour leurs crimes pendant ou après la guerre.  Toutefois, l’Observatoire sur le genre en situation de crise, un  NGO libyen, fait pression pour faire du viol pendant le conflit un crime de guerre en Libye.  Le projet a été élaboré et présenté à la GNC en novembre 2013 par le ministre de la Justice, mais ne fut jamais ratifié. J’ai interviewé Souad Whaida, la directrice de l’Observatoire sur le genre en situation de crise, qui a expliqué comment le projet de loi met le viol comme arme de guerre visant  la société dans son ensemble, pas seulement les femmes.  Elle croit que la féminisation des viols dans les conflits réduit les femmes dans le statut de victimes et minimise l’importance des faits cruciaux de viol comme arme de guerre ; les dommages irréversibles et la distraction sur, non seulement les victimes et leurs familles, mais leurs communautés et les sociétés la rend la moins chère et la plus efficace des armes de guerre. L’utilisation de caméras de téléphone portable pour les crimes de viol commis par les forces de Gaddafi n’était pas seulement pour le rappel visuel de ce triomphe, mais pour émasculer l’ennemi ainsi  que pour   l’affirmation du pouvoir sur leurs « propriétés », en identifiant les victimes de viol pour humilier publiquement leurs familles, leurs villes et leur collectivités.   Les femmes, filles et garçons sont perçus comme des vaincus des propriétés qui peuvent être acquises par le défait  (Jurasz, 2011:134).

 

Meriem Bedjaoui

العربية | Français

« If you want to rule the ignorant, cover your

harmful and pernicious intentions with a religious

envelope. »

Ibn Khaldoun (Prolegomena, 1377)[1]

 I.      Introduction

The theme of this special issue — sexual violence against women in wartime — is not a new phenomenon. In times of war, conflict or terrorism, women have always been the principal victims. Indeed, the sexual violence inflicted upon women is not linked to a particular race, religion, or group; global history has provided so many cases of women who have been subjugated to sexual violence. For instance, history has recorded a series of human tragedies where women’s bodies endured acts of violence, mutilation and rape at the hands of the French Army in Algeria during the Liberation War, and also in Liberia, Rwanda, Congo, Bosnia, and more recently in Syria. This is not to normalise sexual violence towards women, but to remind us that it is a global, historical phenomenon.

Algerian literature in French, whether the work of male or female writers, has always focused on the living conditions of women in Algeria, who are viewed as targets, victims or simply war trophies. This negative perception of women results from the chauvinistic attitudes of men and iniquitous traditions of segregation which are at the heart of Algerian society, in addition to interpretations of Islamic exegesis (Tafsir of the Qur’an, deemed unfounded by some Muslim schools of thought for its exaggerated and inauthentic narratives). This manipulated view of Islamic principles helps to explain the aforementioned quotation which provides the ultimate argument of the persecutors/violators and their ill deeds in the Land of Islam, still relevant to this day. Indeed, indiscriminate terrorism that plunged Algeria into mourning for over a decade between 1990 and 2002 has paved the way for the proliferation of fictional narratives as well as political and journalistic works. The horror and barbarism that prevailed in that period left no one indifferent, and prominent writers paid the price of denouncing this murderous folly with their lives, including Tahar Djaout, Youcef Sebti, and Said Mekbel, Others, such as Rachid Boudjedra, one of the most outspoken opponents of Islamic fundamentalists, had to flee the country to publish his denouncing works. Yasmina Khadra is another Algerian writer whose avant-garde work has denounced the many contradictions and paradoxes within Algerian society and the Muslim world in general.

This paper is based on the works of Maïssa Bey (real name Samia Benameur) and Assia Djebar (Fatma-Zohra Imaleyene), examining the moral, psychological and physical violence inflicted on women and the subsequent silence which accompanies this violence them. These two novelists have both used pseudonyms to express themselves in an oppressive and often misogynistic country. While Djebar was a well-known and well-established author and a member of the Académie française since 2005, Bey has made her way onto the literary scene as a reaction to the tragedies that have shaken her country. The paper will examine the socio-historical conditions of Algeria’s gendered violence and will analyse the ‘bloody years’ in two collections of short stories, Sous le Jasmin, la nuit (2004)[2] and Oran, langue morte (2001),[3] by Bey and Djebar respectively.

Both collections are devoted to women, or more precisely to their silenced voices.

II.      Gender and Violence in Algeria

In her doctoral thesis completed in 2012, entitled ‘The Writing of Assia Djebar: A Translation of Female Speech’, F.Z. Ferchouli presents an unflattering summary of the status of the Algerian woman, and gives examples of texts which confine her to the role of a minor subject, always at the mercy of a ‘guardian male’.[4] This gives men all the more temptation, as Lucie Pruvost argues, who finds in ‘the patriarchal interpretations of the normative verses of the Qur’an and the Sharia’ evidence which explains their pervasive conduct.[5] A striking example is the ignominy which has been happening before the world’s eyes regarding the ‘Jihad al nikah’ (jihad marriage) of the Tunisian female jihadists; Western countries did not react at all, frightened by terrorist groups in Africa and the Middle East.

In addition to these fallacious arguments that have been unfairly attributed to Islam, a Family Code (Law No. 84-11 of June 9, 1984), to which Algerian people refer as the Code of disgrace, was issued. This code is a real regression.  Moreover, it is in total contradiction with the Algerian constitution (both of 1964 and 1996).

Thus, once again, voices were raised against what seemed to be an injustice against women. These were voices of intellectuals, journalists and writers who reported the forgotten horrors of the ‘Dirty War’ of 1992 and the continuing subjugation of Algerian women. 

Maïssa Bey and Assia Djebar

If Bey has dedicated all her work to the women of her country, who have been confined in a silence imposed on them by society, it is through the collection Sous le Jasmin, la nuit, and particularly the short story ‘Nuit et silence’, that she depicts their unspeakable reality through language. Here, she attempts to find the appropriate words to describe the violent acts of rape committed by those who were identified as terrorists or Islamic fundamentalists. The narrative describes the nightmare of a fifteen-year-old teenage girl who is kidnapped and then raped by an armed group. The author manipulates the intricacies of the verb and the adjective to describe the indescribable, to name the unnamable: “They dance around me an infernal dance, all these names that my dictionary describes as common: carnage, massacre, killing, slaughter, as if to dig deeper into our wounds, come to append the adjectives; dreadful, terrible, horrible, unbearable, inhuman, and many more…. Erasing the words to make the fact disappear will not do” (p. 56). In a climatic and tragic scene, the young girl becomes pregnant and rejects her unborn child: ‘I do not want this being moving within me. I cannot give birth to a being that might look like them….. Let him grow up to hate, to kill or be killed’ (pp. 108-109).

Although she was abused in her very being, the heroine resists.  She confronts the religious fanaticism and the damage it causes her with bravery and boldness.  Throughout this poignant witness narrative, the author meticulously describes (in a ‘Balzacian’ way) the event and, somewhat cynically, gives details about the barbarism that plunged Algeria into mourning and made women eternally responsible for all evils.  Victimized and gagged, Bey breaks the silence (a recurring term in all her writings), creating places and spaces for women’s expression: ‘The night and silence weighed heavily on my eyelids and my aching forehead. I can’t even move. Yet tonight I’m not afraid, I’m not hungry, nor am I cold. I just want to sleep but I cannot. Too much night, too much silence’ (p. 101).

Using multiple female voices and writing a literature of ‘urgency’, Bey is devoted to denouncing the scourges hindering women’s empowerment, as she points out in the following statement: “Then, it took me one day to feel the urge to say, to carry the words as one might carry a torch”.  The torch of freedom has been taken away from the women of her country for so long. Thus, writing will allow the author to exorcise her pains, her fears and her revolts, and those of her fellow Algerian women.  By deliberately choosing to write in an outspoken style and manipulating syntactic forms which challenge the linearity of narration, such as the use of recurring typographical characters, the author subjects her text to the challenges of memory, suggesting that amnesia and silence can only be offset by literature.

Although the collection is composed of eleven short stories, each with different plots, settings, time frames and characters, they all work towards the same objective: laying bare the social ills which undermine Algerian society because of women, the root of all evil. Thus, women are, and will remain, the focal point in the romantic discourse of both Bey and Djebar. Their writing represents an‘infringement’, a ‘sign of the forbidden’, which only becomes possible through the adoption of a pseudonym and the use of this “foster and fostered language” that is French. The problem of the language of the Other, the conqueror, the colonizer, has often been raised by the Algerian authors writing in French. Although Algerian literature has been strongly marked by one hundred and thirty two years of linguistic and cultural imposition, it has accommodated the language of Molière primarily out of necessity. Imposed, yet tamed, the French initially served as a language of struggle and rebellion, (Feraoun, Mammeri, Dib. etc.), in order to recover a stifled identity. The succeeding generations of writers then emerged, using this “foreign” language, this “stepmother” language without any difficulty. They renewed its standards regarding creative aesthetic research and dynamic narrative forms. Nourished and imbued with French culture, the two novelists, Assia Djebar and Maisa Bey, exceed the problem of language inherited from a troubled history to create a unique sort of writing; an unveiling writing, denouncing, saying the unsayable, giving voice to those who have been deprived since the earliest times. Also, for both authors, regardless of the language in which they write, the fundamental issue is to break the silences that freeze Muslim women in general, and the Algerian women in particular, in the eternal status of inferiority, afflicted with all ills of society. In interviews Bay explains her reasons for choosing to write in French; her decision seems to be less associated with a desire to reclaim the colonial language as pragmatism. She explains that:

I have no problem with the French language, because it is part of my personal history. I was born in a territory, which at the time of my birth and during my childhood was considered French. So I naturally learned French, encouraged by my father, a schoolteacher, who was one of the first Algerians to engage in the war of independence. He disappeared; killed by the people whom he was teaching the language. It was him who taught me to read and write in French. And later, I discovered the French literature. I can therefore say, as Boudjedra put it, that “I have not chosen the French language; it was French who chose me.” I do not feel concerned with all controversies on language, because what is important for me now is to say what I want to say (interview Joha, 2008). [6]

Bey’s relationship with language thus differs from that of Djebar who claims to actively use the French language to gain a freedom that is denied to her through Arabic. She describes this complex relationship in L’Amour, la fantasia (1985) as follows:

As if the French language suddenly had eyes, and lent them to me to see into liberty; as if the French language blinded the peeping-toms of my clan and, at this price, I could move freely, run headlong down every street, annex the outdoors for my cloistered companions, for the matriarchs of my family who endured a living death. As it . . . Derision! I know that every language is a dark depository for piled-up corpses, refuse, sewage, but faced with the language of the former conqueror, which offers me its ornaments, its jewels, its flowers, I find they are flowers of death- chrysanthemums on tombs![7]

Bey’s Sous le Jasmin, la nuit can be read alongside Djebar’s collection of short stories, Oran, langue morte (2001) which, like Bey’s novel, centres around the violence of religious fanaticism that scarred Algerian society in the 1990s. Djebar, who died in February 2015, enjoyed a very successful literary and academic career: she was the author of many novels, short stories, poetry collections, plays and film scripts. She was awarded the International Critics Prize at the Venice Biennale in 1979 for La Nouba des femmes du Mont Chenoua (1977) and Best Historical Film at the Berlin Film Festival in 1989 for La Zerda ou les chants de l’oubli (1979). Her texts have been translated into twenty-three languages. In her quest to restore women’s voices from silence and oppression, Assia Djebar uses the spoken language by integrating witnesses’ voices, recalling families’ traditions and revisiting sacred texts of Islam and the Prophet, most notably in Loin de Médine (1991). Furthermore, the violence of barbarism, which mainly targeted women, is omnipresent in all seven texts of Oran, langue morte, underscored by the fourth cover of the novel.

Between murderous craziness and fierce resistance, women try to survive the daily bloodshed in Algeria over the last decades.  As the seven texts of this collection unfold, we discover a country shattered by violence to which Assia Djebar gives a voice in a tragic work, where the aesthetic and reality intertwine.

Through the voices of the humiliated, disgraced, beaten, raped or repudiated women, Djebar seeks to bring to mind the tragedies that ravaged Algeria; a country that was a cultural backwater. In the short story ‘Wife into pieces’ within the collection, the title already revealing a great deal about the violent and degrading treatment to which Algeria subjects women, the protagonist is fighting death generated by a “vampire-like” fundamentalism and is forced to endure a devastating ideology. Djebar is known for being the first Algerian novelist to focus on female protagonists in her writing and to bring back the voice of women through her female characters in her novels such as Loin de Médine, L’Amour, la fantasia (1985), Ces voix qui m’assiègent (1999), in addition to the text in focus in this paper, Oran, langue morte. These are texts in which the status of women, from the ancestral silence to the sweeping wave of terrorism, is the central point of the narrative: ‘Thus, where to find the right words to speak out these griefs and bereavements that could not be uttered, these emotions that slip into the very details of everyday life? Where to find the words when violence and history leave the human beings voiceless, imprisoned by their silence?’(p. 43).

Djebar’s originality lies in her ability to weave fictions within multidisciplinary genres, delving into an infinite number of documentary resources and historical landmarks. Throughout her oeuvre she desires to reveal women’s voices in French, the language of the other, as she points out in ‘Writing Took Me Back to the Cries of Women Silently Revolted’. It is in this collection of short stories that she formulated her total commitment to those women: grandmothers, mothers, sisters, neighbours or friends, who were forever marked by the ancestral silence and had to endure the attempts of religious fundamentalism to gag them.  In the afterword to the book, Djebar summarises the anxiety that runs through her writings and the hope that her narrative instils in Algerian women:

A narrative of women of the Algeria dark era and the new women of Algiers today. Fragments of life, conveyed, reported in a back and forth journey of the travelers, the passengers, in a relay, a haven where one can rest and reminisce. These are not the stages of an escape but of a mobility process; They are dialogues exchanged between Algerians from here and there. Suddenly, some aspects of life are highlighted then shattered: Then follow the images of the chase, the escape and the death. Of a glimpse of hope, sometimes, in this long night.

Djebar thus offers the reader a text of transgression and unveiling through the different textual forms constituting the collection (narratives, short stories, tales) and the multiplicity of voices that interweave to underscore the rejection of women. Their marginalization is underscored in the following quotation: ‘I dropped the rough headscarf of my mother (Khalti) and I screamed … It’s me then who revives the scene, who writes it, so that I can finally annihilate it’, said the orphan of Oran (p. 40).

As P. Martini (Loxias 32) says:

Silence is not on the outside part of the narrative discourse, in fact, it is an integral part of it: The pauses in speech, the hesitations in the story, and the typographic elements (the ellipsis or blanks) constitute the discourse and reflect the difficulties and traps of the storytelling’. It is even more complex as silence and speech collide to express and assert the freedom to say. Indeed, much is at stake, because: ‘in the current sweeping turmoil, women are questing for a language: where to put, hide, and foster the power of their rebellion and life in this faltering setting. [8]

Finally, in the continuum of the two writers’ texts, the «issue» of the woman remains, and always will, a persistent problem that haunting the obscurantist and backward minds, that undermine the society.

However, a new fact is worth noting; after years of terror, the government has just passed a law that acknowledges the suffering of the victims of rape during the national tragedy by granting them a compensation which ranges from 16000DA to 35OOODA. This decree (No. 14-26 of 02/02/2014), was issued after more than a decade, unlike the The Amnesty Law which allowed thousands of executioners to live next to their victims. As for the code of “disgrace”, it is still debated within the framework of the legislative bodies.

Bibliography  

Batalha, MC (2012) : Mémoire individuelle et mémoire collective dans la fiction de Maissa Bey. Etudes romanes N° 33.

Belarouci L., Ferhat S. (2001) : Les femmes victimes de violences sexuelles en Algérie : autopsie d’un traumatisme, Magazine de l’action humanitaire et du droit international humanitaire.

Belloula N   (2008) : Visa pour la haine. Alger, Editions Alpha.

Benchikh F (1998) : La symbolique de l’acte criminel : approche psychanalytique. Paris, l’Harmattan.

Bessoles Ph (1997) : Le meurtre au féminin : clinique du viol. Collection Témoignage/transmission, Threetete.

Bonn C, Boualit F, (1999) : Paysages littéraires algériens des années 90 : Témoigner d’une tragédie ? Paris, l’Harmattan

Boudaréne M (2001) : Violence terroriste en Algérie et traumatisme psychique. Alger,Stress et trauma 1.

Djebar A. (2001) : Oran, langue morte. Paris, Actes Sud.

(1999) : Ces voix qui m’assiègent. Paris, Albin Michel.

Ferchouli F Zohra (2012) : Statut de la femme algérienne : entre le code de la famille, la Charte d’Alger de 1964 et la constitution de 1996.

Gruber M (2001) : Assia Djebar ou la résistance de l’écriture. Paris, Maisonneuve et Larose.

Gruber M (2005) : Assia Djebar, Nomade entre les murs. Paris, Maisonneuve et la rose.

Guenivet K (2001) : Violences sexuelles : la nouvelle arme de guerre. Paris, Michalon.

Hammadi N (2012) : Femmes violées par les terroristes. La non-reconnaissance amplifie la tragédie. Le Quotidien Liberté.

Hubie S (2003): Littérature intimes : les expressions du moi, de l’autobiographie à l’autofiction. Paris, A. Colin

Maissa Bey

– (1998) : Nouvelles d’Algérie. Paris, Grasset.

– (2008) : Entendez-vous dans la montagne. Paris, Ed de l’Aube.

– (2005) : Surtout, ne te retourne pas.  Alger/Paris,Ed Barzakh/Aube.

– (2006) : Sous le jasmin la nuit. L’aube : La tour d’aigues.

– (2008) : Pierre sang papier ou cendre. L’aube : La tour d’aigues.

Mohammedi Tabti B (2007) : Maissa Bey, L’Ecriture des silences. Blida, Editions du Tell.

Mokhtari R (2002) : La graphie de l’horreur. SL, Chihab.

Nahoum-Grappe V (1997) : Guerre et différence des sexes : les viols systématiques (ex-Yougoslavie 1991-1995), in C. Dauphin et A Farge (dir.), De la violence et des femmes. Paris, Albin Michel.

Pruvost L (2002) : Femmes d’Algérie. Société, famille et citoyenneté. Alger, Casbah Editions.

Samrakandi, H (2009) : Littératures féminines francophones N° 60, Presse Universitaire du Mirail.

Stienne A  (2011) : Viols en temps de guerre, le silence et l’impunité. Le Monde diplomatique.

[1] Reference?

[2] Maïssa Bey, Sous le jasmin, la nuit (La Tour d’Aigues: Éditions de l’Aube, 2004).

[3] Assia Djebar, Oran, langue morte (Arles: Actes Sud, 2001).

[4] F. Z. Ferchouli, ‘The Writing of Assia Djebar: A Translation of Female Speech’, (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Algiers, 2012)- check this reference.

[5] Lucie Pruvost, Femmes d’Algérie: société, famille et citoyenneté (Alger : Casbhah Éditions, 2002), p.

[6] Reference?

[7] Assia Djebar, L’Amour, la fantasia (Paris: J.C. Lattès, 1985), p. 181.

 

Amel Grami

العربية | Français

Women in Tunisia, Egypt, Yemen, Libya and other counties of the region played active roles in the uprisings claiming their social and political rights. They formulated their demands using modern terms based on human rights concepts of justice, freedom, equality and democracy, but the aftermath of revolutionary activi­ty brought about changes that ran against the ideals and visions of the original change-seeking forces. In 2013, among the impacts of the ‘wind of change’, media reported that the number of Tunisian women travelling to Syria increased. Those women wanted to support Islamist fighters emotionally and physically by offering sexual services to the fighters, or what has become known as ‘Jihad al-nikah’, or sex jihad.

‘Jihad al-nikah’ has been a very controversial issue in Tunisia. Some members of the Islamist party En-nahda have denied it entirely. They maintain that the Syrian regime and local counter revolution forces created this propaganda against Syrian opposition and the Troika government. Others argued that a few groups of young women have been either under religious indoctrination or misled. They were in fact victims of ignorance. However, official statements of the ministry of interior declared that groups of young Tunisian women travelled  to Syria with the purpose of Jihad al-nikah. At the same time some journalists succeeded to do report on specific cases emphasizing the complexity of the issue. TV reports and newspaper articles reported now and then the concerns of families whose young daughters were reported having joined jihadists in Syria. The purpose of this article is to define the meaning of Jihad al-nikah and analyze its different narratives in Tunisia: the official one, and the one summed up in the media reports as well as a third one related to the testimonies of the families of victims.

Keywords: Jihad, women, sexuality, ideology,

I.       What is Jihad al-nikah?

a) Definition of Nikah

Muslims are familiar with the term Nikah/marriage. Aisha the spouse of the prophet Mohammed described many forms of Nikah spread in the region before the rise of Islam.[1] Later on many historical and religious texts reported the controversy around ‘Nikah Al Mut”a’)Temporary Marriage, which would last a few hours, days, weeks, or months depending on the agreement). Sunni Ulema agree that mut’a was permitted by the Prophet at certain points during his lifetime, but they confirm that he later banned it. The Shi’I, however, maintain that the Prophet did not prohibit temporary marriage, and they mention numerous hadith (saying of the Prophet) from Sunni as well as Shi’i sources to prove this. The following passage in Sahih Muslim says that Muslims were practicing Mut’a well beyond the lifetime of the prophet Muhammad:

Ibn Uraij reported: ‘Ati’ reported that Jabir b. Abdullah came to perform ‘Umra, and we came to his abode, and the people asked him about different things, and then they made a mention of temporary marriage, where upon he said: Yes, we had been benefiting ourselves by this temporary marriage during the lifetime of the Holy Prophet and during the time of Abu Bakr and ‘Umar. (Sahih Muslim 3248)

There are even arguments that it was Omar,(the third Caliphate) rather than the Prophet Muhammad, who outlawed Mut’a:

Abu Nadra reported: While I was in the company of Jabir b. Abdullah, a person came to him and said that Ibn ‘Abbas and Ibn Zubair differed on the two types of Mut’a (Tamattu’ of Hajj 1846 and Tamattu’ with women), whereupon Jabir said: We used to do these two during the lifetime of Allah’s Messenger. Umar then forbade us to do them, and so we did not revert to them.(Sahih Muslim 3250)

Having established its legality, Shi’i Ulema devoted tremendous attention to define the legal status of temporary marriage and all the rules and regulations related to it.Meanwhile, the temporary marriage remains a controversial topic showing the divide between different Islamic ideologies and both schools of thought (Sunni and Shi’i). We should stress that the debate on temporary marriage highlights the status of women in patriarchal societies and reflects how the Ulema have defended male interests. By protecting social structure and regulating sexual relationships, the Ulema confirm their right to control women ‘s bodies.

In contemporary history, new forms of marriage contracted for sexual purposes emerged such as ‘Nikah ‘urfi’ (marriage contract or customary marriage) or ‘Nikah Misyar’ (traveler’s ambulant or visiting marriage), conducted during the summer vacation by older men from wealthy Gulf States with young girls from poorer families in countries such as Egypt, Morocco, India and Indonesia…. or ‘friend marriage’.  These new forms of marriage have been reported as commonly practiced in countries such as Saudi Arabia, Egypt and Yemen, and recently in Tunisia after the revolution because they attracted both men and women for many reasons. For young people, ‘Urfi marriage’ (customary marriage) is considered as a means of making sexual relations permissible and legitimate. Such unregistered “Islamic marriages” are usually kept hidden from the couple’s families and are only known to a small circle of friends.

Although temporary marriage does not oblige man to cohabit with and provide accommodation and maintenance to his wife, many young women believe that temporary marriage is a solution to their everyday problem. Young people seek to satisfy their sexual needs but they are not able to conclude a permanent marriage because of longer periods of study mainly in the West or for economic reasons. In this case temporary marriage allows youth to live their sexuality. Moreover, religious authorities in different countries legitimize the practice. In 1990 former Iranian president Hashemi Rafsanjani recognized women’s sexual desire and argued that it is legitimate for women to take the initiative in concluding temporary marriages. Similarly in 2006, the Saudi Arabian Fiqh Council ruled that “misyar marriages” and the so-called ‘friend marriages’ were  licit.

However, many women activists and feminists in the Islamic world see such marriages as instruments to regulate male sexuality. By consenting to contract this type of marriage, women lose their rights. Although a man needs to pay a dower to his wife, he is not obliged to pay maintenance and the partners do not inherit each other. In that sense, the practice is not only a relic of the past, but also a threat to the family and to women in particular. Some even argue that it is an institution that encourages prostitution. Feminists also argue that such practices confirm that men are mostly sexual subjects and women are mostly sexual objects.

b)       Jihad

Jihad is often translated as “holy war.” The Ulema distinguish between two forms of jihad:

1. Peaceful jihad :it can refer to internal as well as external efforts to be a good Muslim or believer, as well as working to inform people about the faith of Islam. In this sense Jihad is the struggle to do good on earth for the sake of God.
2. qital, which means fighting. It is known that Islam allows the use of force,military jihad in case of war.It is part of defending the Islamic faith against belligerent others, but there are strict rules of engagement. Innocents or vulnerable people such as women, children, people with disabilities and the elderly must never be harmed. Many scholars reported that the Prophet Mohammed told his followers returning from a military campaign: “This day we have returned from the minor jihad to the major jihad,” which meant returning from armed battle to the peaceful battle for self-control and betterment.

We should bear in mind that the meanings of jihad diversified in the course of recent decades[2]. Radical groups such as “Salafia Jihadiyya” (Jihadist Salafism), in particular, succeeded to resurrect jihad as an essential component of religious duty. According to them, jihad is the only alternative for Muslims in order to build and maintain the Islamic State.In this sense, jihad is a struggle not only for the triumph of faith but also to get power. Since the war in Afghanistan, Iraq and recently in Syria, the call to jihad attracted thousands of volunteers from the Islamic world, many Muslims form different parts of the occidental world also joined the cause. It is conceived as an act of liberation throughout the globe requiring the dutiful contribution of all Muslims.

c)       Jihad al-nikah

If we look at the definition and significance of the term Jihad al-nikah, we find that it has no roots or origins in the history of Islam or its literature. Entries provided by a large number of people interested in this topic in Wikipedia for instance often translated as Sex jihad or Sexual jihad (pleasure marriage). It is a controversial concept that refers to Sunni women allegedly offering themselves in sexual comfort roles to fighters for the establishment of Islamic rule.[3]

It is important to emphasize that the practice of Jihad al-nikah is based on the fatwa, (religious jurisprudential opinions) issued around 2012 and attributed to a Saudi Wahhabi cleric: Sheikh Mohamad al-Arife . He asked Sunni women to offer themselves as comfort women “to boost the morale of fighters” in Syria. The religious argument presented is that “the Law of    necessity allows forbidden things in exceptional circumstances”. Despite the fact that Sheikh Mohamad al-Arife denied that he is the author of this fatwa, the impact of this religious opinion was important.

Issuing such a fatwa is in fact not surprising. It is important to remind that fatwas issued during the last decade about women reflected the growing power and influence of religious men and their misogyny.  Also, the body texts of fatwas explain how religion can be used to justify all the practices aimed at establishing a new gender order and imposing new relationships. In this case violence gender-based becomes more and more tolerated and legitimized by such religious discourses.

Looking at the current situation in Syria, the jihad action has just consolidated the inherited pattern if male domination. In this new battlefront, men that have been swarming from every corner of the world have bene motivated by an archetypal male image and role of rough fighters, engaged in a form of heroic self-sacrifice while women are sought to attend to their daily needs including becoming sex slaves.  But what is this role attributed to women in time of jihad?

Historically speaking, classical authorities did not allow women to fight except in the most extraordinary circumstances yet did not expressly forbid that. According to the classical interpretation, women are not permitted to fight in jihad, but were told that their jihad was a righteous pilgrimage to Mecca (hajj). The duty of a Muslim woman, they argue, is to obey her husband and take care of her family. In addition, Shii scholars consider that the jihad of women is in enduring suffering at the hands of her husband and his jealousy.

Despite the will of historians to marginalize the role played by women in the public sphere, Muslim feminists involved in writing the history of women like ‘Aliyya Mustafa Mubarak in her collection “Sahabiyyat Mujahidat”  succeeded to gather more than 67 names of women who participated in battles in a supporting role, usually by accompanying the fighters, encouraging the men, or by providing medical care and assistance. They are recognized as role model and admired by Muslims and they never offer their bodies to fighters.

What can we conclude from the historical background?

• Controlling the self is the moral duty of each Muslim, and this contradicts with the new link or connection between the action of jihad and sexuality.
• The community should protect women since they are seen as vulnerable. Because women are weak they should be under the control of both the family and the community.
• Performing the jihad is a gendered action. Man’s jihad is to sacrifice his wealth and his blood until he is killed in the path of Allah, but the jihad of the woman is to help her husband and her community. This vision maintains the established cultural dichotomies: men/public space, woman/private space, Woman /life, man /death.
• Misogynic literature highlights why men want to keep women away from the battlefield. For the male fighter, the Houris (women of paradise) were a major attractant. On the contrary women on earth represent a tie that relatesthem to this world, whereas the whole focus of the fighter is supposed to be on the day after and the better world.
• Reading the historical texts, particularly the jihad literature, confirms that this is not the first time that the concept of jihad is hijacked by political and religious groups over the ages in a bid to justify various forms of violence. In most cases, Islamic splinter groups invoked jihad to fight against the established Islamic order. Some reformist scholars, however, see this as an abusive interpretation of jihad that contradicts Islamic percepts.
• In one of his first political speeches about the development of the country, Bourguiba pointed out that the real meaning of Jihad is struggling in everyday life in order to change social conditions and contribute to progress and development. Bearing in mind this aim, the jihad of women would therefore be against poverty and illiteracy. Nobody would imagine that 50 years after of the promulgation of the Code of Personal Status(1956), a group of Tunisian women would travel to a battlefield to serve as sexual slaves to fighters dreaming of a dark past. Is it due to lack of religious knowledge or is it a quest for new identity?

II.       Different narrations, different interpretations

a) The official narrative

Allegations of this practice of jihad al-Nikah is related to the Tunisian government’s war effort against Al Qaida-linked Islamic terrorism in the mountainous Jebel Ech (center west of Tunisia bordering Algeria). The Tunisian coalition government”Troika” alleges that the practice began with Tunisian girls who showed sympathy to the Islamic jihad movement there, and then spread with Tunisian girls volunteering to join the Syrian jihadists.[4]

It was on 19 September 2013 that the veracity of the alleged practice became the subject of heated debate in September 2013 after the Interior Minister made a public statement about Tunisian young women joining Syrian fighters. He stated in the National Constituent Assembly that a group of Tunisian women traveling to Syria for sex jihad were having sex with 20, 30 and even up to 100 rebels, and that some of the women had returned home pregnant. On 6October 2013, a Tunisian official downplayed this prior claim, affirming that the number of these young women who traveled to Syria did not exceed15, and that some were reported to have been forced to have sex with several Islamist militants.[5]This has been widely the consequence of the Arab Spring and the transition marked by the overt emergence of radicalism and active networks for recruitment of jihadists to join the Syrian opposition initially and ISIS front later, as well as trafficking in women.

b) Stories of Mujahidat Al-nikah and testimonies reported on the Media:

On 30 May 2013 ‘Tounesna’, a private Tunisian TV Channel,invited a Tunisian girl to tell her story on the program ا(وعليها الكلام امرا), a TV program that invites women for their positive reputations. She confessed being deceived to go to Syria under the name of Jihad al-nikah to marry the terrorists in a bid to support them in their fight against the Syrian government forces. Twenty-year old Aisha said she had met a woman who had been involved in luring girls at universities to recruit them for Jihad al-nikah in Syria. There is even a process of temptation as there is a promise that the fallen ones will be “martyrs holding up the banner of Islam”.  Aisha was among a group of 14 girls who had been deceived to get married as Jihad al-Nikah in Syria.  But Aisha’s father found out about her intention and convinced her not to go Syria by asking all their relatives to make her understand about Islam’s strong opposition to such moves.[6]

On 23-7-2014, The Tunisian Jihadist Abu Qusay was interviewed by Tunisian TV in the programلاباس (Are you Ok?), after his return from Syria. He confirmed that stories about “Jihad al-Nikah” were true.[7]At the same time Interviews of worried parents and statements by Anis Koubaji, president of the Association of Assistance to Tunisian Expatriates (l’association d’aide aux tunisiens à l’étranger) were published on the Internet highlighting the recruitment of women, the role played by some charity associations to facilitate the departure of Tunisians to Syria and the reasons behind the will to support Syrian fighters.[8]

Tunisian newspapers also reported that a young Tunisian man divorced his wife, and that they both headed to Syria almost a month ago to ‘allow her to engage in sexual jihad with the jihadists there. Another video widely circulated on the Internet and social websites in Tunisia shows the parents of a veiled girl called Rahmah, 17 years old. They said Rahma had disappeared from home one morning and they ‘later learned that she had headed to Syria to carry out sexual jihad.’  The young girl has since returned to her family, who have kept her out of sight, and said that their daughter is not a religious fanatic ‘but was influenced by her fellow students who are known for their affiliation with the Salafist jihadists.’ Her parents said these fellow students may have brainwashed her and convinced her to travel to Syria ‘to support the jihadists there.’ Such stories have become more common in Tunisia and parents have become concerned about the influence charismatic Islamic leaders in other Arab countries can wield over their children.[9]It should be noted that media played an important role in the new context of terrorism in Tunisia.Many stories about women helping radical Salafists in different regions of the country by offering them their bodies highlight the support and solidarity of some groups with those Salafists. However, stories related by the media often reported victims and no woman convinced of jihad al Nikah was among the interviewed.  The testimonies of young women broadcast on TV or published in newspapers or on the Internet showed their weakness and vulnerability. These girls have often been portrayed as easily manipulated, suffering from some emotional crises and lacking religious knowledge.

c)       Narrating Jihad al-nikah

Narrating Jihad al-nikah in the context of polarization between Islamists and secularists in post revolution Tunisia reflects the tension,anger, accusation and mutual mistrust.On the one hand, Islamist leaders from En-nahda party deliberately denied the issue;while others argued that it is a secular propaganda. Some of En-nahda’s comments adopted the point of view of International media.  On 7October 2013, the German magazine Der Spiegel reported that “sex jihad” to Syria was “an elaborate disinformation campaign by the Assad regime to distract international attention from its own crimes. Maher Nana, the president of the Human Rights Alliance for Syria reportedly said that it was pure propaganda: “Maybe the Tunisians have some evidence but I think these are just some false claims from the interior minister that might be linked to a political agenda”,[10] he commented.

Another perspective was that of democrats, or secularists, who criticized policies adopted by En-nahda during the transnational process and accused Islamist leaders and Salafist groups of creating charity associations   for the purpose of arranging the travel of many Tunisian to Syria. Victims of radical Islamist parties or ideologies are constructed as people who need “our” help and protection from “others” in order to become emancipated and equal to other modern Tunisian women. The issue of Jihad al-nikah or violence against women has become a political issue.  Each party tried to defend itself and at the same time to accuse the other party.

It is evident that the woman as victim of patriarchy and men’s violence is not a new issue in the public debate and popular discourse and has accompanied women’s and human rights movements for several centuries. However, this category’s content has varied, and during the last two years the category has increasingly become occupied by the figures of the Muslim woman assuming the job of the sex worker/prostitute. For this reason En-nahda party denied the existence of this “phenomena” because it was deemed harmful for Muslims in general and particularly for Islamic parties ruling the country. We should bear in mind that En-nahdha spent time and money developing a new image for itself, specifically in the West, and lobbying in order to be seen as a “moderate Islamic political party” working hard to build a new environment where people can live together.

Although the minister of religious affairs (close to Salafists and overtly preached support of jihad in Syria) declared that the ministry would control preachers encouraging youth to travel to Syria, people were worried about the official position of the government. Othman Battikh the mufti of the state said in April that 13 Tunisian girls “were fooled” into traveling to Syria to provide sex to fighters. “For jihad in Syria, they are now pushing girls to go there,” Battikh angrily protested: “What is this? This is called prostitution. It is moral educational corruption.” He was dismissed from his position a few days later.

Sheikh Fareed Elbaji, a young religious leader, told the BBC he personally knew families who had discovered that their daughters had gone to Chaambi or to Syria to offer sex in support of the militants, apparently in obedience to fatwas or religious edicts issued on the battlefields of Syria. [11]

Similarly to this confused official position, feminists and women’s rights activists did not adopt the same position. Some took this issue as a proof of the regressive policies of Islamists while others focused their work on women suffering from socio-psychological disorders. They included this group of victims in their programs to protect women victims of violence. Their statements reflect human rights views and all the strategies used to empower victims. Feminists talked about challenges that Tunisian women are facing after the revolution and criticized how a few Tunisian women have become the object of display for males in a country reputed for promoting women’s rights and giving the chance to Tunisian to be a model in the region. Obviously, the Tunisian society experienced a paradigm shift from modern values to conservative rules.

It is interesting to analyze few testimonies by some fighters who returned to Tunisia after joining the battle front in Syria. Few of them accepted to talk about their lives in the battlefield. According to them, Tunisian women are no more an exception and a model for Arab societies promoting rights and full emancipation. Tunisian women were among other women engaged in Jihad al-nikah in Syria. Moreover, some men confess that they had sexual relationship with an important number of women. There is no doubt that seeing women passive and in need of protection reinforces the strength and potency of the male fighter. If we analyze some male narratives, we see that most of them used exaggerated expressions and talk about performances. This way of reporting is a part and parcel to the discourse of becoming a hero after a long time of marginalization.

If we consider that the basic value of Militarism is “power over the other” we are not surprised to see that fighters men are defending strict division of proper masculine and feminine roles and the binary oppositions (active/passive; logical/intuitive; rational/irrational; etc.) In this sense, war is “men’s work,” while taking care of men is the duty of women. Jihadists are constructing narrow definitions of masculine and feminine characteristics and establishing rigid gender roles. By imposing their rules, jihadists defend a certain ideology, which provides a context and justification for institutionalized discrimination and violence against women. Women exist only in relation to men–as victims in need of protection, or as sexual objects deserving exploitation. As Colleen Burke argues,

Militarism needs a gender ideology as much as it needs soldiers and weapons. It needs men who accept and believe in their role as “warrior” so much that they are willing to obey orders even unto death and women who accept their “proper” role in relation to men and will sacrifice their sons to their country’s interests and exhort them to fight and submissively fulfill the sexual needs of men in the military.[12]

Although women who engage in jihad al-nikah have been considered mostly as the victims of men, which is true in some cases, we think that women have a wide variety of motivations for entering into and consenting to jihad al-nikah: the pleasure of adventure was probably a factor particularly appealing to teenagers, but it does not explain the choice of this particular activity. From the available material shared on few blogs by Salafist girls, it seems that some girls believe in an ideology and are convinced of the afterlife rewards. They refuse to be paid for their services because they want to support men in their struggle as a duty and sacrifice for Allah. Taking into account that the recruitment message on internet relies not primarily on complex theological arguments, but on simple, visceral appeals to people’s sense of solidarity and altruism, we can argue that young women believe that their duty is to help fighters. Moreover, if we know that one meaning of the verb in Arabic ‘nakaha’.( نكح المرأة اعتمد عليها )is being supported by woman, we can understand the argument presented  by some young women.The material Jihadists are using internet to construct a pan-Islamic identity discourse emphasizing the unity of the Muslim nation and focusing on outside threats. Like many other identity discourses, what appears from the jihadist body of writings is a victim narrative that highlighted cases of Muslims suffering around the world. Considering Jihad al Nikah as an attempt to develop a parallel society based on what they believe to be the Sharia, young women are presenting themselves as “activists” supporting the Islamic State project rather than representing themselves in the position of passive victims.

Obliviously, the different narratives/testimonies of young Tunisian women, official speech of the minister of interior at the NCA (september2013), and the media covering of the issue show this distinction between two categories of women:

A first group of young women who were kidnapped, recruited or forced by their partners to go to Syria and to have sexual intercourse with fighters.  They are represented as victims of radical groups as well as men willing to make money by exploiting women. Indeed, poverty, illiteracy and marginalization of some regions has contributedto this factor and can be considered as a form of sex trafficking. A second group of women convinced about the utility of playing a role in the war. They believe that offering their bodies will enable them to become Mujahidat. For this reason they use this lexicon:

أخوات الفراش» ومؤازرات و«مؤازرات الإخوان» و«مجاهدات النكاح

Also different narrations pointed that some women were volunteers. They were willing to ‘offer’ their bodies to the fighters inside and outside the country. We should stress that the practice of offering one’s self,not the body is highly recognized by the community. Scholars mentioned that many women offered themselves to the prophet Mohammed willingly, hoping that the prophet would marry them. Moreover the practice was mentioned in the Quran.

﴿وَامْرَأَةً مُّؤْمِنَةً إِن وَهَبَتْ نَفْسَهَا لِلنَّبِىِّ إِنْ أَرَادَ النَّبِىُّ أَن يَسْتَنكِحَهَا خَالِصَةً لَّكَ﴾

“And a believing woman if she offers herself to the Prophet, and the Prophet wishes to marry her — a privilege for you only,” means, `also lawful for you, O Prophet, is a believing woman if she offers herself to you, to marry her without a dowry, if you wish to do so.” (Ibn Kathir) [13]

These literal readings of the Quran verse, misunderstanding its percepts and principles or misinterpretation are not new in Islamic societies. But willing to offer one’s body to fighters (pleasure marriage) raised an important question: Who will get the pleasure?

Undoubtedly, we are witnessing a redefinition of self-identity. Female bodies in the public sphere defying police forces at the beginning of the revolution have become in the imaginary of some radical groups docile bodies. This new construction of femininity (domesticity, dependency, fragility, lack of power…)in Tunisia known as the first country in the Arab world to implement women’s right and to ban polygamy highlights the ability of radicals to brainwash women and illuminates at the same time the crises of masculinity in Arab countries in the aftermath or the revolutions. By exploiting few groups of women for their pleasure, men have perpetuated the problem of sexual objectification of women’s bodies and project their fears and hatred onto women’s flesh. The fact that Tunisian men decide to take part in the Syrian war offers an alternative form of masculinity for them. These groups (criminals, Salafists, violent jihadists…) represented an idealized image of a new Tunisian style of masculinity as muscular, violent, independent, arrogant, and victorious in the war against others.

III.       Conclusion

The topic of Jihad al-nikah was an unexpected one because people were in the streets voicing their demands for political, economic and social changes but in time of war anything is possible. Indeed, the so called Arab Spring caused major shifts in Arab as well Western discourses and imaginaries of the self and the other. By accepting to assume the classical  role of women, this group of Tunisian  women are reinforcing patriarchy within both the private and the public spheres; also they are reinforcing the dominant position of men and the subordination of women. They reproduce the perception of public spaces as sites of masculinity, performance and practice. In this case we can understand the wave of violence against women in the transitional process. Deniz Kandiyoti (2013) defined this post-revolutionary violence against women as masculine restoration, defined as the use of manipulation and coercion against women as a result of the increased female presence in the public sphere. It is a tool men use to return to the traditional religion-based roles.[14]

In order to understand why a group of Tunisian young women are attracted by this practice of sexual jihad and how “women mujahidat or muazirat (supporters)’ perceive their bodies and constitute themselves, it is interesting to analyze some face book pages and some blogs of Salafist young women. They choose pseudonames from classical repertory like Oum Al Bara, AlKhanssa, or openly praise themselves as being “terrorist and proud of it”.The topic mostly discussed on these pages is the war against infidels: police forces called ‘Atta’rut’ (despots), and political regimes that did not establish sharia law. The Salafist young women identify themselves with Kamikaze women in Palestine(Hamas), Chechen and other places where women sacrificed themselves as part of Jihad. They want to be honoured like fighters. Some of those young women joined the terrorists in Tunisia while others are more interested in sexual activities as form of rewarding fighters. In both cases, young women are moving  from ‘equal ‘roles and visibility in the public space to  classical ‘gender roles’ and the harem -private space. They are confirming their alterity within inherited cultural and religiously sanctioned patterns of identity politics as subordinate and supplements to masculine roles in the great holy war to restore the past glory of Islam. Whether Jihad al-nikah is a reality or a fabrication matters little as it has become an established and accepted action. It has proven that Tunisian society accepted to open a public debate and to analyze a phenomenon that many have never expected. The most important question here is that despite the horrors experienced by those who joined the front and the broad condemnation it brought, some women from Arab as well as European countries are fascinated by this practice

Bibliography

http://www.qtafsir.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=1839&Itemid=89

http://tunisie14.tn/article/detail/jihad-nikah-au-maximum-une-quinzaine-de-tunisiennes-sont-allees-en-syrie-selon-le-mi

http://www.tuniscope.com/article/25864/actualites/tunisie/t-t-confessions-545112

www.youtube.com/watch?v=onWv66_PrQs

http://directinfo.webmanagercenter.com/2013/09/28/video-jihad-nikah-6-tunisiennes-detenues-par-hezbollah-au-liban/

http://tunisie14.tn/article/detail/jihad-nikah-au-maximum-une-quinzaine-de-tunisiennes-sont-allees-en-syrie-selon-le-mi

http://www.tuniscope.com/article/25864/actualites/tunisie/t-t-confessions-545112

www.youtube.com/watch?v=onWv66_PrQs

http://directinfo.webmanagercenter.com/2013/09/28/video-jihad-nikah-6-tunisiennes-detenues-par-hezbollah-au-liban/

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2304128/Tunisian-girls-head-Syria-offer-Islamic-fighters-sexual-jihad.html

http://ar.webmanagercenter.com/2013/09/25/19088/%

http://www.clarionproject.org/news/isis-issues-orders-mosul-give-over-girls-sex-jihad

 

[1] Arabia before Islam, http://www.al-islam.org/restatement-history-islam-and-muslims-sayyid-ali-ashgar-razwy/arabia-islam(accesed 12-2-2015) A man betroths his ward or his daughter to another man, and the latter assigns a dower (bride wealth) to her and then marries her, we have also nikah al-istibda, the man who asks his wife  to have intercourse with another partner in order to get a child   ….)

[2] Ben Salem Myriam, “Jihad As A Progressive Concept: The Case of The Tunisian Islamic Movement Al-Nahda”, in, La Violence Politique enTunisie, published by Association Tunisienne D ‘Etudes Politiques, Tunis, June 2013, pp53-68.

[3] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sexual_jihad,(accessed 12-2-2015)

[4] Sara Daniel, TUNISIE. La vérité sur le “djihad sexuel”

http://tempsreel.nouvelobs.com/l-enquete-de-l-obs/20131107.OBS4614/tunisie-la-verite-sur-le-djihad-sexuel.html(accessed 7-2-2015)

[5] Abid Zohra, Tunisie : Le «jihad nikah» oppose les imams au gouvernement

http://www.kapitalis.com/politique/18333-tunisie-le-jihad-nikah-oppose-les-imams-au-gouvernement.html(accessed 4-2-2015) see also

http://tunisie14.tn/article/detail/jihad-nikah-au-maximum-une-quinzaine-de-tunisiennes-sont-allees-en-syrie-selon-le-mi

[6]http://www.tuniscope.com/article/25864/actualites/tunisie/t-t-confessions-545112

3www.youtube.com/watch?v=onWv66_PrQs

http://directinfo.webmanagercenter.com/2013/09/28/video-jihad-nikah-6-tunisiennes-detenues-par-hezbollah-au-liban/

[8]1.000 Tunisiennes vouées au jihad nikah dans les camps d’Edleb en Syrie

http://www.kapitalis.com/societe/17848-1-000-tunisiennes-vouees-au-jihad-nikah-dans-les-camps-d-edleb-en-syrie.html(8-2-2015)

[9]http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2304128/Tunisian-girls-head-Syria-offer-Islamic-fighters-sexual-jihad.html

http://ar.webmanagercenter.com/2013/09/25/19088/%

[10]Avraham  Rachel,Sexual Jihad is a reality in Syria,

http://www.portmir.org.uk/articles/wahhabism-s-sex-jihad.htm(accessed 9-2-2015)

[11]Tunisie : Le « jihad nikah» oppose les imams au gouvernement;

http://www.kapitalis.com/politique/18333-tunisie-le-jihad-nikah-oppose-les-imams-au-gouvernement.html

[12]Burke Colleen, Women and Militarism

http://wilpf.smilla.li/wpcontent/uploads/2012/10/Unknownyear_Women_and_Militarism.pdf (accessed 9-2-2015)

[13] http://www.qtafsir.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=1839&Itemid=89

[14] Kandiyoti, Deniz, Fear and fury: women and post-revolutionary violence

https://www.opendemocracy.net/5050/deniz-kandiyoti/fear-and-fury-women-and-post-revolutionary-violence (accessed 3-2-2015)

 

Sahar Mediha Al-Naas

العربية | Français

Women in Libya today face many challenges that hinder their political and civil participation and representation.  Neopatriarchy, war and conflict provide the ground for gender-based violence and sexualised violence that prolong in post-conflict aftermath (Al-Ali, 2014; Jurasz, 2013). Six years since the uprising and the current situation indicates that Libya is heading towards state de-formation (Rolf Schwarz, 2004).   Libyan women’s rights are on the edge of collapse.  The institutional ties between the state and religion, strengthened by the instability and violence since the 2011, and demonstrated in the Liberation speech by Mustafa Abdul Jalil , are having a devastating impact on women. Such impact is reflected in the systematic relapse of women’s rights under religious guise. Moreover, neopatriarchy reinforces and maintains patriarchal values that put women in a subordinate position, thus creates systems of oppression through religious and kinship institutional ties. In such system women, their bodies and sexual conducts are often held as the markers of the state’s religious and cultural identity. Such structure existed in the pre-Gaddafi period and was preserved and strengthened by Gaddafi for political purposes.

In this paper, I explore the correlation between various aspects of state structure that characterise a Neopatriarchal state and its institutional ties with religion, and kinship, the position of Libyan women, their political and civic participation and representation, and the rapid collapse of their rights since 2011. I argue that the neopatriarchal state’s appropriation of religion, kinship and patriarchy, play a significant role in the regression of Libyan women’s rights. My focus will be on the institutional ties between the state and religion and the impact of these on women’s rights, in the context of conflict and a neopatriarchal state; I will discuss sexual violence as a weapon of war, the link between the militarisation of masculinity and Neopatriarchal structure that provided a foundation for gender based violence through the subjectification of women and the reinforcement of gender hierarchy.  I will shed light on the Libyan women’s participation in the uprising against Gaddafi in 2011 and the link between the exclusion of women and the nature of the uprising as an armed struggle over power and resources in a Neopatriarchal context.  I will explore how Libyan women – through civil and political participation and representation – can construct a feminist discourse, push a feminist agenda onto the political table, and overcome the “security priority” obstacle.

Neopatriarchy

Definition:

Neopatriarchy is the modern form of patriarchy in which modernisation is limited to some bureaucratic aspects of the state. Neopatriarchal society, as Sharabi  described: “the hybrid, traditional and semi-rational structures and consciousness”. Sharabi identifies two types of neopatriarchal societies: conservative and progressive. Both share central psychological feature that is the dominance of the father figure(patriarch) whether the father of the nation or the family, and whose relations with the nation or the child is vertical. A hierarchal relation of power “mediated through force consensus and coercion.”    (Sharabi, 1988)

Neo-patriarchy and Modernity

A crucial factor in the formation of Modernity is an autonomous transformative capitalism and industrialization, in Marx’s revolutionary term, that leads to the eraser of class division, and creates horizontal social relations that is the foundation of democracy. In the MENA region, Capitalism was neither autonomous nor revolutionary to form Modernity. Moreover, the absence of real industrialization and independent Capitalism , and the subordinate asymmetrical relation between the west as the dominate colonial power and the colonised region characterised the formation of the Neopatriarchal states in post-colonial era, which Sharabi described as: “the marriage of imperialism and patriarchy” .

Neopatriarchal States in MENA:

Sharabi argued that the formation of Neopatriarchal states in MENA region was shaped by the encounter with the western Modernity early 20th century . Western Modernity was founded on the obliteration of the old system of tradition and Patriarchy in Europe, brought about by industrialization and Capitalism. Autonomous Capitalism, in Marx’s analysis of the emergence of the bourgeois as a revolutionary factor, constructed new horizontal social relations  that marked the formation of the European Modernity. The new modern society is governed by secular scientific mood of thought that replaced the religious spiritual allegorical governing structure characteristic of pre-modern Feudalist Europe. Some scholars argue that Modernity is uniquely European phenomena. Such notion is founded on dichotomous essentialist discourse that divides the world to the “Civilised” Europe and “Uncivilised” other . In such discourse, crucial historical, geopolitical, and socioeconomic factors are obscured.

Neopatriarchy in Libya

The Neopatriarchal state derives its legitimacy from the possession of power (Sharabi, 1988), whether the power was ceased or given. In the case of the MENA, Neopatriarchal state’s power and survival relies heavily on external and internal actors.

External Factors:

In post-colonial MENA, and during the Cold War period, the survival of varies states relied on their ties with the two superpowers and shaped by the competition between them : for example, but not limited to, Egypt (during Jamal Abdel Nasser rule), Algeria, Syria, Former South Yemen, and Libya had close ties with the former Soviet Union that provided them with technological, military and political support and assistance. On the other hand, Saudi Arabia, Jordon, Morocco, Egypt(post-Nasser), and other Gulf rentier states had/have ties with U.S. and Western European countries that provided them with economic aid (in the case of the non-rentier states), military, technological and political support. Thus, none of the MENA states could be described as strong modern state for their dependency on the superpowers for survival, therefore, the essential stages and elements in state formation were absent in the case of MENA. Van Creveld (1999) argues that in Western Europe state formation was shaped by warfare and the preparation of war that played a central and essential role .  Moreover, several scholars argued that the process of preparing for war involves the effective extraction of resources through sufficient bureaucratic, administrative and institutional mechanism needed for state-building, thus political rights and the rights of representation in government became integral to citizenship that included taxes payers from different social classes and not limited only to the monarch or the ruling elites. In such context, the notion of nationalism and citizenship formed and shaped the identity and strength of the state, in which the individual is a citizen, with rights and duties, and not a subject with constraining duties and without rights, as in the case of the MENA states.

State formation in post-colonial MENA, as many scholars argue, is shaped by Rentierism. Rentierism has a profound effect on the state’s “foreign policies, human rights policy or aspects of political succession” . It creates a hierarchal citizenship, in which, wealth and political power are centralised and accessed exclusively by the ruling elites, thus marginalising and disfranchising the mass. This authoritarian political structure dominated the political scene in the post-colonial MENA. In Libya, as an example of rentier authoritarian Neopatriarchal state, Gaddafi’s foreign relations with the former Soviet Union, . U.S. and West European countries, such as Italy, Germany and France not only provided him with the military aid, but played a crucial role in the Oil referment, production, transportation and trade. Thus, enabling him to accumulate capital that was crucial to his survival in power for four decades while ruling Libya with an iron fist. Gaddafi used the oil revenue, not to build Libya’s infrastructure or state institutions such as education, health, and welfare, but to create state security institutions with the sole task of protecting his regime and ensuring his survival in power. The appalling human rights record and policy during Gaddafi’s rule, notwithstanding known to the international community, were largely ignored. Gaddafi’s relations with Oil companies were the key to his power; Gaddafi demanded big bonus, tough contract terms, and majority share of the revenues, and threatened to shut off production if the oil companies refused. Many of the big oil fields were run by smaller companies, to ensure power is fragmented when negotiating contract terms and to break the stranglehold of the oil major companies . Libya became the first developing country to secure a majority share of the revenues from its own oil production. To restore the severed relation with U.S., Gaddafi used his position of power to pressure the American oil companies to influence U.S. policies.

After the overthrow of Gaddafi in 2011, Libyan power holders are unable to secure total control over the oil revenue. It became one of the major factors that shaped the conflict in Libya.

Internal Factors:

 Religion, Tradition, kinship and Tribalism are internal factors on which the Neopatriarchal state rely for survival, or face as challenges.  Sharabi’s definition of Neopatriarchy encompasses several forms of political regimes in the Middle East and North Africa. For example: Libya (until 2011), Algeria, Iraq (until 2003), Syria, and former South Yemen are authoritarian-socialist; Iran, Sudan are radical- Islamist; Saudi Arabia, Morocco are Patriarchal-conservative; Tunisia, Egypt, Turkey are authoritarian-privatizing . All these states share the overarching cultural and religious influence on the Personal-Code that is deeply entrenched in patriarchal values. And many share the deep influence of kinship and triable culture in social life. Moreover, women’s rights are often compromised and used as a bargaining chip by the Neopatriarchal state to consolidate its power; women’s bodies and conduct are subjected to state Surveillance and scrutiny to maintain social order . The power Gaddafi possessed as the head of the state, dominated both the private and public spheres through his manipulation and total control of triable, kinship and religious institutions. Under his rule, oil revenue was monopolised to accommodate the political interest of his regime. Moreover, in the absence of sufficient public services and reasonable salary rate, Libyans, disfranchised and impoverished turned to the primary social structure of tribe, kinship, religion and family for survival and security. However, Gaddafi manipulated the tribble and religious institutions and structures to maintain his power, by empowering specific tribes and disempowering others to guarantee allegiance through his reward and punishment strategy. Moreover, after declaring Shari’a as the only constitution and after introducing Hudud law in 1972, Gaddafi’s dynamic with the religious establishment witnessed a big shift after the 1976 Zawar declaration in which Gaddafi stripped the religious clergy of their immunity and power and launched a campaign against them . Nevertheless, the Libyan family code, remained heavily influenced by Shari’a law, as an aspect of the institutional ties between the state and religion. The introduction of Hudud Shari’a based law in 1970  marked the beginning of the radical-Islamist form of Neopatriarchy . Gaddafi utilised religious conservative discourse to serve his claim as the “Imam of the Muslims” , a position of ultimate power.

Neo-patriarchy and the State’s Identity

Neopatriarchal state and structure, inherited from Gaddafi’s regime, characterised the post-Gaddafi Libya. The rise of political Islam coupled with the deeply entrenched patriarchal values limits Libyan women’s political and civil participation and representation. The Neopatriarchal state and structure in Libya, during and post-Gaddafi, appropriation of religious, triable and cultural discourses to maintain power created a dynamic in which any progress or regress in women’s position in legislations is decided by its political impact on the power holder in Neopatriarchal states. Mustafa Abdul-Jalil, the Head of the Interim Council (2011-2012) made a controversial statement on 23 October 2011, in relation to lifting all legal restrictions on polygamy.  His statement came as an indication of the institutional ties between the state and religion, characteristic of neopatriarchal state,  that would impact on women’s rights in Libya in the post-Gaddafi era.   As in other situations, both, discursive and physical control over women’s bodies are crucial in the struggle over power (Al-Ali and Pratt 2009: 93). In effect, the disciplining of women and their bodies are instrumentalized by both, state and none state actors to assert the new Islamic identity of the Libyan state and to display their Islamic credentials for political legitimacy in the New Libya. Women’s bodies and conducts are used as markers of the new Libya from the old Libya .

Neo-patriarchy and Political Power in Libya

The intimate relationship between religion and the state has been evident in Libyan history since the Sanussi monarchy (1949-1969)  (Martin, 1986; Sammut, 1994; Takeyh, 2000). Islamic identity constituted the political legitimacy of all political actors and shaped the political culture in the North African state (Brown, 1973; Pargeter, 2012;), before and after the 2011 overthrow of Gaddafi.  The Neopatriarchal state derives its legitimacy from the possession of power (Sharabi, 1988), thus, cultural, triable, religious, or traditional discourses can be manipulated to accommodate the political interest of the ruling force. In such context, the ordinary individual is a subject not a citizen, excluded from the political arena and decision making. Consequently, for survival, seeks security from primary social structures: family, tribe, religious sect. Moreover, among Neopatriarchal states’ characteristic aspects is the reinforcement of patriarchal values and social structures through the crippling legal system shaped by tribal, kinship and religious discourse of male supremacy. Thus, women’s bodies and conduct are subjected to state Surveillance   and scrutiny under religious and cultural guise, as the bearer of the family, community, or society’s honour. In Libya, Gaddafi, as the head of the Neopatriarchal state, possessed the ultimate power and dominated both the private and public spheres through his manipulation and total control of triable, kinship, religious institutions and natural resources. Moreover, the open-door policies (Sammut, 1994; Takeyh, 2000; Ashour, 2011) adopted by Gaddafi for survival, under international pressure after ten years of sanctions and isolation, provided a good opportunity for the spread of conservative Islamic revival discourse in Libya. Gaddafi Allowed the return of political Islam dissidents from exile and released their prisoners as a strategic move to maintain his power after the 2008 agreement between Saif Al-Islam and the Libyan Islamic Fighting Group (LIFG), in which, LIFG denounced violence and armed Jihad in return of freedom from prosecution .  Such conservative discourse became firmly grounded in mosques since the 2008 agreement, focusing on the reconstruction of social morals and norms. Like the mosque movement in Egypt, the Islamic revival discourse aimed to replace mainstream moderate Islam with a conservative form of Islam heavily reliant upon Islamic orthodox teaching as a frame of reference. (Mahmood, 2005; Ahmed, 2011; El-Kholy, 2002). Such discourse placed women in a very subordinate position in society and reinforced patriarchal values.

Women and Neo-patriarchy

Neo-patriarchal state reinforces and maintains patriarchal values and gender hierarchy through its institutional ties with religion, kinship and customary law (Charrad, 2001) .  Notwithstanding, many women in MENA have access to education and employment, traditional gender roles and expressions put women in a subordinate position. Moreover, the institutional ties between neo-patriarchal state and religion determent women’s position and rights.  In Muslim majority countries, the impact of institutional ties between the state and religion on women’s rights are measured by the political legitimacy of religion. In other words the more the state encourages religious teaching to be integrated in constitutions and legislations the less rights women have. Such dynamic is manifested in sharia based family code .  Moreover, Sharia as a concept is vague and can be interpreted in a multitude of ways; the use of Sharia as the only source of legislation in family code gives the state unlimited power to control women, their bodies and their sexuality under a religious guise (Hosseini, 1996; 2006; 2009; Hamzic & Hosseini, 2010). Kinship and gender relation shape sharia law, as Charrad explains:

“The most explicit aspect of Islamic family law concerns gender relations. Islamic family law places women in a subordinate status by giving power over women to men as husbands and as male kin. 

The guardianship system, still implemented in some Muslim majority countries, gives the male guardian the right and the power to control women’s right of movement, sexual and reproductive rights, and any major choices in their lives.

Under Gaddafi’s rule women’s access to education and employment, were unlimited, however, in the realm of family law and Personal Status women could not exercise many of their rights, even after reform introduced in article 10 of the 1984 law, under which a male guardian has no authority to refuse the marriage of a 20-year-old woman, or article 21 of the Green Charter (Refworld, 2011)  in which forced marriage is prohibited, marriage can be lawfully conducted by the male guardian in the absent of the bride. With respect to entry into and dissolution of marriage women don’t enjoy the same rights as men, especially economic rights and equal rights and obligations. As citizens, women lack fundamental rights such as the right to pass their nationality to their children and the right to remarry without losing the custody of her children. Both, the guardianship law and prohibiting women from passing their nationality to their children, demonstrate how Gaddafi reinforced patriarchal values, such as male authority and patrilineality.  Notwithstanding, male guardianship was restricted by the age and consent, it leaves a big gap for manipulation and exposes women and girls to various forms of violations. Women were not protected from gender-based violence and did not enjoy the same rights as their male counterparts. Libyan women’s political participation and representation did not exceed 2% (al-Obeidi, 2007) and for Gaddafi’s purposes was influenced by women’s proximity to the regime thus carried social stigma.

Women’s Political Representation in Post-Gaddafi Libya

In the first parliamentarian election in Libya in 2012, women gained over 16% of all seats in the General National Congress (GNC). This was unprecedented in the Libyan history. However, women’s political representation was shaped by the struggle over power between rival groups, thus antagonistic political claimant presented a challenge to women in the GNC. The GNC was divided between two political forces: the Muslim Brotherhood and their alias of independent members, many of whom are former members of LIFG, on one hand, on the other the Coalition of the National Forces party(CNF) .  Intimidation and threats were used by male members to silence women in the GNC .

Women’s substantive political representation is representing women’s interests and needs (Celis and Childs, 2011, p. 3). Moreover, women’s issues were not discussed or debated in the GNC or in the sub-committees; within the GNC there are 15 sub-committees; each sub-committee deals with a legislative area and all are allocated to different government ministries. However, there is no sub-committee for women; a women’s file is allocated to the Human Rights Sub-Committee. This Sub-Committee had 8 women out of its 15 members. None of the key issues concerning women were dealt with or suggested by any of the 8 women for discussion; key issues such as: domestic violence, sexual violence against women and girls, discriminatory family law, the abduction of women activists or the economic disadvantage of women, were neither discussed nor raised for debate. The Sub-Committee had dealt with other files such as compensation for the wounded from the revolutionary fighters, families of martyrs and torture cases in prisons of armed groups. Most women members of the GNC I interviewed, when asked about the absence of women’s interest in the Human Rights Sub-Committee’s agenda, blamed civil society for failing to communicate women’s issues and needs to them. On the other hand, women’s groups and organizations complain of the limited access they had to the GNC and state that their suggestion to have observer seats at the GNC was refused.

One hundred percent of women members of the Muslim Brotherhood party shared the same beliefs regarding women’s position in the gender power relation in the Libyan GNC. Moreover, in countries governed by political Islam parties, women with a sense of feminism are excluded from the political arena.  For example, female members of Egyptian Parliament during Murcy’s rule were those of the Muslim Brotherhood party and were known for their anti-feminist and misogynistic statements, such as Aza Al-Garf’s statement against gender equality and CEDAW (Mahatit Masr, 2012; Al Balad News, 2012)  .

The 21 female NFC members of the Libyan GNC whom I interviewed between 2012 and 2013 demonstrate some diversity. From standing totally against gender equality and praising the Sudanese and Somali example of refusing CEDAW to the extreme contrast of full support for all UN conventions on human and women’s rights, these were all opinions and principles held by female members of the same political party. Thus, demonstrate nuances of independent and personal political views rather than uniformed their party’s ideology.

In issues related to gender equality and women, the MB female members in the GNC rigidly followed party policy, thus their political representation was shaped by their party affiliation. However, the NCF female members did not display a uniformed discourse concerning women’s issues; their stands on the same issues were different and in contradiction in some cases.

Overall women’s performance in the GNC was admirable, bearing in mind the challenges they faced; women in the GNC had more courage to challenge controversial issues such as the prison torture, the conflict between armed militias that resulted in the killing of civilians, and the vote for the Isolation Act .  It is worth mentioning the fact that the only member of the Libyan GNC who refused the 45 Libyan Dinar housing allowance was Fariha Albrqawi, a female member for Derna.

The Gendered Constitution

In addition to the ongoing conflict in their society, women in Libya face constitutional and institutional discriminations.  On 24th  December 2014, the 63rd anniversary of Libya’s independence, the CDA published the first draft of the new constitution. The draft reflected both the neopatriarchal (Sharabi, 1988) nature of the state and the poor representation of women in the CDA; issues such as citizenship, violence and equality were either overlooked, marginalised or completely ignored in the draft. Article 8 (1&2) states that Sharia is the only source of legislation and the state is obliged to enact legislations that prevent the dissemination of doctrines contrary to Islam (cdalibya, 2014), bearing in mind that many conservative forces in Libya see the UN conventions to eliminate all forms of discrimination against women as against Islam.  Article 32 outlines that the state is responsible for supporting and sponsoring motherhood and childhood, ensuring the reconciliation between women’s family and work duties; in other words, ensuring women’s work responsibilities do not overstep their family and motherly responsibilities (ibid.). as Deniz Kaniyoti‘s argued: ‘women’s participation in the public sphere has been limited by the boundaries of culturally acceptable feminine conduct and that a pressure has been exerted on women to articulate their gender interests within the terms set by nationalist discourse’ (1996: 6). In the case of Libyan women, the terms are set by the Neopatriarchal state and shaped by religious discourse. However, in the last draft published on 16 April 2017, article 32 was removed; furthermore, article 50 states that:” The State is obligated and committed to supporting and sponsoring women, enacting laws to protect them, raise their status in society, and eliminate negative culture and social norms that detract from their dignity, prohibit discrimination against them, guarantee their right to representation in elections and provide opportunities for them in all fields. Crisis to support their acquired rights”.

Freedom of Movement

Article 14 of the interim constitutional declaration for the year 2011: “The State shall guarantee freedom of opinion and freedom of the individual and collective expression, freedom of scientific research, freedom of communication, freedom of the press, the media, printing and publishing, freedom of movement, freedom of assembly and peaceful demonstration, and that is not contrary to the law.” Libyan women’s freedom of movement was challenged in February 2017 when the military governor of Albaida, a little town in the north east of Libya, General Abdul Razek al-Nadori, issued an Act prohibiting women under 60 from traveling without male guardian (muhram). The use of religious term such as (Muhram) gives the act religious legitimacy and power. When General al-Nadori was asked, in an interview on Libya TV, about the reason of issuing the act, he stated that it’s a national security matter, and claimed that many young Libyan women receive invitations from international organisations to attend conferences and workshops and can be recruited by international agencies as spies. General al-Nadori was later forced to postpone the implementation of the act due to wide campaign against it.  This illustrates how women’s rights are weakened by institutional ties between religion and the state and how the state appropriation of religion serves as a political tool to control women.

Gendered War

“Mustering troops is all about the mobilization of men into aggressive expressions of hypermasculinity – they are ‘pumped up’ and as it were to facilitate their most murderous and pornographic capabilities.”  (Mama, 2014)

Wars and the militarisation of masculinity reinforce the patriarchal and traditional gender roles and identities and the subjectification of women.  Moreover, during the 17 February 2011 Revolution, despite Libyan women’s crucial and full participation in the revolution, rape as a weapon of war was feminised through the focus on women victims of rape, consequently, they were portraited as weak and vulnerable victims of sexual violence and in need of ‘masculinist protection’ (Young, 2003) by the militant Libyan male. The militarised masculine aggression, characteristic of the Libyan revolution, created and reinforced the bipolarisation of gender identities: the masculine, strong, aggressive male protectors against the feminine, weak, female victim. The gendering of subjectivity and the dehumanisation of the female victim, often shapes gender relations in post-conflict period (Mama, 2014). Gender hierarchy was further reinforced through the rise of a conservative religious discourse and its institutional ties to the neopatriarchal state. Mustafa Abdul-Jalil’s controversial statement in 2011, and the travel ban issued by the military governor in February 2017, both reflected the gendered conception of a state in which women are systematically appropriated, objectified and excluded from the public space. Such subjectification of Libyan women has its roots in the Neopatriarchal structure of the Libyan state and its institutional ties with the religious discourse throughout Libya’s post-colonial history.

Sexual Violence and the Women’s Exclusion: The New Libyan Gendered State

The six months of fighting in 2011 in Libya to overthrow one of the most brutal dictators in the region was marked by sexual violence. The systematic sexual violence, allegedly perpetrated by Gaddafi’s forces during the 2011 fighting, was politically instrumentalised to force the fall of Gaddafi’s regime. Evidence of systematic mass sexual violence was scarce, nonetheless, the deployment of rape as means of war by Gaddafi was brought to the attention of the International Criminal Court (ICC) by Luis Moreno-Ocampo the Chief Prosecutor, in June 2011, when he declared that there was evidence that Gaddafi had ordered his soldiers to rape women. On 27th June 2011, a warrant of arrest against Gaddafi was issued by the ICC.  This played a significant role in bringing Gaddafi’s regime to an end, as it forced his isolation and encouraged Libyan tribes and towns to switch allegiance.  Moreno-Ocampo, in a report presented to the United Nations Security Council (UNSC) in November 2011, stated that “in Libya, rape is considered to be one of the most serious crimes, affecting not just the victim, but also the family and the community, and can trigger retaliation and honour-based violence” (Wueger,2012).  However, the full extent of sexual violence during the conflict remains unknown, and the mystery surrounding facts and myths of rape cases in Libya has been almost impossible to solve, due to the ongoing armed conflict, the lack of security and the culture of shame associated with rape in Libya; fear has deterred many women and men from reporting such crimes or accessing the help and support they desperately need.

Nonetheless, some cases of rape committed by Gaddafi’s forces were documented and video recordings of rape, used by Gaddafi’s forces to spread fear among communities and tribes, were found by anti Gaddafi rebel .  However, sexual violence and the exclusion of Libyan women did not seize an end after the overthrow of Gaddafi, in the contrary, revenge attacks against towns deemed to have supported Gaddafi, such as Tawirgha, Bin Waleed, and Almshashia, have resulted in the arbitrary arrest of hundreds or even thousands of people, most of whom are still in detention centres across the country.  The highest concentration of conflict-related detainees of around 2700, including women, is in some seven facilities in Misrata with no government control, where torture, rape and death allegedly occur. (HRW, 2014)

In Post-Gaddafi Libya, violence against women increased and took different forms; in addition to losing their very few rights they gained under Gaddafi’s rule, Libyan women today do not enjoy the same constitutional and citizenship rights as men. Moreover, Libyan women politicians and activists face a systematic campaign of fear, assassinations and forced displacement to silence them. Many factors played different roles in the exclusion of women, such as the rise of the conservative religious discourse, the spread of armed militias and the straggle over power and resources between different centres of power that created a chaos and instability by which the Libyan uprising has been marked. Such instability impacted on women, particularly women activists and politicians. Consequently, Libyan Women’s lives, safety, dignity, freedom and many other constitutional and human rights are being compromised and pushed into the margin because of the “stability priority” discourse.

Rape as a Weapon of War in 2011 War

In patriarchal s societies, women are the bearers and markers of the authentic cultural, religious and collective identity of the nation or community (Kandiyoti, 1991a; 1991b; 1992; 1998)   and the reproducers of the nation (Yuval Davis, 1997).  Their bodies and reproductive rights are controlled and appropriated by the community and the state, and perceived as communal property.  Their sexuality and sexual conduct becomes the marker of the communal honour.  In such discourse, raped women are labelled as damaged goods, need to be either eliminated or ‘fixed’.  In December 2011, I met a young Libyan woman who was arrested by Gaddafi’s police and detained for weeks before she was freed by the rebels in August 2011 after the liberation of Tripoli from Gaddafi’s forces. She told me that she was not raped, but because she appeared on TV talking about her experience in Gaddafi’s prison, where she was tortured, people assumed that she was raped and consequently labelled her as one. She adds that she was bombarded by phone calls from civil society organisations with the intention to convince her to marry any of the amputated ‘brothers’ to restore her honour and the honour of her family. She described how they stalked her and used intimidation and threats to force her to agree to the marriage.  She claims that they put intense pressure on raped single girls to agree to such marriage and they use threats in many cases.  They say they want to protect women, particularly raped ones, from becoming immoral after losing their virginities.

Many cases of rape reported during the 6 months of war and stories of Viagra bill been found with Gaddafi’s militias, spread on a global scale.  Shame and stigma deterred many men, women and girls from reporting rape.  Human Rights Watch documented 10 cases of apparent gang rape and sexual assault of men and women by Gaddafi forces during the conflict, including detainees in custody.  All these cases show the extreme brutality of rape when used as a weapon of war. (HRW, 2011)

The threat of rape has been used to spread fear to prevent towns from joining the revolution and to force them to switch allegiance.  Until today, not one case of rape has been brought to court in Libya since 2011.  Moreover, On 2 May, the National Transitional Council (NTC) adopted Law 38 of 2012  in which, article four exempts the rebels of 17 February 2011 revolution of any criminal or legal responsibility for their crimes during or after the war.  However, the Observatory on Gender in Crisis, a Libyan NGO, lobbied to make rape during conflict a war crime in Libya.  The bill was drafted and presented to the GNC in November 2013 by the minister of Justice, but was never ratified. I interviewed Souad Whaida, the director of the Observatory on Gender in Crisis, who explained how the bill puts rape as a weapon of war aimed at society as a whole, not only women.  She believes that feminising rape in conflict further victimises women and downplay crucial facts about rape as a weapon of war; the irreversible damage and distraction it conflicts on, not only the victims and their families, but their communities and societies makes it the cheapest and more effective weapon of war. The use of cell phone cameras to film rape crimes committed by Gaddafi’s forces was not only for the visual reminder of such triumph, but to emasculate the enemy though assertion  power over their “properties”, by identifying rape victims publicly to humiliate their families, towns and communities. Women, girls and boys are perceived as properties of the defeated that can be acquired by the defeater (Jurasz, 2011: 134).

The Impact of Conflict on Women in Libya

The condition of women in many conflict affected societies – such as Iraq, Afghanistan, Sudan, Syria and Libya – shows just how women can lose many, if not all, of their constitutional and social rights during and/or after conflict at the hands of both old and new rulers (Al-Ali, 2005; Al-Ali&  Pratt, 2007; Hale, 2000).  Conflict and war, coupled with the rise of political Islam in the so called “Arab Spring” countries, further encouraged the prevalence and prolonging of sexualised and gender based violence to post-conflict periods. In addition to rape, sex-trafficking and forced-prostitution, the constitutionalisation or attempts to constitutionalise gender based violence against women and girls under religious guise, are characteristics of the conflict and post-conflict periods in Libya, Egypt, Syria and Tunisia. They are the less visible forms of sexualised and gender based abuse and violence. The constitutionalisation of marital rape, child marriage and denying women their sexual and reproductive rights, the confinement of women to the private sphere, the restriction of their movement, the mandatory dress code, and the diminishing of women’s, economic and political rights, these are all different forms of the gender based violence women and girls face under the militarised and theocratic rule.

The case of Afghanistan after the defeat of the Soviet Union at the hands of the Mujahidin and their American allies demonstrates how violence against women can take many forms, including constitutional gender discrimination, as Kandiyoti describes:

“The damage inflicted by Taliban decrees was extensive; whereas previously 70 per cent of teachers, almost half of civil servants and 40 per cent of doctors had been women, they were altogether banned from paid employment, including trade, and prohibited from leaving their homes without a mahram (an immediate male relative). For war widows who had become the sole breadwinners of their families, this meant levels of destitution that reduced many to begging or prostitution.” (Kandiyoti, 2005).

Armed conflicts and wars not only create a suitable climate for the continuation of sexual violence in transitional periods, but also encourage and create different forms of sexualised and gender based violence against women and girls.

The militarisation of the Libyan revolution was an indication of increase violence against women and men during and after the six months of the uprising. Sexual harassment in the streets, universities and workplace was/is accompanied by a widespread advocatory campaign for an Islamic dress-code mandate; publications and leaflets of images of what is claimed to be the Islamic dress for women have been disseminated in public offices, universities, hospitals and on the Internet.  Moreover, since the Islamic State (IS; ISIS; ISIL) declared its existence in Libya, the campaign of violence against women, and particularly women activists, has intensified.

On the 25th  June 2014 Salwa Bugaighis was assassinated in her home in Banghazi after she had participated in Libya’s general election; at the time Banghazi was a stronghold of Jihadist militants groups, Ansar Alsharia (an offshoot of Alqaida who pledged allegiance to ISIS in November 2014), claims responsibility for the killing campaign targeting the army, judges and activists. It is worth noting  that Salwa participated in many demonstrations against the armed militias and extremism in Banghazi and particularly, Ansar Alsharia.

On 18 July, Fariha Elbairkawi, a former member of the General National Congress was assassinated in her car in her home town Derna. Derna since 2011 became a strong hold of Ansar Alsharia.

S E, a third year medical student , was gunned down on 20th November 2014 in the Hay Alandalous area in Tripoli; eye witnesses said she was chased by a black car before five bullets were fired at her while driving. One bullet hit her head and consequently she lost control of her car and drove in to a wall. The same day, another woman was gunned down in the same area in Tripoli; both young women were driving their cars at the time of the shooting and had no head cover. These incidences came days after Ansar Alsharia, in Derna and Tripoli, pledged their allegiance to Islamic State (IS; ISIS; ISIL) Caliphate Albaghdadi; one cannot see such incident as  a coincidence when calls to prohibit women from driving in Derna were issued by Islamists since they declared Derna as an Islamic state back in May 2014, as activists from Darna confirmed .

The targeting of women and the campaign of terror launched by extremist to silence them has confined them to their homes and deprive them from basic human rights. This has been further encouraged by the situation in Tripoli today where the city became under the control of militias and their affiliates from the expired and dismantled GNC and their illegitimate government since July 2014. Such situation can be described as catastrophic with the outbreak of fighting, spread of killings and the brutal repression of human rights defenders and women.  Many activist, especially women, fled to neighbouring countries such as Tunisia and Egypt, where they face the unknown with no resources.

Conclusion

Gaddafi’s appropriation of religion and patriarchy deprived women from enjoying full and equal citizenship, and limited their participation and representation in the public sphere, thus created system of oppression Libyan women today are battling against its legacy. Four decades of systematic objectification of women during Gaddafi’s rule, whether as “emancipated” militarised sex objects, or broken victims of social patriarchal stigma and imprisoned in rehabilitation house elbate elegetimaa’i   with no rights and dignity, such systematic subjectification has its profound impact on women’s status today in post-Gaddafi Libya. To dismantle such system, women need to deconstruct Neo-patriarchy and its roots that are deeply entrenched in patriarchal values.

In February 2011, Libyan women risen against Gaddafi’s dictatorship hopping for a transformation that will bring the democracy and prosperity they long aspired. The sought of transformation that will end repression, poverty and inequality. What came after the over through of Gaddafi was far from what they aspired. In addition to violence and conflict, they witnessed the systematic relapse of their rights under religious guise. Today they face the same system of oppression if not worst.

Libyan women’s bodies and conducts became the marker of the new religious identity of the state. The appropriation of religion and kinship by the new forces for political gains compromised women’s rights. Conflict and war pushed women’s interest and right to the margin as less important than stability. Women activists today face exile or assassination. However, since 2011 Libyan women entered the public space and formed civil society groups in unprecedented number.  Throughout the uprising many women’s groups began to emerge in the form of charities. Their objectives were limited to relief work aimed at raising money for Libyan refugees in Tunisia and the fighters on the frontline.  However, after liberation in October 2011, these groups started to take shape and both their interests and identities began to form and crystallize.

During the four decades of Gaddafi’s rule, Libyan women did not enjoy any of their fundamental rights such as freedom of expression, the freedom to demonstrate, freedom of assembly, political parties and associations, or any of the elements that encompass civil society. This was due to the absence of the constitutional reference, in which the civil rights of the individual are defined and protected; Gaddafi demolished the old Libyan constitution after he seized power in 1969. Thus an autonomous civil society did not exist during Gaddafi’s rule and is still not unreservedly autonomous after the 2011 uprising.

Since the 2012 election and in spite of the 33 women in the GNC, women in Libya have lost much of what they gained under Gaddafi’s rule. Polygamy now is free of all the restrictions previously placed upon it, Libyan women are prohibited from marring non-Libyan men, the public sphere has become very hostile to women and the very few services for victims of gender-based violence have disappeared altogether. Women’s interests and needs have not been represented in the GNC and policy initiatives concerning family law and violence against women have not been debated or brought to the GNC’s attention by female members. Thus, the political representation of the GNC female members can be described as descriptive but not substantive representation. The factors by which such representation is shaped are related heavily to political Islam and the Islamization of Libyan society since the spread of the Islamic revival in the region in the last two decades of the last century. Ideologically, most women interviewed share the same religious beliefs regardless of their party affiliation. Furthermore, the majority of women in the GNC are in favour of complementarity (takamul) and not total equality (muswat) between men and women, mainly because of their particular understanding of Islam. They firmly believe that total equality is not Islamic and are thus reluctant to accept UN conventions such as CEDAW. This, however, has come about as a result of the fierce campaign against gender equality and the UN conventions initiated by political Islam forces since the 2012 election. None of the women members of the GNC lack agency, however the general attitude towards feminism and gender equality is shaped by the political Islam discourse. The emphasis on gender complementarity (takamul) in lieu of total gender equality (muswat) is central to political Islam’s gender discourse. Thus, women’s political representation is limited by Islamic orthodoxy as a frame of reference. This frame of reference has been reinforced through the Islamization of the collective consciousness of the whole society since the late eighties, but also by force of arms and terror in post-Gaddafi era. Moreover, the political Islam forces since the overthrow of Gaddafi are benefiting from their control of the armed groups. They silence their opponents by the use of violence, especially against women. Civil society and women’s NGOs received no help or support from the NTC or both interim governments, thus the help of the international development agencies was significant to their work prior to the election. The hard work and determination of women in civil society and the international pressure to include women in the political arena resulted in the unprecedented participation of Libyan women in the 2012 GNC election. The agenda of the international funders and development agencies is not clear and more research is needed in this area; their help after the election can be perceived as distracting to the effort to unite women, by causing a rivalry and a competitive attitude among women’s NGOs when they enter bids for funds. Moreover, many of the projects funded after the election did not reflect the urgent need of Libyan women at this stage of their struggle for equality. The outcome of the partnership between Libyan NGOs and international partners varies and depends on the level of awareness of Libyan women themselves. However, a strong and autonomist women’s movement is absent in the Libyan case and the climate created by the international development agencies’ involvement in Libya is one of the obstacles preventing the formation of an autonomous women’s movement.

Party affiliation is strongly noticeable in the political representation of the female members of the MB party. The identical answers of seven female members to all of my questions indicate a strong party affiliation. On the other hand, the 27 female NFC members of the GNC whom I interviewed demonstrate some diversity. From standing totally against gender equality and praising the Sudanese and Somali example of refusing CEDAW to the extreme contrast of full support for all UN conventions on human and women’s rights, these are all opinions and principles held by female members of the same political party. However, social conservatism has a profound impact on women’s political representation and notion of equality at the legislative level. Moreover, a secular feminist approach is widely rejected and, as evidenced by my findings, would divide women when unity is of the essence; any attempt to improve women’s condition in Libya today will only be successful through one path: a new Islamic discourse, which will challenge the traditional jurisprudence fiqh and remove its sacredness to allow a contemporary and egalitarian interpretation of Islam. In the Libyan case, only Islamic feminism holds the key to defeating the gendered dominant discourse of political Islamic. Moreover, Islamic feminist discourse rejects the male dominated and misogynistic interpretation of the Qur’an and argues that true Islam is compatible with gender equality (muswat). Such discourse will have an impact on women’s political representation in post-Gaddafi Libya if combined with an autonomous women’s movement, political opportunities and political will.

References

Al-Ali, N., 2012. ‘Gendering the Arab Spring’, Middle East Journal of Culture and Communication 5 (1). pp. 26-31.

Al-Ali, N. 2005. ‘Reconstructing Gender: Iraqi Women between Dictatorship, War, Sanctions and Occupation’, Third World Quarterly 26: 4: 733-752.

Al-Ali, N. and N. Pratt. 2009. What Kind of Liberation? Women and the Occupation of Iraq. University of California Press, Berkeley.

Cdalibya, 2014,  Constitution Drafting Assembly, Available at: http://www.cdalibya.org/assets/files/9_1_1419437993.pdf [Accessed 24 December 2014]

Hamzic, V. Mir-Hosseini, Z., 2010, Control and Sexuality: The Revival of Zina Law in Muslim Contexts, London: Women Living Under Muslim Laws.

HRW, 2012,  World Report: Libya, (Human Rights Watch: New York, January 2012), available at: http://www.hrw.org/sites/default/files/related_material/libya_2012.pdf [Accessed 20 April 2014]

HRW, 2011. Libya: Transitional Government Should Support Victims. HRW. Available at: http://www.hrw.org/news/2011/09/19/libya-transitional-government-should-support-victims [Accessed 20 August 2013]

Hosseini, Z., 1996. ‘Stretching the Limits: A Feminist Reading of the Shari’a in Post-Khomeini Iran’. In M. Yamani (ed.) Feminism and Islam: Legal and Literary Perspectives. Reading: London, Ithaca Press.

Hosseini. Z., 2009, Islam and Gender: the Religious Debate in Contemporary Iran, New York: I. B. Tauris & Co Ltd.

Kandiyoti, D. ed., 1991a, Women, Islam and the State, Philadelphia: Temple University Press.

Kandiyoti, D., 1991b, ‘Identity and its Discontents: Women and the Nation’, Millennium: Journal of International Studies 20: 3: 429-433.

Kandiyoti, D. ed., 1992. Introduction. Women, Islam and the State. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.

Kandiyoti, D . 1988. ‘Bargaining with Patriarchy’, Gender and Society. Vol. 2, No. 3, September.

Kandiyoti, D., 2005. The Politics of Gender and Reconstruction in Afghanistan. UNRISD Publication. Available at: www.unrisd.org/publications/opgp4 [Accessed 20 November 2012]

Jurasz, O., 2013, Women of the Revolution: The Future of Women’s Rights in Post-Gaddafi Libya. In: Panara, C., and Wilson, G., ed. 2013. The Arab Spring: New Patterns for Democracy and International Law. Nijhoff . Leiden: Martinus Nijhoff, pp. 123–144.

Report of the International Commission of Inquiry to investigate all alleged violations of international human rights law in the Libyan Arab Jamahiriya, (UN Human Rights Council: 1 June 2011), UN Doc. A/HRC/17/44, available at: http://www2.ohchr.org/english/bodies/hrcouncil/docs/17session/A.HRC.17.44_AUV.pdf (accessed 28 August 2014)

Tanasuh Foundation, 2013. Mo’atamar almara’a ila ien.Kalimat d Alsadiq Alghriani. Available at: <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyJAet2-1sI> [Accessed 9 March 2013]

Wueger, D. (2012). “Libya: Women Under Siege Project”, available at: http://www.womenundersiegeproject.org/conflicts/profile/libya [Accessed 2 September 2014]

Young, I. M. 2003. ‘The Logic of Masculinist Protection: Reflections on the Current Security State’, Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, vol. 29, no. 1, pp. 1-25.

Yuval-Davis, N. 1997. Gender and Nation. Sage, London.

Rym Quartsi

العربية | Français

The aim of this essay is to explore how women experienced violence in Algeria during the black decade (1992-1999)––a time of political and social turmoil––through the lens of the films that have emerged in the period since. The black decade designates the period of violence that took place in Algeria after the dissolution of parliament and cancellation of elections in 1991. The conflict between armed Islamist groups and the Algerian army led to the assassination of civilians, intellectuals, and the displacement and exile of the population.  More specifically, this essay is an attempt to explore how these Algerian films depict violence in relation to gender and how they utilise language as a symbol of ideology.

Although films are shaped by a director’s subjectivity and by constraints of materials and time, they are also determined by the culture that produces them. Films often form part of the social narrative of a given period in history and offer a lens through which to analyse the impact of significant events. The dismantlement of state structures that financed filmmaking, coupled with the unstable situation––violence in Algeria, death threats towards filmmakers and actors–– resulted in a dearth of film production during the 1990s. So few images of the conflict were presented in the Algerian media, that the historian Benjamin Stora described it as a ‘war without images’.[1] However, the resurgence of Algerian cinema after the black decade has coincided with the emergence of female filmmakers and films that pay more attention to the situation of women, contemporary issues and post-war trauma.

From the films produced after the black decade, I have selected three that range in both period and cultural setting: Le Harem de Madame Osmane (2000, Dir. Nadir Moknèche), Rachida (2002, Dir. Yamina Bachir Chouikh) and Barakat! (2006, Dir. Djamila Sahraoui). Co-produced by French production companies, Rachida and Barakat! received Algerian state funding, and all feature women as protagonists. Each film is written and spoken in a different language: French, colloquial Arabic (darija) and a mixture of darija and French. My questions are: what is the role of language in each film? Does the use of language shape the way the film engages with gender, violence, and power relations? What does language bring to the characterization of the protagonists in each of these films?

Importantly, these films not only deal with the 1990s but in the cases of Le Harem de Madame Osmane and Barakat!, they also draw on the nation’s colonial past through the figures of the mujahidates––women who took part in the Algerian liberation movement against French colonial power (1954-1962).[2]  I shall question how these events are remembered and expressed and the role language plays in doing so. Scholar Abdelkader Cheref observes that women’s movements were the only ones that could challenge both Islamists and the governing power during the black decade.[3] I will explore how they are seen to do this as both writers and protagonists in the films I have chosen and, in doing so, how they use language to respond to their situations. Before I am able to do so, however, it is necessary briefly to outline the on-going debates around language in Algeria.

Language became a means of constructing national identity in post-independence Algeria. The politics of nation-building introduced after independence (1962) drew on the pre-colonial history of Algeria as an Arab and Muslim country: Modern Standard Arabic (a modern variant of Classical Arabic) became the official language, and Islam the state’s religion. The aim of promoting Arabic and Islam was twofold: to inscribe Algeria within the pan-Arabic nation––a political alliance of Arab nations––and demonstrate that Algerians had regained power over the French colonial rule when the Arabic language was marginalized––although there were moments in history where French schools taught Arabic (as a foreign language).[4] The politics of enforcing Modern Standard Arabic in public administration, schools and the media was known as Arabisation and was intensified over the decades through official texts. Arabisation also became an act of political expedience. For sociolinguist Mohamed Benrabah, Arabisation was furthered by various Algerian governments who sought alliances from pro-Arabisation hardliners to counter the politically influential Francophone elite.[5]

Establishing a unified language, as a core preoccupation of nationalism, also went beyond expelling traces of colonialism. Sociolinguist Catherine Miller argues that Algerian governments, post-independence, set more importance on annihilating local languages than foreign, colonial languages.[6] Non-Arabic languages were not considered part of the post-independent national identity.Even film directors had to conform to Arabisation and post-independence films, in the 1970s, used Modern Standard Arabic. Cultural artists, particularly Algerian novelists––such as Kateb Yacine, Assia Djebar, Rachid Boudjedra––made use of the diversity of languages to challenge the monolithic state authority, monolinguism, and the myths of nation-building. Similarly, Algerian filmmakers used language to investigate national identity and cinema, therefore asserting that nationhood is not linked to one language. In view of the ties between language and national identity, the survey of the three films will expose how language was used in films to resist violence during the black decade.

I.       Rachida: Darija and National Identity 

Rachida is the first feature film of Bachir-Chouikh who wrote and edited the film. Rachida received both national and international attention as it documented the era of the 1990s when bomb attacks had increased in frequency and the population lived in terror. Rachida circulated in international film festivals such as Cannes and won the Satyajit Ray award at the London Film Festival in 2002.  The film was released in 2002, in Algeria and France, and attracted approximately 60,000 spectators in Algeria and 125,000 in France.[7] The number of 60, 000 is quite high, given that fewer than ten cinemas were open in 2002. Bachir-Chouikh stated that Algerian audiences were moved by the Rachida because it described the events they had lived through, something that had not happened since The Battle of Algiers (1966).

Bachir-Chouikh, born in 1954, attended the short-lived Algerian National School of Cinema and began her career as a script supervisor on two Algerian features: the big hit Omar Gatlato (1976, Dir. Merzak Allouache) and Wind of the South (1982, Dir. Mohammed Lakhdar-Hamina).[8] It is worth noting that Omar Gatlato is one of the first films in darija; the film did not use Standard Arabic, thus going against the practice recommended by the State authorities. Rachida too is mainly in darija.

The story is inspired by a real-life event: the death in the Algiers Casbah of a teacher, Zakia Guessab, who was assassinated after she refused to place a bomb in her school.[9] The protagonist, Rachida, lives in a working class area of Algiers, with her divorced mother. One scene illustrates that she has no money to buy imported shoes; nonetheless we see that she does not lack nationalist moral fibre, as she aims to buy only Algerian shoes! On her way to the elementary school where she is a teacher, Rachida is threatened with a gun by a group of adolescents. The group asks her to place a bomb in the school. Rachida categorically refuses and is then shot, leaving her almost dead on the street. Amongst her attackers she recognized a former pupil. After she recovers, Rachida leaves Algiers and hides with her mother in a remote village where she eventually obtains a job at the neighbouring school. Once in the village, Rachida has to recover from the traumatic event she experienced: she often sits and rocks her head, listens to music, and has nightmares involving terrorist attacks. At the end of the film, the events repeat themselves; the terrorists raid a wedding, women are kidnapped, and people are killed.

Bachir-Couikh struggled to arrange financing, and spent five years gathering the necessary funds. The film was in the end largely funded by French-German television Arte, the Gan Insurance foundation and received some funding from the Algerian Ministry of Culture and Communication.[10] Bachir-Chouikh stressed that the same script was both presented to the Algerian committee for funding and to foreign funding bodies, which is to say, the script was neither censored nor modified to conform to particular funders’ expectations.

Bachir-Chouikh presented her film as an attempt to depict the violence ordinary women lived through. She meant to portray the life of the ‘simple and poor’, those who experienced terrorism but were not acknowledged in the media. She chose women to be the protagonist on the ground that: ‘women are the ones who give life, not death’.[11]  Rachida was criticised by Algerian journalists such as Yacine Idjer, who considered the film to bear an over-simplified, stereotyped view of the Algerian situation at the time of the events.[12] Arabic-language Algerian newspaper Al Hiwar also criticized Chouikh’s film on the grounds that it depicted a distorted image of Algeria: the unemployment and marginalization of the youth, the failure of the state to protect the poor and vulnerable, and the situation of women who are seen as victims of the patriarchy.[13] Al Hiwar journalist argued that Chouikh is influenced by a ‘Western’ vision of the woman and disrespects Algerian values.[14] Nonetheless, the events presented within the village delineate the ways in which women and men endured violence during the black decade and gained international attention.

I shall now focus on two scenes that illustrate the use of language, and I shall offer further insights into how Rachida uses language to negotiate her way out of the violence she lived and the trauma she continues to endure. The first scene shows Rachida being asked by her pupils whether Algiers really is the ‘white city’ [in Arabic and in French Algiers is referred to by names which translate literally as Alger la Blanche]. She replies––presumably thinking of the association of whiteness with purity––that a country or a city will be white the day the people can live freely, fearlessly and with dignity.[15] Rachida addresses her pupils dynamically; the camera follows her as she moves and talks. The long shot embraces the classroom, and she is filmed from behind, focusing the audience on the rapt expression of the pupils as they listen to her. The camera movement enhances the feeling of intimate dialogue: she is sharing her thoughts and moves physically as her ideas are imparted. When the camera stops, Rachida resumes her activity as a teacher and begin asking for her pupil’s names in the usual manner of teacher taking a class register.

Scholar Abdulkafi Albirini argues that Standard Arabic is the language that brings ‘seriousness and importance to a topic’ whereas darija is the language that is ‘used for narration and giving concrete examples’.[16] However, Rachida reverses this statement and uses darija to convey ideological views. Prior to this scene, Rachida is introduced by a male schoolteacher. He clearly makes use of Modern Standard Arabic to warn the children that they will be punished if Rachida is given cause to complain about them. The association of Modern Standard Arabic with punishment and masculine authority contrasts with the way in which Rachida addresses her pupils and invites them to ask questions in the following scene. An association is made between darija and a gentler more sympathetic approach to education. The use of darija also brings to the scene a sense of verisimilitude since it is the everyday language used at home and outside school. The use of darija therefore creates proximity not only with the pupils but also with the Algerian viewer, and makes it clear that Rachida’s use of darija is an active choice.

The second scene contrasts Rachida with another female teacher. The teacher is filmed approaching Rachida and kneels to face her. A medium reverse-shot brings more intensity to the discussion they have. The teacher asks Rachida in darija whether she is married. A close up enhances the severe expression of the teacher as she asks: ‘why don’t you wear the hijab (the veil)?’. Rachida replies humorously that the doctor did not recommend it. The teacher is outraged that a doctor is given more authority than God, and cites a Koranic holy expression. Rachida replies with another Koranic verse thus demonstrating her mastery of Classical Arabic and Islamic precepts.

The use of darija in the scene initiates the dialogue with Rachida and gives a ‘natural’ turn to the discussion, though one nonetheless ideologically charged. However, when her use of darija fails to achieve the desired effect on Rachida, the colleague attempt to assert superiority by using Modern Standard Arabic instead, to quote religious verses at her. Rachida is conscious of the assertions implicit in her colleague’s use of Modern Standard Arabic and replies to her, in turn, using Modern Standard Arabic. The second scene is highly contentious and was criticised by the Arabic newspaper Al Hiwar for illustrating through Rachida’s rejection of the veil Bachir-Chouikh’s attachment to Western values.

The veiling of women was a political and religious stance taken by both the Islamic parties and, later, the armed Islamist parties: un-veiled women were associated with a lack of moral values and ‘real Muslim’ women had to veil in order to abide by Islamic laws and protect themselves from men’s gaze.[18] Rachida’s female colleague associates marriage and veiling with good morals and the preservation of female honour. She confirms that veiling corresponds to ‘modesty, obedience, sexual probity, conformity’ and that all these ‘qualities’ are ‘expressed publicly and overtly when [the veil is] worn’.[19] The female colleague interiorized and reproduced a discourse about the hijab. She also uses a rhetorical discourse to pressure Rachida and mixes darija with Modern Standard Arabic. The scene illustrates ideological antagonisms between women, who may nonetheless be fellow darija-speakers. There is no clear linguistic division, therefore, between representatives of opposing political ideologies. The discussion in this scene highlights the moral views of the female teacher and is informative of the village life. The depiction of village life brings under scrutiny gender relations, sexual tensions and patriarchal values: women need to preserve their virginity before marriage, almost all women are veiled, and a segregation of space between men and women is enforced.

Fatma, Rachida’s mother, who is also veiled, does not pressure Rachida into veiling. Fatma uses language and music to reassure her daughter and live through terror. While the actress who played Rachida (Ibtissem Djaoudi) was unknown to the Algerian public––she was still a student at the National Drama Centre––the actress who played her mother Fatma (Bahia Rachedi) was, to Algerian audiences, well known. Rachedi appeared in numerous popular television series and films, presented a famous cooking program, and was also part of the National Television Orchestra, as a singer, for thirty years. Journalist Yasmine Ben even named her ‘la gentille maman’ (the kind mother) because she was often cast in the role of loving, devoted mother.[20]

Rachedi is primarily a television star and conforms to James Bennett’s description of the television ‘personality’ as someone who cultivates a “televisual” image.[21] Bennett points to the ‘authenticity and ordinariness’ of the television star that produces ‘the confusion between the television personality-as-person and the televisual image’.[22] The character of Fatma is what one might call a classic Rachedi role and exemplifies many features of the actress’s own public persona. Fatma is pious to the point that she never misses prayer, and she questions how Islamist terrorists could really be Muslims. She uses humor, proverbs in darija and traditional Algerian popular wisdom to reassure and comfort her daughter.

Fatma often sings popular music that would be immediately recognizable to an Algerian audience. Her songs are derived from chaabi (Algerian traditional popular music) and hawzi music. Hawzi is soft music often characterized by lyrics that express suffering. It originates from northwest Algeria (Tlemcen) and is sung in its native dialect. Rachida often listens to Cheb Hasni, a popular rai singer who was assassinated during the black decade. Rai makes use of code switching between darija and French, and the songs often mix erotic content with stories of life’s dissatisfactions. Rai was first banned by the Algerian state media in the 1980s then condemned as amoral by the Islamists.[23]

Darija and music become the healing balm through which the mother’s love is communicated. Music allows Rachida and Fatma to escape the present and the situation they live in and opens moments of breathing space for them. Music also brings emotional resonance. The choice of diegetic and non-diegetic music that both refer to, or evoke, Algerian dialect(s), combined with the use of darija, root the film in the everyday landscape and customs of Algeria. Moreover, it aims at building upon cultural practices of Algerians who use darija, and resist the political and religious discourse of fundamentalism.

Rachida awakens into political consciousness as the film progresses. She angrily accuses the state of hogra: a politically charged common North African word, in darija, used to express resentment towards institutional power. Rachida also rejects the project of national reconciliation: she questions ‘how [one is] to forgive if those who tried to kill you did not ask for your forgiveness’.  By the end of the film, Rachida is more the symbol or mouthpiece of an ‘idea’ than she is a fully formed human being. The way the character is filmed, through medium and long shots, with few close-ups, and few scenes filmed from her point of view, creates a distance between the viewer and Rachida. Indeed the scenes in which she appears most angry or traumatised are shot from another protagonist’s point of view. The last scene however is a close up on Rachida’s face: following a terrorist massacre of local people, she returns to school and writes ‘today’s lesson’ on the blackboard before looking defiantly into the camera. In this moment she completes her symbolic journey, finding a new home––and sense of purpose––in the school itself. The film does not challenge linguistic policies in Algeria but implies that the Algerian situation will change through women, education and schooling.

II.       Barakat! Can we (women) speak to them (terrorists)?

Barakat! is Sahraoui’s first fiction drama. Sahraoui (born in 1950) studied filmmaking and editing at IDHEC (the French Film Institute) and produced six documentaries, some of which dealt with life in Algeria during and after the black decade: La Moitié du ciel d’Allah (1995), which is a feminist documentary about mujahidates and other women resisting terrorism; Algérie, la vie quand même (1998), which is concerned with youth unemployment in a Kabyle village and contains interviews with young people in the Berber language Amazigh; and Algérie, la vie toujours (2001), which explores life in a Kabyle village following the black decade.[25] Sahraoui co-wrote Barakat! with Cécile Vargaftig, a French script-writer and author. The film was mainly funded by French-German television Arte, and received little funding from the National Algerian Television. Sahraoui, like Bachir-Chouikh, intended the film to dispel image of Algerian women as ‘imprisoned, subservient women, as one sees so often in Algerian films’.[26]

The title Barakat! ––meaning ‘enough!’in darija–– is closely associated with two different protest movements. One of these (Sebaa Snine Barakat! Seven years are enough!) emerged soon after independence in 1962 and was a response to a period of murderous political conflict.[27] The other known simply as Barakat was the protest movement led by a female doctor that opposed the re-election of President Abdelaaziz Bouteflika in 2014. To add yet more resonance to the name, 20 Ans Barakat is also a women’s association in France and Algeria that calls for an ending to the Algerian family Code (1984).

Barakat! recounts the journey of Amel (actress Rachida Brakni) who is searching for her kidnapped husband. Amel is a doctor who lives on the outskirts of Algiers by the coast. Discussions at the hospital indicate that he had written a remarkable article on the Islamist terrorists. Amel embarks on her journey with the nurse Khadija (actress Fettouma Bouamari) after her neighbour, a mechanic, has indicated that her husband is to be found in the nearby maquis (bush terrain).[28] A former mujahida, Khadija takes with her a gun and a haïk––a traditional outfit that veils the body and recalls the disguises used by women and men during the Algerian war. Both Amel and Khadija set out walking into the maquis but are soon kidnapped by terrorists. Khadija recognizes one of the terrorists, with whom she converses in French and darija. He was a mujahid––male combatant during the Algeria war of liberation–– whose life she saved by nursing him after an attack by the French in which he was severely wounded. The mujahid became a pious man, but also part of the terrorist group. After the terrorists release Amel and Khadija, the women continue walking until they encounter an old man living in an isolated house who gives them a lift home on his horse-drawn carriage. The old man who lives on his own had his sons disappeared. Back at her house, Amel and Khadija suspect the neighbour and find Amel’s husband in his garage. At the end of the film Khadija and the old man are by the sea and enjoy a sense of freedom, both shouting ‘Barakat!’ after the old man has thrown Amel’s gun into the sea.

The film presents an encounter between two women who overcome violence and learn to know each other while venting their fear, anger and thoughts about the situation they face. It is also a cross-generational encounter between two actresses notorious for their political commitments: Rachida Brakni a young French star with Algerian origins and Fettouma Bouamari, an Algerian actress who moved to France during the terrorist era. Barakat! circulated in international festivals and won the best film award at Dubai Film Festival in 2007, and multiple awards such as best first feature, best music and best screenplay at the Pan African Film and Television Festival in Ougadougou (FESPACO) in 2007. The international awards did not coincide with the press reception in Algeria. Algerian Arabic-speaking and French speaking journalists generally agreed that Barakat! was a technically mediocre film and that the awards were given in virtue of its intellectual audacity rather than the artistic accomplishment of the work.[29] The debate in the Algerian newspapers was concerned with the image of the nation that the film presented. French and Arabic speaking newspapers vehemently attacked the film because it tarnishes the image of the mujahidin by linking them to terrorists. [30] Algeria’s national narrative relies on the events of the glorious war and the actions of the mujahidin in defeating the colonial power. It is interesting to notice that these press reviews ignored the role played by the mujahidates during the war. For journalist Fatiha Bourouina the film distorts the image of the Algerian nation by suggesting that the state was incapable of protecting the population.[31] The film also undermines the state’s image by asking the question ‘qui-tue-qui?’ (who kills who?). [32] This question recurred during the black decade in the French media because the Algerian army was suspected of taking part in terrorist acts.

Arabic-speaking Algerian newspapers did not discuss the use of French language in the film. Journalist Hind O, writing in a Francophone newspaper, argued that French funding imposed the use of French language otherwise how one can explain that a young thug speaks French.[33] In an interview, Sahraoui justified the use of French and darija since it reflects Algerian reality.[34] French-writing journalist Yacin Idjer, argued that having 80 percent of the dialogue in French damaged the authenticity of the film.[35] In his view, the narrative distorts reality by depicting two women walking on their own without fear of terrorists, Khadija smoking freely in the street, and Amel fearlessly threatening men with a gun in a coffee place.[36] Algerian journalists persistently criticized Khadija’s smoking on the street as if women’s smoking was an emancipatory act.[37] Although smoking may not be emancipatory, and Barakat! is a fiction, it is still striking the extent to which journalists reproduced in their writing a set of orthodox moral judgments about women smoking.

Amel and Khadija’s journey is visually enhanced by the film’s sound track and long shots that depict the beauty of nature: the sea, the maquis, and the mountainous roads. The contrast between the beauty of the landscape and the tragic events is heightened by the music. Throughout the film the oud (luth) of Alla is heard. Alla is an Algerian musician who was rediscovered in the 1970s when Algerian television broadcast his tunes. Alla invented hybrid music, the ‘foundou’ mixing Arabic and African rhythms.[38] Foundou expresses the suffering of the poor. In the film, Alla’s music is used to enhance moments of anxiety and doubt when Khadija and Amel are on their journey.

When Amel and Khadija are exploring the maquis they converse by means of code-switching, mixing darija and French. Code switching allows Amel and Khadija a certain freedom of speech: they resist the violence that is inflicted on them by terrorists instead speaking freely and crudely. Monica Heller considers code switching as one of the usual modes of speaking as it becomes adopted and practised by speakers, so code switching becomes a ‘normal way to talk’. [39] Furthermore, code switching, in Heller’s view, allows the speaker to access ‘multiple roles and relationships’.[40] I shall analyse how the protagonists use code switching to reverse power roles, and how code switching transcends generations, as we see when it becomes a common language between Amel the doctor who was raised in post-independence Algeria and Khadija who fought the French and uses darija and French language.

In one scene where Amel and Khadija are walking, code switching enables a change in their power relations. Amel expresses her anger towards Khadija in French, using the word ‘bricolage’ to suggest, critically, that the work done by Khadija’s generation during the war was just hastily thrown together. Khadija replies that without the ‘bricolage’, Amel’s generation would still be shining the shoes of the French (coloniser). However, Amel feels that, considering the escalation in terrorist activity, it might be better still to be a French colony. She describes the two situations as a choice between cholera and the plague.

One other scene allows Khadija to freely express, using darija and French, her views on gender relations impregnated with fundamentalist views. Khadija mentions to Amel that Amel’s neighbor never looks directly at her. He considers Amel as ‘aaryana’ (naked in darija) because she is not veiled, a dualistic view of the female body shared by both men and women in Algeria. As the scholar Anne-Emmanuelle Berger writes, a study conducted amongst female Algerian students showed that to most of them the female body only exists in two possible states: ‘naked’ or ‘veiled’.[41] She comments that, for these girls, the ‘Islamist garment being instituted as the criterion of resemblance and difference between women’.[42] Khadija’s disapproval of the neighbour’s views is to be understood in relation to her past as a mujahida. The neighbor posits himself as a moral authority but the name mujahida itself infused with religious meaning: it is an Arabic name derived from jihad associated with a war in the name of God. Khadija’s use of the haïk in a previous scene also confirms her awareness of the use of the veil as a disguise and not only as a guarantor of moral behaviors, stating, while dressing with the haïk: ‘ils veulent de la respectabilité, eh bien ils vont l’avoir’ (‘they [the terrorists] want respectability, then they will have it’). She therefore denounces, through the use of crude language, society’s hypocrisy towards unveiled women, although she is a mujahida.

The haïk is also symbolic of the anti-colonial struggle, being the very means by which, as Frantz Fanon argued, women resisted colonial power.[43] However, not all Algerian women accept the haïk as a ‘proper’ traditional veil. Berger remarks that girls wearing the hijab disregarded the haïk as a symbol of pre-colonial Algeria and of the Turkish presence.[44] The hijab was perceived as more compliant with the girls’ aspirations to be authentic Muslims because it was imported from the Middle East and had no connection to Algeria’s pre-colonial history.[45]

The film indicates also that terrorists were not only Islamists with strong religious ideology but encompassed mujahidin and  ‘ordinary’ people, such as the mechanic. The description of the terrorists echoes also that of Rachida: they are described as young adolescents dressed in western outfits who do not seem aware of their goals, or the ideologies they support. Standard Arabic is absent from the vocabulary of the terrorists. In this way, the film implies that it would be a mistake to see the conflict of the black decade as one between Islamists Arabophones and secular Francophones. The use of code witching therefore becomes a common language between women and the terrorists, but is ideologically used in different ways.

The film suggests that code switching is the sole ‘language’ spoken in Algeria and understood by all protagonists, and as such the legitimate language of Algeria that is also able to encompass antagonistic ideologies. Code switching thus points more to different socio-political affiliations. The film, however, implies that the use of the French language was the reason why Amel’s husband was kidnapped. Amel cannot understand why the Islamists would kidnap her husband, since they do not read French.

The symbolism of the French language became a recurring theme of the Islamists’ discourse, even before violence erupted. Gilles Kepel states that Ali Benhadj, one of the FIS (Front Islamique du Salut) political leaders, wanted to remove the French presence ‘intellectually and ideologically’, and that the state itself was a ‘Westernized entity’.[46] Amel’s husband seems to be an opponent of the Islamists, as he is a Francophone journalist, although the content of his article is not disclosed. Amel’s husband conforms to the idea of the Francophone intellectual who fights Islamists’ views. The film accentuates the dichotomy between Arabophone––Arabic speaking–– and Francophone intellectuals.[47] Scholar Lahouari Addi suggests that Francophone intellectuals aim to attack the traditional structures of society while Arabophones are more critical of the state and less so of society. Arabophones aim at ‘extracting the cultural and political perversions introduced by the West’.[48] Addi notes that the involvement of Francophone elites in political life only resulted in a disconnection form the people.[49] Addi indicates that the assassination of Francophone intellectuals during the black decade did not lead to anger or despair amongst the population, and this indicates how little impact Francophone intellectuals had in public life.[50]

Sahraoui has inscribed Barakat! in the continuity of her previous documentary works where she explored the situation Algerian women lived. Barakat! is concerned with more than merely the actions of intellectuals; it questions the disconnection between men and women in society and plausibly suggests that women are the only ones who are resisting Islamists. However, not all women are capable of resisting Islamists, only determined, independent idealists such as Khadija and Amel, who value their freedom. The disconnection, however, between the old and new generation of women is visible in the way Khadija still defends her national ideals while Amel doubts the state’s actions and language does not act as a unifier in this instance.

III.       Le Harem de Madame Osmane, gender, French language and power: a “natural” link?

The film is conceived as a huis clos of women and Moknèche makes distinctive use of space by confining the protagonists to only a few locations within a limited area.[52] The title of the film even alludes to the space in which Madame Osmane controls the women of the house, the harem.[53] The film, shot on location in Morocco making use of the natural lightening, multiplies the use of close-ups: it enhances the protagonists’ emotions and accentuates the closeness of on-screen visual space. Only one long shot by the sea, brings a space of breathing for the protagonists, they can dance and move freely.

While these women live under the curfew and the surveillance of Madame Osmane, Sakina (Madame Osmane’s daughter) escapes with the tenant Yasmine to go out and vent their frustrations after tensions occurred during a wedding attended by all the women of the house. At the wedding, Madame Osmane met the mother of Sakina’s fiancé and cancelled the engagement because the mother is part of a lower social class. Yasmine, a French-born Algerian, has discovered at the wedding that her husband has a second wife and a son. At the end of the film Sakina dies, shot at a faux barrage–– a checkpoint established by terrorists. However Madame Osmane believes that her daughter was in fact shot by the military at the checkpoint. Madame Osmane’s husband, who left for France, comes back to bury his daughter.

As a mujahida, Madame Osmane does not conform to the nationally constructed myth of mujahidates. Historian Ryme Seferdjeli describes how the mujahidates are portrayed as a ‘monolithic group in contrast to male combatants and reduced to the status of a single female figure who is defined almost exclusively by her gender and nationalist identity’.[54] Madame Osmane is a bourgeois figure who trades on her status and privileges as a mujahida to acquire wealth. She is only concerned with money, property, and seems to be far removed from national concerns.[55] Madame Osmane’s husband, a mujahid, a man she chose to marry while she was fighting, leaves her and chooses France, the nation that they were fighting against. The husband’s betrayal is twofold: he betrays Madame Osmane, his wife, and also his nation in order to join his mistress––France. He also represents the elite who were able to leave for France when terrorism erupted and were granted a visa, which was difficult at that time since France restricted the access to its territory only favouring business men and members of the nomenklatura.[56]

Madame Osmane perceives herself as being from a higher social class and this is reflected in the way she talks about the mother of her daughter’s fiancé. She speaks about her with contempt because she is a traditional woman, in a traditional outfit, and has a washm––a traditional tattoo that old women used to have.[57] The irony is that the tattoo is dismissed, both by Islamists as not complying with Islamic precepts that forbid any symbols (many of the tattoos are crosses), and by modernists, who view it as inscribed in old traditions. It cannot be said that Madame Osmane is a modernist. She is a conservative figure who disapproves of inter-class marriage. She even warns Yasmine against returning to France where she would have a lower social status than in Algeria: ‘tu vas faire quoi? Caissière?’ (What will you do? Cashier?).

French, in the film, is therefore associated with urban upper-middle class women who use it for socialisation and as a social marker.[58]

The final scene, that I will discuss, is a pertinent illustration of the relationships between gender, language and violence. Army officials bring Sakina’s coffin to the house. The shot is positioned from outside the house, from the location where the coffin is laid on the ground. The bright sun is juxtaposed with the tragic situation. One of the officials asks if this is Bouchama’s house (Bouchama is Madame Osmane’s husband’s name), and the maid Meriem replies: ‘non, ici c’est la maison Osmane’ (no, this is Osmane’s house). The official reads the statement about Sakina’s death, as a medium long shot displays the characters: the inhabitants of the house are gathered on one side, standing by the door; Madame Osmane’s husband stands on the other side, on the road, with the military officials––which implies that he is on ‘their side’. This is confirmed when Madame Osmane’s husband signs the death certificate of his daughter, which validates the official version of Sakina’s death: that the terrorists murdered her. Madame Osmane dismisses this version and accuses her husband of cowardice. She suggests that the military have the power to re-construct the facts to which her husband is subservient. The aforementioned panning is the only medium close-up in which Moknèche privileges male presence. In subsequent shots, men are disregarded, relegated to a second plane and are gradually removed from the frame space, pushed to its margins. Madame Osmane decides she wants to open the coffin but the State representatives refuse to let her; she threatens them with her gun, shouting in French: ‘vous êtes des bourricots’ (you are donkeys), and then fires her gun into the air.[59]

In this final scene Madame Osmane users language to impose her authority, accompanied by her act of firing the gun. Moknèche gives Madame Osmane total control of the space outside the house, and she rallies her tenants to her side. Madame Osmane resurrects her mujahida past in an unexpected way: both the gun and the French language are left over from the colonial period, which is also the anti-colonial period; and she uses both to liberate herself from the power of the Algerian authorities and from the diktat of her husband. And of course, Moknèche may be said to use French in the same way: the film has almost no trace of Standard Arabic or darija, and the film uses French as a common language that reconnects the present with the colonial past.

IV.       Conclusion: what did our ‘mothers’ do?

 The three films analysed in this essay expose contrasting experiences, perceptions and subjectivities in relation to the violence women endured during the black decade. Sociolinguist Reem Bassiouney remarks that in times of conflict linguistic ideologies are used as ‘political, religious or social weapons’.[60] Bassiouney’s remark is key to the study of these films: the use of language carries ideological implications in relation to the black decade narrative. The exclusion of Modern Standard Arabic in the films marks an ideological posture: these films distance themselves from the official language and also from the official narrative. The three films construct an alternative narrative that is grounded in their use of different languages: French, darija and combinations of the two, are deployed in such a way as to communicate the particular experiences of women dealing with violence.

The use of French by women corresponds with greater power for women and freedom from both state and patriarchal power, while the use of darija leaves women subject to the situation in which they live. In Le Harem de Madame Osmane French allows Madame Osmane to assert power––Arabic is absent from the film. French is also associated with higher social status and more liberal, western manners. However, exclusive use of French also serves as a marker of cultural and ideological separateness as Le Harem de Madame Osmane depicts the division of Algeria along parallel lines of class and language. Violence is not acknowledged at the beginning of Le Harem de Madame Osmane; it is only at the end that Madame Osmane becomes conscious of the situation and rejects the official state account of her daughter’s death. The use of French paradoxically reinforces the mujahida figure, which, in Le Harem de Madame Osmane and Barakat!, is presented as a strong, determined, and independent woman.

The use of darija anchors the film in authenticity, as if the use of darija alone were a guarantee of the truthfulness of the film’s events. However, Rachida is barred from asserting power: darija only allows her to assert her identity, her ideology and her Algerian-ness. Code switching––the mixing of the two un-official languages, darija and French––becomes a language in itself, one that is capable of encompassing antagonistic ideologies and transcending social classes. Just as Moknèche observed that French is an Algerian language, so the same can be said about code switching.

The three films construct an image of the Algerian woman who has stood against Islamists, an image which, prior to these films, the French media was primarily responsible for disseminating. French publishers edited books that described women’s experiences with Islamists and debates and TV channels organized discussions with Algerian women about their experiences during the black decade. The films indicate that women criticized the state’s actions and accentuate the idea that women and Islamists were in ‘diametric opposition’, but the reality was and is more complex.[61] Fériel Lalami-Fatès posits that, in resisting the Islamists, women’s associations were co-opted by the state and made to renounce their ideals, becoming less critical of the state’s actions.[62] An Islamic feminist movement has risen in the 1990s, and women supported the political ideologies of the Islamic Party. These films scarcely recognise that some women were favourably disposed towards Islamist views. Only perhaps the woman of the hijab in Rachida is seen to represent this point of view.

The three films also question the future of Algeria and ask what did the ‘mothers’ leave to their ‘daughters’? In Le Harem de Madame Osmane, the daughter dies and this is only the beginning of the tragedy to come for Algeria. As such Le Harem de Madame Osmane suggests a dim future for Algeria. Rachida recovers an identity and makes use of her mother’s past experiences, but she is the one who will reconstruct the future while her mother remains marginalized. In Barakat!, however, the mother figure is still present and she is the one who will continue the fight and inspire her daughter figure, Amel, suggesting perhaps that the situation will improve if the younger generation of women is able

[1] Benjamin Stora, La Guerre invisible: Algérie, années 90 (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po: 2001), p. 7.

[2] Mujahidates were nurses, messengers or posed bombs in urban areas such as cafes.

[3] Abdelkader Cheref, ‘Engendering or Endangering Politics in Algeria? Salima Ghezali, Louisa Hanoune, and Khalida Messaoudi’, Journal of Middle East Women’s Studies, 2 (2006), 60-85 (p. 68).

[4] Pan-Arabism was a cultural and political project aimed at unifying the Arab countries. The project was furthered by Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser in the 1950s who equated pan Arabism with Arab nationalism, and promoted the political union of Arab states.

[5] Mohamed Benrabah, Language Conflict in Algeria: From colonialism to post-independence (Bristol: Multilingual Matters, 2013), p. 383.

[6] Catherine Miller, ‘Linguistic Policies and the Issue of Ethno-Linguistic Minorities in the Middle East’, in Islam in the Middle East Studies: Muslims and Minorities, ed. by Akira, Usuki and Hiroshi Kato (Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology, 2003), pp. 149–174 (p.150).

[7] Cheira Belguellaoui, ‘Contemporary Algerian Filmmaking: From ‘Cinéma National’ to ‘Cinéma De L’urgence'(Mohamed Chouikh, Merzak Allouache, Yamina Bachir-Chouikh, Nadir Moknèche)’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, Florida State University, 2007), p. 134.

[8] Both films were popular successes upon their release in Algeria, particularly Omar Gatlato since it described the everyday life of a group of young men, and the film used the specific dialect of Algiers. Omar Gatlato attracted over a million of viewers in 1976. Director Lahkhdar Hamina won the Cannes film festival in 1975 and his second feature received international awards.

[9] During the black decade the Casbah of Algiers was the place of many terrorist attacks but also the place where Islamists were hiding. This is reminiscent of the anti-colonial struggle when the combatants hid in the Casbah, especially during the ‘Battle of Algiers’.

[10] <http://www.euromedcafe.org/interview.asp?lang=ing&documentID=696 > [accessed 12 December 2014], < http://ar.qantara.de/content/mqbl-m-lmkhrj-ymyn-bshyr-shwykh-lkl-tryqth-lkhs-fy-ltml-m-lkhsr-wlhzn> [accessed 12 December 2014].

[11] Olivier Barlet, ‘Interview with Yamina Bachir-Chouikh’, Africultures, 26 September 2002, <http://www.africultures.com/php/index.php?nav=article&no=5607#sthash.UGA9WMCm.dpuf> [accessed 12 December 2014].

[12] Yacine Idjer, ‘Cinémathèque  Rachida, un autre regard sur le film’, Info Soir, 05 August 2003 <http://www.djazairess.com/fr/infosoir/1751> [accessed 25 January 2015]

[13] ‘Sourat’ Al Maraa fi film Rachida  dalala similogia’ (The image of the woman in the film Rachida: semiology of a symbol’),  Al Hiwar, 05 December 2008  <http://www.djazairess.com/elhiwar/7550> [accessed 25 January 2015].

[14] ‘Sourat’ Al Maraa fi film Rachida dalala similoogia j 3’ (The image of the woman in the film Rachida: semiology of a symbol- third part’, Al Hiwar, 19 December 2008 < http://www. djazairess.com.elhiwar/80 73>  [accessed 25 January 2015].

[15] Alger la Blanche is the name given to Algiers for the white colour of the buildings of the Casbah––the Muslim quarter of Algiers under French colonial rule.

[16] Abdulkafi Albirini, ‘The Sociolinguistic Functions of Codeswitching between Standard Arabic and Dialectal Arabic’, Language in Society, 40 (2011), 537–562 (p. 539).

[17] Farida Abu-Haidar, ‘Arabization in Algeria’, International Journal of Francophone Studies, 3 (2000), 151-163 (p. 161).

[18] Susan Slyomovics, ‘”Hassiba Ben Bouali, If You Could See Our Algeria”: Women and Public Space in Algeria’, Middle East Report, 92 (1995), 8-13 (p. 10).

[19] Rod Skilbeck, ‘The Shroud Over Algeria: Femicide, Islamism and the Hijab’, Journal of Arabic, Islamic and Middle Eastern Studies, 2(1995), 43-54 <https://www.library. cornell.edu/colldev/mideast /shroud.htm> [accessed 25 January 2015].

[20] Yasmine Ben, ‘Bahia Rachedi, Elle fera le rituel de la Omra, portera le voile et se consacrera à l’humanitaire’, Le Maghreb, 02 July 2011.

[21] James Bennett, ‘The Television Personality System: Televisual Stardom Revisited after Film Theory’, Screen, 1 (2008), 32-50 (p. 35).

[22] Ibid., p. 35.

[23] Benrabah, p. 147.

[24] National reconciliation identifies the laws and process launched in1999. It aimed at reintegrating into civilian life those who have renounced armed violence or were involved in network support to terrorist groups, but were not charged with blood crimes.

[25] Sahraoui’s documentaries were mainly funded by by French-German television Arte, and were subtitled in French, when interviews were conducted in Berber language.

[26]Melbroune International Film Festival website <http://miff.com.au/festival-archive/film/12306> [accessed 11 November 2014].

[27] The slogan used by demonstrators in the street to end the cycle of killings between two political factions of the GPRA (Gouvernement Provisoire de la Révolution Algérienne) and the FLN (Front de Libération Nationale).

[28] maquis designates the French word for the bush, as utilized by underground or guerilla fighters. During the Algerian war the fighters used to hide in the maquis where military camps were established. The technique was adopted by the Islamic armed factions.

[29] See articles of Hind O, ‘Deux femmes dans la tourmente. Projection de Barakat! de Djamila Sahraoui à El Mougar’, L’Expression, 11 November 2006, Yasmine Ben, ‘Une légèreté à vous couper le souffle! Sortie de Barakat! de Djamila Sahraoui’, Le Maghreb, 14 November 2006 http: //www.djazairess.com /fr/lemaghreb/173> [accessed 02 February 2015].

[30] Zahia Mancer, ‘Al Mahzila tataoucel Number One al yaoum bil Jazair wa Barakat! youtouaj bi dhahb fi Dubai’ (‘The farce continues: Number One today in Algeria, and Barakat! crowned with gold in Dubai’, Achourouk , 18 December 2006 <http://www.echoroukonline.com/ara/?news=9900> [accessed 02 February 2015].

[31] Fatiha Bourouina, ‘Film Barakat! Youajihou ashrass intiqadat fi El Jazair baa’da tasnifihi fi khanet ‘al cinema ‘al coulounialiya’’ (‘The movie “Barakat” facing the fiercest criticism in Algeria after coined as a ‘colonial cinema’’), Al Riyadh, 25 December 2006,  <http://www.alriyadh.com/211850> [accessed 02 February 2015].

[32] Mancer, Ben, O.

[33] Hind O, ‘Deux femmes dans la tourmente. Projection de Barakat! de Djamila Sahraoui à El Mougar’, L’Expression, 11 November 2006.

[34] Walid Mebarek, ‘Djamila Sahraoui. Réalisatrice de Barakat: ‘Les choses ressortent’’, El Watan, 15 November 2006.

[35] Yacine Idjer, ‘Cinéma  «Barakat» en avant-première: deux femmes chez les terroristes’, Info Soir, 10 November 2006< http://www.djazairess.com/fr/infosoir/55698> [accessed 05 February 2015].

[36] Ibid.

[37] Ben, Le Maghreb.

[38] Foundou is an arabized name of French ‘Fond deux’ that refers to the mine where Alla’s father worked under French colonial rule.

[39] Monica Heller, Code switching: Anthropological and Sociolinguistic Perspectives (New York, London, Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter: 1988), p. 8.

[40] Ibid., p. 8.

[41] Anne-Emmanuelle Berger, ‘The Newly Veiled Woman: Irigaray, Specularity, and the Islamic Veil’, Diacritics, 1 (1998), 93-119 (p. 106). Berger makes use in her article of Djamila Saadi’s work : ‘Des Femmes à mots voilés’, Penser l’Algérie Intersignes, 10 (1995), 169-80.

[42] Ibid.,  p. 106.

[43] Frantz Fanon, ‘L’Algérie se dévoile’, L’an V de la révolution algérienne (Paris: Maspéro, 1960). For a complete analysis of Fanon’s discussion of the haïk, see Berger, pp.106-109.

[44] Berger, p. 106.

[45] Ibid.

[46] Gilles, Kepel, ‘Islamism and the State in Algeria and Egypt’, Daedelus, 124 (1995), 109-127

(p. 121).

[47] Lahouari Addi, ‘Les Intellectuels qu’on assassine’, Esprit, 208 (1995), 130-138 (p. 131).

[48] Ibid.

[49] Ibid.

[50] Ibid, p. 137.

[51] Gérard Le Fort, ‘Avec Viva Laldjérie, Nadir Moknèche regarde son pays droit dans les yeux’,  Libération, 7 April 2004.

[52] Huis clos is a French expression that could be translated as ‘behind closed doors’. It is used here in a sense intended to transmit the closeness of the action.

[53] The word harem is derived from Arabic harem which means women and designates the space where women and concubines live. It has been later associated can also mean ‘haram’, ‘forbidden’.

[54] Ryme Seferdjeli, ‘Rethiking the history of the mujahidat during the Algerian war’, Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies, 2 (2012), 238-255 (p. 246).

[55] The status of mujahidin allowed privileges in post-independence Algeria such as housing, medical care, and tax reductions on imported goods. A Ministry of Mujahidin was established after independence.

[56] Esprit, ‘La Politique française de coopération vis-à-vis de l’Algérie: un quiproquo tragique’, Esprit, 208 (1995), 153-161 (p. 160).

[57] Although the significance of the tattoos is not known, as a tradition women wear it on their forehead, allegedly as a marker for femininity. It may also have been encouraged by men who were also protective of women during the colonial era, or used to mark who the tribe women belonged to, to protect them or to differentiate social classes. T. Rivière and J. Faublée, ‘Les Tatouages des Chaouia de l’Aurès’, Journal de la société des Africanistes, 12  (1942), 67-80 <http://www.persee.fr/web/revues/home/prescript/article/jafr_0037-9166_1942_num_12_1_2525#> [accessed 11 November 2014].

[58] Reem Bassiouney, Arabic languages and linguistics (Washington DC: Georgetown University Press, 2012), p. 124.

[59] Bourricot is a common word in Algeria: a translation of donkey (hmar), it is used as an insult for dumb people.

[60] Reem Bassiouney, Arabic languages and linguistics (Washington DC: Georgetown University Press, 2012), p. 203.

[61] Constance N. Stadler, ‘Democratisation Reconsidered: the Transformation of Political Culture in Algeria’, The Journal of North African Studies, 3 (1998), 25-45 (p. 34).

[62] Fériel Lalami-Fatès, ‘Les Associations de femmes algériennes face à la menace islamiste’, Esprit, 208 (1995), 126-129 (p. 127).

 

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Sourat’ Al Maraa fi film Rachida  dalala similogia’ (The image of the woman in the film Rachida: semiology of a symbol ),  Al Hiwar, 05 December 2008  http://www.djazairess.com/elhiwar/7550 [accessed 25 January 2015].

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