WUNRN
Anthropology of
the Middle East, Volume 9, Number 2, Winter 2014, pp. v-xi(7)
http://berghahn.publisher.ingentaconnect.com/content/berghahn/antmid/2014/00000009/00000002
Table of Contents – Notes articles referenced in Editorial.
Sexuality, Culture & Public Politics in the Middle East
Editorial - By – Homa Hoodfar
The role of sexuality in the construction of
various social institutions and in
the maintenance of power hierarchies has long
been a significant focus of anthropological
research (Leacock and Safa 1986; MacCormack and
Strathern
1980; Wolkowitz et al. 1981). Indeed
anthropologists and sociologists have
been mindful of the extent to which sexuality
constitutes a highly contested
terrain that is tightly patrolled by religious
forces, morality codes and state
institutions in all societies (Gole 1996; Hélie
and Hoodfar 2012; Lancaster
and di Leonardo 1997; Lee 2011; White 2002).
However, in recent decades,
the fragmenting of sexuality studies into
studies of gender roles, reproductive
rights, sexual orientation, studies in
masculinities, and even honour killing
and violence against women, has resulted in
depoliticising sexuality: without
clearly linking the various aspects and arenas
in which sexuality is salient, the
centrality and complexity of politics of
sexuality to power structures are easily
lost. This fragmentation makes it harder for
engaged citizens to mobilise for
changes in policy and discourses around various
aspects of sexuality. Thus,
many scholars of the Middle East are adamant
that the study of sexuality must
adopt a holistic approach within the wider
concerns of bodily rights, such that
linkages between the various forms of sexual
oppression, including those of
sexual minorities, becomes clear. Hence the
editorial board tried to be mindful
of these concerns as they finalised the call for
papers for this issue.
With increased globalisation and a greater
transnational flow of both
ideas and population competing and ideologically
opposing readings and
interpretations of historical and contemporary
accounts, discourses around
sexuality have increased significantly. Public
contestations have intensified in
an unprecedented manner in the Middle East (and
in Muslim contexts generally),
with particular implications for women and
sexual minorities, given
that sexuality is at the core of how they are
judged, sanctioned and frequently
evicted from public spaces, political realms and
economic domains.
Indeed the legitimisation of sexual control of
women (and men) is
embedded in larger processes that mobilise
culture, religion and moral codes,
and tradition, and employ state apparatus – including
laws and coercive
forces – to regulate the bodies and sexualities
of citizens. The ever increasing
preoccupation of both the modern states and
non-state actors in defining and
controlling sexuality, as citizens – increasingly
aware of the array of possibilities
– concurrently navigate the various ideologies
and restrictions as they
seek to define their own identities and
behaviours. This environment has led
to ever more politicisation of discourses of
sexuality, as citizens contest and
subvert ideological and fundamentalist
parameters. A fruitful exploration
of the transformation and evolution of cultural
and political discourses on
sexuality in the Middle East requires
contextualisation and historicisation,
as well as careful attention to the multiplicity
of actors and perspectives. And
while it is certainly true that discrepancies
between the discourses promoted
by religious leaders and the actual practices of
believers can lead to dynamic
tensions and negotiations, religion is far from
the only parameter impacting
the politics of sexuality and gender
empowerment.
Though all societies to various degrees police
women’s (and citizens’)
sexuality (Hélie and Hoodfar 2012; Lee 2011),
recent political and social
upheaval in the Middle East, technological
innovation and globalisation
have all contributed to both increased policing
of citizens (in general and
concerning sexuality) and increased contestation
of this by citizens (Derichs
and Fleschenberg 2010; Freedman 1997; Lee 2011).
Despite its very real
fluidity, sexuality remains one of the
cornerstones for both asserting and
enforcing citizenship, respectability and social
ranking, and the ongoing
emphasis on the regulation of women’s bodies and
behaviours relative to men
suggests that women bear the greater burden in
the struggle to define and
occupy the spaces and identities of their
choosing.
The articles in this issue speak to various ways
that moral codes, religion
and laws intersect with citizens’ challenges and
initiatives in writing their
realities and sexualities into current and
evolving scripts. They explore
infringements on expressions of sexuality and on
bodily rights, and outline
how social actors accommodate, contest and
subvert limitations on their
sexualities through reframing and
reinterpretation, and through common
actions and collective organising.
Whether these heightened contestations of
sexuality are framed in terms
of equality and human rights, identity politics
or more innocuously as
gender studies, they speak to the need for and
relevance of scholarly studies
of sexuality, particularly in light of recent
political developments in the
region. Revolution and heightened political and
social upheavals often offer
opportunities to revisit and question
established moral and legal codes,
including those governing sexuality, and to
introduce new ones. (Though
we should also note, as the cases of Iran,
Indonesia and Tunisia indicate,
revolution and social and political transformation
have in fact led to more
restrictive perspectives on sexuality propagated
by Islamists, a reminder that
revisiting these codes does not necessarily lead
to a broadening and more
pluralistic perspectives and options
particularly regarding sexuality.)
Contestation around sexuality, especially in
contexts where freedom of
expression is limited, does not necessarily
manifest through large-scale public
mobilisation. As some of the articles in this
issue point out, it is instead often
through the common actions of countless
individuals in the course of their
mundane daily acts, such as refusing to observe
the prevalent dress code,
choosing work and professions considered
unacceptable, or articulating desire
for sexual satisfaction. Contributing authors
thus identify public spaces as
sites of both negotiation and contestation
around sexuality. They outline how
individuals, engaged in daily ‘public’ practices,
are as crucial to the resistance
to politico-religious curtailing of sexual
rights as those who more overtly resist
specific policing practices. Indeed many of the
contributions suggest that
transformation of cultures and sexual discourses
take place through a multiplicity
of strategies, with the daily actions of
individuals playing no small part.
In Egypt and Tunisia the desire for political
change that precipitated
revolution has also unleashed hopes for greater
freedom in personal life
and sexual expression. El Feki, Aghazarian and
Sarras analyse the desires,
questions and conversations that have occurred
on the website ‘Love Is
Culture’, which came into being in response to
heated public discourse over
issues of sexuality since the Egyptian uprising
in January 2011. These debates
have been framed very differently and from
various perspectives ranging from
those concerning reproductive rights to diverse
ways that state and public
policing of individual bodily rights concerning
sexuality. The launch of the
website in 2013 created a safe forum for
unfettered discussion of love, pleasure
and bodily rights. The unprecedented traffic on
the site suggests it is fulfilling
a significant need of Egyptians and other Middle
Easterners to question the
restrictive ideology and moral codes around
sexual pleasure. The posts call
into question the assumption of the Middle East
as constituted by inherently
normative and socially conservative cultures.
For the United Arab Emirates and Kuwait, Pardis
Mahdavi’s article
examines the confluence of love, labour and the
law, looking at the regulation
of migrant women’s sexualities and how zina laws are used to
imprison
pregnant migrants, criminalise their parenting,
take away their children and
deport them. The price of free love, emotional
attachment and challenging
sexual norms in these tightly controlled societies
where regulated sexuality
and blood ties are the cornerstones of social
and political organisation, are
paid differently by men and women. Migrant
women, who have negligible
social or legal status and little power to
challenge formal institutions pay even
more dearly, though attempts are ongoing to
challenge this treatment through
national and transnational organising.
Body and bodily representation remain at the
heart of sexuality in all
societies; bodily attire is thus one of the
oldest and most potentially potent
political manifestations available to rulers and
ruled. As symbolic sociopolitical
resources, dress codes have been utilised by
both modern-secular as
well as theocratic states visually to
communicate their ideologies. Thus secular
modernists regimes in the Middle East have at
various times banned or
discouraged certain articles of clothing,
including the turban and the Muslim
veil, in attempts both to distance themselves
from colonial orientalist images
and to construct images of so-called modernity.
Others states, such as the
Islamic Republic of Iran, made veiling mandatory
for all women regardless
of faith or ethnicity, in order to emphasise
Islamic values and distance
themselves from European culture and values.
Dress codes are also a powerful
mechanism for control over women’s bodies and
sexualities, particularly in the
modern Middle East. However, as the articles by
both Abdmolaei and Tajali
discuss, citizens/women are not passive objects
of policy, and thus find ways to
mould these requirements to their own needs and
vision. Abdmolaei analyses
the responses of young, urban Iranian women to
mandatory veiling and
subsequent punishment and social stigmatisation
for non-compliance with
the regime’s dress code. She documents the rise
of ‘alternative fashion’, which
incorporates ethnic and nineteenth-century
Iranian fashion with aspects of
European style and design, resulting in
brilliantly coloured but still modest
headgear that is a far cry from the black and
drab colour veil envisioned
by the regime. Indeed the wearers of these
colourful scarves and clothing
demonstrate little trace of the sexual
submissiveness and docility the regime
has been trying to instil among young women born
and raised under the
Islamic regime. Such subversion can be seen as a
version of ‘accommodating
protest’, to use Arlene Macleod’s phrase, and
the regime has responded by
attempting to curb alternative fashion. It
remains to be seen whether such
everyday forms of resistance, as women attempt
to reclaim their femininity
and sexuality, will lead to an opening for the
recognition of basic individual
women’s rights over their bodies.
Tajali’s article looks at dress code and
discourse on the veil in Turkey, where
women’s demands are different but share a theme
similar to that of Iranian
women: bodily agency and the right to choose.
Drawing from her field data
Tajali questions the representation of pious
women as pawns of Islamic male
political leaders and the ruling Islamist
parties over the last decades. Through
a close analysis of pious women’s activism in
2011 around women’s access to
public institutions including universities and
parliament, she outlines their
challenge to the headscarf ban as a
discriminatory act by male party leaders
and a violation of their basic human and
citizenry rights. What is significant
is that pious women in Turkey have employed
secular and human rights
discourse in this debate, a significant shift in
the public discussion around the
headscarf in Turkey which generated greater
support for their demand and
did pave the way for removing not only the ban
on veiling in parliament and
public institutions but also other dress codes,
including the ban on women
wearing pant-suits in parliament.
Courchesne’s article looks at the intersection
of sexuality and the arts
with regards to the changing status of women
musicians and performers in
Turkey. Prevailing sexual norms have often been
used to deny women access
to certain economic and artistic arenas.
Following the removal of a ban on
ethnic music in Turkey, Courchesne outlines how
women from various ethnic
communities have carved out a new niche on the
public stage and expanded
their repertoire of artistic and economic
possibilities while gaining social
respectability in the arts. This effort has come
at a cost, however, especially
for the first wave of contemporary women
performers, who had to underplay
their sexuality consciously. Her data suggest
that the precedent is such that the
next generation may not have to compromise in
the same manner.
The final article in this issue, though not as
explicitly concerned with the
politics of sexuality as the rest of the
contributions, considers the arena of
football in Egypt, where, perhaps surprisingly,
national pride, social justice
demands and sexual politics converge. Through
the 1970s and 1980s, in many
of the authoritarian societies of the Middle
East, football was encouraged by the
authorities as a means of distracting youth from
oppositional political activity
(Alon and Khalidi 2014; Hoodfar 2012; Montague
and Bradley 2013). In Egypt
this tactic had unintended consequences as youth
increasingly used football
gatherings as opportunities to form loosely
organised collectives which came
to be referred to as Ultras. Despite the
popularity of football among Egyptian
women in Egypt, the Ultras are male collectives.
The Ultras were increasingly
viewed as subversive by the past and present
Egyptian governments, which
subsequently instituted various regulations in
an attempt to depoliticise and
fragment Ultras and football fans in general.
Nonetheless, these Ultras came
to play a significant role in the Egyptian
uprising, particularly in protecting
demonstrators from the police; many paid for
this with their lives. The article
by Hamzeh and Sykes explores how this process
reinforced solidarity among
the Ultras participants, but also engendered
what the authors refer to as
‘melancholic masculinity’ around demands for
justice and retribution for
their fallen comrades. Despite concurrent heated
debates around social and
political democratisation and gender relations –
as illustrated in the article by
El-Feki et al. in this issue – thus far the
Ultras have not tried to reach across the
other social groups and build coalitions and
incorporate more of the demand
for democratisation of political culture into
their mandate. Indeed they seem
to reproduce the same exclusionary masculinities
as those of the counter-revolutionary
forces. The authors conclude that without
greater reflexivity
and the cultivation of a more gender-inclusive
vision, the widespread demand
by youth for the democratisation of public
culture may not be realised,
despite the opportunity for change afforded by
the revolutionary and post-revolutionary
environment.
Adding more nuance to the differential positions
of men and women,
Batmanghelichi’s report explores the lives of
HIV-positive Iranian women, a
rapidly expanding population. Her research shows
that conformity to prevailing
moral codes does not necessarily protect those –
namely women – who are
unable to exercise choice or bodily rights under
those codes. Her interlocutors
discuss intimacy, modesty and motherhood, and
how they negotiate the
stigmatisation they face as a result of being
infected in the course of fulfilling
their legal and religious obligation to be
sexually available to their HIV-positive
husbands – the case for most. The narratives of
a group of HIV-positive
mothers and widows in Tehran demonstrate that
conformity to hegemonic
moral codes and laws provides no guarantees of
state or societal support. Yet
Batmanghelichi finds narratives of hope, not
anger and victimisation, as her
interviewees share their anguish and their
coping strategies, helping each
other to imagine and plan a better future. While
we witness their resilience
and strength, we see little in their actions
that questions the enduring moral
and legal codes which precipitated their
vulnerability and infection. Through
their active participation in the author’s
research group as well as in support
groups the women clearly dispel any notion that
they are passive victims, but
their acceptance and navigation of their
circumstances should not be used to
absolve society and the state from the
responsibility of protecting individuals.
The texts in this issue highlight the various
ways in which sexuality has
become a new frontier for public politics, as well
as the role of citizens in
challenging oppressive state regulation and
cultural norms, and in reshaping
values around sexuality and the most intimate
aspects of daily life. Of course,
the challenges and thus the strategies are
variable and context specific – ranging
from common mundane individual actions to
rigorous re-interpretations of
religious codes to the politicisation of
formerly apolitical spaces for collective
actions. What is significant is the contestation
and incremental transformation
of oppressive sexual regulations, both state
scripted and social, as individuals
and collectives assert new notions of rights at
the intersection of sexuality
and citizenship. Such creativity, subversions
and contestations generate public
discourses, leading to the transformation and
evolution of perspectives on
sexuality in a given society. It is the mapping
of the complex confluence
of various social forces and structural
opportunities that leads to a deeper
understanding of the evolution of perspectives
on sexuality.
– Homa Hoodfar
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