feminism · human rights · interview · journalism · muslim women

Ms Saffaa, protest art and the fledgling Saudi Arabia women’s rights movement as featured in The Guardian

The Australia-based artist’s work is emblematic of the movement protesting against Saudi Arabia’s guardianship laws

I Am My Own Guardian art by Sydney artist Ms Saffaa.
 

The Saudi visual artist Ms Saffaa is a petite woman with cropped hair framing a pixie face. Her mural, plastered on a studio wall at Sydney University’s College of the Arts almost dwarfs her.

It is a riotous mix of calligraphy, graffiti and portraits featuring the women’s rights activists Manal Al-Sharif and Samar Badawi, both part of a nascent movement protesting Saudi Arabia’s guardianship laws.

The protest gained steam after the July release of a Human Rights Watch report, which was critical of the laws prohibiting a woman from travelling, marrying or even leaving prison without the permission of a male guardian.

The movement gave birth to a hashtag, #iammyownguardian, and a petition signed by thousands, part of a growing online campaign protesting against the laws.

The 39-year-old artist, who moved to Sydney to study at the SCA in 2009, says the inspiration for her art came from continuous run-ins with Saudi authorities over her visa.

A condition of Saffaa’s now lapsed government scholarship required her brothers to fly in to Australia to vouch for her. But it was the hours of humiliating pleading with Saudi bureaucrats in Canberra that fuelled the rage behind her protest art.

“You have to play their game,” she says. “You have to act like the weak woman and say, ‘Thank you for doing this for me, it’s a huge favour.’ You have to play that role in order to get your shit done.”

Saffaa’s posters, featuring a face shrouded in the Saudi shemagh and the hashtag #iammyownguardian, became emblematic of the movement. They were plastered on Saudi streets, retweeted and sold online.

It led Saffaa into a thriving underground online protest scene filled with local and expat Saudi women. Many were housewives, sharing stories of life in the regime. Saffaa says Saudi women defending the laws were generally from the ruling class with ties to the government.

“Those who have really good jobs, really good pay and connections to government have a lot to lose,” she says. “They will tell you we’re content.”

For Saffaa, speaking up has its costs. The artist, who uses only her first name, has suffered harassment and been reported to Saudi authorities by trolls.

“[They say], ‘Let’s all report her, let her rot in jail, let’s see her make art behind prison bars.’ I thought I was immune to online bullying and harassment but it got to me.”

At an exhibition at Melbourne’s Islamic Museum of Australia, the artist was accosted by a man demanding to know why she was exposing Saudi’s dirty laundry to the west.

“Before I could even speak I could feel the anger inside me,” she says. “I was sweating. I felt the heat coming out of my face … a man comes with all his privilege and entitlement, and asks me why am I airing our dirty laundry to the west?

“First of all you’re admitting that it’s shameful, there’s shame behind the question. But you’re coming to me and telling me not to do something, trying to censor me.

“I was thinking, ‘That’s exactly why I make this art, because of people like you.’”

The sneakers-wearing activist uses street art and social media to promote millennial-style political protest that is transnational and cyber-driven but still rooted in the street.

This Sunday, Saffaa will unveil a new street mural in Melbourne’s Brunswick East, a collaboration with several female artists as a tribute to Saudi women. The launch will be hosted by Moroccan Deli-cacy cafe owner and community activist Hana Assafiri, known for hosting public salon-style conversations at her Melbourne restaurants, including the hit speed-date-a-Muslim series.

Saffaa says her work is motivated not only by political injustice but a visceral need for self-expression.

“What the role of the artist is goes back to the question of, what is the role of art?” she says. “It goes beyond trying to raise awa

Part of her activism is borne out of subverting the western framing of Saudi women as victims, rather than as agents of their own liberation. This co-opting, she says, only furthers the infantilisation they were fighting against, with women used as pawns in a cultural battleground of rising Islamophobia.

“Don’t say Saudi women don’t have a voice. We have a voice. You just haven’t been paying attention.”

Saffaa says the fight for women’s rights in Saudi Arabia is part of broader struggle against state authoritarianism, for the rights of all minorities. As a believer, she questions the way the kingdom sought legitimacy through a hardline Wahhabi interpretation of religion.

“There’s so much policing of women’s bodies and even men,” she says. “I think faith is a personal thing and in Saudi they make it a public thing. You have to display your faith everywhere you go.”

A new work by Ms Saffaa and several other female artists – in tribute to Saudi women and women in conflict zones – will be launched on 4 December at Moroccan Deli-cacy in Brunswick East, Melbourne

This article was originally featured in The Guardian on December 1, 2016.

feminism · human rights · injustice · interview · islamic law · media · muslim women · politics · religion

Heroes and heretics

Islamic scholar Amina Wadud has been branded both a heroine and a  heretic.

Heroine for her academic framework for Muslims in legal and policy reform  around the world; heretic for leading a mixed gender prayer in New York in 2005  which made worldwide headlines.

The prayer session propelled the 58-year-old African American into celebrity  Muslim reformer status, a position the theologian does not seem entirely  comfortable with.

“I try to keep my sense of humour about it,” she said, speaking in Sydney  after engagements in Melbourne and Canberra.

“I didn’t play into it. I didn’t stoke the sensationalism of it.

“The time was a little bit comical but I could not live along those lines. I  like the basic parts of my life where you have anonymity.”

Asked if the controversy had obscured her long-time activism and scholarship  on Islam and gender issues, she said: “I regret things being obscured for any  reason. But I do not regret the prayer if that is reason why people obscure  things. People have not been pleased with my work for a long time. So the prayer  is just a ruse … and … excuse for not listening to what you have to say.”

Dr Wadud is the author of several books, including Quran and Women:  Re-reading the sacred text from a woman’s perspective and Inside Gender  Jihad: Women’s reform in Islam.

Her central thesis is that for centuries Islam has been interpreted by male  scholars which has obscured its essentially egalitarian ethos. This ethos, Dr  Wadud says, has inspired her reform work particularly around Islamic family  law.

While her religious detractors accuse her of heresy, other criticisms of Dr  Wadud involve the charge that she feeds into the never-ending contestation of  religious texts which has no purpose in the modern era within a secular  framework. However, her books have worked as a framework for Muslim activists,  particularly through lobby groups and her organisation, Sisters in Islam in  Malaysia.

One of Dr Wadud’s central ideas is that as a believer she accepts the  divinity of the Qur’an, however, its readings must always be open to scrutiny  and re-evaluation. This is particularly important if laws are to be based on its  precepts and have impact in the real world on women’s lives.

Born in the American South, in Maryland in 1952, to a Methodist preacher  father, Dr Wadud converted to Islam at university at the age of 20 after a brief  stint as a practicing Buddhist.

“I was a practicing Buddhist for a year,” she said.

“I came across Islam and it grew exponentially and I came to an understanding  of the universe that worked for me.”

The liberation theology of the black leaders of the civil rights movement and  her own upbringing also influenced her.

“My family situation was one where the relationship between social injustice  and faith was explicit. You do not oppress. Oppression is against God’s will,” she said.

“I grew up in the era of black consciousness. I lived in a transformative  time as a young person- you could hear and feel you had a certain sense of  social responsibility – a mandate to fight to remove injustice as it was being  established in the context of our lives as African Americans.

“I was brought up in the revolutionary spirit of justice and it was common  sense to transfer that in terms of Islam and gender justice.”

Dr Wadud, a devout and thoughtful woman, finds much of the hype around her  work distasteful, so much so that at one point she eschewed the label ‘feminist’  altogether.

“There are obviously large sectors of non-Muslim and Muslim population who  think Islamic feminism is an oxymoron,” she said.

“I am less concerned now about whether or not I make everyone comfortable in  terms of the self designation (of being feminist) than at another point.”

She said the term ‘feminism’ often led people to dismiss her work.

” … I feel a little bit more comfortable in my own skin being able to say  feminist. At another point [I would avoid the label] in order to avoid the  politics of the discussion and to avoid the marginalisation of my work into  those politics,” Dr Wadud said.

This perceived incompatibility is incongruous with her own study of Islamic  thought and philosophical thinking.

“They are limiting feminism from its own intellectual and political history,”  she said. “They are also limiting Islam from its own egalitarian  trajectory.”

Dr Wadud has found crowd hostility toward her more pointed in Sydney than  Melbourne, where the largely Muslim audience seemed much more engaged.

Her lecture this week at the University of Technology, Sydney, involved  several heated exchanges with young men.

“Some people in the Australian audiences, they come because they’ve heard  there is something wrong or bad or evil about me,” she said.

“They come because they will set me straight. When they get here and I don’t  say anything outrageous for them to pick up on – they make up stuff.”

Dr Wadud finds arguments with those who have not even read her ideas tiring  and is now focussed on reaching out to those who have.

“In the past I felt a much greater responsibility to be understood by as many  people as possible,” she said.

“You spent all your time trying to convert people who are absolutely  unconvinced about where you’re going.

“Then there are some people who are trying to understand certain things and  have a nominal level of agreement and maybe want to go further and engage with  your ideas. That’s a more interesting level to engage.”

There have been rumours of death threats, but Dr Wadud is quick to clear the  air.

“I never received any death threats,” she laughs.

“There was this thing where people got into saying I had death threats.  But  I never had anyone actually threaten me.”

From SMH