<http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/opinion/2002674911_sunislamwomen11.html>
Wednesday, December 14, 2005 - Page updated at 01:01 PM
Islam in America
Tapping Islam's feminist roots

By Asra Q. Nomani
Special to The Washington Post

BARCELONA, Spain — Several months ago, when a group of Spanish Muslims
approached city officials here about sponsoring a conference on
Islamic feminism, one responded, "Isn't that an oxymoron?"

That's what many people believe. To conservative Muslims, the phrase
is an insult to Islam. But to many moderate Muslims — and I count
myself among them — an Islamic feminist movement fits with the
religion's early teachings and offers one of our best hopes for
countering extremism. Indeed, those of us who have joined the movement
since it emerged in the 1990s have come to understand that Islam needs
to go backwards to its progressive 7th-century roots if it is to move
forward into the 21st century.

How difficult that is — and how important — became clear to me when I
joined the first International Congress on Islamic Feminism, which was
held in this Spanish city in late October. When the floor was opened
for questions during one session, a young Muslim man made the comment
I've heard so often: "In Islam, there is no place for feminism. ... "
Sitting on the dais, where I had just chronicled our successful
struggle to integrate some U.S. mosques, I took it in stride. I've
become accustomed to belittling comments, even death threats.

(I received an e-mail death threat this past July that the FBI traced
to Seattle. It came after The Seattle Times ran an article chronicling
my campaign for women's rights, including a stop at the local Idriss
Mosque where men harassed me and refused to pray when I attempted to
stand behind them in the main hall instead of going to a secluded
women's balcony.)

In Barcelona, what happened next stunned me. From the middle of the
audience of some 250 women and men, Amina Wadud, a Muslim scholar of
Islamic studies who calls herself "a pro-faith feminist," stood up.
"You are out of order," she said to the man. "What you are doing is
exactly the kind of thing that we are here to be able to stop." The
audience broke into cheers. Another Muslim man tried to protest. I
interrupted him. "We're changing history today," I said. "We're not
going to shut up."

What stunned me was not only the confidence with which we spoke but
the willingness of the group to back us — 12 Muslim women scholars and
activists and one Muslim man activist who had been invited to attend
the conference by a small but ambitious group of largely Spanish
Muslim converts, the moderate Catalan Islamic Board. The force of our
collective effort convinced me that we have the strength to challenge
the men's club that defines most of the Muslim world.

It was an affirmation of the commitment that had brought me and the 11
other participants here from as far away as Malaysia, Mali, Nigeria,
France, Canada, the United Kingdom, the United States and refugee
camps in the disputed territory of Western Sahara to share stories
from the trenches in the "gender jihad." We Muslim feminists view it
as a struggle that taps Islamic theology, thinking and history to
reclaim rights granted to women by Islam at its birth but erased by
manmade rules and tribal traditions masquerading as divine law.

In the communities where we live, we have begun challenging customs
that deny women rights from the mosque to the bedroom: gender
segregation, mandatory veiling, forced early marriages,
clitorectomies, polygamy, death for sex outside of marriage, domestic
violence and strict domestic roles. We have many Muslim men on our
side: The chief or-ganizer of the conference was a man, Abdennur
Prado, who hustled nonstop behind the scenes. And we are taking a lead
from Christian and Jewish women who are generations ahead of us today
in their efforts to challenge traditions that block them from the
workplace, the political arena and the pulpit.

To many, we are the bad girls of Islam. But we are not anti-sharia
(Islamic law) or anti-Islam. We use the fundamentals of Islamic
thinking — the Koran, the Sunnah, or traditions and sayings of the
prophet Muhammad, and ijtihad, or independent reasoning — to challenge
the ways in which Islam has been distorted by sharia rulings issued
mostly by ultraconservative men.

What we are wrestling with are laws created in the name of Islam by
men, specifically eight men. The Muslim world of the 21st century is
largely defined by eight madhhabs, or Islamic schools of
jurisprudence, with narrow rulings on everything from criminal law to
family law: the Shafi, Hanafi, Maliki and Hanbali schools in the
majority Sunni sect; the Jafari and Zaydi schools, for the minority
Shiite sect; and the Ibadi and Thahiri schools among other Muslims.
But the first centuries of Islam's 1,400-year history were quite
different — characterized by scores of schools of jurisprudence, many
progressive and women-friendly. It is not Islam that requires women to
wear a headscarf, but rather the scholars in the contemporary schools.

To many of the women I spoke with, their struggle to move Islam
forward by reaching back to its past represents nothing short of a
revolution. "This is a global struggle," says Valentine Moghadam, a
native of Iran and the chief of the gender equality and development
section of UNESCO in Paris. She sees the movement as an important
response to "frustration with Islamic fundamentalism." And there is no
doubt in my mind, either: The kind of ideology that willingly
subjugates women can also foster hatred.

From the dais, activists dressed in everything from Parisian fashion
to traditional African batik offered powerful stories of regional
reform. From Malaysia, Zainah Anwar, executive director of the Sisters
in Islam (dubbed "Satan in Islam" by conservatives), laid out a
strategy for reforming Islamic family law in her country by, for
example, educating women about their right to refuse forced marriages.
And like others, she is looking beyond her country's borders for
support.

The group's newsletter is being funded by the successful multinational
cosmetics company, the Body Shop. And the group is calling Moroccan
legal experts to Malaysia next February to educate local leaders about
the progressive family reforms that Morocco passed last year. Last
month, Anwar and other Sisters in Islam leaders went to England to
swap strategies with 10 Muslim women's groups.

And in some local areas, groups like Anwar's have begun to see
success. Peeking over her laptop and occasionally adjusting the
flowing white head scarf she chooses to wear, Djingarey Maiga, the
chief of a Mali-based group called Women and Human Rights, explained
how she started a rural radio program in her country to promote
women's rights.

And BAOBAB, a Nigerian group founded in 1996, made headlines in 2003
when it helped win a victory for Amina Lawal, the mother sentenced to
be stoned to death for having a baby outside of marriage. Mufuliat
Fijabi, a senior program officer at BAOBAB, told us how a conservative
sharia judge broke with tradition not long ago to oppose marital rape
after going through training provided by his organization.

One Nigerian imam, after hearing BAOBAB's message encouraging ijtihad,
surprised BAOBAB organizers by following up and encouraging Muslims to
consider alternative schools of thought.

The challenge isn't just in poor villages in Nigeria or Mali. It's in
the wealthy and supposedly well-educated West. In 2003, I set off a
debate over the rights of Muslim women when I wrote in The Washington
Post about walking through the front door of my hometown mosque in
Morgantown, W.Va., and praying in the main hall, thus defying an order
that women enter through a back door and pray in a secluded balcony.

Since then, I've been harassed in mosques from New York City to
Seattle for refusing to accept separate women's quarters. But after
almost two years of public campaigning with other women, the country's
major Muslim organizations, including the Islamic Society of North
America, issued a 28-page report in July titled, "Women-Friendly
Mosques and Community Centers: Working Together to Reclaim Our
Heritage," recommending reform, including an affirmative-action
program to get women on mosque boards.

Our movement also caused a stir earlier this year when Wadud led a
congregation of about 125 women and men in a New York prayer service.
Many clerics around the world attacked us for undermining our
religion, and Libyan leader Moammar Gadhafi claimed that our prayer
"creates millions of bin Ladens" by challenging male authority. We're
up against a formidable machinery of opposition, but we're convinced
that now is the moment to coordinate the legal and policy reforms that
Islamic feminism is promoting.

We see our struggle as part of a wider peace jihad. It was a national
Islamic leader who oversees the Catalan Islamic Board, Mansur
Escudero, who issued the first fatwa against Osama bin Laden, months
before U.S. Muslim organizations issued their own.

At the Barcelona conference, I proposed a plan called "The Islamic
Dream" — an effort to connect our disparate efforts and develop a new
approach for Islam in the 21st century. I would like to see us
organize a summit of Islam's progressive thinkers to establish the
terms of reform and define a 20-year plan to transform our world. That
is where we are headed.

During Wadud's presentation on one of the last days of the conference,
a Spanish-American woman stood up and asked: "Would you lead us in
prayer today?" Wadud assented. A group of about 30 Muslims gathered in
a hotel conference room to pray behind her, men and women standing
shoulder to shoulder — grounds for banishment in mosques around the
world. A Pakistani-Canadian activist, Raheel Raza, ran to join the
line, not far from a Pakistani-American scholar, Asma Barlas, dubbed
one of "the mothers of Islamic feminism." Together, we opened our
hands as Wadud prayed, "We ask for Your protection."

Our prayer complete, we declared with one voice, "Ameen." "Please accept."
Asra Nomani is a former reporter for The Wall Street Journal and the
author of "Standing Alone in Mecca" (HarperSanFrancisco). E-mail:
[EMAIL PROTECTED]
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