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Will the real Pakistani woman please stand up? Err... are you talking about the woman in jeans, hip and suave, cool and confident, blowing smoke rings in the rarefied air of the elite social circuit, capable of holding her own anywhere in the globalised village? Or are you referring to women in hijab, an Islamist variant of the born-again Christian, rooting for a return to Islam? Or do you have in mind the woman who skates the thin edge between tradition and modernity?
Confused and scratching your head?
Well, to tell you frankly, the 'labour pain' of the last 50 years continues,
failing to deliver what can be a typical Pakistani woman.
Perhaps you'd laugh and say, isn't
Pakistan the land where the Daughter of the East was prime minister twice?
She sure was, but her insatiable greed for power and pelf now has people
shuddering at the very idea of having another woman prime minister. In
fact, even before Benazir rode to power, there was General Rani, a Punjabi
bureaucrat's wife, who as mistress of Gen Yahya Khan wielded tremendous
power once the sun set. You have to read the Hamid-ur-Rehman Commission
report to believe it.
Those were the good old days, never mind what Benazir or General Rani did. For, with the fundamentalists now well entrenched in the system, never again can a Pakistani woman rise again or become strong enough to rule over the country's generals. Surprised, are you? Well, then, read the story of Fakra Yunus.
Fakra is the daughter-in-law of Ghulam Mustafa Khar, who as chief minister under Bhutto was rated the most powerful Pakistan's ever had. Fakra is married to Khar's son, Bilal, who last month threw acid on her. Disfigured, Fakra wanted to go abroad for surgery, only to be denied permission by the military regime which thought her face would reflect poorly on women's status in Pakistan.
The status of women isn't uniformly deplorable. Class counts like hell; it moulds the Pakistani woman, defines the opportunities she'll have. The upper-class woman has managed to surmount one obstacle after another, charting her way into areas her sisters a generation back could not dream of. Yet, she hasn't made it to Pakistan's Supreme Court; nor can she to the army or the air force, at least not till the discriminatory Qiysas laws remain. These laws, enacted by Gen Zia, for instance, don't take into account the testimony of a woman who has been raped. Sure, class counts—but the State, through its draconian laws, does leave its imprint even on the upper classes.
Obviously, it's worse for those who are economically and socially challenged. Last month, in Dir, in the North West Frontier Province, not a single woman was allowed to cast her vote in the local body elections which posted dozens of women councillors to special reserved seats.
But you can't blame them for being quiescent, for not protesting, because Gen Zia's martial law so decisively changed the Pakistani woman that she now no longer recognises the liberal woman of the '60s. It was during his era that women action forums were formed, desperately clinging to the liberalism they identified with, and gallantly taking to the streets to protest against Zia's dark laws.
From Zia to now, religious fundamentalists have come to establish their sway over society. Earlier conservative right-wing activists came from colleges and universities. Now religiously defined parties are instilling their ideology among a wider section of women. No wonder deeni madrassas (religious seminaries) for women are mushrooming across Pakistan over the last decade.
Aneela Z. Babar, gender specialist at the Asian Institute of Technology, in a recent critique provides a historical perspective to this phenomenon: "The debate about control of women's mobility by the religious elite in Pakistan remained marginal until 1977. The debate reflects their (the religious elite's) perception of middle- and upper-middle class women as threats to the existing order. Built largely upon differentiation, it has led to the politicisation of gender whereby those advocating women's emancipation are viewed as modern and as such opposed to Islam. Led by a small band of male ulema (religious leaders) and maulvis (clerics), dispersed over a number of religiously defined political parties, it failed to make much of an impact on the evolutionary process of women's emancipation.
But it intensified after 1977 with the military government's use of religion to legitimise its stay. With the weight of the government behind them, the position of the male antagonists of women's rights was bolstered as were their efforts for cultural hegemony. Women as the supposed carriers of cultural values became central to their political project. On the one hand was the relentless running down of women's rights activists, their 'otherness' being singled out for attack, and on the other active mobilisation of women belonging to the emerging middle class was undertaken."
The mobilisation of women for the fundamentalist project is best illustrated in Farhat Hasmi's Al Huda Academy in Karachi, which concentrates on the upper class for 'melting the ice from above'. Farhat wants women to rediscover Islam and adhere to its tenets. And she is, ironically, popular among the upper crust. Alas, the "melting of ice" has not led to the rivers of kindness flowing to the poor. But what Farhat and others have produced are women who wear the hijab, a rarity in the '60s but a common sight now.
What makes young women opt for the hijab? Is it a symbol of identity or rebellion, just the way torn blue jeans once were? But then expectations vary. For instance, it's cool to discuss a model's love life in public. For weeks, readers of the popular weekly The Friday Times have been riveted to the colourful journal of the young model Miss Aaminah Haq (shades of Bridget Jones's Diary), who, incidentally, is the daughter from one of Khar's many wives (who married and divorced several times).
Sample these extracts. In her diary of July 6, Aaminah writes: "Notwithstanding the plastic people with their affected accents, we don't meet the toxic types (who could be the source of much amusement in these desperate times). The thing is, come Saturday night and I would rather be boogying till the break of dawn than discussing who was wearing what, while sitting on a sofa in some society chico/ china's overly-decorated columned house."
Such candour, such confidence, such freedom. And to think Aaminah's brother had disfigured his wife. Could there be a more eloquent testimony to the contradiction in Pakistan? Aaminah's bohemian lifestyle is a result of her class position; Fakra's misfortune is the notion of patriarchy deeply embedded in the Pakistani male psyche.
Yet, the debate on gender has received a new twist courtesy the growing Islamisation of the country. No longer is it an issue of women against men; instead, the debate today focuses on the place and role of women in Islam. And women have been active participants. Broadly, you could divide them into four types: women who accept the dogma; those who look for progressive interpretations within Islam; those who are not looking for the divine within Islam, but still locate themselves in Muslim culture; and those who have rejected Islam altogether.The politics of the last 10 years have truly redefined gender issues—and not always for the better.
(Mariana Baabar is a senior Pakistani
journalist.)
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