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Sunday Opinion | The Sexual Misery of the Arab World
The Sexual Misery of the Arab World
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ORAN, Algeria — AFTER Tahrir came Cologne. After the square came sex. The Arab revolutions of 2011 aroused enthusiasm at first, but passions have since waned. Those movements have come to look imperfect, even ugly: For one thing, they have failed to touch ideas, culture, religion or social norms, especially the norms relating to sex. Revolution doesn’t mean modernity.
The attacks on Western women by Arab migrants in Cologne, Germany, on New Year’s Eve evoked the harassment of women in Tahrir Square itself during the heady days of the Egyptian revolution. The reminder has led people in the West to realize that one of the great miseries plaguing much of the so-called Arab world, and the Muslim world more generally, is its sick relationship with women. In some places, women are veiled, stoned and killed; at a minimum, they are blamed for sowing disorder in the ideal society. In response, some European countries have taken to producing guides of good conduct to refugees and migrants.
Sex is a complex taboo, arising, in places like Algeria, Tunisia, Syria or Yemen, out of the ambient conservatism’s patriarchal culture, the Islamists’ new, rigorist codes and the discreet puritanism of the region’s various socialisms. That makes a good combination for obstructing desire or guilt-tripping and marginalizing those who feel any. And it’s a far cry from the delicious licentiousness of the writings of the Muslim golden age, like Sheikh Nafzawi’s “The Perfumed Garden of Sensual Delight,” which tackled eroticism and the Kama Sutra without any hang-ups.
Today sex is a great paradox in many countries of the Arab world: One acts as though it doesn’t exist, and yet it determines everything that’s unspoken. Denied, it weighs on the mind by its very concealment. Although women are veiled, they are at the center of our connections, exchanges and concerns.
Women are a recurrent theme in daily discourse, because the stakes they personify — for manliness, honor, family values — are great. In some countries, they are allowed access to the public sphere only if they renounce their bodies: To let them go uncovered would be to uncover the desire that the Islamist, the conservative and the idle youth feel and want to deny. Women are seen as a source of destabilization — short skirts trigger earthquakes, some say — and are respected only when defined by a property relationship, as the wife of X or the daughter of Y.
These contradictions create unbearable tensions. Desire has no outlet, no outcome; the couple is no longer a space of intimacy, but a concern of the whole group. The sexual misery that results can descend into absurdity and hysteria. Here, too, one hopes to experience love, but the mechanisms of love — encounters, seduction, flirting — are prevented: Women are watched, we obsess over their virginity, the morality police patrols. Some even pay surgeons to repair broken hymens.
In some of Allah’s lands, the war on women and on couples has the air of an inquisition. During the summer in Algeria, brigades of Salafists and local youths worked up by the speeches of radical imams and Islamist TV preachers go out to monitor female bodies, especially those of women bathers at the beach. The police hound couples, even married ones, in public spaces. Gardens are off-limits to strolling lovers. Benches are sawed in half to prevent people from sitting close together.
One result is that people fantasize about the trappings of another world: either the West, with its display of immodesty and lust, or the Muslim paradise and its virgins.
It’s a choice perfectly illustrated by the offerings of the Arab media. Theologians are all the rage on television and so are the Lebanese singers and dancers of “Silicone Valley,” who peddle the promise of their unattainable bodies and impossible sex. Clothing is also given to extremes: At one end is the burqa, the orthodox full-body covering; at the other is the hijab moutabaraj (“the veil that reveals”), which combines a head scarf with slim-fit jeans or tight pants. On the beach, the burqini confronts the bikini.
Sex therapists are few in the Muslim world, and their advice is rarely heeded. So Islamists have a de facto monopoly on talk about the body, sex and love. With the Internet and religious TV shows, some of their speeches have taken monstrous forms, devolving into a kind of porno-Islamism. Religious authorities have issued grotesque fatwas: Making love naked is prohibited; women may not touch bananas; a man can be alone with a female colleague only if she is his milk-mother, and she has nursed him.
Orgasms are acceptable only after marriage — and subject to religious diktats that extinguish desire — or after death. Paradise and its virgins are a pet topic of preachers, who present these otherworldly delights as rewards to those who dwell in the lands of sexual misery. Dreaming about such prospects, suicide bombers surrender to a terrifying, surrealistic logic: The path to orgasm runs through death, not love.
The West has long found comfort in exoticism, which exonerates differences. Orientalism has a way of normalizing cultural variations and of excusing any abuses: Scheherazade, the harem and belly dancing exempted some Westerners from considering the plight of Muslim women. But today, with the latest influx of migrants from the Middle East and Africa, the pathological relationship that some Arab countries have with women is bursting onto the scene in Europe.
What long seemed like the foreign spectacles of faraway places now feels like a clash of cultures playing out on the West’s very soil. Differences once defused by distance and a sense of superiority have become an imminent threat. People in the West are discovering, with anxiety and fear, that sex in the Muslim world is sick, and that the disease is spreading to their own lands.
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Gaddafi seen flanked by female bodyguards in 2004 'documentary'
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'He was fuelled by cocaine, whisky and cigarettes'
'She was frozen with fear as he kissed her'
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Published: 23:35 BST, 23 October 2013 | Updated: 01:57 BST, 25 October 2013
The horror started with the lightest of touches. As the 15-year-old schoolgirl held out the bouquet to the 62-year-old man, he took her free hand and kissed it gently.
The man was Muammar Gaddafi, the dictator of Libya who had seized power 35 years before. His people were forced to call him the Guide, but the rest of the world knew him simply as Colonel Gaddafi.
That morning in April 2004, Gaddafi was visiting a school in his home town of Sirte, on the Mediterranean coast 350 miles east of Tripoli.
Glamour: Some of Colonel Gaddafi's guards. Others were horribly attacked by the Libyan dictator
The girl had been selected to present the Guide with gifts and flowers, and it was considered a privilege.
Before Gaddafi arrived, she was trembling with nerves, and she continued to tremble as he looked her coldly up and down. He squeezed her palm and then her shoulder, before gently patting her head.
At the time she was euphoric. To have been touched by the Guide! It was a real honour.
Tyrant: Gaddafi abused women on massive scale after coming to power aged just 27
She had no idea that the pat on the head, seemingly so paternal, actually signified something far more sinister.
The car arrived the next afternoon. The girl was working at her mother’s hairdressing salon when in walked three women, one of whom was dressed in a military uniform.
The women told the girl’s mother that her daughter was needed to present another bouquet to ‘Papa Muammar’ because she had conducted herself so ‘beautifully’ the previous day.
Despite the mother’s protestations, the girl was driven away at high speed to an encampment in the desert.
There she was once more introduced to Gaddafi, who was sitting in a red chair holding a TV remote control. He looked her up and down and barked to one of the women: ‘Get her ready!’
Now terrified, the girl was taken away and undressed. Her measurements and a blood sample were taken, then her entire body was shaved except for her pubic hair.
She was made to wear a G-string and a low-cut dress, and make-up was plastered on her face. She was then shoved into Gaddafi’s room.
To her disgust and shock, he was lying naked on his bed. The girl immediately tried to run out, but one of the female helpers grabbed her and insisted that she did what was required.
The girl sat next to Gaddafi on his bed and he started to kiss her. She remained frozen with fear until eventually she could take no more and pushed him away.
A struggle ensued until a female helper appeared.
‘Look at this whore!’ Gaddafi snapped. ‘Educate her! And then bring her back to me!’
The following evening, Gaddafi beat the girl and then got what he wanted.
‘I will never forget that moment,’ the girl later recalled. ‘He violated my body, but he pierced my soul with a dagger. The blade never came out.’
Sham: In public, Gaddafi claimed to have women's rights at his heart. In 1981, he said that he had decided 'to wholly liberate the women of Libya in order to rescue them from a world of oppression and subjugation'
Such a tale might seem like something from the imagination of a particularly lurid and sadistic pornographer but, horrifically, it is true.
Though we do not know the girl’s real name, in a powerful new book called Gaddafi’s Harem, written by the French journalist Annick Cojean, she is simply called Soraya.
Cojean met Soraya in Tripoli in October 2011 and was immediately struck by her great beauty: apparently, she resembles the actress Angelina Jolie.
When Soraya told her story, Cojean did not doubt it for a second, as she had heard many similar tales of Gaddafi’s crimes before — but only second-hand, never from the victims themselves.
Cojean spent months verifying Soraya’s story. As well as meeting people who had known her through those dark years, she met other women who’d suffered a similarly brutal experiences at the hands of the Guide.
There can be no doubt that what Soraya says is the very painful truth. For almost seven years, Soraya was raped, beaten, abused and even urinated on by a man who claimed to be the great emancipator of women in the Arab world.
Many of the episodes in the book are too distressing to relate here, but it is sufficient to say they would turn even the strongest of stomachs.
Yet Soraya’s story is typical. She was just one of thousands of young Libyan girls and women who were kidnapped from their schools, homes or places of work and forced to be Gaddafi’s sex slaves.
Nor did the Libyan leader restrict his attentions to women. He also took delight in sexually abusing young male guards in front of his ‘harem’.
Fuelled by cocaine, whisky, cigarettes and Viagra, Gaddafi used sex not only as a physical weapon, but as a political tool through which he could exert his power.
Rape subjugates women — and at the same time subjugates the men who are close to them, such as their husbands and fathers.
Gaddafi (left) as a young man in 1973 shortly after seizing power. He was known to abduct women from their own wedding ceremonies as the ultimate show of omnipotence
Gaddafi was all too aware of this. The wives and daughters of senior figures were blackmailed, bribed, cajoled and forced into having sex.
Gaddafi not only enjoyed the act of degrading these girls and women, but relished the power it gave him over other men.
Some women were even abducted during their wedding ceremonies, as the ultimate show of omnipotence.
As one of Gaddafi’s close collaborators admitted after the tyrant’s death, sex was ‘all he seriously thought about’ and ‘he governed, humiliated, subjugated and sanctioned through sex’.
In public, Gaddafi claimed to have women’s rights at his heart. In 1981, he said that he had decided ‘to wholly liberate the women of Libya in order to rescue them from a world of oppression and subjugation’.
As ‘evidence’ of this most hollow of promises, Gaddafi surrounded himself with female bodyguards.
The message was clear: if the great Guide trusted women with his safety, then Libyan men should follow his example and treat women as equals.
However, the guards were little more than window dressing. Many of them had been kidnapped and raped by Gaddafi, and most had little military experience.
On occasion, when she wasn’t being raped or forced to snort cocaine, drink whisky or watch pornography — the list of abuses is endless — Soraya sometimes acted as one of Gaddafi’s supposedly elite guards.
In 2007, she accompanied the Guide on a tour of African states and put on the most stern expression, showing the world just how enfranchised Libyan women had become.
However, in private, on that very tour, Soraya had to pretend that she was indisposed in order to avoid being raped by the man she was supposedly protecting.
Gaddafi soon found out about her lie — Soraya had been seen having a swim — and he viciously beat her and spat on her before raping her.
‘I came out with a swollen face and they locked me up in a room,’ says Soraya.
From the other side of the door she was taunted by a woman called Mabrouka Sherif, Gaddafi’s leading procurer of girls and young women.
‘You wanted to escape, did you?’ Mabrouka asked her. ‘No matter where you may go one day, Muammar will find you again. And he will kill you.’
What makes the story of Gaddafi’s harem even more shocking is the complicity of women such as Mabrouka in procuring members of their own sex to satisfy their master’s twisted desires.
Thanks to her ability to get Gaddafi what he wanted — a seemingly endless supply of young virgins — Mabrouka rose to a position of immense power in Libya.
Accord: Tony Blair (left) shakes hands with Gaddafi in Tripoli in 2009. Just over two years later the dictator was dead
It also seems likely that she practised some form of black magic with Gaddafi, which further raised her status. For Soraya, Mabrouka was a jailer and a tormentor.
Soraya was forced to live in a squalid, damp basement in the heart of Gaddafi’s compound in Tripoli.
She was allowed to go into the city only for half an hour at a time, and even then she had to be accompanied by a guard.
On very rare occasions she was allowed to make contact with her family, but it soon became apparent that they were ashamed of what had happened to her.
When she was briefly reunited with her parents and brothers, Soraya grew to fear them.
They regarded her as ‘a girl who doesn’t deserve to live, whose honour is at stake’.
‘And that thought chills my bones,’ she recalls. ‘Cutting my throat would make respected men of them. Crime would wash away shame.
‘I am defiled, so I defile others. I’m a deadbeat, so who would cry over my death?’
As she grew into an adult, Soraya admitted that eventually she preferred life in Colonel Gaddafi’s compound, a thought that she found ‘unimaginable’.
There was a horrible stability there, free from social opprobrium. Soraya’s position gave her a view of the rich and powerful. Among them was Cecilia Sarkozy, the wife of the French president, and also Tony Blair, who visited Gaddafi in 2004.
The harrowing story is told in the book Gaddafi's Harem by Annick Cojean
‘In Sirte, I saw Tony Blair come out of the Guide’s camper [van]. “Hello girls!” he tossed out to us with an amicable gesture and a cheerful smile,’ says Soraya.
In his memoirs, Blair makes no reference to his meeting with the Libyan dictator, but it seems unlikely that the British prime minister would not have been apprised of intelligence reports that mentioned Gaddafi’s depravity.
After all, the Guide had been abusing women on a massive scale ever since he came to power at the age of just 27.
But when Gaddafi’s regime collapsed and he was killed in October 2011, Libya
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