If Lebanon Is an Oasis of Freedom, Why Don’t Women Succeed in Politics?
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| Writer: |
Tiare Rath
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| Source: |
The Daily Star
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| Date: |
Friday, 1 February 2002
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Some Activists Argue That Only a Quota Will Produce More Female MPs
Eight women marched into the Press Federation a year-and-a-half ago, bearing with them the hope for change. As feminists, academics, doctors and businesswomen determined to alter the status quo by serving in public office, they were seen as the future of Lebanese politics.
The kisses and warm handshakes of support they received from the members of two women’s organizations that hosted the forum on that July day in 2000 turned out to be the exception rather than the rule among voters.
By September, as the country hesitantly allowed itself to hope for better days with the new government, the optimism that Lebanon might progress in terms of women’s representation was quashed. Only three women were elected to Parliament, and just one, Ghinwa Jalloul, from among the eight who had attended the forum at the Press Federation. As Lebanese women are honored for their achievements throughout the region on Friday during Arab Women’s Day, the country holds the dubious honor of being one of the worst in the Arab world in terms of female political representation.
Women constitute just 2.3 percent of the members of Parliament and make up less than 1 percent of the representatives of municipal councils. Comparatively, 4.3 percent of the MPs in the Arab world are women, according to a December report from the Geneva-based Inter-Parliamentary Union. On the surface, the numbers don’t make sense for a country touted as an oasis of freedom and progress in an otherwise repressive region. Women in Lebanon can wear what they want, work where they want and say what they want. They are half of the country’s university graduates and make up 29 percent of the work force. So why can’t they break the glass ceiling when it comes to politics?
“Because we’re still backwards,” argued Sana Solh, a member of the Lebanese Women’s Council’s executive board.
“The problem with the Lebanese woman is that she’s not participating. She’s letting herself be led.”
“It’s a patriarchal system,” asserted Mona Khalaf, director of the Lebanese American University’s Institute for Women’s Studies in the Arab World. “It’s a system where traditions and norms play a major role.”
Lebanese politics have long revolved around tribalism and confessionalism. Families and religious sects “are used to having a man represent them,” said Lamia Osseiran, chair of the Lebanese Women’s Council’s Arab and International Relations Committee. “It’s always the man who (has) the advantage over the female.
Even if they have the same qualifications, they go for the man.” The void of females in politics has made it more difficult for laws hindering women’s rights to be abolished, women’s advocates assert. They cite as most offensive those laws giving men lighter punishments in cases involving “honor” crimes, and prohibiting women from passing on Lebanese citizenship to their children. The few women who made it into Nijmeh Square did so because of their family and political connections.
Sidon MP Bahiya Hariri is the sister of Prime Minister Rafik Hariri. Zghorta MP Nayla Mouawad, who heads the Women’s and Children’s Affairs Committee, got her start in politics with the assassination of her late husband, then-President Rene Mouawad. Beirut MP Jalloul rode in on Rafik Hariri’s list when it swept the capital in 2000.
In local politics, only 1 percent of municipal council members are women. That figure has stayed stagnant since the country’s pre-war days, according to a report by Lebanese University law professor Marguerite Helou, which ran in the December issue of Al-Raida, the publication of the Institute for Women’s Studies in the Arab World. To add insult to injury, unlike some other Arab countries including Syria Lebanon has never had a female minister. Hafez Assad made appointing women a priority under his regime, starting in 1976, although most continue to be placed in “softer” posts, such as culture and higher education.
“In the end it’s either through the quota that women reach (power) or through the initiative of the decision-maker,” Osseiran said. The quota, which requires that women hold a minimum number of seats in Parliament or parties, is used in several countries in Western Europe and has been the center of debate here for years. The Lebanese Women’s Council argues that the quota is the best way for women to forge into politics, but it has been the subject of significant debate among women’s advocates.
“It’s as if women are second-class citizens and don’t have equal rights,” Khalaf said. “This isn’t what we’re after.”
In the Arab world, even if women are appointed via quotas, “this doesn’t necessarily mean that these women are able to push for women’s rights in their country,” Khalaf maintained. “They’re usually members of the ruling political party and often don’t have much of a say in policy-making.”
Amal Charani, president of the National Committee for Women’s Issues, said that in Lebanon, male politicians often promise to put women in positions of power, but rarely do so in the end. They say: “‘We’re ready. We’re the first ones who will sign the demands,’” Charani said. “But when it’s on the ground, when it’s time to choose a woman for a post that’s effective, they won’t go for it.”
Women’s advocates were heartened by the recent appointments of women to top civil service posts, however. In December the government named 10 women to high-ranking positions in ministries, including three directors-general.
Activists argue that more needs to be done, not only officially but on a smaller social scale as well. Women need to support female candidates in their quest for public office, as do families.
“Any time a woman runs for election, the women don’t back her,” Solh claimed. “They say: ‘Why should she run?’ If she’s competent, she should run.”
A woman “has to have the courage, the self-confidence” to take the plunge into politics, Solh argued.
“You bring up your children to be like this,” she said. “It’s not other people who give it to you.”
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