RIYADH, 10 November 2006 — I was at a reception the other evening when someone I hadn’t met before approached me.
“I think it’s important that I get to know you,” he began rather cryptically. I fished around in my bag for a card and we exchanged business details.
“Oh,” I remarked unable to hide my smirk as I read his title. “You’re from the Human Rights Commission?”
“You heard of us?” he asked earnestly.
“Oh yes!” I effused sarcastically. “I mean who hasn’t heard of the Human Rights Commission of Saudi Arabia? After all, what could constitute a greater national paradox? I had experienced a problem with my papers a few months ago and a friend of mine had suggested that I come and see you.”
“And did you?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
“You must be joking!” I said brushing the whole idea off as ludicrous. “No offense, but I’m hardly going to entrust my future to a bunch of bureaucratic Saudi officials wanting to tow the government line.”
“But that’s not true,” he gently corrected evidently perturbed by my assertion. “We do lots of good work at the commission and we also get positive results.”
“Well,” I said softening up somewhat but still entirely disinterested in the self-promotion of any government organization, “I doubt very much that you could help me.”
“What exactly is your problem?” he questioned.
“Problem? Problems,” I replied placing an added emphasis on the ‘s’ of the plurality of my grievances. “I don’t even know where to start. I guess that my biggest problem is the one of my status: The fact that I can exist and live and work and produce here but that, according to the system, I am technically a persona non grata. They just don’t know how to deal with someone like me. I want to be recognized as an individual legal entity without having to rely on a male guardian.”
“That’s exactly the kind of thing we are working toward,” he said sympathetically. “If it’s any comfort to you, it’s an issue that is so close to my own heart. I agree with you entirely. Saudi women should have their own independent legal status.”
I was shocked by his reaction as I thought that such a bold request was sure to put him off.
Sensing his purported open-mindedness, I ventured further with the items on my wish list. “I want to be able to travel without having to seek the permission of a mahram I don’t even have. I want to be able to rent a place in my name as a single woman. Oh and explain this one to me if you can, I couldn’t even book a hotel room in Makkah during the last few days of Ramadan. Do you know how humiliating that was?
“I have an open invitation to visit the Grand Mosque from God whenever I choose, but I am obliged by the authorities to sleep on the streets because they doubt the purpose of my visit. To Makkah for crying out loud!”
He nodded slowly and deliberately. “Would you be prepared to put this down in writing?” he inquired.
“For sure,” I said without hesitation.
“But you did manage to get out during the summer, right?” asked a Canadian friend who had joined us.
“Yes,” I confirmed, “and I guess that I could find ways around the restrictions to perhaps do the same thing now. But you know what? I don’t want to any more. Why should I have to bypass the system every time I want to do something that is perfectly reasonable? I want the law to recognize my needs as a citizen. I am not asking for anything untoward but just for the logistics of my life to be made more practical.”
“Can’t your father help you?” asked the gentleman from Human Rights.
“Honestly speaking, my father cannot for the life of him understand why it is that at my age and with the responsibility of my position that I should have to rely on him to sign off on a piece of paper for me every time I want to do something normal. He firmly believes that instead of producing creative diversions, I should just tackle things head on. He wants me to fight the system and strive for change. Besides, I am privileged here. I have enough connections to get by but what about all those other women who don’t have a chance? I want the law to provide everyone with these basic rights. It’s inherently unfair that people like me can consistently get away with things whilst others are denied such simple liberties. I can’t accept this anymore. It’s about time that our laws were based on rules that are fair and applicable to all rather than on favors and exceptions.”
“Does that mean that you would be prepared to file a complaint?” he questioned.
“Absolutely. Anything that is worth having comes with a struggle. If I have to stay here indefinitely then so be it, but there is no way that I am going to accept this status quo any more.”
“Then we will make you into a test case,” he concluded.
“And you will be a test case for me,” I retorted. “Let’s see if the government is serious about truly affording people their rights or if your organization is just another eyewash as I had initially suspected.”
Judging by the caliber of the gentleman I met from the commission and his genuine interest in pursuing my case for once I hope to be proven wrong. I left the conversation encouraged that the existence of such a body may lead to the reforms that we are in dire need of on the ground away from the fanciful rhetoric that we are all too used to being regaled with.
As cynical as I am I have a feeling that this time my optimism is not misplaced.
