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Al-Ahram Weekly 25 - 31 May 2000 Issue No. 483 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 25 - 31 May 2000 Issue No. 483
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Focus Features Travel Living Sports Profile People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters Freedom -- at a price
By Mariz TadrosIn the three months since the new Procedural Personal Status Law was passed, over 1,300 women have applied for khul', the right to divorce their husbands on condition they forego all their financial rights. Opponents of personal status reform have argued that this large number is evidence of just what they had been warning about all along: once the gates of khul' are flung open, hundreds of lives will be shattered as women seek divorce for all sorts of petty, frivolous reasons.
The figure, however, argues Mona Zulficar, a lawyer who helped formulate the current procedural law, is "but a minute percentage of the total number of divorce cases recorded annually. We expected the number to be much bigger than this." While some of the khul' cases, she adds, end in reconciliation, the mere existence of the divorce option restores some balance to the conjugal relationship. "Whereas a husband could step over the limits and still expect his wife to be waiting for him at home, he now knows that she has the right to divorce him within three to six months, and she will use it", she asserts.
But not all those who seek khul' are empowered women, keen to break loose from an unhealthy relationship and look forward to a new life, free of personal pain. Take 70-year-old Rawhiya Mohamed Soliman, who applied for khul', but would have preferred not to divorce. To be eligible for the Mubarak pension, or any other welfare benefit, she has to be either a widow or a divorcee. So long as she has a husband, he is supposed to provide for her. Rawhiya has been married to Ali, her cousin, for over 40 years, and conceived four children, two girls and two boys. Twenty years after their marriage, her husband took another wife. She considered divorce, but her father discouraged her: she should think of her daughters, whose chance of finding good spouses would be greatly undermined if their mother was divorced. Her father also reasoned with her that, since Ali did not bring his second wife to live with them, perhaps she should just grin and bear it. Except for LE30 a month, Ali stopped spending any money on the household, and Rawhiya started peddling cloth to support herself and her children, making ends meet thanks to the odd charitable contribution here and there. But since Ali retired and fell sick, he has not contributed a piastre, she sighs. "I am too old to work now, and if only I could secure LE30 a month to pay for the rent and a little food, I would not have asked for a divorce. I am 70, I have accepted his second marriage for 20 years, and he has treated me in a respectful way. Why would I want to get divorced at my age?" she argues.
From a pragmatic point of view, being a married woman in a community where tongues tend to wag has its advantages, reasons Rawhiya: "I could go out, spend the night at my family's house, do what I want because I have that status. Why would I want to lose it now? If only I could secure my basic living expenses." Her husband refused to divorce her not out of meanness, but simply because he said he cannot afford to pay alimony. The Centre for Egyptian Women's Legal Assistance (CEWLA) in Bulaq, which applied for khul' on Rawhiya's behalf, said that this was her best option.
Even women who are seeking khul' because they have turbulent relationships with their husbands are aware of the social price, which far exceeds the financial loss incurred from having to return the bride-gift, and forgo their rights to alimony, especially since, in many cases, the women were the principle bread-earners in the family. Bakhita Said Hussein, in her 30s, has not seen her husband in two years. He took off after they had a row, and never returned. But even when he was living with them, he did not spend anything on the household because of his drug addiction. Twenty-eight-year-old Azza Mohamed Hussein learned early on not to rely on her husband, since he was in and out of prison all the time and there were three mouths to feed, other than herself. For her, khul' means that he will no longer have the authority to forbid her to work.
As for Hamida Menoufi, 43 years old, her husband never contributed to the household expenses. She has been supporting her two children, Mohamed (aged 12) and Ola (eight) through her work at a small factory shop, so khul' will only mean that she will no longer have to give part of her salary to her husband every month.
Bakhita, Azza and Hamida are all aware of the social costs of divorce, however -- especially through khul'. Because it has received bad publicity as a law for "loose women," the three know that they are likely to be stigmatised by their communities, even if many of their neighbours and acquaintances actually heard them being beaten, humiliated and insulted. They know, too, that their chances of remarrying when they have young children are slim. "They should not get married, and they should live to take care of their children. After all, you never know how their future husbands will treat their children," says Rawhiya. Consequently, although khul' is the key, they know that it does not necessarily open the door to a new relationship.
While Hamida and Azza claim to have been the victims of domestic violence, they also resent their husbands' refusal to shoulder their responsibilities as breadwinners. It is that, more than anything, that made these women want to end their marriages. Not surprisingly, many of the women who have applied for khul' are poor. It is a vicious cycle: men cannot find "decent" jobs, and the women are forced to seek whatever job they can find to keep the family alive -- which only undermines the man's sense of manhood even further. Not only are they unable to fulfil their traditional responsibility as breadwinners, they see their wives going out to work instead of them. Men's sense of masculinity is threatened by the possibility that women's earning power (however marginal it is) will change power relations in the household. In some cases, men's aggression towards their wives is an expression of their insecurity. Hamida used to hear the most humiliating insults upon her return from work, while Azza's husband refused to let her work, especially when he saw she was able to put food on the table for the family.
Interestingly, while injury, neglect and imprisonment for more than three years all allow women to file for a divorce without foregoing their financial rights, many women are choosing to apply for khul', or are switching from the regular divorce appeal to khul' because the latter is both speedier and less traumatic.
While Zulficar argues that the new Personal Status Law has introduced changes that facilitate and shorten the procedures required to attain divorce for women, she admits that it remains longer than the procedure for khul'.
Many lawyers are advising their clients to apply for khul', even though they are eligible for divorce, because they feel that the law and the procedures entailed by filing for a regular divorce discriminate against women. To address that, they explain, it is necessary to change the substantive, rather than the procedural, law.
Still, suggests Siham Ali Heneidi, a lawyer at CEWLA, many women are hesitant about applying for khul' because it is shrouded in so much negativity. "Just the other day, a woman told me she is not too keen about khul' because the local sheikh said it is haram (illicit or forbidden) since women should not divorce against their husbands' will. Women who want khul' are subject to a lot of pressure," she says.
Acquiring a divorce through khul' should take three to six months in theory, depending on whether the couple has children. Khul' is not granted immediately but after two reconciliation sessions, in which mediators from both sides attempt to reach an agreement peacefully. If they failed, the judge is obliged to divorce the woman, even if the husband does not agree. His verdict is not open to appeal.
Some lawyers sought to contest the constitutionality of the new law, arguing that any verdict should be subject to an appeal. However, the Supreme Constitutional Court has ruled against them, on the basis of the principle that it is one of the prerogatives of legislators to issue verdicts not open to appeal.
The most recent controversy surrounding the new Personal Status Law involves the "pay or face imprisonment clause." Major protests had erupted a fortnight ago, when legal experts protested the removal of the clause, which stipulates that men either pay child support or face imprisonment. The People's Assembly decided to introduce this clause again in one of its sessions last week -- although not without some embarrassment. Zulficar asserts that this clause existed in the draft Personal Status Law, which was approved by both the State Council and the Shura Council. The People's Assembly was on the verge of passing it when one MP pointed out that it was unnecessary to include it, since it is covered by the Penal Code. In practice, the removal of the clause undermined women's rights. It made the process longer, more arduous and complicated since a woman would have to go the Personal Status Court to obtain divorce, but also to the Penal Court to deal with the question of alimony. After the People's Assembly reinstated the clause last week, men who do not pay child support within 30 days face imprisonment.
It will be the responsibility of Nasser Bank to disburse child support to women and later collect it from their former husbands. While this relieves women of having to wait endlessly for payments, there are questions as to how much money the bank will have at its disposal, and whether it will ever be able to retrieve the money from men who work in the informal sector, for example.
Moreover, since none of the cases have yet received a final verdict, it is still too early to assess whether women are being pressured to reach a peaceful settlement during the two reconciliation sessions, whether they really are able to get divorced within six months, and whether Bank Nasser succeeds in providing them with the social safety net so integral to their existence. Most importantly, will the protests over the new law, whether on social or legal premises, ever die down, allowing women who have obtained a divorce through khul' to avoid stigmatisation?
