Critics charge a U.S. based group is ‘manufacturing’ Ethiopian Jews to bolster Israel’s orthodox population.
BY Joshua Hammer
ASHAGRAY ZELEKE is on the front limes of a war over Israel’s future. The local representative of the North American Conference on Ethiopian Jewry (NACOEJ),
Zeleke administers a compound in Addis Ababa where thousands of Falash Mura Ethiopian Christians who claim Jewish ancestry learn the rites of the faith while awaiting emigration to Israel. Leading a visitor through the iron gates, Zeleke proudly shows off Hebrew lessons in progress and a makeshift synagogue where 300 men wearing yarmulkes and prayer shawls bow fervently before an ark inscribed in Amharic. “Some have been waiting a decade to leave for Israel,” he says. “ They really feel Jewish inside.” There’s just one problem: according to many Israeli officials, barely 40 percent of the Ethiopians languishing in this compound have Jewish roots.
NACOEJ’s ambitions have ignited an angry debate in Israel that cuts to the heart of the Jewish state’s identity. Critics charge that the U.S.-based group, in an effort to spread Orthodox Judaism and beef up Israel’s Jewish population, is “manufacturing Jews ”—luring Ethiopian Christians out of their villages, inflating the numbers of those it claims have Jewish ancestry and trading food and the promise of exodus 31for religious conversion. NACOEJ, which insists that all the Ethiopians in its compounds are Jews, has found am alliance with some powerful sectors of Israeli society The Palestinian intifada has drastically reduced the number of diaspora Jews interested in emigrating to Israel: the number dropped from 61,000 in 2000 to 21,000 last year. Amid fears that Muslims may soon outnumber Jews in Israel and the occupied territories, some Likud Party leaders and religious right wingers see resettling the Falash Mura as one way of guaranteeing the strength of the Jewish population.
Early this month, Israeli Foreign Minister Silvan Shalom announced that he would speed up the resettlement of 24,000 Falash Mura living in NACOEJ compounds in Addis Ababa and Gondar in northern Ethiopia. That followed a statement last year by Israel’s chief Sephardic rabbi that the Falash Mura were “ complete Jews without any doubt ” and a decision by the Interior Ministry then run by a leader of the Shas religious party to admit the Falash Mura in accordance with Israel’s law of entry. That law allows for family reunifications as long as the prospective immigrant can show maternal linkage to Judaism.
But Shalom’s promise provoked a backlash from lawmakers who question the authenticity of the Falash Mura’s claims, and who argue that Israel can’t afford the speedy resettlement of thousands of destitute Ethiopians. Tzipii Livne, the minister of Immigrant Absorption, estimates that 10,000 of the 24,000 in the compounds will qualify for immigration and believes strict limits must be drawn. “ You could have a chain of family members demanding to come in, ” she says. “ Where does it end? ”
NACOEJ feeds, educates and provides free health care to the Falash Mura, and indoctrinates them in Orthodox Jewish rituals In 1998 Israel reluctantly agreed to accept al 3,000 Falash Mura then in the two compounds, then ordered the Americans to shut down the facilities. Within days, however thousands more Falash Mura poured in to replace them. Relations between NACOEJ and Israel have been strained ever since. Israeli officials, and some leaders of the Ethiopian Jewish community, charge that NACOEJ aggressively recruits Falash Mura in rural Ethiopia. Unemployment is rife among those who move into the compounds. “ In villages they have respect. They’re not rich, but they farm, they are self sufficient, ” says Dani Abebe, am Ethiopian journalist for Yediot Ahronot. “ They come to Addis and they have nothing. ”
The committee’s former president, Joseph Feit, insists that NACOEJ makes no attempt to recruit villagers in rural Ethiopia. He says that the Falash Mura’s return to Judaism is heartfelt, and not motivated by material incentives, and accuses the Minister of the Interior of foot-dragging to avoid the burden of bringing in poor Africans. Livne says the government isn’t opposed to letting in Falash Mura, but she wants a strict vetting process to be put in place. After that, she says, NACOEJ must close down the compounds. That’s an order the committee has resisted before, and will likely resist again.
Saturday, 26 September 2009
The New Blasphemy.
By Tara Pepper
Britain debates the limits of religious free speech.
Newsweek International
Omar Marzouk, a Muslim comedian from Denmark, had but one request at last month's Edinburgh Fringe Festival. "Tell me if you don't find my jokes funny." he told his audience. "I don't want to die— I'm not that kind of Muslim."
Poking fun at the world's religions was de rigueur at Edinburgh's annual stage jamboree. Reason: fears that a controversial new " anti-blasphemy " law could curtail freedom of speech. The proposed legislation, to be debated by Britain's House of Lords next month, allows prosecution in cases where behavior or written material—such as a book, play or broadcast—could potentially incite religious hatred. Home Office officials say the law would not bar legitimate criticism of religion—nor comedians' lampooning of faiths—but argue that there must be some defense against speech motivated by religious hatred. With religion intruding into politics and the arts across Europe, though, many worry the legislation is a step too far.
Europeans have long had laws against blasphemy. Most are holdovers from the late 17th century and, until recently, were all but dead. But lately religious groups have seized upon them. In Italy, journalist Oriana Fallaci, whose criticism of the country's Muslims has won support from the conservative, anti-immigration right, is awaiting trial on charges of vilifying Islam. French bishops have taken legal action against a Marithe + Francois Girbaud ad they say mocks the Last Supper. In Denmark, Muslims filed complaints against two state TV stations after they broadcast excerpts of " Submission," by the murdered Dutch filmmaker Theo van Gogh, portraying violence against women as endemic in Islam. Some think Britain's new law will be used similarly. "It's about saving Muslims from attack," says religious historian David Nash—a perfectly reasonable goal, he adds, "except that the law will be used indiscriminately by religious groups who want to see offense. "
Existing British blasphemy laws cover Christianity. Sikhs and Jews are shielded because they are regarded as distinct races falling under laws prohibiting incitement to racial hatred. Muslim groups have lobbied for similar protection since 1988, with the publication of Salman Rushdie's "The Satanic Verses," and they stepped up their efforts after 9/11 out of fear of an anti-Islam backlash. For critics, however, the question is whether any religion should be so protected. " Any system of ideas that requires you to ring-fence it is a mistake," Rushdie said recently. Many artists in Edinburgh questioned whether his work would even be published under the proposed law.
Supporters say such concerns are overwrought. "The lords will look for tight drafting, with guarantees that it won't be used in respect of comedians or literature of a serious kind," says Rabinder Singh, chairman of the British bar's race and religion committee. As for Marzouk, he's not fazed. Denmark already has similar laws, he notes. " Every human being holds something holy," he told his Edinburgh audience in a neat segue to the serious.
"We can all have some respect for that."
Britain debates the limits of religious free speech.
Newsweek International
Omar Marzouk, a Muslim comedian from Denmark, had but one request at last month's Edinburgh Fringe Festival. "Tell me if you don't find my jokes funny." he told his audience. "I don't want to die— I'm not that kind of Muslim."
Poking fun at the world's religions was de rigueur at Edinburgh's annual stage jamboree. Reason: fears that a controversial new " anti-blasphemy " law could curtail freedom of speech. The proposed legislation, to be debated by Britain's House of Lords next month, allows prosecution in cases where behavior or written material—such as a book, play or broadcast—could potentially incite religious hatred. Home Office officials say the law would not bar legitimate criticism of religion—nor comedians' lampooning of faiths—but argue that there must be some defense against speech motivated by religious hatred. With religion intruding into politics and the arts across Europe, though, many worry the legislation is a step too far.
Europeans have long had laws against blasphemy. Most are holdovers from the late 17th century and, until recently, were all but dead. But lately religious groups have seized upon them. In Italy, journalist Oriana Fallaci, whose criticism of the country's Muslims has won support from the conservative, anti-immigration right, is awaiting trial on charges of vilifying Islam. French bishops have taken legal action against a Marithe + Francois Girbaud ad they say mocks the Last Supper. In Denmark, Muslims filed complaints against two state TV stations after they broadcast excerpts of " Submission," by the murdered Dutch filmmaker Theo van Gogh, portraying violence against women as endemic in Islam. Some think Britain's new law will be used similarly. "It's about saving Muslims from attack," says religious historian David Nash—a perfectly reasonable goal, he adds, "except that the law will be used indiscriminately by religious groups who want to see offense. "
Existing British blasphemy laws cover Christianity. Sikhs and Jews are shielded because they are regarded as distinct races falling under laws prohibiting incitement to racial hatred. Muslim groups have lobbied for similar protection since 1988, with the publication of Salman Rushdie's "The Satanic Verses," and they stepped up their efforts after 9/11 out of fear of an anti-Islam backlash. For critics, however, the question is whether any religion should be so protected. " Any system of ideas that requires you to ring-fence it is a mistake," Rushdie said recently. Many artists in Edinburgh questioned whether his work would even be published under the proposed law.
Supporters say such concerns are overwrought. "The lords will look for tight drafting, with guarantees that it won't be used in respect of comedians or literature of a serious kind," says Rabinder Singh, chairman of the British bar's race and religion committee. As for Marzouk, he's not fazed. Denmark already has similar laws, he notes. " Every human being holds something holy," he told his Edinburgh audience in a neat segue to the serious.
"We can all have some respect for that."
Se habla electoral votes
Bush's immigration plan looks like a smart ploy for Hispanic support. But the political landscape is trickier than it seems.
By Arian Campo-Flores
Newsweek
Jan. 19 issue -
For Armando Gutierrez, a Democratic consultant on Latino issues, President George W. Bush's immigration proposal last week signaled the opening salvo in the battle for Hispanic votes. Uh-oh, he thought. The Bushies are serious. Here they come. As policy, Gutierrez considers Bush's plan—which would grant temporary legal status to millions of undocumented workers, but no certain path to citizenship—nothing more than a means to exploit cheap labor. As politics, however, Gutierrez—who is working on Howard Dean's campaign—concedes that it's "a very savvy, very astute move."
Consider it Bush's latest overture in his persistent courtship of Latinos, with his broken español and roots in immigrant-rich Texas. In 2000 he won 35 percent of the Latino vote, which is concentrated in key swing states like Florida and New Mexico. This time around, his pollster has said, Bush needs to garner at least 40 percent. A poll released by the Pew Hispanic Center last week proved encouraging to his team, with 54 percent of Latinos approving of Bush's job performance and 37 percent saying they'd like him re-elected (compared with 47 percent backing a generic Democrat). On its surface, Bush's immigration proposal seems like an ingenious bid to build on that support. But given the complexity of the Hispanic constituency, there's no guarantee it will pay off at the polls.
For starters, immigration isn't necessarily a winning issue with Latinos. Studies show it usually ranks far below jobs, education and health care as top Hispanic concerns. It might appeal to a recent Mexican immigrant, but not a third-generation Latino or a Puerto Rican who's born a U.S. citizen. In fact, a 2002 survey found that 48 percent of registered Latino voters thought there were too many immigrants in the United States—in line with white attitudes. When immigration has galvanized Latinos, it has typically been in response to perceived attacks—like attempts in California to strip the undocumented of public services—not in response to pro-immigrant policies. A more obvious tactical shortcoming of the Bush proposal: its beneficiaries won't be voters for years, if ever and when they are, they'll most likely vote Democratic. Add to all this the difficulty of enacting immigration reform—with conservatives fuming about rewarding illegal behavior and Democrats pushing for permanent residency—and there's reason to question the electoral payoff of Bush's strategy.
Still, nobody's underestimating Karl Rove's math skills. Foreign -born Latinos— for whom the immigrant experience is still fresh— have swelled from about one fifth of Hispanic registered voters in 1988 to about half today, according to a poll by the New Democrat Network. "They don't have a history or legacy with a particular party," says NDN's Maria Cardona. "They swing harder than any other constituency in the American electorate." Bush's proposal also helps suppress a traditional Democratic attack—Republicans as immigrant bashers—by casting his party as welcoming and inclusive. Democrats " no longer can rely on fear as a mobilization tactic," says GOP consultant Mike Madrid. It remains to be seen whether viable legislation will emerge from what promises to be a contentious fight in Congress. But, Madrid says, "the fact that we're talking about that debate is a tactical victory already." Bush's Spanish may be broken, but he's certainly fluent in the language of politics.
HELP WANTED: A spot in Dallas where undocumented immigrants, whom Bush would grant legal status, wait for work.
By Arian Campo-Flores
Newsweek
Jan. 19 issue -
For Armando Gutierrez, a Democratic consultant on Latino issues, President George W. Bush's immigration proposal last week signaled the opening salvo in the battle for Hispanic votes. Uh-oh, he thought. The Bushies are serious. Here they come. As policy, Gutierrez considers Bush's plan—which would grant temporary legal status to millions of undocumented workers, but no certain path to citizenship—nothing more than a means to exploit cheap labor. As politics, however, Gutierrez—who is working on Howard Dean's campaign—concedes that it's "a very savvy, very astute move."
Consider it Bush's latest overture in his persistent courtship of Latinos, with his broken español and roots in immigrant-rich Texas. In 2000 he won 35 percent of the Latino vote, which is concentrated in key swing states like Florida and New Mexico. This time around, his pollster has said, Bush needs to garner at least 40 percent. A poll released by the Pew Hispanic Center last week proved encouraging to his team, with 54 percent of Latinos approving of Bush's job performance and 37 percent saying they'd like him re-elected (compared with 47 percent backing a generic Democrat). On its surface, Bush's immigration proposal seems like an ingenious bid to build on that support. But given the complexity of the Hispanic constituency, there's no guarantee it will pay off at the polls.
For starters, immigration isn't necessarily a winning issue with Latinos. Studies show it usually ranks far below jobs, education and health care as top Hispanic concerns. It might appeal to a recent Mexican immigrant, but not a third-generation Latino or a Puerto Rican who's born a U.S. citizen. In fact, a 2002 survey found that 48 percent of registered Latino voters thought there were too many immigrants in the United States—in line with white attitudes. When immigration has galvanized Latinos, it has typically been in response to perceived attacks—like attempts in California to strip the undocumented of public services—not in response to pro-immigrant policies. A more obvious tactical shortcoming of the Bush proposal: its beneficiaries won't be voters for years, if ever and when they are, they'll most likely vote Democratic. Add to all this the difficulty of enacting immigration reform—with conservatives fuming about rewarding illegal behavior and Democrats pushing for permanent residency—and there's reason to question the electoral payoff of Bush's strategy.
Still, nobody's underestimating Karl Rove's math skills. Foreign -born Latinos— for whom the immigrant experience is still fresh— have swelled from about one fifth of Hispanic registered voters in 1988 to about half today, according to a poll by the New Democrat Network. "They don't have a history or legacy with a particular party," says NDN's Maria Cardona. "They swing harder than any other constituency in the American electorate." Bush's proposal also helps suppress a traditional Democratic attack—Republicans as immigrant bashers—by casting his party as welcoming and inclusive. Democrats " no longer can rely on fear as a mobilization tactic," says GOP consultant Mike Madrid. It remains to be seen whether viable legislation will emerge from what promises to be a contentious fight in Congress. But, Madrid says, "the fact that we're talking about that debate is a tactical victory already." Bush's Spanish may be broken, but he's certainly fluent in the language of politics.
HELP WANTED: A spot in Dallas where undocumented immigrants, whom Bush would grant legal status, wait for work.
At Harvard, skeptics rule
For a brief moment on campus, Iraq stirred the students.
But sadly, pessimism has regained its lead over passion here.
By Beccah Golubock Watson
Newsweek. January 19, 2004 issue.
As the Democratic presidential sweepstakes heats up, students at Harvard are greeting a parade of visiting candidates with polite smiles—and big yawns. To hear most of my classmates tell it, it doesn't much matter if the Democrats pick Dean or Clark or Kucinich or Moseley Braun. It's not just that people here are skeptical of anyone's chances of beating Bush; at today's Harvard, pessimism is always cooler than passion.
Roosevelts and Kennedys may have once walked these grounds, but it's hard to find students who think politicians can truly change the world. It's not that we're not passionate about our liberal politics. It's just that we're wary of looking foolish by being passionately liberal.
Sure, every once in a while Harvard dabbles in radicalism. Three years ago a group of students stormed the university president's office and waged a multiday sit-in, demanding a living wage for Harvard workers. Shaggy protesters built an unwieldy tent city inside stately Harvard Yard. When the university caved, the protesters went back to their dorms and apathy reigned once more. Now it's much more common to see a Harvard student complimenting president Larry Summers on his tennis game than challenging him on his policies.
It looked for a time like the war in Iraq might change things. Last spring, when President George W. Bush began dropping bombs on Baghdad, no one made cynical jokes or seemed embarrassed to talk openly about how they felt. My friends admitted they were scared, confused, anxious and angry. Eventually, thousands of students showed they were willing to act on their convictions, walking out of classes and filling the yard in protest.
For a brief moment, apathetic Harvard had become activist Harvard again. Today chaos may rule the day in Iraq, but things here have gotten pretty sedate again. Instead of protesting the war, students are dressing up and going to intimate " Evenings With the Candidates " in Harvard houses and swooning for the cameras at tapings of Chris Matthews's "Hardball Goes to Harvard" series. Kids who briefly muddied their feet and chanted against the war are now polishing their shoes and smiling noncommittally at the candidates.
The Democrats aren't doing much to keep our radical spirit alive. When Matthews asked John Kerry what his favorite movie was at one of the " Hardball " tapings, the Massachusetts senator seemed stumped. When he spoke in an undergraduate dorm, Wesley Clark kept finding awkward silence where he expected applause. And when Matthews asked Dean to name his favorite book, the front runner boldly plugged his own campaign biography.
So even as the country faces grave issues of war and peace, Harvard students are more worked up about what's on the dining-hall menu than they are about the White House race. Personally, I'm keeping my hopes up for a revival of passionate political activism. At cynical Harvard, optimism is an act of rebellion in and of itself.
Watson is a senior at Harvard College. She is one of five college journalists writing periodically about Campaign for NEWSWEEK and NEWSWEEK.COM
Too cool for school: Beccah Watson says students care more about ‘ Lord of the Rings ’ than about electing a president.
But sadly, pessimism has regained its lead over passion here.
By Beccah Golubock Watson
Newsweek. January 19, 2004 issue.
As the Democratic presidential sweepstakes heats up, students at Harvard are greeting a parade of visiting candidates with polite smiles—and big yawns. To hear most of my classmates tell it, it doesn't much matter if the Democrats pick Dean or Clark or Kucinich or Moseley Braun. It's not just that people here are skeptical of anyone's chances of beating Bush; at today's Harvard, pessimism is always cooler than passion.
Roosevelts and Kennedys may have once walked these grounds, but it's hard to find students who think politicians can truly change the world. It's not that we're not passionate about our liberal politics. It's just that we're wary of looking foolish by being passionately liberal.
Sure, every once in a while Harvard dabbles in radicalism. Three years ago a group of students stormed the university president's office and waged a multiday sit-in, demanding a living wage for Harvard workers. Shaggy protesters built an unwieldy tent city inside stately Harvard Yard. When the university caved, the protesters went back to their dorms and apathy reigned once more. Now it's much more common to see a Harvard student complimenting president Larry Summers on his tennis game than challenging him on his policies.
It looked for a time like the war in Iraq might change things. Last spring, when President George W. Bush began dropping bombs on Baghdad, no one made cynical jokes or seemed embarrassed to talk openly about how they felt. My friends admitted they were scared, confused, anxious and angry. Eventually, thousands of students showed they were willing to act on their convictions, walking out of classes and filling the yard in protest.
For a brief moment, apathetic Harvard had become activist Harvard again. Today chaos may rule the day in Iraq, but things here have gotten pretty sedate again. Instead of protesting the war, students are dressing up and going to intimate " Evenings With the Candidates " in Harvard houses and swooning for the cameras at tapings of Chris Matthews's "Hardball Goes to Harvard" series. Kids who briefly muddied their feet and chanted against the war are now polishing their shoes and smiling noncommittally at the candidates.
The Democrats aren't doing much to keep our radical spirit alive. When Matthews asked John Kerry what his favorite movie was at one of the " Hardball " tapings, the Massachusetts senator seemed stumped. When he spoke in an undergraduate dorm, Wesley Clark kept finding awkward silence where he expected applause. And when Matthews asked Dean to name his favorite book, the front runner boldly plugged his own campaign biography.
So even as the country faces grave issues of war and peace, Harvard students are more worked up about what's on the dining-hall menu than they are about the White House race. Personally, I'm keeping my hopes up for a revival of passionate political activism. At cynical Harvard, optimism is an act of rebellion in and of itself.
Watson is a senior at Harvard College. She is one of five college journalists writing periodically about Campaign for NEWSWEEK and NEWSWEEK.COM
Too cool for school: Beccah Watson says students care more about ‘ Lord of the Rings ’ than about electing a president.
Another kind of warrior
Saudi television personality Rania al-Baz was beaten unconscious.
Then,"she did the unthinkable: she spoke out."
By Christopher Dickey and Faiza Ambah
Newsweek. May 3 issue
It was late Sunday and the kids were asleep," remembers Rania al-Baz, one of Saudi Arabia's few women television presenters. She and her husband were arguing, as they often did. " The next thing I knew he was strangling me," al-Baz told NEWSWEEK. " Then he threw me against the wall and banged my head down on the floor. He told me to say the Shahadah [the Muslim prayer of last rites] because I was going to die. I said it and fainted. The next thing I remember, I was in the hospital."
For many battered wives, and not only in Saudi Arabia, the story might have ended there. But because al-Baz, 29, is a celebrity in a country where many women aren't allowed to show their faces in public, and because she was barely recognizable with her features fractured in 13 places, somebody took her picture. More surprising still, the Saudi press published the gruesome image. Then, in the full glare of international publicity, al-Baz spoke out for her rights as a woman and a mother."I spoke out because I wanted [women] to know that they have rights under Sharia that protect them from domestic violence," says al-Baz. " I also want to say that one man beat me, but one hundred have stood by me. My boss, my colleagues at work, my friends, the man in the street." She had been battered before, but had not sued for divorce for fear that she might lose custody of her two kids. Now she tells her sons, 5 and 3 years old, that she fell down some steps, "and if you run without being careful, this is what happens."
Al-Baz's plight, and her protest, are emblematic of a broader struggle that is underway in Saudi society. It is not the stark conflict of forces that George W. Bush often envisions, between good and evil, freedom and oppression, Western-style democracy and dictatorship. It's a struggle within Islam over how to make Saudi Arabia a better Islamic society. People like al-Baz and her many supporters are pushing for more equitable laws in a society of the present, not one locked into an idealized vision of a medieval past. Conservatives are pushing back, and bin Ladenists are fighting a campaign of their own.
Days after al-Baz went public with her story, a suicide bomber attacked one of the Saudi security service's own administrative buildings, killing six people and wounding 148. The next night, police fought a running gun battle with suspected terrorists in a Jidda suburb. A claim of responsibility for the bombing, posted on a fundamentalist Web site, was couched in the language of desert justice. " There is not one house, neighborhood or tribe left that does not have a blood feud [with the royal family]," it declared.
Which forces are winning? Change in Saudi Arabia may be violent or it may come, says Rachel Bronson of the Council on Foreign Relations, "through consultations and signals" from the royal family. But those are often unclear, sometimes totally contradictory, and utterly frustrating for U.S. officials worried about the stability of world oil prices.
A survey of more than 15,000 Saudi men and women, conducted last year with government funds, suggested that a huge silent majority supports reforms promoted by Crown Prince Abdullah, including efforts to give women more legal rights (such as driver's licenses) and some tentative steps toward democracy with municipal elections. Indeed, as winter began there was a kind of Saudi spring. People were speaking out in the press, on the radio and on satellite TV channels. But in December, Prince Nayef, the Interior minister, warned a group of leading liberals that" their files were now with him," according to a man who attended the meeting. Nayef ordered them not to air their demands publicly, but in private discussions with the authorities. When Nayef's warning wasn't heeded, a dozen of the most prominent reformers were jailed. Three are still in prison.
The story of beautiful, battered Rania al-Baz hit the papers just as the reformers needed some inspiration. "The message I want to give is 'no to violence'," al-Baz told NEWSWEEK. With her husband having surrendered to police, she and her two boys are safe for the moment. But their struggle isn't over. A human-rights group has provided her with a lawyer to fight for her rights and everyone else's. At a time when a murderous minority is trying to seize power, many are hoping the silent majority isn't silenced once again.
Going Public: Television presenter Rania al-Baz, on the left in a recent file photo, is trying to highlight the plight of battered Saudi women. The picture on the right shows her lying in a hospital bed after her husband beat her unconscious.
Then,"she did the unthinkable: she spoke out."
By Christopher Dickey and Faiza Ambah
Newsweek. May 3 issue
It was late Sunday and the kids were asleep," remembers Rania al-Baz, one of Saudi Arabia's few women television presenters. She and her husband were arguing, as they often did. " The next thing I knew he was strangling me," al-Baz told NEWSWEEK. " Then he threw me against the wall and banged my head down on the floor. He told me to say the Shahadah [the Muslim prayer of last rites] because I was going to die. I said it and fainted. The next thing I remember, I was in the hospital."
For many battered wives, and not only in Saudi Arabia, the story might have ended there. But because al-Baz, 29, is a celebrity in a country where many women aren't allowed to show their faces in public, and because she was barely recognizable with her features fractured in 13 places, somebody took her picture. More surprising still, the Saudi press published the gruesome image. Then, in the full glare of international publicity, al-Baz spoke out for her rights as a woman and a mother."I spoke out because I wanted [women] to know that they have rights under Sharia that protect them from domestic violence," says al-Baz. " I also want to say that one man beat me, but one hundred have stood by me. My boss, my colleagues at work, my friends, the man in the street." She had been battered before, but had not sued for divorce for fear that she might lose custody of her two kids. Now she tells her sons, 5 and 3 years old, that she fell down some steps, "and if you run without being careful, this is what happens."
Al-Baz's plight, and her protest, are emblematic of a broader struggle that is underway in Saudi society. It is not the stark conflict of forces that George W. Bush often envisions, between good and evil, freedom and oppression, Western-style democracy and dictatorship. It's a struggle within Islam over how to make Saudi Arabia a better Islamic society. People like al-Baz and her many supporters are pushing for more equitable laws in a society of the present, not one locked into an idealized vision of a medieval past. Conservatives are pushing back, and bin Ladenists are fighting a campaign of their own.
Days after al-Baz went public with her story, a suicide bomber attacked one of the Saudi security service's own administrative buildings, killing six people and wounding 148. The next night, police fought a running gun battle with suspected terrorists in a Jidda suburb. A claim of responsibility for the bombing, posted on a fundamentalist Web site, was couched in the language of desert justice. " There is not one house, neighborhood or tribe left that does not have a blood feud [with the royal family]," it declared.
Which forces are winning? Change in Saudi Arabia may be violent or it may come, says Rachel Bronson of the Council on Foreign Relations, "through consultations and signals" from the royal family. But those are often unclear, sometimes totally contradictory, and utterly frustrating for U.S. officials worried about the stability of world oil prices.
A survey of more than 15,000 Saudi men and women, conducted last year with government funds, suggested that a huge silent majority supports reforms promoted by Crown Prince Abdullah, including efforts to give women more legal rights (such as driver's licenses) and some tentative steps toward democracy with municipal elections. Indeed, as winter began there was a kind of Saudi spring. People were speaking out in the press, on the radio and on satellite TV channels. But in December, Prince Nayef, the Interior minister, warned a group of leading liberals that" their files were now with him," according to a man who attended the meeting. Nayef ordered them not to air their demands publicly, but in private discussions with the authorities. When Nayef's warning wasn't heeded, a dozen of the most prominent reformers were jailed. Three are still in prison.
The story of beautiful, battered Rania al-Baz hit the papers just as the reformers needed some inspiration. "The message I want to give is 'no to violence'," al-Baz told NEWSWEEK. With her husband having surrendered to police, she and her two boys are safe for the moment. But their struggle isn't over. A human-rights group has provided her with a lawyer to fight for her rights and everyone else's. At a time when a murderous minority is trying to seize power, many are hoping the silent majority isn't silenced once again.
Going Public: Television presenter Rania al-Baz, on the left in a recent file photo, is trying to highlight the plight of battered Saudi women. The picture on the right shows her lying in a hospital bed after her husband beat her unconscious.
Looking for a real leader
When it comes to talent at the top, Indonesians have to wait.
By Joe Cochrane
Newsweek International. March 8 issue.
When she was appointed regent of the central Java district of Kebuman four years ago, Rustriningsih did a very unusual thing for an Indonesian official: she refused to take bribes. Instead, the 36-year-old, who like many Indonesians goes by one name, began building one of the country's cleanest and most transparent provincial governments. Today she is the most popular figure in her district of 1.2 million and the perfect candidate for national Parliament elections next month. The only problem is she's not running. " I would have limited powers to change things at the national level, "says Rustriningsih," but at the [provincial] level I am leading the fight against corruption."
The ouster of authoritarian president Suharto in 1998 filled many Indonesians with hope. A year later the country celebrated its first free election in four decades. But five years on, hope seems to have been replaced with resignation. Although the country has largely recovered from the 1997 financial crisis, Suharto's Golkar Party remains a key player in Parliament and the cabinet, the judiciary and civil service are still rife with corruption and the armed forces have regained their political influence n the capital, as well as economic clout in the provinces. Heading into the April 5 polls, and the nation's first direct presidential election in July, Indonesian voters remain stuck choosing among an entrenched group of national political figures largely associated with corruption, incompetence or human-rights abuses.
Consider the current crop of candidates: a former housewife with questionable leadership skills (President Megawati Sukarnoputri), a Muslim politician who once counted the country's top terrorist suspect as his friend (Vice President Hamzah Haz), a retired Army general indicted for war crimes by United Nations prosecutors in East Timor (former armed forces chief Wiranto), a former president removed for alleged corruption and incompetence (Abdurrahman Wahid) and a Parliament speaker who has been dogged by allegations of embezzlement (Akbar Tanjung). Some have already written off the upcoming polls in hope that new leadership will emerge for the next set of elections in 2009. " The field is not so inspiring," says Wimar Witoelar, a prominent political commentator. " It's more of the same people."
Some have already written off the polls, hoping new leaders will emerge in 2009.
The most enduring legacy of Suharto's 32-year rule may be this leadership vacuum. The strongman regularly had anyone who proved to be politically ambitious shunted aside. And the so-called democratic reformers who were ushered into power in 1999 have failed to cultivate a new generation of leaders, let alone clean house among the old political elite. Although successive governments have passed anti-corruption laws and created investigative commissions, they are considered paper tigers. Worse, under Megawati, all inquiries into the Suharto family—including of the man himself—were halted. Without strong political backing from Jakarta, it's hardly surprising that the reform movement collapsed or that more inspiring figures haven't risen from the grass roots. " In such a situation, it's very difficult to find new leaders," says political analyst Salim Said. "I do hope that two or three elections from now... we can have a leader who started from down below."
That's where some international donors are placing their bets. The World Bank is providing hundreds of millions of dollars in funding and assistance to local governments that, in their view, are seeking transparency, public participation and an end to corruption. Among Indonesia's 430 provincial districts, they've identified a small number of untainted, reform-minded regents — called bupati — whose good work they hope will spark a " trickle-up effect " that encourages clean government at the national level. For example, in Kebuman district, Rustriningsih hosts a daily radio call-in show and broadcasts her mobile-phone number so constituents can call up with complaints and suggestions. In Solok, south Sumatra, regent Gamawan Fauzi has sacked several civil servants for corruption, and has begun home mail delivery to rural villages. He regularly appears on Jakarta talks shows and attends international anticorruption conferences. Says Rustriningsih, " I want to change everything by my own hand, so one day I can be influential on the national level."
It will take more than savvy public relations to shake up Indonesian politics. Most provincial officials are beholden to their parties, and are required to " donate " a portion of their salaries in exchange for posts. But that may be changing, too. Beginning next year, provincial regents will be directly elected, which, analysts say, will both broaden their political base and make them less dependent on party connections. And that may finally give politicians like Rustriningsih the chance to shake things up — for good.
With Peter Jannsen.
By Joe Cochrane
Newsweek International. March 8 issue.
When she was appointed regent of the central Java district of Kebuman four years ago, Rustriningsih did a very unusual thing for an Indonesian official: she refused to take bribes. Instead, the 36-year-old, who like many Indonesians goes by one name, began building one of the country's cleanest and most transparent provincial governments. Today she is the most popular figure in her district of 1.2 million and the perfect candidate for national Parliament elections next month. The only problem is she's not running. " I would have limited powers to change things at the national level, "says Rustriningsih," but at the [provincial] level I am leading the fight against corruption."
The ouster of authoritarian president Suharto in 1998 filled many Indonesians with hope. A year later the country celebrated its first free election in four decades. But five years on, hope seems to have been replaced with resignation. Although the country has largely recovered from the 1997 financial crisis, Suharto's Golkar Party remains a key player in Parliament and the cabinet, the judiciary and civil service are still rife with corruption and the armed forces have regained their political influence n the capital, as well as economic clout in the provinces. Heading into the April 5 polls, and the nation's first direct presidential election in July, Indonesian voters remain stuck choosing among an entrenched group of national political figures largely associated with corruption, incompetence or human-rights abuses.
Consider the current crop of candidates: a former housewife with questionable leadership skills (President Megawati Sukarnoputri), a Muslim politician who once counted the country's top terrorist suspect as his friend (Vice President Hamzah Haz), a retired Army general indicted for war crimes by United Nations prosecutors in East Timor (former armed forces chief Wiranto), a former president removed for alleged corruption and incompetence (Abdurrahman Wahid) and a Parliament speaker who has been dogged by allegations of embezzlement (Akbar Tanjung). Some have already written off the upcoming polls in hope that new leadership will emerge for the next set of elections in 2009. " The field is not so inspiring," says Wimar Witoelar, a prominent political commentator. " It's more of the same people."
Some have already written off the polls, hoping new leaders will emerge in 2009.
The most enduring legacy of Suharto's 32-year rule may be this leadership vacuum. The strongman regularly had anyone who proved to be politically ambitious shunted aside. And the so-called democratic reformers who were ushered into power in 1999 have failed to cultivate a new generation of leaders, let alone clean house among the old political elite. Although successive governments have passed anti-corruption laws and created investigative commissions, they are considered paper tigers. Worse, under Megawati, all inquiries into the Suharto family—including of the man himself—were halted. Without strong political backing from Jakarta, it's hardly surprising that the reform movement collapsed or that more inspiring figures haven't risen from the grass roots. " In such a situation, it's very difficult to find new leaders," says political analyst Salim Said. "I do hope that two or three elections from now... we can have a leader who started from down below."
That's where some international donors are placing their bets. The World Bank is providing hundreds of millions of dollars in funding and assistance to local governments that, in their view, are seeking transparency, public participation and an end to corruption. Among Indonesia's 430 provincial districts, they've identified a small number of untainted, reform-minded regents — called bupati — whose good work they hope will spark a " trickle-up effect " that encourages clean government at the national level. For example, in Kebuman district, Rustriningsih hosts a daily radio call-in show and broadcasts her mobile-phone number so constituents can call up with complaints and suggestions. In Solok, south Sumatra, regent Gamawan Fauzi has sacked several civil servants for corruption, and has begun home mail delivery to rural villages. He regularly appears on Jakarta talks shows and attends international anticorruption conferences. Says Rustriningsih, " I want to change everything by my own hand, so one day I can be influential on the national level."
It will take more than savvy public relations to shake up Indonesian politics. Most provincial officials are beholden to their parties, and are required to " donate " a portion of their salaries in exchange for posts. But that may be changing, too. Beginning next year, provincial regents will be directly elected, which, analysts say, will both broaden their political base and make them less dependent on party connections. And that may finally give politicians like Rustriningsih the chance to shake things up — for good.
With Peter Jannsen.
Latin America's new proxy war
Washington has gone all-out to stop Chávez from winning [a Security Council seat].
He's been personally campaigning for months.
By Jorge G. Castañeda
Newsweek International
The summit of nonaligned countries held last week 2in Havana was an occasion for all sorts of things: speculating on Fidel Castro's health, supporting all the " worthwhile " causes in the world—from Iran's nuclear program to Bolivia's stalled natural - gas nationalization — and predictably, bashing George W. Bush. This last contact sport is beginning to give traditional anti-Americanism a bad name; it is vicious, uninterrupted and, unfortunately, not often easy to rebut. But the summit also provided a marvelous opportunity for one of the stars of the show — Venezuela's Hugo Chávez — to lobby strong and hard for his cause of the day, getting his country elected as one of Latin America's two nonpermanent members of the United Nations Security Council for the 2007-08 term.
The Non-Aligned Movement has well over 100 members; all of them vote in the U.N. General Assembly, which, sometime next month, will elect Argentina's replacement as one of Latin America's two representatives on the Council. Chávez wants the seat badly. Next year there is another dramatic battle shaping up: Turkey, Iceland and Austria will compete for two of the three European slots. But the main event this year is the contest between Venezuela and Guatemala for the Latin American post. This is, in fact, a proxy battle between Bush and Chávez. Washington has gone all-out to stop Chávez from winning; the Venezuelan has been personally campaigning for months all over the globe, doling out petrodollars, oil and gas projects, schools and hospitals as he jets from capital to capital in Africa, Asia and his home region.
A two-thirds majority is needed to win; that's 128 votes to triumph, or 64 votes to defeat one's rival. The voting goes on until a candidate reaches the magic number; there is an unwritten rule that after three rounds, previous commitments are withdrawn and everything goes. Actually, everything goes most of the time: promises are broken, votes are bought and sold and betrayal is ever-present. All of this occurs, of course, because the stakes are high, and higher in Latin America than at any time since 1979, when Fidel Castro attempted to win the regional seat, claiming that Cuba, being chairman then — as now— of the Non-Aligned Movement, was entitled to membership. The United States blocked Castro, using Colombia as a stalking horse, and Mexico was elected as a compromise candidate. This time, things might be more complicated.
The risk for the United States is real. Chávez would probably occupy the seat personally for extended periods at a time, in lieu of his permanent representative or his foreign minister. He would use that magnificent pulpit to glorify his Bolivarian Revolution, to help his friends in Latin America and to thwart his enemies — Bush, incoming president Felipe Calderón in Mexico, and Colombian President Alvaro Uribe. Most significant, he would get directly involved in many of the issues the Security Council will have to address in the next two years, including sanctions against Iran. No wonder Washington and other capitals are terrified at the prospect.
But it is not clear that there is much they can do about it. Guatemala claims it has committed votes. Attrition —a euphemism for promises unkept— and Chávez's oil-fueled largesse mean that number is likely to shrink. The only chance to keep Chávez out of Dag Hammarskjold Plaza is to lock in a blocking third of the votes indefinitely, and hope that, like 37 years ago, the Latin American group will seek a compromise.
It won't be easy: Cuba, Brazil and Argentina all support Venezuela. Even Chile probably will, and the only major countries behind Guatemala are Mexico and Colombia. Chávez has not helped himself by wondering out loud in Havana whether Mexico's elections were free and fair, and whether he will recognize Calderon's victory. The question is, though , if anyone else in the region wants to face his wrath and meddling by finding a way out of the quagmire. Right now only Uruguay and the Dominican Republic qualify as acceptable alternatives; but the last thing Presidents Leonel Fernández or Tabaré Vázquez probably want is to mess with Hugo.
So the betting right now is on Venezuela, and against Washington. It would be an uphill fight for the United States under any circumstances, but it's almost an impossible one given George Bush's unpopularity in what was once known as the Third World. Most of its members just met in Havana, and they don't like 43; they don't like Israel, they don't like Tony Blair and they certainly don't like U.S. policy in Iraq and Iran. U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations John Bolton has his work cut out for him.
He's been personally campaigning for months.
By Jorge G. Castañeda
Newsweek International
The summit of nonaligned countries held last week 2in Havana was an occasion for all sorts of things: speculating on Fidel Castro's health, supporting all the " worthwhile " causes in the world—from Iran's nuclear program to Bolivia's stalled natural - gas nationalization — and predictably, bashing George W. Bush. This last contact sport is beginning to give traditional anti-Americanism a bad name; it is vicious, uninterrupted and, unfortunately, not often easy to rebut. But the summit also provided a marvelous opportunity for one of the stars of the show — Venezuela's Hugo Chávez — to lobby strong and hard for his cause of the day, getting his country elected as one of Latin America's two nonpermanent members of the United Nations Security Council for the 2007-08 term.
The Non-Aligned Movement has well over 100 members; all of them vote in the U.N. General Assembly, which, sometime next month, will elect Argentina's replacement as one of Latin America's two representatives on the Council. Chávez wants the seat badly. Next year there is another dramatic battle shaping up: Turkey, Iceland and Austria will compete for two of the three European slots. But the main event this year is the contest between Venezuela and Guatemala for the Latin American post. This is, in fact, a proxy battle between Bush and Chávez. Washington has gone all-out to stop Chávez from winning; the Venezuelan has been personally campaigning for months all over the globe, doling out petrodollars, oil and gas projects, schools and hospitals as he jets from capital to capital in Africa, Asia and his home region.
A two-thirds majority is needed to win; that's 128 votes to triumph, or 64 votes to defeat one's rival. The voting goes on until a candidate reaches the magic number; there is an unwritten rule that after three rounds, previous commitments are withdrawn and everything goes. Actually, everything goes most of the time: promises are broken, votes are bought and sold and betrayal is ever-present. All of this occurs, of course, because the stakes are high, and higher in Latin America than at any time since 1979, when Fidel Castro attempted to win the regional seat, claiming that Cuba, being chairman then — as now— of the Non-Aligned Movement, was entitled to membership. The United States blocked Castro, using Colombia as a stalking horse, and Mexico was elected as a compromise candidate. This time, things might be more complicated.
The risk for the United States is real. Chávez would probably occupy the seat personally for extended periods at a time, in lieu of his permanent representative or his foreign minister. He would use that magnificent pulpit to glorify his Bolivarian Revolution, to help his friends in Latin America and to thwart his enemies — Bush, incoming president Felipe Calderón in Mexico, and Colombian President Alvaro Uribe. Most significant, he would get directly involved in many of the issues the Security Council will have to address in the next two years, including sanctions against Iran. No wonder Washington and other capitals are terrified at the prospect.
But it is not clear that there is much they can do about it. Guatemala claims it has committed votes. Attrition —a euphemism for promises unkept— and Chávez's oil-fueled largesse mean that number is likely to shrink. The only chance to keep Chávez out of Dag Hammarskjold Plaza is to lock in a blocking third of the votes indefinitely, and hope that, like 37 years ago, the Latin American group will seek a compromise.
It won't be easy: Cuba, Brazil and Argentina all support Venezuela. Even Chile probably will, and the only major countries behind Guatemala are Mexico and Colombia. Chávez has not helped himself by wondering out loud in Havana whether Mexico's elections were free and fair, and whether he will recognize Calderon's victory. The question is, though , if anyone else in the region wants to face his wrath and meddling by finding a way out of the quagmire. Right now only Uruguay and the Dominican Republic qualify as acceptable alternatives; but the last thing Presidents Leonel Fernández or Tabaré Vázquez probably want is to mess with Hugo.
So the betting right now is on Venezuela, and against Washington. It would be an uphill fight for the United States under any circumstances, but it's almost an impossible one given George Bush's unpopularity in what was once known as the Third World. Most of its members just met in Havana, and they don't like 43; they don't like Israel, they don't like Tony Blair and they certainly don't like U.S. policy in Iraq and Iran. U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations John Bolton has his work cut out for him.
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