Journal of Arabian Studies 1.2 (December 2011), pp. 183–199 Women and the Malleability of the Kuwaiti Dīwāniyya Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 LINDSEY STEPHENSON Abstract: The dīwāniyya is the Kuwaiti man’s realm. It is where he does business, discusses politics and spends leisure time with his friends. It is also his escape. Men devote so much time to these traditional gatherings that Kuwaiti wives jokingly refer to it as the “sharīka”, or second wife. Because of the support that dīwāniyyas traditionally provide to elections, women’s suffrage in Kuwait has challenged the once essential ‘masculinity’ of this institution. In the past decade it has been necessary for the dīwāniyya to include women in order to remain politically and socially relevant. And like any good ‘traditional’ fixture of society, it has accommodated to remain relevant. This article will emphasize how the malleability of this institution, both in terms of its roles in the public and private spheres, as well as its structure and membership, is what enables the dīwāniyya to serve as a gateway for Kuwaiti women to a new way of operating within society and as a forum for expanding and strengthening their non kin-based networks. Keywords: Kuwait, dīwāniyya, women, public-private, elections, networks 1. Introduction Six years ago Kuwaiti woman gained the right to vote and run for office. Though they were, in a sense, latecomers to the official political arena relative to their female Arab peers, they are a significant force to be contended with in Kuwaiti politics. And at the crux of their newfound public power are the institutions through which this power is articulated. Traditionally the public forum for politics has been the male-dominated dīwāniyya, but women’s participation in the electoral process has necessitated the gradual transformation of these social gatherings to incorporate women as they are now undeniable participants in the political role that this institution often plays. The dīwāniyya has shown itself to be a politically enabling institution both for men and women. As we will see, in the case of Kuwaiti men, the dīwāniyya strengthened their bottomup entrance into elections, but for women it is offering top-down support by expanding women’s access to pre-political spaces. A vital, yet often glossed-over element to women’s success in politics (the sheer committed drive of Kuwaiti women themselves not to be discounted) is the very malleability of the institution Lindsey Stephenson is an MA student at the Aga Khan University-Institute for the Study of Muslim Civilisations, 210 Euston Road, London NW1 2DA, UK, lindsey.georgia@gmail.com. Author’s note: This article is the product of field research conducted on a Fulbright fellowship in Kuwait in 2007–8 and several shorter research trips since. The information is derived from a vast number of interviews, surveys and personal conversations with Kuwaitis from every background and persuasion. On many occasions I have opted to protect the anonymity of informants who preferred that their identity not be disclosed. I have attempted to provide details when and if possible. My most sincere gratitude goes to the Fulbright Program, the American University of Kuwait, Dr Lubna Al Kazi, and to my dear Kuwaiti friends — all of whom in varying capacities have supported me and tremendously enabled me to conduct this research. ISSN 2153-4764 print/ISSN 2153-4780 online © 2011 Taylor & Francis http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/21534764.2011.631351 www.tandfonline.com Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 184 Lindsey Stephenson of the dīwāniyya itself, which has facilitated women’s entrance into the public sphere. Indeed, we find that the dīwāniyya, long jokingly yet begrudgingly referred to by Kuwaiti women as a “sharīka” (second wife),1 and thus representative of a man’s second life, or public life of sorts, has proven itself to be more mushtarak (shared) than once assumed. In order to discuss this transformation, there is much background work to be done. While a detailed account of the dīwāniyya’s development over the centuries is beyond the scope of this article, a brief explanation of its operation is necessary before we can proceed with a discussion of the dīwāniyya today. Likewise, it is useful to situate it within a public-private paradigm in order to understand to what degree the dīwāniyya is a public or private institution. The discussion that follows offers a definition of the dīwāniyya as both an institution and a traditional space within which the gathering occurs. With this foundation established, we will then move to the realm of the political and elaborate on the private and public roles that the dīwāniyya fills and the implications of this for its perception by the populace and the state. Here we will uncover an inherent fluidity within the institution, which allows it to oscillate between the public and private. This idea of fluidity or malleability will be elaborated upon with regard to how its adaptability on a number of levels has enabled it to maintain its relevance in society. Finally, building upon this paramount theme of the malleability of the dīwāniyya, I will discuss how new economic and political realities for women in the public sphere have legitimated a space for them in this predominantly male institution within an extra-domestic private sphere, and the potential reverberations of their interactions with this space as witnessed through transformed social norms and networks. 1.1 Defining the dīwāniyya The Kuwaiti dīwāniyya is at once an institution and the space where the institution is manifested. When asked about its function, Kuwaitis overwhelmingly perceive it broadly as social institution — a place to sit and talk with friends and family. It cannot be overstated, however, that what is social is also inherently political and economic. Mary Ann Tétreault explains that the dīwāniyya is a fusion of two traditional social patterns in Kuwait: “one is the old practice of seafaring businessmen gathering in the evenings to trade information about weather, markets, and where the fish were running. The other is the primary role of the family in social, economic, and political interactions”.2 Hence, the dīwāniyya has historically and continually played a pivotal, organic role in Kuwaiti society (for over 250 years)3 as the primary institution through which Kuwaiti men conduct business, settle disputes, give and receive information, connect with the family, and freely express their opinions on any matter of life, including politics. While it was initially a luxury of only wealthy merchant families, today the vast majority (if not all) Kuwaiti families have a dīwāniyya.4 When I refer to the space as playing an “organic role”, I mean to say that it was not contrived. Rather it evolved from a context, specifically the social and economic (and patriarchal) context of the Gulf trading environment. It is present throughout the rest of the Gulf region, though sometimes referred to as majlis or jalsa. However, over time, and largely due to the freedoms Kuwaitis 1 Pronounced “sharīcha” in the Kuwaiti dialect. Tétreault, “Civil Society in Kuwait: Protected Spaces and Women’s Rights”, The Middle East Journal 47 (1993), p. 279. 3 Al Hajri and Al Kandary, “The Kuwaiti Dīwāniyya’s Age is 250 Years” [in Arabic], Al-Anbaʾ, 12 September 2010. 4 Social stratification can still be felt, however, as wealthier families often possess a separate building in which their dīwāniyya is housed while others create makeshift tents or sitting areas on their patios. 2 Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 Women and the Malleability of the Kuwaiti Dīwāniyya 185 have to speak and to gather, relative to neighboring countries, this institution has become completely imbedded within Kuwaiti culture in a way that has not been the case elsewhere in the Gulf. Kuwaiti historian Hesham Al-Awadi explains that the “dīwāniyya pre-dates political discourse … It was originally there for economic discourse, and was at the core of the very structure and makeup of Kuwaiti society”.5 It is important to note that the dīwāniyya has been continually present in Kuwait and its significance is not a product of post-modern ‘heritagism’ that is on the rise in the Gulf whereby governments and citizens are attempting to reconstruct an inauthentic past. Interestingly, but perhaps not unexpectedly, it appears that there is something inherently masculine within the word dīwāniyya. If a group of women gather in the exact same physical space at regular intervals, Kuwaitis are uncomfortable referring to such a gathering as a “dīwāniyya”. It is more commonly and easily referred to as a jalsa or jamaʿa (gathering).6 Presented in the broadest of terms, the dīwāniyya is a habitual social gathering occurring at predetermined intervals.7 In the historical memory of Kuwaitis, these gatherings have existed prior to the political state. There is no particular activity or topic of discussion that makes a gathering a “dīwāniyya”. Rather the essence of the word is in the regularity of the occurrence of the gathering. To say, “I think I will have a dīwāniyya”, would more likely communicate the intention of hosting a gathering on a regular basis with a certain group of people than a hosting of single event. Occurring regularly, and mostly at fixed intervals, the group gathers for gathering’s sake — there is no specific impetus necessary. Singular events, which serve a particular purpose and are more public/political in nature, are commonly called nadwāt. A dīwāniyya is public in the sense that technically it is open to anyone (male) who wants to attend and the meeting dates for dīwāniyyas are generally public knowledge. In recent years, the internet has served as a means for announcing dīwāniyya meeting dates, times and locations. Generally, however, the gathering tends more toward a private institution as there is a specific, informal membership and men generally exhibit a consistent pattern in which dīwāniyyas they attend and are unlikely to go to the dīwāniyya of a stranger, except during election campaigns. 2. 2.1 Problems with the public/private dichotomy The dīwāniyya as an institution As I have described it, this institution falls under Jurgen Habermas’ understanding of the public sphere as a body of “private persons” assembled to discuss matters of “public concern” or “common interest”.8 However, there are several issues with this categorization that we must consider. First, just as Habermas has been criticized for a normative bourgeois definition of the public sphere, and his exclusion of counterpublics and competing public spheres, we would similarly err if we were to understand the discourse within dīwāniyyas to represent some sort of transcendent public applicable to all Kuwaitis. These counterpublics (including all classes of women), were 5 Interview with Hesham Al-Awadhi (American University of Kuwait history professor), Kuwait, 17 March 2008. 6 Pronounded “yamaʿa” in the Kuwaiti dialect. 7 To present a clear picture of the popularity of dīwāniyyas, in a survey I conducted between January and March 2008 of nearly 500 university students in Kuwait, over one-third of the students reported that their family members attend dīwāniyyas four to seven times a week. Around 8% of those responses were write-in responses where students wrote in “daily” attendance. 8 Fraser, “Rethinking the Public Sphere: A Contribution to the Critique of Actually Existing Democracy”, Social Text 25/26 (1990), p. 58. See also Habermas; Lennox; and Lennox, “The Public Sphere: An Encyclopedia Article (1964)”, New German Critique 3 (1974), pp. 49–55. Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 186 Lindsey Stephenson discarded and actively blocked from participation in France,9 and the same has been the case for Kuwaiti women and, in the past, members of non-merchant families. Additionally, Habermas’ “public opinion” cannot be expressed by a non-voting public as it “refers to the tasks of criticism and control which a public body of citizens informally — and in periodic elections, formally as well — practices vis-à-vis the ruling structure organized in the form of a state”.10 Thus a more nuanced picture of publics is needed. Second, the ‘publicness’ of this institution is in question both in terms of its meeting space’s close proximity to the domestic/private sphere as well as its performative role in the political spheres. We will continue for now with the discussion of the nature and problems with the public-private paradigm, and later address the issues that have been raised about the space and function of the dīwāniyya as an institution within the paradigm. Many have understood the dīwāniyya as the embodiment of Kuwaiti civil society, but this classification is problematic. Initially, we may agree with Antonio Gramsci’s delineation of civil society as that realm which has certain autonomy from the state and is made up of voluntary (as opposed to compelled) affiliations. Indeed, the frequency of these voluntary gatherings gives them particular importance. However, the invocation of this term “civil society” steers us into murky water as it is, in some sense, understood as the realm of activity of the ‘public sphere’, but lacks the inclusivity that ‘public sphere’ connotes. This is an issue thoroughly unpacked in feminist literature. For Carole Pateman, the problem with the rise of the term “civil society” is that it co-opts the term ‘private’ and brings it into the public world representing the private, capitalist element of the public sphere, as contrasted with the public political state. Thus. the domestic sphere, traditionally the sphere of women, is forgotten. Pateman further suggests that civil society itself is “divided into two opposing realms, each with a distinctive and contrasting mode of association. Yet attention is focused on one [realm], which is treated as the only realm of political interest”.11 The other realm, inhabited by women, operates as an ignored public. Therefore, the employment of the term “civil society” can, at times, be more detrimental to the interests of women than the public/private dichotomy itself. However, in the case of dīwāniyyas this division of civil society is useful because, as we will see in the discussion of its political function, both realms hold a position of political interest and do not represent two opposing realms. That being said, because civil society is made up of individuals and is separate from the state, I would propose that for our present discussion we form a new model of understanding, positing the two divisions of civil society within the private sphere and opening a further realm, the domestic. For the most nuanced presentation, a breaking down of the public-private dichotomy and the reconfiguration of this new model is necessary (Figure 1). Our first step is to recognize a ‘domestic sphere’, which is of essential importance if we are to speak of the transition of women from an exclusively domestic appearance into an extra-domestic one. Secondly, I have delineated a ‘private sphere’. Within this new model, we may understand this sphere as a distinct extra-domestic, pre-public sphere though maintaining connections with both. In ascribing two realms within the private sphere, we are able to include the voluntary associations of civil society without attributing them to the public sphere of the state and we are also able to consider non-kinship-based associations which are still tied to the domestic sphere and domestic networks without relegating them to the domestic. Within the private 9 Landes, “The Public and Private Sphere: A Feminist Reconsideration”, in Feminism: The Public and the Private, ed. Landes (1998), p. 144. 10 Habermas; Lennox; and Lennox, “The Public Sphere”, p. 49. 11 Pateman, The Sexual Contract (1988), pp. 10–11. Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 Women and the Malleability of the Kuwaiti Dīwāniyya 187 Figure 1: Reconfiguring the public-private paradigm: a new model for understanding social gatherings in Kuwait. sphere, institutions may fluctuate between these two realms given the political circumstances. In other words, although some institutions (like the dīwāniyya) may function primarily as apolitical ones, they can become informal spaces for political action during periods of heightened political awareness/tension. In the subsequent section on the political function of dīwāniyyas I will speak more in detail about the supportive role played by the realms of pre-political spaces of appearance and informal spaces for political action.12 Then finally we have the public sphere, which is represented by the state. As we will see, informal spaces for political action are the key entry point of the state into society and the realm of public/private interaction. In Kuwait this delicate balance is significant for political stability. The following section on the private and public political function of dīwāniyyas explains how when a dīwāniyya becomes too public, it is subject to state intervention and closure, as has been witnessed by the Monday Dīwāniyyas (Dīwāniyyat al-Ithnain) in the late 1980s and more recently in the police attacks on Mohammed Al Juwaihel at the dīwāniyya of opposition MP Ahmad Al Saʿdoun in December of 2010 and on some individuals attending Islamist MP Jamaʿn Al Harbash’s dīwāniyya in February 2011. 2.2 The dīwāniyya as a space Up to this point I have discussed problems with the public-private dichotomy as it relates to understanding the Kuwaiti dīwāniyya. I have also mentioned that the physical space of the dīwāniyya is problematic if we wish to place it within this dichotomy. Although the physical space is secondary to our purposes here, the vital role it plays in the understanding of the social functions of the dīwāniyya is interesting and relevant to our discussion as the function and space are connected intimately. Most commonly and traditionally it is an annex to the main house. This room is formally seen as the territory of adult men, who have seniority in its usage. In many cases it looks like a large one-room mother-in-law suite, with its own bathroom, kitchenette and a separate entrance. It is a part of the house — and not — at the same time. To define it in a cultural context, it would be permissible for non-relative males to spend long hours and even spend the night in a dīwāniyya (a rule that would not apply to the rest of the house). In other words, the dīwāniyya as a room functions as the public area of a private home. But dīwāniyyas can also be located in tents outside of homes or, for more formal ones, in completely separate buildings. A further layer of complication is added when individuals hold dīwāniyyas (here referring to the gathering), but 12 Tétreault, Stories of Democracy: Politics and Society in Contemporary Kuwait (2000), pp. 59–60. Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 188 Lindsey Stephenson they are located in a room inside the home. Thus, it is here, even within the very physical structure itself that we find our first difficulties defining the space in absolute terms of public versus private, and another justification for our reconfiguration of the paradigm and the creation of a more fluid model to which we can refer. Now that we have opened up the paradigm, we can posit the institution (most of the time) as an extra-domestic space, which falls within our new private sphere. In some sense, the closer a dīwāniyya is to a domestic location, the less public/political/formal it is. The vast majority of the time an informal ‘friends dīwāniyya’ will be physically closer to the home, whether inside or annexed, whereas a dīwāniyya hosted by a government official would typically be in a building not associated with a home. Hence, we see how the space and function of dīwāniyyas are inextricably related. Later we will discuss how this ambiguous understanding can function as a loophole for women’s political participation. 3. Private and public political function I have taken care to emphasize the pre-political/social role of the dīwāniyya because this is the perception of the Kuwaiti people. But the social can never be fully pried from the political. And, indeed, it is the political role on which I intend to focus. Mary Ann Tétreault refers to the dīwāniyya as a kin-based association, an “informal space for political action” and a “prepolitical space of appearance”.13 While it is clear that the increase in educational opportunities has created new networks of association outside of kin relationships, her depiction of the political role of the dīwāniyya is correct and can provide us with insight into the forked role played by this institution in the political realm. First, and most often, the dīwāniyya is a pre-political space of appearance. However, the regular meeting of dīwāniyyas and their informal networks of membership have certain political implications. If it is true that “preferences are determined by the relationships within which one is imbedded”14 and, furthermore, “what we know (and, therefore, what seems rational) is a function of the relationships we have with others”,15 it would seem that the political leanings or at least the understood interests of the members would tend to dovetail over time and form at least loosely woven ideological networks. Perhaps for this reason, during election season private dīwāniyyas are frequented by candidates hoping to garner support in blocs. Indeed, even outside of elections, they often function as a forum in which policies are presented and discussed. In this way, they are also consultative bodies and a means through which public opinion can be gauged. Additionally, frequenting various dīwāniyyas is almost obligatory for parliamentarians who wish to keep their seats. “My uncle used to be a parliamentarian”, one woman explained, “but when he stopped going to dīwāniyyas regularly they voted him out in the next election”.16 This is but one example. There is no shortage of stories of former MPs who were accused of ignoring their constituents by neglecting to visit dīwāniyyas. It is at this juncture, where members of the public/state cross over into private spaces, that the second role of the diwaniyaa — as an informal space for political action — begins to take shape. This function is crucial because, as Tétreault explains, “despite the superior capacity and transparency of public political spaces [like Parliament] … such spaces in Kuwait have proven unexpectedly vulnerable to closure”.17 In 1986, after the Amir dissolved Parliament, members and other 13 Tétreault, Stories of Democracy, pp. 59–60. Smith-Lovin and McPherson, “You Are Who You Know”, in Theory on Gender/Feminism on Theory, ed. England (1993), p. 224. 15 Ibid., p. 224. 16 Interview with a Kuwaiti undergraduate student, Kuwait, May 2008. 17 Tétreault, Stories of Democracy, p. 60. 14 Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 Women and the Malleability of the Kuwaiti Dīwāniyya 189 community activists used the dīwāniyya as a private space of resistance where they continued to meet and discuss policy. As their meetings and networks were already in existence, dīwāniyyas became primary sites for private political activity when public political meetings and press freedom were banned, as they were private, and thus protected, spaces. However, it seems that in the instant when dīwāniyyas become strong enough to take on the role of public political spaces, they also become susceptible to public/state intervention and closure. For example, in December 1989 and January 1990, there began a series of more publicly known dīwāniyyas, referred to as Dawāwīn al-Ithnain (Monday Dīwāniyyas). These gatherings assembled parliamentarians and influential individuals in the country, including women, who had not yet gained the right to vote. The Dawāwīn al-Ithnain were attacked by the police, the Kuwaiti National Guard and riot police using tear gas and closed down even though dīwāniyyas themselves, as private gatherings, were perfectly legal. But when the state regarded a private dīwāniyya to have crossed the line into public politics, it intervened. Tétreault argues that the continued protection of this private institution in which informal politics can be conducted is paramount to the long-term survival of the constitutional government in Kuwait.18 So then the reputation of the dīwāniyya as an overwhelmingly private institution is also vital. There is a widespread sense that the dīwāniyya is where the line between public and private spheres is drawn, which means it forms an important buffer from state intrusion. In Kuwait, the home, as a private space, is protected from public/state intrusion by Articles 38 and 44 of the Kuwaiti Constitution. One Kuwaiti woman summed up this widely-held view of dīwāniyya as sacrosanct, stating that, “The dīwāniyya is a free place. We can say anything we want in the dīwāniyya. They might take away free speech in the media or on the streets, but not the dīwāniyya”.19 To an extent this woman is correct. As long as the dīwāniyya remains private then it is protected, but as soon as a dīwāniyya crosses the line to become a public forum, it is vulnerable to public/state intervention and closure. As an aside, the demolition of illegally constructed dīwāniyyas (mostly on public property) sparked a wave of controversy and public outcry in the Spring of 2008. This is a great example of the sensitivity of the physical public/private divide that dīwāniyyas also traverse. This space between private and public political action is relatively new for the dīwāniyya, arising when the institution was challenged in the late 1980s. At that time, the dīwāniyya proved its significance and influence in the public realm and, since the return of parliamentary politics in 1992, the connection between informal political action in dīwāniyyas and public politics has become increasingly apparent, particularly manifesting itself during election campaigns. Dīwāniyyas can also serve as voting blocs. Each Kuwaiti has four votes for Parliament, which means that dīwāniyyas can work as coalitions, trading votes with other dīwāniyyas. For example, Dīwāniyya A selects the candidate of its choice and Dīwāniyya B does the same. Then, the two dīwāniyyas agree to vote for each other’s candidates as well. Since each person can vote for four candidates, any dīwāniyya might strike a vote-trading agreement with up to three other dīwāniyyas. Alternatively they may agree to vote only for their own candidate, leaving the other three spaces blank and thereby skewing the results with what Tétreault calls “one-eyed votes”.20 And this tactic is not always directed towards getting a specific individual elected –– it also works in the reverse to strategically block the ‘wrong’ candidates from being elected. 18 Ibid. Interview, Kuwait, 3 April 2011. 20 This is, of course, a simplification of a very intricate process, where any number of coalitions may be formed. For detailed examples, see Tétreault’s Stories of Democracy, pp. 118–19. 19 Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 190 Lindsey Stephenson MP Hussain Al Qallaf, for example, is a well-known target for Sunni Islamist groups, particularly in the elections of 2002, but no successful candidate is immune to these schemes. In the 2008 elections it was rumored that supporters of (now MP) Rula Dashti had arranged a vote swap with a bloc of various ‘Shiʿa’ dīwāniyyas, but at the last minute the trade mysteriously fell through — possibly costing her the election. While in the past convincing small dīwāniyya-sized groups of voters could change the outcome of the election, in recent years the redistricting that condensed twenty-five voting districts into five (and thus increased the number of votes needed to win a seat) has necessitated a greater coalition of dīwāniyyas. This practice of ‘dīwāniyya voting’ is still common and an important factor in successful races, although the campaigns must tap into larger networks. While dīwāniyyas participate in public politics, the methods remain informal/private. They do not typically openly ally themselves with political ‘movements’ (official political parties are banned), and their unwillingness to do so arguably communicates a desire for the dīwāniyya to remain flexible in its roles. The institution of the dīwāniyya was protected during the political turmoil in the 1980s because of its ability to retain its claim as a traditional, private social institution and not a formal public one. This enabled it to shrink back into its pre-political role and resurface in politics in 1992 following the Gulf War, reasserting its political significance. The malleability of the concept of what constituted a dīwāniyya was paramount to its survival in politics, therefore. In the following section, I argue that a similar process of transformation and reinvention of the institution’s social role occurred in a less overt sense. 4. A flexible institution As any good traditional institution, its ability to remain relevant is related directly to its ability to change. Kuwaiti political scientist Ghanim Alnajjar sees these qualities as a manifestation of Kuwaiti society as a whole, whereby in the Gulf region it is “the least strict about traditions”,21 and has exhibited the ability to manage the rapid transformations over the past twenty years quite well. As the nature of social life, relationships, entertainment and politics changes with time — and in an expedited fashion more recently — it has been incumbent upon the dīwāniyya to remain flexible in its function if it is to retain its place as a mainstay of Kuwaiti society. Thus, in many ways the dīwāniyya is at once the oldest and most modern facet of Kuwaiti society. However, as the modern era has ushered in a host of public social gathering places, such as coffee shops, malls and restaurants, the dīwāniyya has found fierce competitors. As more working hours are required (particularly in the private sector), and people have begun to feel generally busier, it often competes for time and attention as well. 4.1 Competitors Kuwaitis are divided about the threat posed to dīwāniyyas by more modern public spaces. One Kuwaiti women made an observation that “malls and cafes are taking the place of dīwāniyyas in the social realm; dīwāniyyas seem to be coming more strictly political”,22 while many others very confidently reassured that “coffee shops will never replace the dīwāniyya”. As these spaces are extra-domestic, and public in the sense that they are subject to governmental regulation, what is the threat they pose to the dīwāniyya as a private space and institution? What is there to be gained by meeting outside as opposed to in a private dīwāniyya? 21 22 Interview at Kuwait University, 6 April 2011. Interview with Ministry of Interior employee, Kuwait, 20 April 2011. Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 Women and the Malleability of the Kuwaiti Dīwāniyya 191 We must first note that the increase in the prevalence of public spaces is growing parallel to mass participation in higher education, and an economic situation that incorporates more individuals into the workplace. So while extended non-kin-based networks are on the rise, so too are the opportunities and locations to nurture these relationships. And because inviting a new acquaintance to one’s home is not a common practice, meeting outside in a public space has become more acceptable. These changes are affecting women just as much, if not more, than men as they make up more than 60% of the university graduates and anywhere between 30% and 50% of the workforce.23 Another factor that may be influencing the competition between public and private gatherings is time. Many Kuwaitis have begun to regard time spent at dīwāniyyas as wasted and have become resentful of the social demand on males to attend every night. While at one point it appeared that women were more perturbed at having to share their husbands, male university students are now resenting having to share their studying time with the dīwāniyya as well. Several male students at the American University of Kuwait confessed that they had to quit going to dīwāniyyas because they were failing classes. A professor who had recently returned from abroad recounted how his refusal to attend family dīwāniyyas upon his return had been somewhat of a scandal.24 The unfixed time of the dīwāniyya, usually lasting from after sunset until everyone is too tired to stay longer, makes the gathering increasingly unattractive in a fast-paced world. In that regard, meeting in a café is more attractive because there are closing hours — and annoyed looks from wait staff once patrons have overstayed their welcome. Recently, some daily dīwāniyyas have become weekly and weekly dīwāniyyas have become monthly. One man explained that he “used to meet with [his] friends every week, but now life is moving too quickly”,25 so they changed their gathering to a monthly one. If the institution is not adapted to meet new demands on time, then it risks becoming socially irrelevant. This is particularly dangerous because only the maintenance of political relevance may produce a stronger argument for government intervention when deemed necessary. New social and economic realities and networks have also challenged the traditional space of the dīwāniyya and its membership patterns, necessitating overwhelming changes to a gathering which has been painted as a group of men reclining on couches, playing chess, eating nuts and smoking shīsha. 4.2 Undergoing renovations Although the dīwāniyya is traditionally an exclusively male institution, present understanding of the dīwāniyya tends to ascribe some right of access to the physical space to each family member –– both male and female. Because as I have mentioned it is a private but non-domestic space, it is an acceptable place to bring friends and social contacts that do not disturb the privacy of the main home. Many dīwāniyyas have weekly schedules whereby each member of the family has their own allotted day to host groups. As such, each demographic within the home determines what social activities will take place inside. Older men have maintained the traditional no-frills dīwāniyya in many regards. Their dīwāniyyas consist of discussions on a range of topics, from news and business to politics. Middle-aged men have introduced a very domineering member to the dīwāniyya in the form of 23 American Academy for the Advancement of Science, “Profiles of Women in STE in Kuwait” (2006). Family dīwāniyyas are particularly important, and family members are obliged to attend. This is particularly the case for prominent business families. 25 Interview with Kuwaiti professor, Kuwait, 6 April 2011. 24 Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 192 Lindsey Stephenson the television. It is presently very difficult to find an informal dīwāniyya that does not have a television inside. Older men are less likely to use electronics, but the subsequent generation often does; if not as a main focal point of the gathering, it certainly functions to fill in lulls in conversation. Teenagers and young adult men’s dīwāniyyas, however, are radically different from the older generation and incorporate a tremendous range of technology into their dīwāniyyas, which they refer to as “friends dīwāniyyas”. Wireless internet is a must, and it is not uncommon to find that the impetus for the gathering is to play video games or watch football (soccer) matches. For this generation, the dīwāniyya as a space must provide all of the attractions of a coffee shop and then some to retain the participation of the younger generation, who frankly, as one young man put it, “get bored at [the] formal dīwāniyyas” of their fathers and grandfathers. “[They] prefer to relax and spend casual time with [their] friends”.26 This expanding informal role for the dīwāniyya will maintain networks as it had in the past, but whether this leisure atmosphere will support formal political action on a large scale in the future remains to be seen. 4.3 Opening to new members The dīwāniyya is also expanding its demographic as it is increasingly the locale of women’s gatherings. As some men flee to new public spaces, women are drawn to private gatherings in the vacated dīwāniyya. However, it is the case that women tend to meet for a predetermined purpose –– in contrast to men’s dīwāniyyas. This is partly due to the fact that the dīwāniyya, as a space, is not regarded as women’s territory, so they must present a reason or need for their use of it. For women, gathering in the dīwāniyya room does not mean that they are participating in a “dīwāniyya”, and people are very careful about how they label these gatherings. Below I have provided a rough sketch of four types of gatherings and the areas where they may meet (Figure 2). The most common types of women’s gatherings are general jalsat or jamaʿaāt (gatherings),27 which probably most closely reflect the men’s dīwāniyyas, and secondly dars dīnī (religious lessons). The dars dīnī is the more structured of the two, and typically meets weekly. It is attended by all generations of women, but appears to be more popular for those above forty. There are other types of religious gatherings with different names, which tend to be slightly more social in nature than the dars dīnī, whose purpose is supposed to be strictly religious. Least common for women are gatherings specifically called “dīwāniyyas”. Female dīwāniyyas are typically organized by more affluent girls and purport the same function as men’s social/friends dīwāniyyas. It must be noted here that employing the term “dīwāniyya” is a deliberate act and is in a sense politically charged. It is understood that these women are specifically asserting their equality with men by claiming equal access to the actual term. Several female informants told me that they have explicitly said to their husbands, “you have your dīwāniyya, and I have mine”. The fourth type of gathering is “political dīwāniyyas”, which are hosted by wellknown women, such as Rula Dashti, Rasha Al Sabah, Sheikha Al Ghanim and Aisha Al Rasheed.28 These gatherings occur with a specific purpose in mind, even if it is broadly defined as a forum for political discussion. It must be noted, however, that most women would not necessarily claim an interest in politics (sīyāsa) per se. They would define their interest more in terms of either particular policies or the promotion of conservative moral values. 26 Interview with a Kuwaiti lawyer, London, May 2011. Pronounded “yamaʿaāt” in the Kuwaiti dialect. 28 In an interview with Talal Al Khorafi (son of Speaker Jasem Al Khorafi) on 16 May 2008, he claimed that his family has hosted a dīwāniyya for women since 1996. 27 Women and the Malleability of the Kuwaiti Dīwāniyya 193 Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 Figure 2: Common women’s gatherings and their typical meeting spaces. The understanding of the dīwāniyya as a private space is critical for women’s participation, since it is an accepted space for women to visit at night, as opposed to other places like cafés or malls. This is not to claim that all Kuwait women’s movements are restricted after dark, and certainly there are exceptions among the wealthier families, but, for many, an idea persists that women would need a specific reason to go out at night. Although traditionally excluded from the dīwāniyya, Kuwaiti women’s new-found right to vote, granted in May 2005, has meant that the dīwāniyya has had to accommodate them in order for it to remain politically relevant. The following section will illuminate how the entrance of women into politics has influenced the dīwāniyya in an instrumental and marked way, with potential societal consequences. 5. Women and dīwāniyyas Dīwāniyyas have opened themselves up to women because they needed to. New socio-economic and political realities have meant that many Kuwaiti women are emerging from the domestic sphere both in terms of work and social activities. For merchant class women who worked outside of the home in the 1960s and 1970s, of course, this is a ‘re-emergence’, after they were forced out of the public sphere during the era of Islamic conservatism of the 1980s– 2000s.29 While conservative social mores are still a reality, and women are still viewed as the embodiment of moral and religious conscious, purity and family, the sphere of women is becoming more fluid. The association of women with private labor is being pried apart in Kuwait with new economic conditions that relegate household chores and (in many cases) the raising of children to the domestic workers. As one recent college graduate told me, “In the past women couldn’t get together very much because they had a lot of responsibilities. Now that they have maids, there is more free time”.30 This sentiment was echoed in a later interview with a middle-aged H.ad.arī woman who explained that, “changes in lifestyle have given women much more time and freedom. Now that they mostly have maids, they are free to meet their friends more”.31 Many Kuwaiti women have cited the Islamic precedent that according to the marriage contract women are not obliged to maintain a household nor raise children. Furthermore, as they are by law guaranteed a job in the public sector, many women have chosen to work for the government from 8.00 a.m.–2.00 p.m., with extended vacation periods, rather than stay home with no work to do and no pay. “My husband’s salary is not enough for the things that we need”, one woman told 29 Al-Mughni, “From Gender Equality to Female Subjugation: The Changing Agendas of Women’s Groups in Kuwait”, in Organizing Woman: Formal and Informal Women’s Groups in the Middle East, ed. Chatty and Rabo (1997), p. 202. 30 Interview, Kuwait, 6 April 2011. 31 Interview in Kuwait, 8 April 2011. Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 194 Lindsey Stephenson me. “He wouldn’t admit it, but if I didn’t work we would not be able to buy things for our children”.32 Women frequently cite the release from their traditional domestic obligations as the reasons for the increased frequency of their gatherings and interest in policy issues. With more free time, there is more opportunity to gather socially and to discuss problems. ‘Noon tea’ is becoming an increasingly common activity for women, especially for those who are not working or are retired. It is very similar to the dīwāniyya in that it is a regular gathering with a regular membership. Some have communicated that in the past they or their mothers were in a sense jealous of their husbands’ nightly visits to dīwāniyyas, leaving them at home with work do to –– hence the popularity of the begrudging nickname, “sharīka” (second wife). But times are changing. As one woman put it, “The dīwāniyya used to be like a sharīka, but now we are happy when our husbands go out because we go out too”.33 Beyond the extended time for socializing that the new economic conditions create, as members of the wage-earning public, and participants in the economy, these gatherings are contributing to women’s increased sense of their public rights. A prominent female activist in the Islamic Constitutional Movement (ICM) noted that, “When women get together, many of the things they talk about are political, but most of them don’t realize it”.34 Political awareness is on the rise, even if the word sīyāsa is not used. As many women are employees in the public sector, government policy directly affects them. For example, women have recognized and exercised their rights to take action — like protesting government-mandated increases in shift hours at public hospitals –– but may not necessarily categorize this kind of activity as “political”. These new socio-economic realities formed a backdrop for recent political developments in the lives of Kuwaiti women. After decades of debate, in May 2005, Kuwait’s Parliament finally extended to women the right to vote and run for office. The source of much of the debate revolved around Islamists’ claims that “enfranchisement would lead to fasād [moral corruption] and fitna [chaos], and would bring about the wrath of God”,35 as women’s political participation is unsanctioned in Islam.36 MP Khalid Al Sultan even cited the “moral consequences on the behavior and the running of the campaign”,37 while others emphasized the way in which more than one voter per nuclear family would prove divisive and cause the breakdown of the family, as in the West. But in the end suffrage was extended to women by a vote of thirty-five to twentythree,38 and the system of Kuwaiti electoral politics was in need of an overhaul. 5.1 Restructuring of campaign events In 2005, the number of Kuwaiti voters jumped from 140,000 to 350,00039 overnight, as all eligible women were automatically registered to vote.40 This increase was higher than expected. Since many women were initially opposed to the idea of voting, it would seem likely that they 32 Interview with a Kuwaiti designer, March 2011. Interview, Kuwait, 8 April 2011. 34 Ibid. 35 Al-Mughni, Women in Kuwait: The Politics of Gender (2001), p. 177. 36 Ibid. 37 Tétreault, “Civil Society in Kuwait” pp. 275–91. Al Sultan has great support amongst female constituents, and has one of the most organized campaign headquarters for women amongst the Salafi parliamentarians. 38 Amongst MPs, the vote was only twenty-one in favor and twenty-three opposed, but additional votes were then cast by appointed ministers to tip the scales in favor of women. 39 Alshayeji, “Beyond Women’s Suffrage in Kuwait”, Arab Reform Bulletin 20 (July 2005). 40 Interview with ʿAli Murad (the Interior Ministry employee in charge of electoral procedures), Kuwait, 4 April 2011. 33 Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 Women and the Malleability of the Kuwaiti Dīwāniyya 195 would not have gone to the trouble to register to vote. However, it is quite possible that because they were automatically registered, politicians across the ideological spectrum decided to engage with women. For Islamists who were initially opposed to women’s suffrage, their decision to elicit votes from women was a practical one. If they had been unable to mobilize women, they would have inevitably lost out to more liberal candidates. The incorporation of women into the electoral process was by no means as simple as doubling the number of chairs at election rallies, however. Social custom on the whole does not encourage mixed gatherings, although of course there are always exceptions from the more liberal camp. Therefore, separate mirror institutions had to be constructed to facilitate solicitation of votes from women. Dīwāniyyas as traditional social gathering places have played a crucial role in Kuwaiti elections, and this was one such institution that had to be re-conceptualized. Indeed one of the first female parliamentarians, Rula Dashti, noted that, “before the 2006 elections … some Kuwaitis had questioned how women could effectively participate in politics without attending any dīwāniyya”. So “in the run-up to the elections … women candidates and activists began to attend dīwāniyyas, and even held some of their own.41 Another solution might have been devised, but Parliament was dissolved in May 2006 (slightly more than a year ahead of schedule), and elections were scheduled for the following month leaving everyone scrambling to work out new election strategies. One result of this chaos was for candidates and political movements to hold the same kind of campaign events for women that they had been holding for men, thereby setting a precedent for elections to come. Furthermore, in the second elections after the introduction of women’s suffrage, new campaigning strategies were developed because of the shift from twenty-five to five electoral districts. Larger constituencies meant larger rallies, but it also required individuals to tap into their broader networks of contacts. Certainly kin-based networks were helpful, but only if extended family members lived in the same districts. Campaign organizers had to look to other networks, including professional and educational ones. In the case of men, these networks had long been supported by the dīwāniyya, as it served as a gathering place –– and in that sense an institutionalization of these networks. Thus they were easily tapped into by campaigns. Because women’s non-kin networks have been weak until now, campaigns needed to encourage women to reach into and strengthen these networks by using them to organize events. And it seems they are having success. By 2008, attending campaign events had become a social event for women, who went together sometimes with family members, and other times with friends and work colleagues. The fact that new networks for women were needed is telling. One could conceive of a situation whereby women would be simply incorporated into their husbands’ networks, but it did not happen this way. Women have networks of their own, both kin-based and non-kin-based, in which they operate independently of their husbands. The strengthening and broadening of women’s networks has important implications. Beyond drawing in crowds of new voters, restructured campaign strategies also involved devising new types of events and ways of addressing these voters in a socially acceptable manner. While one may have expected that parliamentarians who were against extending suffrage to women would hold campaign events for women in strictly domestic spaces, thereby discouraging extra-domestic movement, this is not the case. Even the most conservative of candidates holds events gatherings/events for women outside of the home. It would appear that, as has been witnessed elsewhere, the quest for political power had a moderating effect on the Islamist parties, and their campaign gathering events have looked largely the same as moderate and 41 2007). Masloski, “Elections in the Arab World: Progress or Peril?”, Middle East Memo 11 (12 February Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 196 Lindsey Stephenson liberal candidates. It is understood that participation in the public sphere requires private, extradomestic action. What is different, however, is the candidate’s interaction with constituents relative to those spaces. While the activity of women in the public sphere does not currently appear to be a problem for Islamist candidates, since they are actively engaging with them publicly, connecting with women at private gatherings has been a bit trickier. Gender segregation is a social norm that extends to the vast majority of Kuwaitis and the management of the interaction between sexes is still of paramount importance, especially for Islamist groups. For political events held in homes or in the dīwāniyya, the most conservative candidates will either address the women by speaker from another room, or elect a female representative to communicate their platform. In larger more public gatherings, usually the distance posed by the stage is enough to fill the segregation requirement. By and large, election gatherings look the same for everyone, even though conservative candidates are far less likely than their liberal and moderate counterparts to directly address a group of women in an informal/domestic setting. What is significant about these interactions is that while working within the norms of society, the experience of elections is gradually influencing the structure of social interactions at the same time and empowering women.42 Conservative candidates have not refused to engage with women, rather they have been developing strategies for doing so. Furthermore, because women are mostly addressed separately from men, segregation can be more advantageous for women than mixed gatherings would be, since they do not allow male holders of power to ‘bracket’ voters. The term ‘public sphere’ is problematic due to its false pretense of being all-inclusive. For example, the French bourgeoisie, under the guise of all-inclusive deliberation, sought to bracket social structural inequalities rather than eliminate them. By refusing weaker minorities an independent voice and instead appealing to the idea that there were collective interests for all French citizens, what was actually achieved was the maintenance of the bourgeois domination and the silencing of weaker groups. Indeed, “an important strand of feminist political theory has claimed that deliberation can serve as a mask for domination. Theorists like Jane Mansbridge have argued that “the transformation of ‘I’ into ‘we’ brought about through political deliberation can easily mask subtle forms of control””.43 While it is not the case that all weaker groups are empowered and that no social bracketing exists in Kuwait, it is true that gender is very difficult to bracket, and this has been beneficial to women’s interests in the end. Social mores that dictate that women and men must be separate mean that candidates are forced to address women as women. Men are not present, so they are unable to control the agenda or steer discussion in a particular way. Because they cannot be grouped together physically as a body of Kuwaitis who all share common interests, women are able to assert their demands and push policies (or at least secure promises) that are specifically in their interests. One such issue that has been at the forefront of demands in campaign events was addressed in June 2011 when Kuwaiti women were given the right to sponsor foreign husbands for residency in Kuwait44 –– an idea that would have been unthinkable ten years earlier. 42 Eleanor Doumato rightly argued that the establishment of personal connections outside of family networks provides an opportunity for empowerment [see “Education in Saudi Arabia: Gender, Jobs & Religion”, in Women and Globalization in the Arab Middle East: Gender Economy and Society, ed. Doumato and Posusney (2003), p. 250]. 43 Fraser, “Rethinking the Public Sphere”, p. 64. 44 Their sponsorship rights are still not equivalent to their Kuwaiti male counterparts’ rights, but it seems to be a step in that direction. Women and the Malleability of the Kuwaiti Dīwāniyya Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 5.2 197 Women’s spaces and political activity We have established then that Kuwaiti women now have specific relevancy in the realm of formal public politics. But the question remains how will they express their power? As was noted, there was serious speculation about how women could participate in politics without having dīwāniyyas. Although women did have civil society networks, it was clear that these were not believed to be capable of supporting elections as informational and potential ideological networks in the way that dīwāniyyas do for men. The extension of the vote to women in 2005 also extended them the right to gather and discuss politics, and the dīwāniyya is understood as an important locale for this activity. The problem here is that men’s dīwāniyyas were an organic growth that gradually gained a role in public political action. At major political junctures in Kuwaiti history, the dīwāniyya has been a vital institution and political forum for ironing out new developments. In addition to its historical importance to the merchant families as a locale for discussing economic grievances,45 “after the ratification of the constitution in 1962, it seemed only natural for dīwāniyyas to become places where candidates went to meet potential constituents and to campaign for office. This practice reflected politicians’ desires to go where the voters were”.46 So while for men dīwāniyyas in both their pre-political and informal political functions have supported their entrance into elections, we will find that for women the process is working in the opposite direction: women’s incorporation into public political action (elections) occurred from the top down without support on a foundational level (Figure 3). This has meant that new kinds of institutions must be formed to support this new political reality. Furthermore, as we have seen previously, the creation of new networks and the strengthening of existing ones to support those institutions are paramount. The goal here of the supporting institutions is to reinforce pre-political networks, which could then be tapped into during elections. The ‘Kuwaiti’ solution, it would seem, is for women to participate year-round in the dīwāniyya as a pre-political space, and thus institutionalize (if informally) their networks in the way that men have. This process has, to some extent, already begun and I will discuss briefly the impact of election season on daily life. 6. Implications Gaining the right to vote is about vastly more than attaining the right to cast a vote on election day. It is about entrance into a ‘club’ and a way of being in society that has a plethora of implications for that society, especially for newly enfranchised voters. In Kuwait, the vast majority of these post-women’s suffrage changes are happening gradually, but the trends are still noticeable. They have not, however, manifested themselves in the way Islamist MPs predicted (i.e. the destruction of the family and moral values). Women’s suffrage in Kuwait has opened new spaces and colored the way women interact with their networks. It has also been a gateway through which social norms are being reconfigured. Because elections in Kuwait are by no means a one-day event whereby one goes to the polls and casts a vote, when women were given the right to vote it was expected that the majority would to some extent be involved in the Kuwaiti election culture. This usually involves an intensive month of gatherings in homes, dīwāniyyas, schools and large-event tents where there are speeches, question and answer sessions, dinners, discussions and a range of activities. In women’s campaign events, questions mostly breech topics like education, employment, finances, 45 46 Crystal, Oil and politics in the Gulf: Rulers and Merchants in Kuwait and Qatar (1990), p. 77. Tétreault, “Civil Society in Kuwait”, p. 279. Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 198 Lindsey Stephenson Figure 3: The supportive role of the dīwāniyya in public political action. corruption and citizenship rights. For most women, attending these events is a new type of movement and access to a new space. And in a sense, these campaign events are a new form of social gathering and they serve as spaces for broadening and deepening social networks and an opportunity to traverse new geographical territory. Therefore, elections have legitimized a new way of operating in Kuwaiti society and, at the same time, have deepened connections to the whole of society. The most significant aspect of elections, however, is their aftermath, the lasting effects of women’s participation in them. Because dīwāniyyas (usually called nadwāt during the campaign season) were held to engage women during campaigns, this functioned to normalize their interaction with the space and the institution. In other words, women got used to going to formal dīwāniyyas, so the idea of hosting their own informal dīwāniyyas naturally progressed out of that experience, and was no longer an unthinkable or taboo idea. Women’s interaction with and conception of the dīwāniyya as both a space and institution are transforming and, with that, new ideas about how women can spend their time are emerging. Secondly, and perhaps more significantly, is the way that these gathering occasions are impacting networks. Up to now it has been mentioned that social networks are expanded by elections, but I have yet to discuss the implications of such expansion. If we agree with what was stated earlier, that “what we know (and, therefore, what seems rational) is a function of the relationships we have with others”47 and, furthermore, that “preferences are determined by the relationships within which one is imbedded”,48 the diversification of networks means diversification of information, and creates potential for new ideas to spread. Through their enlarged networks, young women especially are finding confidants for their ideas that challenge their 47 48 Smith-Lovin and McPherson “You Are Who You Know”, p. 224. Ibid., p. 224. Downloaded by [T&F Internal Users], [Ms Madeleine Markey] at 08:22 10 January 2012 Women and the Malleability of the Kuwaiti Dīwāniyya 199 families’ opinions. And the dīwāniyya can serve as a private and secure forum for this exchange. In these gatherings women are able to discuss a range of subjects that could not be broached in a family setting. They also become familiar with opinions and perspectives that differ from their own. The newly opened realm of politics in Kuwait has afforded women the opportunity to be mushtarikāt (participants) in their society rather than onlookers, and the dīwāniyya is a vital microcosm, and medium for the new changes. It is the pulse by which the state Kuwaiti society can be measured. The dīwāniyya’s ability to transform itself into an institution that was no longer like an exclusive second wife, but rather a participatory and inclusive one has been instrumental in affording women a forum for discussion and for transitioning into their new roles as voting members of society. It remains to be seen how women’s interactions with the dīwāniyya will ultimately congeal, but the potential witnessed thus far suggest that women’s dīwāniyyas could facilitate a major shift in societal norms. Bibliography Al Hajri, Mansour and Yaʿqoub Al Kandary, “The Kuwaiti Dīwāniyya’s Age is 250 Years” [in Arabic], AlAnbaʾ, 12 September 2010, available online at www.alanba.com.kw. 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Pateman, Carole, The Sexual Contract (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1988). Smith-Lovin, Lynn and J. Miller McPherson, “You Are Who You Know”, in Theory on Gender/Feminism on Theory, edited by Paula England (New York: Aldine DeGruyter, 1993), pp. 223–51. Tétreault, Mary Ann, “Civil Society in Kuwait: Protected Spaces and Women’s Rights”, The Middle East Journal 47 (1993), pp. 275–91. ———, Stories of Democracy: Politics and Society in Contemporary Kuwait (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000).