Why it's dangerous to separate powerful men from the oppressive regimes they lead by Ruby Hamad - 29/01/15, 11:45 PM

"The real problem is that the pope presides over an institution that actually puts women in danger, and that is something we all have a duty to challenge."

When Saudi Arabia's King Abdullah died last week, his powerful western allies, as well as some corners of the media, dutifully sang his praises.

"He will be remembered for his long years of service to the kingdom, for his commitment to peace, and for strengthening understanding between faiths," a "saddened" Doug Cameron eulogised. US secretary of state, John Kerry, described Abdullah as "a brave partner in fighting violent extremism, who proved just as important as a proponent of peace."

Most eyebrow-raising of all was head of the International Monetary Fund, Christine Lagarde, who said, "In a very discreet way, he was a strong advocate for women."


It all strikes me a bizarre way in which to remember a tight-fisted ruler of a theo-monarchy who imposed an agonisingly austere version of Islam, allowed religious police to roam the streets and attack women who were not sufficiently modest in their dress, and had ruthlessly clamped down on civil freedoms.

In positioning Abdullah as, in the words of this Reuters obituary, a "modernizing...cautious reformer" in a strictly conservative kingdom, it appears as though the west is attempting to posthumously separate the king from his own regime and distance him from its brutality. It's as if he were at odds and disagreement with his own government, rather than at least partly responsible for its shortcomings.

In that regard, the disproportionately enthusiastic response to the late king's even miniscule nods to reform, such as his vague statement that he "believe(s) the day will come when women will drive" reminds me of the way we - and by "we", I refer mostly to the western media - fawns over virtually every utterance of another powerful religious leader as if he were a veritable civil rights crusader rather than the head of one of the most influential, conservative, and, at times, regressive institutions the world has ever seen.

Most recently, Pope Francis scored points for nice but hardly radical sentiments such as "men should listen to women", Catholics need not "breed like rabbits", and for telling women that they could breastfeed in the hallowed grounds of the Sistine Chapel.

But do any of these statements make an actual advocate for women or just someone who acknowledges that women exist?

Like Abdullah, Francis has managed to get himself seen as a reformer and a champion for women without being actually doing all that much - if any - reforming or championing. Virtually every word that escapes his lips is met with rapturous accolades - from political progressives no less - such as Coolest pope ever!, even though he has yet to actually follow his words with concrete political action.

Let me be clear, I am not likening the two men to each other. Each has lived and operated within a different cultural context, and their leadership reflects their respective frameworks. What I am doing is pointing out that they have both managed to be seen as somehow progressive without actually making any progress.

As Chris Ip recently wrote in the Columbia Journalism Review: "The most radical thing Pope Francis does is show compassion towards people despite disagreeing with their principles, which is a sentiment increasingly absent from political discourse. His words are significant because he cares little for partisan posturing, not because they are evidence for his supposed liberal standpoint... every time the media pigeonholes him into a political camp, they are...skewing his views."

The idea that either of these two men are advocates for women is not merely laughable, it is dangerous. Abdullah, for instance, was accused by his own daughters of keeping them under lock and key for criticising his policies, strengthened the oppressive male guardianship system, and reneged on a promise to allow women to vote in municipal elections "because of the kingdom's social customs".

Meanwhile, Francis, despite his allegedly women-friendly stance, reaffirmed that women will never be ordained under his papacy, and even ex-communicated an Australian priest who backed gay marriage and women's ordination. Mind you, that is the least problematic thing about his church's attitude to half of its global congregation. Women's ordination, it could be argued, is an inside matter for the Church to decide on.

The real problem is that the pope presides over an institution that actually puts women in danger, and that is something we all have a duty to challenge. The Church's unflinching stance on abortion and contraception, while easily circumvented by privileged Catholic women in the west, is a veritable death sentence for women in less fortunate circumstances.

From preventable maternal deaths in predominantly Catholic countries from Mozambique to Ireland to the jailing of women who suffer miscarriages in El Salvador, women pay a heavy price when their fetuses are considered more worthy of life than they are, a state of affairs the Church has had no small hand in creating. Likewise, the AIDS epidemic in sub-Saharan Africa could be curtailed with the help of those condoms that the Church, even under "liberal" Francis, still deems unacceptable. While it's a nice personal gesture that Francis is willing to wash the feet of the poor, a lifting on the contraceptive ban would actually do far more to alleviate the suffering of those living in poverty.

Oppression is not an unexplainable or unavoidable malady that has afflicted humankind as if by an invisible hand. It is a result of tangible, unjust political and religious policies that are initiated, entrenched, and perpetuated by people (let's face it, mostly by men) in positions of power and influence.

It does us no good to separate men like Abdullah and Francis from the regimes and institutions that they lead. The power is (or was) in their hands. Our perception of powerful men such as these is symptomatic of our refusal to place the responsibility for political progress where it lies. Both of these men had or have the power to change people's lives for the better and both, for the most part, have chosen not to. And yet, they are hailed as if they actually worked towards progress, instead of mostly just talking about it.