Will the Tunisian constitution erode the gains of women in the Arab Spring?

The dignity of gender equality could have a hard time penetrating the written constitution.

Avenue Bourguiba in Tunis is a palimpsest of recent political protest: with official street signs nearby marking "Place 14 janvier 2011", and a public instruction to take care of the avenue because of its significance in last year’s revolution – on Monday night the city’s most famous street was layered over, again, between the crowds sat in salon de thés after Iftar, with a protest to mark National Women’s Day. The demonstration – alongside protests in other cities such as Monastir – concerned the proposed wording to describe women in the constitution, the new constitution-in-process being the other striking palimpsest of revolutionary signifiers, a mosaic of jurisprudential traditions, language of the revolutionary protests, and complex institutional legacies stitched together into a kind of permanence. What language bubbles up from the revolution of 2011 into the paper-white terminology of constitutional law will – like the official street sign marking "Place 14 janvier 2011" – crystallise the revolutionary moment, speak to Tunisia’s future, and how it tells itself the story of the nation’s most recent re-birth. 

The protests on Monday evening concerned a phrase in particular, translated as “associate” or “complement”, to describe the status of women vis-à-vis men in the proposed constitution. According to France 24, Article 27 translates in English as: “The state guarantees to protect women’s rights, as they stand, under the principle of man’s complement within the family and man’s partner in developing the country”. Women’s rights activists have expressed concern that women’s equal status is being denigrated to a kind of ‘auxiliary’ role, while MPs have pointed out that the article directly contradicts Article 22, which states men and women are equals. Perhaps the most striking issue is how vague the article is, and the protests thus seeming to express a concern that, unless commitment to women’s rights is fully enshrined and fully-stated, the gains of equality are easily corroded – a symptom of the sense that the current ruling figures are ‘duplicitous’ and deliberately vague, and the widespread unanswered questions on how the future constitution will be interpreted.

Tunisia has a reputation for its progressive history regarding women’s rights: often setting legal precedents in the Arab world under Habib Bourguiba, since 1956 polygamy was abolished, civil marriage established, and women given the right to vote, open bank accounts and establish businesses without the consent of their husbands. Bourguiba’s Code of Personal Status has since become symbolic of Tunisia’s progressive position on gender issues – although aspects such as the banning of the hijab have equally been interpreted as the secular authoritarian edicts of the Francophile elite. Part of the frustration at Article 27 is thus in part a fear that long-established rights will be ‘rolled back’ by Ennahda’s still-vague vision of how they wish Tunisia to be. In a telling episode, protests to mark National Women’s Day on Avenue Bourguiba – the street synonymous with the revolution that allowed Ennahda to come to power – were banned earlier this month, for concerns over “traffic.” Others argue the criticism of Article 27 is based on an unfair reading – and literal mis-translation – of the post-revolutionary situation, noting that Ennahda committed to elevating the ground-breaking 1956 statute of gender-equality to the status of basic law, meaning it can be annulled only by a two-thirds majority rather than the usual simple majority.

Another pertinent facet of the protests on Monday is how people took to the streets over specific articles in the constitution, an illustration of how closely Tunisian civil society is following the constitution-drafting process, and the dynamics between the constitution-drafting authorities and the Tunisians who witnessed the revolution last year. Yesterday, Habib Kheder, the General Rapporteur of the constitutional committee, stated that the constitution would be completed by February 2013, a shift from the earlier estimation of October 2012. Such an extensive constitution-drafting process may – as is happening in Egypt – mean doors increasingly close to civil society and divergent voices, but it also gives more time for groups to make their concerns heard on constitutional issues. The question is, which voices will permeate from Tunisia into the text?

A popular cry of last year’s revolution was “karama” – most often translated as dignity. During this period of establishing Tunisia’s future legal frameworks, it remains to be seen if, and how, the dignity of gender equality will translate from the language of the revolution to the language of the constitution. The protests on Monday, however, seemed to say that the language of Article 27 is not a language many recognise or want to hear.

Heather McRobie is writing her PhD on constitution-drafting in the Arab Spring.

 

Tunisian women shout slogans during a protest calling for the respect of women's rights. Photograph: Getty Images
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Why is it called Storm Doris? The psychological impact of naming a storm

“Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person.”

“Oh, piss off Doris,” cried the nation in unison this morning. No, it wasn't that everyone's local cantankerous old lady had thwacked our ankles with her stick. This is a different, more aggressive Doris. Less Werther’s, more extreme weathers. Less bridge club, more bridge collapse.

This is Storm Doris.

A storm that has brought snow, rain, and furious winds up to 94mph to parts of the UK. There are severe weather warnings of wind, snow and ice across the entire country.

But the real question here is: why is it called that? And what impact does the new Met Office policy of naming storms have on us?

Why do we name storms?

Storm Doris is the latest protagonist in the Met Office’s decision to name storms, a pilot scheme introduced in winter 2015/16 now in its second year.

The scheme was introduced to draw attention to severe weather conditions in Britain, and raise awareness of how to prepare for them.

How do we name storms?

The Name our Storms initiative invites the public to suggest names for storms. You can do this by tweeting the @metoffice using the #nameourstorms hashtag and your suggestion, through its Facebook page, or by emailing them.

These names are collated along with suggestions from Met Éireann and compiled into a list. These are whittled down into 21 names, according to which were most suggested – in alphabetical order and alternating between male and female names. This is done according to the US National Hurricane Naming convention, which excludes the letters Q, U, X, Y and Z because there are thought to be too few common names beginning with these letters.

They have to be human names, which is why suggestions in this list revealed by Wired – including Apocalypse, Gnasher, Megatron, In A Teacup (or Ena Tee Cup) – were rejected. The Met Office received 10,000 submissions for the 2016/17 season. According to a spokesperson, a lot of people submit their own names.

Only storms that could have a “medium” or “high” wind impact in the UK and Ireland are named. If there are more than 21 storms in a year, then the naming system starts from Alpha and goes through the Greek alphabet.

The names for this year are: Angus (19-20 Nov ’16), Barbara (23-24 Dec 2016), Conor (25-26 Dec 2016), Doris (now), Ewan, Fleur, Gabriel, Holly, Ivor, Jacqui, Kamil, Louise, Malcolm, Natalie, Oisín, Penelope, Robert, Susan, Thomas, Valerie and Wilbert.

Why does this violent storm have the name of an elderly lady?

Doris is an incongruous name for this storm, so why was it chosen? A Met Office spokesperson says they were just at that stage in their list of names, and there’s no link between the nature of the storm and its name.

But do people send cosy names for violent weather conditions on purpose? “There’s all sorts in there,” a spokesperson tells me. “People don’t try and use cosy names as such.”

What psychological impact does naming storms have on us?

We know that giving names to objects and animals immediately gives us a human connection with them. That’s why we name things we feel close to: a pet owner names their cat, a sailor names their boat, a bore names their car. We even name our virtual assistants –from Microsoft’s Clippy to Amazon’s Alexa.

This gives us a connection beyond practicality with the thing we’ve named.

Remember the response of Walter Palmer, the guy who killed Cecil the Lion? “If I had known this lion had a name and was important to the country or a study, obviously I wouldn’t have taken it,” he said. “Nobody in our hunting party knew before or after the name of this lion.”

So how does giving a storm a name change our attitude towards it?

Evidence suggests that we take it more seriously – or at least pay closer attention. A YouGov survey following the first seven named storms in the Met Office’s scheme shows that 55 per cent of the people polled took measures to prepare for wild weather after hearing that the oncoming storm had been named.

“There was an immediate acceptance of the storm names through all media,” said Gerald Fleming, Head of Forecasting at Met Éireann, the Irish metereological service. “The severe weather messages were more clearly communicated.”

But personalising a storm can backfire. A controversial US study in 2014 by PNAC (Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences) claimed that hurricanes with female names lead to higher death tolls – the more “feminine” the name, like Belle or Cindy, the higher the death toll. This is not because female names are attached to more severe storms; it is reportedly because people take fewer steps to prepare for storms with names they perceive to be unintimidating or weak.

“In judging the intensity of a storm, people appear to be applying their beliefs about how men and women behave,” Sharon Shavitt, a co-author of the study, told the FT at the time. “This makes a female-named hurricane . . . seem gentler and less violent.”

Names have social connotations, and affect our subconscious. Naming a storm can raise awareness of it, but it can also affect our behaviour towards it.

What’s it like sharing a name with a deadly storm?

We should also spare a thought for the impact sharing a name with a notorious weather event can have on a person. Katrina Nicholson, a nurse who lives in Glasgow, says it was “horrible” when the 2005 hurricane – one of the fifth deadliest ever in the US – was given her name.

“It was horrible having something so destructive associated with my name. Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person,” she tells me over email. “I actually remember at the time meeting an American tourist on a boat trip in Skye and when he heard my name he immediately linked it to the storm – although he quickly felt guilty and then said it was a lovely name! I think to this day there will be many Americans who hate my name because of it.”

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.