A Saudi woman who dared to drive - Manal al-Sharif

[Music] [Music]

Allow me to, uh, to start this talk with a question to everyone: You know that all over the world, people fight for their freedom, fight for their rights. Some battle oppressive governments, others battle oppressive societies. Which battle do you think is harder? Allow me to try to answer this question in the few coming minutes.

Let me take you back two years ago in my life. It was the big time of my son, Agbudi; he was five at the time. After finishing his bedtime rituals, he looked at me and he asked a question: “Mommy, are we bad people?” I was shocked. “Why do you say such a thing, Agbudi?” Earlier that day, I noticed some bruises on his face when he came from school. He wouldn’t tell me what happened. He was ready to tell: “Two boys hit me today in school. They told me we saw your mom on Facebook; you and your mom should be put in jail.”

I’ve never been afraid to tell Agbudi anything. I’ve been always a proud woman of my achievements. But those questioning eyes of my son were my moment of truth when it all came together. You see, a massage woman had been put to jail for driving a car in a country where women are not supposed to drive cars. Just for giving me his car keys. My own brother was detained twice, and he was harassed to the point he had to quit his job as a geologist, leave the country with his wife and two-year-old son. My father had to sit in a Friday sermon listening to the imam condemning women drivers and calling them prostitutes amongst tens of worshippers, some of them friends and family of my own father.

I was faced with an organized defamation campaign in the local media, combined with false rumors shared a lot in family gatherings, in the streets, and in school. It all hit me. It came into focus that those kids were not meant to be rude to my son; they were just influenced by the adults around them. And it wasn’t about me, and it wasn’t a punishment for taking the wheel and driving a few miles. It was a punishment for daring to challenge the society’s rules.

But my story goes beyond this moment of truth of mine. Allow me to give you a very brief overview of my story. It was May 2011, and I was complaining to a work colleague about the harassments I had to face trying to find a ride back home. Although I have a car and an international driver's license, as long as I know, women in Saudi Arabia have been always complaining about the ban, but it’s been 20 years since anyone tried to do anything about it, a whole generation ago. He broke the bad news in my face: “But there is no law banning you from driving.” I looked it up, and he was right. There was an actual law in Saudi Arabia; it was just a custom and traditions that are enshrined in rigid religious faith words and imposed on women.

That realization ignited the idea of June 17, where we encouraged women to take the wheel and go drive. It was a few weeks later we started receiving all these men’s walls with rabies. If you go and drive, a courageous woman — her name is Najla Hariri; she's a Saudi woman in the city of Vegeta — she drove a car and she announced, but she didn’t record the video. We needed proof, so I drove. I posted a video on YouTube, and to my surprise, it got hundreds of thousands of views the first day.

What happened next? Of course, I started receiving threats to be killed, raped, just to stop this campaign. The Saudi authorities remained very quiet; that really creeped us out. I was in the campaign with other Saudi women and even men activists. We wanted to know how the authorities would respond on the actual day, June 17, when women go out and drive. So this time I asked my brother to come with me and drive by a police car.

It went fast; we were arrested. We signed a pledge not to drive again, released, arrested again. He was sent to detention for one day, and I was sent to jail. I wasn’t sure why I was sent there because I didn’t face any charges in the interrogation, but what I was sure of: my innocence. I didn’t break a law, and I kept my abaya — it’s a black cloak. We were in Saudi Arabia before we leave the house, and my fellow prisoners kept asking me to take it off. But I was so sure of my innocence; I kept saying no, I’m leaving today.

Outside the jail, the whole country went into a frenzy; some attacked me badly, and others were supportive, even collecting signatures for a petition to be sent to the king to release me. I was released after nine days. June 17 comes, the streets were packed with police cars and religious police cars, but some hundred brave Saudi women broke the ban and drove that day, none were arrested. We broke the taboo.

So I think by now everyone knows that we can drive, or women are not allowed to drive in Saudi Arabia. But maybe few know why. Allow me to help you answer this question. There was this official study that was presented to the Shura Council, it’s the consultative council appointed by the king in Saudi Arabia, and it was done by a local university professor. He claims it’s done based on a UNESCO study, and the study states the percentage of rape, adultery, illegitimate children, even drug abuse, and prostitution in countries where women drive is higher than in countries where women don’t drive.

I know; I was like this, I was shocked. I was like, we are the last country in the world where women don’t drive. So if you look at the map of the world, that only leaves two countries: Saudi Arabia and the other society is the rest of the world. We started a hashtag on Twitter mocking the study, and it made headlines around the world. Only then did we realize it’s so empowering to mock your oppressor; it strips it away of his strongest weapon: fear.

This system is based on ultra-conservative traditions and customs dealing with women as they are inferior, and they need a guardian to protect them. So they need to take permission from this guardian, be it verbal or written, all their lives. They are minors until the day we die, and it becomes worse when it is enshrined in religious fatwas based on wrong interpretation of the Sharia law or the religious laws. What’s worse is when they become codified as laws in the system. And when women themselves believe in their inferiority and they even fight those who try to question these rules.

So for me, it wasn’t only about these attacks I had to face; it was about living two totally different perceptions of my personality: the villain back in my home country and the hero outside. Just to tell you, uh, two stories happened in the last two years. One of them is when I was in jail. I’m pretty sure when I was in jail, everyone saw titles in the international media something like this during these nine days I was in jail. But in my home country, it was a totally different picture. It was more like this: “Manager faces charges of disturbing public order and inciting women to drive.”

I know, Manal Sharif withdraws from the campaign. Ah, it’s okay. “This is my favorite. Managerial breaks down and confuses foreign forces inside me,” and it goes on, even trial and flogging me in public. So I started a different picture. I was asked last year to give a speech in Oslo Freedom Forum; I was surrounded by this love and support of people around me, and they looked at me as an inspiration. At the same time, I flew back to my home country; they hated their speech so much, the way they called it a betrayal to the Saudi country and the Saudi people. They even started a hashtag called #OsloTraitor on Twitter; some 10,000 tweets were written in that hashtag, while the opposite hashtag #OsloHero, there were like a handful of tweets written.

They even started a poll; more than 13,000 voters answered this poll whether they considered me a traitor or not. After that speech, 90% said yes, she’s a traitor. So it’s these two totally different perceptions of my personality. For me, I’m a proud Saudi woman, and I do love my country. And because I love my country, I’m doing this because I believe a society will not be free if women of that society are not. Thank you.

Thank you. [Music]

Thank you. But you learn lessons from these things that happen to you. I learned to be always there. The first thing I got out of jail, of course, after I took a shower, I went online. I opened my Twitter account and my Facebook page, and I’ve been always very respectful to those people who were open with me. I would listen to what they say. I would never defend myself with words only; I would use actions. When they said I withdrew from the campaign, I filed the first lawsuit against the General Directorate of Traffic Police for not issuing me a driver’s license.

There are a lot of people, also very big supporters, like those 3,000 people who signed the petition to release me. Like we sent a petition to the Shura Council in favor of lifting the ban on Saudi women, and there were like 3,500 citizens who believed in that and signed that petition. There are people like that. I just showed some samples who are amazing, who believe in women’s rights in Saudi Arabia and are trying, and they’re also facing a lot of hate because of speaking up and voicing their views.

Saudi Arabia today is taking small steps toward enhancing women's rights. The Shura Council, that’s appointed by the king by royal decree, King Abdullah, last year there were 30 women assigned to that council, like 20%. 20% of the council. At the same time, finally, that council, after rejecting our petition four times for women driving, finally accepted it last February after being sent to jail or sentenced to lashing or sent to trial. The spokesperson of the traffic police said, “We will only issue traffic violations for women drivers.”

The Grand Mufti, who is the head of the religious establishment in Saudi Arabia, said, “It’s not recommended for a woman to drive.” It used to be haram, forbidden, by the previous Grand Mufti. So for me, it’s not about only these small steps; it’s about women themselves. A friend once asked me, she said, “So what do you think? This woman driving will happen?” I told her, “Only if women stop asking when and take action to make it now.”

So it’s not only about the system; it’s also about us women to drive our own life, I’d say. So I have no clue really how I became an activist, and I don't know how I became one now, but all I know and all I’m sure of, in the future, when someone asks me my story, I will say I’m proud to be amongst those women who lived the ban for the bad and celebrated everyone’s freedom. So the question I started my talk with: Who do you think is more difficult to face, oppressive governments or oppressive societies? I hope you find clues to answer that from my speech. Thank you, everyone. Thank you. [Music]