[Although the force was initially embraced by Saudis, who are still predominantly religious and conservative, a series of incidents has increasingly soured public attitudes toward it. In 2002 in Mecca , 15 girls died in a school fire, prevented from fleeing by mutaween who claimed the students were inappropriately covered. In 2007, a dozen mutaween entered a Riyadh family’s home and fatally beat a 28-year-old man whom they suspected of illegally possessing alcohol. The man’s death outraged Saudis, and a lawsuit was brought, one of the first instances of legal action against the force. The charges were subsequently dropped, but the suit helped open the door to criticism, including by the press.]
By Manal Al-Sharif
DUBAI, United Arab Emirates — In an incident that has reverberated
throughout Saudi Arabia, two brothers, Saud and Nasser al-Qaws, aged 22 and 24,
died last fall after their car was forced off a Riyadh bridge by members of
Saudi Arabia’s religious police. The officers, members of the Commission for
the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice, allegedly objected to the
patriotic songs the brothers were playing on the car stereo. They pursued the
men at high speed, ramming their car three times before finally pushing it off
the bridge. One of the young men was killed immediately; his brother died
shortly thereafter.
Cellphone footage of the incident
in September, captured by a passerby and posted online, caused a public outcry.
Attempting to mitigate the fallout, Sheikh Abdul Latif bin Abdul Aziz
al-Sheikh, head of the religious police, went on a public relations offensive.
“The truth is that the pursuit took place,” he told Al Arabiya TV. He condemned
the incident and said an investigation was underway.
Long considered one of the
country’s taboo subjects (along with any criticism of King Abdullah), the
commission, also known as the mutaween, is now one of Saudi
Arabia ’s most controversial issues. Tapped
to lead the force in 2012, Mr. Sheikh today finds himself facing both scathing
public attacks and worsening internal conflict.
The government, for its part, is
wary of clamping down on the mutaween for fear of inciting a conservative
backlash and is walking a fine line between the religious police and an
increasingly angry populace. While dismantling of the force is unrealistic,
this delicate moment opens a window of opportunity for Saudis. By continuing to
voice anger and disapproval, the public may provide Riyadh
with the leverage it needs to demand police adherence to regulations already in
place, and slowly weaken the commission’s influence.
The commission was formed in 1940
to enforce the implementation of Shariah, or Islamic law. It began its rise to
prominence in 1979, after religious fanatics seized the Grand Mosque in Mecca ,
denounced the royal family and called for new leadership. In the aftermath of
the bloody two-week siege, Saudi clerics were given plenty of funding and a
free hand to regulate morality.
Today some 4,000 members of the
mutaween patrol the streets, enforcing dress codes, the strict separation of
men and women, the observance of daily prayers and other behavior that it considers
to fall under the purview of Islam. Women, for example, are forbidden to drive.
Although the force was initially
embraced by Saudis, who are still predominantly religious and conservative, a
series of incidents has increasingly soured public attitudes toward it. In 2002
in Mecca , 15 girls died in a school
fire, prevented from fleeing by mutaween who claimed the students were
inappropriately covered. In 2007, a dozen mutaween entered a Riyadh
family’s home and fatally beat a 28-year-old man whom they suspected of
illegally possessing alcohol. The man’s death outraged Saudis, and a lawsuit
was brought, one of the first instances of legal action against the force. The
charges were subsequently dropped, but the suit helped open the door to
criticism, including by the press.
Today, Saudi opinion of the
commission is at an all-time low. Resentment grew last year when King Abdullah
increased the force’s budget to $390 million. The spread of smartphones has
made it easier to disseminate evidence of police overreach, and it is now more
difficult for the force to sweep accusations under the carpet. Despite this,
the fact that most cases brought against the commission still end in acquittals
or dropped charges has done little to endear the religious police to Saudis.
Now, internal fault lines seem to
be widening as well. Mr. Sheikh is increasingly coming under attack by the
force’s more conservative members for being too liberal and too Westernized.
Shortly after taking over in
2012, Mr. Sheikh spearheaded a series of reforms aimed at bringing the mutaween
in line. Volunteers were no longer allowed to join mutaween patrols; the
confiscation of phones and other personal belongings was forbidden; workshops
were introduced to teach mutaween how to deal with the public; the police could
no longer receive funds from private businesses. Chief among Mr. Sheikh’s
reforms was a ban on car chases — but the incident last September made it
painfully clear that his orders were being ignored.
In a controversial October
interview with Rotana, a Saudi TV channel, Mr. Sheikh admitted that one of his
most trusted confidants had recorded their conversations for use against him.
The interview appeared soon after reports surfaced in the press of an attempt
to murder Mr. Sheikh in a hit-and-run, allegedly ordered by the Muslim
Brotherhood.
Mr. Sheikh may not be able to
rein in the mutaween, but there are signs that social media may be helping to
counter the commission’s repressive regime. Saudis have thwarted several
attempts to restrict phone and Internet use over the years, including a 2004
ban on camera phones (still forbidden in areas reserved for women only). The
country’s current smartphone use is the third highest in the world. Despite
strict regulations on Internet activity, Saudis are among the largest adopters
of Twitter in the Arab world; 4.9 million Saudis were on Facebook as of early
2012.
Last October, a woman in Qassim,
considered Saudi Arabia ’s
most conservative region, lashed out at a member of the religious police who
demanded that she cover her entire face (she was wearing a veil that left her
eyes exposed). “Don’t provoke me!” the woman retorted. “Do you think we don’t
know our own religion? We know our religion, and covered up before you even
existed. The full facial cover is not forced upon a woman!” A 42-second video
of her response blew up on Saudi social media. Using the hashtag #Don’tProvoke,
people tweeted messages of support, criticizing the officer for berating a
modestly dressed woman, and for doing so in front of her children. The public
outpouring was a rarity in a country where, when it comes to confrontations
between men and women, it is generally accepted that women are to blame.
Her response highlighted the
perception that the commission is an intrusive body that seeks to impose a
narrow vision of religion on Saudi women. Equally noteworthy was her rejection
of the officer’s definition of appropriate veiling practice. After years of
relying on the teachings of a single religious authority, the websites and
social networks the mutaween have fought so hard to repress have facilitated the
spread of alternative views.
A nearly 75-year-old police force
can’t be disempowered overnight, and those like Mr. Sheikh who attempt to
liberalize it risk fomenting a dangerous backlash. But, aided by social media,
the doctrinal foundations of the religious establishment are finally beginning
to crack. A broad-based, grass-roots show of anger against the mutaween may be
the push the government needs to finally weaken and perhaps eventually
dismantle the religious police.
Manal al-Sharif, a women’s rights
advocate from Saudi Arabia ,
began a campaign in 2011 to let Saudi women drive.
