Najmia, and the pitfalls of liberal feminism
Najmia; A stranger in her own City is a 30-minute documentary filmed by Yemeni filmmaker, Khadija Al-Salmi, in 2005.
Despite its age and short length, when I first saw it 2019, I never forgot it. We live in an age where we consume content so intensely and so superficially that most of the time, we can’t even recall the majority of the content that we watch. But I could not, and I would not forget Najmia — nor her startlingly, poignantly, fierce sense of self and character.
The documentary opens with the narrator saying that for most women in Yemen, the Islamic niqab (face-veil) is so common that it’s synonymous with womanhood. But almost immediately, Najmia counters this claim, stating that these women are “crazy” and that she refuses to don one because simply put, she likes the fresh air.
At thirteen, Najmia is already past the standard age where non-Mahram males are permitted to see her hair. Hence, openly showing her dark curls in the sunlight is a living challenge to all around her, enmeshed in deep ancestral traditions. Insolent and carefree, she does not even wear the hijab — much to the horror of the rest of Sana’a. It’s expected — after all, Yemen is one of the most culturally conservative countries in the Middle East. Even next-door Saudi Arabia is somewhat more progressive; hijab is no longer mandatory there, and its capital, Riyadh, is rapidly being transformed into a Western metropolis.
Najmia’s bare head is far from the only thing about her that’s unusual. Everybody in Sana’a seems to know her. She mixed contentedly with boys; playing football and riding her bicycle in the sandy streets, which the narrator plainly says is ‘unheard of’ in Yemen. She’s not afraid of anyone, and promised to respond to anyone who harms her — exclaiming that in future, she wants to choose her own husband.
Furthermore, she freely spurs with those who oppose her; and believe me, there are many to come! Her scintillating humor and wit — as well as criticism of the sexism and hypocrisy that pervades Yemeni culture, strike a sharp cord with the Western viewer. Najmia is not blinded by destructive ideologies like nationalism or Islamism. She remarks early on, that to people who say ‘Curse America and Curse the Jews’, she slaps their faces and yells in return: ‘You bunch of morons, you bunch of morons!’ Her free-thinking, humanistic way of being — in spite of the dissent of her surroundings — is something that many Westerners would do well to adopt themselves.
But not only is Najmia intelligent; she’s funny, and she’s brilliant to watch. A group of boys at one point berate her for her dress and carefree manner, and despite being outnumbered by a gang of people far, far older than her, she responds playfully, humorously; catching their own hypocrisy off guard. One boy declares her conduct sinful and unacceptable, and the others agree. They tell Najmia that if she were their sister, they would beat and humiliate her — asking brazenly if she’s had her period yet. But instead of taking their insults to heart, she tells them to ‘get a job and stop sitting around like a group of bums’. Her sharp tongue is a force to be reckoned with.
Ambitious and lofty, Najmia says she wants to be a translator. She knows the old city of Sana’a like the palm of her hand and would love to learn English so to introduce its hidden riches and beauties to Western tourists.
Not two minutes go by without Najmia being repeatedly berated about her behavior and mode of dress. The pressure to don the veil is almost suffocating for girls in Sana’a; the mere deed of walking the streets bare-headed is an act of rebellion. Oddly enough, Najmia’s interactions with these aggressive, misogynistic older boysare one of the documentary’s most striking images. It’s obvious to any viewer that Najmia’s mind is far-superior to that of the boys, and that she operates on an entirely different level. Most of the men in her midst cannot even bring themselves to comprehend her existence. But as a local Sana’a Imam poignantly states, ‘She’s worth ten boys.’
Najmia walks the streets of Sana’a with a heart that never quavers, and with a spirit undaunted. She dreams of the natural right to live her life as she sees fit, even if that means straying from the narrow, restrictive path Yemeni society seeks to entrap her in. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one drawn in by Najmia’s fierce personality and integrity. In 2005, Yemeni President Ali Abdullah Saleh was so entranced by her character after watching the documentary that he offered to pay for her education himself.
When I first watched the documentary back in 2019, I rooted for Najmia and her beautifully bright future with all my heart. What a translator Najmia would’ve made in a kinder world! What a translator the world has been denied. It’s unfair, horribly unfair; that despite her great potential, Najmia never got the opportunity to actually exploit that potential because of the society she was brought up in. How is it fair that a subpar student in the West will receive opportunities that the East’s brightest gems could never so much as dream of?
Recently, I discovered a heartbreaking article that I’ll link below. Upon finding it, I was utterly ecstatic — but not for long.
Muslim journalist Shrouk Hussein had somehow managed to track down Najmia over fourteen years after the documentary aired. It’s certainly a feat, considering Yemen was and still is going through one of the world’s most severe humanitarian crises. I couldn’t believe Hussein had found the Najmia, the Najmia I’d been so desperate to get an update about.
But the Najmia she found resembled the vivacious, spunky girl the Yemeni President fell in love with in 2005 very little. Immediately upon meeting with Najmia, she asked Hussein not to take pictures of her eyes, even if her face was covered by the Niqab. In turns out that seven months after the documentary was filmed, Najmia began wearing the veil and quit school at her Father’s insistence.
She expressed her extreme sadness for not being able to complete her studies, and stated plainly that she “had never grown up”— because both the landscape and the culture of Sana’a have changed so thoroughly. She expressed her regret for wearing the niqab, which she no longer feels able to remove because it has become, as she described, “a part of her nature”. In some ways, she has maintained her vibrant spirit; the locals of Sana’a still recognize her and her distinct person, and she enjoys spending time with family. It’s clear that the majority of her youthful hopes and dreams have evaporated, and that’s what upset me most.
While Najmia is still alive, in a way, she reminds me of Anne Frank. Anne Frank is similarly, somebody who had her bright potential cruelly stolen from her. Najmia, spirit in youth was so magnificent, so glorious— but what remains of it today? In a way, she’s like one who died young; to think of all her life could have been is horribly upsetting.
The immediacy of Najmia’s tragedy makes me angry, horribly angry. I’m not only angry at misogynists, either, and their heartless robbery of female dreams and female livelihoods — but additionally, at liberal feminists. How can one possibly say — and in the name of ‘liberty’ and ‘nonjudgementalism’ too — that a culture like Najmia’s is worthy of tolerance and respect? Why must we respect a culture that subjugates, oppresses, and restricts its women and that spits on their very existence?
Though I thoroughly dislike it, I’m not in favour of banning the Niqab like France has done. What I like about the West is our right to dress as we please, without facing the restrictions and harassment that Najmia unfairly did. Religious Muslim women deserve autonomy as much as anyone else; two wrongs don’t make a right. But just because something’s legal doesn’t mean it’s right. Liberal feminists might claim it’s just a piece of cloth, but I’ll never respect a piece of cloth if its aim is to remove women’s autonomy and identity — reducing them to nothing but vessels of modesty. Covering women’s bodies so intensely from all men just means that their bodies are inherently something to be sexualized. It means that they can only be seen as human beings away from sexual consumption if they are to hide behind veils and abayas.
Recently, there were a number of very high-profile debates over the ethics of hosting the 2022 FIFA World Cup in Qatar. Controversies over the location included conflict over severe human rights abuses. Hundreds of migrant workers were reported to have died over unsafe conditions whilst building stadiums — and the Qatari government’s prosecution of homosexuality, repression of women, censoring of religions other than Islam were major points of focus. To any Western liberal, you would hope, this would’ve rung ethical alarm bells.
Yet instead of condemnation, and instead of protest over FIFA endorsing what is in essence, a disgustingly repressive regime, many Western liberals defended Qatar’s right to host the cup. Often, they stated the importance of respecting and tolerating foreign cultures, using liberalism as a scapegoat.
Must I tolerate oppression? Must I tolerate intolerance? Why must I respect and tolerate practices that objectively, reduce and worsen mankind as a whole?
In the video filmed by Hussein, Najmia’s thick, guttural Arabic is still there — but with no face to identify her, there’s no telling that it even is Najmia speaking, or whether she’s truly happy or unhappy. Not even her lovely, truthful, expressive eyes are on show; eyes that were once the illustrators of that defiant, passionate rebellion I loved so dearly.
In conclusion, the original 2005 documentary is a wonderful, highly moving portrait. It depicts one girl’s desperation for freedom in a society that wants to give her anything but. What’s even more emotive, though, is Hussein’s 2019 update article, which exposes the cruel reality for women in Yemen. Despite Najmia’s magnificence, independence for most women in the country is still little more than a distant dream.
Link to the documentary: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0nJOnhfFeag
Link to the 2019 update article on Najmia: https://almadaniyamag.com/2019/10/31/sanaa-najmia/
