Professor gets a peek into the world of female law students in Saudi Arabia
“There must be some kind of mistake.”
That was my first thought when I received an email from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia inviting me to serve as an accreditation reviewer for a law program at a university in Riyadh. Once I confirmed that the invitation was legitimate, my second thought was that I would probably decline. Saudi Arabia was not on my list of “must-visit” countries. Aside from its location in a dangerous part of the world, the kingdom has one of the worst human rights records for its treatment of women. It was daunting to think of entering that environment, even as an invited expert.
In short order, however, my final answer became clear. I firmly believe that fear should not control our choices and that when life hands you an adventure, you should say yes. So I did. What followed was one of the most fascinating, thrilling and uncomfortable weeks of my life.
There are many stories to tell, but perhaps the most insightful are my encounters with the women of Saudi Arabia, which began when I boarded a plane in Paris. The passengers looked like they could be from any city in the world, attired in jeans, shorts and colorful T-shirts.
Within seconds of landing in Riyadh, that abruptly changed. Although the men walked off the plane looking the same, the women were unrecognizable. Each, including me, was completely shrouded in an abaya, the long, black robe that women are required to wear by law. Most also wore hijabs that concealed their hair as well as niqabs that concealed their faces except for a small area around the eyes. A few even wore veils over their niqabs, completely covering their faces. To the Western eye, the group of individual women that had walked on the plane had transformed into an anonymous whole, each virtually indistinguishable from the other. It was disconcerting to say the least.
As my week moved on, however, it became quite apparent that this visual anonymity was a surface illusion. Although it was not until 2013 that four women in Saudi Arabia became the first to receive a license to practice law, the program I reviewed had been developed and fostered in the women’s section of the university. It had been so successful that a similar program had begun on the men’s side that year.
The women I met during my review were impressive by any standard. The female administrators were confident, outspoken and enormous advocates for their “girls,” as they called them. They are convinced that they are educating the women who will be leaders of change in Saudi Arabia, and it is easy to see why. The degree of energy and enthusiasm in the segregated women’s section of the university was quite notably lacking in the men’s. Once behind the walls of the women’s section, students and professors immediately took off their abayas, head scarves and veils. The first time this occurred, each one “reintroduced” herself to me. The scene at that point looked similar to what you would find at many universities around the world. Beautiful art hung on the walls, and the architecture was distinctly feminine — it was clearly a place dominated by women.
The students seemed eager to demonstrate to themselves and to their society that they could operate as effective attorneys. As one alumna told me, “When I was hired, I was the only female in my law firm. There wasn’t even a women’s bathroom. Now, we hire many women graduates — in fact, they are better.” Throughout my visit, there was widespread agreement (by both sexes) that women were outperforming the men both as students and as legal professionals. The repeated message was that the future of women attorneys in Saudi Arabia is bright and that progress is being made.
Yet still, there is the reality that is obvious to an outsider. Men and women are not allowed to take a class together. If a man teaches a women’s class, he has to do so behind a screen. The women can see him on video, but he cannot see any of them. If a woman teaches a class of men, she has to do so behind a screen so that the male students cannot see her. The female head of the law program could not move from her office into the men’s section of the college without calling a special administrator to open the locked door (from both sides) that separates them. When she meets with male administrators, she is required to wear a niqab covering her face. When entering an assembly with both men and women administrators, she is required to enter through a separate door and sit in a separate area of the auditorium.
Of most concern, the new rights these women hold could be revoked tomorrow. They live in an absolute monarchy that can both grant and revoke basic rights at a moment’s notice. Even now, several alumnae reported that judges refused to allow them to represent clients in court.
Moreover, even if law firms are willing to hire women, they are legally required to provide separate areas for female attorneys that allow them to communicate with men without being seen. Because of the expense, typically only the largest firms are capable of hiring women.
In short, I found Saudi Arabia to be a startling conundrum — a place with spirited, intelligent women who are nevertheless very much controlled by their environments. Whether Saudi women in the legal profession are able to make progress depends to a large extent on their society’s willingness to provide greater freedom to the female half of its population. My visit served both to inspire me by the changes taking place and to remind me that the struggle for women’s equality continues around the world.
Wendy F. Hensel is the associate dean for faculty development and research and a professor of law.