Abstract
In Kuwait books are reviewed by a committee working for the ministry of information, which prepares one-page reports flagging content considered offensive. Last autumn, in response to a request from a member of parliament, the government published a list of all the books that had been forbidden since 2014. There were more than 4,000. The list included the book of the Disney version of The Little Mermaid, because the mermaid – who wears a bikini top – was deemed too scantily clad.
It is, therefore, not surprising that a young female writer discussing taboo topics might be concerned that her book would never be sold in her home country. Even before she wrote the novel, AlAmmar was a campaigner against the bans, writing passionate blogs and articles. But her own work and ambition were never at the top of her list of concerns.
“I was not thinking about my own book. The first thing that came to my mind was ‘this is insane, and we, as a freethinking society, cannot tolerate it’,” she said.
The sexual assault AlAmmar describes in her novel happens long before the story starts, but it is clear the trauma, exacerbated by the way it is dealt with by her parents, is having a debilitating effect on the central character’s everyday life.
During a conversation with one of her closest friends, the protagonist Dahlia, asks herself: “How could I explain to her that nothing in my life felt real? That in a country like Kuwait, where everyone knew everything about each other, the most monumental thing to ever happen to me was buried and covered over?”
This story follows Dahlia, who is on the brink of turning 30 in a very traditional society and struggling under immense pressure to marry. As the novel progresses, it becomes clear that her sense of self is being eroded until, ultimately, she has to decide if she has it in her to make her own choices – and if her voice matters.
The book bans, which have affected much literature about women and their experiences, came as a shock particularly to Kuwait’s intellectuals and writers who were proud of its reputation as a cultural oasis during the 1970s and 1980s, when it was relatively free compared with the rest of the Gulf and some parts of the wider Middle East.
“Kuwait was seen as an intellectual haven for people to express themselves,” said Ebtehal Alkhateeb, assistant professor of literature at the University of Kuwait. #Banned_In_Kuwait and #Dont_Decide_For_Me have trended on Twitter, while activists have protested on the streets and expressed their anger online.
Writers who have had their work banned have felt it personally. Mai Al-Nakib, associate professor of literature at Kuwait University, saw her book, The Hidden Light of Objects, banned four years after its publication. She said: “I felt sad. In many ways, my book is a kind of lopsided love letter to Kuwait. That it would be banned here does break my heart a little.”
A family attend the 43rd international book fair in Kuwait City, November 2018
CREDIT: Yasser al-Zayyat/AFP/Getty Images
Paradoxically, analysts say that the ban is a consequence of a democratic process rather than autocracy. Kuwait is what analysts call “a partial democracy”. A constitutional emirate, the country’s executive power is held by a hereditary emir – currently Sabah al-Ahmad al-Jaber al-Sabah. This leader dominates the judiciary and appoints the prime minister, but the elected parliament has influence and often challenges the government. The pressure for the ban comes from the largely conservative elected parliament.
One analyst based in the region explains that in recent years there have been two simultaneous trends, saying: “More and more young people [are] testing and pushing red lines – often crossing them – [and] the government has become both more willing to enforce the rules and better at doing so.”
Kuwaiti novelist Layla AlAmmar
CREDIT: Penelope Fewster
This puts a chill on political debate and contributes to a feeling that there is less space for freedom of expression in Kuwait. Several media outlets have been punished for their coverage of the regime and the newspaper Al-Watan, which was often critical of the government, is still closed following its suspension in 2015.
Even if AlAmmar’s book is banned, it will still be easily accessed on e-readers, along with most of the other forbidden books. “It’s not about getting the books,” Alkhateeb said. “The government is making a political statement through banning these books.”
Because the books can still be accessed and read, AlAmmar says she did not see the level of outrage that she expected. “A lot of people weren’t even aware of it. Or they said ‘oh well, who cares if they ban 4,000 books, nobody buys their books from here anyway’,” she said.
Similarly, Alkhateeb reports that many of the students she teaches are not particularly upset by the ban. “They say they are against the ban but… I say as soon as you introduce the word ‘but’ you have lost the battle. The principle of freedom of expression cannot be given up,” she said. “To me, censorship is a life or death kind of situation. Once you accept the principle itself you are taking everything that comes with it.”
One reason that people give for having some sympathy for the ban is that freedom of expression is seen as a Western concept.
“If you’re criticising anything, or you’re asking for freedom of expression or for no censorship, then you are copying the West or you are taking on Western ideas which have a conflict with our traditional ideas,” said AlAmmar.
And Alkhateeb agrees, saying: “They associate it with a society they see as too open, too free. I try to maintain the idea that liberalism is not a Western idea but a human idea.”
AlAmmar fiercely defends the principle of freedom of expression as a crucial and universal concept.
“Kuwait prides itself on being a democracy, but it should be remembered that democracy doesn’t begin and end with the ballot box. It extends as a mode of thought and a way of life that prizes plurality and tolerance,” she wrote in an opinion piece.
“The ability to read, and read critically, is a kind of magic.”