Just inside Rabat's walled medina - with its market stalls selling fake Gucci sunglasses and bzeghir, traditional Moroccan pancakes - stands the Dar al-Hadith al-Hassania, an octagonal building resplendent with bougainvillaea and a fountain. This is the seminary where a revolution is under way. Two hundred student imams sit in long rows in disciplined silence as their tutor, Hussein Ait Said, addresses them. All the students are wearing robes and have a copy of the Koran on their desk, but 50 of them also have handbags and, more surprising still, a pair of white slingbacks is just visible in the fifth row. These are the women who are training to be mourchidat - female priests - the second intake at the seminary.
The mourchidat (meaning 'female guide') first made news in April 2006 when the Moroccan government announced with great fanfare that the first 50 had graduated. Funded by the government, the initiative is part of a wave of liberal reform begun by King Mohammed VI in 2004. 'This is a rare experiment in the Muslim world,' Muhammad Mahfudh, the centre's director, says. The mourchidat will help women with religious questions, with their education and give support in schools and prisons. The long-term hope is that by working face-to-face with the community, they will help foster a more moderate Islam.
In the Dar al-Hadith al-Hassania, the female student priests are taking a morning break. More than 400 women applied for the 50 places. The prerequisites are an exam, an interview and a BA. Candidates are also required to have a life grounded in the Koran, by which is meant memorising it, and an understanding of tajwid, the art of Koranic recital. Men have to know the entire text by heart; women, half of it. Once accepted on the course, students are given a grant of 4,000 dirhams (£360) a month. To rent a room in a shared house, as many students do, costs about a quarter of that. The youngest woman on the course is 22 - 'baby mourchidat!' - the oldest nearly 40. Lessons include Islamic studies, psychology, sociology, computer skills, economy, law and business management, plus three hours of homework a day.
The seminary where the mourchidat are taught is inside Rabat's walled medina Men and women learn side by side, but only men will be able to lead prayers. Does she mind? 'No, because it is from our religion,' Haddad replies. 'We are not shocked or belittled by this.' How do the men treat you? 'There is distance, manners in our relationship.' Any criticism? 'If there is, they don't say it to our face…' She pauses and smiles, 'so perhaps…'
Women have come a long way since pre-independence days, but Morocco is still a divided society: one where some women are modern, educated and forging ahead in high positions in politics, business, medicine, law - about 25 per cent of professionals are women; yet nearly 70 per cent of women are illiterate (89 per cent in rural areas) compared with 41 per cent of men, according to 1999 government figures.
In some rural areas, a woman who is beaten or abandoned by her husband with no means of livelihood has only one course of action: words 'of spiritual impact' to her husband are written on a piece of paper by the local imam. The woman then keeps the piece of paper, hoping it will somehow change her husband's behaviour.
The idea for the mourchidat was first discussed in 2003, but its roots go back to 1999, when Mohammed VI came to the throne. He promised a new era of openness and democracy after the 38-year repressive dictatorship of his father, Hassan II. First to go was the palace harem - some 40 women. Next was the interior minister, Driss Basri, who had run Hassan's security system for 20 years, and was feared and detested like no other. The king also remodelled himself as a champion of women's rights, approving modifications to the Moudawana, the family code, in 2004, including raising the age of marriage from 15 to 17.
But the landmark event that paved the way for the mourchidat took place in 2003. In a radical break with tradition, the king invited a woman - el Mekkaoui - to give the Ramadan lecture at the royal palace in Rabat, attended by members of the government, high-ranking military officials and foreign ambassadors. It was the first time a woman had even been allowed to enter the room, let alone permitted to speak.
But in Morocco the monarchy has all the power, and the parliament plays a marginal role. The true power is in the hands of the people close to Mohammed VI. And the two other people instrumental in the formation of the mourchidat are senior advisers to the king: Professor Abdelhadi Boutaleb, a well-known Islamic authority; and Ahmed Toufiq, the minister of Islamic affairs. Boutaleb publicly stated his support of women's rights soon after Mohammed VI came to power in late 1999. Islam, he noted at a public meeting of the Woman's Network, a coalition of some 200 volunteer organisations, was a 'message of renewal and reform', and he cited verses that demonstrated that Islam advocated the equality of men and women - 'It is true that a bird needs two wings to fly.'
On graduation, each mourchidat is assigned a mosque, which can be anywhere in Morocco, although the ministry in charge aims to find somewhere close to their families. The mourchidat offer spiritual advice and teach women the Koran, but also discuss more contentious gender-related issues - about sex, women's health, what to do if your husband beats you - issues that women would not dream of asking an imam. They are paid 5,000 dirhams (£420) a month, and work long hours, both in and outside the mosque.
Since the introduction of the mourchidat, Turkey has also challenged traditional Islamic gender roles with the appointment of 450 women as preachers - or vaize. The Diyanet, or Directorate of Religious Affairs, which controls the Islamic faith in Turkey but also tries to improve women's rights, sees the appointment of female vaize as a crucial step forward.
But many Moroccans see the mourchidat as 'government propaganda', particularly those from one Islamic movement, the Justice and Charity Association. There are two main political Islamic organisations in Morocco: the Justice and Development Party (PJD), which takes part in elections; and the Justice and Charity Association, which is tolerated by the government but banned from mainstream politics because of its open hostility to the monarchy. (Both these groups have publicly condemned violence and castigated terrorists who attacked the World Trade Centre. But just as forcibly, the two organisations condemn 'American terrorism'.) Marvine Howe, the author of Morocco: The Islamist Awakening and Other Conflicts, points out that the Justice and Charity Association, 'is of overwhelming importance. It's the strongest party in the country, even though it isn't actually a party.'
Justice and Charity supports feminist ideals (its spokesman is the charismatic activist Nadia Yassine), seeing Muslim women as being liberated through the original teachings of the Prophet, and not by imitating a Western model of emancipation.
'We've been carrying out a programme of education and training for women in Morocco for more than 20 years in mosques,' argues Maryem Yafont, 37, the head of Justice and Charity's women's section, who says that her party has long had women acting as informal mourchidat.
To the great embarrassment of the government, several mourchidat from the first intake to graduate turned out to be supporters of Justice and Charity. 'Now the ministry carries out inquiries to find out if they [students] belong to our movement or not,' Yafont says, 'so they have to keep it secret.'
Back in the Dar al-Hadith al-Hassania, Zakia Haddad is about to resume morning lessons. Haddad is to be tested on three verses from the Koran, in front of a large group of male students. But she is not nervous. 'There is a big difference between an imam and a mourchidat,' she says. 'Women have more patience,' she laughs, 'they are more generous, and because women are mothers they are more nurturing, more giving - like a mother among people, that is what our role is from God.'
The Skinny: Military Uses Moderate Muslim Clerics To Steer Detainees Away From Al Qaeda NEW YORK, Sept. 19, 2007
"The battlefield of the mind."
That's where Marine Maj. Gen. Douglas Stone, commander of U.S. detention facilities in Iraq, says he's waging his Iraq war these days, according to the Washington Post. And if the weapons in such a war are words, Stone's got quite the arsenal.
The story's ostensibly about the introduction of "religious enlightenment" and other education program for Iraqi detainees, some of whom are as young as 11. The religious courses are led by moderate Muslim clerics whose teaching "tears apart" the arguments of al Qaeda, such as "Let's kill innocents," Stone said.
The program has been growing, as the surge has swelled the population of Iraqis in U.S. detention from 10,000 last year to 25,000 this year. More than 800 are juveniles.
But what really emerges from the article - a summary of a conference call Stone held from Baghdad with a group of defense bloggers - is a portrait of Stone as a formidable character who's almost as fun to quote as Donald Rumsfeld was.
Stone, who reads Arabic and says he reads the Koran daily, said the new religious training helps U.S. forces pinpoint the hard-core extremists. "I want to know who they are," he said. "They're like rotten eggs, you know, hiding in the Easter basket."
He wants to identify "irreconcilables" and "put them away" in permanent detention facilities. Psychiatrists, psychologists, counselors and interrogators help distinguish just who the extremists are, he said. And when that doesn't work, there's always the polygraph test, which he uses on detainees who promise they will change to "figure out if they're messing with us ... You're not talking about radicals going to choirboys."
The re-education has been working, in some ways better than the military even hoped. On Sept. 2, there was a religious uprising where some detainees turned on others. "We had a compound of moderates for the first time overtake ... extremists," he said. "Found them, identified them, threw them up against the fence and shaved their frickin' beards off of them ... I mean, that is historic."
Xerpi