Renewal and Exposure
Yemeni mp
Ahmed Saif Hashed
The period of “renewal” lasted forty-five days, starting from the day of enrollment in the college. It was a heavy and intense time for the student, serving as a preliminary indicator of their ability and readiness to surpass the subsequent stages. A considerable number of students would either drop out or flee during this demanding period when they found themselves unable to endure its severity and pressure.
More students were admitted than necessary for each cohort, or rather, more than required, leading to a sifting process where the number would decrease until it reached the desired count. The principle of survival of the fittest was very much in play during the renewal phase, which was regarded as the most challenging time of the two academic years. The pressing question for each student during this period was: “Can I complete the 45 days or not?”
The renewal period was exceedingly arduous and exhausting for us, laden with rigor, strictness, and discipline. Harsh penalties awaited even the simplest and most trivial mistakes, sometimes to the point where one could not even grasp the nature of their transgressions. I often felt that those imposing such sanctions intended to drive us away rather than correct us; at times, it seemed as if they were indulging in revenge and, on other occasions, I sensed that some enforcers of these penalties harbored sadistic tendencies and deep-seated insecurities, projected onto others.
The renewal phase in college is the most demanding, requiring a great deal of discipline and resilience from the student. It marks the transition from a civilian to a military man, embodying a different temperament. This phase is a true crucible, a grueling test that transforms the student from civilian life into the stringent, regulated world of military life—a stage of “military discipline and order.”
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I felt that the military uniform was extremely heavy, especially during training in the long, arduous summer. After the renewal period, we were allowed to leave the confines of the college for one day each week.
As soon as I stepped out of the college grounds in my civilian clothes, I felt an unparalleled sense of freedom, akin to a prisoner breaking free from the heavy chains that had bound him for so long. I felt as light as a bird, experiencing a vitality and agility I hadn’t felt before. Exiting the oppressive environment of the college into the liberated, comforting world outside brought me immense joy.
After long hours in the college, when we removed our heavy uniforms, we would don light sportswear for the rest of the day— a white T-shirt and blue shorts. Initially, I felt that this attire was inappropriate and revealing, but as the days passed, I grew accustomed to it, preferring it over the cumbersome clothing I was obliged to wear for extended hours during the day.
By nature, I was withdrawn and shy. The most embarrassing moments for me were those early morning baths we took at dawn every day, sometimes repeating the process in the afternoon, especially during the summer.
The student dormitory showers were designed without doors and were facing each other, so everyone could see one another in the nude. This situation troubled me greatly; it felt like a blade cutting through my modesty, causing an unbearable sense of shame.
One day, my kind friend and I jumped from the roof of one of the unoccupied buildings in the dormitory. As my friend leaped, the wind lifted his shirt, exposing him. The embarrassment was profound, and the deep redness of his face mingled with a shadow of shame, taking time to fade. The image lingered in our minds despite our efforts to move past it.
At one point, a thought crossed my mind, making me envision being washed after death by a mortician. I felt the weight of shame and modesty, despite the assumption that I was dead and devoid of consciousness or feeling.
In this state of acute awareness of modesty, I found myself questioning: how could we wash ourselves when all our nakedness was on display? I perceived it as a formidable barrier, one I struggled to overcome with intense shyness. It felt greater than the experience of a doctor’s examination I had undergone.
Yet, as I faced this challenge, I found myself in a situation akin to that expressed by Al-Mutanabbi: “I am drowning, so what fear do I have of getting wet?” The lack of choice, the repetition of the act, and the gradual adaptation made the experience ordinary. I discovered that the notion of modesty resides more in the mind than anywhere else.
We adapted to the reality, becoming accustomed to the situation, which I once deemed impossible, or perhaps even greater than impossible. From this, I learned that a person is shaped by their environment and surroundings. They can transition and adapt to the context in which they live.
In this regard, I read a similar testimony from an Arab who stated: “In the four years I spent in Berlin, I became more reconciled to nudity compared to the past. In Germany, shedding clothes is common in certain daily situations. I have now grown accustomed to visiting saunas, where patrons wear no clothing, and swimming pools where people swim as they were born.”
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Today, nudity is perceived by some as a form of protest, embodying a rejection of an oppressive reality enforced by power and authority. It stands as a shocking rebellion against society and its entrenched beliefs, breaking taboos and challenging patriarchal dominance while defying public order and the guardians of religion and morality.
This type of protest is employed as a stark expression of deep discontent, using shock to convey demands and delivering a provocative message that captures attention, arousing curiosity and prompting discussions about the issues being protested.
Perhaps I have contemplated such actions myself, especially when I felt wronged within the parliament and beyond. I even threatened more than once to set myself on fire within the parliamentary hall or its courtyard. Both actions share a commonality: they are shocking protests with high stakes in a very conservative society, where the first is deemed intolerable, while the second is perceived as blasphemy, leading to damnation. Both are criminalized by the existing laws.
I was taken aback by the act of the noble man, Munif Al-Zubairi, who set himself ablaze in solidarity with the wounded from peaceful protests, protesting the failure to implement an administrative ruling that mandated the government to provide medical treatment for the injured, covering their travel, treatment, and accommodation expenses abroad. This occurred as we were likely entering the second week of our sit-in and hunger strike outside the Council of Ministers in Sana’a at the beginning of 2013.
On a later date, I attempted to protest by disrobing in the hall of the Sana’a Parliament during the “Houthi Authority,” with the presence of their government. However, some representatives rushed to prevent me from completing my act, stripping me of my right to speak, which had long been suppressed.
This incident happened before I learned of a similar precedent set by Antonio García, a leftist member of the Mexican Congress who protested the privatization of the public sector, which he viewed as a means to plunder public funds. He likened his protest to a form of “nudity” for Mexico. Although this act did not deter the government and Congress from passing and legitimizing the legislation, many regarded it as a courageous and historic act of protest, not only in the history of the Mexican Parliament but in the annals of parliaments worldwide.
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Historically, sources note that the first recorded use of nudity as a form of protest was by a British woman named Lady Godiva (1040 – 1070), who rode through a British town naked, demanding that her husband, the town’s ruler, lower the taxes on its residents.
Today, nudity has become a form of protest employed by demonstrators in various countries, manifesting in a powerful and intense opposition to wars and advocating for the cessation of such conflicts, as well as supporting human rights issues.
This type of protest has gained recognition in some nations, being framed within the context of the right to expression, and has received certain legal and judicial protections. For instance, in France, the Court of Cassation acquitted Ukrainian activist Yana Zdanova of the charge of “sexual nudity,” deeming her actions part of a political protest, stating, “Criminalizing her would constitute an unjustified interference in the exercise of freedom of expression.”
A notable instance of this form of protest comes from the Syrian visual artist Hala Al-Faisal, the daughter of a communist from a conservative family and a minister in the 1960s, Waseem Al-Faisal. Hala, a polyglot and film actress, has exhibited her expressive art in numerous Arab and international capitals. In some of her paintings, she has expressed her protest against the oppression of the Arab body, while in others, she has depicted the Iraqi mother who has lost her children.
On this occasion, Hala chose nudity as a striking means to convey her protest against the American invasion of Iraq in 2003. In Washington Square Park, she completely disrobed, writing in red on her back, “Stop the War,” raising her hands above her head as she paraded through the square.
What Hala did has been condemned by some as an act of shame, even viewed as a moral lapse. Conversely, others see it as a courageous act by a bold activist, asserting that the real disgrace lies in remaining silent about occupation and collaborating with the occupiers. She remarked, “I hope I am not misunderstood, especially by religious people, for God is against war.” She added, “What is happening is beyond reason; the blood spilled every day, and history being destroyed—it will never return.” Her protest resonates with the poet’s words on a similar occasion:
“The beautiful woman would not lift her veil if there were men among the throngs.”
There is also the feminist movement “Femen,” which employs nudity as a form of protest, originating in Ukraine to oppose the trafficking of Ukrainian girls and their sexual exploitation, pushing them into prostitution.
Such forms of naked protest are not limited to Western countries; they have also found expression in the East. For instance, in 2004, women in Northeast India protested by stripping in response to the army’s rapes of women.
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In Yemen, we have witnessed some protests taking the form of partial nudity by young revolutionaries fueled by their dreams. We’ve also seen or read about individual and timid protests by some women here and there, which did not go beyond burning head coverings or pieces of fabric from their faces. However, these acts were profound expressions of protest in a conservative society that views even a woman’s voice as a form of indecency.
In this dark era of ongoing war, political Islamic groups have tightened restrictions on citizens’ freedoms, attempting to impose their ideologies on the details of everyday life. Some of their members have sought to restrict freedoms in general, particularly targeting women’s rights.
Among the manifestations of this tightening are the prohibitions on revealing women’s hair, the enforcement of veiling, the banning of mixed gatherings, and the separation of genders. There have been raids and closures of several beauty salons and restaurants, as well as shops selling belts and other items considered inappropriate. Advertisements and storefronts that displayed women’s hair or body parts have been defaced, and products with labels deemed contrary to Islam have been confiscated.
Many artists have faced persecution, and several wedding halls and school celebrations have been raided. This fervor has led to the classification of targeted actions as part of a so-called “soft war” against societal values.
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These minor details have been viewed by some influential and conservative individuals within the community as grave corruption, even attributing their failures and setbacks in achieving victory in this ongoing war to such “decadence.”
Today, everything is laid bare, stripped of even the fig leaf. The agendas of war are exposed, revealing the atrocities committed amidst the conflict. The systems, groups, and authorities in power are also laid bare.
War profiteers, sellers of nations, black market traders, and those who seize the salaries and rights of workers and retirees have been exposed as well. This unprecedented nakedness is enough to turn the tide or upend the status quo, yet nothing of the sort has occurred. The weight of this war has lingered, and our societies have become submissive and resigned, coexisting with this terrifying exposure. Ironically, they are unable to accept a woman who reveals even a strand of hair in public.
Imagine a man or woman stepping out into the streets, naked and protesting against war, hunger, or the cutting of salaries—what would happen? I doubt either would live to see another day or even another hour. The saying of Ali, “Hunger is infidelity,” would not spare them. As for Hala, protesting naked in “cursed” America, she was detained by American police for an hour before being released.
In Yemen, to protest by stripping is seen as absolute heresy, with no excuse or plea tolerated. To die of hunger, however, is another matter entirely, even if the entire nation succumbs to war and starvation. It’s perceived as fate, while authority remains a separate concern.
As the poet said:
“Hunger walks naked among everyone and is not blamed,
While oil floods our land and people search for food.”
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