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Harvard University Gazette December 4-10, 2008 - Harvard News ...

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<strong>December</strong> 4-<strong>10</strong>, <strong>2008</strong> <strong>Harvard</strong> <strong>University</strong> <strong>Gazette</strong>/ 15<br />

Nigerian lawyer is a champion of women<br />

By Corydon Ireland<br />

<strong>Harvard</strong> <strong>News</strong> Office<br />

In 2002, a young Nigerian woman by the<br />

name of Amina Lawal — pregnant and unmarried<br />

— was tried for adultery under<br />

Shariah, Islam’s traditional law. She was<br />

sentenced to be stoned to death, a fate that<br />

briefly riveted the attention of media<br />

worldwide.<br />

But the next year, Lawal was free —<br />

law<br />

Radcliffe Fellow<br />

Hauwa Ibrahim<br />

(right), the first<br />

female lawyer in<br />

northern Nigeria’s<br />

predominantly<br />

Muslim Gombe region,<br />

talks about<br />

her battles with<br />

the excesses of<br />

Shariah. African<br />

Studies Professor<br />

Caroline Elkins<br />

(below, right)<br />

chats with<br />

Ibrahim before introducing<br />

her to<br />

the audience.<br />

thanks to a legal defense assembled<br />

by Hauwa Ibrahim, the first female<br />

lawyer in northern Nigeria’s predominantly<br />

Muslim Gombe region.<br />

The case set precedent — important in<br />

an Africa where Shariah is increasingly<br />

being adopted. Lawal would have been the<br />

first woman executed by stoning since parts<br />

ofNigeria took on Shariah penal law in 1999.<br />

Once one woman is stoned to death,<br />

said Ibrahim to a <strong>Harvard</strong> audience recently,<br />

“it would never stop.”<br />

A Radcliffe Fellow this year, Ibrahim<br />

gained legal success by using Shariah law to<br />

fight Shariah penalties. It entailed high personal<br />

risk, which made having a plan of escape<br />

— that is, a way to get out of court alive<br />

— necessary in every legal case.<br />

“I am told it is dangerous,” Ibrahim said<br />

of a visit she will make to Somalia this<br />

month to investigate a case, but “no one<br />

should be stoned to death.”<br />

The Lawal case also propelled the veteran<br />

Nigerian lawyer into the limelight, where<br />

she remains. Ibrahim, among many other<br />

honors, was a Yale World Fellow, became an<br />

honorary citizen of Paris, and in 2005<br />

earned the European Parliament’s prestigious<br />

Sakharov Prize for Freedom of<br />

Thought. By that time she had already taken<br />

on 90 mostly pro bono cases challenging<br />

Shariah law. (The total today: around 150.)<br />

In her Radcliffe year, she is writing a<br />

book on the Shariah penal code and how it<br />

relates to human rights and to gender and<br />

justice. Ibrahim — forceful, funny, and resplendent<br />

in a pale blue head covering and<br />

a silky white cape — shared a draft of her<br />

thoughts last week (Nov. 24) to a full house<br />

of 250 rapt listeners at the Radcliffe Gymnasium.<br />

“I became educated by accident,” she<br />

said of her upbringing in a remote Gombe<br />

village, where to this day there is no running<br />

water, electricity, or roads — and<br />

where girls are not expected to go beyond<br />

elementary school.<br />

Photos Kris Snibbe/<strong>Harvard</strong> <strong>News</strong> Office<br />

“Stone Her to Death Why Defending<br />

Women Within Shariah Courts” was this<br />

year’s Rama S. Mehta lecture, a tradition<br />

since 1981 at the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced<br />

Study. The periodic talk, intended<br />

to spotlight a distinguished woman, was<br />

established by <strong>Harvard</strong> economist, author,<br />

and professor John Kenneth Galbraith<br />

(who died in 2006) and his wife, Catherine<br />

Atwater Galbraith.<br />

Ibrahim called her native country “vast,<br />

wide, and rich” — but troubled by poverty,<br />

political corruption, ethnic unrest, and a religious<br />

divide. Less than <strong>10</strong> years ago, after<br />

throwing off decades of military rule, most<br />

counties in the Muslim north adopted Shariah<br />

for both civil and criminal cases.<br />

(See Ibrahim, next page)<br />

At GSD, UPenn’s<br />

Thomas Sugrue<br />

talks about<br />

‘civil rights and<br />

the metropolis’<br />

By Ruth Walker<br />

Special to the <strong>Harvard</strong> <strong>News</strong> Office<br />

For the first time in a generation, urban<br />

policy is back on the national agenda.<br />

Advocates for the nation’s cities have<br />

been thrilled by the announcement that the<br />

Obama administration will include a White<br />

House Office of Urban Policy.<br />

This is “electrifying news,” Thomas Sugrue<br />

told his audience at the <strong>Harvard</strong> Graduate<br />

School of Design’s (GSD) Piper Auditorium<br />

Nov. 25. Sugrue is the Edmund J. and<br />

Louise W. Kahn Professor of History and<br />

urban<br />

planning<br />

Sociology at the <strong>University</strong><br />

of Pennsylvania and a Bancroft<br />

Prize-winning chronicler<br />

of race and racial discrimination in<br />

mid-20th century American cities. His latest<br />

book is “Sweet Land of Liberty: The Forgotten<br />

Struggle for Civil Rights in the<br />

North.”<br />

He was at the GSD to speak on the topic<br />

“Planning for Justice: Civil Rights, Black<br />

Power, and the Metropolis.”<br />

In his lecture, Sugrue expressed the hope<br />

that the new administration would learn<br />

from the failures of the last effort at comprehensive<br />

urban policy — from the mid-<br />

1960s to the mid-1970s. These failures, Sugrue<br />

said, resulted from what he called a “policy<br />

mismatch” — a reliance on small-scale<br />

local solutions to problems whose causes<br />

were ultimately regional, national, or even<br />

global.<br />

Sugrue identified two urban policy<br />

camps during the 1960s and ’70s — what he<br />

called “activist planners” and “community<br />

activists.” “These two traditions coexisted<br />

and interacted only with some mistrust,” he<br />

noted, adding that they were “often at loggerheads.”<br />

The activist planners had affinities to integration<br />

and to post-New Deal modernism.<br />

And they responded to a “hopeful new reality”:<br />

the increased numbers of white<br />

Americans who were willing to have black<br />

neighbors — or so they told opinion researchers,<br />

anyway.<br />

The activist planners pushed for zoning<br />

changes, sought to scatter public housing<br />

outside the inner city, and tried to get the<br />

lines of school districts redrawn. Their<br />

goals were “de-ghettoization” of the black<br />

community and the integration of metropolitan<br />

America.<br />

The community activists, on the other<br />

hand, were aligned with the black power<br />

movement. They were “oriented to process,<br />

not outcome,” Sugrue said. “Participatory<br />

politics were an end in themselves.” These<br />

activists believed in bottom-up planning.<br />

The two camps “had widely divergent<br />

views of community itself,” Sugrue said,<br />

adding that “community” was a term that<br />

came into use in a particular sense in the<br />

1960s.<br />

For the activist planners, community<br />

was seen as inherently exclusionary, tied to<br />

the “spatial isolation of groups” and the delineation<br />

of boundaries.<br />

Community activists, on the other hand,<br />

drew on deep traditions of localism and<br />

local identities, of building and reinforcing<br />

communities. Leaders such as Stokely<br />

(See Sugrue, next page)

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