Former first lady Jehan Sadat talks to Gamal Nkrumah about the poignant influences on her politics and the release of her latest bombshell on the 30th anniversary of the monumental signing of the Egyptian-Israeli peace treaty A light flickering on and off in Jehan Sadat's sunlit sitting room is bugging one of her numerous cats, Jerry, I think the chubby ginger cat is called. He soon bores of the insubstantial and turns to me. Purring softly, as I stroke him, he eyes my notepad with curious suspicion. "I love my cats," her brilliant emerald eyes sparkle with delight. She clicks her thumb and index finger, hunting for the right expression and apologises when he flies off at a tangent. "Cats are full of character. Small wonder the ancient Egyptians deified them." And, the conversation smoothly shifts towards the spiritual. "To include faith as a principle for peace in the Middle East seems at best counterintuitive. How can religion, which seems the source of so much misery in the region, do anything other than prove a divisive, countervailing influence to efforts towards peace? For me, the answer is simple: God, whether according to the Muslim, Christian, or Jewish tradition, enjoins us to treat others as we would ourselves be treated, to be compassionate, to be forgiving, to love our fellow human beings. God does not need to lead us to confrontations or brutality in his name. These actions represent the formulations and frailties of humankind." We chatter, touching further on the subject of personal faith, deep religious conviction as opposed to superficial ritualistic religious lore -- and above all God. For Jehan Sadat religion is no abstraction: it is practical, functional and yet she confesses that she is instinctively drawn to the mystical. "I believe that events in our lives happen for a purpose, and yet sometimes marvel at the circumstances that have brought me, in some ways, full circle -- face-to-face with a part of my life that I find most painful," she smiles faintly without a trace of remorse. "When my husband was slain by Islamic extremists, I never imagined that I would one day be living in America, speaking out in an effort to counter the idea that extremists speak for Islam. It would not have occurred to me in 1981 that the example set by my husband's murderers could one day be seen as representative of my faith." For her, there is no compulsion in religion, as Islam so explicitly makes clear. "For me, being a good Muslim does not mean abjuring criticism or silencing dissent within our own communities." Her dramatic rise from a cloistered childhood in the then leafy island suburb of Manial to the distinction of first lady is something of a fairytale. Jehan is no shrinking violet. She has faced down many moments of despair with dignity and poise. She recalls forbidding moments that altered the course of her life, especially the assassination of her beloved Anwar. "Our nation seemed poised at the very edge of fiery conflagration, with fanatics on both sides fanning the flames." Sadat, defying the entire Arab and Muslim world, broke the taboo of entering the lair of the beast. "Such were events leading up to Sadat's detention of Egypt's dissidents. I say this not as a means of excusing it, but rather to place it in context." She does not defend, but explains, the circumstances that led to her late husband's arrest on 5 September 1981 of 1,500 religious figures and political activists. She shifts in her seat. I ask somewhat peevishly whether such numbers were warranted. "In Anwar's mind, such extreme action served as a protective and precautionary move. He saw no other way to keep the peace train on track." Mrs Sadat is jealously protective about the man she calls "the love of my life". She blindly believes in his cause, not because he was her hero, but rather out of conviction. Many of the stories about Sadat have fantastical aspects that lend themselves well to political commentary. The result of her reminiscing is an enjoyable ode to her sweetheart My Hope for Peace. Her sharp memory and attention to detail are astounding assets. She gauges important cultural differences between Westerners and Muslims, but what is truly remarkable about her is the concise candidness with which she elucidates her arguments. "As the widow of Anwar Sadat, I cannot count myself an objective analyst of his policies," she concedes. "Sadat pursued peace because he knew it was what most Egyptians, exhausted by war and desperate to turn their energies towards less destructive pursuits, wanted," she stresses. "And he knew it was in his nation's, and the region's, best interests. He put peace before his own political position, personal popularity, physical safety, or relationship with fellow heads of state." Presumably, Mrs Sadat was referring to her husband's poisoned relationship with a majority of Arab leaders at the time. My Hope for Peace is a compelling book written by a zesty woman of Egypt who has been more than 50 years in the public eye. Delivering historical accuracy is paramount for this punctilious woman. Memories of the October war are starting to fade for the younger generations of Egypt. The scars linger, however. Detractors, of whom there are many, view her as an appendage of her husband. Almost three decades after his assassination, she remains devoted to her husband's cause but infuses it with a feminine touch. "I could not retreat into Anwar's shadow." Jehan Sadat left an indelible mark with her introduction of the so-called "Jehan laws" that laid the foundations of women's rights in Egypt. "At first, I was not even aware that they had nicknamed these laws after me." She laughs. But on a more serious note, she delves into the challenges facing contemporary women. "Being open about it rather than sensationalising it," she argues, "is a way of bridging the cultural divide," she tells Al-Ahram Weekly. The new book, then, stands every chance of being as quizzical and provocative as her earlier work The New York Times best-selling autobiography, A Woman of Egypt. Her latest work, a slim but significant volume, tackles not only women's rights but also the political future of the country and even more daringly her own interpretation of Islam. "Although I am not a religious scholar, I hope to set the record straight and correct what I see as the most persistent and prevalent misconceptions about Islam." The story opens by focussing on the nebulous nexus between the "Eleventh of September and the Sixth of October". The two events are radically different, but for the author there is a common thread. The Arab victory on 6 October 1973 paved the way for Sadat's magnanimity. 9/11, on the other hand, represented for her the culmination of Arab and Muslim fury. Sadat's October was the very antithesis of Al-Qaeda's September. For the author, the onus should always be on forgiveness, in the spirit of Islam, not vengeance. Set between the outbreak of the 1973 War and 9/11, My Hope for Peace tackles familiar themes. Jehan Sadat is convinced that Muslims are peace-loving people. "Although the details of the Arab-Israeli conflict have changed, this fundamental truth -- that people want peace -- remains the same." According to her, those who preach violence are detested not only by the West, but by the Muslim masses themselves. "Although I have dwelled much on the angry minorities in Egypt and the Arab world who opposed Sadat's dialogue with Israel, it bears repeating that most Egyptians supported their president's initiative," she asserts. The Suez Canal cities used to be haunted by their ruins. People neither forget the tragedies, nor do they disregard the triumphs. The subject matter, she assures me, is how people relate across cultures. And, it is not about pleasing the American crowd. Peace only came to Egypt as a result of its victory over the Israelis. The outbreak of the Sixth of October War was greeted in startlingly different ways by the Arab and Western public. Some not surprisingly responded with foreboding. She believes certain Arab regimes thrive on the Palestinian predicament and have no interest in real peace. Those, she claims, are the ones responsible for her husband's death. They are even prepared to sacrifice the Palestinian cause to maintain their grip on power. "To the leaders of some Arab countries, solution of the Palestinian problem signals the downfall of their rule. The question of Palestine has become the convenient hanger on which they display their internal problems. The same holds true for some of the Israeli leadership," she expounds. Sadat was criticised for dealing with and thereby putting his trust in the hands of Likud. She herself didn't understand it at the time. Later, she came to appreciate his foresight. "Nor did he let ideological considerations determine his perception of his one-time adversaries. There were many, including myself, who believed that making peace with a Likud leader would be all but impossible." "I did not believe that Begin had the political will and personal determination required for making peace with the Arabs. Anwar, however, assured me that Begin would be a workable partner. He was right." This prompts the question of whether the likes of Netanyahu and Avigdor Lieberman can pull off an agreement that the spineless Kadima and Labour couldn't. She would not be drawn into a discussion of Israeli domestic politics. For her, the problem lies with current Arab weakness. "The Palestinians have to be one delegation to negotiate properly with Israel," she notes. "That Sadat himself took a long view of history was something that he demonstrated again and again, and not only in his certitude that his fellow Arab leaders would one day return to Egypt. This view fuelled his relentless efforts to make peace with Israel and kept him focussed when he encountered stumbling blocks." Regional concerns preoccupy her thinking, but domestic politics animate her. "I try to share this holistic, big-picture approach to history. Speaking as someone who has felt the barbed point of the revisionist pen, I know all too well that the cycle of vilifying and lionising according to political fortunes has little foundation in reality." She married young, very young. "Two months exactly before I turned 16 I married, on 29 May 1949," she says and it was her late husband who taught her politics. She remains indebted to him, she insists. "The summer of 1981 was a crucial time for Egypt as our financial, social and political institutions were being sorely tested. Sadat was determined to weather the storm -- to give us a more stable economy and peace." A tense silence follows. It is great to wave a flag, but those who hoist it must understand what it's all about: development, risk and protecting the younger generations. We swerve back to the question of democratisation that still dogs Egypt. "Sadat allowed protests on the university campus, fostered a free press, and established a multiparty system. For a time, Egypt seemed to be moving closer and closer to democracy, even though fundamentalists were now within their rights to deliver messages contrary to Egypt's tradition of tolerance," she notes. And, this is the dilemma facing Egypt and other predominantly Muslim nations: what is the precise relationship of democracy and Islam? Indeed, can Western-style democracy incorporate Islam? Are democracy and Islam compatible? At this point, Sadat harkens back to the chain of events leading up to her husband's assassination in 1981. "They were insisting that Sharia be our only code of law; that Egypt no longer accept imports from the West; that the Quran forbade peace with Israel; that Copts were enemies of Muslims; and that men and women could not attend university together." "Granted their positions were abhorrent to the vast majority of Egyptians; however, their hate-filled rhetoric did fuel sectarian violence between Muslim and Copt. It was a frightening time, not least because the peace process hung in the balance," she says. "Although he could have silenced his critics and reinstated the old restrictions, Anwar did not." She presses her message that we are rushing into the future, unheeding of all that is lost. She is a woman that does not grow restive when all does not go perfectly under the considerate scrutiny of both her admirers and her adversaries. "I was aware of the dangers that surrounded us. He was aware, too." The husband and wife team as the wellspring of his success presented progress. But her husband's gruelling death still haunts her. "I was afraid he would not return every time he left the house, every time he left the country. I was afraid, and my worst fears were realised." She doesn't flinch or recoil. "Yes, I was afraid. Towards the end, I was very afraid." But then, that has always been the case -- and it didn't stop her from living her life. In the intervening years, women have gained some rights. As this timely biography reminds us, we need to consider carefully where we are going, and what kind of Egypt will our great-grandchildren experience. Sadat chronicles the post-story of contemporary Egypt in vivid narrative non-fiction. Readers will no doubt learn a thing or two. They will be in turn captivated by triumphs and dismayed by lost opportunities. "Today such breakthroughs are nowhere in evidence. Realism has been replaced with empty rhetoric on the part of political leaders, who claim they want peace but impose unrealistic preconditions for achieving it, or they continue to act in ways that threaten the viability of the two-state solution they endorse," she pointedly contends. Peace with Likud was possible in Sadat's day. Not that anyone at the time expected it to happen. The author purports that her book answers a set of three challenges: Sadat's faith; the role women play in that faith; and whether or not peace in the Middle East is just an unattainable dream. "Since 1985, I have been lecturing, teaching and fund- raising to further that dream," Sadat who lectures at University of Maryland extrapolates. "I teach a class about the status of women in the Middle East, mainly about Egypt." "Part memoir of her husband's courageous initiative to recognise Israel's right to exist which earned him the Nobel Peace Prize, but cost him his life," Henry Kissinger aptly put it. "I have been both praised and excoriated for being a 'feminist', hailed as a pioneer for women's rights in the Arab world and deplored as a destroyer of families, accused of being a mere mouthpiece for my husband and also an undue influence on him. For better or worse, I have been a polarising figure, primarily for my ideas about and work on behalf of women and the family." By the time Sadat was assassinated in 1981, his widow had demonstrated remarkable political acumen in her own right. It has not all been smooth sailing. "In the wake of my husband's death all my 'progressive' ideas have been put to the test." It is still a man's world, she chuckles. "I'm the proverbial eternal optimist." The book is also testament to that truism that terrorism is repudiated by the overwhelming majority of Muslims. There was jubilation in many quarters when Sadat was gunned down. Such displays of naïve enthusiasm proved short-lived. The Muslim Brotherhood, oiled by Gulf wealth and remittances, came to fill the political void created by the erosion of the revolutionary fervor of Arab nationalism cum socialism in the wake of the devastating defeat of 1967. "Gamal Abdel-Nasser was a great nationalist leader. We all loved him. We fondly remember him." But, she hastens to add, "He incarcerated many of the Brothers, some say he tortured them." "Sadat accepted government in line with Islamic Sharia law. Yet he was an enlightened ruler. He was not a religious zealot. He was not fanatical." "They did not kill him because he was irreligious. Nor was it because he hounded the Brothers. They assassinated him because he espoused the path of peace." She pauses. "That is why they had to get rid of him." Jehan Sadat is a strikingly attractive woman, bint balad -- a bubbly and buoyant daughter of the land. So what is the secret of her beauty? She swims daily and walks one hour in the morning, she says laughingly. And then she turns dead serious. "It is my faith." She is not fanatical, though. She herself doesn't wear the hijab, but neither would she object if her daughters or granddaughters don the hijab. She says that her niece is veiled, but that as long as that is her personal choice that is no business of hers. She abjures the participation of her children in politics, especially her son Gamal. But for a savvy cosmopolitan modern woman, she discloses her deference to kismet. "During my hajj, the temperatures in Mecca soared above 105 degrees. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for the emotions I felt the moment I took my first step as a hajj pilgrim into the confines of the most sacred sanctuary of Islam," she expounds on her deepening faith. "As I stepped slowly and effortlessly into the Grand Mosque, I was lifting my heart and soul in praise of God. Tears of joy were running down my face as I whispered my prayer of devotion. For the first time in my life, I felt as if every ounce of my being was completely at peace." She pauses ponderously. "I was just a speck in that sea of humanity." P dir=ltr
