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http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13642529.2011.564821

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A ‘phantom freedom in a phantom modernity’?Protestant missionaries, domestic ideology and narratives of

modernity in an Arab context

Hoda Elsadda*

Department of Middle Eastern Studies, University of Manchester, UK

Jean Said Makdisi’s Teta, mother and me: An Arab woman’s memoirchronicles the lives of three generations of women, her grandmother, hermother and herself. The stories of three women are blended in onenarrative about the historical transformations that took place in the Arabworld as a consequence of an encounter between east and west. The storyof the three women is the story of the plight of a Palestinian family livingthrough tumultuous times: it is a story of high expectations, painfuldisillusionments and stoic struggles for survival amidst the raging conflictsand colonial interventions that beset the Arab world in the nineteenth andtwentieth centuries. The memoir is also a conscious attempt to revisit andre-inscribe the implications of a crucial cross-cultural encounter, betweenthe east andwest throughmissionary schools, on the lives of women in theArabworld. A historical record narrated from a feminist postcolonial lensTeta, mother and me is a valuable contribution to contemporary publichistories about the Arab world in general, and Arab women in particular.This article argues that the memoir brings to world public histories newmaterial and new voices that are not conventionally included, hencepotentially leading to new historical narratives. It also contributes to anoriginal and nuanced understanding of contemporary topical questions inworld public history about the construction of national identities,modernity and neocolonial power relations as manifested and playedout in missionary schools in the Middle East.

Keywords: Arab women; Arab world; Palestine; missionary schools; oralhistory; autobiography; biography; memoir; memory; world publichistory; national identity; modernity; cultural resistance; culturalencounters; neocolonial; colonial; infowar; domesticity; transnationalfeminist critique

My name is Jean, and in my name lies my history. I was named after myfather’s mother, Hanneh Shammas, but my name was anglicized. Naming meafter his mother was, for my father, an act of devotion and a!rmation.

*Email: [email protected]

Rethinking HistoryVol. 15, No. 2, June 2011, 209–228

ISSN 1364-2529 print/ISSN 1470-1154 online! 2011 Taylor & FrancisDOI: 10.1080/13642529.2011.564821http://www.informaworld.com

Downloaded By: [The University of Manchester] At: 11:36 19 May 2011

Anglicizing her name, however, was an act of repudiation: like so many Arabmen of his generation, my father saw the future as lying in Europe orAmerica.1

Jean Said Makdisi’s Teta, mother and me: An Arab woman’s memoirchronicles the lives of three generations of women, her grandmother, hermother and herself. The stories of three women are blended in one narrativeabout the historical transformations that took place in the Arab world as aconsequence of an encounter between east and west. The complexity of theencounter and its multi-layered repercussions are captured in the openinglines of the memoir quoted above, as Makdisi attempts to shed light on thenational/transnational genealogy of her name. Makdisi’s text is rich with avariety of experiences and historical processes. On the one hand, the story ofthe three women is the story of the plight of a Palestinian family livingthrough tumultuous times: it is a story of high expectations, painfuldisillusionments and stoic struggles for survival amidst the raging conflictsand colonial interventions that beset the Arab world in the nineteenth andtwentieth centuries. It is also a conscious attempt to revisit and re-inscribethe implications of a crucial cross-cultural encounter, between the East andWest through missionary schools, on the lives of women in the Arab world.As such, the text contributes to an original and nuanced understanding ofcontemporary topical questions in world public history about theconstruction of national identities, modernity and neocolonial powerrelations as manifested and played out in missionary schools in the MiddleEast.

Narratives of the missionary venture in the Middle East so far have beendisproportionately represented through the eyes of missionaries andmissionary organizations, with little input from the point of view of localparticipants. This is largely due to the sheer discrepancy in the volume ofwritten material left by missionaries, compared with local inhabitants: manymissionaries kept personal diaries and religiously recorded their experiences.More importantly, missionaries were required as part of their jobs to writereports, to deliver talks and contribute to various publications. Further-more, this imbalance in historical accounts of missionary encounters, iscommensurate, in fact indicative, of the euro-centrism of world histories ingeneral, and women’s world history in particular. Non-western histories andpersonal accounts of missionary encounters are predominantly written inlocal languages and are therefore accessible only to specialists. Theiravailability to international audiences depends on the e"orts of scholarscommitted to studying the phenomenon from more than one perspective,but also to the politics of knowledge production, where universal conceptssuch as world history are predominately western focused and exclusive ofnon-western histories, and where local knowledge is implicitly undermined.The one-sided nature of this historical inquiry has been highlighted as a

210 H. Elsadda


major impediment to the understanding of the missionary encounter(Fleischmann 2002) and has led historians to explore new sources forinsights into the encounter from a local perspective, examining, for example,commemorative biographies written about missionaries in local news-papers,2 or reconstructing the lives of early local converts, drawing onmissionary as well as local accounts.3 Notwithstanding, huge gaps in thefield remain to be filled.

Given the scarcity of written historical accounts written from the pointof view of Arab women about the missionary encounter (Sharkey 2008, 38),Makdisi’s text is particularly valuable. When she first decided to write herbook, she discovered that, although her grandmother had died when she(the author) was in her thirties, she actually knew very little about her andher life. She immediately asked her mother to make an account of her ownstory and start recording her memoirs. She subsequently asked othermembers of her family to do the same. She conducted oral history interviewsand referred to historical sources, family letters and various documents intheir possession in her attempt to construct a social history of the period.Makdisi’s narrative includes biographies of missionaries, biographies oflocal people and details about her family history drawn from both personaland public records. Her memoir blends the personal and the public as sheproceeds to reconstruct the lives and backgrounds of three women. Thesubtitle of Makdisi’s text is ‘An Arab woman’s memoir’. It is a memoir thatcollates oral histories and other first-hand accounts that are not part ofo!cial historical documents, but that complement, even correct, dominantnational and international narratives about the nature and impact of theencounter. Listening to the voices of non-western women narrate theirpersonal histories has far-reaching implications for our understanding ofcultural encounters in transnational contexts.

Makdisi’s memoir foregrounds the domestic sphere occupied by womenin non-western settings as a site for understanding and contestingmainstream national histories as well as colonial and neocolonial histories.This is particularly fitting, given the fact that claims about the ‘back-wardness’ of women and the traditional domestic practices in colonizedcountries were used to justify colonial policies and the continuation ofcolonial rule (Ahmed 1992; Pollard 2005). In other words, the subjugationof women and the malpractices of men in the domestic realm justified thesubjugation of countries and provided a rationale for the continuation ofcolonial rule as a civilizing and modernizing mission. The civilizing missionhad its mirror image in nationalist politics: accepting the premise thattraditional practices in the home that curtailed women’s freedom and rightswere a major impediment to progress, they too equated the domestic realmwith the political, and advocated the reform of women’s position in societyas a prerequisite for progress and modernity. In e"ect, two competingprojects of social engineering that targeted the family, and particularly

Rethinking History 211


women, were initiated at the turn of the twentieth century: a colonialenterprise to rule through control over the minds and souls of the colonizedpopulation; and a nationalist project for liberation and autonomy. Theirony is that, despite their radically opposing aims, their methods andstrategies were deeply imbricated. One of the key sites for the implementa-tion of these projects was schools. Makdisi’s text pays special attention tothe role played by missionary schools in the refashioning of cultural normsand practices in the classroom, and the implications of their e"orts onnationalist projects. She particularly highlights their propagation of anideology of ‘domesticity’ based on Victorian values of ideal and ‘pure’womanhood that were created in nineteenth-century Europe and exportedto the colonies. What transpired is that Victorian domesticity eventuallybecame a key component in the nationalist representation of the iconic andambivalent ‘new woman’ at the heart of the project of nation building(Elsadda 2006). Revisiting an ideological construct associated withmodernity, namely domesticity, through a rereading of women’s experiencesand life stories recorded in memoirs and transmitted orally, is a consciousintervention in debates about what constitutes Arab cultural identity, therelation between tradition and modernity, and the tension between theprivate and public roles of women. The memoir as a whole can be read as acommentary on the modernist paradigm that had dominated the under-standing and writing of Arab history in national and transnational contexts,and a challenge to dominant representations of Arab women and Arabwomen’s culture in world public histories.

1

The nineteenth century saw a marked increase in the proliferation ofmissionary activity in Syria, Lebanon, Palestine and Egypt. AlthoughFrench Catholics went to Syria as early as the seventeenth century(Antonius 1969, 35), and the Franciscans went to Egypt in 1781(Heyworth-Dunne 1939, 87), it was only in the nineteenth century, withthe arrival of English and American Protestants that the missionarypresence gained momentum and had a far-reaching influence. In 1820,British and American Protestant missionaries arrived almost at the sametime in Jerusalem (Tibawi 1969, 59). In 1815, Mr Jowett was sent to Egyptby the Church Missionary Society of England, but it took more than tenyears to establish the mission (Heyworth-Dunne n.d. 278). In more waysthan one, the nineteenth century has been more conducive to missionaryexpansion than previous eras. In Egypt, Mohamed Ali’s project tomodernize Egypt and build a strong army depended on e"orts to transferEuropean expertise and science to Egypt by sending students on missions toEurope to study and by establishing educational institutions run byEuropeans. This western-looking outlook eased restrictions imposed by

212 H. Elsadda


the Ottomans on foreign activities in Egypt. Also, Tibawi notes that, inSyria, under Egyptian occupation, there was more tolerance of missionaries(Tibawi 1969, 85). It is also the case that the nineteenth century was the ageof colonial expansion. Missionaries, both American and British, certainlydepended on colonial administrators and power networks for support andconsolidations of their e"orts. They were well aware that there were onlytwo courses of action available to them: ‘either silently in the bosom ofnative churches to revive religion or attempt a reformation of rites’ (Tibawi1966, 99). They opted for the second alternative and consequently provokedthe resentment and resistance of native Christian communities. Their successin establishing Protestant churches and communities was dependent on‘outside protection and support’ (Farah 1976, 321). As Tibawi argues, theywere ‘the cultural aspect of the expansion which followed the territorial,commercial, and political expansion.4

Missionaries soon turned their attention to establishing schools. AnnaJohnston has argued that ‘part of evangelizing projects were the dualprocesses of Christianisation and civilization . . . this meant that mission-aries educated potential converts in ways that sought to reproduce, at thecolonial periphery, middle-class British social structures and values’ (2003,52). American missionaries who came to Syria, Lebanon, Palestine andEgypt strove to convert Muslims and reform the practices and beliefs of‘erring’ Christians and Jews. By the end of the nineteenth century, it becameclear that their expectations of Muslim conversion never materialized in asignificant way. This was partly due to the fact that the ‘proselytisation ofMuslim Ottoman subjects was prohibited by law and punishable by death’(Melman 1995, 168). It was also the consequence of an imperial policywhereby the British in Egypt, for example, extended their protection andsupport to missionaries but not to converts, to avoid public protestand discontent (Sharkey 2008, 64). In addition, the pivotal role of familiesand communities curtailed the spread of conversion among Muslims,especially as the conversion of a Muslim ‘amounted to social death’(Sharkey 2008, 68). National resistance to missionary influence increased inthe twentieth century, with laws passed in the 1930s and 1940s in Egypt,prohibiting the teaching of Christianity to Muslims. Hence, in the Arabworld, missionaries can be said to have focused on the reformation of‘erring’ Christians and the civilizing of both Muslims and Christians.Protestant missionaries were extremely critical not only of rituals andreligious practices of Eastern Churches, but they were even more critical ofsocial customs and local traditions of the entire local community, bothChristian and Muslim. Accounts written by evangelicals describe how theywere appalled at how dark Coptic Churches were, which ‘reflected in theireyes, the poor state of Coptic spirituality (Sedra 2000, 4). They were alsovery critical of what they considered to be the hold of superstitions overCoptic minds. More pertinently, missionaries were dismayed by the seeming



‘utter confusion and indiscipline’ that dominated the Coptic kuttabs (Sedra2000, 8). And, ‘travelers’ and missionaries’ accounts . . . [concluded] thatCoptic kuttabs di"ered little in their approach to learning from Muslimkuttabs – that the forms of knowledge Copts valued were comparable to theforms of knowledge Muslims valued’ (Sedra 2000, 9). These and many otherinstances were used by missionaries to argue for the imperative of extendingtheir work through education, hence embarking on a process of socialengineering with wide-reaching e"ects for them as well as for the localcommunities.

The impact of missionary schools in colonial contexts has been thesubject of scholarly debate. Some historians of the Arab world give credit tomissionary schools for the pioneering role they played in the Arab culturalrenaissance or awakening, the Arab nahda. George Antonius maintains thatFrench and American missionaries ‘were destined between them to becomethe foster-parents of the Arab resurrection’ (1969, 35). He interprets thedecision of American missionaries to supply and use Arabic textbooks andschool manuals as proof of their appreciation of the role of Arabic literaturein recovering ‘a nation’s lost inheritance’ (Antonius 1969, 41). AlbertHourani also makes a case for the impact of missionary schools in educatingan enlightened elite and in strengthening the position of Christiancommunities (Hourani 1983, 55). Other historians accused missionaryschools of being the cultural arms of imperialism. The education theyprovided led to the weakening of the Arabic language, the alienation of theirstudents from their local environments and a distortion of identity (Khalidiand Farukh 1953). Between these two polarized positions, many researchershave looked at the missionary encounter as a continuum of constantnegotiations, conversions and struggle taking place in a complex environ-ment. Haddad points out, for example, that in response to the advent ofmissionaries in the nineteenth century, Syrians ‘tried to initiate independentMuslim communal schools teaching modern sciences, European languagesand Arabizing the language of instruction’ (Haddad 2000, 2). In Egypt, togive another example of local action to counter the infiltration of missionaryschools, Abdallah al-Nadim established the Islamic Benevolent SocietySchool of Alexandria in 1879 and, in 1892, Mohamed Abdou established Al-Maqassid. There was local demand for schools and education that pre-datedthe arrival of the missionaries, but communities were inspired and energizedby the coming of perceived competition. In addition, it is also important tonote that the overall environment was fraught with political tensions andrivalries which often complicated matters and limited opportunities. WhenAmerican missionaries started using Arabic as the language of instruction intheir schools, Syrians seized on this opportunity to put pressure on theOttoman government to use Arabic instead of Turkish in its o!cial schools.These e"orts, however, were thwarted by the Ottomans, who feared thatthese schools would ignite and support Arab nationalist sentiments (Haddad

214 H. Elsadda


2000, 2). The missionaries were not the only force that the local populationhad to contend with. Local complexities often resulted in deliberatedecisions not to enter into confrontations with missionary schools. Haddadpoints out how, even after listening to students and parents complain ofproblems faced especially by Muslim students in missionary schools, RashidReda, prominent religious reformer, chose not to attack missionaryeducation and only recommended that the problems be taken intoconsideration (Haddad 2000, 4–6). Trying to manoeuvre his way betweencompeting imperialist agendas, Reda absolves American missionary schoolsof imperial design in contradistinction to French and English schools. Morerecent scholarship has attempted to highlight the complex nature of theencounter by bringing to the fore the voices and histories of converts and bypaying closer attention to local representations of missionary activities andinteraction (Ussama Makdisi 2008).

2

What has been the nature of the contact between missionary women andtheir Eastern sisters? Protestant missionaries in the Mediterranean openedmany schools for girls as well as for boys. However, they prioritized girls’education on the grounds that women occupied a central position in thefamily, which was the basic cultural unit, and that they played an importantrole in the socialization of their children and hence can be instrumental inspreading new ideas and values. The domestic realm was also identified bymissionaries as a site for the ‘civilizing’ aim of their missions. Schoolchildrenin missionary schools in Egypt were told that their traditional habitspractised at home were backward and incompatible with modern aspirationsand societies and practices (Pollard 106). Schools were the ideal environ-ment where missionaries could ensure the indoctrination of young studentsand the transference of lifestyles and cultural norms. Missionaries broughtto the women of the colonies a message of modernity, western education anda Victorian morality that privileged women’s domestic duties. In fact,scholars of mission studies have argued that the colonies were ‘laboratoriesof modernity, where missionaries . . . could carry out experiments in socialengineering without confronting the popular resistances and bourgeoisrigidities of European society at home’ (Cooper and Stoler 1997, 5).

The first missionary women were the wives of missionaries. It was only inthe second half of the nineteenth century that single women were appointedas missionaries by evangelical orders. And although the missionaryhierarchy and organization was patriarchal in structure and essence, ‘mostevangelicals believed that their denominations in particular provided specialrespect for their female members’ (Johnston 2003, 39). Beidelman arguesthat ‘evangelical Protestantism provided especially promising conditions formissionary women’s independence’ (1999, 113). The Church Missionary



Society, for example, regarded spiritual motivation as taking precedenceover ritual and training, hence making it possible for women to achievestatus and value (Beidelman 1999, 133). In general, researchers refer to the‘feminization of the missions’ as one of the most significant developments inthe history of missions in many parts of the world (Melman 1995, 177).Nevertheless, women were still expected to excel in their roles as mothersand wives and to adhere to Victorian domestic ideology. The activities ofmissionary women were represented as an extension to the outside of thewomanly duties inside the home. Victorian morality and the model of theEnglish nuclear family were considered an integral part of the civilizingmission. This meant that missionary women were very often critical ofdi"erent family structures or practices. They were horrified by polygamyand equally condemned societies which gave women equal power (Johnston2003, 53).

Missionary schools were open to both Christian and Muslim women.Although, as noted above, the conversion of Muslims was abandoned as aprimary goal, evangelical women took a particular interest in the educationof Muslim women. In fact, ‘missionary women considered the liberation andeducation of Muslim girls one of its [sic] foremost objectives’ (Herrera 2000,3). In the first Missionary Conference on behalf of the Mohammedan Worldin 1906, missionary women appealed to missions all over the world to exertextra e"ort ‘for the salvation of Mohammedan women’ (cited in Herrera2000, 3). Missionary women in general felt superior to their eastern sisters,both Muslims and Christians, who were perceived to be victims of theircultures and traditions. Muslim women had the additional burden of beingsubjected to an ‘oppressive’ religion that, according to the perception ofmost missionaries, particularly discriminated against women.

Notwithstanding, scholars have argued how the very practices ofmissionary women subverted the Victorian doctrines they sought to uphold.Single missionary women obviously embarked on journeys that took themaway from the sanctuaries of their homes and plunged then into anadventurous life. These were strong enterprising women who inevitablyundercut the very ideology they espoused. Researchers have also startedpaying more attention to the diversity in missionary experiences caused bydi"erences in social background, world view and disposition. Comaro" hasargued that on the colonial stage, missionaries were ‘the ruled among therulers’ (1997, 166). They were often perceived as the moral voice ofcolonialism, as the friends of the local communities, or their protectors, oras the conscience of the colonialism (Comaro" 1997, 166). KumariJayawardena has also attempted to distinguish between missionary womenwho accepted British rule and the precepts of colonialism and those whorebelled against their cultures and sought to discover eastern cultures andreligions (1995, 8). Nevertheless, the nature and implications of missionaryencounters remain subject to contestation as specific locations of missionary

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activities are studied. Heather Sharkey has argued that ‘ideas of choice andcultural autonomy in the missionary encounter may be apropos for [some]regions’ but are not sustainable in others, where in the case of Muslimcountries, missionaries characterized their missions ‘as a return to, orfulfillment of, the twelfth and thirteenth century Crusades’ (2008, 50).Sharkey challenges the trend in recent scholarship which representsmissionaries as benign agents, foregrounding the Orientalist discoursespropagated by missionaries to the Middle East (51). In contrast, UssamaMakdisi draws attention to the necessity of taking into considerationdi"erent historical moments of missionary activity, arguing that the firstmissionaries who arrived in the Levant had a di"erent aim and orientationfrom later missionaries who came to the region at the end of the nineteenthcentury and under the auspices of French or British colonialism. EllenFleischmann has also pointed out di"erences between generations, arguingthat younger missionaries, born to missionary parents, had ‘a morethoughtful, relativist, and nuanced attitude toward the ‘‘natives’’’ (2009,119). Finally, researchers have also explored the impact of missionaryexpeditions on missionaries themselves and their home countries (Robert2002).

3

Teta, mother and me is a valuable record in the literature on missionaryencounters with local populations. Jean Said Makdisi is uniquely positionedto tell this story, as her family history was closely intertwined with the workof missionaries. In 1890, her great grandfather Youssef Badr became thefirst Arab pastor of the National Evangelical Church of Beirut, in a churchestablished by the Syrian Mission in 1865. Her grandmother Tet, and hersister were schooled in the British evangelical system and went to the BritishSyrian Training College. In 1896, Teta became a teacher at the STC and‘accomplished her metamorphosis from an ordinary young girl to thatarchetypal figure in modern Arab cultural history, the Syrian Christianfemale school teacher’ (Teta, 175). In 1905, she married Shukri Musawho established the First Baptist Church of Nazareth, of the SouthernBaptist Convention Near East Mission. Makdisi’s family history gave herprivileged access to memoirs, papers and oral stories, allowing her toconstruct the history of a period through recollected memories anduno!cial documents. Her personal biography is equally relevant: born inJerusalem, she grew up in Cairo, lived in the US for a period, and thenmoved to Beirut with her family. By virtue of cultural belonging, but also ofbirth, she experienced on a personal level major historical crises that befellthe Arab world, notably, the displacement of Palestinians and the civil warin Lebanon. She was raised to espouse modernist ideals of domesticity, andto believe that traditional cultural practices limited women’s abilities and



horizons. Reflecting on her own experiences as well as the experiences ofwomen in her family, she was led to revise many of the taken-for-grantedideas in her society. She developed a style of writing where her starting pointis always a detail, an observation, a feeling or a specific event which triggersa reassessment of deeply ingrained concepts and values. In Beirut fragments:A war memoir (1999), Makdisi records the impact of the civil war on her andher family, emphasizing the role of women in keeping families intact,protecting their menfolk and discovering their hidden strengths in theprocess (Makdisi 1997). Wars, she points out, disrupt the structures ofsociety, the status quo, and open up spaces for women to be creative andinnovative. Makdisi is also a feminist, and an activist for Palestinian rights.It is worth mentioning that she is the sister of Edward Said.

Makdisi managed to recover some of her grandmother’s papers, whichcontained her school reports and lists of subjects studied. She noticed thatTeta was referred to as M. Moneerah Badr. Makdisi discovered that ‘M’stood for ‘Mualmie’, which was the title of the Arab women teachers andwhich distinguished them from foreign teachers who were addressed as‘Miss’. A lot of emphasis was laid on needlework and other domestic tasks.What the subjects did not cover was any mention of ‘exterior reality’ asMakdisi calls it. Teta then married and became ‘the perfect pastor’s wife’(Teta, 233). She gained for herself a prominent position in the community.She perfected her role as carer and provider and set high standards to beemulated. But, her education and acquired lifestyle, Makdisi argues, put hergrandmother at a huge disadvantage:

Teta was to su"er terribly because of this attitude. Victorian domesticity wasan aspect of the social and economic structure of which it was an integral part:in Palestine, where she was to establish her own family, it was an alien notion,irrelevant to the surrounding social, economic and political realities. From thetime of her widowhood, and especially of her withdrawal from the world towhich she had been connected . . . through her husband and his work, shegradually became redundant. When her husband died and her children werescattered by the events in Palestine, she lost her hard-won place in the worldand became increasingly alienated from it. (Teta, 190–1)

Makdisi suggests that the education her grandmother received inmissionary schools made her life more di!cult and almost irrelevant toher society. Her lifelong career as a wife who supports her husband andexcels in the domestic duties entrusted to women only did not have muchworth in the real world, where she had to struggle to survive.

Makdisi compares her grandmother’s life trajectory with the lives of otherArab women whowere her grandmother’s contemporaries, but whomanagednot to be confined to domestic duties and had prominent careers. In a chapterentitled ‘Alternative paths’, she gives the reader a quick glimpse of the lives ofthree women, Anbara Salam, Huda Shaarawy and Emilia Badr, Teta’s sister.

218 H. Elsadda


Anbara Salam played ‘a public role in both Lebanese and Palestinian societyand politics’ (Teta, 209). In her memoirs, Salam gives an account of hereducation. She was first taught by a sheikha at home, and then later joined theMakassed schools, which were Islamic schools that sought to counter theinfluence of missionary education in Syria. These schools o"ered a moderneducation to the population and were by and large influenced by Protestantmission schools. But, unlike missionary schools, Islamic schools were not ‘atodds with the Ottoman establishment’, nor did they put their students ‘intoconflict with localmanners and custom’ (Teta, 208). And althoughmost of thetextbooks were translations of American books used in the Syrian ProtestantCollege, students in the Makassed also studied ‘Islamic history and Arabicgrammar and morphology in textbooks written by Sheikh Mohieddin al-Khayyat andSPCProfessor JabrDoumit, respectively’ (Teta, 209). Salamhadalso studied the Quran by heart before she was ten. As she turned into a youngwoman, she entered the secluded world of upper-class urban women. HudaShaarawy, in contrast, was taught at home with her brothers and two younggirls. She learnt to recite the Quran by heart, studied Turkish grammar andcalligraphy as well as French. She also took piano and drawing lessons. Shealways regretted not being able to perfect Arabic. She grew up to become arenowned nationalist and a leader of the feministmovement inEgypt.Makdisireflects on the reasons why these two women managed to have a public role,while her grandmother did not. She acknowledges that both ‘came from, andmarried into, prominent political families, while Teta did not’ (Teta, 211). Shealso acknowledges di"erences in personalities and various contexts. Never-theless, she still contends that the main reason why her grandmother, hermother and herself did not become active participants in political life was onaccount of their inculcation into a domestic ideology in missionary schools(Teta, 212).

The third woman who also embarked on a di"erent path was hergrandmother’s sister, Emelia Badr. Unlike the two women above, she waseducated in a missionary school.

But, ‘[u]nlike her sweet-tempered sister Munira, Auntie Melia alwayshad a rumbustious and rebellious nature’ (Teta, 199). Emelia nevermarried and made for herself a career as a teacher, first at the AmericanSchool in Beirut, then at the American missionary school in Ezbekia.Although Emelia’s life as a single woman di"ered considerably from hersister’s in that she was not burdened with the domestic duties expected ofa wife and mother, she was by no means ‘contemptuous of the femalevocation as practiced and perfected by her sister’ (Teta, 206). Emelia wascommitted to the same rigid standards upheld by her grandmotherregarding housework and care of the children, and would even chideother women for failing to meet those standards. Makdisi tells this storyagain to support her argument about the role of missionary education ininstilling the ideology of domesticity in students. In this case, the ideology



is practised and preached by a woman whose life and behaviourcontradict the assumptions behind it.

Makdisi then makes a case for how domesticity as an ideology is not anintegral part of Arab history and culture, but was introduced to the Arabworld in the modern period as a consequence of the encounter with westernmodernity. Her journey of discovery through the history of her family, andthe unearthing of material such as letters, memoirs and oral narratives,makes her question taken-for-granted ideas regarding assumptions aboutthe ‘traditional’ and the ‘modern’. Her inquiry lends new insights into themeaning of traditional practices within the family and their implications forwomen’s lives. She discovered, for example, that her great grandmother SittiIm Shukri, was a ‘farissa’, an accomplished horsewoman. ‘She lived herwhole life in Galilee; she knew neither English missionaries, nor Turkishemissaries’ and would be described in historical accounts as a traditionalwoman. ‘But she rode her horse through Galilee, her hair flying, her clothesin disarray, her legs straddled on either side of the horse’s back, and she hadenormous power over her son and his family’ (Teta, 399). She alsodiscovered that modern domestic duties that are now described as women’swork were activities traditionally shared by all members of the family, maleand female:

The description in both Mother’s and her brothers’ memoirs of the annualmaking of the burghul, for instance, shows clearly that this activity was afamily event. Everyone was involved: father, mother, servants and children.Similarly, shopping, traveling, tending the children and bathing them were allactivities in which my grandfather shared. (Teta, 399)

Makdisi challenges dominant nationalist and western discourses whichposit that the life of Arab women changed dramatically for the better in themodern era owing to their access to modern-style western education andtheir relinquishing of traditional restrictive practices and ideas. Shequestions the opposition between modernity and tradition, and finds thatthe modern world and the modern education actually brought morerestrictions to the lives of these eastern women. Makdisi’s account of hergrandmother’s and mother’s life is premised on the idea that theirmissionary education estranged them from their community and did notnecessarily liberate them or make them any happier. She comes to thisconclusion as a consequence of her journey into the lives of the women ofher family. Her findings are cemented by her own experience as a daughterwho was carefully socialized to value the virtues of domesticity, buteventually experienced disappointment and su"ering because of theinevitable limitations this ideology had on women’s lives.

After challenging the validity of the modernist assumption that amodern education, as opposed to a traditional one, enabled women to leadmore independent lives, Makdisi tackles another key problem in discussions

220 H. Elsadda


of missionaries and their impact on local populations. It is the problem ofassuming that local populations were passive recipients and were uncriticallyopen to outside influence, that the people involved had no demands, noagendas of their own and no agency. Her account of the story of AuntieEmelia highlights the role of local communities not only in pursuing theirown agendas, but also in actively contributing to the establishment of somemissionary schools which they believed to be worthwhile. The story islocated at the centre of the memoir and given prominence in the narrative.

Emelia went to Cairo and joined the American missionary school inEzbekia after a row over her title in the Beirut College. There she met anAmerican woman, Ella Kyle, and with her founded a new school for girls in1901, the American College for Girls. Makdisi notes that Emelia was notcredited for being a founder of the school, but was always referred to as afriend and associate of Miss Kyle. She occupied a prominent position in theschool cultural and administrative history but never became principle andher ‘o!cial title was never clear’ (Teta, 201). On the memorial plaque in theentrance to the school, the two women are commemorated in the followingmanner:

IN MEMORY OFELLA O. KYLE

FOUNDER AND BUILDER OF THIS COLLEGEA WOMAN OF EXCEPTIONAL VISIONUNFALTERING FAITH AND COURAGE

GREAT HEART WHO LIVEDNOT TO BE MINISTERED UNTO

BUT TO MINISTERIN HONOR OFEMELIA BADR

ASSOCIATE AND FRIEND OF MISS KYLEDURING THE BUILDING OF THE COLLEGE

AND OF ITS STUDENTS THROUGHOUT THE YEARS. (Teta, 200–1)

In a history of theAmericanCollege forGirls in Cairo, nomention ismadeof Emelia Badr as cofounder of the school either (Sproul 1982). It is Miss EllaKyle, a career missionary, who became director of the American School forGirls at Ezbekiah in 1892 and who in 1902 thought of, fund-raised for andfounded the American College. Mention of Emelia Badr is made thus:

Miss Kyle administered the new College for Girls with the help of MissEmelia Badr, a former sta" member of the Ezbekiah school. Miss Badr, ofLebanese origin, played a unique role in the history of ACG as supervisorof the boarding department for over forty years, retiring in 1954. She wasthe link between Eastern and Western cultures, sharing her experience andknowledge of Arab culture with the American principals with whom sheworked. (Sproul 1982, 64)



Makdisi foregrounds the role of the local population in establishingmissionary schools. She argues that, in most cases, these schools would nothave been possible had it not been for the e"orts and enthusiasm of a localactor. These local actors had their agendas and goals which inevitablycontributed to the direction and shape of the encounter. She also putsforward the contention that their contributions or agency was neverrecognized in mainstream histories simply because of the dominantmodernist narrative that devalued the culture, the tradition and hence theagency of the local population, and only credited the western bearers ofmodernity with initiative and forward-looking action. It is also aconsequence of whose voice has dominated the writing of the history ofthe missionary enterprise. As noted above, missionary history is writtenpredominantly from the point of view of missionaries, paying little attentionto local experiences and voices. Makdisi emphasizes local agency andcontends that many missionary projects would not have materialized had itnot been for the input and contribution of members of local populations.

[P]erhaps Auntie Melia held a secondary place because that was in the nature ofthings. In every one of the foreignmission stories known tome, there is a ‘native’lurking in the background, without whom the enterprise would not have beenaccomplished. The success of the Syrian Protestant College is unthinkablewithout the scholarsButrosBustani andNassifYazigi, who forman integral partof modern Arab cultural history, but are never given the same degree of credit inits early history by the institution as their American colleagues. Mrs. Bowen-Thompson’s work might have remained marginal and unimportant andrelegated to some minor evangelizing, or she might even have gone home onthe next steamer, had it not been for Selim Kassab. And Miss Kyle might neverhave founded this new school in Cairo without Emelia Badr. (Teta, 201)

In addition to drawing attention to the missing role of local agents in thehistories of the missionary encounter, Makdisi makes another crucialobservation premised on a recognition of local agency, and responding to aquestion: who were these local agents and what was their agenda? Sheproceeds to paint a portrait of her aunt: she was a strict disciplinarian, not afeminist, but a staunch nationalist, who made it her duty to guard nationalvalues. Emelia left the school in Beirut and went to Cairo because sheobjected to what she perceived as discriminatory practices against Arabteachers. In the school in Cairo, she again protested against any attempts atsegregation that would inevitably lead to discriminatory practices andobjected, for example, to the demands made by some American teachers tohave ‘separate sleeping and eating facilities from their Arab colleagues’(Teta, 204). She also sought to guard and uphold local values and customsand used her position to e"ect changes from within:

The life of . . . Emelia o"ers ample proof that a reaction to the absolute vision ofthe missionaries and their teachings did take place, even within the walls of the

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mission schools. She vocally and deliberately reacted with proud defiance againstthe tendency of the foreignmissions to invalidate local culture and sweep it cleanlyaway even while she interacted with them to create a new school. (Teta, 197)

Emelia’s role as a cultural mediator was clearly recognized by both hercolleagues and students. Makdisi quotes the words of Dr Helen J. Martin,school principal from 1923 to 1956: ‘I acquired [from Miss Badr] a usefulknowledge of personalities and a"airs in Egypt and the Arab world that Icould have scarcely secured in any other way’ (202–3). Sarah Meloy, anotherschool principal also says: ‘Her advice was invaluable in interpreting theEast to those of us from the West who had much to learn’ (Teta, 203).Suhair al-Qalamawy, a graduate of the American College and a prominentEgyptian Professor of Arabic and writer, describes her as ‘the axis at whichEast and West met’ (Teta, 203). In addition, she was perceived by some ofher students as a guardian of her culture. Ihsan Sidki Arafa recalls how MissBadr ‘was ever alert, advising and encouraging us to follow only thoseWestern ways that suited and harmonized with our own’ (Teta, 203).Emelia’s mediation between two cultures was not a mechanical transfer ofideas, but was rather a dynamic process that gave rise to new culturalpractices and new understandings on both sides of the cultural spectrum.

Studies of the influence of missionary women on the creation of amiddle-class ideology of domestic womanhood in the Middle East havelargely been concerned with questions of internalization and subversion: towhat extent local women internalized and reproduced the domestic ideologyand how it shaped and directed their lives; or how they subverted thisideology by drawing on their individual experiences and their local culture(Fleischmann 2002). Makdisi’s narrative of Emelia goes beyond thisparadigm, and suggests that local agents actually contributed to theestablishment of missionary institutions and hence to the shaping of theirimpact. They also helped shape a new discourse, a hybrid construction. Thisproposition invites further historical investigation to determine the extentand scope of local contributions in forging new subjectivities. In his historyof the American missionary venture in Lebanon from the early nineteenthcentury, Ussama Makdisi draws attention to how two conflicting narrativesof the encounter, told from two opposing points of view, and focused on thelife and death of the first convert to Protestantism, As’ad Shidyaq, convergeto create a new discourse towards the end of the nineteenth century. Thisnew discourse is represented by Butrus al-Bustani, a Protestant convert atthe end of the nineteenth century, who became ‘an eloquent advocate fordialogue within and across cultures’ (Ussama Makdisi 2008, 212).

Concluding remarks

Teta, mother and me is a personal memoir of an Arab woman written inEnglish and targeting an international audience. It is published at a moment



in history that is witnessing a boom in the production of memoirs,autobiographies, journalistic accounts and other first-hand experiencesabout Arab women, eastern women and Oriental women as victims of theircultures, chained by traditional practices, and desiring to be saved byenlightened and modern citizens of the western world. Representations ofoppressed eastern women have a long and powerful history in colonialdiscourses where the ‘abject’ position of non-western women was used asproof of the backwardness of their countries, and the inability of thosecountries to sort their own a"airs, and hence justifying their need forcolonial governance. After 11 September, with the waging of wars onAfghanistan and then Iraq, these colonial tropes resurfaced with avengeance, and gained credence and wide circulation in popular historicalaccounts that sought to interpret to the wider public why their countries hadto be involved in wars thousands of miles away from the home front. VronWare described the marked increase in books written by or about ‘easternwomen’, popular histories that are sold in airport bookshops and addressinga wider public, as ‘a postmodern infowar’ which is administered by themanipulation of information (Ware 2006, 535). On more than one level,Makdisi’s text is tied in to this infowar, as it attempts to challenge anddeconstruct some of the underlying assumptions that lend it credibility andwide-circulation.

As a text which seeks to counter dominant tropes in the infowar against theArab world, Makdisi’s memoir further confronts and challenges one of themost powerful neocolonial narratives in the contemporary world, namely, theIsraeli narrative about the question of Palestine, or the Arab–Israeli conflict,propagated in mainstream media by politicians and public pundits. Acts ofmemory and the remembrance of the past necessarily engage with issues ofidentity, nationalism, subjectivity, as well as power relations. For the modernPalestinians, it is also a battle against oblivion and the erasure of their historyas a people with a right to live on their land, an erasure perpetrated by adominant Zionist narrative that negates the existence of Palestinians. EdwardSaid has drawn attention to the urgency of Palestinians’ regaining ‘aremembered presence and, with that presence, the right to possess and reclaima collective historical reality’ (Said 2000, 189). The struggle over memory is astruggle for survival against forced invisibility and exclusion. Over the lasttwenty years, Palestinian writers, novelists, poets and researchers havemade aconcerted e"ort to take charge of writing the history of their land and theircollective memory to counter Zionist claims about Palestine as a land withoutpeople. A significant number of autobiographies, testimonies and memoirswere published,written byPalestinianwomen, combining the personal and thepolitical, and characterized by a ‘messianic’ quality, to use Makdisi’s ownwords, ‘a deep faith that somehow these custodians of the national memory,collecting its apparently unimportant components, are saving the whole fromoblivion’.5 In Teta, mother and me, she draws on her matrilineal history to

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establish the embodied presence of her family on the land of Palestine acrossdi"erent generations, and to shed light on the complexities and tensions ofcommunities struggling to negotiate and manoeuvre the realities of colonialonslaught.

Teta, mother and me belongs to another significant and rising trend in thewriting of personal histories by Arab women, a critical feminist critique ofboth colonial and national narratives which have dominated mainstreamhistories, in both local as well as international contexts. Feminist theoristshave argued that various genres of personal histories – testimonials, prisonmemoirs, manifestos, autobiographies, biographies, etc. – count as forms ofresistance literature, or ‘out-law genres’, to use Caren Kaplan’s term, ‘locatedon the borders between colonial and neocolonial systems, where subjectivity,cultural power, and survival are played out in the modern era . . .’ (Kaplan1998, 214). Personal histories written by Arab women negotiate their sense ofselfhood against public inscriptions about their place in the social order.Usingthe lens of personal experience and personal family history, they test andchallenge dominant representations about their being in the world. Inaddition, and more importantly perhaps for those histories written in Englishand addressing western audiences, Arab women’s personal histories contestpolitical histories, as well as public histories about international relationshipsand contemporary power relations. They contribute to a transnationalfeminist production of knowledge that challenges neocolonial histories thatremain ingrained in world public histories.

Insights into the lives of Arab women gleaned from memoirs and oralhistories corroborate the main thesis of the memoir: that the modernistparadigm propagated in colonial and national narratives does not stand upto scrutiny:

Somehow, over the decades, I had absorbed the notion that the new and themodern had brought with them success and happiness, especially for women.Yet now I felt excluded from these improvements, and could not help butwonder, as I compared my life with my mother’s and grandmother’s, in whatway mine was better. I began to see the much-trumpeted advancement ofwomen as a fiction. In this attitude of mine lay hidden deep misapprehensionsand misunderstandings of modernity and the social life of women in our partof the world, and even of our personal lives. (Teta, 10)

Makdisi concludes that the assumptions associated with modernity areunreal apparitions, a ‘phantom modernity’ to use her words, based onunsubstantiated and biased views about the world, and reflective of theuneven power relations between cultures. Domesticity was translated to theArab world through the encounters between east and west that happened atvarious sites, in this case, through missionary education. Domestic ideologypreached in missionary schools and through the print media to generationsof young women, became an integral principle of nationalist discourses



about the national roles of ‘the new woman’, the icon of the new nation, andher contribution to the progress of the nation. Makdisi’s memoir shows howdomesticity is a western modernist ideology, and not an inherent feature ofArab cultural tradition which assumedly confines women to their homes.She also challenges modernist denigration of the ‘traditional’ by revealingthe egalitarian and emancipatory implications of traditional practicesassociated with members of her family. A historical record narrated froma feminist postcolonial lens, Teta, mother and me is a valuable contributionto contemporary public histories about the Arab world in general and Arabwomen in particular. The memoir brings to world public histories newmaterial and new voices that are not conventionally included, hencepotentially leading to new historical narratives.

Notes1. Makdisi (2005, 27). All quotations will be taken from this edition and referred to

in the text as Teta.2. Marilyn Booth, for example, looked at Arabic biographies of missionary

teachers and their pupils in magazines. See Booth (2002).3. Ussama Makdisi reconstructs the story of the conversion and resultant death of

As‘ad Shidyaq, a Lebanese Maronite who converted to Protestantism in thenineteenth century in Makdisi (2008).

4. Tibawi (1961, 5). Tibawi draws attention to the military language used bymembers of the Church Missionary Society in describing their plan to extendtheir ‘operations’ to the Mediterranean.

5. Makdisi (2010). Other autobiographies by Palestinian women include: HananAshrawi’s, This side of peace: A personal account (1995); Hala Sakakini’sJerusalem and I (1990); Ghada Karmi’s In search of Fatima (2002); and Jean SaidMakdisi’s Beirut fragments: A war memoir (1999).

Notes on contributor

Hoda Elsadda is Professor of the Study of the Contemporary Arab World,Department of Middle Eastern Studies, at the University of Manchester. She is co-director of the Centre for the Advanced Study of the Arab World. Her publicationsinclude editing Al-Fatah li Sahibatiha Hind Nawfal 1892–1892 (2007) and ‘A’ishaTaymur: tahadiyyat al-thabit wal mutaghayir fil qarn al tasi’ ’ashar (2004). In 1992 shewas co-founder of the journal Hagar: Studies in Culture, Polity and Identities.

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Notes on contributor

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