It was a Friday in February 2011 when the Jasmine Revolution reached the prostitutes on Impasse Sidi Abdallah Guech, a dead-end street tucked away in the dingiest corner of the medina in Tunis, the Tunisian capital. The women leaning against the walls there are registered with the government and pay taxes. The red-light district on this small street is only a stone's throw from a large mosque in the heart of an Islamic country.
On this day, shortly after the fall of the old regime in Tunisia, several hundred outraged citizens had gathered near the prostitutes' street. Some were bearded and others were wearing jeans, but they were all loudly demanding moral cleanliness. Before long, they began making their way toward the women, sticks and torches in hand.
That this could happen was no surprise. Imams preaching on satellite stations from Qatar and Saudi Arabia routinely rage against this hotbed of vice. Arabs from the Persian Gulf don't need the women from Abdallah Guech when they come to Tunisia in the summer since they usually bring along their own escorts. The Guech and hundreds of other so-called maisons closes in Tunisia are for ordinary people, have always been tolerated and were legalized in 1942. Men come and go, leaving behind a handful of dinars.
On that Friday, the military stepped in and police fired warning shots into the air to fend of the Muslim moralists' attack on the women. A militia of pimps, porters and day laborers barricaded the entrance to the lane. After the incident, the sign "Impasse Sidi Abdallah Guech" was removed for security reasons. A gate was installed, and the women posted a sign above it saying "Closed on Fridays and during Ramadan" in an effort to accommodate the Islamists.
Maisons closes in other Tunisian cities were not so lucky. In places such as Sousse, Médenine, Sfax and Kairouan, brothels were set on fire, and women were hunted down and beaten.
The attacks of February 2011 marked the beginning of a development that has grown to become a cultural revolution and a model for the post-revolutionary countries of North Africa: the government-tolerated offensive of Salafist fundamentalists against aspects of modern secular society, even if they amount to nothing more than the bleak activities of prostitutes and their customers on a small street in Tunis.
In April 2011, the filmmaker Nouri Bouzid was beaten with an iron bar after he had spoken out in favor of a secular constitution.
A few weeks later, in June, a gang of Salafists forcibly entered the AfricArt art-house cinema in Tunis, sprayed tear gas and roughed up the management. The cinema was planning to show what the Salafists viewed as a heretical film about religion in Tunisia. The police only intervened after prolonged pressure. AfricArt has been closed ever since.
In October 2011, a few hundred Islamists tried to set the house of the owner of the private television station Nessma on fire. The station had broadcast the animated film "Persepolis," by Iranian exile Marjane Satrapi, in which Allah is briefly depicted. In June 2012, morality police attacked the exhibition "Spring of the Arts" in the El Ebdellia palace, destroying about a dozen paintings.
Fear and Intimidation
The scar on Nouri Bouzid's bald head is hardly visible anymore. "Luckily I was wearing a hat," says the 67-year-old director. "All that's left of our revolution is that there are no longer scissors," he adds, referring to government censorship. "But there is a censorship of deeds carried out by the Salafist brigades and the so-called Leagues for the Protection of the Revolution."
Bouzid seems more alarmed than bitter. "Hundreds of events" have already been quietly obstructed, he says. Summer festivals and rock concerts have been interrupted, and actors have been threatened. All of this is happening, Bouzid explains, with the tacit consent of the ruling Islamist party, Ennahda. "They're playing a double game," Bouzid says. "They use the radicals to test how far they can go. Not a single artist is involved with Ennahda."
Located on the extreme northern tip of Africa, Tunisia is very close to Europe. It has a tradition of tolerance that artists like Bouzid now believe is threatened. "They want to destroy this identity, using all the money they get from the Gulf," Bouzid says. "But, unlike in the past, we are no longer afraid of the police. We can express our views, we are willing to take risks and we don't take everything lying down. That can be inspiring."
Tunis is still a city where women don't have to be brave to show their hair. In contrast to Cairo, for example, veiled women are a minority in Tunis. In many neighborhoods, Tunis looks like the twin sister of Marseille, a pleasant and open metropolis on France's Mediterranean coast, where most people refuse to be told what to wear in public or on the beach in the summer.
Given Tunis's reputation, it's all the more shocking to hear a young female journalist talk about how terrified she was to find her photograph on the Facebook page of a Salafist group. Her address was also listed there. Above it were a skull and the word "traitor." This isn't uncommon, she says. "You have to expect that 30 Salafists will be outside your door the next morning, shouting that the devil lives there."
It's a Salafist chorus of online outrage. It would be a continuation of the Facebook revolution, using the same tools, but for a different purpose: to intimidate lawyers, artists, university lecturers and filmmakers -- and, of course, women.
Controlling the Mosques
The offensive by the ultra-conservative group has been most successful in the mosques. "It's an invasion. They control most of the mosques in Tunis. They demonize the old imams and berate them as accomplices of the old regime," says Sheikh Ahmed Touati, until recently the imam at the large Zitouna Mosque, and the current head of a group calling itself the "Party of Conservatives."
The 32-year-old Touati is a large, imposing figure. He is sitting with his legs apart, wearing baggy trousers, in front of the Sekajine souk, drinking tea. Most passers-by greet Touati, but not all, especially not those wearing the calf-length robes favored by radical Islamists. "In their view, I'm even a kafir, an infidel," he says. "They aren't allowed to greet an infidel."
He describes the day the Islamists first turned up at the large mosque, a week after the overthrow of former dictator Zine El Abidine Ben Ali. They demanded different prayer positions and didn't want the Koran to be recited out loud by the congregation. Within a year, the chief imam had been driven out. "Why? They have the money and the satellite dishes," Touati say. "Their message appeals to the practicing faithful, especially the younger ones. The others keep their distance. Our mistake was that we waited too long."
Touati was slapped when he removed an Islamist treatise from the wall of his mosque. He also received threats, with the Islamists telling him things like: "Get out of here and don't come back -- or someone will slit your throat."
Charges of Government Duplicity
Many of the Islamists are also involved in militant activities. The Leagues for the Protection of the Revolution collect donations and allegedly recruit young men to fight in Syria's civil war.
The ruling Ennahda Party has yet to distance itself from the radicals. Ennahda founder Rachid Ghannouchi even encouraged "our young Salafists" to patiently embark on a long march. "Why the hurry?" he said in a video of a meeting with Salafists. "The Islamists must fill the country with their organizations, establish Koran schools everywhere and invite religious imams." The video was secretly recorded and posted online, but Ghannouchi claims his words were taken out of context.
The opposition accuses Ennahda of duplicity, saying that while it publicly encourages tolerant discourse, it also uses the young radicals to intimidate independent voices in what seems like a joint effort.
Ennahda bridles at the accusation and claims it is being misunderstood. "We support tolerance and freedom of expression in the arts. After all, Ennahda means renaissance, right?" says Ajmi Lourimi, a member of the party leadership in charge of educational and cultural matters.
Lourimi is wearing a cap backwards. He turns his computer around and points to the screen, where there is a YouTube interview with the Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas: "You see? I'm a philosopher myself," says Lourimi. "An Islamic philosopher."
The purpose of culture is to educate the people, Lourimi says. And of course, he adds, he is against raids on art galleries. When asked about demonstrations against airing the "Persepolis" film, he says: "No one is against this film. It's just that there are few scenes that hurt the feelings of many people when it's shown publicly. Most directors realize that this is where cuts are needed."
When asked about his favorite film, he mentions a crime thriller starring Alain Delon and Jean Gabin. "My favorite painter? Oh, I'm too old to go to exhibitions anymore." He's in his early 50s.
The party newspaper al-Fajr has an article about the short film "Bousculades" entitled "The Latest Flashes of Genius of Tunisian Cinema." The film tells the story of how prostitutes in a brothel participated in the country's war of liberation from France.
Sawssen Saya, the film's 26-year-old director, sees the article as a call to action. "The governing party's newspaper denounces a film without having seen it," she says. "Why? So that there will be boycotts in keeping with the motto: Defend yourselves."
At the same time, "Bousculades" received a government grant and has since collected an award at a film festival. This could be a sign of liberalization -- or of what is left of freedom for the arts.
Going 14 Centuries Back in Time
Egyptian President Mohammed Morsi's recent move to grant himself extensive powers has triggered a debate over the true nature of the new Islamic regimes in North Africa. Are the Muslim Brotherhoods in Egypt, Libya and Tunisia totalitarian in disguise, or do they more closely resemble Germany's conservative Christian Social Union (CSU), the Bavarian sister party of Chancellor Angela Merkel's center-right Christian Democratic Union (CDU). In other words, are they radical in terms of their rhetoric and values, but pragmatic when push comes to shove?
Béji Caïd Essebsi is the man who brought the Ennahda leadership back from exile. The former interior minister headed the transitional government after the Jasmine Revolution, and he organized the October 2011 election, which made the Islamists the strongest political force in the country.
Since then, Essebsi has been haunted by the feeling that he made a mistake. "They're like the communists -- they don't want to give up power," he says. "These people don't want a modern Tunisia. They want a traditional society, where religion shapes everyday life, like it was in the 7th century. We differ by 14 centuries."
Essebsi, now 86, is the founder of Nida Tunis ("Tunisia's Call"), a coalition movement intended to bring together opponents of the Islamists while there is still time to act. In his office hangs a portrait of Habib Bourguiba, Tunisia's first president, who is now seen in a different light than he once was. "He modernized Tunisia, gave women equal rights and made attending primary school mandatory," Essebsi says.
Essebsi believes that Salafists and Ennahda are part of the same family. "Rachid Ghannouchi is a Salafist. He doesn't accept that someone doesn't believe in God," Essebsi says.
Nevertheless, he is confident that the Islamists will have to step down again soon. "First, they are incapable of governing," he explains. "Second, thanks to Bourguiba, we have a high level of education. Illiterate people can be manipulated, but not our Tunisians."
The Battle to Keep Universities Secular
Manouba University, with its "Faculty of Arts and Humanities," was one of the flagship projects of the Bourguiba era. The university, located on a campus of concrete buildings far outside the city, is known for its leftist lecturers and critical approach to Islamic theology. It comes as no surprise that Manouba became the site of the Salafists' most vehement attack to date. For several months, they repeatedly occupied campus buildings, locked up the dean and sabotaged teaching at the university. The black flag of the Islamic caliphate was even flown above the university's main gate for a brief period of time.
Dean Habib Kazdaghli received his first name as a sign of appreciation for the "father of independence." The 57-year-old, a specialist in the history of Jews in Tunisia, is an unassuming man who avoids conflict. This makes him suspicious in the eyes of the Salafists.
But the dean only became an object of hate because he believes that "a dean should be able to see the faces of the people in his audience." In November 2011, university administrators decided that the niqab, the full-facial veil that only has slits for the eyes, would not be permitted in lecture halls, although it would be allowed in the library and elsewhere on campus.
"A campaign began right away," says Kazdaghli. "A female student came to a lecture in a niqab and refused to take it off. So the lecturer ended the lecture, and when he left the room, he was greeted by 20 people in Afghan clothing, who shouted at him, saying that he was an atheist, a Freemason and a Zionist. A female professor had a panic attack and fainted."
Similar campaigns were simultaneously underway at other Tunisian universities. The demands were always the same: permitting women to wear the niqab, establishing a prayer room and keeping men and women separate. "We negotiated, for hours and days," Kazdaghli says. "My deputy has been in therapy ever since."
In March, two female students wearing full-body veils went to the dean's office and loudly demanded that they be allowed to attend lectures. A striking video shows one of the women sweeping the papers off Kazdaghli's desk and onto the floor. The dean and two staff members forcibly removed the two furious women, who then sued for assault.
A court decided to hear the case. Since then, every hearing has become an occasion for a showdown between secularists and Islamists. The next hearing is scheduled for Jan. 3, 2013.
Kazdaghli dreads the hearing. "These groups are more determined and violent than I had ever expected," he says. "Many know nothing about religion. They often include petty criminals or losers who have latched onto something. For them, the successful overthrow of the tyrant proves that God is on their side."
And not just God. Kazdaghli feels let down by his superiors. "The interior minister spoke publicly of the Salafists' legitimate demands and blamed me for the crisis," he says. "No wonder they feel completely confident."
Ironically, Mohammed Bakhti, a Salafist leader, was once one of Kazdaghli's students. After his first two semesters, he was suddenly arrested and charged with having obtained explosives for al-Qaida. He was in prison for four years and was released shortly after the revolution. "After the revolution," Kazdaghli says, "I had the young man sitting here on my sofa, as I tried to convince him to continue his studies. But all he did was stare at the ceiling and say: 'God doesn't want that.'"
Bakhti was arrested again in September in conjunction with an attack on the US Embassy in Tunis. He recently died in prison after going on a hunger strike.
Fighting to Protect a Democratic Tradition
There are people in Tunis who say that their country is on its way to becoming a theocracy akin to the one in Iran. But no one seriously expects this to happen because Tunisian civil society is too self-confident -- and because Tunisia has too many people like Maya Jribi.
The biologist and secretary-general of the centrist Republican Party is one of the most popular voices of the opposition. Instead of protesting in the street, she spends most of her time in the old palace of the Ottoman governor, or Bey, which now houses the parliament. The constituent assembly, charged with drafting Tunisia's new constitution, has been meeting there for the last year.
"Ennahda is determined not to give up its power," Jribi says. "It is trying to place its people in key positions. And we are trying to prevent it from doing so. That's democracy."
The Muslim Brotherhood enjoys a plurality in the assembly, but not the absolute majority needed to push through amendments to the constitution. This forces the delegates to compromise in a process that involves grueling discussions over the identity of the new Tunisia. The Ennahda delegates, for example, wanted to see the "equality" between men and women guaranteed in the constitution replaced by "complementarity."
"We have defeated Ennahda on important issues three times," Jribi says. "On the status of women, on the rights of the president and on fending off Sharia. That gives me hope."
At some point after every revolution, a constitution has to take shape. Perhaps the former Bey's palace is the most important battlefield in this process.
Maya Jribi hurries off to an assembly meeting. She was part of the resistance movement against Ben Ali, she took part in the revolution and she is now leading the civil dispute over what the correct constitution should look like. It is quite possible that she will become the first female prime minister of an Arab country one day -- once the current, horrific episode is over.