By V.A. Mohamad Ashrof
Throughout the past two decades, U.S. military interventions in Afghanistan, Iraq, and the ongoing rhetorical positioning regarding Iran have frequently been couched in the rhetoric of promoting women’s rights and improving gender equality. This framing not only seeks to garner domestic and international support but also attempts to legitimise actions that are often driven by broader geopolitical interests. By critically examining these narratives, we can uncover the underlying motives behind American interventions and how the instrumentalisation of women’s rights serves to obscure imperial ambitions (Amnesty International, p.1).
The core of this paper is an inquiry into the ‘Civilising Mission’ of the twenty-first century. It explores how the most intimate aspects of human life – gender roles, family structures, and bodily autonomy – have been transformed into tactical ornaments of the military-industrial complex. We must begin by recognising that the use of women’s rights as a justification for American military interventions warrants rigorous historical scrutiny. The narratives constructed in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Iran are often more reflective of geopolitical interests than genuine concern for women’s well-being. This realisation challenges activists and scholars to reclaim feminist discourse from the clutches of imperialism and develop a more authentic, inclusive approach that respects the autonomy of women globally (Mohanty, p.18).
THE PRETEXT OF RESCUE
The intersection of Western military intervention and the rhetoric of gender liberation is not a modern phenomenon, yet it reached a definitive zenith in the post-9/11 era. To understand these interventions, we must first analyse the concept of ‘Imperial Feminism.’ Unlike the overt territorial acquisitions of the nineteenth century, modern American expansionism is often framed as a mission to export universal values: democracy, free markets, and human rights. Under this framework, the subaltern woman is not merely a victim of local patriarchy but a symbol of the ‘backwardness’ of the target state. Consequently, her liberation became a prerequisite for that state’s entry into the ‘civilised’ global order (Abu-Lughod, p.783).
The theoretical core of this strategy lies in what Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak famously described as ‘white men saving brown women from brown men’ (Spivak, p.92). In the globalised media landscape, this trope transforms complex socio-political conflicts into simplistic morality plays. This framing positions the Western soldier as the ‘liberator’ of the ‘oppressed Eastern woman,’ utilising a form of gendered orientalism to sanitise the realities of imperial expansion. This narrative functions as a ‘humanitarian veneer,’ obscuring the colder calculations of resource security, regional hegemony, and the installation of neoliberal economic structures (Gopal, p.45).
Scholars argue that imperial powers historically deploy gendered narratives to justify domination. This framing frames intervention as a moral obligation whilst obscuring structural violence. The U.S. case exemplifies this pattern. During the War on Terror, the language of women’s rights became central to interventionist discourse. The claim of ‘liberating Afghan women’ served as a key justification for military intervention, embedding gender within geopolitical strategy (Williams, p.1). This instrumentalisation reduces women to symbols rather than agents, transforming their suffering into political capital.
The 2001 invasion of Afghanistan, titled Operation Enduring Freedom, serves as the primary case study for the co-optation of feminist discourse. In the lead-up to the war, organisations such as the Revolutionary Association of the Women of Afghanistan (RAWA) had been pleading for international attention for years. Yet, it was only when their cause became strategically useful for the Bush administration’s counter-terrorism goals that their voices were amplified by the White House. This was not a sudden conversion to feminism by the American executive branch, but rather a tactical deployment of empathy to garner support for a long-term military presence in Central Asia (Kolhatkar, p.41).
Feminist critiques emphasise that militarisation itself is inherently gendered. War disproportionately harms women through displacement, sexual violence, and the collapse of social infrastructure. Thus, the paradox emerges: interventions justified in the name of women’s liberation often exacerbate the very conditions they claim to resolve (Amnesty International, p.1). By focusing on the ‘veil’ or specific cultural practices, the interventionist narrative avoids discussing the structural violence of sanctions, bombings, and the destruction of infrastructure, all of which disproportionately affect women (Abu-Lughod, p.784).
The ‘problem’ of the Taliban, as presented in 2001, was often stripped of its historical context. This simplistic portrayal ignored the complex cultural, political, and historical factors that contributed to the Taliban’s rise – factors that often involved prior Western interventions (Gopal, p.45). The U.S. interest in Afghanistan was far from altruistic. Analysts note that a critical component of the invasion was access to resources and strategic geopolitical positioning. The emphasis on women’s rights served as a veneer over broader imperial objectives.
One of the most striking features of U.S. interventionist discourse is its selective humanitarianism. Human rights concerns are emphasised in some contexts whilst ignored in others, often aligning with strategic interests rather than ethical consistency (Naghibi, p.140). The rhetoric of women’s liberation echoes earlier colonial narratives of the ‘civilising mission.’ In both cases, the West positions itself as the bearer of progress, legitimising intervention in ‘backward’ societies.
This framing not only obscures the agency of local women but also reinforces cultural hierarchies. It reduces complex societies to caricatures, justifying external domination (Said, p.1). Empowered women, in the Western gaze, are often defined by traits of ‘Westernisation’ – dress, participation in a neoliberal market – rather than their own self-determined goals. There is a profound need to challenge the assumption that empowered women only exist with certain Western-aligned traits. In the process of glorification of the public sphere, the private domain often emerged as an oppressed space for women in these narratives, resulting in a gendered binary instead of a gender-neutral evolution (Jayawardena, p.25).
As we move forward into the historical case studies of Afghanistan, Iraq, and Iran, we must maintain this critical reflection on feminist interventions. Feminism has often been co-opted and weaponised in ways that obscure the realities of the very women they purportedly aim to help. Many feminist scholars and activists have critiqued this instrumentalisation, emphasising the need for a more nuanced understanding of women’s lives in differing contexts, arguing against a one-size-fits-all narrative that fails to account for local specifics (Mohanty, p.18).
The argument that the U.S. went to war for women’s rights raises critical questions about the authenticity of these narratives. As scholar Naomi Klein posits, the efforts to promote democratic values often serve as an alibi for economic interests (Klein, p.67). The intended liberation of women became secondary to the interests of corporate America and regional dominance. This structural logic involves several interconnected elements:
- Manufacturing Consent: Framing intervention as a moral duty secures domestic support by appealing to shared values.
- Moral Asymmetry: It delegitimises targeted states by portraying them as violators of universal norms.
- Obscuring Material Interests: It hides the stakes of resource access, military positioning, and regional influence (Chomsky, p.1).
Across the case studies that follow, a recurring pattern emerges: the use of moral language to legitimise interventions that are primarily driven by strategic considerations. This pattern reflects ‘humanitarian imperialism,’ wherein ethical discourse is mobilised to justify actions that serve geopolitical interests. Sustainable progress in gender justice is more likely to emerge from indigenous movements, legal reforms, and social transformations grounded in local contexts rather than externally driven interventions (Mohanty, p.18).
THE AFGHAN MIRAGE
To understand the ‘rescue’ narrative of 2001, one must first dismantle the Western myth that Afghanistan has always been a static, medieval vacuum of gender oppression. Contrary to dominant Western narratives, Afghan women’s struggles did not begin with U.S. intervention. Women in Afghanistan had secured significant rights during earlier periods, including suffrage in 1919 – a year before the 19th Amendment was ratified in the United States – and constitutional protections in 1964 (Williams, p.1). These historical precedents complicate the portrayal of Afghanistan as uniformly oppressive prior to 2001.
In the 1960s and 70s, Kabul was often referred to as the ‘Paris of Central Asia.’ In urban centres, women were prominent in the judiciary, the medical field, and the civil service. They attended universities alongside men and were active participants in the nascent democratic movements of the era. This ‘Golden Era,’ whilst largely confined to the urban middle and upper classes, demonstrated that the capacity for gender-progressive reform was an indigenous Afghan phenomenon, not a foreign import (Jayawardena, p.25).
However, this simplistic portrayal of a ‘modern’ Kabul often ignores the complex cultural, political, and historical factors that contributed to the eventual rise of extremist movements. The disconnect between urban reform and rural traditionalism created a friction that was later exploited by foreign powers. By 2001, the U.S. narrative would ignore this entire century of indigenous progress, framing the ‘liberation’ of Afghan women as a task that only the West could perform (Gopal, p.45).
The historical irony of the 2001 invasion lies in the fact that the very forces that dismantled Afghan women’s rights in the late twentieth century were the primary beneficiaries of American Cold War policy. Throughout the 1980s, the United States, via the CIA’s Operation Cyclone, provided billions of dollars in military aid to the Mujahideen to counter Soviet influence (Mamdani, p.119).
The U.S. chose to fund the most conservative and reactionary factions of the Afghan resistance, such as those led by Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, who was notorious for throwing acid in the faces of women who did not wear the veil. By prioritising the ‘bleeding’ of the Soviet Union over the social stability of the region, the U.S. effectively subsidised the dismantling of the secular infrastructure that had protected women’s rights for decades (Moghadam, p.73).
During this period, the Mujahideen utilised gender as a rallying cry against the ‘godless communists.’ The education of women was framed as an affront to Islam, and schools were frequently targeted. The U.S. administration, far from condemning these actions, hailed the Mujahideen as ‘freedom fighters.’ As Mahmood Mamdani argues, the U.S. helped create the very infrastructure of fundamentalism that it would later claim to dismantle in the name of women’s liberation (Mamdani, p.119). This strategic amnesia is the cornerstone of imperial feminism: the arsonist returns decades later dressed as a firefighter.
The withdrawal of Soviet forces in 1989 did not lead to peace, but to a brutal civil war amongst the U.S.-backed Mujahideen factions. It was during this era of lawlessness – characterised by widespread rape, kidnapping, and the total collapse of the urban professional class – that the status of Afghan women reached its nadir. The Taliban emerged in 1994 as a ‘cleansing’ force, promising to restore order and ‘protect’ women by secluding them entirely from public life (Gopal, p.45).
The Taliban’s governance from 1996 to 2001 resulted in severe restrictions on women’s rights. Women were barred from education, employment, and public life. However, the Western narrative often paints a monolithic image of this oppression without acknowledging that the Taliban’s rise was made possible by the vacuum left by the collapse of the secular state – a collapse facilitated by foreign intervention (Naghibi, p.140).
Throughout the 1990s, whilst the Taliban were imposing their draconian edicts, the U.S. remained largely indifferent, even engaging in negotiations with the regime regarding oil and gas pipelines. It was only after the events of September 11, 2001, that the ‘plight of Afghan women’ was suddenly elevated to a national security priority. This shift demonstrates that the concern for women was not foundational, but instrumental – a moral lubricant for the transition from Cold War proxy warfare to the War on Terror (Abu-Lughod, p.783).
When the Bush administration launched Operation Enduring Freedom, the narrative shifted from counter-terrorism to a ‘war of liberation.’ The rhetoric was carefully crafted to mobilise the support of Western feminist movements. First Lady Laura Bush’s 2001 radio address famously declared, ‘The fight against terrorism is also a fight for the rights and dignity of women’. This framing served a dual purpose: it galvanised a domestic American public and provided a moral high ground that silenced anti-war critics. If one opposed the war, one was framed as opposing the liberation of women. This ‘colonial feminism’ served as a veneer over broader imperial objectives, such as access to resources and strategic geopolitical positioning in Central Asia (Gopal, p.45).
The media’s sudden obsession with the ‘burqa’ served as a visual shorthand for Afghan ‘backwardness,’ successfully masking the geopolitical desire for a permanent military presence. The Afghan woman was portrayed as a passive victim in need of a Western saviour, an image that erased her history of indigenous activism and political agency. As Lila Abu-Lughod notes, the focus on ‘saving’ Muslim women creates a ‘reductive sense of justice’ that ignores the historical and economic conditions that contribute to gender inequality – conditions that the U.S. itself helped create during the previous two decades (Abu-Lughod, p.784).
THE MATERIAL REALITIES OF THE 20-YEAR OCCUPATION
The 2004 Constitution of Afghanistan was hailed as a milestone, formally guaranteeing equal rights and reserving a 25% quota for women in the lower house of parliament. Women were appointed to ministerial positions and provincial governorships, creating a new class of female political elites. However, a critical historical evaluation reveals that these gains were often top-heavy and unsustainable. As scholar Haifa Zangana points out in the context of Iraq – a critique equally applicable to Afghanistan – a quota in parliament is a decorative metric if the political system is so fractured by corruption and foreign dependency that women’s issues are traded for political favours by male-dominated power structures (Zangana, p.112).
This urban-centric progress created a ‘showcase’ version of feminism that was highly legible to Western donors but disconnected from the broader social fabric of the country. The ‘liberated Afghan woman’ became a standardised image used to justify continued military appropriations in Washington, even as the structural foundations of that liberation remained precarious (Stabile, p.768).
A critical component of the American intervention was the influx of thousands of Western-funded Non-Governmental Organisations (NGOs). Whilst many of these organisations provided essential services, they also facilitated what scholars call the ‘NGO-isation’ of feminism. This process transformed radical, indigenous social movements into professionalised, donor-driven service providers. Instead of advocating for systemic land reform or the dismantling of the patriarchal war economy, women were funnelled into ‘leadership training’ workshops and ‘micro-finance’ schemes (Mohanty, p.102).
This model of empowerment was inherently neoliberal. It equated freedom with the right to participate in a volatile market economy, ignoring the fact that the occupation’s focus on privatisation often destroyed the very social safety nets – healthcare, subsidised bread, and public employment – that women relied on for survival. As Naomi Klein posits, the efforts to promote democratic values often serve as an alibi for economic interests (Klein, p.67). In Afghanistan, the ‘rights’ offered to women were often decoupled from the material security required to exercise them.
Furthermore, the reliance on foreign funding meant that Afghan women’s organisations had to tailor their agendas to the fluctuating priorities of Washington and Brussels. When the strategic interest shifted towards counter-insurgency, the ‘gender projects’ were the first to be downsized or securitised. This created a class of ‘NGO-preneurs’ who were fluent in the language of international development but were increasingly viewed with suspicion by their own communities as agents of a foreign cultural agenda (Abu-Lughod, p.789).
The militarisation of rural Afghanistan effectively negated any rhetorical gains in women’s rights. As Anand Gopal documents, rural women often viewed the U.S.-backed government as a source of corruption and violence, frequently preferring the harsh but predictable ‘justice’ of the Taliban to the predatory behaviour of local police and militias funded by the occupation (Gopal, p.45). In many provinces, the security situation was so dire that women were forced back into seclusion not by religious edict, but by the sheer necessity of avoiding the crossfire of a twenty-year insurgency.
The discourse of ‘saving’ Afghan women relied on a profound erasure of local agency. By framing the Afghan woman as a monolithic, passive victim, the interventionist narrative denied her the capacity to be a subject of her own history. This colonial gaze transformed the complex, diverse identities of Afghan women into a singular trope that served the needs of the metropole.
Lila Abu-Lughod argues that this focus on ‘saving’ Muslim women creates a ‘reductive sense of justice’ (Abu-Lughod, p.784). It suggests that freedom is something that can be delivered on the tip of a bayonet, rather than something that must be won through internal social evolution and political struggle. By positioning the Western military as the only force capable of granting rights, the intervention undermined the legitimacy of indigenous feminist activists who were trying to negotiate power within their own cultural and religious frameworks.
When Western states instrumentalise these struggles, they often put local activists at greater risk. In Afghanistan, the association of women’s rights with a foreign military occupation allowed the Taliban to frame gender equality as a ‘foreign plot’ to undermine Afghan culture and Islam. This effectively sabotaged the progress that might have been made through organic, sovereign social movements, leaving women vulnerable to a violent backlash once the foreign forces inevitably withdrew.
Ultimately, women’s rights in Afghanistan were treated as a tactical ornament rather than a foundational priority. When the strategic utility of the mission began to wane during the Trump and Biden administrations, the ‘commitment’ to Afghan women was the first casualty of the peace negotiations. The 2020 Doha Agreement, negotiated between the U.S. and the Taliban, notably excluded Afghan women and the Afghan government entirely (Power, p.1).
This transition from ‘liberation’ to ‘withdrawal’ exposed the hollowness of the original justification. Rights that are granted by an external military force are contingent upon that force’s continued interest. When the strategic landscape changed, the ‘moral imperative’ vanished. The 2021 collapse of the U.S.-backed government and the subsequent return of the Taliban demonstrated that twenty years of ‘saving women’ had failed to build any durable, sovereign infrastructure for gender justice. The women were left to navigate the wreckage of a society shattered in their name.
THE CASE OF IRAQ – THE DESTRUCTION OF A SECULAR STATE
The 2003 invasion of Iraq introduced another profound instance where women’s rights were invoked to justify military action. Whilst the primary pretexts for the war – the elimination of weapons of mass destruction and the alleged link between Saddam Hussein and Al-Qaeda – eventually crumbled under the weight of empirical evidence, the humanitarian narrative remained as a fall-back. This strategy has been termed the ‘feminisation of war,’ a process by which military aggression is rebranded as an act of chivalry and rescue (Al-Ali, p.122).
In the lead-up to the invasion, the Office of Global Women’s Issues at the State Department began a concerted effort to highlight the brutality of the Ba’athist regime towards women. Stories of ‘rape rooms’ and state-sanctioned torture were disseminated to create a moral imperative for regime change. As Naomi Klein posits, the promotion of democratic and gender-progressive values often serves as an alibi for broader economic and strategic interests (Klein, p.67). By framing the invasion as a mission to liberate Iraqi women, the U.S. administration sought to soften the image of a unilateral ‘war of choice’ and manufacture a consensus amongst a sceptical international public.
To critically evaluate the impact of the U.S. intervention, one must acknowledge the complex starting point of Iraqi women’s rights. Before the 1990-91 Gulf War and the subsequent decade of sanctions, Iraq possessed one of the most advanced educational and healthcare systems in the Middle East, with women participating heavily in the labour force (Al-Ali, p.122). Under the 1959 Personal Status Law – one of the most progressive in the Arab world – Iraqi women enjoyed significant legal protections regarding marriage, divorce, and inheritance.
The Ba’athist regime, whilst undeniably authoritarian and repressive of political dissent, was fundamentally secular. Women were encouraged to enter the professional workforce as doctors, engineers, and civil servants to fuel the nation’s modernisation. However, the U.S.-led sanctions of the 1990s decimated the middle class, forcing many women back into the home as the social safety net evaporated. By the time of the 2003 invasion, the ‘problems’ Iraqi women faced were not merely products of indigenous culture, but were significantly exacerbated by prior decades of American-led economic warfare (Al-Ali, p.122).
Post-invasion, many Iraqi women experienced a brief period of heightened visibility. Western media often highlighted the ‘purple fingers’ of women voting and their participation in the new Governing Council. Reports indicated that women’s participation in socio-political spheres increased, and Western-funded NGOs surged into the country to provide ’empowerment’ workshops (Amnesty International, p.1).
However, this visibility was a fragile superstructure built atop a collapsing state. The U.S.-led Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA) made the fateful decision to dissolve the Iraqi military and civil service – a process known as de-Ba’athification. This dismantled the secular state infrastructure that had historically protected women’s professional status and physical safety. As the state collapsed, a power vacuum emerged, filled by sectarian militias and extremist groups who viewed the U.S.-backed ‘women’s empowerment’ agenda as a foreign imposition and an affront to religious tradition (Zangana, p.108).
One of the direst consequences of the U.S. intervention was the institutionalisation of sectarianism. To manage the chaos of the occupation, the U.S. empowered conservative religious parties that had been in exile. In the negotiation of the 2005 Constitution, women’s rights became a negotiable currency. To secure the political cooperation of powerful Shia and Sunni clerical elites, American administrators allowed for the inclusion of Article 2, which stated that no law could contradict the ‘established provisions of Islam’ (Al-Ali 145).
This was a catastrophic regression for gender justice. It effectively opened the door for religious authorities to replace the secular 1959 Personal Status Law with sectarian codes. Women’s rights activists in Iraq fought a desperate rear-guard action against Article 137, which sought to put family law under the jurisdiction of religious courts. The paradox was clear: the ‘liberators’ who claimed to bring freedom were responsible for creating a political system that systematically eroded the legal foundations of women’s autonomy (Al-Ali, p.145).
The destabilisation of Iraq under U.S. occupation had catastrophic effects on the daily safety of women. Violence against women surged as state security was replaced by militia-led ‘morality’ policing. Women were targeted for their dress, their jobs, and their participation in public life. Kidnappings and sexual violence became endemic, forcing many women to abandon their educations and careers simply to survive (Zangana, p.108).
The case of Iraq demonstrates that the U.S. did not go to war for women’s rights; rather, it used women’s rights as an alibi for economic interests and regional dominance. The intended liberation of women became secondary to the interests of corporate America and the strategic goal of establishing a pro-Western foothold in the heart of the Middle East (Klein, p.67).
By critically examining these narratives, we uncover the underlying motives behind American interventions and how the instrumentalisation of women’s rights serves to obscure imperial ambitions. The reality for Iraqi women in the decades following 2003 – defined by the rise of ISIS, the persistence of sectarian law, and the loss of secular safety – stands as a rigorous historical rebuttal to the narrative of benevolent intervention. Liberation cannot be delivered via the destruction of a state, and rights cannot be sustained through the empowerment of religious fundamentalism (Chomsky, p.1).
THE IRANIAN CONTEXT – HISTORICAL OPPRESSION AND THE COLONIAL GAZE
In recent years, the burgeoning tensions between Washington and Tehran have once again brought women’s rights to the forefront of American foreign policy discourse. As the ‘War on Terror’ narratives of Afghanistan and Iraq have lost their domestic lustre, the Iranian context has emerged as a new frontier for the instrumentalisation of gendered rhetoric. U.S. narratives frequently depict Iranian women as monolithic, oppressed victims of a uniquely repressive regime, suggesting that external pressure – or even intervention – could be the only pathway to their liberation. Some supporters of the US-Israeli war on Iran are using the treatment of women in the country as a justification for bombing a sovereign nation called Iran.
This framing serves a specific geopolitical function: it moralises the ‘maximum pressure’ campaign of economic sanctions and diplomatic isolation. By positioning the United States as the champion of Iranian women, policymakers can frame their adversarial stance not as a contest for regional hegemony or control over the Strait of Hormuz, but as a crusade for universal human rights. However, a critical historical evaluation reveals that this selective advocacy ignores the agency of Iranian women and the devastating material impact that American policies have on their daily lives (Parsi, p.210).
To understand why American claims of ‘liberating’ Iranian women are met with deep scepticism within Iran, one must look back to the CIA-orchestrated coup of 1953. The overthrow of the democratically elected Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadegh, who sought to nationalise Iran’s oil, and the subsequent restoration of the autocratic Shah, established a precedent of American intervention that prioritised resource control over democratic self-determination.
Under the Shah’s ‘White Revolution,’ Iran underwent a period of rapid, state-sponsored Westernisation. Whilst certain legal rights were granted to women, such as suffrage and the Family Protection Law, these reforms were often enforced from the top down and were inextricably linked to a repressive, pro-Western monarchy. For many Iranians, the ‘liberation’ of women became synonymous with the erasure of national sovereignty and the imposition of a foreign cultural model. This historical trauma informs the current political landscape, where the Iranian state frequently labels indigenous feminist activism as a ‘Western plot’ – a rhetorical weapon made possible by the history of American imperial overreach.
The 1979 Revolution was a multifaceted movement that included secular feminists, Marxists, and religious conservatives, all united against the Shah’s autocracy. However, the subsequent consolidation of power by the clerical establishment led to a significant rollback of women’s rights. The mandatory hijab laws, the suspension of the Family Protection Law, and the exclusion of women from the judiciary were profound setbacks (Moghadam, p.142).
Whilst the post-revolutionary state has indeed restricted women’s rights, the Western narrative often fails to acknowledge the incredible resilience and agency of Iranian women within this system. Despite legal barriers, Iranian women have achieved high levels of literacy and university enrolment, often outnumbering men in STEM fields. The struggle for rights in Iran is an indigenous, ongoing process led by women who have spent decades navigating the complexities of their own political landscape. When Western narratives paint them purely as victims, they erase this history of sophisticated, internal resistance (Abu-Lughod, p.789).
As scholar Nima Naghibi argues, the framing of Iranian women’s experiences in Western media often reflects an ‘imperial gaze’ that simplifies complex social realities. This gaze focuses obsessively on the veil – specifically the black chador – as the ultimate symbol of oppression, whilst ignoring the structural economic and political issues that Iranian women prioritise (Naghibi, p.140).
The advocacy for women’s rights, in this context, can serve as a form of ‘cultural imperialism.’ By defining ‘liberation’ exclusively through Western lenses of secularism and dress, the U.S. narrative delegitimises indigenous forms of Islamic feminism and local activism. This selective focus allows Western observers to feel a sense of moral superiority whilst ignoring the ways in which their own governments’ policies – such as the ‘Maximum Pressure’ sanctions – actively undermine the material security of the very women they claim to support (Mohanty, p.18).
The most significant contradiction in the American narrative regarding Iran is the impact of economic sanctions. Whilst Washington claims to stand in solidarity with Iranian women, its ‘maximum pressure’ campaign has had catastrophic effects on the Iranian middle class, where the heart of the women’s rights movement resides. Sanctions are never gender-neutral; they disproportionately harm the female labour force.
As Valentine Moghadam notes, the resulting inflation and economic contraction lead to higher unemployment for women and the degradation of the healthcare system, specifically affecting maternal and reproductive health (Moghadam, p.142). When medicine for breast cancer or basic prenatal care becomes unavailable due to banking restrictions, it is a form of gendered violence perpetrated by the state that claims to be a liberator. The Iranian woman’s body becomes a symbolic battlefield for the U.S. to assert moral authority, even as American policy chokes the material resources necessary for her survival (Parsi, p.210).
True solidarity with Iranian women requires a fundamental rejection of the ‘rescue’ narrative. It requires listening to local voices who insist that their struggle is for internal reform and national sovereignty, not for foreign military intervention or economic strangulation. As long as women’s rights are used as a condition for diplomacy with Iran – but not with American allies who have equally repressive gender laws – the U.S. narrative will remain intellectually and morally bankrupt (Abu-Lughod, p.789). The liberation of Iranian women cannot be delivered by the same powers that have a long history of undermining Iranian self-determination; it can only be won by the Iranian people themselves, in the absence of imperial coercion.
CRITICAL REFLECTIONS – CO-OPTATION AND THE WEAPONISATION OF GENDER
At the heart of these interventions lies a pedagogical and psychological framework often described as the ‘white saviour’ complex. As articulated by scholars following the tradition of Gayatri Spivak, this narrative is built on the premise of ‘white men saving brown women from brown men.’ In the context of Afghanistan, Iraq, and Iran, this trope has been modernised to fit a neoliberal global order. It positions the Western interventionist as the enlightened bearer of progress and the non-Western man as the inherently barbaric oppressor (Spivak, p.271).
This binary construction does double violence: it erases the history of indigenous men who have fought for gender justice and, more importantly, it denies agency to the women themselves. By casting Afghan or Iraqi women as passive objects awaiting rescue, the ‘saving’ narrative reinforces colonial hierarchies. It suggests that liberation is not something women can achieve through their own political struggle, but something that must be ‘granted’ or ‘delivered’ by a superior external power. This paternalism is a form of ‘epistemic violence’ that devalues the lived experiences and local strategies of women in the Global South (Abu-Lughod, p.783).
Many feminist scholars and activists have offered a scathing critique of this instrumentalisation. Chandra Talpade Mohanty, in her foundational work Feminism Without Borders, emphasises the need for a more nuanced understanding of women’s lives in differing contexts. She argues against a ‘one-size-fits-all’ narrative of Western feminism that fails to account for local specifics, class dynamics, and the legacies of colonialism (Mohanty, p.18).
Mohanty’s critique is essential for understanding why American interventions often fail the very women they claim to protect. When Western feminism is used as a template for intervention, it often prioritises symbolic victories – such as the right to wear Western clothing or participate in a foreign-style parliament – over the structural needs for economic sovereignty and physical security. A genuinely emancipatory feminism must be ‘decolonial’ and ‘transnational,’ seeking solidarity through horizontal partnerships rather than imperial hierarchies. It must recognise that the primary threat to many women in the Global South is not ‘culture’ or ‘religion,’ but the global economic and military structures that maintain their poverty and insecurity (Mohanty, p.18).
In light of these criticisms, the question arises: how can international engagement be conducted with genuine concern for women’s rights? The answer lies in reframing interventions in ways that do not assume Western superiority. An ethical approach to gender justice must prioritise local voices and foster genuine partnerships with grassroots organisations that are already embedded in their communities.
Key principles for reclaiming feminist discourse from the clutches of imperialism include:
- Respect for Sovereignty: Recognising that sustainable change must come from within a society, not be imposed by foreign military force.
- Prioritising Material Security: Acknowledging that rights are meaningless without the material foundations of peace, food security, and healthcare.
- Challenging Selective Humanitarianism: Demanding that women’s rights be upheld consistently, including in states that are allied with the West.
- Decoupling Gender from Militarism: Rejecting the idea that the ‘woman question’ can ever be solved by the destruction of a state or the implementation of economic warfare (Abu-Lughod, p.789).
A more recent development in the political economy of the Afghan intervention involves the discovery of vast untapped mineral deposits, including lithium, copper, and rare earth elements – essential components for the ‘green energy’ transition. By the mid-2010s, the U.S. Geological Survey estimated these resources to be worth over one trillion dollars.
The rhetoric of ‘not abandoning Afghan women’ was frequently used by political hawks to argue against withdrawal, but critics point out that the desire to maintain a presence was equally tied to ensuring these minerals did not fall under Chinese or Russian influence. Here, the ‘feminist’ argument was weaponised to sustain a military-industrial presence that facilitated corporate prospecting. The tragedy of this ‘resource curse’ is that the wealth generated by such extraction rarely reaches the women of the region; instead, it fuels the very corruption and warlordism that U.S. interventions purportedly aim to dismantle (Gopal, p.45).
The fundamental lesson of the past two decades is that war cannot be a feminist tool. Militarisation disrupts the very social fabric – schools, hospitals, family networks – that women rely on. An ethical, humanistic approach to women’s rights must prioritise de-militarisation and diplomacy. It must recognise that the most effective way to support women’s rights globally is to foster an international environment of peace, economic sovereignty, and respect for international law.
As scholars of decolonial feminism argue, we must ‘reclaim feminist discourse from the clutches of imperialism’ (Mohanty, p.18). This means developing an authentic, inclusive approach that respects the autonomy of women globally and rejects the use of their rights as a ‘pretext’ for war. The path to gender justice lies not in the ‘civilising mission’ of great powers, but in the radical solidarity of transnational movements that target the root causes of both local patriarchy and global empire.
The history of these interventions is a history of destabilisation, legal regression, and systemic trauma. It challenges us to develop a more authentic, inclusive approach that respects the autonomy of women globally and recognises that genuine liberation must be a sovereign, indigenous process. The ‘hollowness’ of the justification is found in the ruins left behind once the ‘liberators’ withdraw, leaving the women to navigate the wreckage of a society shattered in their name (Chomsky, p.1).
RECLAIMING THE DIVINE MANDATE FOR WOMAN
If the “Civilizing Mission” of the West is built upon the erasure of local agency, the path to genuine liberation lies in reclaiming the theological and ontological frameworks inherent to the culture being “rescued.” Central to this reclamation is the concept of Khilafat (stewardship or vicegerency), which serves as the cornerstone of the human mission as defined in the Quran (Q.2:30). In the Quranic worldview, the designation of a Khalifa (steward) was never gendered; it was a divine appointment bestowed upon the entire human species. This mission necessitates the full exercise of spiritual equality and moral agency by both men and women.
The Quran provides a radical, egalitarian framework that contradicts the “backwardness” narrative utilized by Western interventionists. When we look at the divine text devoid of colonial or patriarchal filters, we find an expansive list of rights endowed to women that predate Western feminist milestones by centuries. These include:
• Spiritual and Ontological Equality: The right to spiritual equality (3:195, 33:35) and the right to paradise based on moral agency (4:124, 40:40).
• Legal and Financial Autonomy: The right to own property and maintain financial independence (4:7, 4:32), the right to inheritance (4:11-12), and the right to legal personhood and to witness in legal matters (2:282, 24:6-9).
• Socio-Political Agency: The right to education (96:1-5), the right to political participation and leadership—modelled by the Queen of Sheba (27:23-44)—and the right to voice opinions and engage in intellectual debate (58:1).
• Bodily and Marital Autonomy: The right to consent in marriage and choose a spouse (4:19, 2:232), the right to sexual fulfilment and agency (2:187, 2:223), the right to seek divorce from abusive husbands (4:128-129), and the right to protection from domestic violence (4:19).
• Intellectual Authority: The right to interpret religious texts and the mandate to reclaim “Quranic Feminism” (4:1), effectively challenging cultural patriarchy (81:8-9) and rejecting “Qiwamah” as a tool for male dominance (4:34).
When women are denied political participation, leadership, or the right to interpret religious texts, the human mission of Khilafat is fundamentally compromised. True stewardship requires the collective intellectual and spiritual contributions of all humanity. Therefore, the responsibilities of maintaining justice and challenging oppression are not merely “women’s rights” in the Western liberal sense; they are essential components of a divine commission that women are duty-bound to uphold.
The contemporary reality—where certain Islamic groups, such as those adhering to Wahhabist ideologies, appear regressive—is often weaponized by U.S. foreign policy to justify intervention. However, a rigorous analysis reveals that this backwardness is not inherent to the Islamic faith, but is the result of powerful external factors and political manipulation. Many restrictions observed today are remnants of pre-Islamic Jahiliyyah (ignorance) or regional tribal codes. For example, the suppression of travel or the right to consent in marriage often stems from tribal notions of “honour” and patriarchal control rather than theology. These cultures have effectively cloaked local customs in religious terminology to maintain a male-dominated status quo.
Groups like the Wahhabis often adopt a rigid, ahistorical literalism that ignores the Maqasid (higher objectives) of Sharia. By focusing on a narrow reading of Qiwamah as “dominance” rather than “supportive guardianship,” they negate the overarching Quranic command for mutual protection (9:71). This interpretive lens prioritizes social control over the liberation intended by revelation. In many societies, the denial of education is a political tool used to sustain authoritarian structures; by preventing half the population from realizing their moral agency, these systems thwart the intellectual awakening required to challenge unjust leadership.
Furthermore, this regression is fuelled by the systematic erasure of historical female figures who embodied non-stereotypical roles, such as Maryam (as a spiritual model) or the Queen of Sheba (as a political model). When societies ignore these Quranic archetypes, they fall back into patriarchal patterns that are external to the divine text.
In conclusion, the Quranic framework offers a sovereign path to gender justice that does not require a Western “liberator.” The failure to realize these rights is a sociological and political failure—a result of cultural baggage and patriarchal misinterpretations—rather than an inherent flaw in Islam. Reclaiming these rights through the mandate of Khilafat is not just a matter of justice for women; it is a prerequisite for fulfilling the collective human mission. By recognizing this indigenous framework, we undermine the “rescue” narrative of imperial feminism and return the power of liberation to the women themselves.
Bibliography
Abu-Lughod, Lila. “Do Muslim Women Really Need Saving? Anthropological Reflections on Cultural Relativism and Its Others.” American Anthropologist, vol. 104, no. 3, 2002, pp. 783–790.
Al-Ali, Nadje, and Nicola Pratt. What Kind of Liberation? Women and the Occupation of Iraq. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009.
Amnesty International. “Iraq: The Forgotten Breadwinners: Women in Iraq’s Economic Crisis.” London: Amnesty International, 2011.
Bush, George W. “Remarks by the President on the War Against Terrorism and the Liberation of Women.” Washington, DC: The White House Archives, 12 Mar. 2004.
Bush, Laura. “Radio Address to the Nation.” Washington, DC: The White House, 17 Nov. 2001.
Chomsky, Noam. Failed States: The Abuse of Power and the Assault on Democracy. New York: Metropolitan Books, 2006.
Gopal, Anand. No Good Men Among the Living: America, the Taliban, and the War through Afghan Eyes. New York: Metropolitan Books, 2014.
Jayawardena, Kumari. Feminism and Nationalism in the Third World. London: Verso, 2016.
Klein, Naomi. The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism. New York: Knopf, 2007.
Kolhatkar, Sonali. “The Impact of U.S. Intervention on Afghan Women’s Rights.” Berkeley Journal of Gender, Law & Justice, vol. 17, no. 1, 2002, pp. 41–55.
Mamdani, Mahmood. Good Muslim, Bad Muslim: America, the Cold War, and the Roots of Terror. New York: Pantheon Books, 2004.
Moghadam, Valentine M. Modernizing Women: Gender and Social Change in the Middle East. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2003.
Mohanty, Chandra Talpade. Feminism Without Borders: Decolonizing Theory, Practicing Solidarity. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2003.
Parsi, Trita. Losing an Enemy: Obama, Iran, and the Triumph of Diplomacy. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2017.
Power, Samantha. The Education of an Idealist: A Memoir. New York: Dey Street Books, 2019.
Said, Edward W. Orientalism. New York: Pantheon Books, 1978.
Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. “Can the Subaltern Speak?” In Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture, edited by Cary Nelson and Lawrence Grossberg, Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1988, pp. 271–313.
Stabile, Carol A., and Deepa Kumar. “Unveiling Imperialism: Media, Gender and the War on Afghanistan.” Media, Culture & Society, vol. 27, no. 5, 2005, pp. 765–782.
Williams, Giselle. “Liberation Through Imperialism: How the U.S. Weaponizes Women’s Rights as a Pretext for Military Intervention.” Columbia Political Review, 2021.
Zangana, Haifa. City of Widows: An Iraqi Woman’s Account of War and Resistance. New York: Seven Stories Press, 2007.
V.A. Mohamad Ashrof is an independent Indian scholar specializing in Islamic humanism. With a deep commitment to advancing Quranic hermeneutics that prioritize human well-being, peace, and progress, his work aims to foster a just society, encourage critical thinking, and promote inclusive discourse and peaceful coexistence.
6 April 2026
Source: countercurrents.org
