In many societies, women are often given limited space in mosques, and Indonesia is no exception. While mosques are described as places of worship for all Muslims, in practice they often function primarily as spaces for men. Although women make up half of the population, the space allocated to them in mosques rarely reflects their presence.
In most mosques I have visited, including prayer rooms in offices and public spaces, women are provided with much smaller areas to pray than men. The obligation of Friday prayer for men cannot be used to justify this discrepancy, particularly since Friday prayers take place only once a week and women are also encouraged, though not obliged, to participate. Furthermore, the same unequal arrangements can be found in prayer rooms located in public places such as train stations, campuses, and office buildings. In some societies, women are even prohibited from attending mosques altogether, rendering these spaces almost exclusively male domains.
This issue matters because what is often seen as personal, trivial, or unrelated to women’s public lives is, in fact, deeply entangled with broader structures of power and governance. As feminist scholar Cynthia Enloe (2014) reminds us, “the personal is political.” By paying attention to women’s everyday experiences, often dismissed as apolitical, we begin to uncover how political decisions and power relations are shaped by private norms and social practices. Asking “Where are the women?”, as Enloe suggests, is not merely a question about participation but a methodological tool that reveals exclusion, exposes hierarchies, and challenges dominant narratives.
The beliefs, norms, and practices that regulate private and domestic life inevitably shape arrangements in the public sphere. The marginalization of women in mosques reflects and reinforces broader patterns of exclusion in political, social, and professional spaces. When women are discouraged or limited in their participation in religious gatherings, this absence becomes normalized and reproduced in other arenas of public life. Symbolic and material exclusions in sacred spaces thus contribute to the legitimization of unequal access to power, decision-making, and representation elsewhere.
Mosques, and religious institutions more broadly, play a crucial role in building inclusive communities where everyone, regardless of gender, has equal access and opportunity, and where their presence is not merely tolerated but truly welcomed. One concrete step toward inclusivity is ensuring women’s involvement in mosque governance. In Indonesia, mosque councils (Dewan Masjid) are overwhelmingly male-dominated. Increasing women’s representation in these bodies is essential for shifting institutional cultures and responding to women’s practical needs. For example, women are more likely to attend mosques with children, older relatives, or persons with disabilities. This requires inclusive infrastructure, such as accessible toilets, breastfeeding-friendly spaces, and changing tables. Inclusivity should also involve men: providing changing tables in men’s restrooms, for instance, can encourage greater paternal involvement and shared caregiving responsibilities.
Another key element is promoting a more inclusive understanding and practice of religion. Last Ramadhan, I prayed at Istiqlal Mosque and was struck by the equal space provided for men and women, who prayed side by side in a shared, dignified setting. Before the prayer, a female ustadzah recited the Qur’an in front of the congregation, a practice that is still rare in many mosques. These may appear as small gestures, but they are far from trivial. Everyday practices that seem minor can either reinforce patriarchal norms or cultivate a culture of inclusivity. Sacred spaces shape values. Ensuring women’s full presence and participation in mosques can help foster an inclusive ethos that extends beyond religious settings.
In the time of the Prophet Muhammad, mosques were simple structures, yet women were deeply engaged in worship and public discussion. Anas ibn Malik reported: “The Messenger of Allah entered the mosque and found a rope tied between two columns. He said, ‘What is this?’ They said, ‘It belongs to Zaynab. When she becomes tired while praying, she holds on to it.’” (Al-Bukhari). The Prophet accommodated women’s presence, designating a separate entrance for them, shortening prayers out of concern for mothers with crying infants, and even praying while holding a baby girl. As Laila Ahmed notes, the mosque during the Prophet’s era was not only a place of prayer but also a site of communal discourse in which women actively participated. In contrast, today’s mosques are often reduced to prayer spaces alone, and by limiting women’s presence there, we risk further excluding them from broader public life.
Reclaiming space in the mosque is not merely about physical room. It is a call for recognition, representation, and rights. Ensuring equal access to sacred spaces is both a religious and a political act, an essential step toward gender justice and empowerment. Creating inclusive mosques today is part of a wider movement to build a society where gender equality is not exceptional, but fundamental.
Editor: Abdul Khalik
