In March, I wrote a post in honor of Gloria Steinem’s birthday, in which I mentioned that when Steinem spoke at my college graduation way back in the 1980s, my friends and I had wished for a speaker who was more “relevant.” In our innocence, we believed that Steinem had won her fight; we were graduating from a women’s college and thought that fight for gender equality had been more or less won.
More than two decades later, I wish I could say that Steinem was irrelevant and that gender inequality is something we only read about in the history books.
When I wrote that post about Steinem, I was thinking about the Common Core curriculum, which relegates women’s contributions to history to the sidelines. Now, of course, we are all confronted with the horror that’s unfolding in Nigeria, and while the plight of those schoolgirls devastates me, it has become, in my mind, another instance in a long list of the ways in which groups (comprised mostly of men) attempt to score political points by seizing control of women’s lives. As an example, think about the Tea Party conservatives in the US, who prove their conservative bona fides in the United States by voting against support for Planned Parenthood, or Head Start, or universal kindergarten, or…
What is so scary about educating a girl? In the middle ages, accusations of witchcraft were often leveled against women who had amassed too much wealth or land, or who in some way differed from those around them. We teach our children that things like the Salem witch trials happened because “people didn’t know better” or because of “mass hysteria” but sometimes I wonder how far we have progressed since those days. What happens to women who challenge the status quo–or who have the potential to challenge the status quo? Don’t they still run the risk of being punished, whether literally or figuratively?
It’s funny to me now, but when I first moved to Abu Dhabi the two most obvious indications that we’d left Manhattan behind—besides the searing heat—were the adhan and the abaya-clad women: religion and covered bodies. I found the abayas more unsettling than the call to prayer, even as I sometimes envied the women their public invisibility. The longer we live here, however, my perceptions have changed so that I no longer see hijab as an automatic symbol of oppression or subjugation or second-class citizenry.
I would imagine, however, that as women here, we’ve all had moments where we’ve felt marginalized, silenced, lesser: the day I trotted down the sidewalk to get in a waiting cab and the cab driver chastised me by saying “women should not run, madam, I will wait, and you should walk.” Or when a guard at the border crossing into Oman looked over at the passenger seat where I was sitting (in long trousers) with one foot propped on the dashboard and told me “to put my foot down, sit like a lady, more properly, sit properly.” When that happened my first impulse was to laugh: surely he couldn’t be serious? But, of course, he was serious. I put both feet on the floor and looked at the map so that I didn’t toss out a few well-chosen swear words. (A general rule regardless of where you are: don’t swear at anyone, male or female, who is wearing a uniform at a border crossing.)
So yes, in that instance, I was silenced as I suppose I was by the cab driver too, who took it upon himself to offer some unsolicited advice. And yes, there is now a slight internal pause before I leave the house as I run through a kind of inner checklist about what I’m wearing: if short sleeves, a long skirt or pants, or vice versa (long sleeves, shorter skirt or shorts); do I have a shawl (equally for frigid air conditioning and bare shoulders); if I’m going to the beach, I make sure that my beach cover-up is more than a ratty t-shirt. There are days where I know I’ve failed the checklist and am too busy or late to care, but overall, I dress more modestly now than I used to and probably that’s not a bad idea: no one needs to see a fifty-year-old woman slopping down the street in cut-off shorts and a tank top.
Am I being repressed, or respectful? Does my feminism mean that I yell at the cabbie, keep my foot defiantly on the dashboard, saunter down the street in a halter top and tight jeans? Or, alternatively, does feminist politics remind us that silencing and the policing of women’s bodies happens—sadly—in almost every culture in the world, including the US? Without making light of the specifics of being female in this region, I’ve come to think of the issues facing women in this part of the world as being differences in degree, not kind, from the problems facing women in other parts of the world.
What do we, as women, do to help other women and girls find their voices–find our own? How do we create strength to silence those who would silence us?
This is an original post to World Moms Blog by Deborah Quinn in the United Arab Emirates of “Mannahattamamma.”
I’ve never considered myself to be a “feminist”. All I wanted to be when I grew up was a wife and mother! Having said that, I agree with everything you wrote in this post. Moreover (now that I am the proud mother of a brilliant and talented 18 year old daughter) I want to ensure that SHE doesn’t get treated like a second-class citizen! So far, the only thing I have been able to do has been to keep reminding her of her talents, and counteracting the negativity she encounters with all the love and support I can muster. Hopefully, if we all manage to raise girls who are self-assured enough not to allow ANYONE to make them feel “less than”, things will change. At least, that’s what I hope will happen!
Thanks for the response, Simona!
I guess I think that “feminist” doesn’t need to collide with “wife” or “mother” — in fact, I guess I would argue that what you say you want for your daughter is exactly a feminist hope! Sometimes I miss having a daughter– I have two sons, and I’ve decided that raising them as men who respect women will be my most important feminist act. And then sometimes i feel lonely, because I don’t have a daughter–although I confess that the idea of raising a daughter seems a lot more complicated in this day and age than it does to raise a son.
I think that the only thing we can do is teach our daughters and women to love themselves. I think that once we feel good about ourselves, we have nothing to prove to others.
I think you’re right, Susie, but I think that it’s not always about proving ourselves to others, it’s about getting people to leave us alone so that we can do what we think matters. In the US, for instance, if the curriculum in the public schools relegates women’s roles in history to the margins, how does that impact the girls? Maybe it doesn’t shape them completely, but certainly it must have an impact of some kind…?
From being immersed in global women’s issues since the start of our site in 2010, the focus to gain our equal status in this world as women is to educate more girls and for more women to be in more leadership positions — Presidents, Prime Ministers, Pope, Business Leaders, etc. It is not a matter of taking over the space and saying “We Won!!”, but sharing it with our brothers and representing our side of the population. If women do not have a voice in the rule and law making, then our issues will remain unequal. We need to be just as much of a part in making the decisions globally and in our home countries.
You bend my mind, Deborah, and I like that!
Jen 🙂
Yes, Jen absolutely! I get frustrated with the idea that somehow feminism has come to mean “women in, men out.” I don’t think that’s at all the case: I think that feminist goals are about helping people–all people–to have the opportunities they need to become the people they want to be. It’s why in my definition, environmental issues are feminist issues, war & social justice are feminist issues, universal healthcare is a feminist issue, and so on. These things aren’t necessarily “gender specific” (although of course given the way economics shake out, it happens that poverty-stricken families live in environomentally unsound places, often, and those families are often headed by women…) … but they are “people specific.” Feminism is about people and in particular about the ways in which gender shapes the experiences that people have in the world.
Sorry. Ranting. I’ll stop now. Thanks, as always, for hte thoughtful comment!
Interesting post..
I am a born Muslim from Oman. I got annoyed with so much things in my culture that does show differences in treatment between men and women. However, I came to realise some things are just fine as long as they don’t affect the dignity and safety of women.
For now and the future, I want my daughters to have a better chances and to never feel less than their brother in any way..
Shukran, Ibtisam, for your comment. I think what you said is part of what I wanted to talk about in this post. It’s too easy, in the West, to see only hijab and not hte person or the family. The preservation, and construction, of personal dignity is key, and I think that women need to be allowed to create their own dignity as they would like to, which means that the daughter and the son are given the same opportunities, for example. Men and women are not the *same* but that doesn’t mean that each group shouldn’t have its own dignity and freedom.