I am a feminist.
I am proud to be a feminist. A lot of women my age are not. I like to think it's because they have a warped sense of what it means to be a feminist, and what feminism stands for. But maybe that's not the reason. Maybe they don't identify as feminists because they are not interested in feminism. Or they are genuinely happy with the way women are treated in today's society. Maybe they think the fight for equality is over; the battle is already won.
It's not.
I love bell hooks' definition of feminism:
I have wanted them to have an answer to the question ‘what is feminism?’ that is rooted neither in fear or fantasy. I have wanted them to have this simple definition to read again and again so they know: ‘Feminism is a movement to end sexism, sexist exploitation, and oppression.’
She clarifies:
Being oppressed means the absence of choices.
I dream of a world where every person - men and women and those in-between - have the opportunity to be whoever they want to be; to live the life they want to live. Idealistic? Yes. Yet I will fight for that cause for as long as I live. And I hope that those who come after me will do the same, gradually shifting this world to be a better, kinder, freer place that offers a brighter future to everybody who is born into it, no matter their gender or country or family or religion or strata of society.
So, the multi-million dollar question... as bell hooks asks:
How do we create an oppositional worldview, a consciousness, an identity, a standpoint that exists not only as that struggle which also opposes dehumanisation but as that movement which enables creative, expansive self-actualisation?
There are many ways, but I have one, and that is telling stories. Telling stories, through art and literature, breeds compassion, strengthens connection and enhances universality, enriching our collective awareness of lives that exist outside our own, prompting our desire for change.
Literature may seem like a futile way to instigate change; but for some women, telling their story is an act of rebellion, racked with danger. A wonderful journalist named Eliza Griswold wrote an incredible article for The New York Times, about Afghanistan's underground society of female poets:
“A poem is a sword,” Saheera Sharif, Mirman Baheer’s founder, said. Sharif is not a poet but a member of Parliament from the province of Khost. Literature, she says, is a more effective battle for women’s rights than shouting at political rallies. “This is a different kind of struggle.”
Afghan women, particularly those living in rural Afghanistan, are denied rights and freedoms that we, in the Western World, take for granted: the right to an education, the freedom to choose the person they will marry. The oppression sanctioned and discharged by the government and rebel forces is entrenched in centuries-old cultural mores and traditions. For many Afghan women, patriarchy is not a faded way of thinking but a brutal, sometimes deadly, way of life that is carried out by fathers, husbands and brothers, within their own homes. Their homes are not sanctuaries but prisons. Their only refuge is their own minds and hearts; their only escape is their imagination. Their weapon is their story.
Eliza follows the story of Zarmina, a young Afghan poet who would recite her love poems to the literary society in Kabul over the phone, from what she described as "the dark cave of her village". She wrote about broken love; she asked, "why am I not in a world where people can feel what I am feeling and hear my voice?" One day, her mother-in-law overheard her illicit phone calls. As punishment, her brothers beat her and destroyed her notebooks. Two weeks after the beating, she set herself alight. Suffering burns to 75% of her body, she died in hospital.
Zarmina is just one of many of Afghanistan's poet-martyrs.*
Zarmina is just one of many of Afghanistan's poet-martyrs.*
Eliza gave Ogai Amail, a member of the literary society who took Zarmina's phone-calls, the last word:
Flipping through her notebook, she found a poem she wrote after Zarmina’s suicide, called “The Poet Who Died Young”:
“Her memory will be a flower tucked into literature’s turban.
In her loneliness, every sister cries for her.”
“Her memory will be a flower tucked into literature’s turban.
In her loneliness, every sister cries for her.”
We need to hear these stories. We need to know that Zarmina existed; we need to know that she wrote and shared beautiful poems, bravely, in the face of adversity. We need to mourn not only her death, but also the crippling sadness that marked the end of her short life.
I am lucky to be a woman in a rich, privileged, post-feminist society. I am grateful for the people who have come before me and fought for justice and equality, not only for genders but also for races, ethnicities, sexualities and social classes. But the fight is not over. As long as there are women - and men - in the world living in fear, being oppressed, without choices and opportunities to define their own lives, the fight is not over.
I am lucky to be a woman in a rich, privileged, post-feminist society. I am grateful for the people who have come before me and fought for justice and equality, not only for genders but also for races, ethnicities, sexualities and social classes. But the fight is not over. As long as there are women - and men - in the world living in fear, being oppressed, without choices and opportunities to define their own lives, the fight is not over.
It has only just begun.
"You won’t allow me to go to school.
I won’t become a doctor.
Remember this: One day you will be sick."
— Poem written by a 15-year-old Afghan girl
* * *
* After Zarmina's death, the man she loved also attempted to kill himself by stabbing himself in the chest. They had been promised to each other as children but her father later refused the marriage because his daughter's fiance could not afford pay him $12 500. It is important to remember that while men do benefit from patriarchy, those benefits come with a price.
As bell hooks notes:
In return for all the goodies men receive from patriarchy, they are required to dominate women, to exploit and oppress us, using violence if they must to keep patriarchy intact. Most men find it difficult to be patriarchs. Most men are disturbed by hatred and fear of women, by male violence against women, even the men who perpetuate this violence. But they fear letting go of the benefits. They are not certain what will happen to the world they know most intimately if patriarchy changes. So they find it easier to passively support male domination even when they know in their minds and hearts that it is wrong.
The first act of violence that patriarchy demands of males is not violence toward women. Instead patriarchy demands of all males that they engage in acts of psychic self-mutilation, that they kill off the emotional parts of themselves. If an individual is not successful in emotionally crippling himself, he can count on patriarchal men to enact rituals of power that will assault his self-esteem.
Hence, contrary to popular belief, feminism is not anti-male; it is not sexist. It is simply, and rightly, a movement toward equality.
2 comments:
I'm glad you wrote this, it helped me change my mind. When I hear the word 'feminist' it conjures up negative connotations, and a warped view of what it actually means to be a feminist today. When your mum asked me that question I had no idea, I'd never thought about it before. I usually choose not to think about those less fortunate, and it's easy to do, living where we do and being as lucky as we are.
Now the next time someone asks me if I am a feminist I can answer yes, without hesitation and confusion xxx
Yay! xx
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